Diana, and other short tales

2008-12-19T17:05:00.002-05:00

Out in the woods, she marveled at the trees. They seemed bathed in stardust, glittering coldly in the moonlight. Each step she took crunched through a thin layer of ice that covered everything in sight. It was a perfect night for this. She'd been waiting for a moment when the Earth felt otherworldly. And now, here she was, deep in the woods, a clean line of footprints marking her passage. At the foot of a sparkling oak, large with age, a freshly broken limb betraying the weight of all that glitter, she stopped, stooped and placed her offering. Turning, she began retracing her steps which disappeared behind her.

Simplicity

2008-01-08T20:39:00.000-05:00

"I am a simple man, a man without stories," he would tell us everyday, without fail, until we were all convinced that he was, indeed, a simple old man with an uneventful past. We were convinced despite the fact that he was a foreigner and only something extravagant could drive foreigners to our humble town hidden far from the centers of civilization. It was a place few would ever learn of, fewer would seek out, and fewer still would choose for their final resting place. But, he had, so in this, at least, he became extraordinary, defying his daily assurances that he was a simple old man with no story to tell. But, as I said, after a time we believed him because we forgot he was a foreigner. Years with a person near at hand can do such things. To us, he was merely simple and storyless. It was only after his death, when he was buried deep in the copper Earth of our little cemetery that we began to question his life. For, as the last clod of dirt covered his grave, his home, a venerable old mansion, collapsed into dust without warning. It was as if all the wear and tear of a lifetime had suddenly occured in one single moment. A strange occurrence to mark the funeral of a simple and storyless man.

Lover's Note

2007-10-16T22:29:00.000-04:00

Honestly, I find this new existence far too cerebral. To wrangle an idea with you is magnetic, inexpressible, profound. But...there are times when I just want to let it all go, feel your flesh snug against mine. Perhaps I'd be more accustomed to this lack of body if I'd never known it in the first place, but when we wooed, we were human still, and I know that you might hate me for it, but I wish we still were. Honestly, I think I'm going crazy like this, plugged into this otherverse, I just want out. Need out. I wasn't meant to live like this. I know that I can go to the ocean anytime, feel the wind blowing through my hair, feel the sand beneath my feet, smell the salt, but it's not real, or at least, not the kind of real that I'm searching for. The kind of real that I miss. The kind of real that I need. So, I know this is kind of sudden, but I think I'm pulling the plug, I've got to go back, and it hurts to leave you, but I'm more than a brain, I'm a body.

I'm sorry. Goodbye.

Moon thoughts

2007-10-14T14:39:00.000-04:00

I imagine you calling me, standing in my doorway with your slightly awkward tilt. Neither of us is sure what the other feels. Your hands twitch to caress, or perhaps my imagination runs wild and your pokes, full of laughter are nothing more than friendship. I cannot remember if you held me close first or if I stepped in and took up your hand. Does it matter? Do you think of me when you walk alone between buildings, when you are lost within the creative walls of your work? Because I, I am thinking of you, of kisses in the dark and moonlit walks, of sculptures explored while you watched, of dancing close while no one else swayed to the beat. If nothing else, we have laughter, camaraderie, comfort, safety. I imagine you, mine.

Diana

2007-10-13T21:46:00.000-04:00

Her name was Diana, the black haired waif who captured him. He stood at the side of the road as if waiting for a bus to come fetch him, but there was no stop where he came to rest opposite her. She lay, barely breathing in the shadows of the alley. Her beautiful skin pale, growing paler, her eyes fluttering now and then. Diana lay dying and he watched. Just as she took her last breath, last gasp for air, her eyes, pale blue, opened wide and fixed on him. And she died as their gazes locked. With her last exhale she wished for him, this stranger who watched to stand rooted in that moment, holding her in his eyes, forever. Diana has long since been taken away, her body cleansed and buried, her eyes closed to the sky, but he remains, a thinning waif, caught, watching Diana.