god finger-painted the sky in blue, and glued on layers of fluffed cotton for the feel of it. he carefully arranged macaroni noodles below it, forming the shapes of volcanoes, of funeral pyres. he was making a field. he imagined sun ripened workers tending his pasta land, sweating and itching, and he made it so. they did not have time to wonder who created them. god was thoughtful enough to give them mountains to look at. he was proud of that. he took his artwork home for his mother to see.
Gradually. Ever so gradually, he noticed her work routine. She'd come into the shop below the CCTV camera that gave him his vantage point. She'd stop, check her skirt, then turn and wave. Wave straight at him, it seemed.
Once when he spilt his coffee he swore she looked up, about to greet the camera (or him?) and then the smile vanished. As if she had seen what had happened and was sorry for his stained pants.
In trawling through the back footage, looking for a pattern. Something to identify who had planted the device that had wrecked half the...
reminded of yesterday
time and syllables
on the bus
greening the escapades
sifting the aftermath
reliving just before
loving the waters
time on stop
bridging the gap
minding the openness
all says go
the road to
what to do in the gutter
with your mind all aflutter
one could tie their shoe
or sniff glue
you could clip your nails
or make trails
i could learn to flip it
or just do a whippit
he could switch his socks
or sleep with a fox
she could play with pip
or learn to nip
they could read a book
or just get hooked
whatever it is they you or i decide to do
be quick
there are only so many minutes
to
Spinning. Maybe not the most productive way to spend the day. But I couldn't think of anything better.
At least not when I was 6. So those lazy summer days were spent spinning whenever I could. Falling down in the leaves just made it happy bonus time.
Of course, that was well before the incident. I was spinning down what I thought was an empty street. Spinning because I knew that would make the daily trip to the store more fun. Because one of the perks of living that close to school and being friends with the principal was that...
She pulled her head back from the binoculars, a scowl on her face.
The were all over the streets, and it was only a matter of time until the figured out which building she had entered.
Lissa tucked her hands into her trench coat pockets, feeling around for her flash gun. She hoped she wouldn't need it - it was so conspicuous, and a dead giveaway that she was part of the Blue Foxes.
The girl took a moment to swap her sunglasses, opting for a larger pair that obscured her face. Damn. She really loved those Lennon shades, too,...
Absent. That's what mom has been for the past three years since the day the front door slammed shut on her and the four carrier bags of belongings. That's all she took, her makeup and her best pair of shoes. Crocodile skin. Horrid looking things but they seemed to mean more to her than the family.
Kathleen, the youngest still kept an eye on the front path most evenings just in case mom returned. Rest of us knew that very unlikely as her latest boyfriend had been very rich and mom had always been a gold digger.
We lived with...
Cute
Cute and smiling
If only she could have held it, forever Then she would have been...useful? what she was meant to be? fulfilled? fulfilling?
Personalities are a funny thing. Sometimes you don't like what you are meant to like sometimes you don't act the way you want to act you say no to all the right things and "oh God yes!" to so so many wrong things and you become less cute and drifty and lost.
Even on Christmas
Even with snow
Not what they expected, if they expected anything,
Other than cute.
Cute and smiling
He had her in his sights. The moment he saw her, he zeroed in on his prey. Her grace, her beauty... she stood apart from the rest of the herd. Easy pickings.
He waited for her to stop, her attention focused elsewhere, light illuminating her silhouette - almost like a halo. Perfect.
Ready, aim... *click*
"Excuse me, ma'am?" he asked, running over to her with the rapidly-drying Polaroid. "Would you like a souveneir of your trip here? Only five dollars for the pretty lady!"
The woman blushed and pushed the film away. "No thanks," she said, "I'm fine."
No doubt...
The dream had been wonderful, yet it would never be real. He lay there in bed trying desperately to fall back into the illusion of beauty he had been so rudely awoken from. He just couldn't get back to sleep.
Sunlight drifted through his open window and explored his room. He watched as dust motes floated around on the breeze, dancing in and out of the rays that had invaded his deep sleep.
A quick glance at the old wooden clock above the door told him he had no time to sit alone and depressed in his bed and long...