Enid guessed it was a kind of magical thinking that allowed her to peek between the realms as she did. Her life was one lived in imagination as much as reality. Not to mention alternate realities.
Sometimes the ordinary world seemed only all too ordinary even though sh(more)e knew it never really was but Enid had also become enamoured with other spheres of existance. There were those that were simply extensions of this reality in ways at least, however lately her explorations had brought her to neoteric dimensions that were ostensibly disparate.
Much time had been spent perfecting her diet and health regimen. A healthy body was a great asset in her search as it seemed to extend her abilities tenfold. The discipline needed had been very difficult at first. Not any more. Existance was so emminently wondrous she could never give up the ability to explore and learn about as much of it as humanly possible.
Enid drifted through her house and tidied up what little needed to be done. Prepared a quick meal of stir fried chicken with vegetables and ate meditatively. The flashes of intuition seemed to be growing stronger recently. Visions of the future had become more frequent and were verified almost daily now.
Sometimes Enid felt weakened by these exertions and lifes daily minutia became overbearing unfortunately it was not always posible to retreat from the world at such difficult times and certain obligations demanded attention. Not today though.
What would happen tonight during her sleeping journey was something to contemplate happily. Sometimes she chose a path but it was not strictly necessary.
The front door opened and her housemates bustled noisily into the kitchen with bags of shopping. As they'd always done during their brief lifetimes. Enid watched them curiously. We're never really alone.(less)
His bones ached from extended exertion and Óengus looked upon his days work with a well earned satisfaction. It wasn't perfect but it was more than sufficent.
The kettle boiled and Óengus made his tea strong and lay upon the grassy hillside behind him with his back(more) propped up by the cushiony earth and drank without inhibition. Those stones had made an excellent front wall for the house plus the extra layer of stone would be an extra layer of protection from the environment.
With the two suns setting on the alien landscape Óengus hurried inside. The first month on this planet had been an extraordinary adventure but he had learned the hard way there were creatures here who would gladly make a meal of him during the peculiarly green-tinged night hours.
Shuddering at the thought of those first difficult nights Óengus barricaded the door and small windows and checked carefully to ensure it was done correctly. Time to call the neighbours he thought with some small pleasure. Chatting and joking about the day to day things was very comforting especially now that he was alone.
There was nothing on the airwaves. Nobody was chatting. No reply to any of his calls. Óengus felt the familiar panic rise up within him. Settling a new planet was all kinds of adventure but was bristling with unforeseen dangers.
The equipment was fine and there was no atmospheric problems causing interference. What the hell was going on. Óengus listened carefully to his surroundings. The usually rowdy nightlife of this new world were unnaturally absent. A profound dread crept over him.
He withdrew deeper into his house which was strategically built into the hillside and opened the saferoom door. It was cut into the stone of the hills innards but he had unwelcome guests. (less)
In the woods behind our house where we rode our bikes we found bones. The woods had always felt haunted. Something about the way the moss grew in damp sleeves around the cedars; the way a muffled silence yawned beneath on-the-top sounds of distant traffic and tittering birds; the(more) way your eyes tricked you if you looked farther into the gloomy depths. You sometimes thought you saw somebody. A slouched figure with a pale face. It might have been sunlight brushing the pale underside of a leaf. It might have been a man. The man in the woods. We all acknowledged him unconsciously. You only went to the bike trail with someone else, never alone. The fewer people with you, the bigger the woods loomed, the louder the silence. Ill enchantment.
Bones came as no surprise.
"Dad, dad," we said, thumping into the trailer. He was drinking beers at the kitchen table with Bernie Latin, our neighbor. "There's a body in the bike trail. We found bones."
They scarcely paused in their conversation. Bernie was the talker, and after they both cut their eyes at us, and away, he resumed his monologue, leaning forward intently and licking his lips.
"There's big bones," I said, holding my arms apart. This was the one that had caught our eye, jutting from the soil where something had been digging. It had looked like bark at first, a branch, until we got close enough for it to smell real bad. The whole dug-at spot smelled bad.
Femur. I would learn the word when I was older.
We could see Dad and Bernie making the decision not to believe us. "Someone buried a pet dog down there," my dad said. The beer tilted at his lips, and washed away his words, his interest.
Today's timing is impeccable.
From the moment I woke, trading energy for time, I felt my bones exclaim their morning ritualistic exhaltation of agony,
My pelvis, knees, hands, my joints, moaning quietly to me of change, of age.
I embraced it.
I made my coffee (it's for my mind(more) more than my body),
I got a text message from you,
Then another thing, and as soon as it was finished, another.
So perfectly aligned, it seemed the framework of the succession was conjoined by neurons,
fire, fire, fire,
bones going with the flow, following direction.
This morning's limb-occurrences obeying orders
from some aging God with great timing.(less)
The calendar pages lie crumpled on the floor amidst the lint balls and the dust. Mondays, tuesdays, dog days and holidays all crushing together into a papery mash. I pick them up one by one, unfolding their corners, unearthing the contents of this past year. Dinner with friends, a(more) sibling's ballet recital, the would-be anniversary that never was, and so many nothings. I count one-hundred-and-eighty-seven nothings, over half a year of nothings. And what of the somethings? Besides the dinners and dances there is mainly deadlines and doctors appointments; all the signs of a life less than half lived. But I like to believe that people can still change with the passing years, and this year shall prove me right. I am sure. I commit these calendar pages to the flames as the carriage clock chimes midnight, ringing in the new year. (less)
It's not your lips that I want. After all, what are the lips but flesh? Warm cells of skin placed over muscle and sinew, exactly like every other healthy human being out there on the planet. There are a lot of lips out in the world.
(more) I want the way that you laugh, the way that you think and how you feel about things. I want your reactions and actions and the reasons behind them. I want your thoughts and words. Your voice and the meaning behind the sounds it makes. I want the facts trapped in your mind, and the ways that you manipulate them in a debate. I enjoy what drives you. Your emotions please me.
Ultimately I have little interest in lips as a whole. But you, You I find you down right kissable. (less)