"What the hell kind of superhero costume is that?!" My dad was yelling so loud I could hear him from my room. When the blue cow suit had appeared, I'd been so excited. My brother Eddie hadn't gotten his disguise until he was twelve. Mom's quiet reply made me feel a little less anxious but it didn't seem to have much effect on Dad.
"Kendall, I'm sure it's something he'll grow into. Eight is awfully young for his powers so there's plenty of time-"
"Grow into? Who's going to take a blue cow with fangs seriously? I can see the...
It starts out a little top heavy
with a first line so weighted down with its own importance
that it has to sink to the second (or even third) stanza -
the spark of an idea around which the softer lines crowd.
It usually has a trail of water drops leading up to it
because all good ideas strike in the shower
(it's always the shower)
and will be lost in the time it takes to comb or dry or dress.
It's never quite happy in its own skin
but lacks the will to be anything else
It shouts to...
There was blood on my pillow. I could smell it, I ripped the cover of the bed and ran to the bathroom, check to see If I had a bloody nose. No. check for any other sources of blood, there where none on me. I returned to my bed room confused and in thought. Where was I last night? whose blood is this?
Just Breath stay calm. I put on a shirt, ran down stairs to look for more clues. Sitting at my table was a man who wore a fedora and covered his mouth when he spoke "some party...
"One scoop chocolate, one scoop..."
"Let me guess, vanilla." the man behind the counter grinned at me.
Was I really so predictable? I felt the colour rise to my cheeks.
"Erm..."
"I was right. I remember." he threw his head back and laughed.
"Actually..."
"2.53 every afternoon. One scoop chocolate and one scoop vanilla. Like clockwork."
He was starting to annoy me now.
"Actually, I was going to ask..."
I stopped. I was going to ask for vanilla. Truth is I only like vanilla and chocolate ice cream. Always have. But now I had started something. Alex was right, I...
I am really nervous. It's there. Looming. And I feel like if I move it will know, and everything around me will crumble.
So I wait and I wonder. Why I came. Why I am still here. Why there aren't forces out there that could rectify what is clearly the most dire of situations.
But I know there are no such forces. It's just me. Alone. Except I am not alone. It is still here. There. Moving closer.
I know there are only two choices: stay and await my ultimate defeat. The ultimate death. Stagnation...darkness. Or move closer to it,...
Whap! It him like a .... what? Whap! It did it again... that thing inside his head. He'd forgotten to take his meds... oh, many days gone by. The doctors had warned him when left the ward... Whap! It felt like... God, he couldn't have described it if he'd wanted to. He'd loved his mother.. when she was alive. Being dead didn't help his issues... his mother, not him, that is. The ward had been locked, the drugs forced on him.
Whap!
He'd promised the doctors he'd take them when he got out.
What!
He'd instead torn them up and...
"You toddled around your aunt's spacious yard in your pastel dress with lacy white ruffles, matching bloomers showing beneath. When you found one egg, you carried it so carefully. When you found another, you gently picked it up, and held an egg cupped in each tiny palm, then smashed them together." My grandfather chuckled as he looked at the picture of me hunting Easter eggs on Aunt Lois' farm. He loved to tell that story, and loved to see the adoration for me that shined in his eyes as did told it. I miss him.
"I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead."
His eyes flickered open squinting in the unaccustomed sunlight. He started to rise but remained immobile. Panic began to set in. It was then that he noticed the girl slumped against the wall face ashen white. She glanced up at the ceiling and his eyes followed hers. He saw the skylight and his struggles became frantic. She was smiling now. "A trap. The bitch must have dosed herself up with ", he thought. those dammed odourless garlic...
"Faster Faster Faster Faster!!!!" he yelled from the front seat. "OK." the other guy punched it. "Too fast! Too Fast!" he yelled, white knuckling the armrest. The other guy hit the brake. He flew forward and met the windshield. "OOF!" "Don't crack my windshield." the other guy said from the driver's seat. A phone was dialled. "Ian broke his face!" At home... "Ian, let me see..." "No." "It'll only be a minute..." "No. No. NO!" "*gasp*" "What happened? ouch ouch ouch..." it's a little crooked."
And why shouldn't they? For ten years they worked to instill their beliefs, ritualize my family, and remove any lingering signs of hillbilly. They begrudgingly looked past my slow drawl, crooked teeth, and ragged clothes for the opportunity to have me hit a ball with their community adorned on my chest. Oh what sacrifices! To bring in such a heathen and educate him and trust him around your daughters. And what did they get in return? My car in the wall of town hall with a needle in my arm. Your fears were realized, your stereotypes were dead on. But...