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14 December 2011 @ 12:18 am
Micro stories!  
To either turn in or get creative juices flowing for the big finale. Completely unbeta'd, unread even by me, and will probably only be up for a few hours.


The sun was shining the day when he asked me if I wanted to go to the park with him. It was cold out, so I wore a sweater underneath my jacket over the top of my black button up blouse with a blue-gray scarf that matched my eyes. His hand was warm though and he smiled.

We walked there. His eyes were brown and his hair that greasy looking black that you can only achieve through cheap hair dye and determination. But I thought he was something else.

I climbed up onto the merry go round and scooted backwards, removing my gloves to get a better grip on the poles. It was hard not to pull my hands back from their icy burn.

Soon, the world was spinning around us. Trees and light and colors of kids winter jackets all ran together. His face peered into mine. It was still and calm against the amalgam of the spinning universe. Then he grinned and the world exploded.

We walked across the woodchips to the swings. Each step was a crunch, a kick, a spray. Again, the feeling of weightlessness, as we swung as high as we could, legs reaching for the horizon. I stared into his face and I couldn’t breathe for hours. I looked into his eyes and knew we could live forever.

The sun was low in the sky. We sat on swings, barely moving, planning our future and other such empty promises.


He was throwing DVDs out the window, slicing through the snow in alternating patterns of dashes and dots, like some sort of madman’s Morse code. Alan Andrews’s face was red and steaming in the invading cold night air. Each second brought him closer to eradicating the memories from his room. It had started with her CD collection, in alphabetical order from Paula Abdul and Aha all the way to Zwan, but she still permeated everything.

Next was the dresser. Out went her favorite pair of white underwear, with the cherries on the front. Sensible gray khaki capris joined a soft pink sweater and some short shorts to heap in a pile. Each became saturated with cold and wet until they looked like slumped drunks passed out in the yard.

Alan was on his fifth rum and coke.

When her drawers were bare, the books were next. Journals, filled with ink-scratched artwork and pages of words dropped two floors to break open on the sidewalk. A pen and ink drawing of a zebra eating a lion started to run and blur at the edges. The bright red covers of Betty Crocker cookbooks turned into earth-toned how-tos on cooking vegetarian, and later vegan, for the health benefits. Anne Rice morphed into Anne Rand, who was replaced by Dickens and Dickenson. On top of it all, Alan tossed Magic and Medicine of Plants and Miracle Diets.

Then there were the DVDs. Alan poured another drink and decided to take his time. He sipped and thumbed through, separating his Star Wars blurays from her PS I Love You and The Notebook. There were her Disney limited editions and her My Fair Lady, beside Schindler’s List and Lord of The Rings special editions. They’d had movie marathons every Sunday in the den, wrapped up in blankets, other worlds, and each other. Even after she’d gotten sick, Alan kept the tradition going. He moved their big screen upstairs to her bedroom and played movies until she fell asleep from the morphine.

Philadelphia, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, War Games, and Sixteen Candles were all hers. The rum bottle was empty. Alan held the last few of her DVDs that existed in their empty house in his hands. He tossed them, one after the other, and moved on.
Current Mood: crazycrazy
ahopper84ahopper84 on December 14th, 2011 05:30 am (UTC)
...wow... just... wow... please don't delete!