They told me I’d have to sit there until I ate my brussel sprouts. But I didn’t. They left me sitting at the table, alone. Still I didn’t. They said they were going to a movie, and I couldn’t go unless I ate them. So I put them in my mouth. I chewed them. And I stuffed them in my cheek. They bought it. I thought,”win.” We drove to the…
He turned away from her at the door and walked out into the rain. His chest was tight, and each step took him farther from where he wanted to be. Three blocks away, he stopped, needing more than anything to tell her. Turning back, he began to run as fast as he could, and when he reached her door, drenched and breathless, he knocked. It opened, and she stood there….
You skid to a stop at the brink of the cliff, loose dirt underfoot. Breathless, staring straight down at the canyon floor hundreds of feet below, you feel the wind hit your face as it whips upward. Crunching footsteps approach from behind, far too quickly, much too close. You spin toward the oncoming threat, fingers flexing their sweaty grip on the knife in your hand. Too late. A foot slams against your chest, and the ground…
I wandered through a used bookstore where the smell enveloped me like a blanket. Surrounded by stacks of books so tall that ladders were needed to reach the tops. Shelves overflowing, unsorted piles, row upon row upon row. All of those books had been opened and all of them read. So many fingers turning so many pages filling so many minds. For every impression left, a scent absorbed. Oils, perfumes,…
She floated, enigmatic, outside of normal interactive patterns. It wasn’t due to a lack of congeniality, she just rarely went out of her way to pursue companionship. So I was the one who introduced myself to her. I learned about her innate proficiency at reverse engineering, and the passion she had for deconstructing things. In contrast, is my most prominent memory of Kristina. She would lie on her belly next to her pool, its surface overgrown with lily pads, place her lips to the water, and blow delightful, bubbling greetings to…
A few years ago, well, in 2002, I came up with the idea of writing a set of micro-stories. I’d taken some literature class that required us to keep our responses between two hundred, and two hundred fifty words, and I remember how challenging it was to make a valid, significant point, but still keep it that concise. It was also a lot of fun. I decided that I was going to make…
I’ve got a t-shirt that’s 18 years old. I haven’t worn it often, because there’s a part of my brain that tells me I need to preserve it. To save it. That its life is finite, and every time I put it on, it’s that much closer to being gone forever. I’m quite sure it’s because that time in my life has faded into distorted memories, and the shirt is one of the few…