What can YOU say in six sentences?
“I want you to close your eyes and imagine a single black bird perched on a thin black line.”
Lying lazy on the cool couch in the darkened room, he quietly draws in her practiced voice, opens his mind’s eye and imagines. “The black bird is your anger and…Continue
Dancing hopscotch in their white Sunday dresses, Emily and Rachel skip hand in hand down the crooked path that runs through the muddied grounds of the old All Saints Church. Occasionally they stop to pick among the vast sea of flowers that colorfully wash along the sides of the pathway, sniffing at the white ones and frowning, only to then smile and giggle into their hands; the yellow ones they place in their hair,…Continue
I wrote you a crazy letter. I typed each word carefully making sure my spelling exceeded the level of first grade. There were plenty of tailored love letters from which to fashion something appropriate. Sure, it’s Valentine’s Day but I didn’t want to get too flowery. You’ve indicated I’m not your type so I put up a bolder face: WANTED. And only because they didn’t offer just plain old I love you.
John tells me to do it before it’s too late but I already know. I’m such a chicken-shit when it comes to these things; maybe it’s because I’m such a lousy dancer, stepping all over everyone and myself. I can’t fast dance; I hate jiggling around like good dancers do so I try to imagine something fun like being mowed down by a machine gun, riddled full of bullets all jerky like, but the last girl I danced with two-fisted my…Continue
The 440 is my race and I could own it outright if I were going up against the snails in my weight bracket like Donnie Tilsbury or Sid ‘Legs’ Wenton or even Sal Swann who runs like a fast four year old girl but fucking Coach Walters decided to put Dave McDonald in the race and the only other event I’m in and it’s going to be iffy. I’m running as a Junior but McDonald’s an Intermediate – shit, he’s a Senior as far as I’m…Continue
Sometimes, right in the middle of class, a light will go on and I’ll come up with a perfect name for my band. Like during Science yesterday while old Pickell was flying all over the chalkboard like a maniac drawing up charts with colored chalk, this popped into my head: Orange Appeel. I love names like that, like the Beatles Rubber Soul or Strawberry Alarm Clock, Electric Prunes, Iron Butterfly, Moby Grape. Ha, we’ll wear…Continue
Sometimes when it’s real rainy, the stairs get slippery and my books slide around like madmen so I hold tighter going to my locker just in case that asshole Soldersen is waiting by a classroom, gnawing about nothing with some dick friends, ever-ready to knock my books flying all down the hall with that quick sucker punch from behind. He’ll have some witty quip he’s probably worked on all night like, hey goof… which twin…Continue