Playing with Letters A-E

Alarming asthmatics

aerate astoundingly

attempting aerial acrobatics.


Beautiful butterflies

bounce bravely

between braking buses

before beaming blithely

betwixt burnished beams.


Craven characters

crowd curious chaps

copping coins criminally.


Dapper Dames

deploy devious

dramatic designs

disarming dangerous Dukes.


Elevated eyries

establish elegant escapes,

entrancing enraptured Earls

enjoying excellent eclectic ecosystems.


 

 

 

 

 

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Lethe

Life awash in fog

Glimpses of remembrance

Grainy and dim snapshots of time

Details lost, only outlines linger

Time scrubs the remnants to emptiness

Fog thickens, what remains?

A life wandering through empty worlds

Night Terrors

Darkness falls and Shadows rise

An eerie glow before mine eyes

Movement flits across the night

What lies in the darkness of my sight?

Dangers lurking just out of reach

Looming, hunting as I try to sleep

Is it truth or a frightened mind?

How can one know when he is blind?

 

The Gap

The room is eerily silent after all the screaming. My brain finally breaks out of its stupor and registers the sound of short, panting breaths behind me, breaking the silence. My own breathing echoes in my head like thunder. Rows of tables and chairs sit empty in front of me, their clean surfaces a mockery of the devastation that has occurred here. This cafeteria is old, the walls yellowing, scuffed tile floors, what a horrible place to die. And then there is the gap.

Such a small thing the gap. Where did it come from? why is it here? Doesn’t really matter now. All that matters is that he is behind it and he has shown no mercy. Everyone is gone now except for myself and John. It was chaos at first but a few managed to hide. Then the solution seemed so simple, just move along the edges of the room farthest away from the gap, there was no way he could reach us. We were wrong. That arm with its fur and its clawed hand reached out and stretched so far it defied the laws of physics. I don’t know why they kept trying. It was like their minds couldn’t believe what was happening. So many died that way.

Now we were the only one’s left, in our little hiding spot. He couldn’t see us but once we moved we knew we were goners. We would only have one shot and it had better be a good one. Too bad I was out of ideas.

I looked behind me to John. He had a strange look in his eyes.

“What is it? Do you have an idea?” I whispered.

“I have one idea,” he said slowly. His short brown hair was soaked with sweat, his eyes haunted, flicking back and forth, and he kept licking his lips. He looked a little crazy. I doubted I looked much better.

“Well? Spit it out, will you?” I said, anxious to try something, anything to end this waiting.

John’s eyes settled on me and a strange calm came over him. He’d made up his mind and was ready to act.

“If we distract him, we might have a shot. Once he’s occupied just run as fast as possible to the door.”

I turned to look toward the door, then to the gap.

“Distract him with what, exactly?” I muttered.

That’s when I felt John’s hands on my back. Before I realized what was happening he had shoved me hard, right towards the gap. As I fell, I caught a glimpse of John running full tilt towards the door and safety. As my brain finally registered this betrayal I cursed him with everything left in me.

I felt the claw grip my leg and start to pull me in to the gap. I’d promised myself that if it took me I wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of screaming. One last act of defiance, like it would somehow mean something. But that was one promise I couldn’t keep.

A Conversation with Myself (During a Migraine)

Legs restless, feet tapping, hands wringing then running through hair, twisting, grabbing.

 
Press palms to eye, keep it from escaping.

 
Nothing works, it keeps coming. Why won’t it stop?

 
Distract yourself, do something, do anything.

Can’t think.

It’s trying to worm its way out of your skull. Stop it!

 
Why won’t it stop?

Breathe, try to breathe. Control it. I know it doesn’t work, do it anyway! It’s your body, you’re in charge. Fight it dammit!

Get up, it’s obviously not going away. Take something. Drown it. Kill it. Distract yourself until it works.
It’s going to work, it has to work. If it doesn’t you’ll eventually go insane.

 
Shut up.

 
This time is no different. You can beat it, you always beat it.

 
Every time feels like the first time. Can’t hold onto the pain.

 
Don’t want to.

 
No, but the memory might be helpful.

 
Doesn’t matter. You remember winning, that’s enough.

 
I suppose so, but it doesn’t make it easier.

 
Who ever said life was easy?
Suck it up. Just breathe.
Now stop writing and stick your head in hot water. The heat helps.
See I can be helpful.

 
Shut up.

A Table for Two (two stories)

A World Apart

A woman sits alone in a coffee shop at a table for two. Humanity passes by her, life happening in a sea of strange faces. She sits apart, part of this world but not, and she watches. Does she wish she were over there with the group of old friends talking and laughing about old times over their cups? Or perhaps with the young family doting over their small children as if they were the most important thing in the world? Does she wish to join the sea of life swirling about her? But perhaps she is content to remain apart, a silent watcher outside of time and the flow of predictable humanity. Passerby’s judge her from the safety of their comfortable worldviews. But who are they to judge the content of her inner life? She sits alone, a world apart, but don’t we all?

He Waits

A man sits alone at a table for two. He waits for him. Life passes by outside the confines of his table. People meet, come together, and part again. Time moves on but he does not. Some notice him and wonder, but most pay no heed to the old man. He does not belong in their worlds, is not worth notice in their busy live. He does not notice them either, there is only room for him and the love he waits for. The love that will never come, can never come, taken by hatred and fear from this life. And still he waits.

Wrong Side of the Gate

“I’m dying! Please help me” cries a man, red in the face.

“Sit down and wait your turn” says the nurse at the gate.

Tears flowing he turns, defeated, to take his place and wait.

Hours pass, hope fades. One more chance he must take.

“Please help me, it’s been hours with no end in sight. My heart it can’t take this, I’m dying inside.”

Impassively, she says “Sit down, wait your turn. We will help you in time.”

More hours pass, a new day dawns. The man’s name is called but no one responds.

“Get up, it’s your turn. We’ve come to help, it’s time.”

But the man doesn’t move. His heart couldn’t take it, he’s died inside.

The healers they came but on their time, not his.

Had they seen him on his time, would he have lived?

The pain took him with it, on the wrong side of the gate.

Perhaps if they’d listened, they could have changed his fate.