4/30/13. dear elsie.

      Today, I went out and grew out my hair, Els.  Well, not today, but over a period of time.  If I try really hard, I can cover both my eyes and I look like a mushroom.  I was going to write in May, but I just... felt like writing it now.  I'll write in May too, not like I'm not writing at all.  Right.  How's Ursa?  It's probably nice to have her there, was a bit of a surprise for us when she went up to live with you instead.  Still, at least you have company from down here.  

      Nope, haven't gotten the call back yet.  There's four or five people vying for the spot, so I'm pretty sure I'll get bumped.  I don't mind, I'll just keeping looking for stuff.   Yah?  

      I actually told myself not to tell you to come back.  Must be pretty nice up there, worshiping God all the time and all.  I'm being selfish, yeah... but I think you went a bit too early.  Well, I started again.  Mmmm... I'm trying to decide whether life is worth doing.  Like, for a bunch of years.  But you told me to keep it, so, suppose I will.  Thanks.

      So I took the baseball bat to the computer.  Well, actually just rebuilding it, but uh... you know.  That kind of thing.  I'll let you know later.  Oh.  The firm's doing horrid right now.  Boss is using a totally rubbish business model.  I got acc[here, the text is obscured by some unidentifiable blackish blob.]

Accepted, sorry.  It was blueberry muffin.  You're favorite.

*Your.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

keep running.

why give in now?
when you you've made it so far?
why give in now?
when you can feel the hand of God in the damp air?

why give in now?
when the lush spring flowers beckon you to smile
and you don't know what else you could ask for?
why give in now?
the end is not yet in sight
but hope assures us of things not seen.
so keep running.
keep running.

blemish - 2.1

Character List: The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise | Firo 

"-ord.  My lord."

Henrietta's eyes snapped open.  How had it been?  She reached forward, her hands falling upon a silken fabric; a dress.  Louise's hands met hers.  They were soft, malleable hands.  A stark contrast to the cold, hard steel Henrietta sensed under the skin.

"My apologies, Louise.  Perhaps my body is not ready for the Time enough."
Louise inclined her head.  "I will ensure your safety, my lord."
"Thank you."

Smiling again, Henrietta stood, placing a hand against the wall for balance.  She felt... more frail.  The smile wavered.  "Let us go see the next venue then, shall we?"

-----------------------------

The screeching pierced through Firo's ears.  There was a metallic quality to it; something less than human.  Much less.  The black faded.  The door was closing.  The familiar fabric of Louise' dress was disappearing through the door.

Where's she going?  "Louise!"
"Yes, my lord."  The maid was next to him.  The door shut.
"What... where did you come from?"  His eyebrows knitted.
"I was merely closing off the strings behind us.  You did wish to leave the Commissioner?"
"That was his name?"
"Yes, my lord."
"But didn't you just close that door?"
Louise's jaw tightened.  There hadn't been an overlap before.  She hesitated.  "No, my lord."

c_t.

She climbs onto the sheets
Deep, unfathomable
Eyes gaze across the room
At plushies and teddies.

Shaking off the summer's heat
She settles, finding a dent
In the impenetrable
Comforter.  Eyes close slowly.

Ruffling in the wind
Her fur won't lie flat
How, her ears wonder,
Will she sleep?  A bit.

trauma – 1.3

When she woke up, she saw the sun glistening through the window. She felt sore, but well-rested. Where was she, though, she wondered.

A nurse in flower-print scrubs pushed aside the curtain that surrounded her bed. “Good morning, sunshine! How are you feeling, Natalie?”

Natalie gave a crooked smile. “I guess I’m okay. I survived,” she added hopefully.

“Is there anything I can get for you? There’s someone waiting to see you.”

Perplexed, she paused to think. “Is it Tyler?”

“Yes, believe that’s the gentleman’s name. I’ll send him in when you’re ready.”

Not five minutes later, Tyler was seated by her bed in one of the uncomfortable-looking visitor chairs. He witnessed a bandaged face with a bright smile beneath it, but also an exhausted body that lay immobile on the bed.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.”

“There’s something I want to tell you, Tyler. I originally asked you to come because I didn’t know if I was going to get through. You know, live. But now that I know I’ve still got some time, I really want my life to have meaning. Time lost is never found. Use today as if it was you’re last.”

heaviness.

my pain is gaping wide, swallowing up your kindness, groaning and insistent.
its hunger is all I can hear.
you, you peaceful gentle friend,
composed and conscious,
how can you understand?

but indeed it is I who do not understand;
I cannot grasp the paradox
of losing what you desire without losing your patience.
In that you can bear your own and mine as well,
your suffering gains stature.


[inspired by Sense and Sensibility]

untidy.

{in which two girls both have something to learn.}

"Janice," Mom called up the stairs. "Have you cleaned your room yet?"

Emma, her twin sister, was quick to answer. "No, she hasn't, Mom. I've done my half already."

Reaching the top of the stairs, Mom saw a room, cluttered with dresses, jeans, a bottle of perfume, barbie dolls, candy wrappers, school notebooks, lunch bags, and an empty cup. The drawers of the dresser were pulled out, their contents spilling over onto the pile of items lying on the floor.

"Aunt Susie is coming over, girls. She'll take you to the amusement park if you can find the tickets she gave you for your birthday."

Janice scowled. "I don't want to go," she said with a grimace.

"No, that's because you don't know where your ticket is," Emma sharply retorted.

"Emma..." Mom gave her a warning glance.

"Alright, fine. I'll help you look. Maybe together we can get through this mess."

Mom smiled. "I'll let Aunt Susie know that you girls need a little more time. Once you've got your room cleaned up, I'm sure you'll be ready to go."

shadows.

Shadows are hanging heavy on the things I love.
I'm veiled along with them, but when will it become all right to believe in sunrise?
I live a smiling life of thrill and magic, with luxuries like Brooklyn Bridge and carousels.

But despite my shine, I'm shadowed myself:
broken, heavy, lost.
Doing everything right is too hard.

None of us holds the answers (joy!)
Even the righteous are silenced
We'll keep longing to leave the shadows.

purpose.

Is it to wait, and wait, and wait, until the right flash of inspiration comes along and laser beams fly out of your ears, the most magnificent of works taking shape as you release your final form and write the greatest... thing... man has ever seen?  Or is it to go on, regardless of consequence, regardless of how putrid and awful your work is, until you come across one jewel within the recesses of your head?

This isn't even my final form.

Is it to smile and say, "Not today", brushing it off like you brush off the offending strands of hair off your forehead?  Is it to avoid your cat because he makes your eyes well up with tears out of allergies, and not cuddle times?  Or is it to cuddle?

Can I haz cheezburger?

Or is it to lie defeated, tangled within the cavern that is your fluffy comforter, mocking yourself for producing the greatest of nothings?

I am no man.  Death!  Kill the halflings.  Where is Gandalf?  For I much desire to speak with him.  Frodo Baggins.  I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.  So it begins.  Gandalf Greyhame.  He has fallen, into shadow.  Look unto the east.  He was twitching.

kraken.

      Cuddled in my precious coils, hiding behind my masses, I lie: waiting for opportunity to take life and crush it in the midst of myself.  They will never stand against me.  When the time comes for me to reveal myself, they will all flee, courage frozen, from the face of my hideous self.  Golden warships, Great white fish, the marauders of the half-open sea... flee.  How many days has it been?  How many days since the men would fire their harpoons in futile attempts to pierce my flesh.  How many times since the sharks would gang together, hoping to feast upon my body.

This lonely authority is not for me.  Fight back.

Fight back.  Give me scars and annoyances.  Call on your valour.

  Fight back.  Give me insults I can never hear.  Muster your packs.

    Fight back.  Give me defiance.  Aim your cannons at me.

      I longed to be pierced through, cut up, destroyed.  I long for an adversary.  Foolish, to wish for what does not exist.  I spend eternity at the end of the great ocean.  They will not come for me.  I spend eternity, ageless, waiting until the day I must strangle my life with my own limbs, for no one will dare to beat me to it.

blemish - 2.0

Character List:
The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise | Firo

"Penbrook's? Just down the walkway and left. It'll be on your right."
"Thanks very much, mate."

The doorbell clanged unpleasantly as Firo stepped into the dimly lit store, a pale Louise trailing at his right side.  A single man sat behind the counter, tapping curiously at a small safe that had elaborate carvings carved deep into it.  The eyes rolled up slowly.  The tapping did not stop.  "Your name?"

"Firo M..  Yours?"

"I'm the Commissioner.  Have you come for information or merchandise?"

"Information.  Or merchandise."

"Quite a hard bargain you drive.  Mmmm.  Fire away, Mr. M."

"I'm looking for a shower.  Or, if you don't have one, information on where I might find one."

The Commissioner raised his eyebrow.  "That's not really a question someone from this world might ask, mind you, but I do indeed have a shower."  He reached under the counter, pulling out a drawer. Firo's hands tightened into fists.  

Louise. 

The maid remained impassive.  This was the first time Firo had ever communicated with her through brainwave consumption.  Her scans had not shown him capable.  Yes, my lord?

We've been discovered already.  He guessed I traveled here from... there, with just one question.

Yes, my lord.

Stop the time.

Yes, my lord.

The Time stopped.

Closing the drawer, the Commissioner smiled, holding up a sphere.  "Why did you do that, Mr. M?  I have a feeling you didn't mean to, if you knew I didn't really mind it."

Firo gulped involuntarily.

Louise.  He's moving.  The Time stopped, and he's moving.

upgrade.

When, in the world we hate

We know why cats will die
We have eaten crumpets
We drown sorrows in rye
And pencil on floor lets
Our mean existence fade

We are fallen astray

Pluto, a planet?  No.
Zygote: baby, not cult
Fifth he was, James Monroe
Until we're shamed, adults.

Then, the bell rings; we're late.

This is why, boys and girls, SCHOOL IS BAD.

troll.

"Grunge in m'pants, grunge in m'pants..."  The old geezer truckled down Mulberry Boulevard on a Sunday afternoon with his camouflage beanie and a stick of licorice.  I'd spotted him walking up this particular stretch of road at this particular time of day with that particular stick of licorice twenty two times before.  Every day this happened.  But I'd just have to bear with it.  I stopped my ears with buds, took a deep breath, and began blasting Megurine Luka [(c) Vocaloid] so he'd be able to hear it and I wouldn't be able to hear him.  Didn't work.  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and confrontationally spread wide-eagled his two arms.   "Nnnnuuuuunnnnkkkkkkaman???" Is what it sounded like through Dancer in the Dark.  What, me?  I didn't hear nothing.  Walk past, just walk past...
"Nnnnuuuuuuuuuuunnnnkkkkkkaman!!!"  Come on.  "I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?"  "Did you just call me an old geezer, you foul-mouthed young whippercreamer?  Why, you know, those days, my days, mmm.... The young men, that's me, or was me... Mmm.  The young men were respectful to women!"  You're not a woman... "Sir, I never said anything, I never even thought you were an old geezer."  Well, maybe I did.   But he won't know.  "There.  You just said it.  Old?? ME?  Quaint, antique, perhaps.  But not old.  Why, in my nnnuuuuunnnnkkkamananananan."  It sounded like that because I'd gotten past him and put Excalibur on.  This was the twenty-third time.  It's nice being nice... But some people don't have unlimited patience.  I'm one of those.  "Pmmmummdinnnn!!"  That was different.  I turned around.  "What's wrong, sir?"  "Please, I'm dying."  "Excuse me?"
A devilish grin formed on his face.  "If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?"
That was the twenty-fourth time.

tropical.

In the middle of the hymn, they all had heard a squeak. Was it the sound system? No. It had sounded more like the squawk of a bird, really. And what do you know? From out of the corner, a flash of color flew into the air. The tropical bird looked like it came straight out of the movie Rio. Everyone gasped. This wasn’t going to be an ordinary Sunday service.

“What in the world?” “Where did it come from?” “How do we get rid of it?” 

The questions that lingered on everyone’s lips were silenced by their astonishment. Only a little girl with pigtails could shout: “Let’s keep it, Mommy!”

The silence had been disrupted. Utter chaos nearly enveloped the room as adults and kids alike pursued the bird up, down, left, and right.

“Over here.” “We’ve almost got it!”

Amidst the red, yellow, and blue feathers scattered on the floor, a man stepped out, speaking with a heavy Portuguese accent. “My friends. This is my pet macaw who accompanied me here to America.” He rolled his ‘r’s distinctly.

A collective sigh of relief and understanding rose from the congregation. 

The missionary continued, “I am so sorry. Rafael must have escaped from his cage again. But the excitement you all just experienced is typical of the daily opportunities I have to witness in my native land. Let me tell you about it…”

Perky.

Perky grasshopper likes leaves and sunlight and flowers. One day, perky grasshopper bounces her way to the meadow beyond the fence.

On a rock beyond the fence sits a grumpy-looking toad, unmoving. Grumpy-looking toad squints at perky grasshopper and then lets out a croak. He then goes back to staring straight in front him.

Perky grasshopper decides that she'll go explore the meadow beyond the fence. She converses with crickets, banters with bluebirds, and mooches around with mushrooms. Then she goes back to talk with toad. He's still looking grumpy. Perky grasshopper pops herself on the rock next to grumpy-looking toad's perch. He blinks.

Perky grasshopper pauses. She doesn't know what to say. Grumpy-looking toad speedily snaps out his tongue to snatch a bug. Perky grasshopper wishes she had a tongue to catch bugs with too, if only to have something to say to grumpy-looking toad.

The sun is going down on the far side of the meadow. Perky grasshopper hops away over the fence, with her back to the sunset.

--

Why do toads look so grumpy,
and why is there nothing to say,
and why must grasshoppers wonder,
are they are too perky or not enough?

unstable.

oh 
i am drawn to you
dancing around you
yes your algae friends, i will join them
sitting on your windowsill
i'll give you things
that you can't give yourself

but but but
so fragile
both of us

It's wrong to justify yourself through your goodness, to call yourself safe and sure because you're selfless. Nope, I am not safe or sure, no matter what I do.

I need some help, maker of ocean and sky. I want a force field to protect me, and of course I am impatient to learn what is wisdom, how to care for the unstable without being swirled in and felled. I don't know who to trust to tell me. I still think my doubt knows more than anyone's knowledge.

I once heard someone say that to hold back from loving, in fear, is actually more risky than to risk.
Still: love isn't as simple as discarding the stability others' love has cloaked me with.


oh, i am drawn to you {and is it righteous or warped?}
dancing around you yes your algae friends, i will join them {hopefully}
sitting on your windowsill i'll give you things {sheathed there by faith unless He moves me}
that you can't give yourself {what only He can}

angst.

She pulled at my sleeve.  "Let's do something."

"Like what?  I'm busy."

"You're sleeping.  Get up and get a life, boy."

"Don't call me boy..."

"Besides.  How is a couch like that possibly comfortable?  It's for one person.  Sitting."

"Hehe.  I'm descended from feline ancestors."

"And, and... I heard sleeping in public places is disrespectful."

"To myself, maybe."

Propping up on one elbow, I squinted my eyes and adjusted to the sunlight coming through the conservatory windows.  Glanced at the grandfather clock.  My knees cracked.

"I think I'm getting too old for this.  Alright then.  What'd you want to do?"

"Something."

"Oh yeah, I forgot.  You're a bloody girl."

"Language.  I need to wash your mouth with soap."

"So why did you come to the conserv, alone, to wake me up again?  Just for fun, huh.  Gonna give me a dressing down and all that while you're at it too.  If I didn't know you better I'd think you were the sweetest person ever.  But you're a lime."

"What, is that supposed an insult?"

We pushed the doors outward together, the rays of light tripping over her hair.

"Let's go feed the dinosaurs."

"Limes?"

breaking.

"Shhh! You'll break it."

"Break what?" she asks, laughing again.

"The silence."

Her golden laugh trips over his words. He tries to look stern, but fails, breaking into a huge grin.

"Why'd they let you go?" he asks, catching her in his arms -- never wanting to let her go.

"Let me go? From what?"

"The zoo, you strange creature."

Again, she laughs. There's a mysterious quality in her laughter that makes it both boisterous and soft. It's for this mystery that he allows its shimmery tones to go on breaking the precious silence of the sunset. They take a seat on a park bench -- his arms still around her.

"Oh, you're silly," she tells him, snuggling closer to him on the bench. "No one would pay anything to see me. At least, not the outrageously expensive prices that most zoos charge."

He smiles. What else is there to do when she takes his jest so seriously?

"Ooh, let's go to the zoo. This weekend. Friday morning through Sunday night. Just you and me. The Bronx is close-by and it's always lovely this time of year."

"It's spring, darling. All it does is rain in New York this time of year. How could it be lovely? And it's expensive, dear. You just described the ticket price as 'outrageous.'"

She smiles at him, with that sly little grin.

"Oh, you just want to jump in the puddles of New York... am I right?" he looks at her, wondering how her eyes can sparkle so brilliantly. It must be the setting sun -- sparking a gleam in her eyes, setting her hair on fire, giving fuel to her dreams and love.

"You know me too well," she says, sighing into his arms.

Ahh, but he doesn't. She's such a mystery to him. Always was and always will be. They watch the rest of the sunset in peace, their weekend plans already set. There's nothing to ruin the moment... nothing to break the silence. Until a thought comes to his mind.

"Wait a second, darling. Your second chemo treatment is on Thursday. You won't be able to walk, let alone j--"

"Shhh!" she interrupts him, putting her fingers to his lips. "You'll break it."

"Break what?"

"My dream."

Her laugh, once more, interrupts the silence.

everyone.

"Did you hear about the new patch in LoL?  I heard they made some new skins."  

"Ehhh, what's uh... lol?  Like an Mp3 player?"

"Naw, man, League of Legends.  You're behind."

"Hey, do you have the afternoon free today?  Let's go out."

"Mmmm... I should.  Where?"

"The usual.  You know how it goes."

"Hehehe.  I got you."

"Hey, how did your calc test go?"

"Bombed the quadratics.... But everything else, I think, pretty good."

"You have quadratics in a calc test...?"

"Oh.  Hmhmm.  I gotta go to the bathroom."

"Look at him, he's totally going to go to the staff office and try something crazy."

"I know, right?  What a lark."

      Walk around a less busy area of the hallways so that when I smile at someone, maybe they'll smile back at me, just because they don't know me.  Or because they're not busy talking to their own friends.  The ones they'd talk to first if they had to choose between them or me.

      Wish I could have a circle of friends to talk to.  Seeing the people congregating around that one guy, the one who can make everyone laugh, the one who's better than anyone else.  Thinking of something to say to fit in.  Walking away.

      Sitting at an ice cream parlour with my dad, wishing I were sitting at an ice cream parlour with my girlfriend.  Oh.  I don't have one.  Just wanting to be someone who's not me.  Just wanting to be better.  Just wanting to be nicer.  Just wanting to be less weird.  

      Talking to my friend about girls.  Why do we always talk about girls?  He's talking about how he wants to get a girlfriend.  Why would he want to get one?  Shouldn't he like... bump into one on a busy street corner in Chicago or on the "down" elevator when she's going down and he's trying to run up?  You don't get girls.  You realize. 

      Talking about life late at night with myself.  Wondering if I'm an idiot who counsels himself about how to live life and not procrastinate.  Thinking about God.  Does He care?  If He cares, does He care about the people who spit in His face with poisonous words?  What are poisonous words?  Do I speak those poisonous, blasphemous words?  Sure, yeah, sometimes.  

      

      Yeah, he cares.  Just got to find out how.  And sometimes, it's nicer not to have everyone.  Just someone.  Or just Someone.

4/12/13. dear elsie.

"If it's a genuine relationship, well, it's going to just happen naturally. You can't plan for it. If there are weird, awkward feelings, you probably not gonna do so well." Mum and one of my friends told me that yesterday, Elsie. Do you think so? I don't... I can't really relate to that. Isn't it easier being a girl than it is being a boy? Mean, my sis just calls and talks about how some weird guy took her out and she just thought it was friendly and then he did it again, and it was, weird... And Mum and Dad just give her relatively normal relationship, you know what I mean? But, when I do that, they just laugh at me. Heh, maybe because she's older.
      You should come back. I mean, it was fun. Really. Should... just come back and live. Come on. You're cooler than that. Get up. Do you hear me? I do not accept this. You are not going to do that. Again.
      I got a job... You know. I could've come gotten you flowers with my own money. Or Lindt hazelnut, like you wanted. I'm still... just, really awkward with women. It's probably your fault. You're not normal, you know that? You're like, a boy. Compliment. Well, I like to remember.
      You know what I liked? It was like, I, me. I could be the only person talking to you and then, well, and then, we could talk for a long time. That was cool. I can't do that with girls anymore. Like in person. Your fault again. Maybe I'm just trying to compare you to everyone I meat and it's just like, they don't even come close to...
      Oh, [meet], sorry. I'm writing in pen. Where was I? Well I, I don't remember what they don't come close to so, I'll just... You know, you were the best conversation practice partner.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

plural.

I always thought it would be nice, you know, to have more than one.  Not this one today, I'd like the other.  I am in the mood for this not that today.  Today this one please me and not that one.  Passing over this one for that one because that one seems better today.  Flitting from one to the other like a butterfly or busy-bee.

It's always that way, you know.  When you've only got one (or none) you wish and wish to have another.  How nice it would be to have a choice, you say, and not to feel like you're settling or too fill-in-the-blank to merit more.  If only I could have chosen and not been chosen.

But now.  Now every way I turn I am met by choices and I find I do not like it.  The grass is always greener on the other side, until you step over the fence.  Each "choice" demands and asks and requires an answer.  I am a whirly-top, a spinny-gig being tossed back and forth.  I turn here and there and lie restless in my bed.

Say yes, they said.  It's that simple.  Nothing will go wrong and all will be roses and sunshine.  Alas.  They were wrong.  It's that simple.

opposite sides.

The middle-aged, existentially-crisis-ridden Woman sat at the far end of the Table.  In her hands, she held two lethal knitting needles, on which was impaled a black yarn.  Her hands moved nervously, trying to match the irregular rhythm of her clicking needles.

The young, procrastination-prone Man sat at the far end of the Table.  Under his hands lay an old, fractured keyboard.  He tapped absentmindedly at the keys: f, f, f, f.  j, j, j, j.  The steady beat syncopated with the needles' rhythms.  In his lap sat the Cat.

Time Passed.

"Twenty-one.... Twenty-two.... Twenty-three.... Twenty-four.... Placemarker.  Mmmmm."  The Woman's voice cracked.  "Can you get that Cat away from here?  My eyes are getting itchy just being near him.  And I... Wait.  Don't disturb me.  Thirty-three.... Thirty-four...."  Her voice faded.  The Man stayed silent, immobile.  His fingers feebly betrayed his statued-ness.  His eyelids drooped lower.

Time Passed.

The Cat's purring grew dimmer.  No hands were scratching at his chin.  No warm breath on his stomach.  This was no better than the floor.  He jumped.  The Man shuddered with a start.  The eyes snapped wide.  The Cat's hair found its target.

Time Passed.

The Woman sneezed.

truth.

"You know what to do, right?  Act like a couple."
"Mmm.  Leave it to me.  I won't be put to shame by fools with love on the brain.

Hey, honey. Whatcha wanna do when we get to the beach?"
"Let's take a walk together along the shoreline."
"I like that.  We can talk about our future while gazing at the setting sun."
[Here, he gives his best sparkling prince impression.]

"They're totally faking it."

"So fake."

"Fake..."

[Here, he gives his best unperturbed impression.]

"Hey.  Wouldn't it be romantic to look for shells too?  If I find any rose-coloured ones, I'll give them to you."

"That sounds too wonderful.  We can each keep one half of a pair as a souvenir of the trip."

"Mm.  Let's make lots of memories of our love!"

[Here, he gives his best sparkling prince impression.]

"It's like some second-rate film."

[Here, he gives his best unperturbed impression.]

Currently hiring one male and one female actor between the ages of 15 and 16 for the revised [in progress] stage adaption of Oreshura.  Pay will be discussed in further meetings.  Plus extras.

- (c) Not Me

a dream I wish I dreamed.

"Wait, what? That doesn't seem physically possible!" I screamed as the stranger lifted 5 feet off the ground. "Anything is possible here! You just gotta believe!" he yelled back as he started going up higher and higher.

Let me just fill you in real quick. After a very bad and, to put it gently, weird science experiment, I became stranded on an island...not on Earth. At least, it didn't seem like Earth. After all, the sky was green, the grass was red, and the sand was blue. But considering the nature of the science experiment, it was also very likely that I blew out the receptors in my eyes, but I consider the former to be true based on the following events. I saw a duck fly past me. Not normal flying, mind you, but rather as if it was just shot out of a cannon.....a very greasy cannon. But this fact did not surprise me as much as the fact that the duck winked and said "yo" as he flew past me. At that point instinct kicked in as I said "sup, bro" and proceeded to go in for what is commonly known as "the bro hug", but by that time he was already gone, but not before leaving a pair of sunglasses in my outstretched hand. Naturally, I placed them on my devilishly handsome face while striking a pose, of which I will not go into too much detail. But it was a cool pose. Suddenly a stranger ran up, slapped me across the face, and started levitating all while humming the theme from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Then the above in italics occurred, and now we're all caught up. Yay. As he started rising, I noticed he took my sunglasses, which caused me to become greatly angered. Since flying was not an option for me on account of the fact that I wore a kilt, I decided to believe he was on the ground, and lo and behold, there he stood in front of me! At this point I became curious to test my hypotheses in regard to the compression/ tension ratio of my knuckles versus the right side of his cheekbone. Incidentally, this was the first step in the experiment previously mentioned, but I don't think now is the time to bore you with those details. After I retrieved my sunglasses, I noticed that enough time had passed for this stranger to recover from my hypotheses. Naturally, I decided to turn him into a firehydrant that was able to sing "Oh, Susannah" when used, since that is a relatively upbeat song with major chords to help anyone feel happy inside. After this event, I had an uneasy feeling as if my surroundings were incredibly boorish, which is when I noticed the massive forest behind me. Naturally, I decided to put the whole thing on fire, and attempt to placate the hungry flames with my newly acquired fire hydrant. This did not work, but I did feel rather happy inside on account of the song. Then I woke up....

ghost.

"For the Savage, life had been all too real.  Life was being all too real.  There were times... He wished he were on an earth filled with volcanoes, fighting off pirates to defend his honour and his homeland and his castle and his wife."

"For the Savage, death had been all too close.  Death would be all too real.  In a day, a year, right this instant.  It would come.  It will come.  There were times... He wished he were close enough to live his life fully, yet far enough... To pull out when he couldn't take any more."

H lifted the pen off paper.  A long, drawn-out, sigh.  Just more cliched story plots, beginnings that would never have a conclusion.  He'd used to like shutting a book on the third to last page, willing it not to end, willing the story to keep going until forever.  But now, being the writer, and not the writee... It was frustrating not to know the end.  It was frustrating not to know where to go.  It was frustrating holding this pen.

Why am I writing on paper?  Hasn't technology made the transition to paperless yet?  Am I looking for an archaic time writing these stories?  Not even stories.  All the fantasy books on the shelves are trash these days.  What do they call me?  Jaded.  Yah.  I'm destroying my livelihood like this.  Thousands and thousands...

The coffee pot whistled once.  H lifted the pen off paper.

lump.

The change in colour in your face when the person you get the most embarrassed around smiles at you.  The rush of emotion when your cat climbs onto your bed right after coming out of the litter box.  The paper towels you use to [unsuccessfully] get the strong pine scent off your bedsheets afterwards.  The change in facial expression when you walk out of the bathroom trying to tuck your shirt in and someone walks by.  The struggle to get your headphones on when you're close to walking past a person you have no earthly desires in heaven or hell to talk to.  The great clash of cymbals within your brain when you walk down the hotel hallway and a hunky man walks behind you for a number of minutes and you try to lose him in the laundry room and end up talking about Jesus with one of the cleaning staff until one in the morning.  The horrid taste in your mouth when you can't find the courage to talk about Jesus with anyone.  The elation when you find out you can open your eyes underwater.

All, leading to a lump in the throat.

unthink - 1.0

A pleasant melody wafted through the window as the man sat, striking two sticks together, humming along to the rhythm and the tune.  His crimson cloak rustled as he stood, tossing the sticks aside, and walked slowly toward the door.  The floor creaked.

"One does not go about being an assassin and make the floors creak, boy."  The crimson cloak fluttered softly to the ground after its brooch.  The man's sword gleamed against the boy's dagger.  There was no answer.  The boy's eyes narrowed.  Up.  Left.  He rolled past the man, swiping at his ankles.  Nothing was there.

The floorboards shattered as the boy's body crashed, propelled by one hand between his shoulder blades.  The man bent down, his hand still holding the boy to the ground.  "Neither does one think once his prey is in sight.  Your instincts are right, but unpolished."

"Just kill me."

The sword pierced through.  The boy's eyes widened, his breath pushed out suddenly, but then closed in resignation, a smile on his face.  Waiting for the pain to start.

"Get up, boy.  You've got some guts in you."  The sword had missed his throat, leaving only a small cut.  The boy lay still.

"Get up."

epiphany.

The rhythmic ticking of the murmuring clock

Supplemented my irresolution and apathy

Life was a chugging along

Like an long-forgotten train traversing the prairie

A mere echo to the clamor of the highway.

But as I watched -

The train seemed to grow larger, brighter

As the sun glinted off the charcoal and green finish

Like a stallion rearing on a battlefield

Fast, faster, faster

It soared like a jet-black crow rising from a lonely tower

Reviving strength filled its systematic churning.

It was an epiphany of confidence:

Hope flooded my veins.

blemish - 1.4.

Character List: 
The Artist | The Lady | The Commissioner | Henrietta | Louise | Firo

Firo panicked.  There were fourteen seconds left on the timer.  The beeping had sped up, keeping apace with his heartbeat.  "God, God.  Help me!"  Sweat carved through the grime caked on his face, falling to the ground.  Faster.

Six seconds.  A low humming came from the incinerator, shaking, there was no time.  No time.  His breath, faster.  The black splotches on the wall stared silently at him through the uproar.  "No.  No.  No, No!  Stop!!!"

The Time bent.

"Yes, my lord."

Louise stepped out of the air, the drop of blood having changed to two.  Two drops on the floor.  Two bloodlines mixed together.  Firo's eyes widened, still staring at the timer.  One second.  Even his breathing made no sound. The Time had stopped.

"What... did you...?"
"Stopped, my lord."