In a van down by the river

Swallow

"My younger brother went missing several years ago."

"What happened?"

"Nothing that I discuss. I swallowed that scar many years ago."

"Swallow?"

"Teenagers wear the scars of their parents and familial circumstances in their mouth.
They often give voice to the wounds. As we age we try to swallow it down and wash it down with alcohol.

"In the pit of the stomach the scar is easier to hide, but in times of turmoil can dissolve us in acid and bile. We can become washed away."

Photo: PolaroidRainbow

Blood

“So, you’re telling me that you want to suck my blood?”

Aislyn fixed him with a sideways grin, looped her forearms around the back of his neck, and pulled him in close. She sniffed his collarbone, then ran her tongue up his neck along the jugular then his chin. He froze as her lips teased his pulse point. He held his breath even as he felt himself stiffen, as thought mortal fear was an aphrodisiac.

“Mercifully, I’m not thirsty because you are my type.”

“Type? Life blood type?”

“You are AB negative, the rarest and what I was in life.”

“You can tell that from sniffing my neck?”

“There’s no coincidence that you have an erection.”

He shifted ever so slightly as though hiding his shame.

“Like a magnet to steel, your blood is drawn to me and I’m called to you.”

“But you haven’t killed me.”

“Do you seduce every woman you are attracted to, do you?”

Edwin shook his head.

“Do you ejaculate every time some pretty young thing smiles at you?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Drinking blood is most akin to an intense sexual experience—orgasmic, out of control, and cathartic.”

“So you have sex?”?

“Actual intercourse? No, I’m celibate.”

“Have you ever been curious?”

“Now until now,” Aislyn licked her lips. He green eyes darkled.

“Really? You want to—“

“Fuck you?” She smiled and nodded tracing her lover lip with her pink tongue.

Red Ribbons

Sleep was no longer possible as her thoughts did not stop falling from one nightmare into another. It was hours before she stumbled out of bed and into the small guest bathroom. Aislyn had always thought of the bathroom as the epicenter of all life’s grief: a place to cleanse wounds, wash away the evidence of sexual transgressions, and purge toxins—somewhere to replace the face before returning to the world.

She tried to gaze into her own pale green eyes wondering if they displayed her torment. Aislyn swung at her reflection as she imagined a cloud passing through those depths of green. The mirror shattered as her small fist smashed through the medicine cabinet.

“Fuck!” she yelped. Red ribbons of skin hung from her fingers. Blood plinked into the basin sink as she could hear Horatio pacing and whining in the hallway.

“I’m okay, Furface,” Aislyn said knowing that her torn skin would heal in a matter of hours, returning to the porcelain smooth appearance of her youth. She wound a hand towel around her dripping fist and started the shower.

After a long shower, Aislyn stared at herself in the mirror. The black dress was a perfect fit but without sleeves it revealed too much. The white scars that circled her frail wrists and ran up pale forearms looked as though someone had tried to stuff her arms into a paper shredder, failed, and haphazardly glued the pieces back together. Aislyn hated these scars; all of them stemmed from the memories contained in this one bit of Iowa, a landscape etched in her every movement.

Photos: oreogasm

Missing Danny

Thick, humid air weighed heavy in her lungs. Behind amber lenses, Aislyn’s eyes stung from the rising son as she stared at the house that had ushered her into the world and the scene of her unmaking. The garden was unattended, the flag pole empty, and rolled penny savers lined the front stoop.

Although a decade had passed, nothing had changed in her small bedroom. Movie posters lined the pale blue walls; comic books and graphic novels were stacked according to author; sketchbooks and journals lined shelves and swallowed a small desk.

Aislyn closed her bedroom door and stepped across the hall to her brother’s room. He was only fifteen when he disappeared and only three years her junior. Danny’s room was deep shade of taupe with pale blue accents in the rug and bedding. A drafting table was shoved under the pitched ceiling. The desk was barren save a few colored pencils.

“Where did—“ Aislyn began to ask the desk, but couldn’t begin to imagine the answer, didn’t want to know the answer. “Damn it, Danny.”

Returning to her room Aislyn shed her shirt and jeans, dropping them on the hope chest still full of household good and a double wedding ring quilt. Thoughts swam against the current of her mind as she stared up at the sloped ceiling dotted with plastic glow in the dark stars.

Horatio jumped onto the bed and spooned with her like a lover trying to quell his beloved’s fears. Tears would not come but Aislyn’s body shook with sobs. She grieved the answers that would not come and the memories lost and the family gone forever. Aislyn curled into a ball at the bottom of the twin bed, hugging herself, willing her body to collapse in on itself. Sobs undulated within her body while not a whimper escaped her quaking lips.

Photo: bittersweetvenom

Hitching a Ride

Patrick packed the most precious of his possessions—his artwork—into plastic bins and loaded them into the storage unit. He could hear the planes overhead arriving and departing from Syracuse Hancock International Airport. He click the padlock shut and started hiking for the highway. He knew it would be easier to hitchhike the farther west he went. He, therefore, knew to be patient in Central New York where the long logical place to go was west.

His converse sneakers and the weight of his Kelty backpack were the only things pushing him up the hill to the I-81 entrance ramp. It only took twenty minutes before someone picked him up. A huge red diesel truck pulled onto the shoulder, its bright tail light illuminating a fire fighters license plate. Patrick looked to the stars and said a little thank you. Firemen were suckers for strays.

“Where ya’ goin’ son?” An older man called from the passenger window.

“Chicago, sir.”

“I’m headed to Cleveland. Hop on it, son.”

Patrick knocked the snow off his sneakers before climbing into the cab of the truck and threw the pack into the back. The cab was spotless save for a discarded fast food bag and wrappers. The smell of cold fries and burnt meat permeated and almost made Patrick wretch.

Photo: KVirtanen

Sunset

The sky slowly turned purple trumpeting the sun’s recent departure. Two years in Colorado and the sky had never been just one color. The west remained light blue well into the night as the east gave way to the sun long before its appearance. The Colorado high country seemed never to be rid of the sun.


Photo: vacantdreamsx3

Monster

Aislyn’s robe slid off her naked shoulders and onto the patio. She pulled the cover off the hot tub, adjusted the temperature up to 115 degrees and leaped over the side without making a splash or ripple. The water seemed to part and swallow her as though hungry for her flesh.

Edwin watched her bob around the spa until she settled to floating on her back, her arms outstretched at her sides, and her pert breasts pointed to the moonless sky. Then the motion sensor light switched off and Aislyn disappeared into the night.

Aislyn soaked in the hot water, trying in vain to warm her stony, cold skin. She listened to the gentle lapping of the chlorinated water and peered up at Orion, Cassiopeia, Draco, and the Pleiades.

Edwin shifted in his seat, hoping for his eyes to further adjust to the gloom so that he might catch another glimpse of her pale, porcelain skin. All he could see was the erect mounds of her beautiful breasts.

Suddenly the car rocked to the passenger side as a burly beast scratched at the drive’s window. Ed jumped and shrieked—screaming like child who just discoveredc the monster under the bed.

The beast licked the window and mewled and scratched at the door handle.

“Horatio!” Aislyn called.

The animal whined and was gone as quickly as he’d come. Ed let out a protracted breath and stared at the now vacant hot tub.

“Jesus, get it together,” Edwin said to himself as he flexed his hands against that steering wheel.

Then there was a knock at the window and he shrieked again. The car door opened and there was a cold, wet hand over his mouth. “Quiet down, my love.”

After a moment of silence, Ed opened his eyes. She was there at his side: her robe haphazardly belted, the monstrous dog at her feet. “How long have you been watching?”

“I just—I wanted to—I was going to see if—,” Edwin stammered. He ruffled his already disheveled hair.

“Are you okay?” she asked in a whisper trying to urge him to be quiet.

“The monster scared me.” He slid out of the car and slumped against the side.

“Horatio’s a big boy, but he’s also a big baby.” She massaged the scruff of the dog’s neck. “Say hello you big baby.”

Horatio leaned back onto his hind legs and gently placed his front paws on the roof of the car to either side of Edwin. The dog then leaned in, nuzzled Ed’s neck, and rested his massive head on Ed’s shoulder.

“He won’t move until you pet him.”

Ed tentatively petted the dog’s flank—patting the grey fur along the spine at first then stroking the soft white fur along his sternum. Horatio nuzzled in closer and started licking his neck. Ed erupted again, but this time it was a fit of giggles and Horatio ran off to frolic in the snow—pushing it around with his nose, flipping it into the night and biting at the air.

Photo: Adam Pieratt

Weedy Men

"I hated your father when I first met him.
He slept on a futon.
He had a goatee.
He hit on my roommate."

Nancy Botwin
Weeds

Sounds like every man I've dated in the past five years.

Get a real bed!

Life's big questions

I want to know why you can't plug both the DVD player and a Wii into the same TV. Everyone I know has a DVD player as well as a game system so why is it so hard to hook them both up.

Seriously, why can't the TV guys figure it out? WTF?

Just add another set of inputs on the TV.

Come on!

Banking

I thought bankers' hours were 9-5.

When did banks start closing at 4 on weekdays?

I find the change in hours most inconvenient. I hate banking. It shouldn't be that hard to cash a check.



Photo: trocker

Water Tower

Jonas was in search of a lost boy named Patrick. Jonas thought of Patrick as lost not because of a missing persons report or other tangible means. Jonas had met the art major after reading many campus security reports noting Patrick’s presence around campus at all hours of the night: drawing in a notebook on the quad at three a.m., photographing various campus sculptures at midnight, or erecting an easel on the library steps in the predawn hours.

Patrick had transformed the dorm room into a neatly appointed space. By removing the acoustical tiles from the dropped ceiling and exposing the industrial pipes and duct work, the boy had created a modern loft feeling. A pale blue area rug softened the two exposed brick walls as did silken silver bedding.

Jonas scanned the walls looking for clues as to the tenant’s whereabouts. The walls were covered with art posters, ephemeral reminders of events, and conspicuous holes where loose clumps of tape hung. The closet and chest of drawers were empty save for a few ratty tee shirts, a pair of worn out flip-flops and a battered sketchbook. Jonas imagined the packing, but not the inciting incident.

Jonas settled onto the bed with the sketchbook and leafed through the pages: a cornfield, a stately farmhouse, a rail yard, and a water tower. Jonas looked from the drawing to the wall. The promotional poster boasted an art opening in Denver with an almost identical water tower. Jonas glanced at his watch. Almost four in Colorado, she should be able to catch someone at the gallery.

Photo: Kashmir Photography

Tee

I'm loving this Busted Tee, although I'm sure I'd never wear it.