Ouch, school sure does cut in to one's creative time, doesn't it? I haven't been able to write, much less post writing in this blog, in ages. I'm rusty as a result, but here's a couple (very) un-polished shorts:
Earth Worms and Eastern Philosophy
___The rain slapped the gritty sidewalk until the fallen tree buds and cigarette stubs had been transformed into saturated, amorphous blobs. Everything was damp, dark but for the pale, writhing forms of earthworms driven to their demise by the deluge. They writhed in puddles, curling and lashing like whips, or stretched their bodies long, thin and prone across the ground. Some were waterlogged, their tissues gravid with moisture, barely able to move. Others had perished under foot traffic, mashed like putty, ground into the pavement.
___The man walking ahead of me struck a fat worm with the heel of his shoe as he passed, oblivious to the casual brutality. The worm's body burst like an overfilled garbage bag, primitive inner workings spilling across the pavement. Despite the poor beast's alien form - serpentine and seemingly so far below ours - there was something grimly familiar in its throes, a certain agony in the way its dying body writhed and shuddered. There was a profound and unmistakable violence in the act of what, for the worm's killer, ammounted to a simple lapse in mindfulness.
Untitled Sap
Increasingly, they slept together in one or the other's bed, taking turns; a sort of psuedo live-in situation, playing house with no strings attached. When this routine first started, he used to relish her lingering scent on his pillows and linens, a welcomed spectre of their romance. Increasingly, however, he noticed that whether she was in his bed or he in hers, the smell had mingled, become indistinct. Soon it wasn't his scent or her scent, but something new - their scent. And to him, it smelled like home.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
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