Clive had tried to find another job, but he could barely afford to feed the few cattle he had left, let alone himself or his dogs anymore. He talked to the other workers and was met with apathy, but he couldn't sleep at night. He had always been a sensitive man. The structure they were fashioning had displaced the splendor of humanity's absence. Had they no thought for the distraction they were building? Did they not witness the beautiful grassy groove they had ruined by slamming steel into the earth?
Jerry spends most of his job in a windowless office, watching over a grid of monitors, translating the outside world into a glowing, segmented montage. When he gets home, he watches TV, basketball if it's on, and eats a pot pie. Monday is beef, Tuesday is chicken, Wednesday is pork, Thursday is turkey and Friday is ham. On the weekends he cooks cod and orders pizza. He used to hunt once, but lately it's just been too cold, so he chooses to remain indoors where he feels safe and warm. Ever since the accident the pills were making him just too tired to do anything anymore, and after Leslie died, he found no reason to break the comfort of his routine.
Carol knew that in the vast scheme of things, it was wrong. Nobody talked about it, and so she didn't either. She knew that it couldn't continue, that someone would get hurt, and that choices would have to be made that would change lives. But somehow she couldn't help herself, and every day went by like a dream until a day in June when she suddenly jolted awake and realized she was unhappy. She immediately started about making some tea, and thought she might read the newspaper awhile, or just think about something else.
Somewhere out in the yonder is Miriam, a woman who decided she wanted to shed her shoes and feel the earth between her toes. She lost her clothes and became wild again, running through tall grass and slipping into swamps to feel the algae lick her skin and the silt sift through her hair. Her family had given up on her long ago, knowing she would never return. She had run with the animals for too long, scratching her back on trees and licking dewdrops from the clover leaves.
Every night, Verna climbs the ladder to light the beacon. She hopes that one day someone will see it and come to visit purely out of curiosity. She fantasizes about the company she'd keep if only she could summon every hero she'd ever had. They would have garden parties, talk about the flowers she had planted that spring and the change in the weather before she would gracefully inquire about their state of affairs. She would talk to Eleanor Roosevelt about the latest guiltless cheesecake recipe and to Princess Diana about cats, and after all was said and done Buzz Aldrin and Frank Sinatra would carry her up the stairs, exhausted from the night's socializing, and tuck her safely into bed. She has lit the beacon every night for the last 23 years.
Every time Wanda looked at the moon, she remembered the night that everything had gone wrong. The moon had been out that night too, casting a silver sheen over the front yard, turning all the lawn ornaments to steel. She remembered the flames and the rush of water and the sirens, and grabbing her stuffed rabbit and her favorite book about a child who mistakes a bear for its mother. She remembered running, and running, and running, until she reached what she thought was the end of the world but turned out to be her face in the dirt and the world gone black with unconciousness.
Grace knew that if she left, they'd come to find her. She thought every day about places she could hide, even if it was just for a mom...
My kid brother threw a boy at his school down the stairs, punched him in the face twice and got suspended for 3 days, and is now a school...
This is my childhood best friend Mara and her boyfriend Matt. She graduated college in engineering and is bartending at a casino in the m...
I want to hold onto my childhood before I forget how it felt. One day, I'll remember everything and know exactly what to do.
