"Don't you realize you can make a cake WITHOUT any the products of my femininity?" asked the chicken. She fluffed her feathers defiantly, shouting over the cars that zoomed mere inches from where she had taken her stance. "That is that last time anyone takes my eggs! I will NOT provide my children for your tasty treats!" She glared at the little girl.
Darla stared at the hefty bird. She adjusted her apron, dusting off some flour with one gloved hand. "I needed eggs for my mother's birthday cake!" she protested. Darting a glance at the heavy traffic, she...
Boxes upon boxes upon boxes upon boxes.
Buried beneath more boxes and found deep below
even more boxes. We've built our lives around such
boxes. Filling them with such weighty things, keeping
them around because we're afraid to toss them and
who knows if we'll need their contents again
sometime in the future? We've built castles with these
boxes, making them larger and stronger fortresses
each day, stacking them on top of each other, careful
to not knock anyone else over. I, on the other hand,
don't like to keep boxes. They're too square and uncomfortable.
They remind me of...
Disappeared into the cityscape,
hiding unintentionally,
friend to only the birds,
for they are the only ones who
will keep this lone soul company.
On days like these, it's easier
for him to just stay in the shadows,
he has, after all, been living as
one. A familiar shadow of his former
life before he had succumbed to
the circumstances that brought
him to this humble time in his life,
whatever they may have been-
drugs, loss of a job, mentally
unstable. But this man was- and still
is- a man. Although it may not seem
like it on this...
Nothing is more terrifyingly beautiful than the intensity of a woman's Stare.
Not a gaze or a glace, but a Stare. One that lasts longer than a couple
seconds but no longer than a minute. The kind that cuts its way through
you, making you feel more- and at the same time, less- secure in your
strength as a man.
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...
Mia and John sat by the stones, and no one noticed them.
"You shouldn't be here." John explained.
"My dad's hated here, so what? I need to know the truth."
John ducked under a tree, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Your dad is traced back to you. His enemies are yours now."
"You mean people want to kill me?"
"Just people you're dad took from." John said quietly, a blur against the dark stones.
Mia looked at him, incredulous. "It could be any of these people."
She looked around, and saw people through windows, walking through the streets,
Crap, the cafeteria was full again, so full that every table hosted several people sporting laptops and folders busting with papers that spilled out onto each plastic tabletop. Jenny held her tray of food in both hands and sighed heavily. Not a single goddamned place to sit and eat her lunch in peace.
Briefly, she contemplated going to the park bench outside, but the thought of November's chill made her reconsider. The smell of fresh sweet potato fries tickled her nose and made her mouth water. Annoyed but starving, she swallowed her pride and sat cross-legged on the floor against...
These hands. These hands have felt and touched so much
in their years of attachment to the wrist. Now growing old
with creases deepening and becoming weathered by time.
And these eyes. The optic scope of the world that this body
has had the power to see through and deeply into the
wonderful mysteries that surround us- but some may forget,
as if there are greater things to think about than where do colors
come from. And these ears, hearing their way through city streets
by night and taken to different heights by day as the world
erupts with a...
Hooked up to machines and pipes, I lay here, hearing my hard breathing, my hard heart beating.
I hear the beeping of a machine. I hear the sheets of my bed move together and I shift my weight from my left to my right. I hear my joints grind.
It is so loud in this room. So many things making so many noises. I can't stand it. Someone just come in here and make some actual noise. Something that an old man can be distracted with and not focus on the frivolous.
The frivolous things such as the time I...
A small woman in her mid-20's sits in a doctor's office staring, seemingly at nothing, right in front of her, as if peering deep into herself. Her eyes, drooping at the small corners, glistening slightly as they search from left to right and then from right to left. A deep sigh lodged in the cavernes of her being finally escapes.
The door opens and in shuffles an older man, gray speckled hair, deep wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes from squinting at translucent sheets held up to lights, his glasses resting on his nose several inches from his...