100 Words #3

December 1, 2001 When I walked into the office this morning, I saw an abundance of red. Every year, the powers above (no, not that far above) buy Poinsettias to decorate our office. And every year the plants get bigger and bigger. This year, they're monsters. And like every year before, no one will water these plants so by the time the holidays arrive they are looking scraggily and anemic. And with them looking so sad and bedraggled, no one will adopt them when the holidays end, so they get tossed into the dumpster out back. Life is cruel if you're a Poinsettia.
December 2, 2001 When I was six I asked my eleven-year-old sister where we went when we slept. She thought about it a little and then told me about CatLand. CatLand was a magical land where little kids who loved cats went to while they slept and they turned into cats. There was a wonderful castle surrounded by lush gardens with fountains filled with milk instead of water. And all of my stuffed animals (all cats, of course) were there. Every night, at a grand ball, all the cats would gather and dance. I think my niece is old enough for CatLand now.
December 3, 2001 Follow the leader. If you follow me, I’ll start off silly enough, but I’ll soon lead you too close to the edge of something. I’ve watched you watch me lick my lips, and I know what you are thinking. And I’ll warn you again, reconsider what you think I am, I’ll only prove to you I’m not. If you want to be the leader and expect me to follow, I may for a little bit, but when your back is turned, I’ll slip away. You’ll want to look for me, but don’t bother. It’s hard to pin a living contradiction.
December 4, 2001 If you could have one super hero for a lover, which one would it be? Well, it wouldn’t be The Flash, no staying power there. Or the Incredible Hulk, I don’t think I could get over the whole green thing. Superman could be cool, we could find out if a flying fuck really is possible. And Spiderman, I bet he could do some interesting things with those webs of his. Batman has never impressed me much and Robin is too second fiddle (and secretly in love with Batman, I think). Okay, so I’m bored today, and feeling lazy. Sue me.
December 5, 2001 Sharon was only fifteen when she died. She fell off the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle while not wearing a helmet. I didn’t really know her but my brother did, so we went to the viewing. I remember her closest friends crying as they placed a hairbrush in the casket with her. And I remember thinking, if I died now, what would my friends place in the coffin with me. They put a catcher's mitt and a baseball in with Stacy when he died. But it should've been a tennis ball. That’s what we always used when we played Wall-ball.
December 6, 2001 Tell me a story. Let me lean back and close my eyes while your words wrap themselves around me. You, sir, prove magic and words are one and the same, and I fall, unresisting, under your spell. Weaver of fables and legends, your words caress me as no lover ever could. And who ever knew that a single word could make me tremble so? Your words make me greedy, filled with wanting. Will you satisfy my craving? Be they gentle or harsh, slide your words over me, make me beg for more. Teller of tales, my only desire is you.
December 7, 2001 A mouse darts from under the table. The cat curled up on the chair leaps after the mouse. The dog, startled awake from his place on the floor, barks at the cat. The baby sleeping in the next room starts to cry. The mother, losing her moment of peace, curses the dog as she picks up her child. The baby quiets as he starts to nurse. The dog settles once more on the floor and heaves a big doggy sigh. The cat corners, and then catches, the mouse by the stairs. The mouse wishes it had stayed within the walls.
December 8, 2001 The hours have slipped to far into the a.m., and tiredness burns my eyes. You’ve left me alone tonight, and when alone, I elude sleep. Yes, I elude sleep, not the other way around. But I’m starting to lose the fight. My thoughts are starting to wander and I’m losing pieces of time, a strange feeling. Another yawn and I start to think I’m tired enough to go to sleep. I think I’ll sleep well tonight, but my dreams will weird. They always are on nights like this. Well, I better go now if I want to beat the sunrise.
December 9, 2001 ‘What were you thinking?’ He asked as he stared at her. She ran her hand through her newly shorn hair and bit her lip. I was thinking I’m bored. I was thinking you never notice me anymore, and I needed to do something drastic to catch your attention. I was thinking I’m starting to hate you and I know how much you have always loved my long hair. I was thinking I want to be anyone but the person I let you turn me into. ‘I didn’t know they were going to cut this much off.’ And he believed her.
December 10, 2001 Treachery. She spins deceit at every turn. He tries to follow and understand but the very perfidiousness of her soul leaves him baffled and confused. Her words sing promises but the glint in her eyes speaks of betrayal. And somehow she knows just how to find the one who’ll fall for her duplicity. Only when she’s walking away for the last time does he see through her fraudulent façade. She leaves a path of battered and bitter souls in her wake as she moves on, still weaving her deceptive webs. No matter what, she knows she’ll always find another victim.
December 11, 2001 He hates those fragile days. Days when he feels he’s been pushed out onto thin ice and he’s too afraid to move to save himself. When he was little, he used to fry marbles. If you cook them just right, they crack but don’t fall apart. They’re pretty that way, but they’re never good for games of marbles anymore, too hard of a hit and they fall apart. He feels like that today, brittle and frail. He’s waiting for that ominous sound that signifies the ice cracking up around him. And he’s wishing there weren’t so many fried marble days.
December 12, 2001 She could feel a headache coming on strong but the party had just started so she had to stick around for at least a little while. Politics and all that. Smiling, she passed from person to person, making small talk and her way closer to the bar. At the bar she ordered a Scotch and tonic and smiled wearily at the bartender. ‘I hate these things, they’re so phony.’ She emptied half of her drink in one gulp. ‘And yet, here you are.’ The bartender shook his head as she moved on with a wan smile, oblivious to his sarcasm.
December 13, 2001 You don’t understand me, but that’s to be expected. In other words, it doesn’t surprise me. The sad thing is I don’t always understand myself. One should always understand themselves, shouldn’t they? I mean, isn’t that a written rule or something? Why I do some of the things I do completely baffles me. So I’m a little bit more understanding of you when you look at me with confused and wary eyes. I know that look. I’ve seen it looking back at me from the mirror on too many occasions. Enigma, or just a nut case? You be the judge.
December 14, 2001 Dancer. Sliding gracefully across the floor, swaying, twirling, and twisting. Music pauses and so do you. Starts again, a hypnotic beat, and you move on. On the wall, your shadow exaggerates your every move turning a simple passion into debauchery. Candle flames flicker wildly as you spin past, settling down when you’re beyond their touch. Muscles taut, you leap skyward, appearing almost startled when it eludes your grasp and your feet once more rest on solid ground. Slow, fast, no matter what the tempo of the song, your pulse keeps the rhythm. Dancer. Dancing for the love of it all.
December 15, 2001 ‘Turn around.’ Though said softly, there was no mistaking it for anything less than a command. She slowly followed his order and he let the shadows fall away from himself. A myriad of emotions crossed her face: fear, shock, dismay, disbelief, sadness, and surprisingly, longing. As she stepped back he stepped forward and smiled his promising smile, which wasn't cruel, but neither was it nice. She started to take another step backwards, but the look in his eyes told her if she ran, he would follow, the thrill of the hunt turning fierce in his blood. He extended his hand...
December 16, 2001 I thought I had kept my eyes open the whole time. But now I'm thinking I closed them quite a bit. Every once in a while something you say will pull a trigger, and send memories crashing through my head. Head wound, extensive trauma. You, my catalyst, have always done that to me. And you smile smugly, thinking it some wonderful gift you have given me. I whimper and think longingly of closing my eyes forever. But once my eyes are opened, I cannot close them again, so I'll keep these memories you have returned to me, good or bad.
December 17, 2001 ‘I like alligators better than crocodiles. I don’t know what the difference is between them, but I know I like alligators better.’ She prattled on happily. He shook his head and wondered what he had gotten himself into. He didn’t know how anyone could just ‘decide’ they liked something better than something else without knowing why. His mind didn’t work that way. So he had an equal amount of ‘liking’ for alligators and crocodiles. Or maybe he didn’t like either of them, come to think of it… Yes, he was quite sure he didn’t like either of them very much.
December 18, 2001 This time of the year makes me feel feral. The stores are so crowded and everyone is pushing and shoving, no time for even an effort of apology. It makes me want to hiss and spit and scratch and bite. It brings out the side of me that is uncivilized, that is animal. Last night I bared my teeth at someone who rudely tried to squeeze by me in too small of a place. That, coupled with narrowed eyes, made them take a step back and re-think their actions. You know, sometimes, I think I like this side of me.
December 19, 2001 ‘Somehow,’ she said ‘it all comes back to ghosts.’ ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand what this has to do with us and our relationship.’ Baffled, he raised his hands up like he was physically trying to grasp what she meant. ‘You think of her, compare my every aspect to her. I think of him, compare you to him, in every detail. For all intents and purposes, neither one of them exists in our world anymore, yet still they haunt us. Not every ghost has to be a supernatural phenomenon. In this case the ghosts are memories wake.’ ‘Huh.’
December 20, 2001 They laugh at my Christmas tree and say the ornaments are too worn out and old. I admit, they are a little faded but they're faded because of the small hands that handled them before lovingly hanging them on the tree. When I was little, the ornaments were bright and shiny and I would lose myself in watching the reflections captured on their surface. The world was so much prettier then. So worn out and old doesn't matter, I love them for the beauty of their memories. Memories of innocence, something I will never recapture in this day and age.
December 21, 2001 Random things overheard at last night's Robot meeting: 'Mars' atmosphere is too thin.' 'Pickles!' 'I don't think he likes me very much.' 'Just touch it lightly.' 'Do you guys have the code almost ready?' 'Cool or cold?' 'Did you ever find a lighter?' 'This looks like an elaborate torture device for ants.' 'Let's go get a soda.' 'I poked myself with a wire.' 'Get a picture of last year's couple.' 'They all landed on the surface.' 'Sorry I wasn't here last week.' 'Band?' 'Velcro this switch to the board.' 'I'm going to get fat.' 'Size doesn't matter.' 'Boy, that stinks.'
December 22, 2001 She huddles under her tattered umbrella and walks as fast as she can while still avoiding puddles. Her heels slip, startling a gasp from her, followed by some cursing. She can smell her hairspray as it dissolves in the dampness and shudders to think about how her hair must look. In a yard across the street two kids laugh as they jump over mud puddles. Their laughter carries her back to a time when rainy days weren’t an inconvenience. Two blocks away, he’s waiting for her inside To The Brim Coffee Cafe, probably tapping his fingers impatiently at her tardiness.
December 23, 2001 She hates it when he taps his fingers, and she knows he knows this. But that doesn’t stop him from doing it. The rain starts to fall harder and the kids’ shrieks follow her the rest of the way down the street. At the corner, a large puddle swallows most of the sidewalk. She could step into the street to avoid it, but she doesn’t. She pauses to take off her shoes then steps back a couple of paces to get a better start. She doesn’t clear the puddle but she laughs as the chilly water splashes upwards, soaking her.
December 24, 2001 She cringes a little as she gets the worse of the mud off of her feet and puts her heels back on. There’s nothing she can do about the mud and water splattered all over her dress. At the coffee shop, she stands outside the window and peers in. He’s at their usual table, reading a newspaper, but she can tell he’s getting peeved by the way he looks at his watch and adjusts the band. She looks at her reflection then wishes she hadn’t. Wet stringy hair, and raccoon eyes to boot, she opens the door and steps inside.
December 25, 2001 We interrupt this program to bring you the following holiday song: City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday trash, In the air there's the smell of reefer. Muggers waiting, anticipating Greeting victims with guns, And on every street corner you'll hear: Sirens wail, Love for sale, It's Christmas time in the city. Hear them scream, What a dream, Soon it will be Christmas day. This song is dedicated to the dealer and user I chanced to see make a transaction on Christmas morning. May all their dreams and wishes come true. We now return you to your previously scheduled program.
December 26, 2001 A look of embarrassment slid over his face as she approached and stood in front of him. With a sneer he couldn’t quite hide, he moved his coffee mug away from her and motioned for the waitress. ‘Don’t bother, I’m not staying. On the way over here, I realized you’re sucking all of the life out of me, like some kind of freaking vampire. Blame it on the weather or something. No, I take that back, blame yourself and have a nice life.’ Dropping the umbrella on his lap, she left. On the walk home, she jumped in every puddle.
December 27, 2001 Resolutions. If one more person asks me if I’ve been making some resolutions for the New Year, I think I’ll scream. Or better yet, I think I’ll tell them I’m giving up screaming at idiots who ask clichéd questions. I know it’s chitchat, polite conversation and all that, but they should stick to the weather. Weather is about the only chatty thing I have the patience for anymore. Or maybe I’ll tell them I’m giving up my compulsive lying for the New Year or some other disturbing thing such as that. I’m sure I could come up with something creative.
December 28, 2001 He watched her talk to the guy she was with. She tilted her head back for a second then laughed at something the man said. 'Pang' is the only way to describe the feeling in his heart as he wished he were the one who had made her laugh. He wanted to brush her hair back from her face and run his thumb across her bottom lip before he lowered his head to kiss her. He wanted her to look at him... with a sigh, he turned and walked away, unaware she watched him from the corner of her eye.
December 29, 2001 Post holiday blues. That's what I have to believe it is causing such wild swings of my emotions. Because if it isn't that, then maybe I really am a bitch unintentionally. Unintentional bitch. I'm sure you know one. Or two. People who are just naturally bitchy. Now me, I always thought when I was bitchy, it was intentionally done. And that may be worse than being a bitch by second nature, I don't know. Nor do I really care (see, intentional bitchiness!). So maybe I'll wait for a week or two to see if it is just post holiday blues...
December 30, 2001 'I wish never to be unhappy again.' She smiled, thinking this time she had him, it, whatever. The first two of her three wishes had backfired on her, so she had thought this one out carefully. 'Is that your final answer, I mean wish?' The Genii waited for a second. At her nod, he (it?) grinned at her. He thrust his hand into her chest and said a few mumble-jumble words. 'There, now your heart's been replaced with, well, with nothing. You'll never be unhappy again. You won't be happy either, you just won't care.' She would have cried, but...
December 31, 2001 Let's raise our glasses and make a toast. Better yet, let's clean our glasses and make toast. With lots of butter. And if you want to, you can throw in some eggs. And those vegetarian breakfast strips that I like to call 'Fakin'. I've always felt New Year's Eve is overrated, yet in two hours, our living room will be overrun with friends looking to celebrate the turning of the year. Umpteen bottles of champagne will be drained, but until then, let's have our toast and all those other things I mentioned. Do you want your eggs scrambled or fried?