A favorite color

•2014/09/29 • Leave a Comment

Before the short… this writing was prompted from a task to write describing a favorite color without mentioning the color at all. I decided to go more abstract with where it led and am pleased with how it turned out. I’m interested to see what anyone reading might think the color is…

***

It was refreshing as I closed my eyes, inhaled it’s scent and tasted the color. I was reminded of icicles and the flavor of the snow when I was a child and tried to make sno-cones from the powder on the mountain.

As I opened my eyes again and they came out from the small slit in the side of the tent, the sun caught a spot on the harness, glistening and blinding. I wanted to look away to avoid the glare but was afraid of what I might miss.

A crash, a boom, and the air sparkled with glistening magic. The show was about to begin.

Advertisements

Clippings

•2014/09/24 • Leave a Comment

Reading over the news she was filled with melancholy. It was such an accomplishment but bittersweet too. Such a long time ago, so many opportunities met and so many lost, where had all the years gone?

Once upon a time she had huge aspirations, goals to be met, and a lifetime of greatness to achieve. She had a plan on what to do and how to get there. She had dreams. Everything seemed to be going her way. There was nothing she could try that didn’t turn to gold and she was on top of the world, until that fateful day.

She didn’t know what had prompted it, why she had strayed from her course. It was probably just a fluke but the consequences were far more than she ever could have guessed. In one fateful moment her entire path changed and life would never be the same again.

Slowly she took another drink. This was her third since getting up a few short hours ago. Maybe the melancholy brought on by the drink was what made her re-visit the past. She usually tried to forget and avoided the small box under the bed but this morning was different. At last the pain was too much. She put the clippings back in the box, slid it back in its hidden space and poured herself another drink, vowing to never look inside it again.

Glass bubble

•2014/03/25 • Leave a Comment

The blade glistens in the moonlight. An aura shimmering, imbued with a life of its own, clings to the blood trying to escape dying as the hot sticky liquid dries. I place the knife down on the table and turn to the matter at hand.

I clench my jaw to fight back the pain coming from the hole in my chest.

Just 5 more minutes, then I’ll be fine…

I examine the orb to make sure it has cooled enough. It’s large, about the size of a soccer ball, and open at one end. I take the orb in both hands, hold it above my head and offer a brief prayer of thanks then place it on the table next to the knife. I light the incense and try again to swallow the pain. After the preparations are made I partially fill the orb with sand, place the shrouded mass inside, and seal the orb shut.

I go to the garden and dig a hole under the old magnolia tree. I pause to smell the sweet air, earthy with the scent of freshly dig soil and the spring breeze. I do in the orb, toss some rose petals and copal in the hole and fill it back up.

My heart is safe, protected, untouchable.

melancholy

•2014/03/11 • Leave a Comment

Staring at my screen, I can’t seem to form the words that are on the tip of my tongue. I can not think them. I can not seem to form coherent words that make any kind of sense to me. My head feels fuzzy, almost swimming in a dream-like haze. My eyes sit at half mast. Not because I’m sleepy; there’s something entirely different going on. What is it? I can’t seem to remember when or where I’ve felt this before. Why does it feel important?

To the ends of the earth

•2014/03/11 • Leave a Comment

It’s dusk when I stop at the small dive. It doesn’t look like much but they have good coffee and better service. Glancing around I light a cigarette and pull the envelope put of my jacket. I read through the bulletin… description, last known whereabouts, known hangouts, last known point of contact. Eh, the typical stuff.

Hair: Long and auburn
Eyes: Green
Height: 5′ 7′
Weight: 162
Distinguishing marks: A thin crescent shaped scar on the left cheekbone

I pull out the worn picture and study it; I wonder where that scar came from. I hop off the bike, put out my cigarette and walk inside. I grab a booth and smile at the waitress as she comes over and hands me a cup of coffee.

“Still looking? she asks.
“Yeah”.
“You’ll find her.”

She walks off, leaving me with my menu and memories. I have to find her, this time it’s more than just a job. It’s personal.

I pull out the picture again, studying it, looking for anything I may have missed to give me a clue. It was 15 long years ago when you disappeared. That alone means I’ll likely never find you but I can’t stop searching.

The carnival came to town

•2014/02/17 • Leave a Comment

It was warm, and gooey and sticky sweet in a way that only served to punctuate the aridness of the brown haze in the air. She licked her lips and tasted the red cherry sugar, syrupy as it melted in the heat.

Another bite brought tangy, cool, wetness, memories of another lifetime. Memories of summer and laughter.
Memories of tire swings in the shade.
Memories from before the exile, long years of hard work, before the rebuilding, before the carnival came back seeking to distract from the now.
Memories of a simpler life before things changed.

That was one thing she didn’t want to think about… The day the world changed.

“There’s not much redeeming about the desert”, she thought to herself, “but at least there’s this…” as she took another bit of the candied apple.

the house at the top of the hill

•2014/02/11 • Leave a Comment

I looked up and saw her watching me. She looked angry, impatient, disapproving. It’s hard to understand how her mood could change so drastically with no warning. I dug through my mind trying to locate that piece of information that needed to be extracted, lest she find it. What was it?

It would be another long trek.
A somber trek.
Foreboding.

A quarter of the way up, I still can’t find it. I look up; she’s still there. What is it? Why can’t I remember? I can’t figure out what I have done. Maybe I didn’t do anything and that’s the problem…

Getting closer I can feel her gaze bore into my mind.

Digging.
Searching.
Looking for the untruth.
Prying around, searching my memory.
Searching for the thread she can grasp and use to unravel me.

She’s looming close now, judging, here to return my to my cage. I briefly think of running but have nowhere to go.

Nowhere to go but back to the house at the top of the hill.

 
%d bloggers like this: