Ringing

Ringing and ringing, the phone called for me in its shrill voice. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

Muffled through my pillow, yet just audible enough to be nagging, the phone's persistence paid off.

The choice to leave my warm bed behind was a hard one, but once it was made, I had to commit. If only I could apply this practice to the rest of my life, I might not be woken up at all hours by the usual unexpected phone call.

I knew

I knew it was evening because of how low the sun was on the horizon, but beyond that details were a bit foggy. Looking around, I saw that I had woken up in an empty field. It certainly wasn't one of the lush, green rolling meadows that I can still see so vividly in my mind's eye from my childhood. No, this field was brown and desolate. Sparse plantlife scattered throughout a dusty plain provided little shelter or nourishment for any creature unfortunate enough to have found themselves looking for either in this place.

Checking myself for injuries I was relieved to be relatively unharmed. The absence of my ID and watch, however, were somewhat disconcerting. Trying to retrace, step by step, the events of the past 18 hours or so prooved to be even more unsettling.

I knew that my now filthy rag of a gown was once an eye-catching cotoure creation merely hours ago. I remembered leaving Sam's album release party with a horrible migraine, yet I didn't remeber getting into my car.

Peter

I wrote this poem a few months ago and there's just something about it that makes it one of my favorites. I still can't put my finger on it, but at the same time, I don't want to.

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Peter, Peter, pronounced deleter of wondrous sway, sits alone watching the blue sea foam. His hair tousles and twists with the rift of the fine salt spray.

"If I could find my way back home, where will I go?" he asks of the small crab at his feet.

The crab answers in it's stacatto voice "You should head for the hills, high above the starlight. There you'll find the permanence of age, ready to hold you tight."

Peter nods slowly, knowing this was his path all along, finally accepting, lets slip the last of the sand from its home in his hand.

My Purple Clouds

My purple clouds are calling me. Wistful whispers meant only for my ears are beckoning me outside.

The transition between day and dusk has become endless in its brevity. I could stare at those thin strips of sky for hours, if only they'd let me. Dark below, vibrantly hued above, the clouds seem to be more of a metaphor for balance in life than an actual physical entity.

They're tired of waiting for me. They're riding the wind closer and closer to where i sit, watching them.

Aggressive and subtle, menacing and serene. I am meant to see them now, and understand them later.

Friday Fiction

This morning I found the One-Minute Writer, and was inspired to take a shot at the Friday Fiction challenge.



The multitude of courses was intimidating at first, but as the evening progressed Klara became increasingly more at ease. The exquisite wines paired with each dish played no small part in melting away her tension. She had never been to a four star restaurant before, and had no preconceived notions about what to expect. The long, plush drapes, the enormous blooms of exotic flowers, and the way the waitstaff was invisible yet omnipresent at all times, were just a few of the touches she would have never imagined on her own.

As she savored the blends of sweet, salty, acidic, and pungent in her mouth, she cared less and less about her second-hand shoes. This night was a treat, a reward. She couldn't be disrespectful and allow her bashfulness to hinder a truly magnificent experience just because she felt like a fish out of water.

Klara's work as a counselor for underprivileged children usually consumes not only her working hours, but often much of her personal time as well. "Children don't stop having problems at 5:00", she reminds her friends. It was exactly her dedication to making lives better for those who cannot help themselves that brought her to Phillipe's on the River, to enjoy a tasting of the entire menu in a private room overlooking the lighthouse. After ten years of dedicated service, her co-workers decided that it was time Klara allowed someone else to serve her.

Sipping

Sipping on such a tiny straw will only give you a headache, Mandy admonished silently, as she had already learned this lesson the hard way. She admired her brother's naivete. He was willing his dense milkshake up through the narrow opening, cheeks suctioned into his mouth leaving concave hollows on his cheeks.

"Mandy, when will you be able to come back home with us? I mean, for good?" Ryan had posed the question she knew was coming but was praying would stay buried, this time at least.

Sweltering

Sweltering heat will not deter his determined mind. The young boy knew that it was crucial to embed himself securely within the proper social group this summer before returning back to school in the fall as just another nobody.

He has spent countless hours alone, planning, plotting, and practicing the right moment at which he will show them how he's transformed from the little boy they thought they once knew. Today is the day. Clear skies, a sense of freedom in the air, and the will to succeed have all collaborated to align his path.

His childhood bedroom now barren of his former playthings, awaits new interests and hobbies to fill it's walls.

They're all there, sitting by the fire hydrant, talking about whatever cool thing it is that they're going to do on this marvelous day. Andy walks up to them as if he's been their gang leader for years now, the expression on his face as cold as his soul. "Where are we going to hit up today, boys?" he asks.

Their shock is brief, but they understand. Chris, the tall one, responds "If you're going to stick around you know what it is you have to do. We were just talking about that one, over there." Chris nodded his head towards the blue house with the boat in the driveway.