Monday, April 2, 2012
White walls. White ceilings, floors, white everything. This house is milk and bleach and lilies. A stain on my memory in the shape of a man comes around the corner, arrests his movement as he lays eyes on mine. I startle, and the room gets darker. Butterflies the color of tears seep out of my white on white dress. I can't stop shaking, and he carefully, so carefully cups my face in his hands. His eyes, so intense, devour me. He says something that I can't understand, comes a step closer, threatens me with his closeness, the ending of a solitude I didn't know I felt. So I run. I run through rooms, around corners, down twisted staircases that weren't there before. I run and he follows, barely three steps behind. I can't find a door so I break through a window and hit the hard pavement with bare feet and a stitch in my side, and I ask myself, what happens if he catches me? What will running accomplish? He's a step behind me now and I know somehow that he can't go past the end of the sidewalk, which is barely a stride away. My body slows as if I'm pushing through gelatin, but I'm desperate to keep going, just one more step, just one. I launch myself into the air... and I keep going up. I've become a bird, and with an aching sense of loss I realize somehow that he's no longer behind me. I turn around and he's gone. I wake up and the feeling of loss is still weighing me down.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
I haven't posted anything in a while, but that's about to change. If I do something new to my house, I'll post it. If I create a new recipe, I'll share it. But for the most part, this blog will be dedicated to short stories based on my fucked up dreams from now on. If I collect enough short stories, or if I turn one into a longer story, and if people like them... there are a lot of 'ifs'. I may want to get published, but I have no inspiration for the book that I'm already working on. So if I can start the creative juices flowing by starting with my dreams, I may be on my way to finishing my book, and I may have material for a book of short stories that may or may not already have readers. Who can say what will happen? I don't really think this will get popular, but that could just be my inner Eeyore talking. I don't count on the readers I already have to stick around since the genre of this blog is changing so drastically, but I'll count myself blessed if any of you do keep reading. For now, I'm going to bed. I'll have new material by tomorrow afternoon. I have very vivid and memorable dreams most of the time. Goodnight.