Words like knives, thrown back and forth across the room, like a death-defying circus act.
Husband and wife tossing sharp insults, from the couch to the kitchen doorway. Neither landing anything deep, glancing wounds, already scraping scarred tissue.
Neither really feels anything for the other anymore. But the dance, the battle, the contest keeps them together. Light reflects of the blades as they flip and fly.
Thud into walls. Plink against the floors. Bounce of their scaly armour of experience, disdain and dull hate. It aches in their bellies. They think it might offer some release, against the mounting pressure....
"Goodnight..." My baby sleeps in my arms, her little hands balled up into tiny fists.
"Goodnight..." My baby lays in bed with her pigtails loose and her pajama's too small.
"Goodnight..." My baby dances and twirls herself to her room; dancing on air and blinded by love.
"Goodnight..." My baby waves from the car as they drive away, her white dress shining like the tears in my eyes.
"Goodnight..." My baby rocks her baby to sleep and I smile.
"Goodnight..." My baby kisses my hand and I drift away.
Running, running from the people behind me. I don't have the time to look back. But I know they are after me. I flee along the soccer field once again. As I have done for so many days after school. There words are thrown at me , they hit me like the punch that knocks out the boxer. The though of boxer reminds me, I am not small any more, I have been running through this fields to training, to practice, to learn to fight back.
I turn around, I use my words to shield myself from there words, I...
He laid back, eyes closed, a smile stretched across his face. Summer never felt so good; the sun beating down made him relaxed, and he felt like he could sprawl out on the grass all day long.
With eyes closed, his mind drifted to summers past, lying on the grass with his dog Buddy after catching a frisbee back and forth. His mind was in another place, somewhere peaceful, simple, romantic even.
A place where the sun rises and sets with beautiful colors, where the grass is plush and Kelly Green. A place where the sailboats against the sunset have...
They gathered in the woods. In ones and twos, hiding in lengthening shadows. None walked there proudly, none stood tall, with their eyes blazing. No. This was a gathering of shame, a coven of the embarrassed and beaten.
It was probably Malachai who spoke first, that devil of lovely hair who had seduced women away from their husbands for centuries. "I think it is long past time that we declare failure." There were many murmurs of agreement, along with a few shouts of disapproval.
Barbastos came next, his red skin oiled and beautiful. He was known for his ability to...
They gathered in the woods, but that was not enough to save them, as they were mistaken for trees, cut down and shipped to a lumber mill.
One of them was fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to be made into thick planks; most of the rest were sadly torn apart into sawdust and mulch. But that one continued to live, in great pain, as he was violently sawed and assembled into a large, polished grandfather clock.
They attached to him some cold, foreign bits of metal that moved jarringly. The ticking of the gears against his aching frame was unceasing; day...
Shannon sat up, her eyes wide open. She wasn't sure if she was awake or asleep. She looked around the room (dirty socks, cat puke in one corner, empty Miller cans, a laundry basket filled with clean clothes) and wished it was all unfamiliar. She looked at the man next to her. His back was smooth and tanned. A tiny mole winked at her from his left shoulder blade. She wished he was a stranger.
Shannon lay back down. The pillow was damp with sweat, her sweat. Had she been dreaming or coming out of a fever?
"Where are you...
They gathered in the woods. Huddled together, shoulders pressed against each other for warm and support and that deep basic desire for some sort of human contact.
"It's good to see you again John," an unclean, wirey man nodded to his fellow and they clapsed hands.
"You too. Have you news?"
"None. There hasn't been much activity the past month." The man nodded grimly as he listened.
"One of our nests got hit, we lost a few, but the rest of us are fine."
"How about the rest of you?" The other members of the circle, three men and one...
I'm dead. It wasn't part of the plan, but I'm really dead. The plan involved Scotch tape, 10-gauge wire, and a grey kitten. It ended me, though. And I guess that means the plan didn't work. Because me being dead wasn't part of the plan.
I'm dead and it's no one's fault but my own. The bridge was a last minute addition to the plan. So was the kite. It was one of those kites from the drugstore--cheap plastic, make in China or Poland or somewhere. There were thin wooden dowels. Not quite strong enough.
I'm dead and I think...
It is surprising how much three tiny candles can illuminate an entire temple.
When I walked in through the main hall to follow the giant flickerings the painted themselves against the soar vaults of the holy place, I could sense the enormity surrounding me. But I could also catch brief sites of the buildings columns, painted windows, and ancient stones stacked centuries ago one atop the other by an as yet unknown process.
I proceeded down the long aisle where many large processionals had many years gone by had passed on their way to making some offering or another to...