Kara puts on her wedding dress, a traditional, flowing gown with a tight corset underneath. The lace reaches up her neck all the way to her chin almost. Her friends joked that she looked like the cake, topped with a little man and a little woman. But her own mind burns with much more than just the marriage. Get married, she thinks, and you might as well put at least a couple kids on the cake! And then take away the man at some point, there’s about a 50/50 chance of that. There’s way too much fabric on this dress, way too much. Is the entire marriage resting on my head, just like that cake? Will John feel the same way he does now, or is he the type to back out of any conflict at all. It’s all up to her, she thinks. There’s no getting out of this pool once she jumps in. She feels a trickle of sweat running down her forehead, damping her armpits. She feels heated and soaked in all this fabric. “Please!” she begs her friends, now pulling out her train. “Help me get out of this!”
Category Archives: Session VIII
There’s a poet out there who thinks that “jug jug” is the sound a songbird makes. Well, it’s not. Birds don’t have a larynx and can’t produce either a “j” sound or a “g” sound. This poet is going to die alone and sad in a corner, though not exclusively because he thinks that birds say “jug.” But because he thinks in this way, he’s an idiot and no one will ever love him.
In the beginning, there was no darkness. Only light. At the center of the Universe, there was only one tiny star, smaller than a candle’s fire. But even so, the tiny primordial light burned unhindered and lit up both the heavens and the earth. The gods would take turns watching the fire every time the Universe revolved around the star. One revolution, it was the young god Punka’s turn. Punka, the god of merrymaking, was loathe to watch over the star. He did not see the purpose in it, as the star had never gone out and probably never would. Chemall, the father god, saw Punka sulking and approached the youth.
“Cheer up, Punka,” he said. “All of us gods must take their turn, even me. You are doing a good deed, little one.”
Punka tried to find solace and guarding the little star, but he was distracted by the laughter of the other gods. He could only watch in irritation as they played through the endless meadows that stretched across the Universe. Danilas, the goddess of song, saw Punka pacing about restlessly and approached the young god.
“Cheer up, Punka!” she said. “When I was watching the Primordial Star, I would sing to myself and the time will just pass by before you know it.”
Punka tried to sing but his voice sounded horrible. He had always thought that he had a good singing voice, but he had always sung while he was drunk and making merry. Now, he was sober and miserable. Punka decided that he had had enough. He could not see why the other gods could just torment him like this while he suffered alone with the star. He snuck away and began to drink enough wine to fall into a deep, restful slumber.
When he awoke, the light around him was leaving. He could feel himself drifting away into the darkness, until he grabbed onto a piece of light.
“Help!” he cried. He saw Chemall and ran to him. “Help! The light is leaving!” Chemall grabbed little Punka by the throat. “Someone needs to step into the center of the Universe and become the star again. It should be you! I should throw you in right now! But no, this is my duty. I am responsible for all of you.”
He let go of Punka’s throat and Punka sighed with relief. “But I will throw you into the void, you little traitor!” Chemall seized Punka by the hair and flung him around his head. As he did this, he said, “So, you like to drink, Punka? Then I tell you this. If you survive the darkness and find some piece of light to cling to, a hunk of Earth, then I want you to know that alcohol will ruin the lives of you and your children for all eternity. When you drink it, may your memory be foggy and may you forget you merrymaking! And when you wake up, I hope your head is ablaze with fire and shame!”
The curse spoken, Chemall threw Punka into the void by his hair. Chemall then stepped into the center of the Universe and exploded into flame. He became the sun and the sparks from the explosion became all of the stars. When Punka landed on Earth, he drank every night as he watched the stars, and he felt his penance every morning when the sun rose in the sky.
Josh is cradling the assassin.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes! I’m fine! Everything’s fine!”
“Fine! You’re fine! I get it!” he said. “You don’t need to snap at me. Geez!”
That’s when she shot him.
The advantage of living in a college-bound town like Littleton is that their local used book stores are always stocked completely from shelf to shelf. Sadie often spends her time at Mr. McCrary’s store after school. Rather than go home to an empty house, blogging and surfing the internet until her mom comes home from her night classes after work, Sadie sometimes likes to bury herself somewhere between Fantasy and poetry. Even though she always ends up in that part of the story, reading away everything else, she always starts her journey by making a slow circuit around the room. She runs her eyes and fingers over the curvature of their spines, neck crooked a little to read, (she is gentle with the large, rounded binding of the older tomes). And then, every once in a while, one of these sideways letters will cause her eyes and hand to stay for just a moment. She pauses, intrigued, and dislodges the book from its tight-knit friends. The book is called “Jump”. It’s about overcoming social anxiety, but the pages are filled with notes in the margins, scathing remarks about the cruelty of mankind. The word “HELP”, especially, is scrawled all over the pages. Sadie wonders who this book belonged to, if the owner got the help she needed, or if she didn’t, and that’s why the book lies in Sadie’s hand today. She takes it to the counter and Mister McCrary stops stocking shelves to help her. “Can I help you, Sadie? You buying a book today?” “Yes. I’d like this one.” She averts her eyes from the old man’s kind smile and paces out the door, clutching the book to her breast.
While James generally got bored with taking photos of dead bodies all day, he loved to look over the ones that came in inked up. The one today, tattooed practically from head to toe, was a gang member. He had his face all torn up, bruises all over, and seven bullet holes through the ribs and stomach. Likely he had crossed somebody. Either that, or a rival gang had got the drop on him. His chest was covered with skulls, each with a scroll underneath that had the names of rival gangs or simply the word “snitch.” This man was the muscle in his group, a sort of hitman. Most gangbangers don’t get this many kills before they eat it. It’s possible he’s killed civilians, too, but there’s no reason to remember those or to tell people about them. This man was an animal, through and through. James snapped a picture. He would have to get copies later to post on his wall at home.