Wedding Jitters

The minister reads from his book. Guests fan themselves with programs. A strand of hair drops into my bodice, keeping company with beads of anxious sweat.

...Is it hair? Oh god.

Drake eyes my cleavage in terror.

Then, my new husband faints.


Goodnight and Goodybye

:: quadruplet :: hosiery :: fireman :: psychoanalyst :: tipsy :: winter ::

Sera's quadruplets were crying. She covered her ears to the sound, waiting for the trucks to arrive. She could hear the wail of sirens, the groaning of a horn as the engine revved closer. Any moment now the firemen would come through the door, “Ma'am, can you tell us what you took?” By then, she wouldn't be able to tell.

The Epitome of Love

:: epitome :: asymmetry :: love :: compelling :: relax :: flabbergasted ::
:: suck :: ::symptom :: pebbled :: midnight ::

This is the epitome of love: compelling, complex, full of abandon. It is the soft suckling of skin pebbled with dew and the low, sweet whispers of crumpling linens. It is the asymmetry of body pressed soft against body in the heady relaxation of aftermath. It is flabbergasted by solitude and delighted by the hours of many midnights passed in reunion. Malcontent manifests as a symptom of separation; delight must surely follow, but not ever soon enough.

Hope

:: random :: flout :: drive :: wilt :: illuminate :: cold ::
:: effervescent :: calendar :: ::paper :: entrails ::


It was a cold rain that was falling on the day she disappeared. The news all reported the same story they brought out every single time a child went missing: pictures were pored over, friends and family shared anecdotes of her effervescent personality. At first the local paper had daily articles, first on the front page with her photo in full color. Then the articles were small weekly updates. Her school picture, reduced to a small black and white affair, even made an appearance now and again. The comments in the news channel’s website showed the speculations making way to assumptions and leading to accusations. Surely this could not have been a random incident; we live in such a safe city, they cried. I let my children play at that very park, and I have never felt cause for alarm, one mother insisted, and many others agreed. Perhaps her father had disciplined her too harshly; they had told stories of the girl’s recent streak of flouting their rules in a preadolescent display of independence. Perhaps the mother was angered. Perhaps she was buried in the backyard.

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