The dreamer asked me once, who was that woman he fancied every night. His voice seemed to be so familiar to me.
I thought he loved me. Turned out he didn’t.
I had long grown accustomed to the light that shone off her face like mystic white porcelain when the darkness of night surrounded us that was not from the glow of candlelight but was rather produced by the screen of the laptop she balanced on top of her thighs.
As the steady tap-tap-tap of the keyboard under her pretty-but-agile little fingers lulled me nearly to sleep, I took in a deep, fulfilling breath and sighed with the pleasure of knowing that my beloved wasn’t just any woman – she was a writer.
I touched myself for a bit, listening to the rumbling of the couple upstairs. Then I heard her scream and the thumping stopped.
Positively believing that we are in the primes of our lives, it is only when we multiply and create offspring that we truly see what the adding of years has done to us and realize that our entire equation served as the means to a product comprised of us yet entirely different. Now that there’s no way to subtract the years and start over again, I am left to wonder if my tiny part in the equation will be remembered down the road long after the calculations are complete, or if all my factors shall fade away.
“How about this one?” Jeremy asked after spritzing the cologne onto a paper tab and holding it right up to my nostrils.
“No!” I shouted almost too immediately, thrusting his hand away, but my memory had already whisked me swiftly away back into Frederick’s strong arms that held me firmly but swayed me delicately back and forth, back and forth to the subtle music of the cold wind that rushed through the celadon fields of the Falklands in a way that made individual blades of grass take turns reflecting the sun’s iridescent light, and as we stood there on that rocky cliff overlooking the edge of eternity, tears clinging desperately to our cheeks but ultimately plummeting to their death, he begged me please oh please don’t go.
As Abigail peered through the banisters at her older brother and his friends and listened to them discuss the latest technological breakthroughs in science and the most pressing current political dilemmas, she wondered why she hardly heard young ladies murmur words like those, but then she laid her eyes on one of her brother’s friends – standing there like Michaelangelo’s David, only broader, and with better posture, and muscles you could practically feel with your eyes and, speaking of eyes, his were constructed of cerulean velvet that matched the color of the sky just after the last sliver of sun has tucked itself under the horizon, leaving only the memory of daylight swirled around in a vast sea of everything that is mysterious about night. Abigail twirled a piece of hair around her finger, speculated as to whether or not this specimen of a man had seen her – noticed her – and then her heart took in a poisonous concoction of love, lust and adrenaline that sent her whirling with urgency back to her bedroom to divulge every last detail of the man she had just witnessed on her diary’s hungry, anticipating pages.
“In a never-ending quest to manipulate their planet to better suit their every selfish desire, the Earth-dwellers attempted to cease the eruption of all volcanoes by pumping all of the core’s magma out into space,” Professor Ylyvys explained to his eighth-grade class about the ex-planet that had become infamous even to them, nine galaxies away. “They never fully understood the aliveness of their planet until they drained its life-blood, which killed not only Earth but also everything and everyone on it.”
After Jon took his seat on the train beside the knitting old woman, he raised his hands and showed her his long black claws with a fang-filled grin.
The old woman put down her knitting, opened her mouth and pointed at the blood-covered train conductor who lay screaming between her massively wide jaws and she laughed with a girlish titter when Jon got up.
Go on and murmur sweet nothings to the deep void of your heart in the bitter reality of your new existence, for there is no one left here to love you. You killed them, all of them, and no matter which realm of afterlife their train is bound for, you’re stuck here alive in your own personal hell on earth – alone.
I less than three Centrelink; thank you for your taxes. P.S. Your taxes taste like McDonald’s.
Using someone else’s bathroom is like having sex with a stranger; it’s unnaturally intimate. Not that I care.
Today I put my dog down.
My arms were tired.
The assassin pulled the mask off of the female target’s dead body, and much to his shock, realized it was his wife and she had been working for the enemy all along. Two hundred yards away, the couple’s only son fixed his sniper’s scope on his mother’s masked murderer and pulled the trigger.
Jacob knocked the knife from the burglar’s hand, kicked him in the groin, and pinned him to the stained basement floor with his heavy foot. “Don’t worry, I won’t be calling the police,” Jacob whispered, flicking on the bare light bulb, and revealing the other would-be intruders hanging from meat hooks.