The sky blue sea swayed under the ultramarine sky. The sun is an amphibian, I thought. Then I wondered if any creatures lived in the sky and the water, never touching the land, and what would you call that?
A fisherman walked towards me on the boardwalk, handling a bagpipe. A boy followed with his fingers hooked into collapsed crab traps. A wet nylon rope dragged behind, leaving a wiry, drunken trail from where I never bothered to know.
Marie wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. Breathing heavily, she glanced impatiently at the bland, hospital door; its paint peeling around the edges; the hinges rusted. She knew that her sister was not in the hands of the most experienced doctors in town, but it was the closest hospital to home. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she interlaced her fingers, scrutinising the short, stumpy nails; a result of her anxious gnawing. Marie's mind wandered, as far as it could from the looming thought of her sister's fate. But within seconds, her thoughts were pulled right back...
The window was a lot harder to get open than I expected. I guess they aren’t really designed to be opened, but they do open if you pull hard enough. The air felt good; fresher higher up than on the lower floors. And I could see the cityscape below, half hidden in morning mist. It was going to be a beautiful day.
My office was private, not one of the cubicles most of the employees occupied, like rows of Dilberts enjoying only partial privacy. I had earned my space by bringing in the numbers. I had worked my way up...
The shoes, though pink and shiny and paired with flat white tights, were not what you wanted. "They are not ballerina shoes," you protested, knowing very well the difference from the ballet flats and the pointe shoes and just regular human shoes.
"I want some like yours," you said.
Your mother no longer wore her ballet shoes; she had once been a prima ballerina, and there were photographs of her and postcards in sepia tones that captured her in a moment of what seemed like effortless grace. Arm raised, elbow bent at such an angle that she looked like the...
"It's meant to get better."
He looked at the empty glass in front of him, studied the bottom, as if it was going to promise him that it would get better.
It didn't. It also didn't refill itself.
"It will."
He glanced up - of course, he could, at least, rely on his best friend.
Well. One of them. Since the other one had -
That glass was still empty. That could cause a problem.
"She's still gone."
"That isn't going to change."
This paticular best friend may prove to be useless - oh, no, wait, he was hailing the...
My feet ached, but it was well worth it.
I wonder who had said that? They were idiots, whoever they were. My feet ached, and it was not worth it at all. I hated every moment of it. Every moment of the scorching heat, the desperate gulps at tepid water, the people by me, and the sweat, like some gift from a relative you hated, anyways. Anyways. I don't know why I did it. Wasn't for her, that much I know. I was past her, and was glad to be rid of the stupid promises. But it wasn't for myself,...
she couldn't do it. her moist, clammy hands clung to the wooden pole with vicious might as she drew in intermittent, ragged breaths. the sweat dripped restlessly down her breast, sticking her shirt to her chest like a vulgar plastic case. her hands tightened around the weapon, her fingers wrapping around the cylindrical end as she struggled to raise it above her petite body. this was it. it had to be done. she clenched her eyes shut, sucked in a breath of dusty air and swung
Daring to be noticed for the first time in her life, she pushed her chair back and stood up. Jerome, her uncle's brother, took no notice of her. Her hands were cold and shaking. He continued eulogizing. "He was a great man, and there's no denying. We all..."
"No."
That got his attention. All of them, really. She clasped her hands together tightly, willing her voice to be steady. Jerome raised an eyebrow at her. "Did you have something you wanted to say, Candace? Why don't you come on up here and say it?"
She swallowed, hard. The idea of...
The Rivermen had her boxed in. Two still waited for her at the bottom of the stairwell behind the knockoff Bayeux Tapestry--now ripped to shreds by blades. Two more on either side of this room, this tiny, gaudy bedroom that her mother had spent months decorating. And though she knew at least one of them would come bursting through, knife drawn, she couldn't stop staring.
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She thought red would be more appropriate than black. After all, she wasn't going to the funeral. She would have her own at home, remembering him as he was a week ago right there with her. He had greeted her where she now sat, kissed her blushing birdstone cheek. He was handsome then, his black hair like starling feathers nestled against her as they embraced.
But now it was time to think of those who had died. Not just him, but all the pantheon of people...