Fiction, prose

No One is Around, pt 1 of 2

(Revisited with audio)

“Can we just lie here for a moment? She knows what to do and it’s so much easier to make out the words if you press your ear against the stone.”

He hated this place. But she promised it would be the last time. And it had started to snow. It would hopefully slow the others down.

They needed to leave. He was too scared to look at his watch and now he was struck by how beautiful she looked in this light.
That pink light, reflecting from the tears frozen on her face.

He pulled her gently up from her mother’s grave.

 

Lyrics:
 mother they are coming again
 they come to shoot what we already lost
 mother they are coming again
 our silver covered by their rust

father they are coming again
 they come to jail the things that i have seen
 father they are coming again
 burning minds to keep the ruin clean

no one is around

„little girl there’s safer ground
 follow the sea and you will find that place
 little girl there’s safer ground
 come take your years and put them in their hands“

safer ground (part two)

 

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Fiction, prose

Safer Ground, pt 2

(Revisited with audio)

no one is around (part one)

She didn’t say anything.
Why wasn’t she saying anything?

But she had. She just couldn’t hear her.
She had always heard her through her heart, and now it was frozen to her cheeks.
He lifted her up as her chest was caving in. He sang instead. The words she had taught him when they met, years before.
The ones she had heard from her mother’s friend. Before they never saw him again.
“Little girl, there’s safer ground…”

That ground. Rising up out of the sea of him.

 

Lyrics:
mother they are coming again
they come to shoot what we already lost
mother they are coming again
our silver covered by their rust

father they are coming again
they come to jail the things that i have seen
father they are coming again
burning minds to keep the ruin clean

no one is around

„little girl there’s safer ground
 follow the sea and you will find that place
 little girl there’s safer ground
 come take your years and put them in their hands“

 

Standard
Fiction, prose, Uncategorizable

those middle paragraphs

Rushing to the coat check, she was trying hard not to obsess over him not believing something she had said in the car. He had said it was absurd.
It was making the skin on her arm itch.
Irony did that. Well, in particular contexts. She wasn’t sure what this was.

She had felt so warm while they were driving and had wondered if she were overdressed. But then, he was the one who was filling the car with decorated axioms, making sure to remind her how insightful he was.  She had cringed wearily, then chuckled at the awful jokes forming in her mind – she started thinking she didn’t need her wisdom teeth when she digested his words, only her incisors. She could try to be environmentally friendly, she supposed, and recycle all of this packaging, but it wasn’t even pretty.

And now he appeared with two effervescent glasses, as her arm started to bleed.
She was allergic to champagne, she had told him in the car

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Fiction, prose

map

Her breath pliable, she crouched down in that corner, the one that didn’t fit like a glove.
Her movements were whispers, soft and borrowed from someone she couldn’t remember, but they had told her to use them in times such as these. The movements abandoned her though, as she started crying the music her mother used to sing to her.

 

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Fiction, Poetry

disappear

this rake isn’t as heavy as I thought it would be,

I feel your suggestions as you’re watching me

make these corrugations –

portal permutations,

at least,

they were in my dreams,

the ones

bursting from the seams

of my mind’s eye.

 

From here below periphery,

silent door’s epiphany,

you hear my eyes as you look at me…

 

one of my current ear worms. if you need a little energy boost, or a push through a portal or something…(and if this video doesn’t play for you because you don’t live in the best country on earth 😉 there is this acoustic version:)

Lyrics:

Continue reading

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Fiction

the tears, like that sky, were blue,

balmed in a constant, gentle stream.
Filled with achingly quiet strength, healing purpose. Vibrating with the tenor of a generation.

He carefully strung his violin with them, using the instructions in the back of the book he was holding.
A journal he had found in, of all places, the attic.

His beloved father’s journal.

Sigh. What a beautiful performance.

 

Featured image: my husband’s

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Fiction, prose

fugitive (draft two)

photo challenge 12

The water stung her eyes.
Darn it, it must be the black and white. Probably too acidic.

This memory did look good on her wall, but she couldn’t remember why it was there.
She had dived in, of course, to find the details, but the pain in her eyes caught her off guard.
Being two dimensional, also caught her off guard. It shouldn’t have. But it did. She was new at this, after all.

New plan –
to back away from this old plan. To get back, at least, to three dimensions.
It would, surely, all come to her then,
when she caught the now…

+++

My chocolate levels have oscillated today, and with them, the way I feel about this piece. I took it down for a while, then rewrote it a little. So sorry to those of you who read it earlier. But this is definitely a work in progress…more like some doodling…and the character found herself laughing in the mirror a little as time went on…

 

Featured image: my own

 

Standard
Fiction, prose

“I don’t want to

give you any of it. None of it. Don’t even bother asking”, was the un-pep talk she gave her reflection every morning.

And the good Lord knew that her mirror needed some un-pepping.

It was greedy for power. And it had to stop.

She wallpapered over it. With the lyrics of songs, scriptures, books, poems. Her favourite people. Her favourite letters.

She stood back to gaze at her soul mirror. While eating her favourite ice cream.

 

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Fiction, prose

Assiduous Respiratory Therapy

She drew back the curtains with all the care that wasn’t in the world. It was the only way she knew how. To stop the time. To restart his breathing.
(I could have that wrong – it might be, that she was the only one who knew how to do it. No one remembered. No one cared.)

The air was so thick with the calligraphy they had forced out of him. She uncurled it and  admired it in the twilight/non-time.  All things considered, it was still exquisite.

She had a new idea. And when he read her thought, he sat bolt up right, smiling.

 

 

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Sept 2006 053

she nourished that patch

with those flammable tears,

from jagged tears

and all that bares,

streaming arrears

the chanting of years’

mourning.

 

 

She returned in the blink of a decade,

no warning,

taken aback

by perpetual dawning

of the quiet hymn

of the rose.

 

(A lovely musical interlude by a lovely man).

Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorizable

Finally…

Image
Fiction, prose

pilgrim

Now the dune crescendoed right in front of her. Had she climbed it? What side was she on? Did it matter? This weary could not answer.

Sifting it through her fingers, she couldn’t find the piece she was looking for. So she let that gentle wind catch them all instead.

She wrapped herself in the cool of the breeze. And when she woke, she smiled, for there was nothing left. Of this dune of memories.

Nothing, that is, but him.

 

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Fiction, prose

in the morning light

He flicked the ash out of the car window, and she knew that was the signal for her to continue. He thought he was good at pretending to listen, but she knew. When he did those long exhales he was thinking about something else, probably the zombie in his dream last night, the one distilled from the mirror that devoured him in slow motion, record time.
But she had sat on the floor, taking notes on her typewriter, writing him back into existence.

Damn, how he loved her.

 

 

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