Shards of History

When the war was over, she pulled up the floorboard, dug the vase back up, and showed it to her husband and children. They knew it had been in the family for six generations. The painted porcelain was done by Jean-Jacques Bachelier. It had survived through the War of the First Coalition, War of the Sixth Coalition, the Hundred Days between France and the Netherlands, and now the Great War. Its beauty still in tact.

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A Day In The Life

… Her room was filled with all the things I would want in my own, if I had a room. It took all the breath I had left for the day to walk up the six flights to Lela’s apartment. Situated a few blocks from the yellow beach, her windowsills were speckled in shells, incense and statues of animals. On one wall hung a tapestry with a mandala. On another wall hung a giant floral anatomy poster, complete with a magnetic wooden frame that mimicked schoolhouse pull-down charts. Her bed had the soft, cooling linen that one only finds in a room like hers— creamy in every sense of the word: texture, color, and scent. Each item in her room was perfectly spaced out from the others, like a well-designed landscape. I felt entirely out of place there, wearing my ripped jeans, faded t-shirt and boots that were starting to come apart at the seams. My hiking pack was covered in dirt. My hair was a little messy, and mousy brown, and my skin was excessively tan, from being outside all the time.

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Reflective Winds

The winds rushed in every direction. The flickers of light through the grave curtain of grey were few and far between, glaring out from the lighthouse a mile down the beach. Edgar’s arms were crossed at his chest like a mummy, and he stood in the sand, tied to a tree, expecting the worst. His thin black pin-stripe suit barely retained any heat, so he shivered in the cold of this stormy morning. His white shirt was crumpled and dirty from sleeping in the sand the night before. He looked ragged—a splayed version of his usual self. His black tie hung halfway out of his pants pocket—he had the intelligence to at least remove it from his neck so it wouldn’t flap him in the face.

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New-Fangled Technology

My mother uses her phone for research. Instead of bookmarks, she saves links to webpages on her home screen. I remind her that they can’t be transferred to a new phone, and she could lose them.
My grandmother learns how to turn on her phone. She follows her directions for sending a text message. She accidentally sends a ten minute video of her feet with the news playing in the background.

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Cat’s Cradling

“She’s the only one the cat will even come close to.” The Rabbi told my mother in his gentle and slightly raspy voice that exuded wisdom. We were walking down the hallway of the synagogue. His long, white robes glistened with gold filigree. My mother stood in stark contrast, dressed all in black. She wore a tank top, against the rule that shoulders must not show in the holy house, which even reform jews were supposed to follow. This wasn’t a service, though, she would say.

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Planet X7

Milly entered the library with one thing on her mind. Where was she being commissioned next? It would take a six mecra-long flight to get anywhere worth studying. She had coordinates that looked much closer. As she walked down the echoing, cold, marble steps, she hoped it was somewhere she could study the lifestyle habits of the Gannibions. But she didn’t know of any Gannibion outpost this close to galactic center. Long ago, the Gannibions had left Earth for safe havens where they could practice mushroom farming in peace, away from the noises and pollution of the city planets.

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A Weeping Leaf

From her life, a story grows. The roots are in every choice she’s ever made. The branches are in the things she said. The leaves are her words, each one delivered slowly and with care. She came into my life and went I know not where. When I met this woman, she asked me what I loved. She ignored the useless talk of what I do and where I come from. We walked down the street together, opening our mail. Meaningless messages and empty words, some bills. She said she would take the long way to work, because that allowed her more time to ponder and wander. I wanted to follow her, but I didn’t dare. …

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One Hemlock Life

The hemlocks are chasing me down the street. I turn the corner, climb the wall, and hide under the archway between two buildings, in the shadows. Or, should I say, the other hemlocks. I haven’t been one for very long, but I feel both invigorated and drained. I feel a fire flowing in my veins that I’ve never felt before. I feel as if I’m sulking through the world. It alternates, and it doesn’t matter what time of day it is or what’s going on, it just shifts. Perhaps my body is getting used to this…

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A Day At The Market

When the wind whistles through the trees, it soothes me. My favorite color is the green light of the sun shining through leaves. When I was a child, I could spend hours climbing them, playing amongst the plants. As an adult, a butterfly can still distract me for minutes unending. They flitter and flutter and convince me there is beauty in the world. A plant on my antique white desk moves with the sunlight. It moves so swiftly, for a plant, that I see it in a new position every time I look at it. Its green and purple leaves leave nothing to be desired.

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Liquid Fire

The wilderness gave me my name, How could you think I would be tame? Sent me out, disgraced or worse: Considered ugly by those with purse. From Babylon, Straits and Open Seas, We carried the torch far from these. We refused to play that alpha game, And in the end, there’s none to blame. I […]

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Stupid Fucking Lawnmower

Stupid fucking lawnmower Sounds are unkind Anger, frustration, Vibrations in mind… When will you lighten, soften loosen and quit? When will you silence, release, in peace, And just sit? Wondering widely, how to rewrite this game, I wish to relinquish this sense Of anguish and pain… How can one object cause so much strife, I’ve […]

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A flood. The first instant was chaos.The news, received with no less than a few hours to react, was their last step in a contingency plan, allowing ours to even begin….

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