100 Words #8

May 1, 2002
He's looking for me. I can hear him stumbling around the edges of my life, trying to find that secret way in. And this time I am a butterfly, appearing to be easy to catch, but knowing all the same appearances are deceptive. This one is smart. He knows you can't just reach out and grab a butterfly without crushing its wings. And he doesn't want me damaged, crippled and broken. This one is wise. He knows patience, while not always a virtue, can be a good net. Maybe this one is worth it. Maybe this one can come in.

May 2, 2002
When he got home at dusk, he found her sitting on the porch, her usually busy hands sitting idle on her lap. He loomed over her and she spoke.

‘Well’s gone dry.’ She looked at him, and a weaker man would have flinched at the emptiness in her eyes. In the kitchen, he futilely tried the pump. Then he noticed the red puddle on the floor. Went back to her, noticed the stain on her dress.

‘It’s okay, there will be more.’ He took her rigid hands in his.

‘No. The well’s gone dry. You can’t refill and empty well.’

May 3, 2002
‘Do you ever dream of flying?’ He held out his arms as he stood on the edge of the roof and precariously lifted one foot.

‘No, not really. Maybe once.’ From the blanket, I gazed over the top of my book at him.

‘I dream about it all the time.’ He balanced on the other foot. ‘Sometimes I have great big wings…’

‘Hmmm…’ I went back to my book.

‘Sometimes, no wings at all… uh-oh…’ Balance gone, he fell.

‘You know, one day you’re going to fall the other way.’ I didn’t look up from my book.

‘Probably.’ He laughed.

May 4, 2002
She stares at the puckered red skin on her arms, at the mirror held loosely in her hand. She knows she's going to have to look sooner or later, but she makes no move to lift the mirror.

‘There's only so much skin grafts can do.’ She murmurs. ‘I must make Frankenstein look good.’

‘Did you say something?’ He looks up from his computer.

‘What?’ She stares at the smooth ivory-colored skin on her arms and the pen held loosely in her hand. ‘Oh... I said I was feeling a little burnt out. Can't think of anything to write about.’

May 5, 2002
As my words spill out across the paper, something in my head cries out. Sometimes I feel it's unfair. All my words are doing are painting the pictures my hands can't. They say love and hate come in equal portions, that you can't love something without hating it. I think they say a lot without saying anything at all. How can I hate my words for not being the pictures they should be? Shouldn't I hate my hands instead? Stupid hands can't even draw a straight line. With my imagination, I should have been an artist, not a word dabbler.

May 6, 2002
'I've seen love before. She's rather ugly. Especially with those milky-white eyes. Milk white eyes... she's blind you know. ' Her voice captivated him as much as her words did as they walked along the muddy waters of Stony Creek. 'And talk about bold! Love really doesn't know no bounds. And stubborn, you'll find that out if you try to hurry her.'

They stopped to watch the sun play across the water. After a moment, she took his hand and led him on.

'I don't see why War doesn't hire Love to lead his armies, she's really good at conquering.

May 7, 2002
She can’t function like a normal person anymore. She’s fooled everyone for so long she’s not sure how they’re going to react to this change in her. But she’s tired of trying to live up to their expectations and tomorrow she’s not going to. They have her neatly named and tagged, and she doesn’t like what they’ve made her. So tomorrow she’s going haywire. She’s breaking free by breaking down. And when she decides to pick up the pieces and put them back together, it will not form anything they would recognize. Never again will she fit someone else’s label.

May 8, 2002
The first ant she called cute. She found it crawling across the alarm clock sitting on her nightstand next to her bed. The second ant she brushed aside as it made its way towards the hairbrush on her dresser. The third ant she flicked off of her arm as she talked on the phone. The fourth, fifth and sixth ants she watched make their way under the bed. On her hands and knees, she lifted the dust ruffle...

One can of Raid and two hundred or so dead ants later she knows she'll never, ever, call an ant cute again.

May 9, 2002
‘He wants to kiss me. I can tell by the way he watches my mouth when I speak.’ She said smugly as she opened up her lipstick.

‘Are you sure? Maybe you had a piece of food caught between your teeth.’

‘No, he wants me. You should see the hunger in his eyes, he really digs my lips.’ Her lips now a bright red, she fluffed up her blonde hair.

‘Hungry? Could still be the food caught in your teeth…’

‘Oh really…’ She flounced out of the restroom unaware she had tucked the back of her skirt into her underwear.

May 10, 2002
In two years, she’s going urban. Going to find her concrete paradise where the trees are scrawny and grow in planter boxes. She’s going to live fifteen stories above the ground and laugh as she watches the tiny matchbox cars moving below. She’s going to breathe in deeply; not caring if the air she breathes coats her lungs with poison. And if she can’t see the stars, she’ll make wishes on the streetlights instead.

“In two years the seventeen-year locusts return. I have to go urban, I have no choice.” She remembers the last time they were here and shudders.

May 11, 2002
‘You’re a monster!’ She stared at the tail he was trying to hide behind his back.

‘Yeah, I suppose I am. But that does not make me bad!’ Tears flowed from his eyes as his shoulders slumped. ‘I’ve never harmed a soul.’

‘But still…’ She looked askance at his tail.

‘Your kind never could stand anything different.’ Wiping away his tears, he turned away from her.

‘Wait… don’t go!’ She laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t assume…’

Later, picking his teeth with her finger bone, he belched loudly and snickered. ‘Humans and compassion, their greatest weakness.’

May 12, 2002
Sometimes I think we’re just two poor idiots wandering through an endless, barren desert with only half a canteen’s worth of water between us. We can ration the water all we want, but we both know sooner or later, it’s going to run out. And if we see in the distance a shimmering green oasis all thoughts of rationing go out the window even though the oasis always ends up being a mirage.

So there we are, two wandering fools dying of thirst, never learning that things aren’t always what they seem. Some idiots deserve to die in the desert.

May 13, 2002
‘This web is tangled.’ I spoke without meaning to. His wry grin told me he had long suspected this to be so.

‘Ah… my little deceiver, did you really expect to weave anything else?’ He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, but his pretense of calmness didn’t fool me one bit.

‘You complicate me. With you there can only be tangles.’ Tired of deception, I offered up truth. Pretenses over, he moved faster than I could, his hands encircling my wrists.

‘And what, may I ask,’ he pulled me closer ‘is wrong with tangles?’

May 14, 2002
'My little mouse.' He patted her head absentmindedly.

'Maybe I'm not a mouse... maybe...' She started but her words trailed off as he turned his gaze directly to her.

'What's that? Ha! You couldn't be anything but a mouse. Look how timid and shy you are! My little mouse.' Whatever defiance she had completely slipped away under his ridicule though he didn't mean it unkindly.

Later, as she typed in 'untraceable poisons' into the search engine, she looked at her reflection on the monitor and shook her head. 'He's right. I am a mouse. Otherwise I would use a gun.'

May 15, 2002
‘You son of a bitch… I hate you! How could you do this? Get out!’ She yelled, her mind registering the sudden silence of the upstairs neighbor’s stereo.

‘I said I was sorry. Christ woman, can’t you forget about it?’ He yelled back.

‘If you won’t leave, then I will… Oh god, what are you doing? Put down the knife…’ Desperation colored her voice.

‘I won’t let you leave…’

‘Just put down the knife… put down…’ Her scream ended abruptly.

Laughing, they snuck out the back door wondering how long it would take their upstairs neighbor to call the police.

May 16, 2002
'What are you...' She started to say but he placed his finger to her lips.

'Shhh! No words. Not this time.' At first his kiss was hesitant, questioning... When she made no effort to pull away he deepened his kiss, pushing her against the bookcase. As his mind raced furiously, telling him to stop, that someone could walk in and catch them, his hands kept busy, stroking her hair, caressing her neck, sliding up under her shirt, pulling her down to the floor...

'See? Words aren't always necessary.' He said a little later, his hands still tangled in her hair.

May 17, 2002
If you know how to look for them, you can always see ghosts. Sometimes you can even hear them, their whispery voices tickling the hairs on the back of your neck… yearning, calling out for what they no longer have. Maybe if you sit still long enough, you’ll be able to make out what they’re saying.

Mine… this used to be mine…

It’s cold. Why am I so cold?

Look at me… talk to me… please don’t leave meeeeee…

If you listen too long, their words will trap you as their icy fingers wrap around your heart and squeeze tight.

May 18, 2002
'You always get what you want, don't you?' She asked, shaking her head.

'What do you mean?' He turned to look at her and frowned.

'It's very palpable. Look at the way you talk, you don't ask, you tell and everyone rushes to do what you say. Everything about you exudes confidence. Do you even know when the last time you didn't get what you wanted was?' Her warm smile took the bite out of her words. He watched as she wandered away. He answered her only when she was out of hearing range.

'I remember. I haven't gotten you.'

May 19, 2002
‘Give me an idea to write about.’ She demanded.

‘Uh… potatoes.’ He replied.

‘No, Zero’s already done that. Give me something else.’ She turned to look at him.

‘Frenchfries.’ He said absentmindedly, reading a message on the DP review forum.

‘No, french-fries are potatoes.’ Turning back to her computer, she started to type.

‘Ketchup.’ He finished one message and moved on to the next.

‘What did you say after french-fries?’ She asked, still typing.

‘Ketchup. Are you just typing what I said?’ He looked over at her monitor.

‘Yep.’ And she was. She couldn’t think of anything else to write.

May 20, 2002
They want to tame you. They want to make you into something they can understand because if they understand you, they can control you. Claim you. I want to hate them, condemn them for this cruelty of theirs, but I can't. Because sometimes late at night, in the darkness of my heart, I want to tame you too. I want you on your knees before me, trembling beneath the touch of my hands, begging for more than a touch, more than a taste. And I know I'm crueler than them, because once I tamed you, I wouldn't want you anymore.

May 21, 2002
She looked at the bedraggled Maypole. The weather had not been kind and the once vibrant ribbons were now faded and torn. Running her hands slowly down the pole, she came to where this icon of the god penetrated the earthen symbol of the goddess. Behind closed eyes she could again see the pole being thrust into the damp, dark earth, could feel the silken ribbon in her hand as she weaved in and out, round and round…

‘I understand now.’ She whispered. In her mind, the Lady and her Horned Consort cavorted and whispered back: Renewal, replenish, rekindle… rejoice.

May 22, 2002
‘Smoke does not always mean fire.’ She pushed her hair behind her ears as she leaned forward to study the drawings on the table.

‘But we may hit a snag here.’ Standing next to her, he pointed to the drawing of the rear elevation, his hand brushing over hers. She leaned closer to the drawing, her hair falling forward, hiding her face. He startled them both by tucking her hair back behind her ear.

‘I… um… I see what you mean.’ She felt her face heat up.

He turned so she couldn’t see him smile. Sometimes there’s fire without smoke.

May 23, 2002
They say you can always tell when someone is lying by their body language. They say a lying person will often raise their eyebrows as they talk to you, and they will be extreme in either staring directly in your eyes without looking away or avoid making eye contact all together. They say a liar will often lean away from the person they are lying to, and they’ll smile too much, and their gestures will either be too animated or not animated enough. For now, I think I’ll pretend to be blind so I don’t have to see you lie.

May 24, 2002
‘What does that look like to you?’ She pointed to a broken piece of straw on the floor.

‘A piece of straw, why?’ He answered after looking closely at the straw.

‘To me it looks like a bird.’ She watched him keenly. ‘A bird, flying towards freedom.’

‘Huh. I suppose.’ After looking at the straw again, he shook his head. ‘But it’s still only a piece of straw.’

‘Yeah.’ Her expression was sad, but he, still looking at the straw, missed it. He’s going to lose me, she thought. He never wonders why the birds are always flying towards freedom.

May 25, 2002
'Simon Says come here.' She smiled and he obeyed.

'Simon Says take off your shirt.' The shirt came off and was dropped to the floor.

'Simon Says take off your pants.' The pants followed the shirt to the floor.

'Simon Says spin around in a circle.' He did, glaring at her and she giggled.

'Simon Says kiss me.' He did. She sighed, licked her lips.

'Simon Says kiss me again, longer.' He did. Minutes passed. She smiled.

'Again. Longer.' He reached for her and she swatted his hand. With a laugh, she turned and ran.

'I didn't say Simon Says!'

May 26, 2002
'The dogs of summer are coming.' She murmured as sweat trickled down her side.

'What?' The ice in his drink clinked against the glass as he drank.

'It's going to be hot this year. Miserably so.' She turned her face towards the small rotating fan.

'Well, not much we can do to beat the heat except stay indoors, I suppose.' He pressed his glass against his forehead for a second.

'Mmmm... Oh, I forgot to tell you. Your mother called earlier. She's joined a nudist colony.' She adjusted the strap on her swimsuit as his glass hit the patio floor.

May 27, 2002
'I may not be a domestic goddess.' She said as she threw sliced vegetables into a pan. 'But I'm queen of all I sauté.'

'Look out!' He winced as grease splattered onto her arm. She grimaced, but continued with her sautéing.

'No problem. Oops, got to get this off the flame.' She said, moving a pot from a lit burner to an unlit one. In the process, the sleeve of her shirt caught on fire.

'Are you okay?' He asked once the flames were out. She looked at her forgotten, burnt vegetables.

'I never said I was a good queen.'

May 28, 2002
'What have I done?' She clutched at her stomach, at the sudden pain located there. Her mind raced frantically, trying excuse after excuse to get herself out of this mess. She wandered back to her desk in a daze, and sat there looking at the forms in front of her. Tears filled her eyes.

'Are you okay?' A co-worker asked as she walked by.

'Yeah... allergies.' She answered calmly, but inside she was screaming. It's only a couple of meetings, and then one day, she consoled herself, but the nauseous wouldn't pass. She closed here eyes and swallowed.

Commitment phobia.

May 29, 2002
'You've got to insinuate the positive, deviate the negative, latch on to the confirmative...' She sang loudly as she finished wiping down the counter. Humming along, he suddenly frowned.

'Hey! That's not how the lyrics go!' He quickly sang the lyrics the correct way. '...don't mess with Mister In-between...'

'Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities, forget about your worries and your strife...' She continued as she twirled around the room.

'Now that's not even the same song!' He protested. She grabbed his hand and pulled him around with her. Laughing, he forgot all about the incorrect lyrics.

May 30, 2002
She walks at night, in the old side of town where streetlights have never been installed. Sometimes, light from someone's window spills across the sidewalk, but this she avoids, stepping deftly out of range. There's one wooded section she walks past that is overgrown with honeysuckle. She likes to stop there and breathe in deeply, reveling in that over sweet scent.

It was on one of these stops where she heard Jenna and David plotting the death of Jenna's husband. She listened, appalled. After awhile, she snuck silently away, shaking her head. Stupid idiots, she thought, fake robberies never work.

May 31, 2002
They were sitting on the front porch when the rain started pouring down. Before he could say anything, she slipped her sandals off and ran out onto the dirt road in front of their house. There wasn't any lightning, so he let her go, smiling as she spun around and around in circles. When she tired, she ran back to the porch on mud-coated feet. Her sundress clinging in ways that made him ache, she laughed and kissed his nose. He pulled her onto his lap and held her tight, suddenly afraid he would lose this odd woman-child of his.