As a child my Mother has always told me to make something of myself. She'd push me into doing things I really did not want to do.
"Learn the piano!"
"Take up dance!"
"You will act!"
Order after order. I wasn't any good at any of it really. So I just gave up quietly in my mind and pretended to care.
For Mother there wasn't any point in just being alive.
"You must be living!" she'd shout whilst doing something boring and mundane like peeling an onion.
I didn't get why she was so determined that I do something. I...
They were listening.
"Have you noticed the children?"
"What about them?"
"They seem different, don't they? Since we moved here?"
"Hush. They'll hear you."
"They're all the way upstairs. They can't hear."
They were listening.
"Yes. Yes, I've noticed."
"Timmy asked me about strangulation today."
"What?!"
"You know. And Sally..."
"Yes. The, um. The incident with the-"
"The knife. Where did she get it? She can't reach the counters."
"I don't know."
"Something is wrong here, Susan. Something terrible."
"Dammit, John, these are our CHILDREN..."
"Are they? Are they, though? Look at their eyes, next time."
"What do we do?"...
The thing about mermaids is, well, that they aren't.
You're thinking seashell bikinis and fish tails, but that isn't it. Not at all.
My cousin Marjorie, this is back in '30, mind you, and the turn for the worse had been taken by all of us. She kept her things, her jewels and her dresses. They became her scales, her fins.
She decided to become a mermaid in the same way that some of us choose to marry. It was deliberate, it took forethought. She knew that she would dive beneath the waves to never return. Perhaps she would give...
The thing about gold is: it lies inert. I mean, it shines, but...
Dubloons, you've heard the pirates speak of them. 490 years lie, ocean floor notwithstanding, and not a bit of tarnish, no rust.
Just try that with your silver, your iron, brass, your copper plate!
Gold. It runs, blurs, but -cool- it does not interact.
For this reason we think of it as pure, as spiritual:
Gold knows only its own soul.
Like a frigid bride it bides its time, growing not older, but alone
My sister was called Heather. She only lived three years. I've never been told what really happened to her, only that she was taken away from us too early. I used to lie awake all night, terrified of someone coming in through the window, dragging me out of bed, over their shoulder, down a ladder, running across the back lawn, through a gap in the fence and into a van. Driven away forever.
It wasn't until I was about eight years old and settling into a new house (we'd moved four times already) that I came across a scrapbook of...
When he'd signed up to visit strange new worlds, he'd never envisioned this. He turned slowly in the glass globe, devoid of even snow or glitter, and bemoaned his fate.
He should have known better than to answer an ad for interstellar traveller posted in the local classifieds.
Crap.
After the murder I found it hard to recall what happened in my personal life but only remembered other things.
The autumn leaves were not covering the muddy lane as usual this time of year. I was grateful to Mother Nature to avoid the hard toil of removing the crisp orange leaves, too sticky and gooey with liquid earth deal with a power tool.
The deer from the woods below ignored my home made devices to deter their rampage over my immaculate lawn and ate the rose heads in the large bed in the middle.Bright pink, deep red, white, burgundy....
They were right in front of him, huddled on the stage. Fred checked his cell phone and saw the show started in ten minutes. If he didn't have those marionettes in his possession before then, the world would end. Or at least this theater. But since his wife and daughter were in the audience, it might as well be the whole world.
"Nice try, Fred," a voice sounded behind him. Judy. She, the hater of all things puppets and puppet lovers, had planted the bomb in one of the heads. "But if you move, I'll put a bullet through your...
Ox bow lake?
I said looking at Jerry. He sat there with that evil kniving look on his face. I knew i should have stayed back, but it was a nice day out. I might as well do something else other than my western art homework.
"okay, lets adventure!"
We were walking through this area of the town that I stayed away from..... mainly because we had passed not one but SIX NO TRESSPASSING PRIVATE PROPERTY signs.
you
"C'mon its up here" he ran ahead.
we kept walking as I heard rumbling behind us, I made the mistake of turning...
Peasants. They wouldn't understand. Or perhaps couldn't. Yes. I like that. Their brains too small to grasp the magnitude of this installation.
My art has always... eluded those without intellect.
For example, to the untrained eye and mind, my first installation looked like a series of bricks, forming a wall. If you didn't notice the mortar, it looked just like that. A wall. "Oh, hey, is this the wall guy?" That's how the peons remembered me. The wall guy.
My next installation wasn't much better. Televisions playing to televisions, broadcasting video of televisions. This was before Facebook, even. Don't tell...