"I'm having no part in this. I'm having nothing to do with any of it. Because it's wrong. You're wrong. This entire thing is...it's wrong. It's just...wrong."
"Have you always been good with words?" He sauntered closer, pale fingers tracing my cheek, my neck. "You're relying quite heavily on that word. Wrong. Have you thought about what it really means? How damning it truly is? I don't think you have."
I hated the feel of his fingers across my skin, hated the jolt that had run straight through me, hated the tingling, hated the - I hated it.
He was...
I awoke, pissed, the activity, not the feeling, took a shower, got dressed, made coffee, drank the coffee, fed the dog, the fish, the cat, watered the plants, left a note for the cleaning people, heard a story on NPR that made me think of you, began to write a poem about the us we were, before we became the non-us, still it felt good to think of you, your smile, shoes, the way you opened your eyes after they were closed in the aftermath of our coupling, when we were a couple, it turned me on, I went back...
So. Where do I go from here? He's left me. High and pregnantly dry. Where's a Wal-Mart. No. Kidding,. I saw that dumb movie. Really, jump through a window? Keep track of what I use? I'd rather not, if it's all the same with you.
I'm not, if you are wondering, intending to keep this kid. I'm not one of those stupid girls who don't know they're knocked up, the ones that scream for days in a bathroom before the thing drops into a toilet.
They'll help me get rid of it. Someone will. Some do gooder will help me...
"can you get my squeaky toy for me?"
"OK. where is it?"
"under the couch"
"OK...geez Pancakes...how many toys can you fit under here?"
"i dunno how many are there?"
"Six!"
"well then...six i guess."
And thus began the story of Tall Guy and Zeke Andrew Pancakes.
It started out as a bit of a joke I suppose. I opened a Facebook account and a Twitter account for my dog Zeke. I posted semi-regular interactions between him and I, and much to my surprise everybody played along without even being asked. Everybody treats Zeke as a separate entity and never...
In hindsight, the solution was obvious. I'm not sure why I didn't see it at the time, but then again who does? I suppose that's why they say 'hindsight's always 20/20'. Perfect vision. I can't say that I've ever really had a knack for figuring things out on the spot, on the fly, with no real time to think about it. I'm a 'processer'. I like to process things, take my time, really think things through. Unfortunately, that doesn't always work to my advantage.
There are situations in life when you just have to come up with an answer, lightning...
"Do you like the cats, young one?"
Lilibit pressed her white, lacey gloved hand over her throat, "Yes, my Lord," she breathed. "I've always wanted to see them, since my childhood!"
Sajin laughed, the bells at the bottom of his robes jingled, "You are a child yet, Little One."
Lilibit scowled, "I am a young woman. At the very least. I am not a child."
"Do you feel such?" Sajin asked, squinting, his dark skin shining from cheek to forehead in the way everyone did in this humid, emerald land. Lilibit for her part, felt sweat from head to toe...
There is no point to seeing the forest, all you can ever see are the trees. And the trees are not the forest. You'll never comprehend the true size of the forest, for it is the world. You'll never understand that the forest is everything, and everything is the forest. You are the forest too.
So do as our people have always done. Wander, wander through the dappled sunlight. Wander, wander through the glades and covers and hidden places. Wander, wander without direction, because there is no direction. There is only forest.
Find the place that is your own. You'll...
She wandered between the potbellies and the beer guts, the sharp-cornered purses and the waist-length hair that tickled her nose. She could smell the body odor of the teenagers, ripe and fertile. Popcorn in cardboard buckets passed under her nose, the butter shiny like gold.
She wasn't afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of. They were people. People everywhere. It wasn't like being lost in the woods, in an ocean, in a cave. Those places where she would be alone, those were scary places. Here she wasn't alone.
The carousel echoed its off-key melody and bounced off the carny...
In the darkened room, the bishop waited, staring out of the window into the dying sun. In the half-light, the Gothic buildings of the Old Town appeared as if bathed in blood. They would be soon.
The princess would come. Oh she might have sworn an oath of loyalty to her brother but in the end words were meaningless. Actions were what really counted. And in a kingdom where son could kill father, could sister not kill brother also?
She had already proved her ability. It was well known that she was one of the most able poisoners in the...
We are there. We are in the shadows, in the gaps, in the spaces between words. We are in every moment where you pull away, where discretion replaces narrative, we are there.
We are there in the knowledge that you do not write all things that happen, we are there, waiting in the wings, filling in the gaps, in the spaces.
You did not write us - you never write us, nobody writes us (and who would read us, who would read every banal moment, every second, what soul could stand the painful inevitability of one moment following the next...