You are my sunshine, I guess

Up north, the cold winds blowing, the rain pouring, the gray skies closing in on your happiness – sometimes you need to find a replacement for the care-free golden days of summer. No amount of blankets or whiskey, even with honey, lemon, and hand-warming hot water, can warm your melancholy soul. Sometimes, what you really need is a set of arms to encompass you, to wrap you up almost too tight, feeling like someone really does not want to let you go. For a moment, you can forget your claustrophobia and fear of commitment because love seems more important than breath.

Note: Somehow, google docs and wordpress had different counts for how many words I used – I can only assume that google docs considered hand-warming to be two words but care-free to be one word, while wordpress considered both to be one word. I opted to go with what word press suggested, un-contracting doesn’t to does not, for the sake of having an even 100 words by wordpress standards. I actually hand counted each word rather than trusting the word count functions between the two different programs. That’s how much I care about following the rules. And this explanation is 100 words also.

Worth

“They should be shot!” he cried. “We should reinstate capital punishment. Public hangings!” He is paranoid, concerned about loss of personal wealth, the innocence of young women he has never met. He rants and raves about injustice and corruption while he imagines the weight of a gun in his hand instead of the phone receiver. He envisions himself as justice incarnate. With musculature cut from stone and the strength of a superhero. If he had friends, would they be surprised to know that he was responsible for the string of murders of homeless men in deserted city parks?

Insomnia

Humming sounds, lamp light, keyboard click-clacking; these are the late night companions of the insomniac. Deep into the night, sleep deprived minds still abuzz with ideas (shouldn’t have had that latte with two shots of espresso). Enough energy to power the humming appliances, the lamps, the laptop, the street lights, the neighbor’s house, a small town – a hamlet? Would that we could channel this seemingly endless supply of energy into electricity – certainly the future in green technology lies within the busy brains of the all night, sleepless thinkers, the dreamers who cannot sleep to dream. Plug us in.

Extra Special Add-on: Haiku!

O, elusive sleep
How bad insomnia is:
Late night haiku bad.

Gravity

I’ve never had faith in many things. Not in a higher power. Not in other people. Not in myself. But gravity, that is something one can’t help but believe in. Ring around the rosies, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

Falling head over heels wasn’t something I included in my pondering of gravity, it wasn’t something I expected at all.

Love is heavy. And the loss of love, that really knocks you on the ground. I never imagined that it would take all my strength to actually pick myself up off the floor once you left.

Easy as Pie

“Easy as pie,” she said as she measured out the ingredients exactly and prepared the cutting board to roll out the dough.  She powdered the board with flour and flattened the dough to an even thickness, not tampering with the dough too much, for fear of a poor consistency.  Making pie isn’t that easy.  My mom once forgot the sugar in a lemon pie.  It was ruined.  Falling in love was far easier than making any pie, but saying those three words – that might have been at the same level as baking a pie. Or maybe a little harder.

Dying Devotion

Colored light formed kaleidoscope projections on her upturned face.  It was nearing sunset and the stained glass windows glowed.  Silence filled the empty church and, she imagined, spilled out onto the streets – passers by with mouths moving but no sound, voices all cowering at the might of God.

‘This is the one pure love.’ she thought, her emaciated frame settled uncomfortably on the wooden pews.  The silence was broken by voices and thudding footsteps, her family back again to take her away.

“Darling,” her mother cooed, “you must come home now.” They know nothing of love, she condemned.

Colored light formed kaleidoscope projections on her upturned face.  It was nearing sunset and the stained glass windows glowed.  Silence filled the empty church and, she imagined, spilled out onto the streets – passers by with mouths moving but no sound, voices all cowering at the might of God.

‘This is the one pure love.’ she thought, her emaciated frame settled uncomfortably on the wooden pews.  The silence was broken by voices and thudding footsteps, her family back again to take her away.

“Darling,” her mother cooed, “you must come home now.” They know nothing of love, she condemned.

Second Place

“Why can’t you choose me?” she pleaded.  He glanced at her breasts while he formulated a response.  His eyes looked up.  The seconds dragged.  He reached out and pulled her close, hoping his apologetic hug might be answer enough.  She pulled away, angry tears glossing her eyes.

She grabbed her clothing, strewn about, put them on so quickly disheveled was hardly a strong enough word to describe her appearance.

“I’m sorry.” was his whispered reply, silenced by the slammed door.  She had stolen his heirloom lighter and vowed to destroy his true love.  She would burn down the environment.

“Why can’t you choose me?” she pleaded.  He glanced at her breasts while he formulated a response.  His eyes looked up.  The seconds dragged.  He reached out and pulled her close, hoping his apologetic hug might be answer enough.  She pulled away, angry tears glossing her eyes.

She grabbed her clothing, strewn about, put them on so quickly disheveled was hardly a strong enough word to describe her appearance.

“I’m sorry.” was his whispered reply, silenced by the slammed door.  She had stolen his heirloom lighter and vowed to destroy his true love.  She would burn down the environment.

Missing

The ‘missing’ posters were on every bulletin board.  A photo of him and his dad smiling, a description of him.  A week or so later the paper ran a nostalgic article about the young man and his accomplishments, hobbies, his happiness and love of life.

I imagined flying with him in his floatplane.  We’d land at some remote island off the coast with nothing but trees and rocks, watch a sunset, stare into each other’s eyes.  He would warm my ice cold hands, calm my shivers with his presence.

But his hands are cold. Why can’t I love the living?

The ‘missing’ posters were on every bulletin board.  A photo of him and his dad smiling, a description of him.  A week or so later the paper ran a nostalgic article about the young man and his accomplishments, hobbies, his happiness and love of life.

I imagined flying with him in his floatplane.  We’d land at some remote island off the coast with nothing but trees and rocks, watch a sunset, stare into each other’s eyes.  He would warm my ice cold hands, calm my shivers with his presence.

But his hands are cold. Why can’t I love the living?

New Fiction

While reading Ben’s blog I stumbled upon a contest hosted by this Peter fellow.  The contest was to write a fictional story in 100 words precisely and the proposed theme was LOVE.

Within a brief period of time I wrote THREE little works of fiction within the one theme and must admit that I am officially in LOVE with DRABBLE.  So much so, that I will create a new creative blog for DRABBLING.  I think that I will post drabble here weekly.

This is to join my personal blog and my web comic and it will be yet another way for me to avoid responsibility.

I think I’ll try to choose a new theme or keyword each week and if anyone ever reads this drabble-rousing blog, I will accept suggestions or prompts for themes.