There really is no need for alarm when the problem is a simple case of misunderstanding. At least, that’s the way Alex put it. The problem, as it were, had all arisen after a sexually explicit email, according to Alex, had been accidentally sent. Read more
She wants to play outside most days, but when her mother asks her what she wants to do today, the child responds, “What I do every day.” Read more
In the deep reaches of night, she sits and soaks in the desperate moonlight. A storm rumbles overhead as facts and opinions battle for the truth, a truth, the truth about what could be, should be, can be. She looks up. Read more
He disappears into a wooded brush. Someone, anyone, a stranger follows, slowly, cautiously, purposefully. He feels the itch of a sneeze, hears the pop of a nearby twig snapping. Unsure now of the direction from whence he came, he holds his breath; frozen, his eyes dart from right to left in a blurry attempt to find or recognize a way out. Eyes search, nose runs from the suppressed sneeze. Wondering if he is able to withstand the torment, he shuts his eyes tight and shuts out the world. A miraculously slight breath in, an impossibly slow breath out. He may pass out, he decides if he must continue to breathe at such a pace. A faint wrestling of leaves under foot. His eyes bolt over his left shoulder toward the sound. Read more
When my brother left for college, he lived in California, and I, still finishing up high school, lived at home in Colorado. When I left for college, I moved to Texas, and my brother, still a student, lived in California. When I quit school, we both lived under the same roof of our childhood for the summer, and then I moved to New York while he remained in Colorado. When I went back to school, we both lived in Colorado but in faraway places. A year later, he moved to Chile, South America. Three years after that, I moved to Seoul, South Korea. A year after that, he moved to Shanghai, China.
He has a new girlfriend, “I’m really, like, I really like this girl, but I fucked it up.” Read more
Her eyes, the truth, the vain insanity of wanting, nay, needing to look … intelligent pulls feebly at her ego. How one could even know if he/she is smart soon becomes the truly inane question. She remembers the one time she felt legitimately smart. Not to say that she feels or believes herself to be stupid, quite the contrary, unfortunately. No matter, there was this one time wherein she really felt exceptionally smart. Read more
The days are always dark here, and I don’t know if my body/mental health -psychology- can handle this new reality. Stuck, lost in a dream, I hear myself narrating, ruminating about the nonsensical train of indistinct, unimportant thoughts and mental baggage of a life spent cooped up within the realm of the reality of the constraints of the temple of the glass half empty, always half full of the hopes and the opportunity to live once again, freed within the existence of independence, objectivity and the pencil’s finely sharpened tip. Read more
She smells what can only be described as freshly cut flowers. Bending down to take a small whiff of the freshness she immediately recognizes the error between what she thought and what is truth. Who, she wonders, can correctly distinguish between varieties of flowers purely through smell? Probably more than she assumes but also perhaps fewer than the average person would believe. Roses, freesias, lavender, they are the only distinct scents she can think of in the moment, but then she wonders again, is lavender a flower or an herb? What’s the difference? What do tulips smell like? Do geraniums have an aroma? Where is the scent of a flower located? Is it different for every type or among types? Read more
“Go with me. Or, you know,” I proposed; “Come with me.” He was unsure. He was never sure about such things, but then to my surprise, he spoke, “Yes, okay.” This sudden air of carelessness defined him not under usual, ordinary circumstances, but perhaps, this particular situation grew, evolved into something more, beyond our small minds’ level of comprehension. “Leave it,” I suggested. “What do you mean?” he inquired. “All of it. Just leave it all behind,” I clarified. “But,” he half stammered; “We need stuff.” “We need only a few things. You want ‘stuff’ to feel secure, comforted by the feeling of having.” He nodded, partially in agreement but mostly in disbelief. “Here,” I said as I threw him a backpack of a size worn typically by students. Holding the bag up to examine the size of it more thoroughly, he sighed, “Yea, okay.” Read more
The year is 2004.
Outside, the air is crisp in that in-between phase when seasons change. Spring draws near as an eighteen-year-old senior, preparing to graduate from high school, lives her daily life full of the excitement of growing up. These days, it seems as though every other adult with whom she speaks pontificates about how, “This next chapter of life is the best time ever. But be aware; it goes by so fast.” She genially nods and shows the respectable amount of gratefulness for their wise words. Her friends preoccupy themselves with daydreams and fantasies wherein the freedom that exists so close they can all practically taste it will lends itself to all sorts of greatness and fulfillment. Something else entirely, however, looms over her as she deeply considers this graduation from childhood into supposed adulthood. Read more