Tuesday, February 25, 2014

The Broken Girl and The Clever Boy - Blue

            She heard it long before she ever saw it. Jack, she whispered.
            She ran her fingers through her mussed hair in order to tame it a bit. When she turned around on her best friend’s front porch, she spied the 1968 Camaro rumbling down the street. Even in the yellow street lights, she could make out the rich, electric blue of the paint job. As many times as she had seen it, she never got over how breathtakingly beautiful that car was. As Jack put the car in park, he gave the gas pedal a good tap. The rumble of that motor matched the feeling in her gut. Powerful. Exciting.
            She took a step off the porch and headed toward the car. “Jaaaaa-aaaack!” she yelled in a sing-song voice. “What are you doing here?”
            The passenger side window was already rolled down. Jack leaned across the car and replied, “Heidi said you might need a ride home. How ya feeling, Rhi?”
            Rhiannon casually tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the door. “I’m just fine. Two or three glasses of wine aren’t enough to do me in,” she teased.
            “But what about the two or three mixed drinks after the two or three glasses of wine?”
            “Fine. Busted. I suppose I’ll have to thank Heidi tomorrow.” She waved to her friend and climbed into The Blue. The seats were soft and conditioned, just like she knew they would be. Jack always kept The Blue immaculate. “So Heidi called you to be my White Knight come to the rescue?” she said. The booze had allowed just a hint of southern drawl to come through in her voice.
            “Something like that,” Jack offered in response. He did a quick glance at his passenger. It was the height of summer, so Rhiannon had on a soft and frilly sundress. The gauzy material was hiked up just a bit more than it would normally fall, and he didn’t fail to notice how smooth her thigh was. Keeping his hands occupied, he shifted the car into drive and headed down the street.
            Rhiannon closed her eyes and rested her head on the seat. She turned her head to the left and opened her eyes. “You’re pretty, you know that?” she teased.
            “I’ve been told once or twice,” he replied with a laugh in his voice.
            “I’ve thought about you for a while now, Jack.” Rhiannon drew her fingers across the bench seat and onto Jack’s leg. “Quite a while now,” she repeated.
            “What about your husband? What would he think about this?”
            “Oh, that boy is at home and asleep already. Probably sacked out on the couch watching action movies.” Her hand continued to draw lines over Jack’s thigh. “But you…You’re the one come to take me home.”
            Jack felt an uneasy tension in his groin as the combination of Rhiannon’s drawl and light touch made it difficult to concentrate. “Well, he’s certainly missing out,” he said, wishing the five minute drive would be over.
            “You don’t have to take me home straight away, do you?” Rhiannon said with a small pout.
            “I think it best, Rhi. I’m meant to see you home safely.”
            Rhiannon gave his crotch a good rub. “Then until you drop me off at my door, this is what you get. Between you and the car, you get a girl all worked up just to shut her down. I can’t be the only left wanting.”
            Jack clenched his teeth and turned the corner. “I believe this is your house, m’lady,” he said, resting the transmission in park.
            “Fine. You’ll be back. Miss me while I’m gone,” she teased as she climbed out of The Blue. She strolled up the front walk and didn’t even bother to look back.
            Jack laughed and shook his head. “Goddammit woman. You’ll be the death of me yet.” He opened the garage door and pulled into the drive, eager to tuck his wife into bed.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Tick

The space of a breath
The skip of a heart
The blink of an eye
The bolt of lightning
The crash of waves
The snap of fingers

"Tick," said the clock. 

Friday, January 17, 2014

TwitterShort Challenge #1

I had gone down to the beach to get a quiet reprieve. Chemo had taken the wind right out of my sails this time. The pounding surf always calmed my frazzled nerves. And this excursion was no different.

I loved the sunlight on my shoulders. I loved the squish of the sand between my toes. The smell of the salt in the air seemed a balm to my soul.

And then chaos.

I didn’t have time to fully register what happened. Before I could blink I was knocked on my ass to the sand. As I sat there dazed, the thought occurred to me that only an anal bleaching session would be able to remove the amount of sand that just got kicked up my shorts.

“Goddammit Trevor. You’re such an asshole!” said Voice.

“Learn how to throw a damn foot ball for once,” replied Trevor.

Things came into focus as two boys came over. Voice said, “I’m so sorry for Trevor plowing into you like that. He needs things like this to remind him the world doesn’t revolve around him.”

“Heeeeeyyyy!” wailed Trevor.

“That’s fine,” I said. I tried to get back to my feet. Voice reached out a hand. “Thanks,” I said as I grabbed it. It was coarse, but the grasp was gentle.

“My name’s Jay,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Jay. I’m Cathy.” I noticed his well-worn shirt read ECONOMIC MIGRATION. “What’s that mean?”

Jay looked down at his shirt. “Oh, haha. This? Nobody knows. It was a garage band I played with a few years back. You wouldn’t be interested in tossing around the football with us for a bit, would you?”

“Maybe next time,” I replied.

His smile made me completely forget about the darkening bruise on my backside and the amount of sand lodged there.

I opened my bag that held my shoes and magically produced a Sharpie. I grabbed the football and wrote my phone number in dark black ink.

“Next time,” he repeated.

I turned and headed up the beach toward home.

 

 

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Inspyre

A muse in flame
Leaves 
One with
No hope of
Ever finding that spark again. 

Friday, January 10, 2014

Cavern

"You won't let go, right?" she said anxiously. She only stared ahead as we moved along with our group. 
I glanced over at her and gave her a grin. "I won't," I said. Her hand was already in mine. 
The tour guide had let us know that up ahead we would stop. We were Lord knows how deep inside the cavern, and they were going to shut off the lights. And here she was about to collide with anxiety. 
The group bunched up, and the guide told everyone to close their eyes. 
"Promise me," she whispered, closing her eyes. 
I turned to face her and grabbed both of her hands. "Promise."
Then off went the lights. 
Her grip tightened immediately when the guide said we could open our eyes. The cavern was as dark as pitch. There was nothing to be seen. I leaned into her and rested my forehead on hers. In that moment no one else was there. I rubbed my nose on her cheek and leaned close to her ear. "I'm right here," I whispered. I heard her exhale. I felt her tears fall onto my face. My lips found her cheek, beside the corner of her eye. I gave her a light kiss to wipe them away. "So brave," I said in honest admiration. 
Then the guide instructed us to close our eyes again as she brought up the lights. And moment was over. The lights came up and I watched as she opened her eyes again. This time accomplishment and relief shined in her eyes instead of fear. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. 
"I promised," I said. 
"I know," she replied. 
She pressed up to her tiptoes, and kissed me. 

Thursday, January 31, 2013

The Basic

Zero hour
You didn't show
Xanadu broken
Why did I believe the
Verse would change
Unending
Tiredness fills my
Soul
Reeling in the
Quagmire of
Pressure and
Obstenance
Never fully believing
My own emotions
Love
Killing me
Justified by
Insane
Hopelessness
Growth impossible
Fear amplified
Empathy lost
Death of a
Creature
Branded by
Apathy

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Chapter Two

September 3 - An act of kindness

It's my birthday today. Nineteenth. Tomorrow I begin my 20th year. It seems as though birthdays always hold such promise. Your own personal New Year's Day celebration. Mother gifted me this diary, and I plan on putting it to good use. Memory is such a cruel thing. Things you care to forget never wander far, yet things you crave to hold on to seem to fade and wilt. Maybe by committing to ink my thoughts, I'll be able to hold on to them until I can share them with you. - Ellie

My wife got me this journal. Something about keeping everything cooped up inside. Feelings blah blah blah. So this is me, wasting time, appeasing her. What a crock. As if writing shit down makes a hill of beans. It won't change anything. I'm still right here, and she's still out there. And she's probably still searching for me. Why? Because she's the dreamer, and I'm the asshole. - Alistair