An Assange Memory

When a man scares you enough, shakes your bones and proves his strength,
his intelligence; the simplest thing is to find a pimple in his past.
Bloody system, literally.

Rufus, in winter

His nose is cold and slowly, very slowly, turning red. His mother named him Rufus, but she'd rather call him Pepito, she says. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't move; names are of little or no consequence to him,let her call him whatever she wants. His jeans are chafing the dry skin of his thighs and the wind blows his sombrero askew. Soon she's straightening her jacket and informing him - they had better be going. So, he straightens his and they walk along. That's the last of them.

Songs For Someone Else

Long before she'd etched his name in silver, in the silver of her wedding band, she did belong to someone else. And he wasn't nice like this one, he didn't hold her like he does. Yet in her eyes, and when she cries, there are still traces of him. Because she wont throw away the books he gave her, and the songs, and the ring; she can't unlive the pain. And years later, when they're still together, this man will understand: she only keeps them as a reminder, she keeps them just for him.

Rapunzel

Putting a gentle hand to her shoulder, he purred into her ear, "I'm very sorry princess, but there are some things that can't be fixed by merely flipping your parting..."

feminine feline

she stretched herself across his torso
cat like, she was cold, but willing

she longed to run her nails down his back
cat like, she wanted to mark him

she wanted to feel his hands in her hair,
cat like, her mane was abounding

she often slipped out, long before the dawn,
cat like, she was disappearing

she dreamed free when the moon was high
cat like, she belonged to no one

she was by his side when he woke in the morn
cat like, her body warmed him

Winter Thrills

The girl stood before him, the length of her moss green overcoat swaying gently in the wind. It was a beautiful coat, one that held her waist with a large satin sash and gracefully skimmed past her knees. The coat was so large that it hid whatever she was wearing beneath it, but it was so lovely that it didn't matter what she was wearing beneath it. Coats are lovely that way, he thought.

The wind rushed into her face and she squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the dust trail. He just lay there, holding her gaze the way a hunter stares down a gazelle before the kill.

Love & Blood

Lovers, like leeches, find the space to leave their marks; on you skin,
or on your heart.

Ophelia

She looked up and saw the sun glimmer, like hope on a blue day; the leaves threw shadowy freckles onto her lovely face. The sunlight caused her honeyed eyes to sparkle like precious jewels set into the ivory tone of her skin. This day was one of the loveliest thus far, yet it was nothing in comparison to the warmth and beauty of her appearance.

In passing, the ruby red of candy like flowers and buds shone bright and dapper, turning faintly transparent in the mid day heat. She knew that soon, too soon, they would wilt; and very soon, she would too. It seems our benevolent sun is a killer after all, or must we blame the icy water for this murder?

She seemed peaceful for she was looking up. She seemed peaceful, as her corpse floated gently down the stream.

Author's Note: Reference to this and this

#MicroFiction

There were days when holding her hair back as she cried felt like his only purpose. But even that was worth it.

Troublemakers

Born to a rather precocious couple, the little firestarters were a refreshing change to their tiny grey neighbourhood. They added freshness with a flourish; in their short days, the lawns were filled with little pools and bubbling puddles of swirling fire. And their parents ran chasing the dancing flames with a bag of sand; even as those orange tongues got more and more zealous, licking and devouring the acres. Those were the days when living was easy and fun dirt cheap. Of course, those were the days before they'd invented fire extinguishers.

Sea change

For months on end, he carried the tail-end of their broken relationship around with him, he nursed it like a feverish crying child. He held on to it; in the bitter cold of his lonely nights, he rocked it to sleep and it took him to bed, too. Yet, she was dispassionate, the bell had begun to toll. Finally, one autumn night, she vanished at the stroke of midnight. He awoke to find their puppy missing too. But she hadn't taken the little dog, he'd merely followed her through the open door.

Please. Mind. The Gap

In the midst of the city's ferocious rush hour, she was rushing to take the train. She moved so fast that faces were a blur and time stopped to watch the frill of her skirt  as she passed. In that flashing whirl of sound and light, that's when she saw him. In the split second that it would have taken her to board the train, she whipped around and saw him; then she wish she hadn't. 'But that's impossible', she though; the shuffling crowd joslted for space and shoved her aside. Within an instant, her skin froze and breathing became a herculean task. In a daze, she stepped away from the train and moved towards the child; his tiny face was a mess of tears, her mind was numb. The train had begun to move, but she didn't notice.

"How did you get here?", she questioned, holding his hand.
To which the crying child responded, "I'm sorry Mommy, I forgot to close the cosmic wormhole."

He wove metaphors like fine silk
She wore them like silken robes

When the wind calls your name
And the moon moves through the trees
It's just enough to wake you up
And put you back to sleep again

War Cry

Shake the cold from your bones and fly into the face of adversity;
You know you must, you feel it in your gut.

Dreams, awaking...

You wake, the rain is coming down in sheets. The bed is cool but not warm and your pillow is soft. You feel calm and pleasant, but you're burning a bitter cold within. On the window ledge, a little squirrel takes shelter from the rain. The room is empty, sleep throws her bony fingers in your face again.

-
You wake, consciousness is dim. The trees glow faintly green; the smell of the earth is rising as the rain settles. You listen for the sound of water trickling into a stream; the feeling calms you. You begin to rise, but the movement tires you; you slip away again.
-
You wake, her head is on your pillow, her tiny, warm frame fits kindly in your arms. Peacocks gaze through the shuttered glass as sun spills through the sky lights; the room is a lot less cold now. More for your sake than hers, you hold her tight. Sleep pulls the wool over your eyes again.
-
You wake, the rain still falls relentless; your first thought is to look for a rainbow. The room is freezing now; you finally look around to notice brick wall and a tiled roof and, is that a snail on the floor? The chase makes you too weary, sleep has her way again.
-
You wake. She's counting the stars. Besides her, you curl and fall asleep again.
-
You wake, she sits and stares at you, wearing a silk shirt. She looks away, trying to hide her inquisitive eyes. As you to rub the sleep out of your own, finally she asks, "Leaving again?"

Sweat, love & salty sea water

Right beneath its' gorgeous blue belly is a dangerous part of the sea; a chilly place where the floor rapidly falls away, and the sky reels back with a vengeance. You could lose your life there, you just might die, but only the satellites will tell you that. If you confide in them, they'll tell you that the sea is not all calm and peace and fun and fishys. They'll tell you to beware, for the sea has been known to roar in the black of night; that the sea has a lover, an evil guy that few can stand and still fewer could like. But she loves him. And they'll tell you not to disturb them when busy, or basically never to get between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Laugh Lines

He glides his finger down her cheek and she giggles shyly. Their baby is stirring in his crib and soon the morning air will be a muddle of his joyful gurgles.

Sunlight streams gently through the drapes, lighting up their eager faces. Eyes are glowing as they gaze tenderly, savouring the quietude of the early hour. He takes her hands devoutly in his and then bolts from the bed suddenly.

"Last one to the bathroom is a rotten egg!", he shouts, running.

She's laughing hysterically at the spectacle. Then she yells after him, "First one in has to change the baby!"

Their tiny house is filled with laughter even as the baby starts to cry.

The Elders

They lived gently, because they were at peace with all things, and all things were at peace with them.

Of Hands

Awaking, desire rushes, like blood;
Her lucid mind is spiraling.
She wants his hands, she wants them.
Dirty, undeniable, she wants them.

She want them around;
Hugging her. Holding her. Hurting her.
She wants them away;
Craving her. Awaiting her. Longingly.

She wants them besides her,
in the colours of a beautiful, vivid dream;
She wants them.

She wants them now,
To hold her, should she faint,
And to draw the curtains, when she wakes.