She ran her fingers along the buttons of his satin shirt but knew there could be no heart beating beneath it any longer. Her brother was dead lying in the same place they had found their father dead of a heart attack only a week before. Behind the great mahogany desk, in front of the floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books they had never been allowed to touch. On the rug they had never been able to walk, now covered in blood. They were no longer children. Her light grey dress was ruined, stained an ugly black in the dark room. She noticed the moonlight coming in from the window shining off the blade. She opened the window and threw the knife as hard as she could into the neglected garden far below.
She had killed her brother. She screamed. Continue reading “Which Sister?”
I stood on a line. A line of sheet music. And as I climb up to the next line I get higher and higher. And after I rest, I go lower. Until I enter the next bar, and after my one and a half note, I start flying higher again. I can only go so high before, I have to come back down. This is trumpet sheet music after all, and my minstrel isn’t that talented. So I spend my time climbing and falling. When I’m falling, I’m thinking of when I’ll get high again. And when I’m high, I’m wandering how long I can hold it before I have to slide back into reality. Reality is where I have to live. Between the lines of the treble clef.
I can make myself go higher, but I always fall. No matter how good people think I am, I will always fall back between the lines. That’s my home. I don’t ask anything of you. Just watch me and listen. Try to harmonize. Good luck. Continue reading “Lines”
We carried our fishing poles across the railroad tracks and slid down the steep embankment that led right to the river with just enough flat space for us to set up a bucket to sit on. As always we were using the wrong type of bait. We had some shrimp bait because we were thinking about fishing off the pier but decided on the river because they were too many tourists tangled up in each other’s fishing wire there. We considered that shrimp might not be very good for freshwater fish who probably had never seen a crustacean before, but my brother suggested that we shouldn’t assume that fish were picky, or uncultured, eaters. I thought this was an unnecessarily progressive way too think about fish culture, but I also know you have to keep an open mind if you want to stay current in this day and age. Continue reading “Peedee River”
My shirtsleeves were dripping wet while I pushed them up past my elbows after searching for the second steak knife I knew was lurking in the bottom of the sink. Of course, as I found it Ben screamed out for me and I slid my finger across the blade as I stumbled over the kitchen table into the living room clutching my bloody hand.
“Ben, are you okay?” I asked repeatedly as I tripped over the rug and fell onto my knees behind the couch. He was sitting on the couch, watching batman boom and pow and zing some villains. Continue reading “Dilapidated”
Some things in life we do regret. Hollow memories echoing off the cave walls of our skulls. The crossbones of a former you, but in a time almost forgotten. To live in the moment, but one lonely moment has no anticipation. No hope. No chance for redemption. The time that we have not yet held, that waits for us tomorrow, or the next day. Continue reading “Waiting”
Thanks again to everyone who has started on this journey with us. The road is narrow so we’re all experiencing some space issues, but we’re working hard on fixing that. It might be possible to widen the road up ahead. Hopefully that will give us the much needed push to continue in a forward trajectory. I know many of you favor the path aft, but we really should stick together where we can. The wolves seem to be afraid of numbers. I wish we knew exactly of which of the numbers they were afraid. That would make me feel much more at rest while I’m arranging the daily scoreboard. Walk with me awhile, while I tell you of what truly befuddles me. Continue reading “The State”