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Monthly Archives: August 2009

That's why I'm going to become an astronaut now.

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.

And the right amount of cyanide is always hard to gauge.

“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.

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.

When you see the light, follow it.

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.

“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.

The fires will keep her warm at night without him.

“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.
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?

Somewhere over the rainbow we can be together.

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?

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.