The picnic table was empty still, except for a few crumbs from the previous diners. A trail of ants crawled over the splintered boards in to reach the bits of old bun. Theo watched them, beer in hand, as he waited for his father-in-law to finish grilling the food.
It was the first warm, sunny day of the year and Theo was joining his wife's family for barbecue. The smell of charring meat on the grill was enticing. The food almost done.
His wife, Sarah, played croquet on the lawn with her older brother and his wife and son.
—Food's...
"This, class, is an example of a cemetery. Does anyone know what a cemetery was?"
"A cemetery was a place where bodies were buried up until the last century when death was eradicated."
"Yes. That is correct. It is quite sad, isn't it?"
You know this comforting feeling of nostalgia? It always catches me up, when I look at old pictures, just like this. A life has been live - somewhere between the moment the picture was taken and this moment, right now.
With a picture you can breastfeed the burning desire to stop time.
but then, he said those words. the words that would stay with her forever. he looked at her with his brown eyes and smiled. she looked at him, wondering if this was true. "beautiful" was the word he used to describe me. i was shocked when the word came out of his mouth. i stared at him for a minute or two. not knowing what to say, i smiled and said "thank you". so easily i gave myself to him, trusting him and hoping that he wouldnt hurt me. no guy had ever told me i was beautiful and if...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty. The purple satin fabric reaching her feet. Hair tied up beautifully. She had never looked better. Walking down the stairs towards her date a look of amazement on his face she knew this was going to be the best knight of her life.
A smile spread across her face as she saw the entry into the prom. Her friends standing outside waiting for them so then they could all walk in and rock this party together.
I was just taking a walk when it happened. Listening to music, enjoying the fresh mountain air, nothing special. It started with two butterflies. Two pink butterflies.
I had never seen two flying together before. I'm not much of a nature person. I don't like the woods, I just like the solitude. But these two butterflies caught my attention. I followed them through the woods, watching them zig and zag out of each other's paths, always staying together. I know nothing about butterflies it just seemed so unusual.
When they finally fluttered out of sight, I looked around and realized...
Scales glistening in the sunlight, Todd swung a cache of fish from his hand as he walked up the wharf. Their scales, blue, green, and brilliant white, shone silvery in the harsh artificial lights he passed under.
All dead. He'd caught practically an entire school that his wife would get to scale and fillet that night. They were all so identical... Like a family of all twins, like they were toys. He looked down at them and decided, as their brilliance nearly blinded against the dark, dull surroundings of concrete and discarded fishing items, that the sea was a different...
Vanquished, that was how they wanted me to feel as I knelt there on the cold flagstone, my head bowed, my hands clasped.
I could hear the echoes of the crowd marching up the street and knew that they would be upon me soon, their torches ablaze, their spirits hungry for blood.
I was to be renounced as a witch, that most reviled of creatures.
My fate was no longer in my hands, I was to surrender that along with my freedom and my life when the mob broke into my sanctuary.
Because I had dared too love too much,...
Smile for the camera
He was of an age when he knew he didn't want snatches of reality - no, no, reality was already all around him, he'd had more than enough reality.
He wanted a false joy, the kind of happiness only captured in an instamatic, the image that would was all at once meaningless and meaningful.
In later life he'd write for hours on end about the false smiles that don't reach the eyes, about what those expressions really mean, what's really going on beneath the surface, the realities that can be extracted from the falsehoods.
But -...
Write as you please,
In six minutes,
Like a breeze.
I fear that,
Without a prompt,
The words won't flow,
Compet-
ently.
So I'll leave you this poem,
With it's oddities and misrhymes,
Mismatched verse and rhythms,
Lines that run out of time.
Words that make no sense,
Lines that are too dense,
And of course you must remember,
In this chilly month of September,
That poetry doesn't have to rhyme.