to feel the moss of the forest floor - this was her favorite. she would bend down periodically, just to caress the soft verdant covering. when she came upon a cluster of burgeoning ferns, she reached and ran them through her fingers like she would strands of a lover's hair. she loved the forest quite as much, and found spending time in it much more peaceful than time passed with any lover she'd ever known. the sun-dappled ground. the falling leaves led in a gentle dance by the breezes. the sight of it all renewed her spirit, in the way...
The maple leaves will change and fall with a certain grace – November will begin. The world outside my window will be shades of red and gold. Snow, a few days later, gracing the last few leaves on the branches. My mind will wander to that one autumn, the last time I ever saw that face. The muscular arms without tattoos; brown hair, blue eyes. It was my birthday. The autumn before that I spent the night at his downtown apartment. Same brown hair and blue eyes, tattoo-less arms. Genuine smile and honest words. This autumn will not be like...
I wasn't sure when I woke up what to do with my day. I mean, I like to be as productive as the next guy, but it was Freeform Friday. i didn't even really know what that meant, but I had it marked on my calendar.
So I decided my best move would be to go back to sleep. When I woke up at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, I realized that time was my villain. I'd slept away the entire day.
So now what? It's still light out, so I could work on some flash fiction.
I do not...
He set the bowl before her. Watched her lick up the milk, drops sticking to the whiskers, few stains already down her soft black velvet catsuit.
Bob had never imagined getting into the cat scene until that fateful day outside the store where he'd gone to buy his usual six bars of chocolate, four multibags of potato chips and a crate of beer.
Outside he noticed an attractive young man with long fair hair holding two leads, each one had a beautiful girl at the end, dressed as cats.
Bob dropped his bags of shopping in surprise and never bothered...
Light as a feather.
Light on the eyes.
Light flashing into tear streaming eyes.
Light in my arms,
My long-lost love.
Light as the clouds
soaring above.
There was originally only one photograph. Now there were two. Well, two halves. Incomplete. Roughly cut down the middle of the bay, neatly bisecting the bench. One was lightly discarded in a pile of "Things to do/sort."
The other was folded and refolded and bent again, then sat in a wallet. Strangely, the one that was thrown aside was the more loved. It showed regret. It showed hope. It showed Faith.
The tattered half showed bitterness, anger, loss. Odd, really as the original showed promise. Anticipation. Love. The man who captured all these strange emotions just thought they were a...
It came out of nowhere. A rock. A killer.
It was bigger than anything I'd ever seen since breaking orbit, but that wasn't saying much for a rookie like me. My console alerted me to the spinning asteroid and woke me from the warmest blanket of a dream. Of course, that's how it always happens, right?
I make my way up to the cockpit, though it's only on the other side of the thin partition of my shuttle. The Gen-Mark II was designed to hold four and that's how it was filled when we left dock last year. Now mine...
"If you weren't strumming that chord over and over, I might think you were asleep," said Howard.
"Yeah, you might be forgiven for thinking that," replied Memmy. "No, I just rest my head on the body of the guitar. Here. Like this." Memmy's head didn't move. It was already on the body of the guitar.
"Don't you guys play electic guitars," asked Howard.
Memmy didn't look up. "Not when we're depressed. Hey, hand me that bottle, would you?"
"Which bottle?" asked Howard.
"The one that's not empty," said Memmy. He still hadn't looked up.
Howard shook several in sequence. One...
The year was 1986. I was traveling through the American South with a spaniel I had picked up along the way who answered to the name "Kenneth".
My goal was to reach Little Rock, Arkansas in order to see the William Jefferson Clinton Presidential Library and Museum. Unfortunately, I had committed a great error and had greatly misjudged, as he would not even be elected for another six years.
Whoops.
While the spaniel who responded to the name "Kenneth" almost certainly knew that I was too early, he remained mute. In all the many weeks we spent together, he only...
Crap. This wasn't going to be good.
The old man said 'Let's go deer hunting. Just like old times. Reconnect after all those years of you pissing away your life on the other side of the world.'
That was last night. We drank to it. He had some incredible Irish Whiskey. 12 year old. We killed a bottle. I hoped like hell that he'd forget the hunting plans.
He didn't.
Oh, Christ, he didn't.
My brain was tuning timpani drums in my skull. Like O Fortuna was ramping up. There was a fog over the field that may or may...