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Walking on Egg Shells
He says he doesn’t like to argue over differences in thought. In adhering to this odd requisite, I am often quiet and unsettled. I long for anything to distract us-a person walking by, an odd sound or smell, a song on the radio-something on which I can comment, leaving a favorable, if minor, impression ( ... )Leave a comment ( 27 )
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Once Upon a Time
From the first day I arrived in the castle, the mirror in my chamber played tricks on me.
One day it would show me as intensely beautiful, a perfect version of myself. The next it would show me aged and gnarled with a hooked nose, a wrinkled brow. After a particularly grotesque image of myself covered in blood, I grabbed a candlestick and made to ( ... )Leave a comment ( 21 )
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Sated (the lulz version)
I know he's drunk when he starts reading me poetry. John Koethe, Szymborska Wislawa. On special occasions, he'll break out Fernando Pessoa. From there it's only a skip to Hegel or Proust--poetry through prose and philosophy, he says--and my eyes glaze over. They cling to the periphery, admiring the smoke coming from his nostrils as he exhales. His ( ... )Leave a comment ( 31 )
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Cesspool
Welcome to the lounge.
The cigarette smoke hits you like a brick wall, staining your clothing on impact.
In the small kitchenette, you see Fern burning toast while humming some unrecognizable melody. His hands are covered by fingerless gloves, which he never takes off, even indoors. His hair is a dull black, wanting a wash. He's addicted to something ( ... )Leave a comment ( 18 )
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In Your Wheelhouse
The nurses taught me how to smoke.
Before 20, I'd never touched a cigarette.
A fresh-faced registrar with no medical background or training, I was working the overnight shift in the local emergency room and going to school full-time. No matter how many cups of coffee I poured, my eyelids still drooped. I started nodding off at work, only to start ( ... )Leave a comment ( 26 )
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The Straw that Stirs the Drink
There would be no white wedding for Arlene Deitermeyer.
The rum swirled amber streaks through her highball glass, mixing with the mere splash of soda the bartender had poured in. He seemed to know she needed a stiff drink, despite what her plain, laced-up, gingham dress said to the contrary. For tonight, Arlene was not a good girl. Tonight she was a ( ... )Leave a comment ( 19 )
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Bridge
The worst part about it is that they never give you a map.
First your parents, then your teachers, the church leaders and authority figures in your life, the people you cherish and respect, they lay it all out for you--a massive four-lane highway, paved smooth with no traffic, directly as the crow flies--the route from where you are to where you are ( ... )Leave a comment ( 30 )
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And Then There Was One
Miranda slowly cracked opened her eyes, alone in the sun-drenched bedroom. She stretched her arms and enjoyed the warmth of her sheets before becoming slightly alarmed. It must be Saturday, she thought. But she'd been sure it was Tuesday. Shouldn't she be at school already ( ... )Leave a comment ( 43 )
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Et tu, Brute?
Have you ever had one of those days where everything was going to go perfectly and nothing could lead you astray? You wake up sure of it. Today you will be something. Today you will be the best ( ... )Leave a comment ( 55 )
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Inspired by mac_arthur_park (on how ideas become writing)
"I'm glad you could all make this emergency meeting ( ... )Leave a comment ( 30 )
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