The new moon hung low in the sky, a narrow yellow crescent in the dark like the slitted eye of a resting but ominously watchful cat. My breath hit the air in small explosions of smoke. I’d left the flashing lights far behind but I could still feel them in the frantic beat of my heart.
It was the beginning of the end of the world.
The strangest part (it occurred to my mind, slowly) that the oddest thing, the thing that was bothering me most, was the silence. No sirens, no screaming. Just a long, dead nothingness. I was standing in the dark, the edge of a tree branch jabbed into my shoulder. I moved aside a little, staring into the dark with confusion, my arms held out from my body. Then I remembered- I had bolted.
The lights, the men pouring from cars and tanks like beads from an overturned container, helicopters hovering and beating the air like giant hornets, the rush of people through doors and down halls and the rush of blood to my head. Mr. Lee - he’d pressed something into my hand. I clenched my fist onto an envelope. I hadn’t failed him yet, that was a relief. I began walking, slowly, continuing to piece together what had happened.
The lights, oh those lights- the darkness wasn’t a fear but a blessing after those lights. We’d been standing, the last of us, on the steps of the school and all the lights had gone dull as one light, brighter than them all, had suddenly leapt on us like a ghostly bird of prey from the sky. Mr. Lee had put the envelope in my hand, behind my back and then, unable to stand it, I had broken away, into woods where soldiers wouldn’t dare follow. A futile cry of halt, Mr. Lee’s voice calling my name, my own footsteps crunching through the snow as the darkness had welcomed me.
It suddenly struck me how hard my heart was throbbing. I hadn’t run like that since- it was bizarre in that moment to have a flash back to childhood. I could see Christy now- his hair flopping and damp on his forehead as he leapt after me. The sunlight and green, tender yet prickly grass… me laughing and gasping as my hands smashed against a tree-
My hand did collide with a tree, jerking me into the present again. A strange foreshadowing that had been. For it was true again, in some ways. Details changed- no sun, no laughter now. But Christy behind me, somewhere, threatening my victory. And me determined as I’d always been- to win.
xx this isn't inspired by world current events, although it probably would be more worthwhile to address those. anyways, it's inspired by (heartlessly enough) an accident scene earlier tonight that detoured us on the way home. the streetlights gave everything this extra, harsh drama, and then on the other side was that narrow-eyed moon. i transported, what can I say, and words started forming- so this happened xx
Monday, January 30, 2017
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
// q&a video (at last!!) //
(make sure you have your volume up because I talk softly and the audio is poor.)
blogs:
Jessica-http://jessicalg97.blogspot.com
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
// untitled //
 |
| via pinterest |
She stood still, frozen by the warmth of his nearness. She stared a desperate plea into the placid eyes of the painting she faced. Her thoughts darted to the statues in the next gallery and she envied them. Standing in elegant attitudes, sculpted in cool marble- what if they, too, were struck with the sudden breath of a certain cologne, or the way the air shifts and strokes you with a phantom touch when someone moves close by? As her heartbeat called her attention back, her last thought was that the graven images in the next room would surely fracture and melt if they were, like the living beings they represented, cursed with the blessing of sensation.
He still stood, off to one side and just behind her, She didn’t know what to do- she felt as a bird must feel when it flies, all blithe and unsuspicious, into a closed area and cannot find a window again. He made no sign that he had ever noticed her, not now or ever before, in the hallways and class rooms they shared. She’d noticed him all right- fallen hopelessly and foolishly for his calm, sphinx-like face and dark, vaguely sardonic eyes observing the world from behind horn-rimmed glasses. For the way he held his pen, gracefully, as though it were the natural extension of his long, strongly veined hand as it carved firm script across the page. For the way his voice, quiet and self-assured, answered questions the other boys simply gaped at. Most of all for the time she’d seen him, curled knees to chest with a book (one she knew wasn’t for class, a book of old poems about Kind Arthur) balanced in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other. No, she hated him- almost- she hated herself for loving him, more.
She was still outwardly studying the painting, but in her minds eye was only his slim form, in his coat and button down shirt. He was in her blind spot but she didn’t need sight to know, in detail, everything about his unwelcome? or was it welcome? presence. She thought sure he should be in class at this hour. She herself needed to be back in 15 minutes and it would take 10 minutes at a brisk walk
Darn him! She thought half heartedly, knowing full well that this was not his fault, but hers alone. Was it really so hard to just turn and walk by him? Even- imagine- smile at him? The insistence of her own anxiety that any movement would make her stand out like a painted elephant, make her look like a fool, was nonsense and her rational mind knew it. Unfortunately, her mind wasn’t cooperating with itself.
It struck her that she would most likely be late for class now, and have to face that conspicuous shame on top of the trial she was currently undergoing. Betwixt Scylla and Charybdis, she thought ruefully. She shut her eyes, trying to find a moment of courage. Now or never, she steeled herself and turned, flipping her long hair over her shoulder and facing him to find him turning at the same time. Their eyes met. Against her own realism she thought his face flickered, even show a trace of recognition, or something like it. Her courage failed her and she ducked her head, clutched her pocketbook and hurried away.
He stood frozen, shocked by the sudden appearance and absence of her. He had seen her, maybe, knew her as a vague form from his familiar life. But never noticed her, really noticed her- until now. His thoughts spiraled as he trailed, hands in pockets, in the same direction she had gone. He, too, had a class to make. He had only come here for a moment of reflection and relaxation, something he did often and always with success. Until today, that is.
The walk passed without his realizing and as he entered the building he was startled to see her again, slipping with a guilty movement into a class room, heavy book bag in hand. His heart quickened. In that moment it seemed he should have known she was there all along, that they should have been together somehow. Regardless, he knew now. And they would, they must, be together at last.(what even is this) (I should have written in first person? I guess?) (I really don't know) (at least I posted) (bye)
Thursday, January 5, 2017
// excerpt from a (non-fiction, actually) novel I'll most likely (because it's real and we can read it in the graffiti on walls and garbage dumpsters) never write //
...The tall fence cast fishnet shadows on her legs, her arms, her face. She was so trapped, and in so many ways. A fish in a ever-shrinking net, a girl enmeshed in the perverted cage of her surroundings. A kid stuck behind a chainlink fence at midnight, when the door is locked. But day doesn't come...
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