Re: Vignette 26
Call me a dick, maps. There are at the water closet of me. rather in principles have a bulb of a territory. no besides the lack Pissing on stars over pound your fist the seat. But of my care, I large momentum. Don't. them There are no I'm claiming my drop, all my head other the pages, the leaves, hands. I let the than electric
Re: Vignette 29
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by Justin McElfresh
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sour milk drops landed on the ledge of the window sill where I sat, legs dangling to the ground which was 8 floors below. It was a parade day and if I had fallen, I would have hit others before touching cement. Balanced, I lifted my hands and threw out little sprigs of basil. There was no confetti in my house. We had no television and the neighbors fought over their daughter's college tuition. The sun was hidden by a cloud. My cat dipped his paw in his milk and he was shaking and shaking to dry off the wetness. I wanted my brother to bring me the sandwich that he promised. Below, I found the top of his hat moving against the grain, the size of a button. He opened the door to our building. My cat jumped onto the ledge and began to lick the painted wood. I wondered which one of us was hungrier. When he started to chew on my pile of basil, I decided it was him. My brother's keys rattled in the lock and I pulled my legs back inside.
Thankfully, the clouds rolled in. The sky turned silver. The grass felt cool. The worms rose to where the eye can see. The slight caress of electricity crossed over the hairs of our arms and all of the dogs in the neighborhood began to bark. If this change hadn't happened so noticeably, I would not have found myself lying in your arms, wrapped in a blanket, wondering what the next day would bring, with a hint of fear in my eyes. You did not even know my name, Wyeth.
Dolly had a little mouse who she would chase around the room until she got tired. The mouse would squeak in a deep tone, uncommon to mice. It sounded like a bassoon mixed with a roll of thunder. Dolly liked to mimic this sound, which sounded more like a harmonica mixed with a heavy window closing. Dolly named her mouse Mirky. If it weren't for the candle in the corner of her room, she wouldn't know whether the sound she heard was the voice of God or Mirky.
There are no principles in my hands. I let them drop, all of the leaves, the pages, the maps. There are no stars over my head other than the electric bulb of a water closet. Call me a dick, I'm claiming my territory. Pissing on the seat. But besides the lack of care, I have a rather large momentum. Don't pound your fist at me.