Michele Archives

May 23, 2005

Michele: Nightswimming

His little legs kicked and kicked and he struggled to get some kind of lift off, but the substance was thick and murky, and he only sunk down further.

What the hell is this? Lentil? Pea? He forgot the color differentiation between the two and futilely wished that he had paid more attention in safety class.

Finally, his repeated kicking attempts pushed him close enough to the edge to feel that safety was in reach.

And then he heard those dreaded words, the last heard words of so many of his fallen brethren:

Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup!

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May 24, 2005

Michele: Room With a View

We did it right there, on the living room floor of the new house. Crazy. We were usually straight and narrow. Man on top. Fuck, come, hold, sleep. Not this time. This time I fucked her until she screamed at me to stop. I kept going until we saw the flash of movement at the window.

How long had he been standing there, pants down, hips shaking? He didn’t try to hide. He just grinned and wiped his hand on his shirt.

Welcome to the neighborhood, he mouthed. He turned and disappeared through the bushes that separated our yards.

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May 25, 2005

Michele: Doll Parts

They came in dusty wagons from all over to see the miracle doll. Martha held on tight to that thing, letting the throngs of believers see the face, but never touch it. Sometimes she held the doll up to the crowd and they dropped to their knees in praise. She liked to toy with them like that, to hear the rise and fall of their excitement as she allowed them brief glimpses of the Virgin Mary’s face.

Eventually, Martha got bored and sold the doll to Pete at the Golden Saloon for fifty cents and a bottle of root beer.

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May 26, 2005

Michele: Washed Up

They clutch and roll, ignoring the sand creeping into their clothes, the wind biting at their faces. They kiss, full of fire, and he reaches for her pants, tugs at the waistband.

A glassy wave crashes against the pier and the sound shoots a vision into her head: a capsized ship; artifacts sinking to the bottom of the ocean, trailing an SOS of bubbles that never make it to surface, an anchor settling into a bed of mud and tangled seaweed. The wave collapses, the shore sucks it back, the ocean sighs.

She untangles herself from him and walks away.

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May 27, 2005

Michele: Where The Wild Things Were

He eyed the lush greenery, the swift, clear streams and the trees ripe with colorful fruits. The sky was a virginal blue, uncontaminated by anything toxic. He could hear life all around him; the calls of animals and birds and insects, as familiar as if they were the species of Earth.

It was all so breathtaking, to see nature untouched by human hands, to see this beauty as if it had been created anew just this day. Pure. Clean. Unadulterated.

He pictured this pristine place inhabited by humans and radioed his superiors: “Looks like this one’s uninhabitable. Let’s move on.”

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May 28, 2005

Michele: God Hates Us All

My rage has become too big to hold. Unleashed, it swirls and circles. It engulfs the world as a malevolent sky.

I spit acid rain. I breathe fire and cities erupt. Bloated, black clouds follow me.

I'm all monster now, bellowing out wind, filling canyons with my acrid piss.

My rampage tires me.

I rest at a supermarket, lay down in aisle 6 - cereal and holy votive candles. Jesus and Mary stare at me. I fall asleep between the Apple Jacks and Corn Pops, and when I wake my neck is stiff and everyone is gone.

Everyone.

I’m sorry.

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May 29, 2005

Michele: 2600

Dear King Frederic,

I still can’t define the monster. A giant duck? A mutant dragon? Its stiff motions belied its swiftness and I often backed away, especially when the thing would bang its teeth together in anger.

I eventually slew the monster and retrieved the mysterious key from its clenches, but not before it laid its teeth into my back.

I killed many bats as I navigated the maze to the final door. You were right, your Majesty. The key fit.

The chalice is at long last yours, King. But I have paid my life for it.

Game over, indeed.

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May 30, 2005

Michele: Propane and Propane Accessories

Last Monday in May. Game on.

Carl opened the can of lighter fluid and inhaled deeply to get rush of summer memories.

Fwoomp. The fire roared, cackled, settled down.

Brad peered over the fence and pointed toward his $1000 gas grill. “Look at what I got this year, lameass!”

Carl grinned, dropped two burgers on his grill, and watched the meat sizzle.

Then, the familiar sounds of Brad’s cookouts:
hissss
click click click
mumbled curses of frustration

By the time Brad tried to show off his well-done steak, Carl had already eaten and cleaned up.

Carl 1, Brad 0

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May 31, 2005

Michele: Drained

I don’t like it here.
I can’t do this without you.

She pulled the child into the skeleton of the old hostel. Their feet kicked up layers of dust, which swirled around them like tiny little spirits.

The dust is biting me, mommy.

The woman grimaced as shapes gathered around her daughter, groping for innocence.

I don’t like it here.
Stay still. They’ll be gone soon.

She moved her hands along the floor until she found what they said she would.

A cacophony of mingled screams and cries rose up as a tornado of ghosts swirled down the drain.

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June 1, 2005

Michele: This Photograph is Proof

What was once the President was now nothing but bones and seared Armani.

Sid had his Nikon poised to shoot. This was it, his big break. If he could get this photo, he’d be rich. The other photographers, frightened, had already scattered.

He tried to imagine the headline that would go above his picture, but Weapons Demonstration Gone Awry wouldn’t do this one justice. He focused and clicked.

The soldiers came toward him and Sid managed to get two more clear shots before he turned and ran.

A low whistle, and Sid was a heap of bones and Sears special.

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