Life Drawing
Staring up at me from behind the glass, a mouth that never seems to quite close and two bulbous eyes. They follow my finger as it traces lines up and down the screen, creating bubbles in its wake. My friend, golden scales and graceful fins, swims in his electronic cage, making loops and pinwheeling along with the actions of my moving digit. He doesn't seem to know his home, the aqua-blue paradise of his existence filled with fiery coral, sunken ships, and bright shining trinkets is only a dream - one that is not even his own.
Millions. Millions of stars in the sky, millions of dollars in some People's bank accounts. Millions of souls walking the earth. But I saw him from across the room,and I knew, from the millions, that he was for me and I was for him, and all of the millions of things in life would come to us in time.
He hadn't changed. His hair was still curly and brown. His eyes were still laughing and grey. His dimples were still deep enough to lose change in. I wondered, would he see me? Would he remember? If he did remember, would...
There was a knock at the door. It was Theo, the kid from next door. He was only seven. Wearing nothing but blue jean shorts. Scabs on his knees. Feet filthy. Skinny as a broom. Darn kid probably hadn't eaten since Tuesday.
"You busy?" he asks.
"Kinda," I say, and hold up my crocheting.
Theo looks at the ground then back up at me. "Thing is, I'm hungry and I don't know where mom is."
I sigh. This happens all the time. I back up and let Theo march past me into the kitchen. I thought he was going to...
" what do you want, more than anything int he world?" The woman asked me.
"I want my daughter back" I said.
She did not ask where she was or what had happened to her. She did not ask how old she was, or what her name was. She just nodded, opened her hand, and blew a handful of glitter over me. Glitter in my coffee, glitter in my hair.
I was suddenly angry. Stupid crazy woman. She didn't know me. She didn't know Cindy. She had no idea that my little girl was locked in a coma so deep...
Being punched in the face for the first time is always a shock. Even with the gloves, it still hurts, and that mouth guard, well, sometimes it does mor harm than good.
I staggered against the rails and spit into the bucket, feeling around with my tongue. Are my teeth in tact? Yes.
"You out, Sam?" Called the ref.
"No!" I yell, adjusting my bandana and flying towards my opponent again. For a little thing, she is surprisingly strong and fast. She lands an uppercut and swift solar plexus blow that leaves me winded before plowing me over.
She pulls...
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...
"Damnit Christine, god damnit, call 911!" I shouted, dropping my sisters limp body on the bed. There was froth around her mouth, and her eyes were closed. Her lips were bee-stung swollen and blue.
It was too late. Here dark curls were tangled in my lap, wet with leave in them.
I turned her on her side, and water dribbled from her mouth. CPR, how did it go? It didn't matter. My little girl was gone. That foam told me all I needed to know.
My sister came in, the phone in her hand.
" they are coming."
" tell...
Sometimes, the best cure for loneliness is to actually be alone. Which is actually kind of hard to do, considering there are something like 6 bills people on the planet. You have to actually try.
Alone is different from lonely. Alone is a choice. Lonely is a sickness. My sickness has lasted two years, six months, eleven days, and I'm to the point where I must get better, or die. So I put on my black "fuck off" jacket, and put my headphones in my ears, and I made a choice to be alone. And I walked. I walked all...
"You toddled around your aunt's spacious yard in your pastel dress with lacy white ruffles, matching bloomers showing beneath. When you found one egg, you carried it so carefully. When you found another, you gently picked it up, and held an egg cupped in each tiny palm, then smashed them together." My grandfather chuckled as he looked at the picture of me hunting Easter eggs on Aunt Lois' farm. He loved to tell that story, and loved to see the adoration for me that shined in his eyes as did told it. I miss him.
There was originally only one photograph. Now there were two. Well, two halves. Incomplete. Roughly cut down the middle of the bay, neatly bisecting the bench. One was lightly discarded in a pile of "Things to do/sort."
The other was folded and refolded and bent again, then sat in a wallet. Strangely, the one that was thrown aside was the more loved. It showed regret. It showed hope. It showed Faith.
The tattered half showed bitterness, anger, loss. Odd, really as the original showed promise. Anticipation. Love. The man who captured all these strange emotions just thought they were a...