Embedded Files
Oak
Kaylee
Is it the shadow of your branches that covered our walls as we awoke? Is it the beautiful rust color your leaves turned when caressed by the brisk autumn wind? Is it the shady spot you made for us when the sun began to burn? Is it the tire swing tied tightly around your limb? Is it the ragged carving of a heart encompassing those two beautiful letters, our letters, T + J? Is it cruel to put an end to you if it might put an end to my pain? Is that what he would have wanted? I’ll never know.
Scenic Route
Jake
He walked down the red sidewalk covered in autumn leaves. He ran across the street with a large case in his hand and flew into the cemetery. The boy looked to be about 13 with a face of fresh innocence and glee. He passed grievers now and then, but kept a smile of seeming ignorance on his face.
He stopped walking and opened his case. Inside was a trombone and a rose. He left the rose at the grave, and a tear fell from his face. He forced the smile to return, and exited through the bushes, continuing down the red sidewalk.
More-Than-True Story
sans Truth
Following a tune led me to words, brassy to powerful to wrecked to reconciled. It led me to failure, then led me past it. It led me to ripples, to take as my sustenance for sixty times sixty. It led me to departures, arrivals, to shooting the moon lights and dancing a broken breaking ballroom. After the pools, I fumbled my words--but took some home, just the same.
Yes, believe me, I have never been happier to cry for an hour and a half.
A whispered thank you follows my ear. It’s from the place where I lingered, a songbird.
Irony
Anonymous
When someone tells you they are leaving, it is usually because they want you to convince them to stay. A silent exit is a serious one. So when you left it should have been the silliest thing. When you left, it was so loud, the door shook. It should have resulted in our laughter ringing through the rooms. Your feet fumbling down the stairs, setting it’s rhythm before you even reached the door. The only thing was, no one had been there to witness. No one had heard you, because they were already gone. You had abandoned an empty house.
Easy
The first time that we trip, tumbling to the ground, a parent or friend tells us to get back up. Grabbing our hands, they pull us to our feet, and we are told that we should stand tall and be proud of our mistakes. Throughout our lives that message plays on repeat. Too often it is made out to be so easy, picking up all of the pieces that have been scattered across the floor, hidden under memories and emotions the same way spare change hides under the couch cushions in your living room. But it’s not, not this time.
Flight Experience
“Does anyone on board have any flight experience?”, the flight attendant cries in her shrill voice. The passengers panic, with a look of terror on their faces so alarming that the baby in 12A begins to cry. No one speaks. An older moustached man looks around, sighs, and raises his hand. A sigh of relief comes from the surrounding passengers. The frightened attendant guides the man to the cockpit where the pilot and copilot are asleep in their seats. The man stares at the controls in awe and sits down. “There's a first time for everything”, he chuckles to himself.
Polar Plunge
Dragging his limp body out of the frigid water, he barely has enough energy to breathe. He flops down on the ice, where the tips of his translucent fur freeze into ethereal crystals. But when he closes his starry eyes, the ice cracks violently as it begins to separate, plunging him back into the black water. He wills himself to fight, struggling to reach the surface. Now there is little hope of finding any food. Finding food takes energy, but getting energy takes food. Starving or drowning - the choices are bleak. Sometimes fighting off death is not worth the battle.
My Studio
The room at the bottom of the stairs, the only door in the house with a functioning lock. Inside is a workspace, my sanctuary. A large desk sits at the near wall, on top of the desk sits a clutter of papers, my computer sits atop hooked into my many interfaces and speakers. Cords stream across the floor to the far right corner of the room where a soundproof box silences the deafening sound of air circulating the house.To its left is a fish tank home of twenty-one fish, my biggest critics, who bump against the glass in disapproval.
The Bunker
The bunker is submerged underwater, there’s no practical way to access it without the special codes. Inside is an arsenal of equipment that line the walls. Everything in the bunker is connected to one massive control panel, the panel controls all of the doors and security measures for the interior and exterior of the bunker. In one of the hallways in the right corridor, experiments with weapons which utilize sound take place. In an attempt to muffle the sound and reduce the effects the chambers are soundproofed to prevent the sharks from attacking the glass whenever testing is in progress.
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