Once upon a time a child was born whose parents loved him very much.
...
That night the boy went to sleep and dreamt that everything was perfect and no one was ever sad.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
may 21, 1964
I had that dream again last night, the one where Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny loom menacingly in front of me, gongs sounding in the background, cameras pointed at me, and all I feel is pure, abject fear. I told my wife about it, and she told me to stop hitting the hooch so often. It's her answer to everything. The thing is, I've started to see them in my waking life, too. If I see a man with a white beard out of the corner of my eye, I break out in that same cold sweat, and only sheer willpower keeps me from running like hell in the other direction. We now never visit Jane and Howard, friends of ours, ostensibly because they've become too busy since they had the fourth kid, but I've been maneuvering us away - they have a white cat.
Went to the bar after work with a couple buddies, that dream was in my head all day, I was hoping a few stiff ones might knock it right back out. It worked like a charm. A few hours of banter and I was feeling pretty good, walking home in the crisp evening air, I even felt up to seeing my wife. I can bear her disappointment better when everything is a little bit muted, when my brain is a little bit numb. And I can certainly bear it better without the fear that Santa Claus is lurking around the corner to get me. Sheesh, like I don't got enough problems.
She didn't seem as willing to see me as I was to see her, however. She greeted me with a cold, appraising look, then turned heel into the kitchen to remove supper from the oven. "I kept it warm for you," she said.
"Thanks, honey," I replied, grabbing her waist to pull her in for a kiss - or so I thought, but she flinched and wiggled away.
I sighed, grabbed the plate she offered, then skulked into the den. I settled into a book while eating, dropping bits of casserole on the oriental carpet that I ignored, tonight, I wasn't in the mood.
Went to the bar after work with a couple buddies, that dream was in my head all day, I was hoping a few stiff ones might knock it right back out. It worked like a charm. A few hours of banter and I was feeling pretty good, walking home in the crisp evening air, I even felt up to seeing my wife. I can bear her disappointment better when everything is a little bit muted, when my brain is a little bit numb. And I can certainly bear it better without the fear that Santa Claus is lurking around the corner to get me. Sheesh, like I don't got enough problems.
She didn't seem as willing to see me as I was to see her, however. She greeted me with a cold, appraising look, then turned heel into the kitchen to remove supper from the oven. "I kept it warm for you," she said.
"Thanks, honey," I replied, grabbing her waist to pull her in for a kiss - or so I thought, but she flinched and wiggled away.
I sighed, grabbed the plate she offered, then skulked into the den. I settled into a book while eating, dropping bits of casserole on the oriental carpet that I ignored, tonight, I wasn't in the mood.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Gretchen
I pull the trigger and the wall behind her is sprayed red. I know she isn’t dead though. Gretchen is too big of a pain in the ass to die easily.
“You bastard,” she spits. “You God damned bastard.”
But this isn’t a movie. This isn’t a novel. This is payback. This is business. Hell, this is pleasure. There will be no long winded speech. I walk up to her, put the barrel against her temple, and paint the rest of the room.
Sarah has dinner ready for me when I get home. Meatloaf. It must be Friday.
“How was your day?” she asks.
“Fine. Good. Same as usual,” I say. This is not a lie.
“You bastard,” she spits. “You God damned bastard.”
But this isn’t a movie. This isn’t a novel. This is payback. This is business. Hell, this is pleasure. There will be no long winded speech. I walk up to her, put the barrel against her temple, and paint the rest of the room.
Sarah has dinner ready for me when I get home. Meatloaf. It must be Friday.
“How was your day?” she asks.
“Fine. Good. Same as usual,” I say. This is not a lie.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Daybreak.
Last night I dreamt that I was driving in a snow storm, and when I opened my eyes I was staring at the muted sun coming through the hotel room's curtains.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Kelly and the Atheist
Friday, January 12, 2007
Amanda and the Tree
Amanda climbed higher still. She had only climbed this high a few times before, when she was younger. The last time she had, she had fallen very far. Tree was mad at her for climbing so high, but it helped her. It told her that she had broken her ankle, and that she would need to stay on the ground and rest until it healed. Tree gave her fruit when she needed it and Monkey brought her water when she was thirsty and Bird kept her company when she was lonely, and after many days she could climb again, which was good. Amanda hated being on the ground. It was always cold and wet and some times, when the wind was really loud, the rains splashed in her face and made her clothes wet and made her skin shiver, and some times the whole world lit up with light and then there was a loud crash, louder then even when Monkey screams at Bird for stealing his food. When she was with Tree, she never got wet, and the world never lit up as bright, and the crashes were never as bright, and she was never as scared. And some times, when she did get scared, she would wrap her arms around him and he would give her fruit, and Monkey and Bird would come sit with her, and Tree would tell her stories of what happened before the water started falling.
Tonight the rain was falling very hard, and the dark sky some times became very bright, and all around her some times was very loud. Amanda wanted Tree to tell her a story. That’s why Amanda climbed higher. She got to where Monkey was and sat down near him. Monkey smiled at her, and she smiled back, and then Bird came over and greeted both of them with a short song. Amanda hugged tree, and told her that she was scared, and wanted to hear a story, if Tree would tell one.
Tree began his story like he always did.
There were other people like you, he told her. Before the rains. You would live together in families. And there were others like you too, Bird. Enough of you to fill the skies with flight and song. And you, Monkey, there were many like you, who would laugh and play together and lay out in the sun.
What’s the Sun? Amanda asked, like she had so many times before.
The Sun, said Tree, was bright and warm.
Was it like a hug? Amanda asked. Monkey laughed, and bird sang, but Tree only thought for a moment before answering.
The Sun was like a hug, he said. But it was more than that. It kept things going. And it had a sister, called the Moon. The Moon wasn’t bright like her brother, but she was very beautiful and would come out at night and dance and fill even the darkest times with light. And then there were the Stars.
Amanda always liked hearing about the Stars the most.
The stars were all of the dreams that you could ever dream, Amanda, said Tree. Before the rain came, when people went to sleep, they would go places they had never been and see things they had never seen. Every time some one closed their eyes a star would come and take them away.
Amanda smiled. She didn’t know what “away” meant, but when Tree said it, it sounded mysterious, like the time she tried to carry one of his big leaves over her head out into the rains. Tree had stopped her and was mad and didn’t give her any fruit for a week. He said the rains were dangerous now. But some times, when she was sure Tree wasn’t looking, Amanda still took a step into the rains, and wondered what “away” was like.
Tree finished his story and the rains began to slow. Monkey crawled into Amanda’s arms and she held him close as Bird began to sing them a sleep song.
As she closed her eyes, Amanda let herself wonder if some day she would be able to see one of the Stars, and let it take her “away”.
A smile spread across her face, and then Amanda slept a dreamless sleep.
Tonight the rain was falling very hard, and the dark sky some times became very bright, and all around her some times was very loud. Amanda wanted Tree to tell her a story. That’s why Amanda climbed higher. She got to where Monkey was and sat down near him. Monkey smiled at her, and she smiled back, and then Bird came over and greeted both of them with a short song. Amanda hugged tree, and told her that she was scared, and wanted to hear a story, if Tree would tell one.
Tree began his story like he always did.
There were other people like you, he told her. Before the rains. You would live together in families. And there were others like you too, Bird. Enough of you to fill the skies with flight and song. And you, Monkey, there were many like you, who would laugh and play together and lay out in the sun.
What’s the Sun? Amanda asked, like she had so many times before.
The Sun, said Tree, was bright and warm.
Was it like a hug? Amanda asked. Monkey laughed, and bird sang, but Tree only thought for a moment before answering.
The Sun was like a hug, he said. But it was more than that. It kept things going. And it had a sister, called the Moon. The Moon wasn’t bright like her brother, but she was very beautiful and would come out at night and dance and fill even the darkest times with light. And then there were the Stars.
Amanda always liked hearing about the Stars the most.
The stars were all of the dreams that you could ever dream, Amanda, said Tree. Before the rain came, when people went to sleep, they would go places they had never been and see things they had never seen. Every time some one closed their eyes a star would come and take them away.
Amanda smiled. She didn’t know what “away” meant, but when Tree said it, it sounded mysterious, like the time she tried to carry one of his big leaves over her head out into the rains. Tree had stopped her and was mad and didn’t give her any fruit for a week. He said the rains were dangerous now. But some times, when she was sure Tree wasn’t looking, Amanda still took a step into the rains, and wondered what “away” was like.
Tree finished his story and the rains began to slow. Monkey crawled into Amanda’s arms and she held him close as Bird began to sing them a sleep song.
As she closed her eyes, Amanda let herself wonder if some day she would be able to see one of the Stars, and let it take her “away”.
A smile spread across her face, and then Amanda slept a dreamless sleep.
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