#37 - 40 100 Drabbles of Summer
#37 A strange Noise
It's the noise that startles me awake from my sleep. I'm five years old, maybe six. Hell, maybe I'm seven. In the dark and in the shadows I see strange things, strange, scary things. In the dark all things can be strange and frightening, especially to a little girl. When we get older we can rationalize there is nothing to fear. Most of the time.
It's four am and I am screaming for my father to take the scary away.
I can hear his heavy footsteps, I can hear him coming to save me.
#38 Sticky
I never talk about my mom much. This isn't because I don't love my mom. I do. It is, perhaps that my words, no matter how accurate and how lovely are never enough for what she is to me. That is not to say that we've never had our fights, and hurt. In all love there is hurt.
My mother has a garden, full of flowers, full of good things. Her watermelons take a long time to grow. She cuts off slices and she still laughs when she can spit seeds farther then me.
#39 Superstition
I am not a superstitious person. Black cats, horseshoes, rabbits feet, salt over the shoulder, shit like that. What you put in to life you get out. That's not to say that sometimes life doesn't just suck, no matter how good you are.
My friend Allie was sixteen years old when she died. She was a normal teenage girl who got sick. She liked to text message and read those glossy teen magazines and paint her nails every color on the rainbow.
Why? I don't know. It's not just bad luck.
#40 Breakdown
He comes to save me, my father. Turning on the night lamp by my bedside. His frame is big, and the bed creaks one side slanting at his weight. He gathers me up in his arms and hugs me as I sob and sob. The palm of his hand is as big as my head and he strokes my hair.
This is good, this is safety. Back when things were still good and could still be safe.
Things change, a breakdown isn't possible now. I'm a mess which is hard when you're not supposed to be.
It's the noise that startles me awake from my sleep. I'm five years old, maybe six. Hell, maybe I'm seven. In the dark and in the shadows I see strange things, strange, scary things. In the dark all things can be strange and frightening, especially to a little girl. When we get older we can rationalize there is nothing to fear. Most of the time.
It's four am and I am screaming for my father to take the scary away.
I can hear his heavy footsteps, I can hear him coming to save me.
#38 Sticky
I never talk about my mom much. This isn't because I don't love my mom. I do. It is, perhaps that my words, no matter how accurate and how lovely are never enough for what she is to me. That is not to say that we've never had our fights, and hurt. In all love there is hurt.
My mother has a garden, full of flowers, full of good things. Her watermelons take a long time to grow. She cuts off slices and she still laughs when she can spit seeds farther then me.
#39 Superstition
I am not a superstitious person. Black cats, horseshoes, rabbits feet, salt over the shoulder, shit like that. What you put in to life you get out. That's not to say that sometimes life doesn't just suck, no matter how good you are.
My friend Allie was sixteen years old when she died. She was a normal teenage girl who got sick. She liked to text message and read those glossy teen magazines and paint her nails every color on the rainbow.
Why? I don't know. It's not just bad luck.
#40 Breakdown
He comes to save me, my father. Turning on the night lamp by my bedside. His frame is big, and the bed creaks one side slanting at his weight. He gathers me up in his arms and hugs me as I sob and sob. The palm of his hand is as big as my head and he strokes my hair.
This is good, this is safety. Back when things were still good and could still be safe.
Things change, a breakdown isn't possible now. I'm a mess which is hard when you're not supposed to be.