Night, Fall

May 22, 2010

Fine grooves split down the shells of refulgent embers, carving outlines of Halloween teeth into blackened wood, and spheres of tangerine held in your eyes like dry planets while water stole up the sand to make negatives of our toes. Lying back, the smell of marshmallows and ash filled our noses and stars clumped and circled overhead like a halo stretched over Earth. I said something about not being able to see the leaves changing color and we laughed at our seriousness. With an exhale, we closed our eyes as freckles of red danced over us like fireflies.

Find it

May 7, 2010

There was a rustle in the Faustus bushes.

“Go on,” said Giglosh, “Your pet rock was the one who threw it in there, so you have to go get it!”

“Stupid necklace! Stupid necklace!” Tiam’s pet rock sang. “It looks like a turd with whiskers!”

“It’s not stupid and it’s not a turd! How many magical pendants do you have?” Giglosh shot back, “And it’s not right to throw other people’s things into bushes, especially Faustus bushes, you little pest.”

“Giglosh is right,” Tiam said, trying to avoid a fight. “Why don’t you apologize—” But the rock retracted it’s limbs and facial features before plopping on the ground, like a lifeless pebble indistinguishable from the rest. “You can’t always do that when you’re in trouble!”

“My necklace! Go!” said Giglosh, pushing Tiam toward the bushes. “My grandmum gave that to me!”

Tiam could see the pendant winking light near the bush’s trunk, but when he reached his hand close to the leaves, the Faustus bushes trumpeted a twisted song that hurt his ears. Its branches thickened to blood-red arms and gripped over his elbow, pulling him in. Finally, his fingers found the pendant and jerked out of the bush as fast as possible. The bush relaxed back into its quiet, manicured beauty and Tiam dropped the necklace into Giglosh’s hand.

“Disgusting things aren’t they, T?”

“I still remember the first time I came here and you pushed me into one.”

“Oh, we were just children then. It seems funny now.”

“It was a month ago.”

“Yeah, but I had my tenth birthday. Double digits, that is. And either way, it’s still funny.”

No sense.

April 10, 2010

Your dog is biting my yellow tie, mister.  Did you see her by any chance? Just mister?  Down there I’m mister Polly.  While I wait until she runs around this lake again, do you by any chance have a cracker?  I’m insatiable.  That’s why I’m no good in the desert.  At least as a companion.  I mean, if I were out there with an unlimited supply of food and water, yeah, I could do it.  But it’s not going to happen in the near future.  That’s the technology of the sci-fi novels.  Now there’s and idea: a novel idea it is.  And it will be unconventional like all art with twisty buttons and swooping trails of color, trails of tears, stories of those losers of history with ruins now crumbling through time like the pyramids.

Down the road…

March 20, 2010

Thorton walked down marshmallow lane in his pajamas.  Great, white puffs of sugar lined the road like tree stumps and rainbow gumdrops the size of buttons curved across their sides.  The afternoon sun stretched behind Thorton so he could laugh with his shadow, which made shadow-puppets and mimed nibbling at the side of the road.  In the distance, a bell chimed.  The shadow-puppet faded back into a fist and swung furiously up and down as Thorton began to sprint.  “I’m late!” he yelped, already panting, and zoomed back to the honeyed town like a hummingbird.

From the Sky

June 30, 2008

Five women sat around the dusty combobulator wondering just where it came from and what it was supposed to do. Do, she thought. “Do” seemed to her to be a human expectation – a goal of our gadgets and gizmos – but this, this fell from the sky. Maybe it has its own set of rules. The scary thought had Mary imagine mushroom clouds and raining acid, people twisted and hollow beneath an innocent orange mist, and palm trees cracking and stooping over, searching for the last vestiges of sunlight in a new, dark red world.