once filled with days filled with laughter, now holding nothing. i let our shared history spill out onto the sidewalk and freeze, ice over slick and opaque, so that maybe a passer-by would trip on it (and the certain somethings(more) obscured underneath).(less)
for a long while, i thought the prince edward viaduct had streams of water pouring out of the top and through the bottom on the north and south sidewalks. i tried to tell you about the streams but you were smoking out the window and spitting out the window(more) and yelling out the window.
"have you ever seen the waterfalls on the viaduct?"
"have you ever walked across the viaduct?"
i drove across it in traffic this week and came to a full stop. the streams froze into metal rods to encage. (less)
The goddess of sand is one of moving. She rakes the earth gently with her fingers over a thousand years and mountains become piles of dust. She winds storms around her fingers and sets them off like spinning tops across the desert floor.
(more) The gods on the chalk are playful and shifting, weaving stories, adapting to their supplicants as their supplicants in turn must adapt to a changing land.
Our god is a god of rock. He is the same today as he was when time began. Hard. Unwavering. And he expects you to be the same.(less)
No stars shone, but a varicose moon swelled beneath an opalescent layer of fog, lending a faint, throbbing light to the land around.
Dunes breached from the earth like sea-beasts in an ocean of black sand. Row upon row, like serpents, thick-muscled, slow-winding in the soft yet steady(more) wind. Here and there, tongues of sand were whisked from their backs, spirited off to some unknown realm in the inscrutable distance.
He looked down at the tops of his bare feet, half swallowed by warm sand. He reached out, let his fingers run through a tuft of waist-high desert grass, so fine it ran through his fingers like strands of lovers' hair.
The journey had been longer than anticipated. He had become lost many times along the way. But even in this most inhospitable of places, he felt more certain than ever that he would find his way home.
A strange calm had come over him as of late. The longer the journey wore on, the easier it became to look at his endless trials and tribulations as so many grains of sand in a desert crossing. Feeling sure of how the journey would end made it so much easier for him to wait for that ending to appear in its own time.
A faint smile crossed his face. He knelt down, dipped his hand into the ash-black sand, cradled a handful of it briefly, then watched as it ran through his fingers. A few stray grains clung to his cracked, calloused skin.
Without thinking, he planted himself on the side of the dune and decided to rest awhile. Days, months, years-- it didn't matter here. He would be home soon enough.
I gathered what few belongings I had in a small briefcase, took one last look around our home, and stepped out the door. I never looked back. I never regretted. It was the smartest decision I ever made, I think, even if it wa(more)s a bit rash at the time.
Mom asks if I'll ever forgive You. I tell her 'I don't know'. How do I forgive someone who called me worthless? Who called me vile and unnatural?
There are some days that Your words echo so loudly in my ears that the only relief I can find is carving my own flesh with the scissors Your daughter gave me. I wonder how she'd feel now if she knew the scissors she hoped I'd use to make beautiful dresses now created mountains and rivers in the canvas of my skin?
Those are the good days.
Bad days are the days spent in quiet, paralyzed in bed. I watch the sunlight pass from one side of the room to the other. I hear my family laughing in the other room. I want to join them but my limbs won't move. I stare vacantly at the wall. I hope the light will stay just a bit longer.
I cannot get up to turn the light on. My body feels too heavy so I lay in darkness for hours until Mom knocks on my door and pulls me from the ocean I struggled to stay afloat in.
"You wouldn't feel like this if you prayed, honey."
Our minds have become
Modern and spacious
Empty and waiting to be filled
To be decorated with thoughts
Like strings of lights
Dancing across the room
(more) But as the designer
What will you choose
To fill up the room?
Will it become an inviting space
Full of candles and flowers
Or a dark crowded room
Where the flowers go to wilt?(less)
The fish with damask scales hung from the ceiling by a cord. The corpse was stiff but still damp. In the night, someone had broken into the modern and spacious Ogilvy mansion and, ignoring the Rembrandt prints on the wall and other treasures, had gone straight to the aquarium room. The intr(more)uder removed the not small fish from its tank, threw one end of the cord over the chandelier then, after twisting the other end around the fish's tail, hoisted it into the air, where it was left to flail, choke, and die. It was an odd thing to do, murdering then posing a fish in this way, but would have been inconsequential had it not been for the fact that this particular fish, named Tora, was a twenty-pound Japenese Koi insured for $100,00.
The police had come, taken the report from the housekeeper, and then left. As the insurance investigator, I had to do better than that.
Whoever had done it had left no fingerprints, and had entered through an unlocked window. The alarm system, inexplicably, had been off. I found the housekeeper on the ground floor, dusting a table on which sat a fish made of cut emeralds. I introduced myself, invited her to sit down, and commenced my interview.
Within a few minutes, it became obvious to me that she knew more than she was letting on. I doubted she was the perpetrator, but I was sure she knew who was, and had left the house unlocked purposely. I confronted her, and watched as her face turned red and tears started to flow. Threatening her, I forced a confession. Her boyfriend had done it. Mr. Ogilvy loved that fish, but he loved her, too, and the boyfriend wasn't having it. The fish would have to hang.
I can barely speak, my mouth is so dry, and the air pushing out of my lungs feels like fire on my throat. The young man leaning over me looks confused and horrified.
Water, I mouth at him, but he doesn't understand. My sunburnt face and animalistic eyes(more) don't register any sympathy.
I dig my fingers into the dirt and pull myself toward him, dragging my naked, bruised body across the pebbles and stones of this dirt road. He was on a jog. One earbud falls to his shoulder but he doesn't notice.
"Water," I cry again, this time able to put sound to the word, but the voice I hear come out of my own throat sounds alien to me. What have they done to me? What have they turned me into? Three days ago I was an upbeat, trendy businesswoman who broke down on the way to work, and today I'm a creature spit out by the barren, pitiless desert where I was left to rot once they were done with me. Only I refused to die.
The young man finally understands what I want and he pulls out his metal bottle, casually strapped to his hip like it's nothing. I can't even hold the thing on my own so he has to ease the water into my mouth like a child. I barely hear him as small sips of cold, refreshing water tumble down my throat.
"It's okay," he says. "I'll get you some help. It's going to be okay."
I pick him up and hold him in front of the fridge. A ragged winter moth has fumbled its way inside and plastered itself against the brushed aluminum. His nose twitches, short wifts of air jetting from the folds of his nostrils.
(more) He sticks his nose too close. The moth flies away. He flinches, looks distracted for a moment, then goes back to staring at the refrigerator door. A mind used to observing things as they flit in and out of existence without ever getting a firm grasp on them.
I put him down. His claws clack across the cold tile. He dips his face part-way down into a plastic dish and laps up a few mouthfuls of dingy water. His heads lifts. Rivulets run down the locks of hair that frame his snout and pool at the tips, before dropping to the floor in an unceremonious, ragged delta before his feet.
He makes his way to the open front door and peers out at nothing in particular. Perhaps just to see if the world is still there, waiting, just the other side of the nose-smeared pane of glass.(less)
genesis leaned against the bar, slowly sipping on a glass of wine, and, once again, flipping through the worn pages of his copy of LOVELESS. when the glass wasn't against his lips, he found himself softly reading along. he closed the book once he reached the fifth act, reciting(more) the rest from memory. he tilted his glass and finished his wine, deciding it was time to retire fo the night. just as he was about to exit the room, there was a soft knock at the door.
who would be at the door this late? most likely zack, coming by to retrieve something he'd forgotten earlier in the week.
with a sigh, genesis strided over to the door and swung it open.
outside on the porch stood cloud, his clothes drenched in mud. he wore a tired smile on his face as he shed off his boots, knowing full well genesis would never let him in the house with the condition they were in.
"cloud..." genesis murmured, far too tempted to step forward and pull the man into a hug.
"i know i told you i wouldn't be back for another week, but we managed to wrap our recon up early," cloud explained, pushing his way passed genesis. genesis shut the door, trailing cloud into the bathroom.
"i missed you, darling," genesis' voice was soft, a voice meant only for cloud. "but you do look a little trashy."
"thanks," cloud spoke dryly.
he gave genesis a knowing grin before pulling him into a bear hug, bursting into laughter at genesis' protests and threats.
it was good to be home.(less)
It's about time to drive yourself crazy. Book a flight to Spain to have human trafficking haunt you. Take a job at a bookstore to put more knots in your back. Pick up English courses to put more notches in your(more) bank account and knowledge on a dusty shelf. A better credit score, at least. But still, hiding from your insides, piling on new titles and identities until the old is lost. And always wondering who you are now and who you were then.(less)