Why He Wasn't There to See Her

The Words:

Reykjavik, staph infection, bad comb-over, penultimate, onerous, artificial flavors, road kill, bauble, Chinese eye candy, Bigfoot, cake plate

**

"How dare you, you onerous prick. How dare you take me for some sort of Chinese eye candy..."

"You're not a bauble..."

"Like fuck I'm not... don't try your artificial flavors on me..."

"Oh, come on... the guy was from Reykjavik. I had to go see him. He was such a bla--"

"And I guess Bigfoot would seem a fitting excuse too. You'd even bring pictures!"

"Actually I was thinking more on the lines of a road kill. A poor little kitty who needed a funeral."

"Just admit it won't you? Admit that I am the penultimate reason for coming to town, last being your audacious need to rant about a bad comb-over..."

"Fine. You're the cake plate for my staph infection."

Gapping

The Words

Indispensable, Antediluvian, Bristled, Amicable, Voracious, Traipse, Stammers into the room, Mind the gap, Face planted, toppled out of the tree, Coconspirator

**


There was this kid who died in high school. They said he killed himself. And it made sense. He was the kind of kid who bristled and caved in like a rat when they called him "Yo, Batty!" The voracious reader who would dig up antediluvian facts and use them like coconspirators. But they always won, and being the indispensable bait he was, they laid him to rest with amicable words over a closed casket. It happened. Or so they thought.

But instead, he toppled off the tree.

He stammered into the room, traipsed behind them like a ghost to the metro, eyed the "Mind the Gap" with a glint of anxiousness, stepped a second too quick as the rest of them watched with faces planted in their horror masks when he fell as the train came.

They never went gapping again.

Ain't a Little Girl

The Words:

stamp, mug, buick, white, devil, chicago, cold, girl, night, black, crossroads

**
Papa,

Buick or no, I am going. I'm sick of having no crossroads to pick from. I ain't a little girl anymore. I'm tired of this cold farm where the damn horses can't take a dump at night because they're scared the devil's gonna take them. I don't need no one to show me my way to Chicago. I'll make it fine. Then again, maybe it might not be Chicago. You can check the stamp on the next letter to guess where it's coming from. I left something for you at the bottom of Momma's black and white checkered mug. Keep it for me.

I'll come back one day.

Janine

PS: Tell Wald he can eat dung.

Can It Down

The Words:

big block, funny, midget, fast, popeye the sailor man, pippy, long, stocking, oscar, chico, the man

**

Mama was a midget in my world. She had a habit of wearing long, silky stockings that made the girls at the restaurant titter. "Pippy! oh Pippy!" they would smirk.

"Goddamn The Man!" she would mutter funnily under her breath, "He left me nothing put a pile of these things."

Mama had a habit of doing that too. Blaming The Man. He was originally Oscar, my father, maybe. But I don't really know. I remember he would call me chico, like I belonged somehow. But I didn't.

The giant of the Big Block was what they started calling me after I turned 5. And to the women at the restaurant I was "Popeye!! Popeye the sailor man!!" Titters.

I was and am and will always be the opener of cans.

Sentenced

The Words:

bouncy, cat, bowl, fish, ate, six, claw, food, box, sleep, tight

**

"Sleep tight, bouncy cat who ate 6 of my live fish out of the bowl with a claw, and tipped the food box with bones."

Cliche

The Words:

sky, rain, radio, cold, flowers, cat, soda, blanket, lock, light, child

**

It was very cliche, shaped like a jukebox with lights running across the top. I remember opening it in the garden, on my favorite picnic blanket, rain whispering cold warnings in the afternoon sky. The cat was a kitten then and loved batting my mothers flowers. Light headed tulips especially.

But even that sounds so cliche... a child opening her birthday present on a spring day. But none of this is far from the truth. There was soda and cake. There were kisses and hugs. There was pink confetti and party hats. And there was the radio.

The radio is the only thing I have left of that memory. And old cat, who loved to lock herself in the basement cabinet.

And the paint is peeling off of it because of the condensation...

Riddle

The Words:

sky, water, ground, mountain, valley, ocean, river, desert, jungle, top, bottom

**

Call me a jungle, a

mountain, an ocean of

desert. Tell me

and I'll reach the top

of the valley, the

bottom of the sky.

Drill me for your well

of water, your hidden

river, your lost precious

stones.

For the ground

belongs to me.

Ride

The Words:

motorcycle, air, clouds, wind, trees, road, speed, home, cow, bird, rock

**

We hit 145 mph. I was clinging to him, the speed streaming past me in ribbons. Ribbons of cows and rocks and trees and birds. All floating together. All making up the wind. My neck jerked back and I laughed because the clouds were still. Still as they always were. What a road they would make!

I decided this was it. Home was plunging through the air at 145 mph on a motorcycle.

And to fear nothing of it.

White Grass

The Words:

Clock, Car, Pole, Horse, Fence, Piston, Rifle, Saw, Hockey, Paint, Bank

**

The paint slopped and there was nothing he could do about it. He expected to hear her wail from her window. Mrs. Murdok with her century old knees would have seen it all. He waited a moment with his eyes scrunched tight. No sound. Slowly coming down the ladder which he had dared to balance against the pole, he balanced the can and the saw meticulously, wondering less this time about the hockey game he was missing.

Why hadn't she yelled?

Making a note to oil the creaking hinges a long with the piston of her car, he mumbled as his back snapped. The word "old" floated in front of him and he brushed it away. He was still writing a theses. Winding the grandfather clock on his way up the stairs, he wondered if she had fallen again.

But why wasn't she yelling?

If Mrs. Murdok was a horse, she'd be the frisky one who would jump fences even if she didn't know how. A rifle pointed at her would make her laugh, and no one at the bank argued with her demands. He chuckled to himself, remembering how those tie adorned gentlemen had flinched at her waving cane.

He stopped halfway up. No sound.

He turned around, his his feet matching the pulse. She was gone! Gone! He reached for the phone. He would have to call the ambulance, the police, the--

"Young man, don't you DARE runaway from me! And don't you for a SECOND think that I didn't see that paint stain my grass. You are going to have to clean that, I tell you! Now get your chicken arse back here and help me up!"

More

The Words:

Bird, Grass, Shirt, Book, Calendar, Pipe, House, You, Gingham, Troll, Fish

**

"Wow."

"Yeah. See that house? Em took three days to do the grass around it..."

"My god. Is that a troll?"

"A friendly one. But that black bird, the one behind the big story book? It's evil. Or so Em says."

"And she has a calendar too."

"Mmhmm. Crosses off each day like she's waiting for something."

"I am in awe. I mean, look at that pipe and that fish. Look how real that shirt looks..."

"It's a gingham shirt. See the patterns?"

"I see an artist..."

The room was still for a moment as both women stood examining the wall. The air shifted and both looked behind to see the tiny four year old with her hands on her hips.

"You are a bad Mommy..."

"Emily..."

"My wall is PRIVATE."

"Em... this is--"

"I don't care. Get out."

"Emily, she's your PRIVATE teacher."

"I don't need a private teacher."

"You don't?"

"No."

"What do you need then."

"More wall."

Accord

The Words:

Chevy, Ford, Olds, Buick, oh, yeah, last, but, not, least, Pontiac

**

"Dad, buy the Accord."

"I ain't buying anything Chinese."

"It's the best deal."

"This country was better without them."

"Dad, it's just a car."

"Yeah? Then let me get the Pontiac. Or the Buick. Even an Olds would at least get me to pint B from A."

"But none of them as environmentally conscious as th--"

"Don't feed me all that junk about global warming. Them Chinese are causing half of it."

"Not really. Forget it. Last chance Dad. Are you going to get the Accord?"

"Oh, go to hell with that Accord of yours. Ford or Chevy or none. I ain't bowing to Asia."

Millisecond

The Words:

drive, work, skateboard, van, chair, carpet, oil, tape, bolt, desk, light.

**

When you set light to oil, you don't guess whether it burns. It burns. A bolted door means no entry, and a chair means your knees will bend to sit on it. There is nothing about tape that tells you it was pasted to tear things apart, and carpet is always quieter when landing a desk on it than wood.

But when you're driving a van to work and see a skateboard flying your way, you can only hope that your life isn't changed in a millisecond.

Dog Accident

The Words:

cheese, dog, jaguar, pencil, jukebox, hemi, pontiac, popcorn, clipper, shifter, ambulance

**

The ambulance wailed. He opened his eyes and decided that he was in one after all.

Dog. Stupid dog. I should have killed the dog, he thought.

Mart hurried through the hidden flap, crushing littered prpcorn under his four legs.

"Rad... hey Rad! I think I just killed a guy..."

Rad was the largest mutt of the batch. He stood lazily, and if it weren't for the fact that all of them were pencil thin, he might have been somewhat handsome.

"Killed?"

Pawing nervously at old cheese stuck on the cracked floor, Mart fumbled "Umm, yeah... He... I... I was crossing the road and heis pontiac came by faster than I thought it would... and he slammed the brakes and I ... froze... and he hit the pole instead."

"You froze. YOU froze. What are you, hemi-daft? Good going Mart..."

"Rad I--"

"Shut up. Jaguar, you and Shifter, find out where the ambulance is. Rest of you, scram."

"Rad, I'm so--"

"Let's cut the crap. If you killed the man, you're out of the Jukebox. If you didn't, good for you Mart. Those bastards have killed enough of us."

"Dammit Rad, it was his fau--"

"That's not what the K-9 shepards are gonna to ask. That's not what I asked either. Now, scram. Jaguar will find you at sunrise. And watch out for The Clipper."

Helmets

The Words:

onion, watch, helmet, lips, corrugate, lies, triumph, native, train, boot, junk

**

Tonight I sit up till the midnight train. But then, I am not really watching it. I'm just out booting the junk in my head. The corrugate packages of lies. The guilty triumphs. The filthy grime of tolerance, so native now to my mental canals that I don't know what I have left to scrub it all clean.

And when it passes, I let the scent of the onions it was carrying hit my lips. I go to lick them, and laugh. So fickle. So damn fickle, this mind of mine.

I wonder why helmets were ever invented.

Fishy

Colorado, Rocky Mountains, log cabin, lake, creek, moose, elk, fireplace, meadow, aspen tree, & pine tree.

**

When Jill had kissed the aspen tree, my knees had gone watery. She had loved this place. The meadow and the log cabin. The elk head and lying on moose fur near the fire place. Tracing her sleeping form with my eyes in the morning sun had dimmed the Rocky Mountains.

But Jill was gone.

"Daddy, is that a Christmas tree? Why are there so may Christmas trees?"

Luke. My son. Our son. Always asking questions.

"Luke, they are called pine trees, not Christmas trees."

"But you didn't answer my question!!"

And I didn't care to either. Luke only liked questions.

When I parked by the lake and drew out the poles, he jumped around me a little, ripping off his shoes and tugging on his little rubber boots.

"Daddy, did Momma like fishing too?"

"Yes, she did."

"Daddy, will I catch a BIG fishy?"

"Yes, you can try!"

"Daddy, will--"

"Luke, grab those hooks and follow me."

Sometimes, you had to interrupt. At the creek, he walked slowly, his blond head bent down as he looked at where his feet were placed.

"Daddy, is this scary?"

"No, Luke. Just be careful."

And so we stood there. My three year old and I. In the middle of Colorado. I caught my first one and reeled it in, the flapping making Luke nervous. His eyes went wide as I slit it open.

"You okay Luke?"

He nodded feverently. Maybe my sister had been right. Maybe he was too young for this. I busied myself again with tying another hook. He watched me, and took a step away to give me space to stand by him again.

And then the tears came. Sliding down his sweet chin.

"Luke!"

I held him, and the little boy sobbed.

"Luke! Lukey, whats wrong? Are you scared? Did something happen?"

He peered up with his nose red. Red, just like Jill's used to get when she wept.

"But Daddy, why did Momma like killing the fishy!?"

Overstocking

The Words:

guns, bombs, love, hate, war, life, death, babies, people, alpha, omega

**

It was like guns were out and bombs were about to explode. I swallowed and coughed it out again. There was no room left. You'd think women were marked with Omega in this culture, the lowest-ranked wolves in a pack, but looking at the anxious faces outside my father's tiny shop, the alpha in me trembled.

They were here for a war. It was with genuine love these women had chatted it up on their phones, spreading the stink of trouble. They had babies to raise, and enemies to hate. But everyone had heard. And everyone wanted to win.

A barrel of oil was going to cost 4 times as much next week. And it would stick there.

Life would mean carrying home 70 pounds of rice. Death would mean carrying less than 20. When the door clicked open, I held my breath to savor that one moment of silence.

Then people crashed.

I sat that evening, sipping my spiced lemonade, still trying to wrap my mind around it all when I heard my mother spitting into the phone,

"What!? You only got 10!? Oh you poor, poor soul! We have 80 lying in our garage... I know! It's a miracle we own that shop..."

I dropped my glass and let the drink spread.

"Vinny! What are you DOING!?"

"Polishing your floors."

And with her jaw hanging open at me, I left.

The E.R. Volunteer

The Words:

swoosh, distantly heard, blossom, flapping in the wind, fun, renewal, hearts, cell phone, portrait of the artist, atmospheric, soporific

**

I am not the type of man who distantly heard some secret and now holds it safely wrapped up between my hearts chambers. Secrets are hardly soporific. They swoosh even when you think silence is true. But they look at me funny now, all these people who love me. They love me because I belong to them, because there are no renewals when a mother holds her child to her warm breasts.

But she didn’t love me like that, her. She came like a blossom flapping in the wind of coincidence, and stuck on my shirt somehow. She knocked and let herself in, a neat bun collecting her long, black hair back. It made me want to laugh a little, that glowing face with huge eyes and beautiful lips and the grandma style bun. And when she asked if I wanted a straw to sip my Seven-Up, I nodded.

Because what did she know?

She couldn’t know. She couldn’t know that for years now, I had watched them disappear in bulbous lumps. She couldn’t know about the fight my mother and father had before getting here, about no insurance, no ID’s, no records. She couldn’t know the dreams I had been having, of IV’s, and blood, and closing my eyes for a long, long, long time.

So I nodded, for fun. And she brought it, straw and all to my lips. And I couldn’t open them. They were gone. Sealed.

She put the can down, her eyes traveling around my face and neck, sad, devastated.

“How long has is been since you’ve eaten?”

I shrugged. 3 days, I wanted to tell her.

She left and came back with a blanket. She covered my parents, sleeping there on the hard chairs. They were tired. And they didn’t know a silver of English. She came up, her nose an inch away.

“May I touch them?”

I could tell she was afraid. Afraid of the atmospheric tension that might explode if I took it all wrong.

I nodded.

She touched my forehead first, fingers slowly falling down the bridge of my nose, then rising again to stencil in my eyebrows. With both palms, she held my cheeks and suddenly, mine were meshed with hers.

Gentle. Crude. Pure. Diseased. Sweet. Tasteless. Tender. Hardened.

Lips.

When she looked at me again, I was crying. For her. For me. For lips.

But they look at me funny now, all these people who love me. Confused, sad, unknowing. Like looking at a portrait of the artist and wondering why the nose was too long when in life it was perfect. But they are watching me go away as I press speed dial 2 on the cell phone of life to replay that one last kiss.

I close my eyes, and smile.

Lipless.

A Girl Knows

The Words:

airplane, cheesecake, energy, girl, school, hospital, cat, hand, bed, blanket

**

"How do you expect me to know that you like cheesecake?"

"Yet, I know that your cat has a particular spot on your bed and that you like a glass of orange juice first thing in the morning."

"You're a girl."

"Oh, and that's supposed to be your lame excuse for everything."

"It isn't lame. It's the truth. An airplane flies. A hand touches. A girl knows."

"I wonder why people flunk out of schools that teach and die in hospitals which heal."

"And I wonder why you waste so much energy knowing things about me instead of just telling me what you want from me."

"Forget it. Just forget it."

"Does this mean I win?"

"I have to tell you THAT too?"

"A girl always knows."

Rewritten

The Words:

good as gold, paradise, enchanted, sing-a-long, happiness, create, lovely, cottage, literature, river, rejoice

**

"Think this. Pastoral scene. An enchanted cottage. A lovely bank by the river."

"Oh cut it out... do you really have to do this--"

"Shh. Just LISTEN. Put a girl with an evil mother. Have her find an enchanted cottage. Create a paradise she is trying to reach. Insert complications--"

"Come on Jason... I am not going to rewrite Cinderella. What else do you want me to twist? Have little trolls rejoice and sing-a-long instead of mice--"

"You DON'T understand. You're in the PUBLISHING world now. You have to keep WRITING. One book doesn't secure you. More. You need two more. As brilliant a piece of literature as your first, and you're good as gold. I promise."

"Promise... ha. You can't promise happiness."

"I never did."

"I guess it's always about money, isn't it?"

"Only if you think about it too much."

Addiction

Kim's nose broke her fall, A pairing knife accident gone worse, the human torch was denied a bank loan, my shoes are wet, Nutella is addictive, I am going to jog that off, 1 2 3 4..., a dog's wet nose, Fading black jacket, cough cough, ...5 6 7 8.

**

My shoes are wet. Shoes are supposed to be wet sometimes, but I am not supposed to know. I am not supposed to feel it. Just like I am not supposed to feel a donut disappear the instance I think "I am going to jog it off." But things are addictive. Nutella is addictive. A dog's wet nose on your cheek is addictive. Dance counts starting from ...5, 6, 7, 8 and silently continuing to 1, 2, 3, 4... is addictive.

Watching a pairing knife accident gone wrong on Top Chef is addictive. Or Kim's nose breaking her fall on the Kardashians. Or quoting Burgundy's "The human torch was denied a bank loan" for attention. Addictive.

But it's overused, addiction. It's manipulated and trashed. It's the faded black coat that everyone wears and the *cough, cough* a grandmother falsifies after someone utters "whore."

It's all shameless sham.

And my shoes are still wet.

Atlas

The Words:

shy, cellar, with a vengeance, abandon, elated, benevolence, tulips, atlas, footsteps, destroy, gently

**

When I miss, I miss with a vengeance. Benevolence abandons me and I am left grinding my heels in irritation. My conscious isn't shy of it... I'd destroy without guilt if I wasn't too busy listening for footsteps. Tulips are like me. They blossom gently and float in elated love until they find that the wind of spring is gone. Then they melt.

I melt.

Such is the atlas of my ego: you'll find me in the cellar if I am not on the roof.

Left Behind

The Words:

lemon, victory, tattoo, mustang, rugby, flitter, crow, pink, jazz, bourbon, Remington

**

You left your Remington. And your mustang.

You left tattoos of your lips on my wine glasses, your lemons in the fridge. Yes, lemons. Lemons you would squeeze into a late night bourbon with your favorite jazz number playing after all the rugby boys had finished flittering around like teenage girls going crazy after something cute, celebrating victory.

You left your pink tie. And your stupid crow cawing in the backyard.

I don't want them, boy.

I don't want you.

Lovage

The Words:

Serendipity, Paradox, Serenade, Senility, Calcification, Paraphernalia, Obnoxious, Paradigm, Rendezvous, Lovage, Merticulous

**

"What's a ren-dez-vous?"

The child looking up at me is the obnoxious one.

"It's a French word you don't need to understand right now. Right now, young man, you're supposed to be sitting in your seat and coloring."

He shrugs as if I am nothing of import, but he goes back to his seat. I sighed a little in relief. I don't know why I am here...

I went to college thinking it would do me good, thinking it might be the door to some sort of serendipity. I was a decent student, if you count an undergrad theses on the paradox of Dr. Faustus being a paradigm of the thirst for knowledge and the sold soul decent, and I wanted to go on.

But I carry paraphernalia. I carry too much. Life came like a blasting serenade and left me with a mother's senility, a debt which even my meticulousness would never be repaid in this life, and a brother whose self-pity was like calcification in pots.

I feel a tug on my sleeve and look down to see obnoxious again.

"What is lovage?"

"Lovage?"

"Yeah."

"I think you made that word up!"

"No. I don't think so! I think you have too much of it!"

And with that he goes back to his desk.

Lovage.

Of all things a child could notice in me...

To Forget

The Words:

Panoramic, Kaleidoscope, Meander, Flabbergast, Circumvent, Curiosity, Turquoise, Oceanic, Neanderthal, Multiplicity, Duplicity

**

When I used to get scared, I'd think about the kaleidoscope my real father one gave me. Inside there was turquoise and bright pink, with oceanic gray circumventing everything. The order within the chaos left me flabbergasted. As I grew older and forgot about fear, my meandering curiosity led me to the canyons.

Panoramic bliss it was.

As I slid and bounced down the wall, red dust clinging to my fingers, I thought about the Neanderthal... how time was a simple essence to him, how the difference between multiplicity and duplicity didn't really matter. When I reached the bottom and looked up and turned in circles, I remembered my real father again.

The world was a sheet of memories.

And I was diving into it.

Vestibule

The Words:

belay, marmot, woolly bear, pinnacle, pulpit, frigid, breathtaking, cairn, vestibule, dew, moonlight.

**

In the moonlight the shadow of the cairn was a monolith of its own, the pinnacle a dewy patch of moss a couple of feet away from my toes. It was frigid and I was wishing I had tamed the woolly bear cub I had seen this spring... being in a cave against it's fur would have solved my frozen form. My marmot sniffed at my neck. I didn't name it anything. It was not my place to name it. A pulpit was required for that. I murmured into the night... being alone does that to you sometimes. It gives you a sense of realism, hearing your voice in the silence of nature.

"Belayyyyyyyyyy" I called to the breathtaking moon.

It would be 8 months tomorrow.

Unmatched

The Words:

bird, truck, cloud, chair, glue, bandage, chocolate, orange, door, bed, golf

**

Some people are like things. Simple, and definite, as easily placed as a chair in the sixth slot of a dining table. As sure as birds disappearing into a cloud, as promising as finding a truck on a road. And when you flip through photographs, they have the same face, the same glued-on smile staring back, perhaps a bandage to some deep, raw mess. Or maybe they think "chocolate" when they pose.

But the day the orange came into my hand instead of my usual apple, and the door had been missing to shut, and my mother left my bed unmade, I realized that even things were uncertain.

A golf ball has one, tiny, unmatched shape on the surface.

But no one looks.

Every Inch

The Words:

palette, koi pond, turkey, yellow, micromanage, toucan, scissors, lollipop, dirt, sunshine, heirloom

**

You would think koi ponds were the norm around here, but no. They don't have heirlooms hanging on the walls, nor a particularly picky palette when it comes to clothes. In fact, they might have generalized everything. Sunshine might mean yellow. Dirt, brown. But what do I know?

I was sitting at a "Toucan's Cafe," wondering the mundane sort of wondering people do. Like, should I get turkey or chicken? But I was alone, and I was allowed to be voicelessly boring, and I was doing just that until a pair of toddlers come waddling over to my knees.

My first thought was to pull out my scissors and cut the strand of loose yarn hanging from one of their sweaters. Things like that bug me. My second thought was to take the lollipops out of their sticky hands and replace them with carrots. I am sure as a child, candy was marvelous. But right now, it was plain nuisance. They were both staring at me, eyes wide and mischevious.

Before I could smile, the mother came rushing, ushering them away, kindly bowing an apology and returning my privacy. There was now a fingerprint on my pants. Without resisting myself, I pulled out my instant stain remover and rubbed it gone.

Yes, it true. I do micromange my life.

Every inch.

Mending Fences

The Words:

cowgirl riding hard, calves jumping, horses galloping, sunset, juniper berries, acorn in the oaks, horse tails, leather smell, saddle squeak, water down the creek, frogs croaking

**

In the long run, everyone forgot that this was once the ranch that had given birth to hard riding cowgirls. It had been fine with long fields of jumping calves and thoroughbreds lined up for breeding season. Once upon a time it was probably mustang territory, horses galloping in grand sunsets, chewing off juniper berries when they could find them.

Lena was the last of her generation and she was left to mending fences. It didn't bother her much, having only one horse tail to brush each dawn, no cows to herd and a rooster to keep happy. The smell of leather never did please her, and saddle squeaks were unheard of. She would rather let it all fall back to the earth, sitting peacefully all the while, counting acorns falling from the oaks, watching water flow down the creek or listen for frog croaks.

It was the day Kathy came trudging into her life with her stick horse and pregnant mother that Lena realized she had any care in the world at all.

Casual Affair

The Words:

absurd, love, friendship, beauty, whimsical, chocolate, daffodils, affair, loneliness, want, desire

**

And then there was the spring of daffodils, where she and I would whimsically waste afternoons over absurd notions. Propped up on an elbow she would talk, on and on, about desires and wants. About love and friendship. About chocolate and loneliness.

"Do you think, Andre, that you'll find the things you find beautiful today still beautiful 20 years from now?"

"Well, that depends."

"Well, take... this meadow. Will it still be beautiful to you 20 years from now if it were to remain unchanged?"

"But nothing remains unchanged."

"But what if it did?"

"Then you and I would never leave this moment."

"But I am talking about beauty, Andre. Will I still be beautiful to you in 20 years?"

"That depends."

"On MY beauty?"

"No. On my perception of it."

"How flattering."

She laid her head on my chest, quietly breathing with me.

"Andre?"

"Mmm?"

"What are we?"

"A casual affair."

She laughed like the wind was born to carry it far and wide.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...

The Words:

pink, monkey, funny, bubble-shooter, dangerous, mirror, gum, bacteria, tacos, waves, spicy

**

"Story! Story! Story!"

There were 5 children jumping up and down in monkey patterned pj's on my daughter's pink bed. I might as well advise you now: NEVER have a sleepover of five year olds. Dangerous business.

"Story! Story! Story! Story!"

I shut the bedroom door and raised my arms, "Alright princesses... settle down... sit! ALL of you!"

It's a miracle what tone of voice does to little humans.

"Now, Marla, spit out your gum. And Katie, let's get that wand put away. Andie, no more bubbles... the bubble-shooter doesn't belong IN the house... Gracie, stop biting your nails... you're eating bacteria!"

They all busied themselves for a moment, reluctantly obeying my stern orders. When they were all sitting on the bed again, I started their demanded for story.

"A frog and a turtle lived near the shore of a HUGE lake. Like all friends do, Frog and Turtle were arguing."

"Why does it have to be Frog and Turtle? Why can't they have names?"

Cheeky, funny little May.

"Oh? Alright, name them!"

"Freddie the Frog!" yelled one.

"Todd the Turtle!" yelled another.

"So be it... Freddie the Frog and Todd the Turtle were arguing about the lake. Todd liked waves, and Freddie didn't. So they wer--"

"This story is BORING." My daughter said. The nerve.

"Yeahhhh!" the others chimed in.

I wasn't surprised. It was just like this with the tacos I had made... one girl claimed it spicy, they all agreed and left half of it on their plates. Was I like this when I was five?

"Tell us a story about mirrors and dragons and princes and sword fights!"

"Yeah!"

I stood up, went to the bookshelf, pulled out Snow White and handed it to my lovely, miss-know-it-all daughter.

"Here you go Birthday Girl! Read it for all of us!"

She looked down at the book, rubbed her eye and said,

"I think I am tired now Mommy."

Who's the fairest one of all?

Always

The Words:

coffee, twilight, rain, purple, fuzzy slippers, owl, city, lights, taxi, walk

**

She sat thinking, almost ridiculing the comfortable arch of her chair with her straight back. Her coffee was cold and the rain pattering on the window was no music to her. She sighed at the clock and dumped the taro cupcakes into the waste basket. Purple cupcakes. Oh, the ridiculous fuss! The utter banality of girls who still gloated over fuzzy slippers and that utterly mundane Twilight. She went to the white board and erased another red task.

This was her life, one grant written after another.

Walking slowly, she counted the reflections of light posts in the water. She thought about getting a taxi, but it occurred to her that sitting all day wasn't healthy. So she walked. A figure was some feet ahead, book bag slung on one shoulder. How attractive, she thought. At the corner, they waited for the light to change.

"You're a night owl too, huh?" He said.

She didn't look at him. She didn't have to. "Always have been, always will be."

He grabbed her suddenly and she felt herself against the wall. She tensed and looked at the face staring into hers. He half smiled, and let her go.

"You could have been dead in a second." He whispered. "And yet you speak of always so confidently..."

She couldn't move. The light changed and he left her, standing. After a few minutes, she went back to her office, slammed herself into the chair and held her head. She looked up and saw the copy of Twilight on the desk, waiting.

She laughed and picked it up.

And didn't put it down till the end.

Soap

The Words:

Fuck you, Stupid, Shit, Ass hole, Damn, What the heck, Dumb ass, Idiot, Bastard, Bitch, Pervert

**

My grandmother was a catholic. She was one of those who never realized that her bastard son was The Jose. To her, he was the only child that kept her in a nice, frilly room in a large home filled with children who could speak the language and a lovely Mexican wife.

She was standing outside in the hallway one day, holding my young hand. She stood up erect, her hair and pearls gleaming in the light. She was listening.

"What the heck. That damn bitch never came back Jose! The last time I saw her, she was pole dancing for that pervert Carlos. Then, as planned, I left at midnight and waited stupidly for an HOUR. An HOUR Jose. Smoking a shitty cigar. And she never came."

By this time, my grandmother had sealed my ears. But I nudged my head a little and I could still hear.

"And you're telling me who the idiot is?" My father had a voice that made you tremble sometimes.

"Fine! FINE. I was a dumb ass for waiting that long..."

"Asshole. Don't boost your ego in front of me. You lost her, you lost business. You messed the deal up. You're not getting a penny. Is that understood?"

My grandmother gasped. She told me to wait there and went to the hallway bathroom. She came back carrying something just as the other man said,

"Fuck you, Jose."

And before anything else could happen, the door was flung open and my grandmother stood before two grown men in high-class suits.

"Mama what do yo--"

"Jose Antonio Domingo! Go wash your FILTHY mouth!"

She threw the soap at him, turned, grabbed my hand and rushed off down the hallway. I peeked back and learned from the startled faces watching us go that my grandmother would be more powerful than The Jose could ever imagine being.

Forever

The Words:

stripes, purple, teeth, cookies, sugar, eggs, medicine, chicken, mascara, desk, eyes

**

"You can get away with anything today."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean stripe stockings and chicken wings. You can get away with it all."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you celebrate it there?"

"Celebrate?"

"Holy shit... you don't know about it!"

"I don't know what?"

"Welcome to America dude... it's a special day today."

"I don't understand."

"People dress up, and they can get away with it. I've seen everything from purple teeth to guys with badly applied mascara on their eyelashes to four people being a desk to eggs in a grumpy old man's mailbox because he didn't give out candy."

"Mascara?"

"Nevermind. Just listen to me. And learn."

"What you are?"

"The Cookie Monster."

"Oh. He's blue."

"Damn man, he's ALWAYS blue."

"Oh."

"What do you want to be?"

"A Medicine man."

"A Doctor?"

"Yes."

"For today?"

"Forever."

Paranoia

The Words:

penguin, flu, arrow, pen, wire, water, flower, disgust, brick, cunning, speechless

**

I hate the boy sitting in front of me. If I had an arrow, or a dart I wouldn't hesitate taking a shot at his uglier-than-quasimodo back. It isn't hunched or crooked really, but it's a window. A window for all things which made my throat clench in disgust and left me damnably speechless.

See, most people have bricks stocked up, cunning walls built up. I'm used to that, just like being used to using water to keep a flower alive. But his walls are non-existent. It's like finding a penguin that doesn't have its cute little wobble. If I stuck something into him, it would disappear.

I twirl my pen and watch the clock. God, I need to get away from this kid. As if some reciprocal wireless connection existed between us, he turns and says, "Hi." I close my eyes and wish I could pretend not to hear, but I did hear him and I did need to answer. God, I hate him for being so real.

I open my eyes and am staring abck into his hazel ones.

"Do you have Swine flu?" I hear myself say, "I can smell it on you."

Pit

The Words:

exhausted, revenge, extremely major, interruption, why, entertainment, friendship, happily every after, honesty, jealousy

**

There is an exhausted voice in my head that keeps asking why. It's like self-entertainment, an almost happily-ever-after rebellion to the actual revenge. Losing you wasn't like pouring water down the drain. Keeping you where you are is like watching a humming bird's wings: there, but never there. And where I keep you is dangerous.

You were just sitting there with your book, and I was watching, this sweet sort of jealousy crawling up my spine. The jealousy of beauty. The jealousy of eloquence. A painter would only need one glance to see it. But you were sitting there with your book and the phone rang. Interruption. I let it ring and at the second one, you lifted your head and looked at me. Third ring. I ran. Halfway through fourth and I was saying something into the mouth piece.

Perhaps at that moment, you were putting the cherry in your mouth.

It was Francis. Your Francis. Your epitome of the perfect gay-straight friendship, Francis. He told me hello. You were chewing the cherry now. I smiled because I liked Francis. He was my epitome of fun honesty. I was laughing now. And you were swallowing.

He told me that there would be champagne and cheese. The kind from Europe and otherwise. I told him you were busy. You were busy turning blue. He laughed and said I was such a hogger. I laughed back and said But she's mine first, right? You were screaming soundlessly. He laughed some more and told me to be there at 8. I said maybe. You were fainting.

I hooked the phone back. Francis was such a goof I said, and walked in.

You were gone.

Losing you wasn't like pouring water down the drain. Keeping you where you are is like watching a humming bird's wings: there, but never there.

And where I keep you is dangerous.

For Emily

The Words:

ominous, hide away, bloom, desire, modern, dawn, significant, translucent, cable, coast, livid

**

What livid voice - hear it?-
dawns, Ominous -- significant
hide away spots tremble. A
Cable from this to - that -
Modern coast of thoughts:
unstopping thoughts - bloom -

Desire? Oh you lie - stop -
Lying! I don't want things:
Translucent somethings -
anything - but that -- knot
tying trysts among - rogue -
chess pieces dying to play again.

F It

The Words:

fractured, foolish, fleeting, fury, fragmentation, figure, formative, finite, faint, flounder, fecundity

**

Ah this line, this LINE. What would go? What would go with it? Why am I a damn poet? No one reads poetry anymore. Dammit this li-- wait wait. I got it. I--

Foolish Flemish Figure
Flounders in Fury, Formatively
Fainting: Foot Fractured, Fragmentation,
Finite. Fleeting Fecundity Fails Forei--

Oh I suck, I SUCK. Since when did I think I was good? Since-- oh wait. Another... ano--

Fleeting Fecundity Forces
Foolish Flemish to Flounder in
Fury, Fainting: Foot Fractured, Frag-
mentation Finite. Formativ--

Argh. No. No no no. not right. Formative. Formative. Where is the dictionary, where is-- Ah. F. F, F, F... F-O... F-O-R-M... There-- there it is , the cel-- OH GOD my coffee... coffee! Spilled! My F's! Stay, stay! No... paper towel! PAPER towe--

Oh, F it.

Maggie

The Words:

apocryphal, imitation meat, live interment, virtuoso marimba player, gang of male prostitutes, self-immolation, Freudian discipline, apologetic litany, velcro shoes with spurs, historical anomaly, disturbing mustache.

**

Why was I going to be eating imitation meat? I shook my head as I sat down on my orange futon. This was a sorry day. I could hear her, scuttling around in my closet kitchen, waiting for some broccoli to self-immolate because she forgot to keep watch. Broccoli. I hated broccoli. I switched on the TV and wondered what apologetic litany I would receive for my feminine, veganized dinner.

I was chuckling at the arrest of a gang of male prostitutes when suddenly I felt something tracing the side of my neck. A split second later, my mind caught up: oh, it's her. There was something about Maggie that kept me from kicking her away. I keep trying to define my attachment with a Freudian discipline, but she was always on top of me before I could complete the thought. I caught her fingers with the crease of my neck as I looked up at her face. It always struck me how apocryphal it was, how utterly devoid of passion, or thought. I quickly let the fingers go and she changed the channel, reaching over the top of the futon. The sound was now being made by a virtuoso marimba player, arms flying over the set. I was half waiting for her to show me a pair of velcro shoes with spurs as she dangled there on the edge, watching the musician.

But she didn't. It would have been no historical anomaly if she had, by the way. She played with the world like it was a toy. Sometimes I wondered if I'd wake up in a box, a victim of live internment, and scream only to be humiliated later by her laughter, an inch above my voice. She had spent a day with a disturbing mustache drawn with a marker over her slender lips, acting completely oblivious of the fact. At the end of it all, she had kissed me with it still on, laughing, "And no one said a word to me Jared! No one!"

The broccoli was burning.

"Don't bother." She said, "I know you hate it."

She turned and walked off.

Confessions of a Doodler

The Words:

bogus, tight, curls, scribble, salmon, had, worshiped, machinery, holistic, genealogy, lambasted

**

My fingers constantly move. Seriously. Like machinery switched on and never stopped. And no, it's not a trait in my grandiose genealogy. What is it with people and chromosomes? Anyway, it isn't some bogus, long named disorder either... a holistic doctor might relate it to some stupid stress outlet theory, but I don't believe in theories, sorry.

See, for me, it started a whole new world. I was playing with my pencil in first grade and the teacher was droning on about something. Yes, even back then, I got bored. And no, I didn't ever take pills for ADHD. Cripes, the associations you all make these days. But anyway, I was playing with my pencil and it magically occurred to me that I could make lines:



Then I saw the girl with the tight Shirley Temple curls and I drew this:



Then I realized I could also scribble, like this:



See the dragon eye?

And so now, I doodle constantly. I take notes in doodles. Guess what this means:



Yeah, salmon swim upstream. That was from a 4th grade notebook by the way. Don't worry, I'm not THAT kooky.

But what got you all lambasting me was the fact that I forgot the paper I had worshiped for eons and moved on to walls.

Yes, walls. Big, wide, open spaced, disgustingly empty walls.

And you, mister cop, call my art vandalism.

I promise. I am just a doodler. I mean no harm. Dammit, I was born for this. See how my fingers are never still? See?

If You Knew

The Words:

peace, red, heart, flowers, dreams, clouds, stars, nudity, kiss, bride, pillows.

**

I never bought into the fantasy of love. The dreams that girls harbored when they were smiling secretly into their pillows, wishing that the stars had a constellation of their crush, or imagining clouds the shape of his nose. Chocolates in red boxes and flowers with a tender greeting kiss or whatever kind of kiss they liked, made them swoon.

But what is raw is when you're looking at a man and you don't expect him to know anything about you. You'll know his favorite songs and colors. You'll remember ever last word that escapes his mind, and you'll count the lines on his face silently when he smiles at you. You'll be torn to pieces when he playfully brushes against your shoulder, or takes your hand fleetingly to twirl you in a dance step. You'll laugh at him telling you things like, "I am NEVER going to fall in love," and then want to whisper, you want to know what love is? But you'll never expect anything because the nudity of love would kill you.

And when they tell me that being a bride is the ultimate peace keeper of the heart, I sigh.

Oh, if you knew...

The ABC's

The Words:

foot, secret, love, run, hope, prize, light, favor, shop, elevate, exquisite

**
A child ran, beaming,
Barefooted, elevated,
Candescent in hope,
Diving through wind:
Exquisite laughter rang,
Faltering at nothing.
Gathering breath, she
Hurled her frame faster,
Impish and so free.
Just past the candy shop,
Kites fight for the light
Lingering for some
Minor attentive favor. But
No one stopped her foot race,
Overturning seaweed and
Plans. All watched her, she:
Quivering in a secret,
Radiant love capturing
Symphony sounds! Like
Trills perfected on pianos,
Undulating waves tickled.
Vastness itself forgotten,
What am I, said Sea, but an
X-ray of all that she carries,
Yielding to nothing, this
Zitella... this earthly being?

Sprout

The Words:

green ring, san diego, santa barbara, las vegas, bagel, green tea, catcard, ipod, cell phone, alex, feo (Spanish word), baby

**

My baby days were spent in sand dunes on a beach in San Diego. I don't know how long it was until I was picked up and put into a plastic cage. I don't know how I learned to read or understand the human language either, but I somehow knew that we had taken a detour to Las Vegas before ending up in a show case on a busy street in Santa Barbara.

The shop keeper was an older gentleman who had his assistant take care of us. He didn't like it though. He would change the water and mutter words under his breath. He looked at me once and let his lip curl up in a sort of disgust, his long, black hair concealing one eye. "Feo." He spat. I didn't blame him really, because to me, he was pretty "feo" himself.

It was an odd, rainy day when I saw her face. It peered at me, with delight. I didn't know what for. I was hardly doing anything. Just sitting casually on a green ringed rock. She rapped at my wall, typical of people. I ignored her. She wasn't interesting to me. "I'll TAKE him!!" Her high-pitched, giggly voice rang in the air. I guessed I was sold, and I was right. I thought I'd never get used to her. The car ride was a long one.

She called me Sprout. Yes, Sprout. As if I was to sprout something out of me, or better yet, maybe I was a reminder of a brussle sprout. Why didn't she call me Shell or Green is beyond me. Even Feo, I wouldn't have minded. But no. It was Sprout. I must admit, it never did grow on me.

But the world I was in did. I was surrounded by conversations about an "Alex" and learned that her type of crowd could survive on a bagle and a bottle of green tea all day. They were also addicted to these contraptions which they called "cell phones" and "ipods." I never really understood what they were for, but one made the person talk to themselves a lot, and occasionally, when no one was around but me, the other made them sing like banshees.

It wasn't until she lost her catcard, or that thin slip of something that somehow got food, that I could escape. She was overturning things, and her elbow hit my cage and knocked it off my windowsill. Down I fell. When I landed, I ran. I left behind a girl half in tears, calling me Sprout over and over again.

I never looked back. My long turtle neck was just too lazy.

**

The Hub

The Words:

Technology / Cisco / Router / Hub / Switch / Computer / Keyboard / Communication / Data / Efficiency /Internet

**

"Cisco Systems, how may I help you today?"

"Umm yeah. I was wondering what to get for putting together computers."

"You mean networking?"

"Yeah! Yeah, that's it... I was looking up stuff on the Internet and none of it make no sense."

"Sir, what kind of data are you trying to communicate?"

"I don't know... umm.. I don't know, just data."

"How efficient would you like your networking to be?"

"Look man, I ain't got no technology know-how on me. It's just... how the hell is a hub gonna be helpful in this?"

"Sir, a hub, a switch and a router are all computer networking devices. Each have different capabilities. How many computers are you planning to hook up to the network?"

"How many compu-- what the hell, man? I ain't got a million computers!"

"Sir, you need at least two computers for any sort of networking."

"All I got is a desktop with a monitor and keyboard. All I wanna know is if I be needing a hub too."

"If you don't have any other computer sir, then no, you don't need a hub, sir."

"No hub?"

"No hub, sir."

"Aight man, that's all I needed to know. Thank you... [aside before hanging up the phone fully] Darlene, I TOLD you your friend was lyin--"

[Operator replies for the record] "Thank you sir, and have a good day. Pardon, I mean, good night. Pardon, I mean, whatever time it is in US of the A..."

**

Born

The Words:

caring, love, friend, child, beautiful, handsome, moral, integrity, uplifting, innocent, teenager

**

She held the bundle tenderly, gently cupping her hand to hold the beautiful, golden curls adorned head.

"Oh... oh my god... isn't he handsome Beth? Isn't he?"

She looked up at me and I smiled at my best friend. She looked tired, her own mess of straw colored locks having lost the grace of her usual perfectionism. But she somehow shone, as if encased in a glow of some powerful love still a mystery to me. She was watching him move his tiny mouth open and shut, her lips slightly echoing the movements in a sort of awe.

"How perfectly innocent he looks... how perfectly new and innocent!"

I didn't need to answer... she wasn't talking to me. I closed my eyes halfway, relaxing in my chair a little more than I had allowed myself to these last eight hours. Eight months ago, I had been on her couch, telling her philosophical mind to shut up about morality and integrity and all the uppity jargon that never really impressed my head. All I knew was that she had life in her. Life. Not right or wrong. Not Kant or Heidegger. Life.

And this was supposed to be uplifting, I thought. Watching mother and child bond. Watching that glow grow brighter... I was supposed to feel good. I was supposed to feel the goodness of life. I opened my eyes again and watched her as she traced his chin. The baby must have felt strange because suddenly, he was wailing in his high-pitched, breathless way.

"Beth! Beth! He's crying! Beth... what do I do!?"

I got up slowly and reached for him. She watched me as I hugged the bundle closer, shushing sounds automatically escaping me. He quietened immediately and was soon back into his mothers arms, her worry lines smooth again.

"This is going to be hard." She said to me, "Caring is hard."

I sank back into my chair and let sleep plunge into me like a wave.

"Just wait till he's a teenager, Cassie," I heard myself say, "that's going to be quite a thesis to write."

The Advisor

The Words:

freedom, character, wisdom, knowledge, honesty, indebtedness, truth, trust, life, achievements, goals.

**

"It begins with trust. All things begin with trust!"

"I disagree. Things begin because they begin. And things only begin if one has freedom to do so."

"Ah but nothing is really free! People depend on truth and knowledge. When a country declares independence, for example, they declare it from a set of rules to another given set of rules. There will always be rules. Even Anarchy has a rule: no government! But the difference is, when people are setting out to claim these rules, they are doing it out of the need for truth to prevail, and knowledge to proliferate."

"Then why isn't there more honesty in this world? Why aren't I more honest? Why do I feel like I am living a life where achievement is only gained through a bunch of lies? Why do I have to be corrupted to reach whatever batch of goals I might have?"

"Because you are afraid. You feel as if being a manipulated character is the only way to reach the top. But truth is, that top is really not a top. It's the bottom."

"No it's not... the bottom is ME. The bottom is truthful people like me sitting in limbo, unable to whip up schemes and lies, unable to cope with the cream of the crop which is actually fermentation of the lowest dirt you can find on this planet. But no,they RULE the world. They MAKE things happen. And I? I just sit here, thinking, wondering, appalled and utterly sickened by the wisdom they preach on... How do you expect me to have a whisper of indebtedness towards this world? How do you expect me to live like I have to give back? How can you call THEM the bottom when I am the one that doesn't CARE anymore?"

"If you didn't care, you wouldn't be here."

"Oh spare the circle talk. You have it easy don't you? Sitting in your chair, examining my tortured presence, making a mental note to bring me something next time to occupy my thoughts... what do you know anyway?"

"That I was, or even am, like you."

"Oh yeah? What made you go sane?"

"I became an Advisor."

**

Siblings at a Funeral

The Words:

gaudy, narcissistic, composed, jaunty, intrepid, benign, juxtaposition, spartan, amiable, reserved, sesquipedalian.

**

"Don't be such a damn spartan."

"Don't be so amiable."

"You're such a narcissistic soul."

"You're a gaudy nothing."

"I don't know why I'm related to you."

"Don't worry, you're just a tumor. A benign tumor. That I can't get rid of."

"Oh, quit it with the juxtapositions!"

"Quit being a sesquipedalianist."

"At least I'm not reserved nincompoop."

"At least I'm not a jaunty wannabe."

"Oh you're such a composed asshole... what gets to you!?"

"Outspoken, pseudo-intrepid bitches like you."

"Shut up, there comes to coffin."

"That's going to be us one day."

**

Grade: B

A Queen to Her People

The Words:

Chivalry, Death, Enigma, Angelic, Intrinsic, Devotion, Frailty, Whimsical, Noble, Rend, Fallen

**

This Nobel land now lies in the hands of tyrants whose false Devotion to our God has called upon us to take arms. Intrinsic is she to the Angelic favors behest upon us: We must unite against the Fallen! I ask of you, my beloved men, that you see beyond the Frailty that deems me a woman, for indeed I have no form that matches yours in strength nor a mind mastered for Chivalry. Yet blessed am I that the Lord and God of all has put me to stand before you as your Queen! Let not this Enigma call upon your doubts! Do not falter under Whimsical fears of your mind! I am of this land and I ask nothing of you, men of this land, but to sanctify it with your triumphant swords! Let Death be granted to the evil! Let the sea be red with blood! Let the wind Rend and call upon their fear! Let us Prevail, for the Land, for the Lord, and for all of you, my faithful men, whose sacrifices shall be immortalized in this soil!

To ENGLAND!

**

Note: This is supposed to come from a Queen of the Renaissance or prior... Elizabeth II, hence, doesn't count.

A Sonnet For Taken

The Words:

azure, balmy, clarity, deference, evanescent, flicker, gadfly, haunting, illness, jovial, kisses

Lady, forgive me: this gadfly haunting
Your evanescent presence that flees me.
Can you not sense this illness rage, writhing
In deference at your feet? Do you see

How the heart twitches and the mind bickers
As you tread the sand in balmy sunset
With your wraps and flops and tiny knickers?
Oh how do you make men (who need!) forget?

But imagine this: me + You, jovial,
Sipping two cocktails, a soothing massage,
Or laying under this azure, idle,
Painting with kisses a body collage.

Alas, I am seeking a lost reverie
For, look! A diamond flickers in clarity.

**

Note: Shakespearean style!

**

Grade: A+

Games

The Words:

thumbs, milk mustache, cheeky, raincoat, voltage, processional, prognosis, velour, junk, synecdoche, culprit

"Synecdouche."

"You're kidding, right?"

They were laying on the grassy knoll above the river in raincoats, the wet moss a sort of velour sheet underneath.

"Not kidding. Ready?"

"No."

"A specific class of milk mustaches."

"Got Milk?"

"Part of 'tongue in cheek rude.'"

"Cheeky."

"For a farmer."

"Green thumbs."

"Indicative processional."

"Here comes the Bride."

"General class of unwanted shit."

"Junk."

"Part of electricity."

"Voltage."

"Have we already played this?"

"Your memory is your culprit."

He shifted over and raised himself on his elbows, looking down into her mocking smile. Years smoldered between them. How did she remember.

"Prognosis. Not culprit."

"Whatever."

"One more."

"No."

"Encompassing of a whole in three."

She laid silent, brows furrowed. He grinned, relishing.

"Three..."

"Don't give up."

"Have I ever?"

"Yes."

"Oh shut up.... let me think..."

"Clue?"

"No. I can do this."

She stared at the gray masses above, shifting shapes with the wind. She bolted up as it came to her, looking down at him with a smirk,

"That's it! I love you!"

He laughed up at her, sinking into her joy, her success. Standing on his elbows again, he tilted his head and matched her smile.

"Me too."

**

Grade: A

A Feminist Tail

The Words:

Irony, dilapidated, rivalry, supremacy, naked, bygone, war, coin, linger, knowledge, trust.

"I'll tell you about male supremacy! It lingers sticky like sludge in dark, thought bygone corners, manipulating already dilapidating, needy minds... Corners like the battlefront of war where a woman must be shaded by a mans protecting shadow. Corners where chances are never given because, ironically, they don't care to trust a woman of knowledge. Corners of secret, lost bedroom rivalries where the man refuses to get naked before the woman. Let's fucking face it: in some cases, the coin is never tossed!"

"Wanna toss one now?"

"Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

"See? It's always tails on us. You awful, conceited bastards."

**

Grade: B+

When I Carry

The Words:

sparrow, curdle, purple, chime, anoint, lace, mirror, stain, rankle, turgid, memory.

Ever since I saw the lace and mirror in the House of Birth, I wanted to live there. They had thick darkish beddings which Jonas once mentioned as "Purple." I still don't know what that means. But I knew that when the chime goes off within the halls of the house, a turgid woman was to go flat again, and that they could eat as much as they ever wanted.

It rankled me when the Elders lingered at my name and occupation, but they said the right thing. The first night was just as everything I could remember of that one visit a month before. Except this time I had a bed. I realize now that stains never showed on them. Neither would the material curdle at being wet. How smart.

I was happy for a year, running and helping and midwifing. But then there were whispers. Why had I not grown? I heard. Where was my load? They gave me several shots, but nothing ever worked. Then after two years they said I was to be anointed. To carry?, I asked. To carry, the man smiled down. I was in a dull room when a man with mask over his face came in. Remember something pretty, he said.

I remembered the day when a little thing that could fly came and settled in our tree. Jonas said it was a sparrow. A bird. They caught it and took it away, and we never saw another one. But I had liked the little thing. It was fat and cheerful. And it could fly. I thought about flying, and the sparrow.

As things were going black, I thought about all the grapes I could eat when I finally carry...

**

Note: If you've ever read Lois Lowry's "The Giver" this passage shouldn't be so strange to you.

**

Grade: B+

The Five Year Old

The Words:

green, game, happy, lake, extinguish, impression, stupid twilight vampire, end, seasoning, pre, eleventeen

**

"Why don't they call you eleven-teen?"

"Because they think we are pre-game material. Too green. Too happy."

"How come the lake is blue?"

"It isn't. It's just giving an impression. Add some seasoning to the sky and the lake will be grey."

"Like you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you believe in the end of the world?"

"As much as I believe in that stupid twilight vampire."

"They are extinguished aren't they? Vampires?"

"Not if you read books."

**

Grade: B

The Beach Shooting

The Words:

elk, abbeys, bone structure, RNA, crystals, frog legs, diets, Jew Bastard, Marlon Brando in a tight t-shirt....sand... SAND!

**

There was wet sand clinging to her bare back, like Marlon Brando's t-shirt would stick to his chest sometimes. She reached over to brush it off, her elbow bending and making frog legs of her arms. It's the diet, I thought. The one where they stir some crytals into water to make some kind of piss colored liquid which was supposed to make you feel full. She bunched her long legs closer to her breasts, her heels trailing marks on the sand. No wonder she felt like a Jew bastard in an abbey. She wasn't made for this. Her RNA reeked of waitress bone structure. Elkishly she craned her neck around, big eyes staring back at me.

"Like this?"

"Sure. Smile into the camera."

Whatever makes money, I thought.

**

Grade: A-

Introduction

It started as a goodbye. One of those where you don't say the word "goodbye." I got 11 words instead. 11 random words. And I used them all to create a short. A written short, kinda like the shorts film enthusiasts make.

Give me your 11 words, and I'll take a shot in turning them into a short.

The price? Give me a grade too. A+ through F- accepted.

Fire away!