Next time you get into an elevator occupied by strangers, notice how everybody avoids looking directly at you. There might be a passing glance or a friendly smile lasting just a second, but then it’s a feigned interest in the elevator buttons, or their shoes, or the doors straight ahead. They pretend you aren’t there. You’re guilty of this too, I’d bet.
It was when the darkness fell from the sky to bathe the earth in its icy black touch that Steven yearned to go out and play. It was during the night that the things which lay hidden by day were free to roam the woods behind the house. Steven would watch from his bedroom window overlooking the yard, his darting eyes scanning the small shrubs and bushes, and finally the trees and thick undergrowth that was home to wondrous and magical things. Creatures only glimpsed in fairy tales and folklore, dismissed by adults as creative imagination.
In the languid light radiating dimly from the single bulb, the book was an intruder. Casually tucked away, it attempted to pass itself off as a simple replica of ignored volumes, of an unknown literary work, a forgotten novel of no great importance. Upon spying it lurking on the rickety shelf, Peter knew it did not belong here.
Wasted Tears & Tiny Soldiers
Staring deeply into her pale blue eyes, reflecting my own icy mirrors of contempt. Part of me wishing her dead, the rest of me lacking the strength and initiative to force the dream to become reality. Imagining the sweet, moist heaven between her legs, in stark contrast to her cold, festering heart.
The woman lying next to me is not my wife, which makes her much easier to talk to. I guess I’ve been carrying a lot of weight around, and first the sexual release, then the emotional release, has helped to purge me of some of that unbearable stress.
Warriors of the Golden Age
Jakob signed out of his terminal and removed his visor. He blinked several times as the reality of the world around him returned to his eyes in dull, muted tones. His room was a mess, of course, as was the rest of the apartment. No need to clean when no one is ever coming in.
Our Rise. Our Fall.
I remember the locket most of all. Heart-shaped. Silver. A bit tarnished, but what wasn’t tarnished at this point? And there was a small scratch on the side where it was once scraped against something. It was a minor imperfection that reminded me that nothing is ever, nothing can ever be, truly perfect. It was a reminder of what we had tried to achieve.