Tag: Drama

Not Anymore

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Did you know that I still see you everyday? I see you walk in the same rhythms that you did before. It repeats and repeats and repeats. You walk from the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the shower, and back to the bedroom. I see you try to eat. I see you try to take a shower. The same day skipping like a broken record—scratched.

It reminds me of when you were sick. Do you remember that? You could barely function at all, and it broke my heart to see you like that. I tried to take care of you. Make you food when you struggled to even get to the fridge. Wash you down in the tub when standing in the shower was too much. But you refused back then. Sometimes you would give in, when things got really bad or you got just too hungry to argue, but you would always say “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

Do you remember what I would say back? “You aren’t a burden.” It was true. You’ve never been a burden to me or to anyone. And I meant that. Anyone who would have talked to and told you would have said the same. But you were convinced it was just empty platitudes, a sense of obligation, not love. Not when you were sick.

In the mornings, I see your silhouette. The light shines in through the doorway, and your body carves a faint shadow. I see it staring into the room, still, before a struggled breath and you move on. I swear sometimes you must see me, but your behavior never changes. From the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the bathroom, and then back.

Sometimes I try to reach out. I’ll call to you, say your name. I’ll beg for you to see me. I’ll scream and shout.

But you walk right through me.

(more…)

The Witch and The Beast

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Philea coughs, trips, and lands harshly in the dirt of the road. She pulls herself up a branch of a nearby tree and stumbles forward. Her destination lies down the road, the light of torches just barely visible from where she falters.

“Thebes…” she barely groans out, before a heavy and oppressive weight pins her to the tree. A massive lion’s paw pressing on her throat and ribs, threatening her last breath.

A woman’s head inches closer to Philea’s face. Her long black hair frames Philea’s face as she stretches open a long, toothy grin. The head was the size of Philea’s torso, and the mouth was mostly canines and fangs.

A heavy breath escapes the creature’s lungs, smelling of sickly sweet rot and copper. “What speaks with one voice, walks on four legs…are you…are you paying attention?” The creature lets up the pressure of her lion’s paw. Even if the woman escapes from the beast’s grasp, she still could have pounced on her, ripped from nape to flank…but the Sphinx was curious.

“Woman…why do you burn so much? Your skin feels like fire upon my paws. Your eyes are glassing over…”

Philea’s fear gives way to a bloody cough upon the Sphinx’s paw and then she passes out. Instinctively the beast catches her, more gently than she knew she could be.

“In a way…I guess that is an answer of sorts.” The Sphinx goes to bite the neck of the unconscious woman in front of her and drag her back to the cave, but then she remembers that mortals don’t have that soft patch of excess skin to grab onto. So instead she wrapped the stranger in her front right paw and walked on three legs toward her cave.

(more…)

Soft Sharp Crisp

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Sierra adjusted the blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she felt another cold breeze blow past the porch of the cabin. She shuddered. The path running past the cabin lead towards the mountain pass. A ways down there was a fork that split the main road and the deer trails that hunters used, winding up the woods that clung to the valley.

Sierra’s eyes moved past the desire paths and up the mountain toward the little dent in the trees she was always told marked a drake’s den. She could never figure out if the shapes in the sky were vultures or drakes at this distance. She gripped the blanket tighter.

The door behind her creaked open and she felt a hand on her shoulder. Alex placed a plate with a warm grilled cheese sandwich on the armrest of Sierra’s well worn wooden chair. He then pulled another chair next to Sierra’s and sat down.

Sierra kept looking down towards the pass, away from town, away from the cabin, away from Alex. “Do you think he’ll come back this time?” She loosened the grip of the blanket, letting the cold seep in.

Alex tapped the plate with his knuckle twice before answering, “He always does. No reason to think this year will be different.” 

Sierra snaked an arm out from under the blanket and grabbed a triangular cut of the grilled cheese and slid it back under the covers before ducking her head down and nibbling a bite. Markus gave them some extra cheese a couple days ago, and Sierra knew what that meant. Alex did too, even if he wouldn’t say. Even if no one would say it.

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A Night To Forget

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Narrow rays of light rested on Paul’s face, waking him from a deep sleep. He sat up and faced the window trying to get a read on the time of day, and then turned to the hotel’s alarm clock. Someone had unplugged it. Paul failed to repress his smile.

Paul felt a hand grasp his arm and try to pull him back to facing the bed. Under the covers rested a slightly chubby man with alabaster skin who was still trying to pull him down although Paul had turned away. 

Theon spoke. “Go back to bed. It’s much too early.”

Paul retorted, “How could you possibly know? The clock has been mysteriously disconnected from the wall. Do you have any idea of who would do such a thing?” Playfulness danced across his words as he stared into Theon’s bright green eyes. 

“The clock was still plugged in when I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.”

“It was, was it? Was it still plugged in when you got back in?” Paul’s smile turned into a smug smirk as he cornered Theon in his not-quite-lies.

Theon stared at Paul’s deep brown eyes and then his dark curly hair, basking in his light like a serpent might bask in the sun. And after a moment he spoke, “You should stay in bed longer. There are things I still want to try.”

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