"Beautiful sunset, isn't it?" I didn't have to look to recognize my mother's voice, her words were always sweetest to me, as any mother's voice is to her child.
"Hello Cassie" I heard the soft sound of surprise and then I realized my mistake.
The question unspoken was interrupted by the moonlight. I laughed.
"Amazing" she whispered.
I turned to look at Cassie, the night falling on me. "There are things I haven't told you, and things I can never tell you for the safety of others. But believe me when I say this, I would sooner sell all the things I love then betray you or the life I live."
The woman held a long knife in her hand, sharp and crusted with brown. Her arm was spotted too, like the floor, and like the child' s face and hair.
She lifted her hand to the child's sight. The metal reflected the soft morning sun in her eye. The girl watched the sharp edge's movements, silent.
Almost ten o'clock.
The wind, a memory of something, filled her ears. She could hear a pattern and a sound but was too tired to try to see past the cold, so she just closed her eyes and fell.
She didn't care what kept her, her ears deep in the water that flowed down the drain, but stayed. Her arms getting warmer, the wet fabric they rubbed against no loner noticed.
She looked down. Ground seemed to pull away until she was dropped in the red under her shadow. The woman switched hands with the knife. She reached for the girl and lifted her, again.
Sharp and quick, the metal slid over flesh, peeling and pulling. Blood flowed over her face from the other direction. She had enough sense not to cry, rag doll as her arms were peeled. More pieces of flesh fell.
When they left the building, they saw how to live like kings.They would have stayed, but Eliza saw the men runnig after them and so they ran away.They ran to the only place they knew comfort in.The lady of the house didnot know that they were coming and let her dogs out to play.They hoped that the lady of the house didnot let her dog out just yet,but she did.That was the end of the bad kids.
She didn't wake. Doll eyes.
It had been twenty-seven days since her first mistake.
I tried to write a happy tale
the words stuck my throat
and all I choked out instead were the red-soaked letters
of somebody else's heart.
Caress the deep hole that resides
empty, where your soul must have fled
In tender fear of what you could not tell
me, yet all else knew.
North wind is cold, they say you have gone
South, and are happy.
But I believe summer
is an Alaskan dream.
The sun wasn't visible from the windows just yet but the after affects could still be felt. Bare streams of shielded warmth filtered in from the glass. The whole room was a dim offset of brown. Shady carpeting chose it's own territory over the wooden boards. The girl's hair hid her face, covered her back.
She said: "The other night I dreamt I was in a warehouse, standing on some boxes, and there was a fire. It was bright and hot, my skin was burning when the flames reached my feet. There was a telephone I tried to use but the line was cut. The roof collapsed."
She shivered, the memory raising hairs on her arms and tingling to her fingers. She clenched her fist.
It was only a dream, she reasoned. Dreams can't, shouldn't hurt you…
…He was paralyzed. Small child, a natural beauty. He stood silent in the empty town, staring. He was young, too young to be out alone without his mother. Where is his mother?
… there. By the well. She's resting now, her upper body on one side and lower portion on the other half. Was the ground this red to begin with?…
Plates should be stacked exactly how. Largest on bottom, smallest on top. BUT remember to place them UPSIDE DOWN. Otherwise it'd be like holding your umbrella upside down in the rain. Pretty pointless.
Pots and pans: upside down of course, but for pans that are not allowed to be touched by anything in the inside stack them just so.
She moved over the street, more wandering than walking. It was her second day in this strange town, the first being spent acquainting herself with her new home, something different.
When the sun started falling, the streets changed.
Cold and damp air escaped into the worn tavern as the weathered door forced itself open. A bundled figure stepped heavily over the threshold and into the bar. The occupants were few this late at night but they were there none the less and the more sober glanced in the vagrant's direction.
Other than that, the newcomer's arrival went largely unnoticed and disregarded; she wore an old trench worn dark with time.
One hand rested on her arm, light as if she was a fragile doll.
She was sleepy and as she listened to the voice, it kept sounding familiar, but ended at that. And it was still dark, and she was still lost.
It was so dark, cold too. It seemed like nothing this infinite could be anything but cold. Dampness so sophisticated it was endless and could, would, swallow you whole.
Blue. Somewhere a blue. Surrounding and encompassing as completely as this void. A river, stream, or eyes so soft and pale they were unreal. Blue, gone now, as if it wasn't.
Joey works up at the counter with the customers. I think it's because he's got charm enough to make the Devil blush. It doesn't help that he's Hank's nephew.
I was the resident foreigner back home, but here no one cares. Probably has to do with all the rebels bleeding to death of boredom.
His home was different too.
For one it was smaller. The roof didn't reach quite as high into the heavens as this one did. The rooms were smaller and less cluttered. A chair here, a table there. Nothing much more was needed. But here...
"We're gonna die!" Grenades flew over the hollow dunes, silent metal ravens of war.
"That's a nice thought!" A comrade shouted under the shrill of high-powered guns and empty golden casings. Two cannons fired, common blasts of air that shook the ground and vomited large silver bombs against cloth and flesh. The shrubbery had lived many dust storms in the short course of an hour and it bleed human blood.
Every several months she'd move the furniture around in her room and tilt the mirror to a different angle but never where she could directly see it. She slept with the window open and her fan was always on the highest setting.
She kept a journal when she felt like it, writing half pages Spartan-like about what she did that day and always tossing it someplace different.