Children of Fog
Under the glassy lens of the abyss if one were to look, it's hard to miss the faintest whispers from the deep words, so quiet, that seem to creep
Candy Bars and Chemotherapy
I remember watching my father walk down the street, the bright yellow shirt with the solid black zigzag pairing perfectly with his bald head. An adorable Charlie Brown if there ever was one. He was laughing with my mother (who was dressed as Snoopy), watching my sister rushing ahead in a witch's costume as she darted from door to door. I had lingered slightly behind, trying to commit as much of the scene to memory as I could. After all, it was possibly the last Halloween I would get to spend with my father.
Embers leaping in your mouth, scorching your tongue raw as flames tickle along your esophagus. You raise it to your lips, seething poison,
The Sorrow Beneath their Wings
She comes here most mornings, sipping a cup of coffee, or clutching some new book in her hand waiting, for what-- I don't know.
The Corpse Under the Pear Tree
December 4, 1951 France- The car pulled up alongside a field flanking a long stretch of road. The usually green expanse of crops was now dusted with a thin layer of snow. Detective Lebeau peered out the windshield at the small conglomerate of figures crowded around the base of an old, wizened pear tree. He pulled his collar up over his ears and stepped out into the cold morning air.
Benjamin could feel the cold wind whipping against the nylon side of the tent, and he pulled his blanket up closer around his ears. He listened to the howling for a few more moments, then nestled back down and attempted to fall back asleep. Beside him, Connor slept silently. Benjamin reached out a hand and gently brushed aside a strand of hair out of Connor's face. The young man stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments, then silently sat up and began packing up their wares.
The Disappearing Girl
Hailey held the mug of tea up to her lips and took a deep whiff of the steam rising from the hot liquid. She smiled and slid the back porch door open. Stepping out onto the deck, she looked over the pond. The woods stretched out for miles around her, with only her small cottage peaking out amongst the foliage. The sun was partway into its daily climb in the sky, and the beams of light danced across the lake's frozen surface in intricate patterns. The birds were unusually loud this morning, but Hailey didn't mind. She stood for a minute, not moving a muscle. This is what she loved the most. With the bustle of modern life, it seemed that humans were built for noise and motion, but standing there, Hailey knew that wasn't the case. What humans crave is stillness. The silent contemplation of being. She wasn't into that hippy-dippy free love shit which many people in her position ascribed to. But, there was something powerful in just being. Standing in the wild, untamed brush, there was no pressure to do this or be that. Out on the small deck, she was nothing and everything all at once; a paradox existing in perfect harmony within herself.
He used to love marigolds. Their bright, vibrant color matched his bubbly personality. Some of the boys made fun of him for having a favorite flower ("What are you, a girl or something?"), but Travis didn't seem to mind. Of course, he never seemed to mind, and that was the problem. He had always been a quiet kid. Shyness meant that he kept to himself most of the time, so there weren't many people to notice him. It didn't much matter now though.