It all started innocently enough. I mean, I guess, if murder could be considered innocent. But if there was anyone who deserved to die, it was him. She relished the time working alongside him as they developed the virus that would take out the world. Not because she wanted to take out the world…that was always his plan. Her plan was always to stop him. And what better way than with his deadly creation? But then Clarice. Clarice the mistress. Clarice the one tricked by “love.” Clarice the one who stole the vial. Oh Clarice, what have you done?
Dear diary,
Today, we assembled the twin stroller. It was very difficult and it took us a good part of the day. I cussed and yelled a lot; tools and screws hate me. And it made me think, there's probably someone somewhere who does this all day, every day - just assembling double baby carriages. To that person, it's easy and not a big deal. He probably assembles a hundred of them in a day. And then he comes home and writes in his journal: "Dear diary. Nothing happened today." This week’s ESL assignment would become Elena’s favorite: Use the word “string” five different ways. And on Friday bring a show-and-tell example to class.
Elena wrote: —You dress like a mangy string bean. —I don’t care, you have to wear Grandma’s string of pearls. —I pulled a lot of strings to get you into this prestigious school, and you’re going. —He continued the string of insults. —Am I his puppet on a string? For show-and-tell Elena brought to class her famous father’s Stradivarius. And scissors. She hid in the corner, a young child scared and so alone. How could they have left her?
She was tired, too tired to go to the shelter and they had forgotten her. The blind was down, blacked out as they had been taught. She covered her ears and the siren muted slightly. There was no bomb yet, perhaps it was a false alarm. She could hear her family coming back. "I'm here" she called, blinking in the sudden light. "What are you doing there Mrs Finney, hop back into bed, the ambulance has gone now". True? False? Gwendolyn loved testing proverbs. The latest involved food and she needed a day to prepare.
In the evening her husband returned from a week-long conference. He was escorted into the dining room. “What do you think?” a beaming Gwendolyn asked. “These are healthy versions of your favourite jelly desserts. Strawberry purée and gelatin. No artificial flavouring or petroleum-based dyes that are used in commercial products.” “Ah, gee... thank you, sweetheart,” Gerald gushed. “But food is not the only way to a man’s heart.” He whisked his wife to their bedroom. The door shut on the buffet. Clutching a fresh tissue, Mary began a draft.
Her fourth draft organised everything into aisles. After BUTTER (half-salt) and before LINGUINE (blue box), she wrote: AISLE 3 - NOTHING. Finn discovered APPLES (Granny), TOMATOES (Roma) and SPINACH exactly where Mary said they’d be. He u-turned smoothly into the CHILLED aisle and found MILK (full-cream) CHECK EXP. DATE. He paused. Surely it wouldn’t matter if he just cruised through AISLE 3? Forty-five minutes later, Finn placed tinned rollmops, biltong, Pfeffernüsse, pickled eggs and kimchi onto the checkout conveyor. Unpacking, Mary’s pale face became more animated than he had seen in days. The swarthy man hides in writing and rooms.
He imagines people questioning his name. Calling him terrorist. Conjures strangers welcoming. Sharing sunburned secrets. Barbeques. He tries to step outside. Retreats. He needs evidence of welcome. He draws shutters. Convinces himself he’s safe. Wounds and stubbornness expand. He knows this enemy. 'Did you know mum that if you took all the unworn clothes and made them into a pile it would be as tall as Everest'?
'And, that is just from your wardrobe Sabrina' 'ha ha mum, very funny' 'No seriously, everyday I am going to wear something from my wardrobe I haven't got round to wearing yet' 'even the three prom dresses you bought because you couldn't make your mind up, then you went out last minute and bought another one?' 'well, no mum maybe not them'. Christmas in July. Christmas before Halloween. Soon it will be Christmas year round. He loved Christmas, but he always loved it in December, especially on December 25th! Okay, Christmas Eve is special! Spending Christmas Eve with his one special love. Keep Christmas special. The way it was meant to be.
I’ve developed a block. Words aren’t always the ones I want. They can appear at random from my memory, like a malevolent librarian with the wrong books or a computer with a faulty core. I wait as the flashing cursor inside my head pauses my lips searching for a result.
It wasn’t always like this. I had a razor wit and incisive judgement. Do you remember that? I still recognise you when you come to the home to visit. But only just. Oh, yes. Your question about what I’ll have for tea. Please be patient, it’ll come back to me. As the dream flitted away and the echo of "The Boy With the Thorn in His Side" disappeared, Jake opened his eyes and there was Eve, smiling at him, just as she had always been.
"Have you ever had a dream, but after you wake up, the dream just keeps going?", he asked her. He wasn't sure if he’d even said the words out loud. They repeated in his head. "Of course, baby," she laughed. "What do you think life is?" Then she kissed him. Jake blinked and Eve was still there. For how much longer, he couldn't be sure. Clifford was frustrated. His dreams were occurring far too frequently, and he wondered if it was an omen.
One night he dreamt a genie visited, and the genie hovered over his bed. Finding himself suddenly awake, Clifford looked around the room, but no one was there. A whoosh of air then lifted him off the bed and onto the floor. “I have got to stop rubbing oil into my scalp before I go to sleep,” he muttered to himself as he touched his scalp. "Aren't you going to ask me how my afternoon was?" she asked me. The question came with a guilty smile.
We were sitting at the dinner table, each of us picking over our mushroom risottos. "No. You'll tell me when you want to," I replied. I didn't look up. I didn't want to see her expression. I didn't want to see another lie on her face. I knew her eyes would contradict whatever words came from her mouth. I knew where she'd been that afternoon; I could already guess how it really was. And now, she knew that I knew. "Let us allow them to ferment." the being said, pushing her partner's hungry hands away. She then sprinkled the contents of a cylinder upon the small round rocky fruit. For several days, the beings waited.
The space voyager could no longer see the human-colonized planets in their concrete-covered glory. Earth 1.0, and the later versions found deeper in space, appeared as glowing spheres blurred by distance. As he observed their radiant beauty, celestial horrors descended upon the view. "Let us now eat." the being said, as the voyager saw their massive ethereal fingers pluck the planets away one by one. I was there the day my grandson died. He lay in a hospital bed, his breaths coming fast and shallow. The cancer had all but finished its ravaging work. His days on earth all used up. I put my hand on my sons’ shoulder as we watched from beyond the curtain. My father did the same for me. It was good that he was here, that we all were here.
The alarms sounded and a shudder ran through his body and marked an end to his ninety-four years. Then our Father stepped forward, parted the curtain and welcomed him home. No-one could mistake me for raven-haired, ruby lipped Snow White.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall…?” I’d ask, knowing I’ll never be the fairest one of all. Red curls riot across my head, freckles march across my nose; teeth bullied by gleaming metal. Not boyfriend material. “Mirror, mirror…?” I asked the morning following our school formal. “You’re amazing.” The lanky Year 12 new boy, glasses sliding down his lopsided nose, shiny braces, had walked me home and our lips had met in a sweet metallic kiss. “You are the fairest one of all,” it answered. At bedtime, I put on the mask and pull the straps to make it snug.
“I hope you won’t leak air this time so I can wake up to a smiley face on your display,” I say. She’s always quiet. I change her filter and make sure that she’s plugged in. “Ready?” I ask in a muffled voice. I push her button and instantly feel her misty, scentless air pacify me. My throat opens like a sacred lotus flower. Particles of distilled water keep my head clear. And, before long, uninterrupted sleep enters my subconscious all the way to dreamland. Throughout his meal at Cafe Coco, Jackson couldn't help overhearing the sob story Lydia Gordon was relaying to her friend. She had showered all her affection upon a married man who had two kids and a house in the suburbs. Though most appreciative of Lydia's attention, for her lover it was only a relationship of convenience. He could never abandon his family and home for her.
Jackson thought about his recent relationship with Angela Morelli. He gladly accepted Angela's affection but it was also at his convenience. He, too, could never abandon his family and home for her. |
"Classic"
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