His hands are driven by the fervor of obsession. It is the same unrelenting force that drives a drug addict to push the needle into his flesh and a gambler to hemorrhage her funds on the chance that he might, someday, see some benefit. It’s the same toxic pressure that forces an obsessive-compulsive to repeat … Continue reading The Mask
Tag: writing
You Don’t Love Me
“You don’t love me.” She sits on a padded dining chair that she has brought to the living room from the kitchen. Her arms are folded over her breasts. Her left foot bobs in the air, her legs crossed in the form she has perfected over the years to look at once the most elegant … Continue reading You Don’t Love Me
Fractured
There is a girl in his life. He believes that he loves her. Or rather, he believes that he could love her, if only he could be a bit more sure of her. She lives on the other side of a wall of imperfect glass. It is clear, but in the way of a crystalline … Continue reading Fractured
The Green Lady
There is a Lesser Entity in my garden, but I must not tell anyone, or the shaman will come along and banish her. She is very pretty. I don’t want her to go. She looks like a little lady made of leaves, with bright pink eyes the color of spring flowers. She likes to dance … Continue reading The Green Lady
Mother’s Memories
My mother has memories of my life which I do not possess. To some extent, this is normal. Most people don’t form memories of their births, or of their very earliest days and years of their lives. A few claim to recall moments from before they learned to walk, but this tends to be little … Continue reading Mother’s Memories
Wallet
There is a wallet sitting by my bedside. I bought it online. I thought that it looked nice. It is made of wood: a curiosity. Every other wallet I’ve owned is made of leather, or an imitation thereof. I was drawn to this wallet because of the novelty, and also because I like things that … Continue reading Wallet
Pressure
“Focus. You can do it.” The course lay before him, illuminated brighter and whiter than day by the spotlights surrounding it. He could barely see the audience, though light fell upon them, too, since the cameras filmed them when the runners weren’t in action. All he could see was the course, and that should have … Continue reading Pressure
An Entry from Birch’s Journal
I wrote this as a sort of exploration of a character from a longer work, "Letters." I've posted some excerpts from it on this blog: An Excerpt from Letters, or “After Her”; A Second Excerpt from “Letters”; “Letters,” A Third Excerpt. I'm not sure if this is strictly canon, but it's something close. I met … Continue reading An Entry from Birch’s Journal
The Cairn in the Woods
My grandmother had beautiful hair. It grew in full, thick, and luscious up until the day she passed away. In the daylight, it gleamed with its own solid radiance, pure white in contrast to the sun’s golden hue. At night, under the stars and the moon, it glimmered with coruscating points of light ranging from … Continue reading The Cairn in the Woods
Questions
Lana appreciates her happiness. She knows most people like to be happy, but sometimes she doesn’t feel like they truly realize the extent to which happiness is important in life. She watches her friends pursue other things so actively that she wonders whether happiness actually matters to them at all. She worries that they won’t … Continue reading Questions
Daydreams 