"Do you like the cats, young one?"
Lilibit pressed her white, lacey gloved hand over her throat, "Yes, my Lord," she breathed. "I've always wanted to see them, since my childhood!"
Sajin laughed, the bells at the bottom of his robes jingled, "You are a child yet, Little One."
Lilibit scowled, "I am a young woman. At the very least. I am not a child."
"Do you feel such?" Sajin asked, squinting, his dark skin shining from cheek to forehead in the way everyone did in this humid, emerald land. Lilibit for her part, felt sweat from head to toe...
All I could do is stare. Rendered speechless by the impromptu, silly dance, I stood on the curb and crossed my arms across my stomach, a half smile curling my lips as I watched the motley crew before me dance and sway. Hands clapped above faces masked in what I could only describe as a mask straight from the Happy Mask Salesman from the Legend of Zelda.
Well, at least there was some bright spot to this dreary day. I swayed my hips to their chanting, to the low beats of their music as they moved, tapping my fingers rhythmically...
The year was 1986. It was a Tuesday, at night. 7:58 PM. I couldn't wait until 8 o'clock to enter the world. I'm sure I came out screaming like most babies. I'm sure my eyes were closed, and that the October chill had me wanting a blanket.
The year was 1990, and I remember asking my dad for days when I was going to be 4 years old. My eyes were wide and hazel, my hair blonde and short.
The year was 1994 and I got to wear a sundress in October. Never ever in New York can you wear...
The plough boy Tom burned a different colour; a mix of jealous green and blue regret. Typical of a young man, losing his purse in an unfair wager.
The witch could see two snakes writhing in the boy's head. Still, to his credit, he kept his tongue when ill placed words would have caused much harm to all present. If he could weather the coming storm, he would have grown into his boots, as Meg's mother would have said.
Each person crushed into Meg's cot had their own story to tell. Maybe his was hasty revenge and slower repentance. Either...
We stared out the attic window of the 3-story blue colonial. It was New Year's Eve; we all survived the hype of the Millenium, and now one year later we were wrapped in each other's arms watching the snow fall. I came upstairs to change my shirt after Pat spilled his champagne on me. I rifled through my suitcase as you ran upstairs after me, worried that I was upset. You said my name and I looked up with wide eyes, so in love with you. Staring at your ice blue eyes, I wondered how I got here, I mean,...
And I don't think that they are going anywhere anytime soon. Now that the 5am hour is upon me, I feel as if maybe the person standing in the corner of my room will be able to lift me out of bed. He's done it before, and today I really feel like I might need a little extra help.
My room is a very lively place; it is where I feel the safest. Not only do I do my best work in my room, but this man is in my room, like he always is, night after night. He no...
Waves. Waves lapping at the scarred coast line, the sound of gulls cooing above, the smell of the salty seawater.
The therapist had told her to imagine her happy place, every time she felt a panic attack coming on. Every time she felt stressed, which she was prone to, she came back here.
Her happy place.
She was nine years old, her strawberry blonde hair in pigtails, her jade green coat pulled tight to keep out the bitter wind. Balancing atop a weather warn log, she had pretended she was walking the tightrope at the circus.
She had always dreamt...
Knives. Where were the knives? she thought to herself, getting more aggravated by the second. There were plenty of forks. If she needed a fork, or even a spoon, there were loads. The drawer was overflowing with cutlery of all kinds, excpet for knives.
She could hardly cut the ham with a spoon, gouging chunks out of it. Sighing, she tried to count to ten, calmly. This is what her therapist talked her through. Stand still, breath deeply and count. One...two...three...But, where were all the knives?
They had been there at some point. The cutlery had been bought in a...
She opened the envelope and screamed. She could not believe him, she simply could not believe that he was still persuing her after all this time. Even though they were living miles and miles apart, he still insisted on writing her. He was the reason that she had left their small town for a big life in Paris. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Why did he always need to have her? She couldn't understand him. But, as much as she hated to admit it, she was still in love with him. The timeless quote, "Absence makes the heart...
Think warm thoughts.
Everyone hears about the other problem. Spontaneous Human Combustion, like it's some mysterious force. Ninety percent of the time, it's just a smoker who nodded off in a polyester easy chair. As if it's some big mystery. The other ten percent, you have your idiots that accidentally got soaked in lighter fluid, people trying to fry things, and other morons. Investigators act like it's so mysterious, but that is just because they don't understand fire. How it works, how it feeds. It's a bunch of pseudo-science, like a medieval doctor trying to cure people through bloodletting and...