The alligator with the cardboard mouth. The whipped cream on the stairs. Hollow clang. Syncopated clatter.
The brighter colors remind me of childhood. Not that adulthood has been faded yellows or softening greys. But a luminescent green or radiant orange triggers my primary nostalgia.
The set is bare. The slice of bread reads 5 in ketchup. A lazy harmonica.
When time runs out here, it starts over there. Follow the alligator king.
An unknown figure watched Mery and Arthur McGee as they shopped in main square. Mery, hair tied back, long coat wrapped around her to fight the cold, a scarf tucked around her neck, approached the front store window and glanced in awe at the woman behind the glass. Her hair coiled around her face in romantic ringlets, and her long black dress oozed with classic beauty.
"Arthur, isn't this dress marvelous? Look at the color, and the sweeping length. I must have it, Arthur. I must." Mery said in delight.
Arthurt, her husband, was less than enthused. "Dear, it's...
The young man ran toward the park building, surrounded by trees, bushes, and several high-rises that glowered down like overbearing siblings eyeing their sibling's latest suitor. The boy was soaking wet, his heart beat furiously in his chest, and his eyes were wide with terror. He knew they were still behind him. They'd already came after his mother, forcing him to leave her far behind if he wanted to escape with his life.
The boy's feet slapped against the ground as he approached the glass door. Yanking it open, eh rushed into a cool white-walled lobby where a handful of...
Words like knives, thrown back and forth across the room, like a death-defying circus act.
Husband and wife tossing sharp insults, from the couch to the kitchen doorway. Neither landing anything deep, glancing wounds, already scraping scarred tissue.
Neither really feels anything for the other anymore. But the dance, the battle, the contest keeps them together. Light reflects of the blades as they flip and fly.
Thud into walls. Plink against the floors. Bounce of their scaly armour of experience, disdain and dull hate. It aches in their bellies. They think it might offer some release, against the mounting pressure....
The disco ball turned on its dusty axis, shining pixels of glitter light across their worn faces and twinkling in their liquid eyes. Eyes that darted to the front door when someone walked through. This hotel bar was the opposite of pretension, the only tension coming from the anticipation of meeting someone to make the night less lonely.
He came in for a beer--procrastinating to book his hotel for a corporate conference plus budget cuts at work meant he had a room at a low budget hotel. All the eyes followed him as he took a spot at the bar....
My hand disappeared a week ago. I was rolling out a sheet of cookie dough for the kids. They come home around three and I like to have something warm baking for them. It makes me feel more useful and it's good that kids end their day with something sweet.
I was rolling the dough. Chocolate chip, I think it was. And my left hand just wasn't there anymore. The space where it was before was empty now. I didn't scream or cry. I'd gotten used to missing things. I figured this would be the same.
I had another hand...
You can count me out. You really think I'm going to use that thing? that dangerous, weapon-like thing? You really think I'm going to lug around four pounds of dead animal flesh? Think again. Don't even get me started on the sphere of death as I like to call it. Have you noticed how it comes toward its victim, hurling itself through space at a hundred and seventy-five miles per hour, no conscious, just aim and fire. It's not for me. I'm not saying I'm a wimp, I'm not saying you're crazy. I'm saying I have no wish to die....
Marchiel was wondering again. Wondering what Francis was up to. He was awfully quiet in the living room. She had left him alone for less than ten minutes to fold the laundry. He had been building towers contentedly, block by purposely placed block. But now it was awfully silent. When she got back into the living room the sliding door was open, and her 4 year old was no longer building with blocks. Marchiel raced to the door and stumbled over the thresh hold, as Francis, his big eyes all alight stood by the tree bleeding. An uprooted rose bush...
Birds. So many birds. I mean, I like birds, I guess...but not these birds. These birds were dropping doo-doo on my head. Twice. It's a freak accident of one singel bird drops doo-doo on your head, but three? Three piles of doo-doo? In my hair? This will not go unpuncished. I called my dad, he seems to know how to get rid of every annoying animal out there. " Dad", I said when he answed the phone, "Dad, I;ve got a bird problem in my yard. They're doo-doo machines! Every time I walk out pf my house, especially on Fridays,...
He stared at his reflection in the water for a long moment. He studied his eyes (the same dark brown that they had always been), the breeze rustling his sandy blond hair, the chisled, strong shape of his face. As he stared, trying to make sense of who was really staring back at him out of those deep brown eyes, the face began to change. The water that moments before had acted as his mirror now rippled and swirled, captivating his attention. He watched as the water changed his reflection to appear not as a young man with brown eyes...