They were listening to Bach while they sculpted windmills out of Play-doh. The Play-doh was blue. Aunt Gertrude would only allow blue Play-doh in the chalet. It had been that way since the accident.
Aunt Gertrude was 78 years old and she had no arms or legs. She had cut them off in 1983 as a display of devotion to Reggie, her pet octopus. Reggie could have cared less. I remember my Aunt as she wielded the chainsaw, slicing off her limbs, bathing everything in warm red gore. Reggie could care less. He just emitted some ink. Even when Aunt...
Tina is at 6 AM mass every day, no fail. Masses in the Catholic church only change once a week and they revert back every year. In the five years since she's gone daily to mass, she's heard this particular mass 33 times already. Blessed is she among women.
The sanctuary at St. Agnes' smells like a basement. There is mold, dust, incense, old women with wool stockings and perfume. The pew closest to the door on the right-hand side is where Tina always sits. There isn't even a kneeler on it and Tina genuflects with her knees on the...
"I won't," I said. And she turned and walked away. The generals and lower officers, in turn, followed.
I was alone in that room with the future. I'd only known vanishing past and pounding present. I didn't know what to do with myself. I started by counting my breaths and guessing how many I'd take in a minute. I tried thinking about tomorrow but couldn't. I could only picture a towering wall made of brain matter.
I thought, "Maybe I should've" and stalled again. I closed my eyes and thought about nothing, not knowing I'd sleep soon.
He had crossed the crunchy yard to the Cathedral many times, and he proceeded as usual without thinking too much about the crossing. He didn't really hear the crunch of his boots on the blue metal surface. He didn't really see the wattle beginning to bloom. He didn't really smell the sweet air of spring. Bishop Smith was worried: someone was stealing the sacred host from the ciborium.
It puzzled him. Would anyone in the 21st century really steal the consecrated host for black magic? No one could possibly want the bread to satisfy hunger: the wafers were thin and...
I used to feel like a bird in flight
I would cut between the trees
and see the clouds from upside-down
I would pull up to the top
of skyscrapers and hop
along their ledges
My silhouette against the moon
My reflection in the harbor
Yeah, I used to feel like a bird in flight...
The lamp wouldn't turn on. He clicked it once, and twice. He tapped the bare bulb, once he'd removed the lampshade. He followed the cord down to the wall and unplugged and plugged it back in.
He dug in the drawer in the kitchen and found a new bulb but it didn't fit, so he dug some more and found another, smaller bulb and it did fit but still the damned lamp wouldn't turn on.
At the power box, he switched the breaker, killing the power for a moment to the living room, setting the VCR back to high noon....
Hats. They don't tell you all there is to hats. Hats are of course a fashionable item, they shield for our eyes, a blanket for our head. But hats don't allow your to show your self. I say "self" to describe that brilliant light and vibration that extends from every pore. The fluorescent and transcendent light that seem to be so pure in this tainted world. We all have one. But hats don't let them flow. Hats cover your Crown. Hats hide you.
You don't wear hats. That is when I knew. Your shines like a thousand suns of every...
He set the plate before her. "EAT!" "YOU WILL EAT!" He shouted at her from behind. He had her put on a blue dress before dinner, like Alice from Alice in Wonderland.
"YOU WILL EAT DINNER LITTLE GIRL!" He knew she was crying right onto the table. Kaley had been handcuffed to the table for around 6 hours already, and she was panicked and truly terrified. Wilson kidnapped her off the street; he dressed her up and made her sit at his dinner table in his basement, decorated like kids' play room.
Wilson crouched down to the side of her...
Vanquished.
Caroline let out a little giggle. Three years, seven months, nine days, twelve hours and twenty-something minutes ago she'd eaten her last piece of chocolate.
"I never thought I'd manage it," she said to Paul as she stirred her coffee. "I'd been addicted for...ooh...I'm twenty-seven now so....twenty-one years?" She sipped her coffee, her tongue shocked by the burning liquid as she took her first caffeine hit of the day.
"So how's your New Year's give-up-smoking kick going?"
Paul shrugged. "S'okay. I had my last ciggie with breakfast on Monday."
"But that's two whole days into the new year!" said...
"Pegodi? Pogado?"
Sneering, Jess looked at Adam and asked waht the hell he thought he was doing.
"That thing there, out on the water. What's it called?"
They both turned and stared out across the man-made lake. No more than two feet deep, and even less than that if you counted the layers of garbage and duck shit on the bottom.
"That building," Adam said, pointing. As if it wasn't obvious enough, sitting on the dock, the second man-made structure in view.
Jess exhaled and told him it was a pagoda. He snapped his fingers.
"That's it. Wow," he said,...