Friday, January 20, 2012

Flashfiction: One January Night

He pulled into the snow-covered driveway. It was an incredibly bright night. The snow had stopped a couple of hours earlier, and the clouds had cleared off, and the full moon cascaded over the white landscape. He really didn't even need the front porch light that his wife had left burning.

The house, though, was very quiet as he walked inside. He could smell fresh coffee in the kitchen, and there was a cooling cup of it sitting on an end table in the living room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and the television was off, but the light on the patio was on.

He slid open the glass door, letting a bit of the night's cool into the house. A line of footprints led from the patio into the garden and he followed them. There was very little sound except for a barking dog in the distance and the muffled noise of his feet walking in the snow as he walked across their yard into the garden.

She stood there, silently, looking up at the sky, standing next to a lilac bush, all snow-trimmed bare branches, wrapped up in one of his old work jackets. The moonlight touched her dark hair with silver as she stood, and her breath fogged in front of her. As he neared, she pulled the jacket close to her and took a deep breath of the night air.

"Isn't it magical?" she said, well aware of his presence.

"What are you doing out here, woman? It's too cold for you," he chided, walking up to her and wrapping his arms around her.

"Watching the moon," she replied, turning to look at him. "Isn't it beautiful? If I look at the garden just right, it feels like it's just us here, and nobody else left in the world. All this magical night, all for us."

He rested his cheek against the side of her head. "That'd make a pretty lonely place."

Tiptoeing up, she gave him a quick kiss, and a playful look that promised a lot more. "But think of all the fun we could have enjoying it."

He lifted a hand to her cheek, and brushed his knuckles across it. "Silly woman. We can do that anyway."

"Yeah, but we have to be quiet. If it were just us, we could be as noisy as we wanted."

He just laughed, and led her back into the house.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

It Feels Like Fall

It feels like fall today -
the sun has that honey light,
and the trees,
they're just starting to turn.
It must be fall, right?

It feels like fall today -
the air is crisp and clean,
but my garden,
it still has flowers,
and the weeds are nice and green.

It feels like fall today -
the start of something new,
and the days
they have that changing feel,
like September's supposed to -
hope I'm not just wishing.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time
I told a tale
I did not hear
that hot wind wail,
setting sail
across a sea of obsession.

But here I sit
and hear the sound
of magic whirling
round and round
image, symbol,
word unbound
the engine of my travels.

Between the stars
and midnight sea
I sail to find
just what can be
teased into
words of fantasy
one keystroke at a time.

into tale -
the words, they own me
as I sail.
They push me into
What If's gale -
the telling has my soul.

Friday, August 12, 2011

One of These Days

One of those days
I sit and ponder
the odd images
that stream
through my mind
the touch
of raw wool
running through
my fingers
that almost
no one remembers
the feel
of wet sand
on a winter's day
thinking of
what I would
rather be doing
and realize
just how
not normal
my normal
has turned out to be.

Thursday, August 11, 2011


What's the scariest story you ever read? I read all sorts of disaster/true crime/horror stuff, but the one story that gave me the most willies must have been Harlan Ellison's "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream." (If you don't know, this is the piece the Terminator series bounced off of.)

I read it first when I was a kid. I think I was ten or eleven. I was busily devouring my dad's stash of SF novels, a lonely kid who loved the geewhiz mindboggling but rational escape early and mid 60s SF was filled with.

It was in a collection of short stories. I don't remember the name of the anthology. But I remember feeling the helplessness of the group of people who were caught in this machine as toys to be tortured, and the fate of the narrator. Must have represented perfect hell to me at that time, cause when I bring back the memory of my reaction, I still get the willies.

Good piece of writing, that.

Sunday, July 10, 2011


It was a warm, sultry, summer’s night. The breeze that blew in through the window, lifting gauzy curtains, carried the hint of rain, making the hot night feel even warmer. The man and woman in the room, however, were too occupied to notice much. Stretched out on the bed, the covers thrown aside, their nude bodies were highlighted by the light of a dim lamp off in the corner. They glimmered with a fine sheen of sweat.

The woman arched up as her partner touched her. “Please, Tim,” she said, her voice full of need. She was beautiful in her hunger, raven hair cascading over the edge of the bed, her breath ragged, her eyes heavy-lidded with want.

The man beside her smiled and let his fingers skirt over the warmth of her tummy, drawing circles around her navel, to just above the dark patch of hair shrouding her womanhood. He bent over and let his tongue flick the delicate cup, wrenching a small gasp from her.

“Please what, Maya?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. He began to trail his mouth up towards her breasts. One hand, though, dipped between her spread thighs, dancing across the soft skin, avoiding her hot center.

She tugged on his hand, trying to draw it up to the part of her that ached to be touched, but he escaped her grasp effortlessly, and gave her a small grin. “Oh no,” he said. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

He rolled half on top of her. Neither of them noticed how the wind blowing through the window picked up speed, or how the breeze had suddenly grown much cooler, perhaps because he was busy assaulting her earlobe, then trailing a string of wet kisses down her throat. She moaned under his assault, oblivious.

Suddenly, there was a loud clap of thunder, startling them both. They froze, both looking toward the window. The first clap was followed by another. Lightning flashed nearby and for a split second illuminated the room, followed shortly afterwards by a loud boom.

“Damn,” he said, rolling off his wife. “Better get ready.” He grabbed at his boxers, tossed a blue gown in her direction, and pulled the sheet over them.

“Maybe...” she said, slipping into the garment.

Suddenly, there was a pounding at the door. “Daddy! Daddy! The sky’s going boom!” said the voice of a small child. “I’m scared!”

“Maybe nothing, he said. He gave her one last, heated look. “You’re not out of it yet, though. We’ll finish this later.” He got up and walked to the door. “I’m coming, Bubby.”

“I hope so,” she said, and got ready to comfort her son.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

My Brain Thinks It's Saturday

My brain thinks it's Saturday,
don't ask me why.
I looked at the window
almost ready to cry
when I realize the week
has just barely begun.
My brain thinks it's Saturday
and the week's nearly done.

Yep, my brain thinks its Saturday
with nothing much to do
except go shopping or read
or paint the bathroom bright blue.
Forget about work
and forget about chores
cause my brain thinks it's Saturday --
maybe go play outdoors.

So tomorrow is Wednesday,
Not Sunday, oh my.
Will I wake up tomorrow
unconfused and not try
to do all my Sunday things
sleep late and eat brunch,
cause I think today's Saturday --
or will I pack a light lunch?

When Saturday's Tuesday,
what's left in the week?
Four more days till my body
gets it right - dare I peek
into a new schedule
with Saturdays galore.
No, since my brain thinks it's Saturday,
let me sleep! Close the door!