"Treppenwitz" +
When the surge came, it marked the fifteenth hour of the baby’s ceaseless crying. Jean-Pierre pulled it close to his chest, shielding its eyes and squinting his own against the bright wash of light, whispering nonsense and “shhh” into its fresh, new ear. At its peak, the surge, the electricity could be felt on the skin, but it faded quickly, leaving post-coital hollowness in everything that could feel. The surge was what passed for celestial time in the place they called Treppenwitz, and fifteen hours, whether night or day, was a long, long time.
“Shut it up, then,” said Luc, done with cleaning his pistol for the fifteenth time in as many sleepless hours. “Shut it up or I will.”
Timestamp: 07.05.08 at 04:49 PM. Filed under: Fiction. Comments: 0. References: 0.
"Things half said, half thought, and mostly empty" +
“Seems sorta specific,” I say, my hand stretched over my eye to better hide those parts of you that offend.
“So are swans,” you say.
It’s a point worthy of concession, but never that. Instead, I say, “I saw some glass in the yard, broken, reflecting potential. I saw some glass,” I say, “and only part of the bloody futures were you. None of them were me.”
Timestamp: 07.03.08 at 10:04 PM. Filed under: Fiction. Comments: 0. References: 0.
"Points of Impact" +
We only heard it, at first, a sort of whistle, broken and thin. Then Ally pointed it out, added, “Make a wish,” even. When it kept falling, we kind of figured it wasn’t a shooting star, though, mostly on account of how they burn up after a minute. This one just got brighter and brighter, and then it hit. It hit so close that it knocked all four of us over, the shockwave or whatever, and it was all hot and dark for a while, ringing. It was me, Ally, and Bug that got up, after. Cassie was bleeding where she fell, her head nice and busted on the rock, there.
Timestamp: 06.25.08 at 07:27 AM. Filed under: Fiction. Comments: 1. References: 0.
"Port" +
If it was her shirt, she stole it. It wasn’t hard to picture some other guy volunteering it for a morning, supposing he’d see her again. Maybe he would. Maybe stole was too harsh.
“Take it off,” I said, and she did.
Timestamp: 06.04.08 at 09:47 AM. Filed under: Fiction. Comments: 0. References: 0.