February 26, 2017
Durabella was dutiful, kind, and never smiled. She roamed the fields far from her little cottage. She gathered herbs and bumbleberries for to make and bake a pie for the miller’s wife, who was ailing. When her apron’s pockets bulged with treasure, she turned to make her way home. So it was then on cresting a hill that she noticed the old wooden wheel leaning against a pair of spindly trees.
‘Strange,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t there before. Was it?’
She approached the wheel which was fair as tall as she was. The spokes were gray with age. The thin metal rim of the wheel was rusted. The hub, cracked almost ragged, seemed to Durabella as if it would give up and fall away to dust at the slightest touch. She touched it.
Nothing leaned against the pair of spindly trees. Scattered around them were bumbleberries and twigs, twists, and leaves of herbs. Durabella roamed the star world, smiling.
February 25, 2017
With a bit of neat footwork, the damsel in distress avoided the first goblin. The second goblin was no match for her speed. She simply outran it. When the third goblin came looming at her from the corn field, she veered hard left and sprinted to the silo. She tore the door open, entered, and slammed it shut. The metallic clang echoed in the great empty cylinder. She gasped and panted. Searching for a weapon, any weapon, her eyes flicked glances left and right. She heard the goblin at the door. She saw the door buckle under the unseen assault. It fell. The goblin’s roar of triumph spun a circular path up the walls and away. It must be a dream! It must! she thought in wildest despair.
February 24, 2017
His recitation of ‘The Raven’ remains unsurpassed.
February 23, 2017
a. asking the waitress what time she gets off work.
b. strangling himself to amuse his grandmother over there.
c. acknowledging the standing ovation he is receiving after reciting Poe’s ‘The Raven’.
d. pleased to be accepted into medical school.
February 22, 2017
on her world it was a dream
on his a work of art
and when their worlds collided
at last it played its part
February 21, 2017
Whips of his own hair lashed his face. The howling wind gusted above and around the dunes. Light swarms of sand took to the air and wheeled madly to crash against his fluttering cape. He reeled into the cabin and, after a struggle, shouldered the door shut. Exhausted, he fell fully clothed across the bed and drained away to sleep. Pockets of sand moved as if with purpose in the long creases of his cape. They spilled to the floor, gathered in mass, and moved to open the door.
A quiet dawn greeted the new day. Low waves tumbled in, then calmly hissed away. In the darkness of the cabin filled with sand and buried under the new dune, stillness reigned supreme.
February 20, 2017
The bowling ball and the popsicle
met on the path to the palace.
Said the bowling ball to the popsicle,
‘Would you believe that my name is Alice?’
Said the popsicle to the bowling ball,
‘Why not if you so say?’
‘Because,’ replied the bowling ball,
‘my actual name is Fay.’
The popsicle cared not at all,
for you see it had melted away.
February 18, 2017
In the distance a star shell would rise, and as its light dilated, wavered and failed, one saw against it shattered trunks, lunatic arms uplifted in imprecation, and as though petrified in a moment of shrieking agony.
from The Middle Parts of Fortune, a novel set on World War I battlefields
February 17, 2017
When it came to cake, Judith was emphatic in her refusal to share.