“Don’t run too fast, you’ll take a tumble!”
The wind whips away the memory of my mother’s words as it bites at my face. What do I care if I roll down the hill? The grass is wet, but so am I from my previous three falls. The crushed stalks mark my tracks and trudges, and I climb again to throw myself down headlong.
“But I’m INVESTED now!” I whine, irritably flicking the overly fluffy blanket over my legs, then off again.
My sister groans, matching my levels of Ridiculous Melodrama exactly.
We both turn our heads back to the TV as she sighs, “Fine, I suppose we have to finish Mamma Mia! now, then.”
Jumping is easy. It’s the hitting the ground that kills you.
Or, in your case, the water.
I mean, the Golden Gate? You went all out. Overachiever, even in death.
But from 20 stories up, that water hits you like asphalt anyway. Doesn’t really matter about the sea.
The metro trains rattle by, their creaking, squeaking wheels working better than an alarm clock. Every day, all my life, I’ve awoken to the screech of brakes and the shouting of engineers.
Now, as I hoist my bags and make for the taxi, I await my own, blissfully quiet dorm room, with green lawns outside my window, and no train horns EVER.
The plates clattered to the ground with an accompanying smash that ordinarily would have been surpassingly satisfying.
“What!?!” I recoiled sharply, fighting the urge to step backwards onto the minefield of broken crockery.
She stood before me, defiant. “I said, I’m moving out. I’m eighteen, I can do what I want. Rodney and I are moving to…[Read more]
The horn blared out, strident and loud, above my head.
I turned and gave Gracie a sad smile and a quick kiss.
“You’ll be back soon?” She smiled, but I knew that she was trying to hide the tears.
“Of course, my love,” I promise easily. “As soon as I get a good job, I’ll send for you on the ferry and we’ll be together again. Just like I…[Read more]
I want to meet The One. No, not the Romantic One. Not like a “soulmate” or anything. But The One who Did It. There’s always That One Guy, That One Person in the crowd, in the group that starts everything, that has the crazy ideas. I want to meet them, and take notes, because there’s only so much one person can think of on their own.
Bells ring, clanging joyously.
I stand outside, leaning against the warmth of the flagstones, huddling away from the still-bitter spring wind.
The happy couple leaves through the great sandstone arch, showered with flowers and positively mobbed by well-wishers. I tag along, slowly, because there’s nothing else I have to do.
My own…[Read more]
I am perfectly adapted to this.
The stalk, the hunt, the kill. My blood sings with the movement of the moon and the scent of the rainwater on the grass. The scents of the night pass under my paws and I leap with the joy of being alive.
But this cannot be all.
I have a human mind, and I refuse to be ruled by the scent of blood and terror.…[Read more]
“Life goes by pretty quick. If you don’t stop and look around, you might miss it.”
“That’s not the quote,” she laughs.
“Close enough,” I shoot back. “Ferris Bueller was a wise man.”
She tugs me forward, loose and joyful. “And will you lead the parade for me?”
There’s only one response to that.
“Of course, just find me one and I…[Read more]
Classical education. Seems tried-and-true, doesn’t it?
Latin, Greek, boy’s boarding schools, camaraderie and friendship in the face of dispassionate teachers who are often more miserable than the pupils.
It’s good at seeming, and less good at the “friendship” bit in particular.
“Do YOU qualify for this once-in-a-lifetime offer?”
“Um, I wish, but in all honesty not really.”
“So… you aren’t employed?”
“You aren’t dead?”
“You sound qualified to me!”
“Don’t I have to have a college degree, job experience, that sort of thing?”
“It helps, but we do training, and honestly we’re a bit broke…[Read more]
The dishwasher whirs along happily in the background, the only sound in the suddenly tense silence.
The girl stares at the shocked faces of her family, her own face set like stone.
Now that it was out, no power on Heaven and Earth, (and certainly not her father, whose face was darkening in outrage) could put the words back in her mouth.
The box full of squirming puppies sat beside the lemonade stand.
The puppies liked it out in the fresh air, their mother liked that she got to see the grass again for the first time in six weeks. The neighborhood children liked it being full of new pets, slightly sticky with the summer heat and spilled lemonade.
It was leaving the box that…[Read more]
Syndrome. Such an ugly word for a certain person, certain condition. I suppose it’s not as bad as some, but it still marks, claws, and leaves a ravaged person behind.
I know it’s not “monster”, not “demon-touched”, but still.
I’m a person, not a syndrome.