Geoffrey sat cross-legged on the floor. His little sister and her friends sat in a semi-circle around him. They waited raptly for him to begin. He took a swig from his water bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand while staring into the eyes of each one in turn. The candle in the center of the circle flickered and danced, sending shadows scampering across their eager faces. Finally, as their unspoken desire reached its peak, he spoke in a low husky voice.Read More »
He’s been in the rain before, this man. He’s twisted his long black hair in rough fists to stop it dripping down his back. His clothes have dried many times on his body as he walked the lonely edge of the highway in unrelenting sun.
He worries more about his backpack and the cache of supplies it carries. Clothes can be worn wet and will eventually return to their original state when dried. Toilet paper? Not so much. So he wraps the small square of tarp he found in the dumpster behind a coffee shop in Tulsa around his belongings instead of himself.Read More »
I read a Twitter thread recently about Fred Rogers and the conscious decision he made when dealing with people to be calm and peaceful. He’s one of those people who can so completely embody a choice as to make it seem authentic, which is to say he could make it authentic.Read More »
Tak pulled at the thick ropes of the fishing nets, his arms bulging and his back rippling with effort. Cinta watched as he arranged the dripping lines deftly in the bottom of the boat. He never tangled his nets regardless of how quickly he hauled them in or how vigorously he shook them to dislodge the clinging sea moths.Read More »
The cars of the train are silent, although the seats are filled.
Should a man find himself stepping up from the platform, through the doorway into this car, he will no doubt recoil at the chill in the air. The atmosphere stifles all joy and light that dares approach and leaves one gasping for breath.Read More »
She places her feet gently, lightly, softly, so as to avoid making any noise.
Only in darkness may she roam. She is as a ghost in her own house—unseen, disavowed, feared. She moves through rooms without leaving any trace of her passing.
Her mother—locked in her own rooms—mourns the loss of her.Read More »
I wrote a short piece yesterday that I thought I was going to share today, but it’s glaringly obvious that I’ve written it all wrong AND I know what I need to do to fix it (two things that rarely come hand in hand) so I’m going to hold off on sharing it.
Today, I wrote largely uninspiring things in my journal for twenty minutes, but I did like this bit:Read More »