Inflammable

You are fire, in the worst way. You are not warm, or enticing, or beautiful. You are unruly, and you burn whatever gets close to you. You do not appreciate the oxygen that feeds you; you consume it, use it up and look for more. You are fickle, and you are never satisfied.

You are fire, in the worst way.

Cadre

They thought we'd never break. We could walk down a street, and people would whisper to themselves, "There they go." They might have been jealous, they might have been amused, they might even have been indifferent, but they noticed. Everyone knew us, and we didn't know anyone but.

It's almost funny, how the sure things always fall apart.

Looking back, we would have expected it. We were like too many different fish in the same tank. Some of us were meant to be in that water, some weren't.

Well, it is what it is. And it was one of the best things I ever had.

Punctilio

In my country, we do not treat foreigners as if they were stupid. In my country, we do not condone violence as a solution to problems. In my country, we take care of and provide for our own. In my country, we respect and protect the environment. In my country, we can believe in whatever we choose, without consequence. In my country, we are happy to follow the rules and be productive members of society.

In my country, we do not lie.

Volant

Lizzy can fly. She does it every now and then to make her brother smile. He has fits sometimes, and only Lizzy can snap him out of them with her special skills and her smile.

She made him promise not to tell, though, because Mommy and Daddy said it was dangerous. They said people would take her away if anyone knew. They'd take her away and they might never give her back. Because people are curious, and controlling, and afraid.

Lizzy isn't scared of flying, but she is scared to fly. She doesn't want to be taken from her home, her family. But she risks it for her brother. She'd do anything for him. Because that's what big sisters do.

Bamboozle

They trick us. They trick us out of our youth, our innocence, our ability to dream. They tell us to follow the rules, to color in the lines, to work hard, keep your head down, but your chin up.

Well, I'd rather not.

I believe in the sand beneath my toes, I believe in a love that can always grow, I believe in the way you say my name, I believe that life both is and isn't a game. And I believe that a good heart is enough.

That's my world.

Unbeknownst

She liked to believe she had a past, a beautiful, glorious past, full of adventure and heroism and love and life. She felt sometimes that it was true, too. Whenever she looked out over the ocean, the waters called to her, whispered her name like an old friend, or lover. Then she would close her eyes and murmur back, "If only I could remember."

The doctors told her that one day she might, but she found their sad eyes hard to believe. So she looked at the ocean instead. That she could trust.

Jinni

She wasn't sure how to appease this spirit, the one she'd failed, then neglected, then rebuffed. You can not take back words or actions; you can only make new ones. Move forward, do better. Follow your heart and trust your gust. It's not necessarily the best way, and certainly not the easiest, but it's the only one for me.

Encomium

He gave her the flowers grudgingly. He'd felt like such an idiot standing on the street that morning, waiting for the vendor to set up shop. He'd selected almost without care, pointing to the first bunch he saw that had no red or pink. ("They're so typical," she'd said.) He had no idea what daffodils meant, and he didn't care.

They were expensive and embarrassing, he groused as he walked down the crowded city street. In his office building, he struggled to get his ID out of his pocket without losing hold of the bouquet. Everyone in the elevator gave him either conspiratorial smiles or sympathetic nods -- the gender split should be obvious -- but he felt encouraged by neither.

It wasn't until he saw the adoration beaming on her face that he relinquished his resentment and gave in to the simple pleasure of being in love.

Tog

You can dress it up any way you like, but the fact of the matter remains, we were both wrong.

Desultory

"You have no idea where you're going, do you?" Her voice sounded haughty, annoyed.

"Nope," he replied with a shrug. "So what?"

She blew air out of her mouth in frustration, and it reminded him of a whale. He wasn't bothered by her, though. He was content to follow the wind, where it chose to take him. Even away from her.

Affable

There was nothing affable about her demeanor today. She just couldn't manage it. She couldn't manage anything more than quietly sinking to her desk and avoiding everyone's cheery morning moods.

She was stuck on the dream. The nightmare. Drowning in that big old house as it swirled away in the storm.

She remembered the initial calm she'd felt after realizing that she'd already helped her friends and loved ones get out. They were safe, so what did it matter if she closed her eyes and let the darkness take over? It'd be easier not to resist. No pain in surrender.

Then she remembered him. How he would feel when he learned she had died. How he would fall.

It hurt her to think of him hurting that way. So her eyes flew open and she started to fight. She felt the panic seep into her lungs with the water as she swam uselessly for a window. She couldn't move. She had failed him.

She woke with a muffled scream lodged in her throat. It came out a whimper. She was alive, but she didn't feel it. She looked over and saw him sleeping peacefully. She didn't want to wake him, but she needed his touch. So she reached for his hand and held it tight. And she kept her eyes open.

She wasn't going to drown again tonight.

Menagerie

Growing up, my father always had his menagerie of pills. They sat in rows on the bathroom counter, with color-coded tops and labels, lots of words I didn't understand at the time. Heart disease. Depression. Impotence.

When my mom left us, I didn't know why. But it was those pills. She couldn't take them, and he had to.

I did my best to take care of him. I don't know if those pills helped or hurt him, helped or hurt me, but they were always there with us, like pets, or friends. Up until the very last day, we had a whole assortment, and he took each one like candy.

Wheedle

She slammed the door, ignoring his threats. Angry shouts became desperate pleas as she walked past his window, but she paid those even less heed. He always changed his tune when the stakes got too high.

She turned left into the park without even thinking. Almost as once she felt the tension drain out of her, and the anger, the hurt. She knew it was only a temporary fix, but some relief was better than none. The park always wheedled it out of her this way, no matter how foul her mood, how determined she was to stay mad.

So she would stya here instead, linger until the stars came out, and until he went to bed. Only then could she return. Only then could she forgive. Or pretend to.

Vexillologist

Cloth rectangles and pennants are spread across every surface of this workshop. A man, younger than you would think, is hunched over one, a sewing needle in one hand, a loupe over his eye. He concentrates deeply, pricks the flag gently, as if wounding it wounds himself. He stitches it up with the care of a doctor performing heart surgery.

They all say his profession is ridiculous, outdated, unnecessary. They don't understand that he doesn't care.

And they forget that all of theirs will be someday too.

--

I used to say that Flag Day was my favorite holiday, simply because it was random, arbitrary, and unique. But really, my favorite holiday is Halloween. I love seeing the kids all dressed up and excited. :)

Piebald

The splotchy dog splashed through the streets, sniffing amongst the trash cans for food. He'd been loved once, but he didn't remember those days anymore. Now he lived only for the moment, for the crumb, for the fight to stay alive.

Cassandra

Her fate was to be disbelieved, ignored, ridiculed. I don't want to share that.

When I was born, my grandmother said I was lucky, she said I would be a great success. That prophecy is both encouragement and pressure. That ghost is both loved and feared.

I can do this, and I will. But I always go the long way, the hard way, my own way. In my own time.

I need them to have faith in me. I need them to believe. And I need them to be patient, because I'm not always proud of myself either.

Parse

We parse each other's silences, we interpret one another's code. This means that you're tired, and that means I want you to leave me alone. I reach for you, but you don't see. You kiss me while I sleep. Why is it that the most powerful speech we save for the times we cannot share? I think we could understand if we only dared.

Ebullient

I hear your voice bubbling over, and it makes my heart beat faster. You don't know the power you have over me, despite the times I've shown it, said it, cried it. So now I keep it silent, because I think that impresses you more.

We never will be what we want each other to be...

Unless we just want each other to be ourselves.

Sophomoric

Her attempts are sophomoric at best. She sobs in frustration as she glances around the room. All those wasted canvases, all those stupid paintings. She copied Van Gogh, Monet, Goya, Picasso -- she tried her best, but she will never compare. She feels the helplessness of each day, of striving but never achieving, of hoping but never realizing.

And she feels alone. People ask her how it's going, when they're going to see her work in the Met or MoMA, when she'll be on the cover of Time. Each question is a nail in the coffin of her dreams. Each disappointed tone is a tear she hides at night.

What's so wrong with average, she wonders. A teacher had asked her class that once. What's so wrong with being just like everyone else?

Nothing, she'd thought to herself. She hadn't dared to say the words, because she didn't want people to look down on her. Didn't want to upset her mother's smile, or her father's bragging words. But deep in her heart, right next to the wild ambition, sat a card she was terrified to play: the card of being content.

Fainéant

Wasting away the summer days, but there aren't so many left. In my life I see the path directly ahead, and I keep trying to look past the hilltop. What is on the other side?

I don't want to be asked. I just want to do. No pressure, no expectation. Really it's for myself anyway. I only share because I have an ego.

Ratiocination

There are logical paths to follow when it comes to matters such as these. You notify the necessary people. You dispose of the remains. You mourn in whatever fashion best suits you and the circumstances. Then you move on.

This is grief. This is loss. This is life.

Hobnob

Rub elbows, rub noses. Turn the corner, turn tricks. Hit or miss, hit and run. Two sides to every coin, every turn of phrase.

We're not so unlike these words.

Are you in or are you out?

Prerogative

She tapped one wild red nail to her lips, contemplating, before pointing at the exquisite mink coat. He exhaled, half in amusement, half in despair, but he pulled the checkbook from his blazer pocket anyway.

When they met, she'd been a vegetarian, and he'd been poor. They shared ramen noodles and their opinions on capitalism. Then they graduated, and the Real World shook up their little snow globe of ideals. Nine to five became the numbers of their day, and five to nine the zeroes of his paycheck. He was a smart, valuable man, it seemed, and his company rewarded him for that. She was his beautiful companion, and he rewarded her for that.

As he wrote out the check, he wondered how many children this coat could feed, clothe, shelter, heal. He thought about the skeletal beings he'd seen on his last business trip. He'd been wearing a sleek suit and gold watch; they'd eyed him hungrily, but kindly, as if he were the one who deserved pity.

The pen hovered over the paper. His signature wouldn't come.

"Dear?" Her voice was inquisitive but firm.

He shook his head. "No." The check was torn into pieces, dropped unceremoniously into a waste bin. "Not anymore," he said. "Not me."

Both the woman and the clerk watched in disappointed confusion as he walked out. The bell chimed when the door closed behind him.

Quirk

You say the other girls all quirk their mouths in a certain way, so I give it a try. But these aren't the girls I know, and I'm not sure they're the girls I want to be. I'm always willing to try, though. So I check my expression in the mirror, playing with the muscles at the corners of my lips. For a moment it seems like I might have gotten it right, and I wonder what you'll say and think when you see.

Am I a normal girl now?
Do I want to be?

Dexterous

We weave back and forth, hands in and out of one another. Nimble exchange of words, covert firings of looks and love. One seems so sure, the other so afraid. What good is reason without change? These are things I ponder through the people I make up, and the things you seem to brush off so casually, like lint from your winter coat.

Syllepsis

She stole my heart and my credit cards. It's not completely unheard of, but I certainly wasn't expecting it to be my story.

They say I'll never see her again, but I'm not so sure of that. I know I had an effect on her too. That night at the beach...

Plus she forgot all her fake IDs. She could get new ones, but she knows I'd never turn her in. She's got nothing to lose by coming back to me. I just hope I can convince her to take me along this time. I'd gladly live on the run for her. I'd gladly do anything for her.

Concomitant

Is my personality subordinate to my body for you? Are there parts of me that matter more? If it had been me on that motorcycle today, what would you have done?

Am I loved unconditionally?

Ne plus ultra

"Do you remember the first time you beat me at this game?"

She thought for a moment. "Yes, why?"

"That was the happiest I've ever been with you."

"Oh."

They both sat back to try to figure out what that meant. Neither spoke, nor looked at the other, but each had their suspicions.

Myriad

Each and every day, I find something to tell you. Something, anything, to say. A million moments in my day, all saved up to serve to you.

But you're not hungry, or you don't care for the selection. So we chew on our silence and wait for the clock to toll midnight, so we can turn back into pumpkins.

Deportment

Her parents expected him to dress in proper attire and maintain a respectful level of deportment throughout the day. But that isn't who he is.

He's the rocker with the piercings and the slicked up hair. He's the guy with stuff in his teeth. He's the one who holds her at night, or when she cries, or when she least expects it.

So she doesn't give a damn what he wears, or doesn't wear. As long as he's there to support her, he can be whoever he wants. Even himself.

Leitmotif

Inadequacy. What a horrible motif. Why do I think I always fall short? Why do I always fall?

Talisman

Love is my talisman.

Aspersion

His words feel like a slap every time. I try not to care, but how can I not? Caring is the essence of our relationship.

It's a trap, I think. It shouldn't be this hard.

But it is, and I won't let go. So I let my fingers turn pink and raw. I'll survive. I bring this on myself anyway.

Lucid

"He was lucid when he said it," she insisted. And she needed it to be true. Her husband, the love of her life, was dying, and she needed my claims to be false. I couldn't be his daughter, because if I was, then the man she knew had already died long ago. But if I wasn't his daughter, then I was alone, unknown. So, as much as I didn't want to pain this woman, I couldn't accept her truth. Not without proof, anyway.

"The DNA results will be in soon," the lawyer reminded her, reading my mind.

She glared at him with tears in her eyes. Then she fixed that angry, mournful gaze upon me, and I knew for the first time in my life what it felt like to be loathed.

Opprobrium

If you saw yourself and our past through my eyes, what would you think? What would you do with all that shame? Would you still dare to shift the blame?

I'll take what's mine, but nothing more. I never owed you a thing, and I stopped paying long ago.

Foray

She ventured out into the night to be alone with her thoughts. She wished she could have a little bit of music, but the radio would have burdened her. Tonight was about being free.

The crickets chirped in time with the blinking of the stars, and her eyes lit up when a herd of fireflies passed by. Nights like these, with nature as her friend, she often managed to convince herself she had all she really needed.

But as she pushed herself farther into the dark, farther away from the house, she felt herself growing weaker with every step. The truth was not so pleasant as her dream of being strong. She could continue and run away, but without the doctors and their medicine, she would be dead before daybreak. Yes, tonight was about being free, but how free, and at what cost?

Antithetical

Are we antithetical? That's one of my fears. I can deal with a little disagreement here and there, but ultimately, we can only bend so much before us breaks.