Comments Posted By ThomG

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We all have a past. And a present. And a future.
It’s the past that defines us, binds up. Trips us up, really.
We live in the past, wearing hurt and failure like bulky jackets.
We try to stay in the present, but the past keeps bubbling up.
So we try and dream of the future, which is still going to be littered with past digressions.

» Posted By ThomG On 11.29.2012 @ 8:58 am


Carrying its weight feels, at times, like I’m drowning.
Well, not drowning, really. More like a slow grind, maybe like geology, where I, in time, will become bits and pieces, dust.
I figure that’s OK by me. Penance for my sins.
Keeping this secret.
Holding it tight.
Knowing we’ll never be able to come out of its inky shadow.

» Posted By ThomG On 08.04.2012 @ 7:14 am


His beliefs were built on dreams. Long-ago thoughts of love and happiness, dripping with friendships and interesting, fulfilling work.
Never did he see real life come creeping. He was overtaken, shaken. His beliefs just thought balloons in a nightmarish cartoon.
He wants to wake up.
Believe again.

» Posted By ThomG On 03.12.2012 @ 6:58 pm


His orbit was in a steady decay and there was no bailing out. He’d have to ride it out, ride right through her atmosphere, praying that his shielding remained intact. It was going to be a bumpy ride. Sweat beaded on his brow. He took a bandana out of his back pocket to mop, she intercepted his hand, squeezed and swiped the red swath of cloth.
“The contractions are like 10 minutes apart,” she said “Fucking focus.”

» Posted By ThomG On 02.06.2012 @ 6:57 pm


He offered a toast to his beloved, but she sat there, silent. He raised his glass again, a vintage Bordeaux, and still she did not respond.
He hung his head. His clothes were in tatter. Long, yellowed fingernails scraped across the table, leaving clean tracks in the dust. He called for her to answer his calls for love.
She remained silent.
Slumped as she was in the chair, long dead and decayed.

» Posted By ThomG On 06.13.2011 @ 7:34 am


“I’m curious,” she says, lapping at his earlobe before applying pressure to the flesh between her teeth. She’s got a finger slowly circling his left nipple.
“Uh-huh?” he says, all dreamy and relaxed.
“Your name.”
He clears his throat. Smiles.
“Ah, well, yes, we’ve not been properly introduced, have we?”

» Posted By ThomG On 05.17.2011 @ 10:02 am


The cigarette smoke came out of her lips like car exhaust, floated around her streaked-blonde hair and dissipated into the warm summer night.
He’d promised her a life of luxury, if only she’d keep her mouth shut – and her legs open. She’d fought him every step of the way, and when she turned up preggers, that’s when he folded, took his interests elsewhere, disappeared on her.
The money she saved helped her to buy a trailer, a single-wide, but in decent shape. The seed he’d given her, well, Daria, she’d be here any day now.

» Posted By ThomG On 04.27.2011 @ 9:53 am


She felt heavy in this new skin, but it was a good weight, a good feeling. Solid. Balanced, even. That she had snatched it on the train, late on a weeknight was even better. She’d simply dumped the gloopy innards down a tunnel and waited for the rats, their red eyes glimmering in the doom, to do the rest. Such a great skin, too, she thought. If only they’d last longer. This one was already showing signs of decay. “Oh, well,” she thought. “There’s more where that came from.”
She reached for some foundation, to cover up the blotches. She first needed to feed, then she needed the luxury of new flesh.

» Posted By ThomG On 01.11.2011 @ 3:25 pm


He whispers a silent prayer, hands clutched tight around the cold steel of the 6 train so his knuckles go white, and bows his head to hands. Lips still mumbling, he cracks an eye open. Then the other. He snaps them closed. The train is lousy with them. Infidels. He tries to not let them in, let their voices infect his mind, but he feels their eyes searching for a way in. The train lurches to a stop, steel doors open and he jumps to his escape.
The crude pipe bomb ticking in a canvas bag.

» Posted By ThomG On 11.09.2010 @ 7:21 am


Barefoot on the sand, she follows the spine of the shore by feeling where the tide tickles toes, brisk and refreshing. It’s a moonless night, and the darkness feeds her mood. There’s a sadness to her gait, dried tears upon her face. There’s a flight rise in the sand and here the shoreline opens up. Water laps over her feet. She turns toward the water and begins walking, fresh tears streak down her cheeks.

» Posted By ThomG On 10.26.2010 @ 7:07 am


Sunlight pervades this place. The kind of lemony-yellow light that makes you squint, sneeze, just by looking at it. It envelopes you, like a blanket, warm on exposed flesh that turns to heat when out too long. Sunlight like the skin of a golden delicious apple, fragrant, vibrant. The final strong rays of fall, before another winter sets in, turning skin to alabaster, gooseflesh.

» Posted By ThomG On 10.11.2010 @ 7:40 am


He was born with a pouch. Just a little slit in the skin, below his navel, two folds of skin that formed a small pocket. He didn’t mind so much, as it became convenient to stash stuff there through his pubescent shenanigans and, if he thought about it, it was a lot better than, say, a curly tail or an extra eyeball. He mostly kept it to himself, until the day he met his soulmate. Nervously, in bed before making love for the first time, he showed her his pouch. She laughed, took whipped off her skirt and with a flourish, showed him her two vaginas.

» Posted By ThomG On 09.14.2010 @ 9:07 am


Alder saplings, thick, dark, hot, snap at him like whips from every direction. He’s had to move through the trees, quickly, since hearing the final screams from camp. He never saw exactly what happened, the pines too thick, but he had heard. Yes, he had heard the cries for help, the pleas for life. He didn’t even try and help, which stabbed through the adrenaline rush like tiny pin-pricks across his flesh.
But he was alive. For the time being.

» Posted By ThomG On 09.02.2010 @ 8:24 am


He felt like, if they’d just read the fucking report he’d prepared – that was right in front of them in the pack conference room – everything would be OK.
He would be understood.
Maybe for the first time in the whole his miserable fucking existence.
They weren’t reading. Hell, they weren’t even listening.
Meyerson, the big baby, was drooling all over himself with tears and snot from all his wailing.
He took finger off the trigger guard, ran a thumb across his brow.
“The sooner you read, the sooner this will be all over,” he said, just above a whisper.

» Posted By ThomG On 08.22.2010 @ 4:43 am


She delights in teasing the young men, all those suitors who stare at her in the subway after giving them a slight look up her thigh, or bending seductively in a department store to check the strap on her high heels.
It’s a game for her, one she propagates with creamy white business cards, embossed with 13 numbers when the bravest of the young men get up the nerve to ask for her number.
She tosses her raven hair, takes out the solid silver case, hands over a card between two elegant fingers, the nails painted in what looks like dried blood.
The number rings her ex-husband, and she delights again in thinking of the surprise on the young men faces, the anger in her ex’s.

» Posted By ThomG On 08.16.2010 @ 5:03 am


His pace is brisk, a New York walk, purposeful in its efficiency. Arms snug at his sides – better to reduce drag, eliminate pedestrian collisions – he looks ahead five feet, scanning the pavement for pitfalls, anything that could slow him down. At the intersections, when he’s missed the light and the masses huddle around him, he crosses himself. Father, Son, Holy Ghost, right before the light turns and he steps off the curb. The first to do so, ahead of the mass of flesh, picking up velocity.

» Posted By ThomG On 08.05.2010 @ 5:14 am


She uses heavy nylon cord, the kind they use with parachutes so you don’t go falling to your death when you jump out of an aircraft.
She’s never jumped out of an aircraft, she’s practical. Her adrenaline rush comes form the hunt, the stalk.
The kill.
The cord? It’s strung with the hearts of young boys she’s enticed, charmed, crushed.

» Posted By ThomG On 07.27.2010 @ 5:05 am


She considered in an affliction.
The boys would come to call, and while she loved the attention, she could never just accept their sweaty fumblings on her porch on warm evenings, bugs swarming over the single-bulb light her father insisted stay on when callers were present.
Many had tried, but everyone failed. She’d sit on her hands, or maybe play with a dark braid from her mane of hair, looking softly at her lap and not saying much. They’d just give up, walk away sullenly, some even angrily, swatting at the honeysuckle bush with closed fists.
In the end, she couldn’t commit to them. She tore through their insecurities with brown cow eyes.
And would shed more hot, salty tears for her cold, calloused heart.

» Posted By ThomG On 07.20.2010 @ 5:57 am


Eggs congealing on the good China, coffee cold, breakfast forgotten.
A trail of clothing like directional breadcrumbs marks a path from the front door to the bedroom. A second, with less articles, flows from the sunny kitchen nook back to bed.
The tension of the evening, the gamesmanship, has evaporated into screams of passion. There’s was a tryst waiting to happen.
Once they realized the pain they shared, the release came so naturally.

» Posted By ThomG On 07.13.2010 @ 5:05 am


It wasn’t his theory, but felt like scientists came up with it especially for him. One thing leads to another, and first there’s a wink in a bar and the vibration caused by her made-up eyelashes travels and pretty soon there’s a monsoon in Malaysia. He’d been there, been part of the chaos created by those fluttering lashes and he’d felt the pleasure. And the pain. The rush toward destruction.

» Posted By ThomG On 07.07.2010 @ 4:55 am


Every couple of steps, she drags her toes across the hardpack sand, on the outer edge from where the waves could erase everything in one foamy lick. She walks toe-heel, toe-heel, so the tracks look more animal than human. The long pauses from the drag marks adds mystery, she thinks. She turns, looks at her progress. There’s gaps in her path, breaks where water has returned the sand to an open canvas.
“This is my life,” she says, swinging her arms above her head as she twirls in place, creating a post-modern abstract on the beach.

» Posted By ThomG On 06.24.2010 @ 8:05 am


They sat on the roof, an old quilt spread across asphalt shingles, and he had hauled up a backpack filled with a liter of Kool-Aid in a hard plastic bottle and some cheeses and crackers. Despite his care in packing, the crackers were damaged, but she smiled and said the thought was what counted and they still tasted good, even without the brie that was fairly runny in the humid heat of July. As dusk fell, she spread her long, tanned legs and waited patiently. He had promised her fireworks, and from the vantage of this roof, the rocket bursts filled him with anticipation – and lust for her warm olive skin.

» Posted By ThomG On 05.24.2010 @ 5:49 am


If she walks fast enough, she thinks, the past will fade from her view, her memory. So she walks at a New York clip, face shielded with a cheap black umbrella picked up from a hawker outside the subway stop. Heels click on cracked pavement, speedy and with purpose, down long avenue blocks. The crowds won

» Posted By ThomG On 04.27.2010 @ 5:35 am


He creeps me out, but he creeps everyone out.
If the coffee wasn

» Posted By ThomG On 04.22.2010 @ 5:51 am


If you hard it all, what would you do with it?
He rode the bus to a place of business he hated, seething silent as menial tasks were completed for bosses who didn’t give a shit. He rode home to a place where shabby was a step up, cracked plaster and stains and roaches crawling the walls.
On a mattress on the floor, he crossed his arms and laid his head in his palms, staring into the darkness, dreaming.
Counting the hours. Making the anticipation that much more delicious.
The Power Ball drawing was 348 days ago, the largest pot in the tri-state area. No one had yet come forward to claim the big check, the wealth. At 366 days, the ticket was worthless.
A smile spread across his face. He still had time. Moments to savor his shitty lot in his current life.
He looked at the Bible on the nightstand, licked his lips. His winning ticket was tucked in it, slid safely into Ecclesiastes.

» Posted By ThomG On 05.13.2010 @ 5:03 am


Courtrooms bored him. The polished wood, the uncomfortable chairs, all those motherfuckers constantly droning on. And the suit. Fuck sakes, the suit. The white shirt was itchy from the starch – it was just out of the plastic and he was sure there were still pins in it, and the necktie that fit like a noose.

The trial had lasted most of one week and bled into the next. They gave him a haircut and a pad and a pencil, told him not to scowl. He instead drew pictures of scantily-clad women in compromising positions, until his “legal team” ripped the pad away and made faces of frustration at him.

Finally, they called him to the stand. He’d been coached, oh how he’d been coached, but he figured these fine people in the box, the ones who sat in tow rows of elevated chairs, deserved to hear the truth.

Especially since he had hunted in their ranks, and they needed to know that he wasn’t the only one who burned with the hunger to see their everythings consumed.

» Posted By ThomG On 05.09.2010 @ 8:57 am


The scar is five inches from his heart, just above his left nipple. It

» Posted By ThomG On 04.08.2010 @ 4:57 am


Emotions rise and fall like quicksilver in a glass vessel; shocking heat rises in his cheeks, sending the mercury rising.
Her coolness feigns a drop in surface temperature, but it’s all an act. Cool to the touch, but she’s a smoldering match tucking into tinder.

» Posted By ThomG On 09.22.2009 @ 4:34 am


She looped the climbing cord just how he liked it, across the wrists and ankles, and used a couple of new knots she’d gleaned from a book. And she made them good and tight, tighter than he really liked, but what was the harm in that? She’d tired of his games, the rough handling and this was payback. He protested, but she ignored it. And blew him a kiss as she walked out the door, just as the TV crew she’d alerted pulling into the parking lot.

» Posted By ThomG On 09.10.2009 @ 5:16 am


Buzzers and klaxons announce the pressurized door

» Posted By ThomG On 07.11.2009 @ 7:03 am

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