Don, a man Who are you?: Don, a man

By Spider on Friday, September 6, 2002 - 02:24 pm:

    Don stepped outside. It felt good to be alone. He wished he was drunk, thought about something he said and how stupid it had sounded. He knew he should forget about it. He decided to piss, but he couldn't. (A plane passed silently overhead. The streetlight and the buds on the trees and the night were still.) It finally came. He took a deep breath. It made him feel strong and determined to go back inside.

    The light. Their backs. Their conversation. The couples romancing, so natural. His friend's stare with eyes like the heads of nails. The others' glances. With amusement, with evasion, with contempt, so distant, with malice for being a sty in their engagement.

    (Like swimming under water in the darkness. Like walking through an empty house, speaking to an imaginary audience, and being watched from outside by someone without a key.)

    He could not dance to anything.

    Don left, and drove, and howled, and laughed at himself. He felt he knew what that was.

    Don woke up and looked at the night before. He knew what he had to do. He was responsible. In the mirror, he saw his friend.

By Spider on Friday, September 6, 2002 - 03:37 pm:

    "Let me in!" the voice cried softly from outside the wooden door. Scattered remnants of the ship could be seen in the distance. Blood stained the ice floe off the shore.

    "I'm the only one left. The storm took them all," he managed as he tried to stand. The tears ran down his face. "Please. It's cold."

    When he woke, there was no trace of the ship. Only the dawn was left behind by the storm. He felt the creaking of the stairs beneath him that rose from the sea, to the door.

    There was a sound at the window then. The captain started. His breath was still. Slowly, he turned.

    From behind the edge of the windowsill, there appeared the delicate hand of a child. His face was flushed and timid. He stared at the captain through frightened eyes.

    The captain reached for something to hold on to. "Help me," he whispered, as he rose slowly to his feet. The boy's face went pale. He recognized the sound.

    Silently, he pulled down the shade against the shadow, lost in the doorstep of the empty house.

    "I'm trying to find my way home. I'm sorry...but I miss you.

    "I miss you. I've grown taller now. I want the police to be notified. I'll make it up to you, I swear, I'll make it up to you. I MISS YOU."

By Spider on Friday, September 6, 2002 - 04:25 pm:

    In a back room a man is performing an autopsy on an old raincoat.

    His wife appears in the doorway with a candle and asks, how does it go?

    Not now, not now, I'm just getting to the lining, he murmurs with impatience.

    I just wanted to know if you found any blood clots?

    Blood clots?!

    For my necklace . . .

By Hal on Saturday, September 7, 2002 - 09:08 am:

    Outside cats are howling to each other with lust only an animal can understand. Dogs chase parked cars with fervered enthusiasm. And plants wean twards the coming sun in hope of the light that is to come.

    Jim is among all of this, lost in a sea of thought, and confusion. Life it seems is passing him by at this very moment, as the sun crests the hill and makes its way twards the apex of the sky. Jim however, for every second that passes him by, does nothing more then stare, moving only to scratch once in a while. The world it seems move so slow, and yet with blinding speed around him like cars at race.

    Across town, in a little suburbanite gas station, Annie sits, thoughts of what her life could be and dreams left unmade. She just sits, drinking her cold slurpee of ice and sugar, and thinks of those dreams making up new ones and adding to old ones where necissary. Life is her oyster, she just doesn't know how to crack the shell. Time hasn't heated the water of her life enough to simply crack it, and the wisdom to heat that water only comes with time. She is alone, and yet so far from lonelyness that it seems a futile effort for her to decide which is worse.

    One day, they will both meet, and great things will arise from said collision of astronomical supernatural peanut butter and jelly forces.

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