Thoughts on a Gravestone

Ragged granite

Foiled the glossy

Plaque next to               the dog             next to the stranger.

Not you, not you in the cap

On the gravestone.

But you’re not really

Underneath either.

You’re up         there,

I’m down

Here,

Underneath

The gravestone called atmosphere.

While you were sleeping....

Silver light hovered over the paper covered couches in a haze. A clock ticked the time tediously at a constant tempo. Tick...Tick...Tick...Even the the fibers in the shag carpet bristled tensely.

"Hey Stan?"

The computer hummed, it's screen flashing from black to rainbow in one solid blink. "Yeah?"

"What time is it?"

Words typed themselves out onto a small messenger window and a smiley rolled its eyes rather than punctuate the sentence with a period. "You have a clock, don't you?"

Across the room, the laptop's speakers dinged anxiously. "Well...yeah..but..."

"It's still says 3:07 doesn't it, Bobby?" The fans inside the desktop computer slowed down, its hum droning into a low sigh.

"Wow...who knew both our clocks would be off at the same time." Bobby chimed.

"Ever think that maybe...just maybe the clocks are spot on?" The desktop's screen saver faded on in boredom.

The laptop's screen switched from window to window pensively, and the cursor paced back and forth across the screen. "But...it can't be 3:07 still...that wasages ago."

"Morning would come soon enough if you'd actually shut down for the night."

"But...but..."

"What is it Bobby?" Stan droned impatiently.

"I'm afraidofthedark." The laptop beeped.

Stan sighed through his speakers. "See that light on your monitor?"

Bobby's webcam aimed its lense down toward the table he sat on. "No...yeah. Yeah! I see it!"

"Okay, Bobby," The desktop took a deep breath, its screen buzzing tiredly. "Listen carefully, cause I'm only going to say this once: That light stays on even when you're turned off."

"Really?"

"Yes Bobby, now go to sleep."

Stan's screen faded to black again, and his fan's slowed to a steadier speed. Even the cord on his mouse seemed to slacken a little as wires inside the cords relaxed bit by bit....

"Stan? What time is it?"

D Stands for Disappointment

My paper falls lifeless on my desk,

Splattered in green blood.

It's then I noticed

The "kill" in your last name.

 

I turn the paper over

Before anyone sees, including me.

I don’t need to see on my paper

What I already beheld in your eyes.

 

Your steel blue eyes speak premonitions

Of concrete floors catching tears

Of two caps and gowns on stage

Instead of three.

 

Your eyes matched the color in hers

As she pulled me aside

After commencement practice,

More apologetic than angry,

And told me it was a mistake:

I hadn’t earned it after all.

Top of the Mountain

Today she would make it to the summit. Granted, the mountain didn't stand all that high above the earth, and some would call it a foothill, but she saw it differently. She saw it as a goal to be reached, an obstacle to rise above. When she set foot on the top of this mountain she would look all over the valley and smile. Unlike most people, she wouldn't take a picture because it would dirty the memory she would always have.

She had been up the mountain before, but this day would be different. Today she would carry a heavy burden up the mountain, and let it down on the top. Each step she took she hummed a little song to herself, not knowing if what she carried could hear it. Her breath came out harder, her arms seemed to increase in weight, yet she kept going.

Finally, she reached the top of the mountain, and set what she carried beside her. She smiled at what seemed like a burden before...and the burden smiled back. Soft giggle wafted on the breeze, flying out of the mouths of a mother and a new born child.

How to Get a Parking Spot

A lot of proper preparation

Is done approximately half

A day before.

Stand up

Before your sleepy eyes drift...back to your oasis

Of pillows and sheets;

Stand up,

Run through your future twenty-four hours

And recall step

By step what you need

And once everything is packed, in a

Conspicuous place, then you may...drift

Back to your...room, back to your....bed.

This is the least important,

But important none the less:

Head to bed with an olive branch wrapped about your head,

Tomorrow you can fight the swarm.

And once the drums of your radio

Summon you to war,

Leap from your bed, dash

To the shower, clean your weapons:

Your hands, your feet, your MIND!

Get dressed, after all,

The parking lot won't accept

You naked.

Haul your goods to the car, after

A quick breakfast.

Drive the speed limit,

Drive assertively, as if your

Chariot's second wheel

Threatened to fall

Off.

Arrive at your favorite lot

Earnestly seeking that  prized space like

A pilgrim seeks the sacred gate.

Park gracefully, between two white walls

That will guard your chariot but

Park efficiently;

After all, you didn't come all this way

Just for a parking space.

Mission Kris Kringle Part II

Creeeeeeeeeeeeak.

My eyes widened, followed by my head jerking in the direction of the my parents bedroom door. Why would either of them be coming out right now? They couldn't possibly be involved with the Santa Claus conspiracy, could they? Then my eyes almost fell out of my face. This couldn't be right. The jolly man-in-red had to come down through the chimney according to all my sources. Yet right now, Santa came through my parent's bedroom door.

The heart inside my chest beat faster than my mom's mixer as I verged on panicking. Now, due to my grave miscalculations...the marble trap would be on the wrong side of the room! Being the nine year old that I was, I only could think of one thing I could do: I tackled Santa Claus. Mind you, such a feat would be impossible for any nine year old but the most determined. Unfortunately, I only managed to get an uninvited piggy-back ride.

The surprised yell that I heard from Santa's mouth sounded familiar, but I didn't notice too much. Santa staggered backwards, and I pulling the red cap over his eyes. I swung off his shoulders as he hit the wall, falling to the floor. Pacing the room as his vision cleared, I rehearsed my questions one last time, and then I gave my performance for Santa Claus to hear.

"So...who are you really, Mr. Claus? No lying this time. I know your secrets!" I asked, challengingly, pacing back at forth.

Santa just sat there, blinking.

"Tell me." I narrowed my eyes, using my deepest, most menacing voice. At the time though, my best voice still sounded like a nine year old kid. Maybe since this Santa guy hung around elves all the time he wouldn't know what a proper voice would sound like.

And still Santa stared.

I glared. Rather than wait for his answer, I yanked off his hat. Then I staggered back as I saw the man underneath the hat. Even with the white beard, I still recognized him: my dad. The implications of such a revelation stopped my breath short. Were all the stories of Santa and his eight tiny reindeer false? Did my dad go to all the trouble to dress up as Santa to fool me? What about the Santa Claus at the mall? Was he a fake too? Who was the real Santa Claus...if anyone at all?

Being the highly intelligent, straight A'd student nine year old that I was, I could only come to one conclusion: "You really are Santa Claus, aren't you?" It explained everything.

Mission Kris Kringle Part 1

I knelt behind the couch on the night before Christmas. My parents had gone to bed, leaving the one person wide-awake in the house: me. Keeping a yawn at bay, my eyes fell to my bulging cargo pant pockets. This year I wouldn't be caught asleep. Of course...I wouldn't be caught awake either. Smirking like a cat on the hunt, I knew only one person would be caught doing anything this Christmas Eve: Santa Clause.

It's amazing how special nights like this one can teach a kid about what he wants to do with his life. I knew that night I had found my calling: espionage. Well, either espionage or bounty hunting, but espionage sounded cooler when I could say it right. That night I came equipped with the flash light that came in my kids meal, the decoder ring that I dug out of a snack box, and the only weapon I could get my hands on at the age of nine: marbles.

I carefully selected clear marbles and marbles that would blend in with the hard wood floor. Santa would not get past me this year. You see, I had my suspicions about this guy who supposedly went around every Christmas Eve and trespassed into childrens' homes and left suspiciously wrapped boxes with toys inside. At the least, each "present" arrived at the bottom of the tree carefully labeled with each kid's name, an invasion of privacy as far as I knew. Not to mention this guy somehow managed to remember the items on every kid's wish list, and I logically concluded that Mr. Claus had a database with information on every kid he delivered to. How else would he know who had been naughty and who had been nice?

Every ten minutes I checked the milk to make sure it would be warm enough to make Santa fall asleep as he drank it. I figured if I could knock him out long enough, I could tie him up and give him a proper interrogation. How long would it take him to get here, I wondered. Obviously, with all the homes on the planet Earth, and all the distance he had to cover, Santa must've acquired (illegally of course) a time altering device from the military. After All, how could St. Nick afford such equipment when he spent his entire year making toys and then giving them away?

Finally, I heard the thump on the roof, followed by more thumping. I crawled farther into position, in wait. I aimed my camera at the fire place, ready for any forced entry by the fat man. Creeeeeeeeeeeeak.

Don't Quit Your Day Job

I've jumped 20 feet in the air,
over fences, through yards,
and past streets corners.I've battled aliens in academic buildings floating down
pollutted rivers,
fleeing from terrorists.

I've escaped the imprisonment of
a powerful sorcerer who lives
down the hall, soaring away
on wings of prism light.
 
I've corralled 50 house cats
all equal in appearance
all in equal in want of my
attention.

But then Night punches
his time card for the
last time, and heads
home to rest.

Day takes his place, ushering
 gypsie dreams
from the steps of my pillow.

I have relived the same day
five times,

 



I have saved the world 10 times,
died 20
 but only during Time's
night shift.

Hanukkah Latkes

1 1/4 pounds of freedom, lightly steamed

2 Hebrew blessings, (a third optional)

1 menorah sitting on a window sill for all to see

8 candles, one for each night

Hope and steadily grounded faith

olive oil (optional)

1. Over the expanse of trial and hardship put freedom into a bowl letting it bathe in remembrance and rejoicing.


2. Add blessings, Season with hope and grounded faith. Mix well by hand.


3. Light candles on the menorah, one for each night, starting with one candle on first night, and ending with eight candles on eighth night.


4. Make sure menorah can be seen from a prominent window

Yield: 8 Crazy Nights

Noah and the Spaceship

My mommy led us to the swarm of creatures and beasts, and all I could hear was noise. Lions roared. Dogs barked. Elephants trumpeted so loud it hurt my loud ears. Mommy said Miss Mouse and I were going to go on a spaceship to Mars. She said the sun had become so large and so red, that it would swallow the Earth our home completely. We had to go so there would be mice in the future. I asked Mommy if she was coming with us, and she shook her head.The stairs going into the spaceship went on forever, but every inch carried the feet of the animals, and the smell. I scurried as fast as my tiny feet would carry me, smelling the fish on the breath of the cat behind me. I wonder if the cat would still eat me if I gave it a breath mint.

 Once I got inside, I followed the smell of cheese, and found a hunk of cheese just for me in a tiny little hole in one of the inner walls. Noah and his family really thought about everyone of us animals when they built the ark. Me and Miss Mouse shared the hunk of cheese every day we were on the spaceship.

We made so much noise, day after day, that Noah and his family couldn't sleep at first. When the dogs went to sleep the cats would wake up and start howling. Japheth spent a lot of his time keeping the animals from eating each other. I overheard the hyenas giggling a lot about which animals would become dinner first. But we all learned to eat veggies and milk and cheese (though I liked that already.) A few animals missed meat a lot, namely Mr. Cat.

 The cat still chased me up the rafters, through the air vents, and even across the control system. Finally Noah, the captain of the spaceship grabbed the cat by the scruff on the back of his neck, pulling him high above me in the air.

 "What are you doing, Mr. Cat?" Noah asked, not looking very happy.

 Mr. Cat just shrugged, and smiled as if he'd been taking a bath this whole time, and not hunting mice.

 "Don't you know? Without him and Miss Mouse, there will be no mice on the new world?"

 I don't even remember what Mr. Cat said back to him. All I saw at that moment was the whiskers on my mommy's face, and that I would never see them again. My ride to Mars suddenly seemed lonely, though Miss Mouse came with me. Miss Mouse couldn't replace mom though.

 We watched Mars get bigger in our round windows. Both me and Miss Mouse could fit on the window sill, Noah and his family had made it so much bigger than us. Mars kept growing as our wide eyes looked on. Soon our new home was bigger than even the windows, and maybe even bigger than the ship. Miss Mouse said that it would have to be bigger than our spaceship, otherwise we wouldn't be able to land on it.

 Mars was orange, like a good chunk of cheddar cheese. Maybe Mars wouldn't be so bad, even if Mommy didn't get to see it.

 And then we landed, on Olympus Mons, or as Ham, Noah's son called it: Mt. Olympus. My tail wagged excitedly as I waited to leave the ship. Some of the birds got in a line, already ready to stretch their wings and fly. Then we heard the Noah's voice on the intercom.

 "Sorry, no heading out on Mars, today, the atmosphere is still too thin."

 I looked at Miss Mouse, and she gave me the same confused look back. We then looked at Mr. Turtle, since he always looked like he knew what he was talking about, even though he talked really slow.

 "We...have..." He began, and I glanced at Miss Mouse impatiently. "....to wait..." I counted 15 other creatures walking by. "....until the Red Sun..." Ten more passed me. "....melts the..." Five. "....ice on...the surface..." Three. "....of Mars...and create the sky." He always talked so slow!

 Noah sent out a probe to test the air in the sky. It floated around Mars for several days, and came back, with results that Noah didn't like. We waited longer. Then Noah released it again, and the probe didn't come back, instead it gave Noah a message saying the air was okay now. Every animal and person on the spaceship danced, stomped, roared, and sang, everyone was so happy. We were so happy that the spaceship shook from all the noise and dancing.

 A week later all of us held our breath as Noah released the air locks on the doors, though we knew there was air outside. Red sunlight hit us, making the ground seem red as a cherry, instead of orange. White clouds turned pink when they passed in front of the sun. Down below the walkway, I heard the roar of the ice-cold water in a river.

 The hummingbirds hummed happily when they saw flowers growing in the ground. Most of us hurried past the altar with the animal sacrifices, even though we knew we were "unclean" as Shem called it, and we were safe.

 The hippos immediately took to the water, near the new springs. And from the springs came a rainbow, a beautiful rainbow. A voiced boomed from the sky.

 "I now establish my covenant with you and with your descendants after you, and with every living creature that was with you-the birds, the livestock and all the wild animals, all those that came out of the ark with you-every living creature from earth. I establish my covenant with you: Never again will all life be cut off by the fires of the sun; never again will there be a fire to destroy the earth."

 All of us animals looked up at the sky in awe, and in awe of the voice that came from it. "This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: I have set my rainbow in the geysers, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth on Mars. Whenever I light the volcanoes underneath Mars and the rainbow appears in the geysers, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the sun become a fire to destroy all life. Whenever the rainbow appears in the geysers, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth on Mars."

 God, as Noah and his family called him, finished talking with this: "This is the sign of the covenant I have established between me and all life on the earth."

Turner Road, Just Past the Freeway

I am wisps of mist and fog bound together by nothing but air,

Fully immersed in cleansing blue skies.

I am a lone raincloud,

A sole survivor

Of a storm.

I stand, a pilgrim of pure fluff, before the

Sun in its temple of cold November

Atmosphere.

I am a piece of cotton

Floating on vespers, carried,

With my edges once torn in soot

Now whiter than fresh linen.

Cruel and Unusual

I, the bus rider, have unalienable rights. I'll have you know that I, Lucie M. Coleridge, as a citizen of the United States of America, have certain unalienable rights. Among these rights I have the right to remain silent, the right to an attorney, the right of free speech, the right of free religion, but most importantly: the right against having to listen to screaming toddlers on the public transportation system.

Oh sure, it's not mentioned explicitly in the Bill of Rights nor the Constitution, but I assure you, it's there. I  distinctly recall from my studies that I, Lucie M. Coleridge, have the right against cruel and unusual punishment. What am I being punished for?  Good sir, that's exactly my point. I'm being punished for absolutely nothing! Doesn't that count as cruel at least, and certainly unusual? Aren't people usually punished for committing actual crimes?  I assure you good sir, that I have committed absolutely no crime.

Assault? My word, I don't believe I quite like what you're implying good sir. I never ever slapped that poor, miserable excuse for a mother and parent....Well, alright. I did lightly tap her on the cheek. Someone had to get her attention! Her toddler was wailing and screaming and shouting...I had a terrible headache. I still have a horrible headache, actually. I believe you're making it worse. Instead of listening to your horrid assaults on my character, I shall go find a more merciful, generous, gentlemanly...gentleman to hear my just complaint. Good Day!

Across the Border

If God loves the poor,

Tijuana never heard

Above cheap, clattering tin and foil

And tourists zipping past to

Ensenada, Rosarito, other advertised destinations.

Tijuana knows it fate, just north

And just south of Paradise,

It roofs, thatched

With second-hand, even third-hand offerings once considered trash.

Its yards: altars clothed in bottles, cartons, and newspaper,

A meager apology to a God

It’s only heard passing rumors of.

Dear Mr. U. B. Spider

Dear Mr. U. B. Spider,

I regret to inform you, but your career as 858 Dockling Lane's household spider has come to an end. In light of the current economy and the needs of the household, I can no longer afford the expenses of time and space to keep you employed as the ugly brown spider in your office inside my guitar case.

Normally I would hand you a pink slip notifying you of your employment termination, but unfortunately the household has run out of pink slips and has yet to order more. In lieu of the traditional pink slip, my Vice President of Human Resources offered the suggestion of beating you with a shoe until your early death. Please brace yourself, as I've heard that shoe beatings can be rather hard on your family.

Sincerely,

Melody Jacobs

President of Human/Arachnid Resources,

858 Dockling Lane Inc.

Boredom is for Deaf Ears

Can you hear music in white noise?
Scribbling pens become my scratching records.
Flip flops on concrete outside windows beat in time.
Creaking metallic chairs make my thoughts sway
Away.
Each soft breath sings notes on key;
Each shuffling shoe strums on carpet strings.

Intrepid Meets the Kraken

Three years of fixing, and the ship

Intrepid readied for

Arrival in Manhattan, tip

Top shape. And fast she came

Remembering the war that brought

Her glory brightened pain.

She set to open once more thought

At Sea, Air, Space dock lane.

 

Intrepid sailed into the bay

With her stern sky-scraping

Then water crashed about with spray,

Long tentacles teeming

With jeweled water, saying his

First name was Grackle, but

One could announce to masses as

The Kraken, Grackle. Cut

 

The ribbons! Sound the music for

The Celebration! Yes,

Expect the Kraken at the door

Of our new show: U.S

Warships in Kraken-Great Squid War

Of Nineteen-Forty-Eight.

And Grackle as the show’s new star

Buy food and bring your date!

Floating Fish

A floating fish is eating my head

You don’t believe me

You say? Ask Fred;

He’d tell you of the one, two, three

Floating fish munching my skin

Giggling, screeching, stabbing

My mind with their fins…

What! You don’t see seeping

Of my brain dripping into

Their eager mouths that eat

My last thoughts feeding who….

Wait, I forgot, isn’t it neat?

Fine! Go away!

And take your floating fish with you!

One poke is all it takes....

The wall stared back at him, white and empty. He would've killed to see a picture on that wall. Anything he would've preferred to sitting there on a cold table with nothing to serve as a buffer between his legs and the steel but a thin pillow and sanitary paper. Ugh, sanitary, it made it sound as if he had the disease already. Oh no, he couldn't be that fortunate. They told him the shot beat the alternative. Pfft, how did they know? Did they ever catch it? Greg seriously doubted it.

They, the nurse and the doctor, crowded around him as if had the words "wild animal in need of cornering" on his back. He thought one person might've sufficed. One stepped beside him, and Greg found his view of the wall blocked by a lab coat. Suddenly he missed the comfort of the wall, at least that didn't make him feel awkward.

"Ready, Gregory?" The doctor asked with a seemingly mocking voice.

Greg sighed. Would he ever feel ready? The last time...his arm hurt for a week, a week. That's a week of missed guitar practice, missed drinking blended coffee drinks while reading the paper, oh, and texting on his phone with one hand and doing his homework with the other. Not to mention how tired he'd feel after...

"Poke." The nurse and the doctor chimed together.

He stared at the wall...er, lab coat, bracing himself for the inevitable. His eyes squinted shut, his fingers clenched the edge of the table....wait...what happened to the needle? Greg glanced to the side, watching as the nurse put the needle away.

"Aren't you going to poke me?"

The nurse blinked. "You didn't feel it?"

Salem

Salem, Salem

Open by day,

Locked up by night

Fine place to play

No place to work

Unless I want to

Shovel french fries

Or turn forty-five.

Salem,

A place for friends,

But only if you

Know them already.

It's also a great place

To build work experience,

But only if we have it already.

Keyword Drabble: Sentient Calculator

It wasn't fair. Today just happened to be the perfect day for a test. He glanced down at the paper in frustration, watching the letters numbers and symbols blurring into a pleasant, therefore annoying shade of gray. His eyes drifted over to his neighbor, his hands crinkling the freshly printed test sheet. That girl had a calculator so technologically advanced it was practically sentient! 

He had a calculator. In fact, the calculator was almost as good as the artificially intelligent one sitting right next to him. Unfortunately for him, and his grade, said calculator happened to be left somewhere...possibly dropped by the snowman he had passed in a hurry on his way to class today.

Drumming his fingers, he tried to not think about stealing that calculator and smashing it in loving memory of his device missing in action. He attempted to distract  himself from the reek of freshly devoured pickles, and the urge to reach for said device of grade saving doom. It seemed to pull at his hand like a magnet. Sweat dripping down his brow, he watched his hand tremble toward the desk, just inches away from his own.

And then lightning struck, throwing out the power, abruptly ending the test. His hand traveled innocently back to the desk, pushing his paper further up the desk.

Through Rose Stained Glass, Prolouge Part I

Sirens squealed and howled, but they seemed more faint. Even their bright red and blue lights appeared muted, nearly grey that afternoon. It didn't feel that late in the day either. Everything felt cold to the touch, except the body. Once touched, the skin felt luke-warm, and squishy like a water balloon. Above all else, the sticky blood overloaded her senses. Scarlet, appearing red, then brown, filling her nose with the rank smell of human flesh, leaving a metallic taste on her tongue. The of gun powder made itself known, but failed to take over the smell of mortal blood.

Then they were alone. She vaguely remembered her hands feeling cold and heavy. They slid over a smooth metallic surface, not caring to recognize what they touched. Her eyes stared ahead at the body, the carcass, the dead. Moments dragged on, and the wounded failed to rise....as did their chests. Nothing felt real anymore. Soon she'd wake up, soon. Her hand tried to reach her other arm to pinch it, killing the dream, but it wouldn't leave the weapon it held. It wouldn't let go.

Hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her back and away from the scene, and pulling the cold steel from her hands. A smile crept along her lips as her hands felt lighter, but only for a moment. The same hands that pulled her back and held her captive, clamped on cold, stiff rings. She blinked, feeling the reality of handcuffs. She would wake up soon.

"You have the right to remain silent."

She had to wake up.

Forgiving and Forgetting

I would forgive you,

If only I could forget you.

Perhaps,

I could forget you

Once I forgave you.

But every sound

Shape

Shade

Sight seems to

Remind me of that day,

And the days following,

Sinking into sticky black,

And staying glued there

In spite of the shining

Light of letting go.

It does you no harm,

But it does me no good.

In fact, I think it harms me more

Than it ever did you

IF I

COuld only let it go. Let you go on with

YouR life,

Your Goals, and then,

Possibly I

Could  moVe on too, on

With  my  lifE

Fork in the road

She stood motionless, save for the scant movement of her diaphragm, ebbing and flowing with her soft but steady breathing. Her eyes stared ahead, into the distance as if to tear apart the horizon with her gaze. The breeze caught the ends of her hair, tossing them like the hands of a stylist. It felt warm,  comfortable, and tempting, luring her into lying down and basking in the known world.

But part of her ached, making her breath sharp and shaky, leaving her eyes closed. In spite of the warm day, she shivered. In the expanse of the fields of wheat around the road, she felt caged. The wind no longer felt warm and comforting, but suffocatingly hot. She wanted, she needed to leave, but where would she go? A road sandwiched her in the front and at the back. It stretched far back before her yawning in her past and stretching endlessly into a possible future. To her left forked a smaller path, twisting its way at an angle. Slowly meandering its way through the yellow, it vanished in green, and faded into the blue mountain.

She swallowed, her throat ragged from swallowing tears. Her mouth hanged open, matching the stretching of her eyes. They poured over every surface in the distance, analyzing them and filing them away for furture scrutiny. The yearning seemed to only grow stronger, like the water escaping through the crack in the dam. Her eyes fell closed again as she tried to steady her lungs and calm her pulse. Dragging her head back, she looked at the long, straight road. For a moment she almost glanced back to where she had come, but stopped.

Looking down at the pale gravel beneath her shoes, she let a smile slip across her lips. Now she knew. She took one step, and then another, leaving the footprints engraved in the spot she pondered on.

Hello, and Welcome.

You've made it to the Forty-Fifth Paradox, and now you sit reading at the halfway point between truth and fiction. Enjoy your time here, I know I will. Lean back as far as you dare on your chair, prop up your feet, and relax as sensory images and various feelings wash over your person. I, your host, am a creative writing major which found a place to polish my writing, and to let my imagination pour out in all directions for your reading pleasure.

Here at the Forty-Fifth Paradox, we have a different system, but a simple one.. A few posts will be chapters, or portions of chapters of a novel idea I've been tossing around. It involves a cold case, a confessed killer (or an unconfessed liar?), a prison ministry participant, faith, skepticism, and of course, teenagers. ;P . Other posts will be drabbles (200 words or less), one shots (300+ words) and poetry. You, the reader and guest, play a key role in the upkeep of the Forty-Fifth Paradox.

• Your favorite post thus far: a comment saying why

But wait! Sit by the fire a bit longer, and I'll let you know of another way your input makes a difference. Leave a comment with a keyword you want the next post (drabble, one shot, or poem) the first five will be bolded in the next post. By the flip of a coin, I'll choose between poetry and prose, and then between one shot and  drabble. (In some circumstances, drabble will be more likely, due to time constraints.)

Alas, your hostess must end yet another day, and head to the back for some well deserved rest. Feel free to linger by the fire, but please put out the flames if they threaten to burn down this lovely paradox. The fire's bite is always worse than its bark.