I land face down with a thump knocking all the breath out of me.
Afraid to open my eyes,I try to figure out where the hell I am without looking.
Yeah I know, it sounds stupid but if you'd seen even half of what I've been seeing(more) the last few, days? Weeks? Months? I'm clueless as to how much time has passed since this whole thing started and spending most of that time stuck in a bottle with an unstable Djinn hasn't exactly been the best time ever.
It starts to sink in,rather,I can feel my body beginning to sink into sand.
Hot, scorched, sand. Fuck. I'm back in the desert and the sand is hot as hell.
What's that saying? No rest for the weary? No rest for the wicked? I'm thinking maybe they both apply to me.
Well, nothing ventured nothing gained so I open my eyes and jump up to my now-bare feet trying to get my bearings.
"Why am I talking in cliches?" I say to no-one.
"I," a disembodied voice says, "am not no-one chica."
Shit. Only one person I know of that calls me 'chica' and she's not even really a person. She-
"Not really a person? Oh chica,you hurt me with words," my muse says. "And not even a 'thank you',you are an ungrateful little bitch aren't you?"
She hovers above the sand just enough that her own bare feet don't have to deal with the heat. Least she can do is-
"All you have to do is ask chica,but this one'll be a freebie."
A pair of desert-boots appear on my feet.
"Real funny,"although at least my feet aren't burning now,"red desert-boots?"
"To match the blood chica."
"Uh,what blood?" I ask.
She just laughs in response.(less)
I love endings, those moments that wrap events in fine, cool, burial linens. Beginnings are messy and uncertain. They don't always come, but endings are eternal.
I must've been fourteen. It was the last day of middle school, and was largely devoted to letting us wild n(more)ew teenagers do whatever we wanted. Yearbooks were being swapped for signatures, doodles, proclamations of undying friendship. I forgot mine.
Or I might not have bought one. They cost a few dollars I didn't have. Or perhaps I was being a newly teenage bitch and wanted to maintain distance from the happy fray.
But like always, like always, I joined in eventually, differently.
I had a black sharpie in my bag, and pulled it out while my best friend and I were sitting on a low wall outside, watching and leaving things unsaid - I was moving soon. Moving away, always away. I asked him to sign me.
He did after less than a moment, in a scrawl like a banner unfurling on my upper arm. Another friend signed my collarbone, half her name on each side. Another stabbed initials into the crease of my elbow, periods dotting my spring-pale skin like track marks.
A line formed. This was Novelty. When my arms and shoulders and neck were hidden under a grimoire of strange kinship, a shy girl stepped up to stake a claim of me. Gently, she inched a finger, then the tip of the sharpie just under the hem of my tshirt. Her name and a cracked heart crowned my glacially swelling hip.
By the end of that sunlit day, the June heat and the needle-soft sharpie had scorched dozens of loving brands into my flesh. They faded, but pale afterimages lingered, dustless spaces on a marble slab. Burial linens unraveling, eternally. (less)
"I have a final question Joseph, why'ed you do it?" the FBI agent asked. "I'll tell you why...I'll tell you why It was my duty to kill him." Joseph's wrists started to hurt and sweat from the ropes, cuffs, locks, and stainless steel box they had placed them(more) in. "The incident happened when I was just a lad, on my 13th birthday. We all heard a clamor outside of my house and noticed an elderly women getting mugged by a man in red. From out of the blue, everyone's favorite hero showed up and flew to help the elderly women. My eye's must have shone like...like fire that day. I ran out to greet him as he was carrying off the mugger. He hadn't noticed me and as I got close to him, his boots flared and scorched my face, sealing his doom. From that day, I vowed to show him my pain." A tear rolled down his cheek and evaporated before it reached his chin. "Now I finally have my revenge and I can die a happy man.
"He looked up with a smirk and softly said,"Leave, or you will die too." he began to glow an orange hue, and steam rose from the back of his chair. The agent now looked horrified and pulled out his weapon."Joseph, stop-", the agent was interrupted by Joseph who began to count."Five." The agent started to run towards the phone outside the door. "Four." Joseph began to glow even brighter. "Three." The agent called for an immediate evacuation of the building."Two." The chair ignited the chains began to glow a faint red."One." Joseph's disfigured face shone with happiness as he started crying. Joseph whispered,"I'll miss you, Mon amour." The building exploded, exactly like a supernova. All that remained was scorched earth.(less)
Henry L. Augostino looked at his shambled ruins. All he had worked for his entire life was now gone, an empire devestated, a contribution to society nulled and ruined, by little more than forgetting a simple pie. In a proof that fate cares little for men, good or bad,(more) Henry's entire life's work in improving the standard of life for the people of the world and his leap forward in the way of life of almost everyone produced its own reward, but due to but a small slip up, it was now as if nothing had ever happened- his entire household and factory, in naught but scorched ruins. Poverty followed as he was degraded to no more than a factory worker at a competing factory- soon after insanity, and as typically follows, death.
The world lost a great man the day that house and factory burned down, and the era of self-tying shoelaces came to an end.(less)