The boy child

The boy child

[Some doors only close]

“That’s ridiculous,” the boy child states to his manny. “I swear to you,” the manny promises, arms raised in surrender. “Prove it,” the boy challenges. “I cannot,” the manny shrugs. “Why?” the boy asks. “Cause. Think about it. It’s a door that ONLY closes,” the manny suggests. The boy thinks this over for a bit. “I suppose you’re right,” the boy child decides. “But then how am I ever supposed to find out whether or not you are?” “You will find out someday, but not today,” the manny promises. “Promise?” the boy confirms. “Promise,” the manny reiterates with an offered pinky. The two pinky swear.

 

 

Not the Listmaker

Not the Listmaker

“He stood out clearly in the crowd.”

 

In a realm notoriously overrun by women, females, bodies of the womb-possession type, uh yea, he stood out. If you were to ask him, he would tell you that, obviously, he knew that he would stand out, but yea, of course, he had no idea that it would be quite so obvious. If you were to ask him, he would tell you that he, “Why would anyone?” would never travel to such a place unless, as is the case now, he must. The older woman sent him, obviously, and so, here he is, sitting, uncomfortable in a stiff chair, waiting for someone for some reason. Just like they way that all of them are, just sent, to find someone or something for some reason. Of course the reasons exist beyond them, but they have lives too, people to whom to attend, lovers to scorn, realities to endure. In the end, really, all he wants is to just be able to sit, forever, right here.

 


 

Little ‘T’ Truth

Little ‘T’ Truth

Only the color red was absent

“But red isn’t a color,” the kid in the front with the newly grown-in, oversized two front teeth points out. Looking fondly at the kid, the teacher asks, “What is it, then?” “It’s a state of being. It’s the way that someone would describe themselves when in a state of truth.” “Very good,” the teacher proclaims and then attempts to move on. “But why did you ask about it as if it were a color?” the kid pipes in. “What do you mean?”

“You asked which color was missing.”

“I asked which color was absent.”

“Yea, then Pete raised his hand and answered that it was red.”

“To which you replied …”

“Red isn’t a color.”

“Yes.”

“But why did you ask about the color in the first place?”

“I didn’t.”

 


 

Sticky Words

Sticky Words

The word, like all words of this nature that rattle around within my conscious mind for no perceivable reason, sprouted up from my unconscious and made itself known. “Moribund,” my narrator clearly stated with a little pop on the “b,” “bpbund.” I knew that it had something to do with mortality or the, what-have-you, morose. Read more