"Please dont leave me." Were the only words he could sputter from his mouth as he watched he walk away.
Maybe it was the drinking that had really done it in this time. Maybe it was the selfish actions of instead of spending the weekend working on their relationship(more) it was the fact that he would have rather been fishing with his buddies, drinking Budweiser on their old, barely functioning and somewhat rusted raft of a boat they fished on. Maybe it was the pushed off dates or the times he stayed at the office even when he really didn't need to just to avoid coming home and getting berated with the facts if a failed marriage.
"Please don't leave." he utters again, his voice sounding more and more frail with every word that spills fourth from his mouth. Unable to contain the feelings of bitter disappointment he lashes out with his voice, a cry of anguish, the self loathing anguished cry one emits when they know the only fault was theirs.
Please don't leave. Words released to the world time and time again through so many voices. Uttered mostly when all feels lost. Sometimes please don't is all that required to save something or maybe even someone. Other times? Well, other times when they are spoken, when the words slip from your tongue it could involve being broken, but the world keeps revolving and all hardship shall pass. Sometimes when we say the words "Please don't" Maybe all we need is the harshness of someone to not and with that may we find strength. (less)
The sun burst forth through thick white palaces of cotton candy mist, and for that I hated that day. It was the day my father got his rusty pickup truck running, and took off with the promise of ice cream the next day. He even smiled, that bastard. My(more) tongue did not taste the cold creaminess, but instead tasted the bitterness of a broken promise. I hated the sun. Why did it not acknowledge the grief of a child? I wanted to pull back the veil of clouds like the overhanging lace of a funeral hat. That was three years ago. Today the mailman dropped off a bomb, sealed with flimsy paper and glue. The bomb was written in plain old ink, folded, sent off. I don't know what I would find inside, repentance or news of the better life he had found, all by himself. Either way I couldn't bring myself to give a single damn. I tore at the paper with the viciousness I would have had three years ago, when the pain was fresh and the fucking sun just wouldn't stop shining. The crinkled paper inside was bent and ripped and scrunched, until a little bit of it was left in my white knuckled fist. My hand unfurled like a white blossom, and in it were the words, "Please don't-". I didn't want to read anymore. God, it was a beautiful day outside. How I wanted to pull those clouds back, stuff the birds' beaks with the paper remnants of that letter. But at the same time I wanted that rusty pickup truck to pull up in the driveway, with the bastard holding a cone of ice cream for me.
I wasn't shot today, and for this I am truly grateful. I've seen enough television to know, it looks painful. At least most of the time. At other times it just makes you angry, sort of helps focus the mind so you can do what you need to do(more) to get the bad guy. I appreciate the fact that I live in a country where nine times out of ten the television cop gets the television bad guy. Once in a while one may give you the slip, but that reminds you not to get complacent. It shouldn't feel too easy. You gotta stay hungry. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a country where the television cops don't have the resources to go after the bad guys. Some perp kills somebody, and the cops just brush it off. Jeez, what do you do for the rest of the hour? More commercials? I'd go nutz. I don't like sitting through the commercials as it is. I couldn't sit still through any more. So many products. Who thinks up all this stuff? You go to the mall and there's just so much stuff. And that place with the gooey cinnamon rolls! Man, I had one of those the other day and talk about a carb high. Who needs heroin when you got giant gooey cinnamon rolls. It's too bad you can't get a medical-cinnamon roll-card. Buy ten and get the liposuction free. If you want to. You don't have to. Big can be beautiful, too. I'm not judging. It's just an option. You could go to the gym and work it off. That takes dedication. You can't get complacent. You gotta stay hungry.(less)
I put my slippers on,
right foot, left foot,
home a palace of
wood and warmth.
Down the dusty hall I shuffle
(more) past trinkets and tokens from
everything on nicked walnut shelves.
The black beady eyes
of a long-dead
watch me pass.
That old Murphy.
The smell of pancakes beckons
like a curl of the finger,
closed kitchen-curtains aglow
over the sink.
She's humming Elvis,
batter dripping on
her gingham apron.
Sweet slow swaying,
sending up tiny plumes of smoke.
I can't remember
a day without her
and her old blind dog, who
leaned on the same stumpy leg
at her feet.
Just like he is
"Be bold, be swift, be assertive." I tell myself. " Hold confidence, control and order. Your first day is the basis for all others." The bell rings, my students sit down. I stand at the front of the class, waiting for their attention. Two kids are on their phone(more) with headphones in, careless of my seeming patience. Not today. I point my finger, stern in face, with the swift response, "No." Flashing my deviled look, they quickly realize. Everyone loves the first day of class. everyone...(less)
The mediator sighed. "Gentlemen please, can't we settle this like respectable sorcerers?"
Rutgar slammed his fists against the table. "I say no! I demand satisfaction sir and I will have it."
Caywe merely smiled placidly. "Name the time and place, oh voluminous one."(more)
Before the mediator could protest, Rutgar lept up. "It doesn't matter, you'll run. You always run. I demand the fight be settled now."
Caywe raised an eyebrow. "Now?"
"Yes, no more getting away snake. I will have you split on the end of a blade of light in five-minutes time or I will be dead, so swears Rutgar!"
He threw up a sign and at the gesture a circle of light shot up around the table. Caywe was trapped. He turned to the mediator.
"Is this legitimate?"
The mediator grimaced, but he said, "Unfortunately yes. Once you agreed to mediation and the possibility of a duel, there was always a chance it could end this way."
Rutgar was already brandishing a staff in one hand and an amulet in the other, with a coin clutched between his teeth for good measure. "Awight less go, cowewed."
Caywe sighed and stood up. "Very well, the duel begins now. Agreed?"
Rutgar nodded. Then Rutgar disappeared. Caywe sat back down and put his feet on the table. The mediator was stunned.
"What just happened?"
"I won." said Caywe. "More specifically, I resolved that if I survived this fight, I would go back in time and feed his child-self to a dragon, thus saving myself the hassle of ever fighting him the first place."
"Wait," said the mediator. "I'm confused, your saying you beat him in the past? Or in some alternate timeline?"
Caye smiled. "I'm saying I beat him. The wizardly way."(less)
Stay beside me
Wild-eyed, hauling in
Every precious breath
Like the air was honey
Watch the pretty white tiles
Stain with advancing red
(more) An army of plasma amd hemoglobin
Oozing thick and hot
Over my porcelain hands
Which were cold as the tiles
Stay beside me
In this strange senseless darkness there is a small light.
Like a light under in a closed door's frame in a scary dark room, there it is for me.
(more) However, I have no control of when or how to open that door to get to the light on the other side.
I can only see the sliver of light. With no control of how to get to it. But I know it is for me. So I try to focus on it. I try so hard to focus on that light.
That small glimmer blurs from time to time. Or it becomes gray or even fades into the darkness completely. I struggle to bring it back into focus.
I go about my life. This and that and the mundane and the important. I go about my life trying to focus on that sliver of light.
Where are you now? Who are you now?
The light that I have is hope that some day you will be back. Maybe when this old world sinks into oblivion, you will not be taken away with it. My light is that hope that maybe we will walk through this tragic scene together and then you will be beside me. Maybe then you will stay?(less)
"that time you drank too much and couldn't be there and my date had a thing and couldn't come either, that was shitty."
"you seemed okay. you didn't seem like you needed me so i thought it would be okay," she said, the same half full glass of(more) beer between us.
in november, the last time i saw her saw each other, i trailed her and her friends and she snorted white life into her nose and she never said, "are you having fun?"
"Did I seem even a little bit not okay that night?"
"Not that I could tell."
"Well, you weren't exactly paying attention." I finished the beer, and knew that she wouldn't move to get another one. This was an intervention, at a bar, where i would tell my ex-good friend all of the things she already knew. she denied nothing, accepting everything, and still, she was elsewhere.
"You were making out with Jesse in the back seat and I was in the front where I could see the driver do lines on her iphone. I can't believe you thought that cokehead and I would be a good match."
"I didn't know her as well then as I do now."
"I didn't know her then either, but I saw her drive while drinking and high and I wondered how well you knew me to think that."
"I didn't know she was high."
"You didn't know a lot of things."
I was the interrogator that evening, asking impossible questions, feeling like the forever teacher noticing too much, caring too much, unafraid to voice impossible things, ready to release.
"When people judge me, I become rebellious."
"I love you, its your behavior I don't like," I said and heard myself back, not her parent, forever sounding like it. (less)
The truck had hit him going 55 miles an hour and the driver behind the wheel's blood alcohol content was so high that he didn't even flinch as he hit Mathew Walburn, the loving father of three on his way back from picking up a box of NyQuil from(more) the small market just 2 blocks down the street from his dingy apartment, where the sitter and his three lovely children were waiting for his return.
A harsh ringing in his ears is all he seemed to be able to hear as the weight on his chest increased.
Opening his eyes, feeling blood running down his face, he found he was looking into the perfect hazel green eyes of his recently passed wife who lost the battle to cancer all but 7 months ago.
"Oh, my dear how I missed you." he said with a gasp as tears commingled with the blood on his face.
"My poor man... my amazing man you are so strong." said his wife drifting her fictitious hand across his face.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't save you... I'm sorry the cancer won." he croaks with the weight in his chest growing.
"You did save me... Everyday I saw you playing with the kids, or every-night you stayed awake to make sure all my medication was administered. You saved me everyday."
"Now come." she says. "Your in no shape for tears." she says with a slight smile as she moves onto the concrete next to Mathew's broken body. "Find peace my love... you will be in my arms again soon and from heaven we will watch over the children."
"Dont leave me." he gasps.
"Never, I will stay beside you until the end of time my darling."
Mathew was dead before the ambulance ever arrived. (less)
He was laying there with his left arm over his head and the right arm over his chest. A flattened palm covering his heart. Body language is everything, he thought, as he recognized where his hand was resting. Cuddling the broken organ inside his chest.
(more) He casually looked over at her pillow. He hadn't moved it since she left. How long now? A month? Two? He stared at her pillow, still dented where her head would rest.
The morning light made one, long, brown strand of hair shine on the white pillow case. He wanted to reach over and grab the pillow. Smash it into his face and breath in the smell that would soon evaporate. But he didn't.
He watched that thread of hair. He dare not move the pillow. How long did he expect to leave it untouched? He didn't know. Forever? Forever is a long time. Forever was a promise of hers. He remembered the night she promised him forever love.
Now all he had of her was a hair on a perfumed ridden pillow. He felt his heart flutter. He moved his hand in a circular motion on his chest, as if her were comforting a fussy baby. It's okay, he told his heart. We still have her hair. (less)
In the darkness
Like willow branches
In a storm
Twisting and feeling
And heaving and clutching
(more) Pearl emerging from its shaft
Tongue tasting silver sweat
And eyes that did not see
Eyes that only shut
Against that blinding pleasure
Aligning only for us
How could we be
Denied by men in white collars
Who spake of fire
Than could not have been hotter
Than the way we felt then
In that moment
It did not matter if
We were both men
Or if we were both wrong
God help me
God help us
It was sacred(less)