RE: Vignette 26 & 29 by Justin McElfresh

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

comma period comma period comma period period period period period period comma comma period period period period comma period period

by Justin McElfresh

Vignette 29

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.

Vignette 28

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.

Vignette 27

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.

Vignette 26

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.

Re: Vignette 24 by Meadowlark Bradsher

Or here's the LINK

Re: Vignette 18 by Raymie Iadevaia

Meet Raymie Iadevaia: http://www.raymieiadevaia.com
Based on Vignette 18

Janey Smith's Vignettes are up on Everyday Genius

Here's the link:
http://www.everyday-genius.com/2010/07/janey-smith.html
Thanks to Janey for her candid appropriation of my writing and her consideration for this project.

VIGNETTES: SHORT FICTIONS ON MY LIFE AS A CHEERLEADER BY ERICA ELLER by JANEY SMITH

1. The light of the slide projector . . .

The light blinded me. I looked out into this thing, saw all these people.
I stood there. There was this bird. It said, “Tweet, tweet.” I held the
bird in my hand. The bird looked small, like you. But, you were
nowhere, though. So, I took the subway. There was a man on the
speaker said, “Tweet, tweet.” The bird got scared, bumped into a
window, fluttered its wings, got caught for a second in the door. I said,
“Oh, shit.” The bird didn’t know what to do, I think. The train stopped,
the door opened. It flew. It flew and it flew. I got up real fast to go find
it, bumped into something, found you.

2. I walked to the top of the stairs . . .

I walked to the top of the stairs, stopped in front of the locked door,
knocked and listened for your footsteps. You knocked back. I could
hear your voice, kind of, thought you said, “Help.” I ran down stairs to
find hammer to break door down, find you. When I came back, I got
lost. The stairs were all messed up. The door which was there was
thirty feet up in the air, in a tree. You kept knocking, though. I looked
at the sky, saw bits of my pom pom, I think. I started to believe
strange things. Started to believe that maybe my pom pom took you
away. I played with a loose thread on my skirt, the one you liked. I am
afraid of what might happen if I keep trying to stand on Marsha’s
shoulders.

3. The light shone through the branches . . .

Light shone through branches. Then, my pom pom’s shadow,
blended with branches, swooped into sky. My pom pom traveled
super fast, made me think about life, if I still had my bus pass. I put
my arms out with longing eyes, watched my pom pom disappear. It
came back, flew away again. I was happy to watch it do that. I kept
my arms out. We would soon share the darkness, I thought.

4. The birds lifted in a storming flock . . .

The baby birds lifted their little wings, flapped wildly like moths stuck
on my cell phone light. I tried to call Marsha. The baby birds swooped
all around me, made me feel light-headed, like a million spinning
halos on my hair. I stood there, waited for the bus. The woman next
to me stood there, waited for the bus. The baby birds stood on the
bus stop hutch, singing happy songs. Cars passed. The cars made
the woman’s hem-line quiver. I studied her purse, carefully, noticed it
still contained my one pom pom that, I knew, she took from me. I
stepped towards her, grabbed the purse like a crazy woman, ran
away super fast, bits of pom pom floating in air. I went into an
alleyway, sat near a gated door, my pom pom slightly worn, but still
warm, still warm.

5. Sometimes I believe I am upside down . . .

Sometimes I am upside down. When sun moves through Marsha’s
hair at noon and I watch it, lying beneath her, doing my stretches, I
am upside down. When a fly lands on the wall in the gym, and I’m
alone listening to band practice, I am upside down. For me, a storm
on the sun is a fly on the wall. It moves a little, I believe, makes
shadows here on Earth, where I lose things, like a single, solitary
pom pom—alone and I am upside down.

Based on
Vignette 8
Vignette 9
Vignette 13
Vignette 14
Vignette 15

Re: Various by Justin McElfresh

Re: Vignette 22

the youngest chimera in a fanfare of five sat in the backfire secret of their six-secret aisle on its wean soviet. the lull of the proponent and the distant non-descript lap allowed her miniature to ward. as the aisle increased in amateur, her faun put on his pachyderm masseur, while the others had to endure the formality of the thinning airgun. the youngest femur asleep within ten misapprehensions. the midriff chimera femur asleep in thirteen misapprehensions. the eldest held on to her wakefulness by reaper a commando bookmark for twenty one misapprehensions. meanwhile, their faun, the pinch, put the aisle into automat pinch. soon thereafter, his co-pinch, their motor, had drifted into a stroll of light-year dressmakers. without knowing that his airgun-masseur was defunct, the pinch femur asleep, last of all. together, they shared a flipper of mild dressmakers for forty five misapprehensions, in the tiny carafe suspended in airgun, 15,000 footmen above the grouse. after that periwinkle of timpanist, a mirror spark of turbulence woke them all. when he regained his bearings, the pinch maneuvered the aisle closer to the east where the ample pachyderm would no longer threaten to seize their conservatives.

Re: Vignette 13

- .... . / .-.. .. --. .... - / ... .... --- -. . / - .... .-. --- ..- --. .... / - .... . / -... .-. .- -. -.-. .... . ... .-.-.- / .- - / ..-. .. .-. ... - / .. / -.. .. -.. -. .----. - / ... . . / - .... . / --- .-- .-.. .-.-.- / - .... . / -... .. .-. -.. .----. ... / ... .. .-.. .... --- ..- . - - . / -... .-.. . -. -.. . -.. / .. -. / .-- .. - .... / - .... . / -... .-. .- -. -.-. .... . ... / ..- -. - .. .-.. / .. - / ... .-- --- --- .--. . -.. / ..- .--. / .. -. - --- / - .... . / ... -.- -.-- .-.-.- / .. - / - .-. .- ...- . .-.. .-.. . -.. / ..-. .- ... - . .-. / - .... .- -. / .. / . -..- .--. . -.-. - . -.. / .- -. / --- .-- .-.. / - --- / - .-. .- ...- . .-.. .-.-.- / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / --. --- / .-- .. - .... / .. - / - --- / .. - ... / -. . -..- - / .--. . .-. -.-. .... .-.-.- / .-- .. - .... / .-.. --- -. --. .. -. --. / . -.-- . ... --..-- / .. / .-- .- - -.-. .... . -.. / .. - / -.. .. ... .- .--. .--. . .- .-. / ..-. .-. --- -- / ... .. --. .... - .-.-.- / .- ..-. - . .-. / .. - / ..-. .-.. . .-- / .- .-- .- -.-- / .. / .-- .- ... / .... .- .--. .--. -.-- / .--- ..- ... - / - --- / -.- -. --- .-- / - .... .- - / - .... . .-. . / .-- .- ... / .- -. / --- .-- .-.. / .. -. / - .... . / .-- --- --- -.. ... --..-- / -. . .- .-. -... -.-- .-.-.- / - .... . / - .-- .. .-.. .. --. .... - / -... . --. .- -. / - --- / ..-. .- -.. . / .- -. -.. / .-- . / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / ... --- --- -. / ... .... .- .-. . / - .... . / -.. .- .-. -.- -. . ... ... .-.-.-

Re: Vignette 10

and and and and are are away back because but but could gone have hoped i i i i i i i i i'm if in in inseparable it it middle middle night night no not not of of realized stop stop stop stopped stopping sure tell that that the the the the the the the the the then thinking to to want want war war war war war was way went went where wondered would you you you you you you you

Find Justin McElfresh online:
http://roughdraftjustin.blogspot.com

Re: Vignette 6 by Damon Smith

Based on Vignette 6

Find Damon Smith online.
See the Video on YouTube for larger viewing options.

We Who are About to Die features Vignette Fictions

We Who are about to Die posted a friendly feature about Vignette Fictions thanks to Dan Lichtenberg. Thanks to Dan for the kind words.

Re: Various by Brent C. Johnson (and his friend)

Re: Vignette 23

Re: Vignette 18

Re: Vignette 17

Re: Vignette 15

Re: Vignette 12


Re: Vignette 10

Re: Vignette 9

Re: Vignette 8

Re: Vignette 7

Re: Vignette 6

Re: Vignette 5

Re: Vignette 3

Re: Vignette 2

Re: Vignette 7 by Sarah Borruso

Fragments From the Top of My Head

All of this amounts to everything.

Black holes
Yellow ceiling

Invisible hands
Shadow puppets

Cold feet
Dusty knees

Autopilot circulation
Stiff neck

Tall tales
Small thoughts

Big gossip
Hot air

Where were you?
Where was I?

You are a memory
Real
Unreal
Here
There
Inside my head.

Based on Vignette 7

Re: Vignette 3 by Kayvon Ghashghai and EE

"The paths my footsteps take in the world will never reveal how their course has affected the outcome. I run to keep going. If I stop to think, I'll probably lose time."

Based on Vignette 3

Vignette 26

My shrunken head sat cooling in a glass jar by the window. Above the distant fog, I could see the emerald spires of the city rise up. In the evening, my maid would lay me to rest amid the tentacles of an amorphous machine where I would wait in artificial lament for my meager paycheck. I had never felt more alone.

Re: Vignette 1 by Alisa Golden

Based on Vignette 1

Re: Vignette 1/Vignette 22 by Natacha Ruck

So what if I lied. The girl needed a push. You wouldn’t believe it to see her now, addressing the crowd of her followers from Jakarta to Glasgow, her bare feet drumming their hearts into action, but she was such a cautious child. And lazy. Always counting the steps it took her. She’d refill her glass at the bathroom sink if her brother and sister had pushed her to the right end of the couch.

Hagiographers will tell you that it was only her first phase, that rational way of apprehending the world, counting, listing, categorizing, but the bottom line is she always ended up picking the easy path. I know, I raised her. It was as if she tried to use the least amount of energy–of air–that her body needed.

So when the oxygen ran out and I almost crashed that damn plane, it was no wonder she stayed conscious the longest. Back then, she barely breathed. I woke up from the bump –thank God for autopilot– and I saw her grey eyes staring at me. That’s what rattled me the most. She was awake. Watching herself die; watching us die. Were we not worth the effort? In that computer brain of hers was there no room for the value of life?

So I told her the story of the dog and the bird. That’s what dads do. It was a lie, but it made sense at the time. And she ran with it. Those six years on the Island really changed her. Maybe it was being in a such a small circle of land surrounded with water, with just us to make sense of. Once she had listed and categorized everything she became free maybe not to care and to love, but to connect, to channel and give back.

And to take on the world, one bird at a time.

Based on Re: Vignette 22 by Dia Felix

Also based on Vignette 1

Re: Vignette 22 by Dia Felix

Dad regained consciousness just in time to pull back on the clutch and lift the plane back up toward the sky. We had been heading right for the rocks. It would have been the end of us. I was the only one awake, until the sudden uphill re-roused mom and three of my siblings. (The youngest, the only boy, stayed asleep, his gameboy limp in his hands). Dad landed the plane softly and smoothly on a white beach, the iconic sort of island landscape you might expect to see in an advertisement for a Mexican beer. Mom was patting Dad on the back as he vomited, overcome with emotional distress. Sarah, Sri Racha, and Wilemus, my three sisters, were standing, drawing things in the sand with a stick. Rudy, the youngest, the boy, was still buckled into the plane, asleep. I walked around to different trees, slicing things open with my little knife. Seeds in thick black syrup, orange pulpy guts, rubbery bark, sour smells, sweet rich smells, I probed and discovered, starting an invisible taxonomy in my mind--things that wanted to be eaten, things that might hold drinkable water. I was ready to survive this. Although I had been equally ready to die. I had seen us heading for the rocks and had not protested.

Often I had wondered if I was some kind of guru figure, maybe this was supportive evidence.

Mom was comforting Dad. I heard her use the way of speaking that she often used with us when we needed her, when we were acting like babies. I had never heard her use it with Dad, or maybe any other adult. Something like, "You did the best you could, Ted," and "We're gonna be alright now," and "It's not your fault, it was that mechanic" and "let's let the spirit guide us through."

At night it was totally silent. I never slept, which is probably since I am some kind of guru figure like I said before. We were in the plane, asleep in our seats under thin blankets. In the middle-seed of the night, I heard small high chirps coming out of the water. I slowly got out of the plane, not wanting to rouse anyone. I walked into the ocean like a slow self-guided baptism. I was magnetized to something wordless, I felt in the hands of god. I went in deeper and deeper, until the water was over my head. I felt little teeny dolphins swimming around my ankles, playing with me.

Based on Vignette 22

Re: Vignette 20 by (Anonymous)

When I was a child, my dad did not care to read my writing because he said it held no weight. My mom read everything I wrote and told me I had talent. When my dad passed away I was helping my mother by clearing out the attic and found old books with my father’s handwriting. Pages and pages of stories written and re-written, some crossed out with heavy disappointment, others were smeared by what seemed to be tear drops, all carried the tune of “not good enough”. As I continued to clear a path, I found a book my mother had written. It was published by a small company outside of Boston and it was filled with stories of hope, love and happiness. When I asked her about it she replied, “that was nothing, but you are everything”. I would like to believe what my mom said, but my dad was usually right. I continue to write for no one, as though my writing holds no weight.

Based on Vignette 20

Re: Vignette 23 by (Anonymous)

Death is a word that describes the end of what is known. It is for this reason that fear walks hand in hand with death. It is because of trepidation towards the unknown that many turn to religion. It gives answers where there are none and makes us believe that we know at least something and that we are in some control of our life after death. I fear not because I hold hands with a god, but because I seek out new experiences and ones in which my only control is my attitude towards the adventure. My family members think I'm suicidal, but they have it all wrong. My motivation is the opposite of what it appears to be, it’s life affirming.

Based on Vignette 23

Vignette 25 by Meadowlark Bradsher

Hey, I just wanted to write back and lie to you. I don't know a good lie from a bad one. Lol. Whoa! My keyboard is acting funky! Ever since I spilled my future on it, when I press "G" key, it goes into sleep mode. BTW Are you planning on being the observer? I tried it once but OMG I ended up changing it anyway. I'm just not as good as those other guys, I guess. lol. Anyway I know its been forever since I talked to you but I have been no longer conscious. I'm not sure when I'll wake up and smell the coffee but I'm making arrangements to be able to. I have a good traveler's guide and it sounds like there are lots of fun things to do. I spend every day counting the years now. I'm just overwhelmed with exciting exclamation marks telling you about this!! At least I think it's you.

Vignette 24

You You You You. On the shattering earth. Holding something in the wind, a kite.
You You You You. I found you lounging on the roof putting together pieces of the fallen sky in your bathing suit with a sunburn. You created a museum.
You You You You. You'll never forget me for as long as you live, nor I you.
You You You You. Finding a home far away from me, stealing away from me and all of the others.
You You You You. Still maintaining your habits. People change, scenery changes, but not those habits. They're a wonderful source.
You You You You. You and your literary sources.
You You You You. After years, we'll meet again, encountering the same struggle.
Who was she, anyway? Who were they? Who were the other women? Were they my unknown friends? Come back to us, all of us. You can piece us back together, one by one.

Vignette 23

I'm not afraid of death because death is an opportunity to experience something new. Even though it can happen only once, I don't think that's a reason to be afraid of it. I choose not to experience death because I like to keep more opportunities open than death would allow for. I know that plenty of new experiences arise when I try to come as close as I can to death without dying. I'm like mathematicians who want to divide by zero. I want to trace the patterns of experience as I get closer and closer to death. My family members think I'm suicidal, but they have it all wrong. My motivation is the opposite of what it appears to be, its life affirming.

Vignette 22

The youngest child in a family of five sat in the back seat of their six-seat airplane on its way south. The lull of the propeller and the distant non-descript landscape allowed her mind to wander. As the airplane increased in altitude, her father put on his oxygen mask, while the others had to endure the forfeit of the thinning air. The youngest fell asleep within ten minutes. The middle child fell asleep in thirteen minutes. The eldest held on to her wakefulness by reading a comic book for twenty one minutes. Meanwhile, their father, the pilot, put the airplane into auto pilot. Soon thereafter, his co-pilot, their mother, had drifted into a string of light dreams. Without knowing that his air-mask was defunct, the pilot fell asleep, last of all. Together, they shared a flight of mild dreams for forty five minutes, in the tiny capsule suspended in air, 15,000 feet above the ground. After that period of time, a minor span of turbulence woke them all. When he regained his bearings, the pilot maneuvered the airplane closer to the earth where the ample oxygen would no longer threaten to seize their consciousnesses.

Vignette 21

Shouldn't we just stand alone for a little while? From a distance, we look like the teeth of a comb. What would Magritte have to say to us? He might tell us that dentures aren't real teeth. Or he might say that when you brush your hair its nothing like brushing your teeth. Alone, side by side, we'll be friends for ever.

Vignette 20

When I was a child, my dad did not care to read my writing because he said it held no weight. My mom read everything I wrote and told me I had talent. They are both senile, now. I would like to believe what my mom said, but my dad was usually right. I continue to write for no one, as though my writing holds no weight.

Vignette 19

My grandmother told me that insanity is a good way to get out of a bind. She told me, "Whenever you're in trouble and you can't think of a way out, plead insanity." I've never had to use her advice, but I haven't done anything as controversial as her, either. She pled insanity to evade murder charges. She told me, "If you get into trouble, put your hands over your head, make awful sounds, and use your imagination." It got me thinking that insanity and the imagination are somehow linked, like close cousins. I wonder why the imagination is held in such high regard by teachers and adults while insanity is considered dangerous. Imagination is equally mysterious. Perhaps the imagination is merely a form of insanity with less consequence.

Vignette 18

When I told my landlord that I thought I could hear dolphin sounds coming up from the drain in my shower, she didn't believe me. She thought I was making a joke. Perhaps they're not dolphin sounds. Perhaps there is a reasonable explanation, but I prefer to believe that miniature dolphins reside in our plumbing system. When I feed them, they make a warm tickling gurgle. When I send soap down, they make a high pitched squeal. Surely its impossible that dolphins could be the source of those noises, but when I let my landlord hear them, she didn't know where the sounds came from, either. She told me, "As long as there aren't any clogs, its not my problem." But its hardly a problem, for me. Since we can't have pets in our building, the dolphins are a welcome addition to my rental agreement.

Vignette 17

I tripped and fell as I ran. I landed on my side and I wasn't able to reach my hands forward in time to prevent from twisting my ankle. I don't know what my foot caught on. Its quite possible I tripped over my own foot. Fatigue may have simply prevented me from lifting it properly. It happened towards the end of my usual Sunday run through the neighborhood. Two men who were walking by saw me when it happened and it made them laugh. I had never seen those men before. When I made eye contact with one of them, I couldn't even bring myself to smile. They made unsuccessful attempts to conceal the little bursts of laughter that escaped out of their mouths. I must have looked absurd.

Vignette 16

I stepped up to the Flower Market knowing that the property would soon be mine. Bucket upon bucket of individuated stems pointed up at me like an assembly of faces. How pleasant each one looked and smelled. Some drooped elegantly in purple, some extended large pointed petals in white, others looked as soft as ruffled pillows of pink silk. How could I choose between orchid, daffodil or rose when all of the exotic beauties were subdivided and partitioned, cut from their roots and ready to die? Instead of purchasing cut-flowers, I would send the lovelies to their graves, in the form of a mulch, by ripping the sidewalk up from beneath them and planting a plot of seedlings.

Vignette 15

Sometimes I believe I am upside down. When the sun moves overhead in the afternoon, I get the feeling that the sky is the bottom and that my head is pointing down towards it. When I saw a fly land on the wall, I wondered if it felt like its perpendicular angle was actually upright, or if it, too, felt that its head was pointing down. For me, its head pointed to the side, but ever since I've lost faith in my orientation, it seems irrelevant what direction that fly's head points in relation to me.

Vignette 14

The birds lifted in a storming flock, flapping wings in my periphery. They and I shared the street and they swopped in formation like a million spinning halos overhead. The woman before me stood waiting for a taxi in a purple rayon dress. The wake of each passing car made her hem-line quiver. Her large shining purse contained the pack of kleenex that I needed to use. It could save me from the gush of blood that had begun to churn out my nostril. I ran towards her and grasped the purse like a madman, grabbing the kleenex and running away with flailing limbs. I retreated to the alleyway, sat near a gated doorway to remedy my bloody mess of a face. Next time, I'll drink more water the day after.

Vignette 13

The light shone through the branches. At first I didn't see the owl. The bird's silhouette blended in with the branches until it swooped up into the sky. It travelled faster than I expected an owl to travel. I wanted to go with it to its next perch. With longing eyes, I watched it disappear from sight. After it flew away I was happy just to know that there was an owl in the woods, nearby. The twilight began to fade and we would soon share the darkness.

Vignette 12

When I started to remember all of the things that made him who he was and for that matter, who he wasn't, they turned into a listed wash of words. Having only mere words to sum up the feelings that remained, I knew I had to see him again. I contacted him immediately and the sound of his voice over his answering machine resounded again, with all of its subtleties. I listened closely to the mahogany lull present in his voice. It depicted someone who with a world of possibilities would mildly sift through each engagement with radiant nonchalance. The more his appeal grew, the more his discard pile must have accumulated name upon name. I had tried to contact him over a year earlier. I had thought of him, obsessed over him, and called. At that time, I had left a message, and never heard back. This time, I hung up before hearing the beep.

Vignette 11

A man played his guitar outside of a small tavern in Texas for eight years before realizing that his tuning had been incorrect all along. The types of chords he used included half diminished 7ths, 13th chords, and augmented triads. He did not realize that the set of tunes he had learned should not have resounded so atonal. He was self-taught and had a keen ability for reading music, but he had no discerning ear. The reason that no one had corrected him after eight years was because the tavern had been deserted for thirty years and no one could hear him for miles around. One day, a truck stopped outside of the tavern and the driver asked the guitar player for directions to El Paso. The guitar player shrugged his shoulders and asked if the driver wanted to hear a song. When the driver heard the man's song, he got out of his truck and forcefully lifted the guitar out of the musician's hands. He tuned the guitar, and said, "You better learn to tune this thing." Then he got in his truck and peeled away leaving the guitar player in a cloud of dust.

Vignette 10

I hoped that the war would stop in the middle of the night. I wondered if I could stop it. I stopped thinking. In the middle of the night, you and the war went away, but I'm not sure where you went. It was then that I realized you and the war are inseparable. I want you back and I want you to stop the war. I have no way to tell you because you and the war are gone, but not stopping.

Vignette 9

I walked to the top of the stairs and stopped in front of the locked door. I knocked and listened for your footsteps. You knocked back from the other side of the door. The building had no windows and the roof was lined with barbed wire. I could barely hear your voice, but I think you said, "help". I realized that you were locked in and similarly, I was locked out. I ran down the stairs to find a hammer to break the door down. When I came back, the stairs were demolished. The door was thirty feet up from the ground. You kept knocking. Whoever locked you in must have wanted to keep you inside of that fortress. I started to believe that whoever locked you in must be more powerful than me. I guess I abandoned you that day. I was afraid of what might happen to me if I kept trying to set you free.

Vignette 8

The light of the slide projector blinded me as I looked out into the crowd. I stood at the podium, reading notes that described a bird's eye view of the coastline. One face in the back disappeared before I could see if it was you. You were nowhere in the crowd. My thoughts escaped the room, chasing the tremble of the subway below and latching onto the radio news reporter's voice that had informed the public about the quake in Chile. Background thoughts made my words stumble as they escaped my lips. The faces before me had no history for me. The newness and the namelessness made the group of people look like shadows. After my speech, I turned the lights off to blot out their faces and exited the room.

Vignette 7

Dark holes amount to swiss cheese. Large shadows amount to small hands in front of a light. Cold feet amount to tight jeans constricting circulation. Big names amount to fast gossip. Where were you when the the wind changed? I went looking for you everywhere. All of this amounts to nothing.

Vignette 6

There is a missing room in my house. I can feel it. There is an open space between the back wall of the living room and the yard that the window looks out upon. There is another room that the window hides because the window deceives us to believe that it looks directly out into the world where other things happen, beyond the walls of this house. In the missing room, I'll bet there's a place to build a fire. Every time I see smog haze over the horizon I know that the haze didn't come from elsewhere. I know that the smog that creeps into our atmosphere didn't come from manufacturing plants in China. I'm convinced that the smoke on the horizon came from the fire that burns in the missing room of my house. No one goes into that room, because we don't know how to get to it. But if I could, I would put out the fire that burns in that room. Our house is getting too hot and the air is hard to breathe.

Vignette 5

A child crawled out of the darkness on hands and knees reaching for a flower in our garden. We were sipping lemonade by the pool. The child came out of the dark bushes that line the fence in the backyard. None of us had ever seen the child before. We called out for someone to claim him, but no one replied. Then the child got up onto its feet and ran away from us. Just as he left our sight, he waved goodbye and we waved back to him. I wonder what became of that child.

Vignette 4

I gave you valve caps and the big exhaustion tube let out a common shriek when the temperature became too hot for making time. Climb on top of the gear shifter and yank the bucket up onto the roof. Run out onto the viewing deck and let me know how far we have to go until midnight. I think we're almost there.

Vignette 3

I ran over hills and valleys to run my fingers over your skin. I'm know I'm a good runner because I never tire. As late as it is, I'm still not tired. As tired as you were when I came, you fell to sleep. The paths my fingers trace over your skin will never reveal how they affect your dreams. The paths my footsteps take in the world will never reveal how their course has affected the outcome. I run to keep going. If I stop to think, I'll probably lose time.

Vignette 2

If I say something twice, does it become more true? If I say it only once, does it lose part of its meaning? If I only say I love you once today, what will you think tomorrow? How many times must I say I love you for you to believe that it is true? How many times is enough to express the truth? If I say that I do not love you each day for forty years even though I really do love you, what will become of those forty years? Or, if I say nothing at all, how will you know I ever loved you? How will you know I ever loved you if I cannot express my love? How will you know what to believe if I can't even tell the truth? If you tell me you love me once, one day, one moment, how can I reply when I have loved you always? If I tell you I'll love you always once, what happens in forty years, when you forget what I once said?

Vignette 1

If the first thing last is still the first than why does it come last? The way you explained it to me was that the dog tried to eat the bird and then the bird flew away. When I found the actual document, I discovered that it was written in a different order, but not necessarily the wrong order. It seemed to me that you had made a correction, or rather, what you assumed to be a correction, but now I question your motives. According to the actual document, the bird flew away and then the dog tried to eat the bird. Please tell me, why did this hopeless dog even try?