I flip through my old books, looking for more of my old letters, so far I've found one to Santa, in a book about dinosaurs that I've had since kindergarten.
I find an old copy of The Bible, the same one I used to read for my Sunday school work when I was younger and still thought that people were good and that if you were good people would be too.
I find a letter to my wife in our favorite book of poetry and I wonder why she left, she never said goodbye, or that anything was wrong.
And...
Millions of people left the coasts and ran into the dry middle of the country. The plains and prairies were filled with tents and lean-tos. Smoke rose from fire pits as the tall grass and grain bent in the strong winds.
The coasts flooded. The storm crashed and smashed the cities that had harbours.
But the people in the dry middle of the country were safe.
Safe for now.
The country was flooded. People said they only had half the land they used to.
And even then, it was the dry, grassy rolling hills in the middle. The people used...
She cradled the faun's head as it mewed pathetically, legs shaking as it attempted to get up.
"Shh," she cooed to it softly, running her hands down it's glossy coat.
"What is it?" A small voice spoke behind her, making her turn and open up her arms to the small girl stood nervously at the edge of the clearing.
"That's a baby deer." Another voice answered, the familiar form of her husband appearing behind the small child. "It's the first one I've seen for around forty years."
"Are they from before the war?" The small girl asked as she approached...
"And when I get older, I'm going to be a fairy!" little Leslie exclaimed. On their second playdate, she and her new pre-school friends were already discussing their life goals. As the only girls in their new class, they quickly bonded and had to stick together.
As they grew, their friendship did as well. They squabbled over birthday party themes, which high-school to attend and not infrequently, boys. As two went off to college, Leslie chose a different route. She became known on the music festival circuit as the best-damn flowered headband maker... it wasn't long before she had her...
She kept her eyes down, on her shoes. People brushed past her, maybe impatiently. She didn't move, she didn't walk.
She waited for someone to take her hand, to try to talk to her, to lead her away. It didn't happen. No one looked at her. Nothing happened, and she heard nothing. Better that way, because how could she explain anything?
Making the decision, she walked over to the bench, sat down at the very edge, across from a display of vacuum cleaners. Still, she stared at her feet.
Without warning, he was standing in front of her, cheeks still...
In the clouds. That was the place to be when it was high summer. Three young angels danced through the morning mist, white linen gowns making no sound as they moved. "Dahlia, when will the mist clear so we can collect the first morning light?" asked one. "When it clears, Opal." Dahlia said patiently, looking at her empty jar. "Be patient, you two. The mist will clear soon, i can just see the sun." said the last, sitting on a rock. Suddenly, the morning sun burst through the mist, lighting the world. The three angels were quick. They scooped up...
Wine. The God of the Sublime. Dionysian times cured the ill humored people by taking grapes, fermenting them, turning it all into a drinkable solution that would cure terrible moments in a life by twisting them slowly away with each sip of this smooth purple pulp.
I felt the first effects of wine when my friends and I would buy a cheap bottle of Yellow Tail, pop off the cork and take slow swigs as if this was our solution to boredom, happiness, sadness, and just life in general. We sipped as if wine was our blood, our fuel, our...
I think it's number nine. Eight maybe. All I know is my face is slightly tingled.
"Another," she asks as she walks past me.
I give an affirming nod. She has to know I am nearing my limit, but I have learned to play this off well.
"You had the Green Line, right?"
I nod again.
The Cubs are on, and they are losing. Nothing new there.
A couple sits in the corner talking about important couple things.
Two friends sit the right of me, discussing how much their lives and the Cubs suck.
The glass ends up in front...
Whitechapel 1888. There was blood on my pillow again this morning when I awoke. My landlady has already been asking too many questions. It is time I moved to another residence.
I am looking forward to reading the newspapers today to gather the latest opinion on the terror in their midst. My good friends have been spreading rumours in many quarters so there have been a myriad of possible suspects, including those in very high places. The police are far too stupid to know where to look. I take especial delight in fooling Inspector Abberline, who should never have been...
The fat girl at Kentucky Fried Chicken touched my forehead with the palm of her hand. Her skin was oily and she had pimples. There was a green fungus growing on one armpit and I knew that when she was in junior high, she played the trombone. But I let her touch me anyway.
"You are not where you belong," she said. "You are not doing what you are meant to do."
"What am I meant to do?" I asked. "I know it's not to be a porn star because that would mean getting laid and that is something I...