Posts Tagged ‘Thursday’

Breakfast: Ritual

18 Nov

(Double drabble because I slept yesterday instead of writing. It happens.)

He smacked the alarm clock into silence without opening his eyes. He tossed back the covers and groped for the discarded pair of jeans crumpled next to the bed. He stretched, scratched, and slipped on the pants. His eyes were no wider or more frequently opened than absolutely necessary.

He shuffled into his kitchen and filled the coffee pot with water. It splashed on the counter as he filled the reservoir. Grounds scattered as he tossed the poorly leveled scoops into the filter. He’d clean up later. He growled as he forced the filter back onto its tracks. He pushed the “Brew” button. One breath. Two. The smell of fresh coffee and the anticipation of caffeine granted him the ability to keep his eyes half-open.

He felt around in the cabinet above the pot. Finding nothing he turned to the sink and cursed. He inspected three cups lining the sink and rinsed it out until it looked relatively clean. He turned back to the pot and waited. His eyes slipped shut and he wavered on his feet.

The coffee maker beeped as it finished. With the barest hint of a smile he pulled the pot off the burner and poured breakfast.


Primary Colors: Message In a Bottle

11 Nov

She opens the box and studies the contents. She skims the instructions.

So much of her life is out of her hands. Her useless advisor at grad school. The mortgage on the house she won’t be able to sell for years. Her grandfather’s failing heart. Her mothers cancer.

She slips on the gloves. She pours the smaller bottle into the larger and replaces the cap. She shakes and the liquids turn to a single, purpling muck. She sets down the bottle and takes one last look at her hair.

It’s a small thing to have power over, but it helps.


Theme Breaker: Listen

28 Oct

(This has nothing to do with literal translations of blood idioms, which is this week’s theme. I just couldn’t resist writing this after most of this happened to me on the way home today)

She ignored the warnings.

The slow-moving cashier who struggled with the plastic bag. The iPod, shuffling from “Take 5″ to “Living on a Prayer” while she drove. The funeral procession that forced her to wait through two light cycles. The driver going 30 in the 45 when she wanted to go 60.

They frustrated her, certainly. But instead of taking the moments to slow down, Instead of rolling with the direction she could have taken, she drove faster and more urgently.

She arrived at the dry cleaners just before closing. The man hiding the the semi-automatic rifle in his jacket held the door for her.


Monsters: Mummy

21 Oct

It was expected, of course, that when his cousin died, he would join him. It was an honor Hamin freely accepted. The priests ensured he would be able to withstand the rituals and be transformed into an eternal guardian of the Pharaoh’s tomb. And so it came to pass that when the God Who Walks Among Us fell, Hamin was interred with him, along with scores of servants to serve him forever.

Hamin was a true believer and was genuinely surprised when he did not rise soon after his death. More surprised were the grave robbers, millennia later, who woke him.


Real Monsters: Pedophile

14 Oct

Stu hated rainy days. On rainy days the mothers kept their children indoors. The schools didn’t have recess outside. He hated Autumn, too. And Winter. Even when the kids were outside they were bundled. He could hardly catch a glimpse of pink cheeks, let alone a fleshy thigh. That’s why he moved.

He did his research. He chose a city where the average temperature was over 60 degrees year round. There were thirteen parks with playgrounds within walking distance of his apartment. Sixty within a twenty minute drive. He could watch them play for hours every day without drawing attention to himself.


Waking From a Dream: Mostly

07 Oct

I’m not asleep anymore, but I can’t possibly be awake. My eyes must be closed, but I can still see. There’s someone, or something, in my room, in the shadows or in the corner of my eye. It’s coming for me. It’s coming for my family. If I could move I could scare it away, but I can’t.

Other times I feel like my soul is rising out of my body. I could float out the window. I could explore beyond myself. But what if I’m not supposed to be doing this? What if I can’t get back?

Sweet Dreams.


Senses: Bitterness

30 Sep

Brigit could almost taste the resentment in the cookie. It looked like a standard peanut butter cookie with a chocolate kiss planted in the center, but something was off. Was it made with store-brand peanut butter approaching its “best before” date? Was the chocolate from a previous season’s holiday?

She pressed on. Nothing was exactly right, even things that had been purchased at the store. Looking around, it seemed nobody was comfortable, especially the bride. Brigit turned to the hostess and smiled gently. It must be hard giving a shower for your sister when she’s marrying the man of your dreams.


Fall: On Deaf Ears

23 Sep

“Not this month.” She chucked the one-lined test into the trash can.

He wrapped his arms around her as she silently started to cry.

Her body used to shake with heaving cries that would last for days, but something had changed since the last miscarriage. He was just as exhausted. The emotional roller-coaster that they rode month after month was draining both of them. He didn’t think it would ever end.

“Maybe,” he said as she stopped crying and her breathing leveled. “Maybe it’s time we looked into adoption.”

She looked up at him and he knew she still wasn’t ready.


Beginnings: Potential Energy

16 Sep

Joey looks down the waterside. He grips the plastic inner tube so tightly that the cheap seams cut into the flesh of his arm and side.

“You going?” the lifeguard asks. The broken rhythm has registered as Something She Needs To Address. She leans forward and lowers her sunglasses. He can see in her eyes she’s already decided he won’t.

He nods his head and turns back to the slide. He swallows hard but still can’t step forward.

“Look, kid–” The lifeguard starts.

“I’m going! I’m going!” he shouts.

Few forces are more powerful than the bravado of a ten-year-old boy.