He set the plate before her.
"Eat." She looked up at him from where she sat at the worn wooden table. He was so kind; so good. His black hair fell into his eyes as he watched her. The green eyes clouded with concern. "Please, I need to see you eat. You are killing yourself."
She wrapped her arms around her stomach and ran her fingers over the dips that defined her ribs. He was so wonderful but he just didn't understand. She needed to do this. She couldn't be fat. Not for him or anyone else.
It was dark inside. I toggled the switch, and nothing happened. Shit. Thunder rolled and I sighed. Power outage.
I stumbled through the apartment, tripping on things. I haven't lived here long enough to know the layout well. I never live anywhere that long. More than a few months, he finds me, and I have to go again. But this place, hell, there were still boxes.
I found the door to the utility room where the washer and dryer were, and where I knew the flash light was. I opened the door and began to feel around for it. Where...
Her cheeks were as pink as her dress, blotched with red that matched the little bows that tightly held her blonde hair up in two ridiculous pony-tails that resembled palm trees. Her mother did the dog's hair like that as well. Jonathan always wondered how someone could want a second Maltese instead of a daughter.
Was he being unfair? Probably. It was something he slung at Marie as their last fight as a married couple wound down. That fight he'd carried on with such spirit convinced there would be break-up hate sex, but that shot at her parenting skills effectively...
He was coming. Footsteps down the hall.
And, of course, he was alone. Nobody else inhabitated this old house - his wife had disappeared, a long time ago now. He can't blame her, it's impossible to blame her, after that - after their son (their son, their child, their baby) was born, she had retreated into herself.
Of course their son chased her, raged at her, destroyed her. Mothers hating their children is meant to be post-natal depression, but does that count if the child is goading her, forcing her to hate?
She has been gone for a while now....
"Peasants," I said as I walked by a group huddled together speaking in their annoying voices and telling stupid stories. Every one of them are peasants.
Nobody was as kind as I was, as smart as I was, as talented as I was, as beautiful as I was.
I allowed the peasants to live in my world. They will never be up to my standards. But I allowed them so be.
My butler brought me an my-cream sundae with gold flakes sprinkled on top,on a solid gold platter, with a white gold spoon that had diamonds embedded in the handle....
"Honey?"
"What is it?" Sharon asked, not looking up from her work.
"Do you know why there are a couple of police outside wearing masks?"
"Um ... can't say that I do," she lied. Damn. They weren't supposed to get here so soon.
"Shall I let them in?" Camden said.
"Sure," Sharon replied. "We have nothing to hide, right, dear?"
A minute later, the two were standing before her in the living room. "Sharon Vasquez?" one of them said.
"That's me," Sharon said blithely.
"You're under arrest."
"What for?" she said, trying to sound indignant.
"The charge is causing a...
I wish I had something to say
But every idea I have just sounds HEY!
ARE THOSE BUTTERFLIES!
IN OCTOBER!? She cries.
Attention Deficit Disorder's the theme of my day.
Once I had a bad case of food poisoning,
So bad, I called my ex-wife loudly moaning.
I projectile vomited with pride.
The guy next to me died.
When the bill came, I resumed my groaning.
That's it?
No **it?
That was terrible.
You are horrible.
Dancing dreams over streams of lightning. My brain is fried rice; your hands delightening. Totally cavernous, and almost incestuous; your wrists are bound by mustard eloquence. Queens beans scenes on stages; pages without wages, and slaves in conclaves. Your anus my innards, your penis, my skin hurts just thinking about your gym shoes on my lips; your sweaty cunt on my knee. You picked me up by my underwear and hung my on some trees. I spit on your lungs, my farts on your tongues. Some senses smell and some fences swell. Your ass hurts? My toes squirt. This is...
The corridor was dark. He could hardly tell where he was going. All James could do now was grope around in the dark dusky cellar. Searching for it in this decrepit old place seemed to be a good idea at first before. James just wanted to find that locket and get out of this place. He can feel the cold stagnant air in the cellar creeping down the back of his ratty old shirt. Finally he could make out what seemed to be a door just in front of him. James reached his hand out into the surrounding darkness to...
It was white. That was something that was abnormal about the entire situation. What was not something that one thought of when being beaten.
He wondered if perhaps it was heaven trying to tell him that he was closer than he though. He hoped that it was finally the light at the end of the tunnel, but when the next blow from the stick hit him across the back, he knew he had no such luck.
A small well of blood slowly came up his throat. It almost felt like a terrible hiccup to him. One of those hiccups that...