Scrawlers

It's 5AM. And you are nowhere to be found. The skeleton hand creeps along the glass, pounding away our fears and dreams. The repeated sound causes my fingers to miss keys, turning structured thoughts into garbled sentences. The hand creeps farther and farther. If only you were here it could stop. The bones are a bleached white, long and almost angular. In the darkness they glow, calling minds to surrender to them. If you were found I could stop them. The pounding shakes through me. Each audible beat a nail into my soul. But I cannot find you today.

She finally did it. After all these countless years of metaphorically exaggerating this very situation, she finally followed through and literally stabbed me in the heart. I can feel the blade pierce that particular blood pumping muscle then retract with each beat.What kills me more than anything though is I know that even now, despite everything, were she to ask for forgiveness I would still be obliged to give it to her.

The gas light glow struggles in the prohibitive darkness. Night time is a cave that holds desire in. Dawn seems worlds away.

The only ones outside their nest shuffling about are thirsty philistines searching for a place where everyone keeps their hat on indoors in case they have to make a run for it.

At a heavy oak door I paused. I tried to brush aside the fog behind my eyes. Was it two hard knocks and then three rapid ones? Or was it three, then two? The horizon, once within reach, shifted back to eternity.

13-year old Zach gazed at the knight’s costume in disdain. Spandex? Silver? He grimaced as he tried it on, only performing in the play as a lost bet with his comrades. However, once the sleek outfit was on him, he unobtrusively regarded himself in the mirror.

Zach found he enjoyed the touch of silk, a little sparkle, the whoosh of a feather. It became his secret fetish though school, secreting away scraps of shimmer, leather, fur while he wore the requisite sports uniforms outside. His talisman, he did not peacock his secrets until his school days were passed.

Since, in a sense, she was always going to there he was beginning to fear that he was destined to always be alone.

Day 18: I figure I have about a good four foot buffer until I start to pick up on the thought patterns. Generally by the time I'm within arms length it moves well beyond patterns and feelings and ends up pure lucid thoughts.

The lady in line at Target scared the hell out of me. All she could think about was shooting her husband with his own gun. I watched her get in her car and was tempted to follow her home. I can't seduce myself to get involved. How do I incorporate this burden into my life?

I have one thing to do by one o'clock, that's the deadline. I have six hours to get it done, more than enough time. I am sitting at the desk, computer warmed up, coffee warmed up, everything is set.

I look out the window for an hour. I think about everything I'll do over the next five hours. Clean the kitchen, re-sort the bookshelves, make a grocery list, call mom, find my slippers, and so on. The things I've meant to do for months, work without deadlines, are now the most important tasks in the world.

Its amazing how small one feels while sitting in a Cessna 207 hanging in the air over frozen tundra. Alaska "bush" does that I suppose...miles and miles of snow and frozen ice in every direction the eye can see,....the only thing keeping me from certain death is a few sheets of metal, a couple of bolts and a tiny engine..."Man I really should remember to pack an emergency kit with me on these trips"...I thought, as I plugged in my headphones, watched the sunrise or maybe sunset, gets confusing, being so close together,...and fell asleep.

It's a new time. A new world with new efforts toward new ideas. What started as an internet social novelty, had exploded across the globe. And with the assistance of governments and their greatest technological concerns, the movement had reached its zenith.

On a chilly October night, the lights of the world for a brief few minutes were extinguished. People of the world stood transfixed under the stars. The band of the Milky Way and constellations never before seen soared above. For those few moments, we all felt like rock stars. The world our stage, the stars our audience.

I picked about twelve perfect flowers, then made my way back up, deciding against using my shortcut for the meantime. When I got there, she was already sitting up, blinking sleepily. As soon as she noticed me I held out the flowers awkwardly. "Good morning." She took them and gave me a sad smile. "Thank you." She then glanced out the window on her side. I looked, too, and couldn't help being shocked at the sight of police cars and lines around what had seemed to be such a great house. "I'd better go," she said suddenly.