It was the most hideous thing he'd ever seen. A tiny horror. And scaly monster. But it was his. It was theirs.
He's wondered why his wife never really showed during her pregnancy. The doctor said it wasn't unheard of, and that there were instances of women who gave birth suddenly and unexpectedly, never knowing they'd been pregnant.
Still, the thought of a pregnant, skinny woman unnerved him. He worried about his wife. She was nearly 40 and had always been as skinny as you please. In fact, the same doctor had once told her she was a "bad candidate"...
One scoop chocolate, one scoop... The ice cream scoop clatters on the counter top, empty. I stare at the perfectly rounded scoop of flawlessly smooth chocolate ice cream sitting in the dark blue bowl as if it might jump out and bite me. I imagine the ice cream breaking down into tiny little calories and attaching themselves to my thighs, my stomach, my arms, my face, forming rolls of soft fat on my body. The ice cream falls with a soft plunk back in the tub. With a snap, the lid takes away my guilt and I shove it to...
There's somebody standing in the corner of my room. That's what she told me most days and as normal, I ignored her. I presumed she was talking about her reflection who she believed another person, a friend. Dementia steals the life force. She was no longer the woman I knew anymore, just a small petulant child to take care of. One that could look sweet and innocent but could take a knife to me if she fancied. She spent all day in her bedroom talking to the mirror, packing and unpacking strange old suitcases, oblivious to the fact she was...
An aura surrounded her.
He couldn't describe it, couldn't explain it, couldn't put it into words. It was beauty.
She raised her hands, opened her mouth, flexed her diaphragm, and completely, irrevocably drew him into herself.
Her song permeated him, and the light that bounced off of her transformed his eyes into bodiless, empty receptors: everything else faded, his body, his chair, his table. There was only the Vision.
Then the song ended, and he was left floating in the smooth, absent, come-down buzz of the empty amplifiers.
There's somebody standing in the corner of my room. I have no idea who they are. I don't recognise the outline, the shape. I think the figure is a woman. She, if she is a she, is tall and slim, almost skeletal, like a witch. This thought scares me. I don't want to be visited by a witch, especially not the ghost of a dead witch. Which is worse? A live witch, with a wand and a broom? Or a ghost witch, with neither because she is no longer a physical substance? Would the live witch or the ghost witch...
The contours of her form were clear under the light shining through my window. She was laying there nude on my couch as I drew her. My eyes, flicking back and forth from the paper to her. My hand, gliding wildly across the paper in motions similar to a snake whipping it's way across a desert. I had asked her to model for me. Not because I have a crush on her. Not because I'm trying to date her. But because her body is so gorgeous. It flows with every move she makes, twisting and bending and flowing. She lays...
I had always wanted to win. Something, I dunno; life, a contest, sports day. I craved to see my luminous ego reflected in stainless steel, with others around me cheering me on.
Not today though.
Today, I looked into the trophy, but didn't see my reflection, didn't see the holy glow of my inner glory.
I thought it weird no-one was acknowledging me, but I guess now it makes sense- I lost.
I lost the minute I thought I could achieve anything, the minute I decided to try for once. The moment I begged and would've sold my soul for...
Shape. Contour. Line. Plane.
My mind is swimming with terms; it's hard to know where to begin. Think. THINK!
Placing my hands strategically against my forehead, massaging in circular motions, attempting to eradicate the oncoming hangover, I catch a whiff of last night's Sauza and the whole experience comes flooding into self-consciousness. Exactly what I've been avoiding, but it's upon me now, and the midterm examination worth forty percent of my overall grade just doesn't seem quite so vital. By contrast, the almost irresistible urge to vomit has quite suddenly taken me, and now I am reaching for my bookbag...
"Rush! Hurry! We must get off the street before anyone realizes we've left. "
"Mummy, why?"
"Because I said so."
"Because he's bleeding, Mum? Is that why?" I grasped the edge of her suitcase, let it carry me along, my feet nearly leaving the ground. Breathless, visions of things much different from sugar plums. Blood. Screams, a distant siren, the smell of cordite. Done. Rush! Move! NOW! Hungry, what, no time. Leave the cat.
Down the stairs, falling, falling, falling out onto the cobblestones. Scent of mum's sweat mixed with tobacco, and the stench of death. Train sounds. Off to...
Rouge.
"That's right men, put up the flag. We are no longer the lone-star state, but the lone-star ship!" Captain Johnson bellowed in a frenzy.
The ship's red phone began to ring.
"No. No, we are not coming back from this tour - You can call us Pirates if you want to. No. We will not come back, we are tired of this war. We are tired of these living conditions. And most of all, my men are tired of this food. I will not listen to reason."
Captain Johnson was cut off by the distant rumbling of a torpedo...