Skimmed Milk Did you ever feel like you're not the one living your life? Like you are just an observer following a body around? And all day you follow this body around and watch while it eats, and jokes, and does schoolwork. You see all your math problems finished but you can't recall even touching your pencil that period, because you weren't there?It's days like this you look in the mirror and don't recognize the person staring back at you; you might even notice a wrinkle, even though you are far too young to get wrinkles. And when you walk out of the coffee shop (where you go every friday) and into the grocery store, you suddenly notice that you are b
Faith? He had certainly proved himself before, so she prayed for a replay. Not believing was unsuitable. And it wasn’t like she asked for anything big, just a small sign. Surprise was written all over her face when she saw his response.She smiled wryly and stared at the sky, then found a pebble nearby and flung it at a cloud while shouting, ”You have a lousy sense of humor, God”.Walking home she was as near content as one can be when not getting anything one's way. She sighed, not too heavily, and accepted it. Lousy miracles are still miracles.
The Circus ”Animal cruelty.” My mother ignored my pleading and ushered me forward; the shops closed soon.”Artists on slave contracts.” My big sister was ”socially aware,” or so my parents told their friends with pride in their voices.”No.” My father offered no explanation, he just looked at me with disdain. Then he resumed his work.” ... My little sister would never approve.”My aunt winked at me and smiled, before telling me to ask my mom if I could stay over. At 8 o’clock we stood outside, ready to enter.”Magic.”My senses were ensnared from the first second.
Memories The stairwell is no longer empty. It is filled with memories of a time long past. Recollections of embarassing scenes and loving gestures flicker before my eyes; I hear the faint sound of laughter echoing in the distance, and the smell of barclays and tea (English Breakfast for you, I preferred Earl Grey) still lingers. It sits in the walls.I no longer drink tea - or tolerate smoking.My granddaughter pulls my jacket and impatiently inquires about my sudden silence. I wonder why I took her; she is still far too young for these stories. Bribing her with the promise of cookies at the nearest café, I lead her out the door. And so we wa
Escape into Sound She turns the volume up. Always up. When the volume reaches max and the speakers are treatening to explode, she moves closer to the stereo. Only when the clock says midnight and the neighbours are threatening to kick in the door does the sound ever stop. For them. She has already put on her makeup and secured her headphones to her head.She runs to the nearest club, concert or anywhere loud. So she doesn’t have to deal with the silence. She prefers the clubs. There are no real emotions there: no real love, no real hurt, nothing. Only drunkenness and drugs. Safely inside she removes her headphones. Men offer her drinks, she willingly acc
Stages DenialYou have your hot chocolate mixed with waterand splenda (not equalamount, it’s more real – or so you say).And I hold his hand as he tries,but no school could haveprepared them for you.BargainingYet a pack of menthols liesunopenedon the window still, next toVanity Fair and non-prescription pills. And I read up, becauseyou’re not ready for thisnow (or ever)DepressionI sulk, and smoke your cigarettes in secret whilst you keep in bed, alternatingempty faced andteary eyed - crying off even the most hardy of mascaras, neither talking norfacing facts
only physicists are able.. I dreamt in sepia last night and woke to a pale yellow morning with murky coffee and oatmeal enveloped bananas mixedinmy mind today is both darkgraypunkrockchickand powder blue american wife so Istay naked in bed pouringgreen tea down behind my pinkish gray lungsand I marvelat the intensity of theenvy I felt that far from golden day when I first consideredthe perfect simplicity of yourblack and whiteworld
Caving in Like a fork dragged across your plate, a chair removes itself from the table and crashes to the floor. Your jacket left pinned underneath and my heart on the floor with it. You jerk it out, abruptly (together with any air left in my lungs). A look and you’re gone.I should send my chair the same way, grab an arm, say something. Pull you in for a hug and promise more, again. Yet all I find myself doing is remember how the gold in your hair is mirrored in his eyes, and not the platinum around my third finger.
Flight 1. Three days past our last dual monologue the thought of it (and us, you) still transforms my hands into fists so tightly bound that I fear the grooves my nails burrow may become permanent fixtures in my palms.2. Eight hours of travel left for today. After a dingy motel and a greasy breakfast more will follow in the morning. And then later, when I find myself in my habitat once again, I might find some better sleep and food. What I will not find is rest, or strength. For a mere habitat has not been a home since you and food never anything but gray sustenance.3. Five butchered attempts at the perfect explanation was what it took bef
Worries never voiced I worry about you, you know. I see you model yourself on your father and on-screen detectives. Priming yourself for a job no man should have to do and reading up on the common ways of coping. You’ve already converted to the religion started by a certain jack and you’re almost (not yet, soon) chain smoking lucky strikes in the absence of a real one.It makes me worry when I see your eyes wander whilst your arms are still holding the only good woman that will ever set her sights on you and I know you’ll break her. I’ve been wrong before though, and I pray to your other god that I am this time. There is already pain in her e
You. Sometimes I wonder:Are you lonely?Up there on your goldenthrone?Your subjectsfluttering - scaredcan't be much of a company?We are below you I know,you think sobut are you sure?Or are you just too proud toreach out for someone?Sometimes I wonder:Are you lonely? Up there?
Tea-genes Tea-genesThe first weekly challenge of the "read more in March" initiative prompted deviants to find a new deviant and put them in the spotlight. Because of this the lovely =livingcomforteagle agreed to let me have a little interview with her, finding out some interesting things about her writing, dA and most importantly: does she drink enough tea?On to question one:Why did you join dA? I was actually persuaded to join by my friend Blackie, whose deviantART is http://bblk.deviantart.com/ . We met originally through another website, and she knew that I wrote and figured I had some talent. I ultimately gave in when my hunger to be recog
Childhood 1.I remember my uncle painting our summer house (I never knew what connection we actually had:everyone were cousins, aunts, uncles here)and my grandmother- we had some of them tooever baking, ever making tea & lemonade.2.We pretended to be captured princesses,swept away by an evil witch,who made us weed the roses, and forbade us to pick the berries.3.The oldest always stole the neighbours'apples cherriesplumsthey were noticed, every time but he never breathed a word. 4.A grandfather (whose?) taught us to fish,taught us to digg digg diggfor worms (bait) and how to crac
February. You've never been so sick of getting educated and nature's faking spring again.Walking down the corridor after being filled with useless knowledge you see; scarves forgotten on sunny days, notepads soaked by melting snow and Mr. Athletic wearing a t-shirt (pray that he gets stuck in bed with influenza). Bake oatmeal'n raisin cookies while you still can blame winter depression for your sweet tooth. Wear sunscreen; you don’t need people’s freckle jokes already.You aren't among the chosen this year either, but looking at Lucy cheers you up:At least your heart wasn't the only one that wasn’t warmed.
January. There's tea cups, coughdrops and vitamin C, all poured down my sore throat, combined with a new gym membership (to somehow work off the memory of getting drunk at the family party along with the extra fat)There's mistletoe and stale cookies in the bin along with the nauseating aftertaste of too much cheer and love-thy-neighbour (not to mention your little sister)There's schools and workplaces begrudingly filled with ugly ties from the in-laws and misshaped knits from gran. All emitting heavy sighs.There’s:Fridges filled with lettuce and tomatoes .. and the slight minty tinge of new beginnings.
Ashes The aquarium was placed upon the table in the corner. The table with the taffeta cloth; the one my gran always stroked, and stroked, and stroked to remove every single crease from. It had been meant for her wedding dress.I hated cleaning the damn glass box, but the roots of the water plants had finally covered every single piece of multi-coloured gravel that supposedly was there. So I put the two remaining goldfish in a bowl, and grudgingly maneuvered the aquarium into the old tub. My thoughts flickered, but somehow, in the midst of the scrubbing, all I could think of was you.The plugs sparked and threatened to take out all my electricity
Untitled These days I only live for the moments in between. Between all the existing, between all the routines of everyday life. Between one worry and another.I harvest memories so that I will have something to gain comfort from. Harder days, when times are tougher. These days I only live for future recollections.For the quick conversations in the midst of all the rush (when I don't have to hold my breath).and:For the whiff of fresh air the sound of your voice leads to my lungs.
Ache I’m lying on my bed,eating ice-cream, even thoughI told you I –was on a diet(not that you care either way)The house is a mess,because you’re the one who cleans, and I only know how to cook(and you really don’t)My books are dusty,I haven’t read a thing since you left;unable to when youaren’t next to me(eating all my chocolate)Always facing the wall;It enables me to pretend thatyou’re lying therebehind my back(but I can’t steal your covers)Fully aware that I said"I won’t miss you as much this time" I still must admit that sometimes it just hurts (far to
Sister I can't help but laugh. You're picking flowers for mommy; or rather ripping them up, root and all. Orange, blue and pink. I wonder when you'll learn what colours go together. And oh-no, our mother's favourite rose just got added to the bunch; you'll get a thankful smile for that, I won't.Hello Kitty has a brown spot over her left eye, and a pink sandal lies under the birch -- lost when running terrified from your brother and his wooden sword.You detest shorts, and handing me the flowers you ask if you can change. - I'm a princess, pretty skirt?Grinning, I pick you up. - Princesses wear shorts too you know.You look at me, disbelie
Mother My mother is a falling star. Leaving all that is golden about her in her trail until she is nothing but blackness, or maybe a grey rock that crashes through a window and into someone's loft.She was the bubbling youth, all the freshness of spring and attractiveness of summer molded into a human being. At least that's how I remember her. It's not how my siblings will. They might treasure memories of dinners and bed-time stories the way I treasure the memory of girl's night out with the daughter in tow.I always found falling stars sad. Bleeding out all their glitter on the way down to rock hard ground. Going from something I always imagined
Love again I was going to tell you something. But then you smiled sheepishly at my frown; and some kids shouted, distracting me.You talk about politics, articulately, and joke about your professor, the one with the vest, while taking a sip from my take-away tea. I start wondering how it came to be, that I always wear the earrings you like, that I never laugh at Star Trek anymore, and your favourite colour suddenly is green (like mine).I succumb to studying the part of your hair that sticks up at the back, and stealing a bite from your blueberry muffin.
Games We played games; truth or dare, spin the bottle. Kiss Alyssa or jump from the balcony. We knew he’d jump (and Alyssa'd cry).Games with hearts: I love you, now her, then you again. Over and over. Strip poker with drunken girls.Hidden in the black of night. Russian roulette or Trivial Pursuit? It doesn’t matter, the stakes are the same. Bingo.Play with money, toy with the law. When someone else takes the risk, the consequence – and you, the prize.Why so sullen, life’s only a game – there are no rules. You rolled the dice, you lost.Bang?
Cathryn's There are thirty-two grease spots in the left-hand corner of the kitchen in Cathryn's Diner. It looks like they have been there for years (like I have), but I've never noticed them before. There are a lot of things I’ve never noticed before. Like how we have four broken toasters on a shelf somewhere; nobody has bothered to fix them, or to throw them away for that matter.I did the maths earlier: I’ve spent about 15% of my life in this kitchen (which isn't much of a kitchen really, more a cup-board sized room with a stove). It feels like so much more. I did all my growing up in this place. Cathryn always there with me if I needed so
Salt The tiny cuts on my toes ache like I’ve poured salt in them. Which I kind of have. Whoever convinced me that running barefoot through the forest and then swim in the cold, salty sea afterwards was a good idea? I guess that’s the sort of thing you do when you travel to a solitary house in the middle of the woods to figure out the meaning of your existence. I’m going to get a cold.And as I sit here telling tales to the flames in the fireplace and thinking about Absinthe, the cat not the liqueur, with Brandy next to me, the drink not the girl, I conclude, lazily, that I exist merely to ask myself why I do just that.
Agatha Agatha is a proper sort of witch, the thing with spiderwebs exempted. And her tea is dreadful, I really do think a witch should know how to make proper tea. But yes a proper witch.What? The spiderweb thing? Oh dearie. Well the thing is, Agatha makes spiderweb chain mails. She read some of these science journals; modern stuff you know, about flying cars and self-curling hair. It said that in weight spiderwebs are stronger than steel, and you know Agatha dear, her mind works in strange ways. Anyways the problem is that, as you know, spiderwebs are elastic; even though no sword goes through the chain mail it still goes into your body, just ...
Sta.sh
