Monday, October 13, 2008

Very Short Stories

the cat was pleased with her. deigned to reward her with a few moments of eye-contact. smiled a cat-smile she couldn't perceive. stood still and let her run her arm along his back. he could hear her crying about something softly. he raised a cat-eyebrow which she couldn't have known, and considered staying put to keep her company. Outside a bird chirped, and it was clear sunlight was dwindling. the last thing she saw was his tale and ass-hole before her face fell into a dark green cushion that felt gross on her face.

she took her shirt off last, oddly, and lay it down with the rest. her feet sunk a little into the sand so she could see only little spots of bright pink from her toenails when she looked down. she was crossing her arms, even though there was no one around. it was just after sunset and though the sky was partially alight, it was windy. her hair moved around. she reached the water, it was cold. her ankles now (her whole body covered in goosebumps). knees. she turned back, a car was driving past on the road. it was dark and the car was far away, it couldn't have seen her. the sun gave up her last fingertip and went all in under the water. she followed.

it was strange to see her again, they hadn't exchanged too many words, scared of the consequences of anything they might say. "so what am i
_ to you_ now?" she was brave to say that. he kept looking at her, you are beyond words, silent. she sipped. her hand trembled a little. you are the moment, deep underground, under pressure and heat, when rock sediment becomes a crystal... you are the moment memory solidifies. you are the moment of self-fulfilled prophecy, when the Future finally shows himself. He rubbed his fingers on the tabletop, leaving a little streak. "you gave me a box of teas once... remember?" (she smiles for the briefest moment, then its gone. she nods) "right now you are

my name should not concern you, it is of no importance. what is important to you, is that i have the key. the answer. the grail. you see, for the longest time, i, like you, was angry. really angry. then, over-dilated, i was sapped. i felt like saggy skin. all sad, all the time, no breaks, just sad sad sad. i had lost even that animating power that anger brings- the urge to revolt or fight or rebel or at least go to the gym. sadness brought nothing. but now, i've overcome both. i am neither angry nor sad. i am unaffected. i have risen above being human. i am everything you want to be. everything you desire. a perfect canvas. welcome to my course. get a pen and paper ready, your first lesson will begin in 10 seconds (or skip to track 2 now)

the boy comes in everyday, well, everyday i'm here he seems to come in. he sits opposite me, he favors that seat on the end. he reads most of the time. sometimes he closes the book and just looks away at nothing for a while. then he opens his notebook and scribbles... but never for long. i wonder if he has writer's block. he looks like a writer- he must not be very good though. the best writers are the ones you can't pick in a line-up. the ones that look the part usually suck, show-ponies trying to impress women. Though he's never made a move to speak to me, or any other girl that comes in here. and there are a lot of us. students study in here all the time. seems to be something time forgot. just showed up one day, the missing note a pianist's hand missed. someone stood him up maybe and he keeps coming in waiting for her to show, big stack of books to pass the time. maybe he's a ghost, maybe only i see him. maybe he's mine. my special friend who doesn't notice me. and i pretend not to notice him. our silence is our partnership. he turns and looks at me as i abruptly glance away. he doesn't smile. doesn't react. looks back to his book and rubs his eyes. he's been almost falling asleep for an hour. turns his book upside down and goes downstairs to order another drink.

night sat with her head against the glass of someone's bedroom. night had great hearing, could hear him breathing- he had trouble breathing. night wished he'd open the window so she could slide in. she wanted to touch him, to cover his body with hers. to wrap him in a new skin of black that was cooler and slicker and he'd groan for her alone. he couldn't open the window- it was barred. because of the orange curtains (such an ugly color) illuminated from the inside, night could always find her way back here. it was getting warm now so she liked to rub her cheeks against the cold glass. he knew she was out there, but couldn't do much about anything.

"shall i wrap it?", she wanted to say yes, but in the end, said "no". she'd have a hard time explaining it to her parents.

and finally, he had to decide how to move all his books back (again). always with the books. you could tell everywhere he'd been just by following the trail of his books. everywhere he went he left a few, a few that weren't very good reads, or too heavy to carry, or were so old his allergies would play up so he'd sneeze as he read them. people hated him coming to stay, they knew he'd leave behind a few books that he'd never come back for - despite his best intentions to. he picked three and put them in his bag. the other 5 he started to flip through, he was saying goodbye.

- what about love?
- what about it?
- what does it mean to you?
- all the empty space that's left after she moved out.
- literally or figuratively?
(he thought about this)
- it means the piano at the back of the auditorium, and red v-neck sweaters. yellow couches, boxes of tea i never opened. colors... and words and phrases and parts of bodies. tastes and feelings and resistances to gravity. time. space as well. places... and mostly, a great evacuation.
- hand me the spanner.
(he does)
__________ ____ _ _interesting perspective.
(he looks down)

there are a long list of things i've failed at. long. mostly, dear me: i've failed you. i've been unable to... ya know, work it out. i can't determine the right order of things. i am unable to get a grip on my emotions - just... kinda failed at that part altogether. so i'm writing this letter. it's important to get it all down before
__before... before i get on with it. the most important thing to say is this: history has the quickest access to our genes. gets right in there, immediately, even when things are happening, you think to yourself 'i'm a new person. this moment, this second, has changed me. i'll never be same. i'm lost.' (sometimes you're found too). history. all of this is because of things that have happened. anyway, the rest are details, so i won't bore anyone with that.


- why is it that i have to be so sad b/c i tried as hard as i fu&*ing could to make this work?
- gravitational pull. ____i like to think of things in terms of gravity.
- good answer
- (i had a head start to you. i've had a while to ask your questions of myself)
- yeah. _well i'm glad i can ask you these questions
- the blind leading the hopeful.
- hahaha


Anonymous said...

loved these.

Luis said...

i am enthralled by number 2 and number 4. i want more.

Amz said...

I love no. 8!!! it sounds so much like me!