They covered their eyes in the bright sunlight, forgetting how such light could sting after so much darkness. Every color, every smell, every sound overwhelmed their senses, but they didn't dare go back. Five long months the two of them had spent in isolation cells, and the wash of faces and bodies shattered them to the core. Still, they held hands, so they would not be separated again.
Five months of watching personality cult propaganda, five months of pacing around their cells, five months of losing time. Now time was theirs. Now the world was theirs. As for their souls, they had forfeited those long ago to the one Person the government could confiscate them from.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Drum Major
She has a photo album enshrining
her conquests over the past four seasons.
Each photo captures
brass players, drummers, pit people,
even woodwind players
she's had on her arm.
In total,
they count for half the people in the ensemble.
In the front cover rests a picture she's torn in half,
one side, unmarked, has her in her pristine uniform,
the other, with devil horns and a pitch fork inscribed in sharpie,
All worn by the drum major she despises,
the one who spread a rumor about her
and the boy in the color guard,
who's orientation everyone questions.
her conquests over the past four seasons.
Each photo captures
brass players, drummers, pit people,
even woodwind players
she's had on her arm.
In total,
they count for half the people in the ensemble.
In the front cover rests a picture she's torn in half,
one side, unmarked, has her in her pristine uniform,
the other, with devil horns and a pitch fork inscribed in sharpie,
All worn by the drum major she despises,
the one who spread a rumor about her
and the boy in the color guard,
who's orientation everyone questions.
Friday, December 25, 2009
The Three Unwise Men
"I think we should've turned right three palm trees ago." The sand rustled along the hooves, and two of the riders tightened the cloths covering their mouths.
"Three, huh."
"Yeah, three. That one by that mountain."
"You call that a mountain? That was more like a foothill!"
"Um...I think my cammel needs to pee."
The others glanced at him, their turbans billowing in the dessert wind. Still, they didn't stop just yet.
One sighed, the narrow band of gold circling his turban glinting in the moonlight. "I suppose he didn't need to when we were at that oasis not to long ago."
"Not at all." The second answered, scrutinizing his robes of fine scarlet while his skin tried to match their hue.
"Hm, well, we could always try the next one." The third added optimistically, trying to juggle his star chart and his looking glass.
"I'm sure there won't be one for another few days. You should've checked your camel while you had the chance."
"I did! I swear, no signs at all of any... potential leakage."
"You sure we couldn't just take a break? I'm feeling a little tired myself."
"We can't. That camel will be doing its business until the moon wanes at this rate. We're already late."
"Oh come on. That child has waited for over a year now, it's not like he's still waiting in some manger for our gifts."
"I don't know..this myrrh might spoil, or that frankincense. It's not like gold, you know."
"Three, huh."
"Yeah, three. That one by that mountain."
"You call that a mountain? That was more like a foothill!"
"Um...I think my cammel needs to pee."
The others glanced at him, their turbans billowing in the dessert wind. Still, they didn't stop just yet.
One sighed, the narrow band of gold circling his turban glinting in the moonlight. "I suppose he didn't need to when we were at that oasis not to long ago."
"Not at all." The second answered, scrutinizing his robes of fine scarlet while his skin tried to match their hue.
"Hm, well, we could always try the next one." The third added optimistically, trying to juggle his star chart and his looking glass.
"I'm sure there won't be one for another few days. You should've checked your camel while you had the chance."
"I did! I swear, no signs at all of any... potential leakage."
"You sure we couldn't just take a break? I'm feeling a little tired myself."
"We can't. That camel will be doing its business until the moon wanes at this rate. We're already late."
"Oh come on. That child has waited for over a year now, it's not like he's still waiting in some manger for our gifts."
"I don't know..this myrrh might spoil, or that frankincense. It's not like gold, you know."
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Twas the Night Before Christmas
Inspired by Clement Clarke Moore's classic poem, also titled “A Visit from St. Nicholas"
Twas the Night Before Christmas
When all through the flat,
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even the cat.
The stockings were hung by the heater with care,
Lighting the filthy fireplace we wouldn't dare.
The parents were snuggled and warm in their beds
While visions of school-buses drove in their heads.
My mother in her pjs and dad in his shirt
Had just dozed off, to sleep off dessert.
When out on the street there rose such a racket,
I sprang from my desk and threw on my jacket.
Away to the window I zipped like the Flash,
Looking outside, expecting a car crash.
I saw street lights reflected on fresh-fallen rain,
Damp moss, slick roads, and rusted road drains.
And what, to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a hovering motor home and eight hybrid reindeer.
With a weighty old driver, yet so lively and slick,
I knew in a moment he thought himself Saint Nick.
More wild than bikers on their cycles he came,
And his sleeves held more tricks than a cheating card game!
"Oh darn it, oh darn it. I think it's broken."
He swore. "the shop'll be closed in the mornin'."
He glanced at the house, at the door, and the top of the wall,
and spotted the tools for an overhaul.
As burglars check for cameras before they break in,
"Santa" checked the perimeter with a flick of his chin.
So up to the front door quietly he sneaked,
Except for when the floorboards creaked.
And then in the rustling I heard at the door,
The scratching and grinding of jams and bores.
As I grabbed Dad's gun, and was turning around,
Through the front door Santa came in a bound.
He was dressed in dark red, from his head to his boot,
And his clothes were all trashed with grease and soot.
A bag of plunder he slung on his back,
And he looked just like a beggar, just opening his sack.
His eyes, they darkened, his wrinkles were sinister.
His cheeks were like canyons, his nose like a mountain.
His thin lips were creased like paper,
And the beard of his chin was ashen like slush.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
Smoke poked my throat like thorns in a wreath.
He had a small face and a bouncing round belly,
That shook when he laughed, and he made the room smelly.
He was chubby and fat, a right creepy old fart,
And I hacked when I saw him, and it gave him a start.
A wink of his eyes, and a twist of his head,
Soon told me to know I had everything to dread.
He said not a word, and set to his work,
and ate the milk and cookies, the old jerk!
Stepping too close to the sensors beside his nose,
He set the alarms blaring, in mid-bite he froze!
He sprang out the door, wrapped tool box in hand,
and tried the engine to get out of this land.
But I heard the sirens, and smirked as he stood in plain sight,
and watched them arrest him on that cold winter night.
Twas the Night Before Christmas
When all through the flat,
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even the cat.
The stockings were hung by the heater with care,
Lighting the filthy fireplace we wouldn't dare.
The parents were snuggled and warm in their beds
While visions of school-buses drove in their heads.
My mother in her pjs and dad in his shirt
Had just dozed off, to sleep off dessert.
When out on the street there rose such a racket,
I sprang from my desk and threw on my jacket.
Away to the window I zipped like the Flash,
Looking outside, expecting a car crash.
I saw street lights reflected on fresh-fallen rain,
Damp moss, slick roads, and rusted road drains.
And what, to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a hovering motor home and eight hybrid reindeer.
With a weighty old driver, yet so lively and slick,
I knew in a moment he thought himself Saint Nick.
More wild than bikers on their cycles he came,
And his sleeves held more tricks than a cheating card game!
"Oh darn it, oh darn it. I think it's broken."
He swore. "the shop'll be closed in the mornin'."
He glanced at the house, at the door, and the top of the wall,
and spotted the tools for an overhaul.
As burglars check for cameras before they break in,
"Santa" checked the perimeter with a flick of his chin.
So up to the front door quietly he sneaked,
Except for when the floorboards creaked.
And then in the rustling I heard at the door,
The scratching and grinding of jams and bores.
As I grabbed Dad's gun, and was turning around,
Through the front door Santa came in a bound.
He was dressed in dark red, from his head to his boot,
And his clothes were all trashed with grease and soot.
A bag of plunder he slung on his back,
And he looked just like a beggar, just opening his sack.
His eyes, they darkened, his wrinkles were sinister.
His cheeks were like canyons, his nose like a mountain.
His thin lips were creased like paper,
And the beard of his chin was ashen like slush.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
Smoke poked my throat like thorns in a wreath.
He had a small face and a bouncing round belly,
That shook when he laughed, and he made the room smelly.
He was chubby and fat, a right creepy old fart,
And I hacked when I saw him, and it gave him a start.
A wink of his eyes, and a twist of his head,
Soon told me to know I had everything to dread.
He said not a word, and set to his work,
and ate the milk and cookies, the old jerk!
Stepping too close to the sensors beside his nose,
He set the alarms blaring, in mid-bite he froze!
He sprang out the door, wrapped tool box in hand,
and tried the engine to get out of this land.
But I heard the sirens, and smirked as he stood in plain sight,
and watched them arrest him on that cold winter night.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Prayer
"Hey Dad?" She bobbed on her heels, the curls in her pigtails bouncing. Her small pink hands grasped onto the corner of his armchair as she leaned towards him.
"Yes Princess? He glanced down through the narrow passage between the newspaper and his face.
"Would you pray for me?"
The newspaper sank a little, crackling slightly as it wrinkled in his hands. "What's wrong?"
Princess beamed, her curls bouncing a second time. "Oh, nothing's wrong Daddy."
"Oh?"
"Mommy says that when two or more people pray, God's with 'em."
"Mm-hm." One of his eyebrows stretched to the ceiling knowingly. "And what are you praying for?"
"A pony."
"A pony? But Princess...."
"Would you please pray for me? Pretty please?"
"Of course. But don't get mad at me if God says to wait."
"Yes Princess? He glanced down through the narrow passage between the newspaper and his face.
"Would you pray for me?"
The newspaper sank a little, crackling slightly as it wrinkled in his hands. "What's wrong?"
Princess beamed, her curls bouncing a second time. "Oh, nothing's wrong Daddy."
"Oh?"
"Mommy says that when two or more people pray, God's with 'em."
"Mm-hm." One of his eyebrows stretched to the ceiling knowingly. "And what are you praying for?"
"A pony."
"A pony? But Princess...."
"Would you please pray for me? Pretty please?"
"Of course. But don't get mad at me if God says to wait."
Friday, December 18, 2009
Crying jags and rough spots
The man in the moon know what it means to cry
in the shadows of his darker side,
and then smile for the whole world to see on his brighter side.
Oh, if only I could dive into his seas
and swim until the silver-grey water sapped
the heaviness from my bones
and loosened gravity's hold on me.
Only then,
could I fly back to Earth,
burning bright like a meteor,
and leaving behind
only a trail of pixie dust.
in the shadows of his darker side,
and then smile for the whole world to see on his brighter side.
Oh, if only I could dive into his seas
and swim until the silver-grey water sapped
the heaviness from my bones
and loosened gravity's hold on me.
Only then,
could I fly back to Earth,
burning bright like a meteor,
and leaving behind
only a trail of pixie dust.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
News Update
Dear Guests,
I apologize for my recent hiatus from the Forty-Fifth Paradox. Some issues in my personal life and some issues in my academic life allied themselves against me and declared war on my free time. It took around three weeks to vanquish them and currently I'm demanding reprimands. (No word yet on whether or not these issues will be paying off my war debt.)
In other news, I revamped my fan page on facebook for your fanning pleasure. I assume, since you're already at the Forty-Fifth Paradox, that you're already a subscriber. In case you would like to hear about my other exploits, whether it be photography, non-fiction writing, or even updates on my novel, that's the first place to look. Here it is! http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=logo#/pages/Sara-J-Pittock/201469062363?ref=nf
I apologize for my recent hiatus from the Forty-Fifth Paradox. Some issues in my personal life and some issues in my academic life allied themselves against me and declared war on my free time. It took around three weeks to vanquish them and currently I'm demanding reprimands. (No word yet on whether or not these issues will be paying off my war debt.)
In other news, I revamped my fan page on facebook for your fanning pleasure. I assume, since you're already at the Forty-Fifth Paradox, that you're already a subscriber. In case you would like to hear about my other exploits, whether it be photography, non-fiction writing, or even updates on my novel, that's the first place to look. Here it is! http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=logo#/pages/Sara-J-Pittock/201469062363?ref=nf
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