Stories need a roof over their heads too
I am the wonderer.
I pass underneath curtain-less windows, yellow light spilling out into the dusk and I wonder: What lives play themselves out on the inside? What excites them? Anything they look forward to? Or do they drift, aimlessly?
I wander through this maze of lives oblivious of my existence, always just a question or two away. Unless I ask, no one asks me. Time passes as I wonder. I imagine and write down their stories for no one.
The streetlamps wink out as I leave them behind.
No sleep for the wicked.
Eve sat up in bed, slipped off the bare arm draped across her stomach, and slid to the edge of the mattress. Sat there for a moment, half-turned, observing the naked body tangled in the sheets, the blonde locks visible even in the gloom. Idly, she brushed the back of her hand across her mouth. It came away slick with blood.
It was just another night in Eden. Too dull. Plenty patrons, few thrills. Lots of souls milling about, but not enough bite.
Another night that announced itself woefully too short.
That’s what Eve thought, anyway, but she’s been a jaded barkeep for too long.
To anyone else, the place was buzzing. The dancefloor was packed, the techno beats pulsating. Strobes were drowning out the darkness. The cash registers were having a fucking ball.
I’ve come to fear silence, but silently, I long for it.
I fill my ears with music, with my own voice, because I don’t know how to coexist with silence anymore.
I taught myself to strum chords, thinking I didn’t have the words to fill the space.
I found words. If I don’t use them, I feel like something is being squandered.
I wonder. If I leave silence be, what is there left of me?
The man and woman are sitting in a garden on a late summer morning, having breakfast. Life is still. The table is laden with fruits, home-made jams, divine-smelling crostata, and bread fresh from the oven. The smell of coffee is the promise of orderly things and new sparks. It’s a tranquil moment, untroubled.
To the woman, everything is novel. From the gentle breeze to the heat emanating from the coffee cup. Her senses are overloaded, so many tiny alarms blaring inside. She stays mute, immobile. Silently but diligently parsing reality.
“All right, privates — listen up and listen closely. You’re about to embark on the most vital and perilous mission known to Man. The most dangerous in this unit’s history, at least.
You’re going to travel back in time and save the books! Any questions?”