weirdo

July 2nd, 2010

“Never mind,” she said. “I found it.”

“You’re being silly,” he said. “You haven’t found anything.”

She turned around and looked at him, holding it in her hand. “But, it’s right here.” She brandished it at him. “What are you talking about?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

She looked at it. She examined it. She sniffed it, gave it a tiny taste with her tongue. She glared at him. “Yes.”

He grinned. “Okay, then.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He reached his hand out. “May I see it?”

She clutched it to her chest. “No. You’re weirding me out.” She turned away from him. “I’m out of here.”

His chuckle sent chills racing down her spine. “Suit yourself.” She spun around, stuck her tongue out at him, and ran out of the building.

“Weirdo,” she muttered to herself, just before the explosion.

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seasons

April 21st, 2010

I begin in the wind, with my breath gusting and whirling.

I grow in the heat and rain, budding curiosity and boldness.

I age softly into shades of red, gold, amber, peace.

I freeze to death slowly, with my eyes blinking icicles.

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endless brown

July 16th, 2009

rain.

The summer stretches on for months, chasing the rain and the beauty and the color from the world. Everywhere I go, it’s hot and dry and brown. My desk is brown, my purse is brown, my wallet is brown, even my new bowl is brown. My hair is brown. The grass is brown, the trees are brown, the birds and the bugs and the ground is brown. Our fence, brown. My plants? Brown.

Too much brown, endless shades of brown the color of no rain.

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333

July 12th, 2009

I’m going to live to be 333.

I say it with such certainty that I get raised eyebrows. After all, such a long life isn’t yet common to my people. We typically fade out at 80 or so.

But I know when I’ll die. I can see it.

It’s October 31st, 2310. I’m sitting in a big comfy chair, a sweet fruity drink in hand, regaling yet another generation of my great (to some degree; I’ve lost count) grandchildren with the great stories of my life. I’ve reached my end and I can feel it, but I face it unafraid, ready.

I stop mid-sentence, laughter on my lips as my last breath leaves me. Perfect.

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the lesson

June 19th, 2009

4 years old: my father tells me I’m too needy, too clingy, too sensitive. He leaves my mother and me.

10 years old: my best friend Josh tells me I cry too much. He leaves me.

16 years old: my first boyfriend dumps me for my “best” friend, after telling me she’s tough and more fun.

23 years old: my first husband leaves me, saying he can’t handle tiptoeing around my issues anymore.

38 years old: my second husband storms out, telling me to call him when I’ve grown up and stopped being so sensitive.

40 years old: my boyfriend leaves after I tell him how much I love him, saying it’s too much.

47 years old: I don’t cry anymore. I can’t even remember how.

78 years old: My third husband died this morning. I think it hurts, but I’m too distant.

89 years old: I will die today, I can tell. I tell my children to be strong, stoic. No tears. They nod, they know. I’ve never told them how much I love them; I hope they know.

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help wanted

June 13th, 2009

Wanted: one fully grown, well-trained Hydra for assistance with small business, in a Personal Assistant-type role. Weary woman has far too many hats and needs extra heads to share burdens.

Nine heads, nine helping hats:
1) full-time care taking of one small boy (not much trouble; no eating!)
2) transport child to and from extracurricular activities twice a week
3) full-time care taking of three cats and one fish (trouble levels vary; no eating!)
4) run errands when needed
5) prepare meals twice a day for family
6) some laundry, occasional house-cleaning
7) maintain calendar of events for family
8) take calls and emails from clients and respond in a timely manner
9) help with various admin duties for small business

Previous experience and references required. Pay offered in Grecian heroes and fish. Must keep poisonous breath to self, must not eat child, cats, or clients. Must provide own transport; we do live near a river.

Please contact me if interested; position needs immediate filling.

author’s note: I posted this on Craig’s List for fun.

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pray prey

June 12th, 2009

Sweltering heat beats upon my fragile skin. I can feel it start to cook, bake, burn. The soft pale peach turns to angry red crimson, and I am powerless.

It makes me mad, furious. My emotions churn and my insides get as hot as my skin. I thrash, pull, fight the ropes which hold me down, keep me down. The sun ignores my struggles, oblivious to the torture I undergo.

I can see the birds high above, circling, waiting. I will hold on as long as I can, deny them their prey. I scream in futile frustration. I look up into the clear sky and pray for rain.

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distance

June 10th, 2009

She looked at him, trying to focus on his face. “I dream about you all the time, you know,” she whispered, blushing. “You hold me, kiss me, make love to me, sing to me. Sometimes you protect me, sometimes I protect you. Sometimes we’re sad, but usually we’re happy. We talk and laugh a lot. Sometimes we have children. Sometimes it’s just me and you, together for our whole lives.” She took a deep breath. “I think I love you.” She watched him.

He smiled. He looked so happy, so beautiful. Then she saw his girlfriend.

She lowered her binoculars. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

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the collector

June 9th, 2009

“Hush now, shush now,” she murmured gently. The dragon settled, his prickled skin smoothing out. He was a new hatchling, tiny and fragile and fierce. He practiced his roar, ignorant of his size, ignorant of his situation.

She looked around her kitchen, littered with small birdcages. Weary creatures, their magic fading, wings and clothes dirty, trembled as her gaze washed over them. She could hear the little elf in the living room, tending to her hearth, and she smiled.

This one will need something… sturdier, she mused, turning her eyes back to the dragon in her palm, something bigger. But for now, she placed him gently in the small metal cage. It would suffice, for a while.

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stormy

June 8th, 2009

A sigh, a crack, a loud flash of light, blinding bright zigzags rip and sear the air.

A breeze building intensity, growing strength, brushing then tearing across the land.

A rumble in the distance, growing closer, threatening, shaking, booming.

A drip, a drop, a sprinkle, a downpour, a torrent of water released from the sky.

A sky growing darker, blinking out the sun, blue fading as black gathers and grabs hold.

An ocean tossed, turbulent, water from below reaching up to water falling from above, mixing and mingling and losing itself.

A tiny ship is lost, a life winks out, a heart breaks, a tiny boy becomes an orphan.

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