Michele Archives

June 22, 2005

Michele: Dancing With Myself

Pat,

Hope this makes studying easier,

Jenn

The inscription was inside the Economics text which Jared “borrowed” from his roommate Pat.

Jared sighed, feeling both resigned and envious. He had futilely chased Jenn in freshman year, but she had the unattainable, standoffish attitude that gorgeous girls instantly acquired towards Jared.

He wondered briefly what the inscription meant and began reading.

Ten pages in, something fell into Jared’s lap; a Polaroid of Jenn, wearing nothing but a rose tattoo and posed in a way that made Jared squirm.

“Oh, Jennifer,” he whispered. Feeling wicked and vindictive, he headed for the bathroom.

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June 23, 2005

Michele: Stickin' In My Eye

I’m clenching my teeth, trying to not actually grind them.

He’s doing it again. Turning every conversation into a story about him. I’m listening to him talk and it’s all “I, me, my.”

My eyes are rolling back in my head. He’s deadly when he’s self-absorbed.

Now he’s telling that story about his accident..

He’s one “I” away from a fork in the eye.

I interject, “Betty’s daughter...”

Betty rolls her eyes as Sam launches into a story about his own progeny.

One “I” away....

“I had an accident much worse than that....”

Jesus, that’s a lot of blood.

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June 24, 2005

Michele: This Is Not My Beautiful Wife

He watched from the driver’s seat as she moved across the beach, watched the way her painted toes slipped into the sand, how her tanned skin glowed in the moonlight. As she neared the ocean’s tip, she shook her skirt from her hips, revealing a candy-pink thong.

She giggled then, a sound that made Kevin glance at the high-school textbooks on the passenger seat and question his own desires.

When he looked back at the girl again, she was pulling off her t-shirt and walking into the ocean.

Kevin opened the car door and followed the sound of her laugh.

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June 25, 2005

Michele: From Her to Eternity

He pounded cutlets and chopped peppers while he yelled.

"Did you think.."

pound

"...that bringing me here, to our favorite summer spot.."

chop

"..to tell me you’re bored..."

pound, chop

"..was a good idea?"

"Did you think the calmness of the lake..."

pound

"...the quiet of the woods..."

chop

"...would lessen the blow..."

pound

"...of you finding someone else?"

pound, chop.

He stalked towards her, precariously slipped the blade under circles of rope and cloth.

"Did you think..."

slice, rip

"...that I would ever..."

tear

"...let you go?"

Her body slipped lazily to the floor.

"Dinner’s almost ready, my sweet."

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June 26, 2005

Michele: Enjoy the Silence

The Driscoll Building was the only thing still standing and the glow of the low hanging moon struck its facade, making the glass shimmer and wave through the darkness.

Evan walked with the Driscoll as his guide, the building a waving, beckoning friend, his only companion on this night when everyone else was dead.

When he reached the promenade, he stopped, taking in the stillness and remembering a time when he begged for such peacefulness. But now? Now he thought death would be a relief from suffocating silence.

Later, when the Driscoll collapsed noisily into the flood waters, Evan followed.

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June 27, 2005

Michele: Your Kiss Goes Everywhere

Marta ordered drinks - "Something large and hard" - in a breathless whisper and excused herself to the powder room. The bartender raised his eyebrows at me. “Eh, brunettes,” I explained.

Two minutes later shouts rose from the riff-raff in the bar. Maybe we heard a gunshot, maybe we didn't. I just know that right after the ruckus, Marta was seated next to me, excitement in her eyes.

When they finally found the corpse in the bathroom, we knew our welcome had been worn out. We slipped out the back door, leaving some cash and a lipstick-kissed napkin for the bartender.

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June 28, 2005

Michele:Click

The storm washed away the roads that were guiding Charming and he was soon lost in an unfamiliar forest. Eventually, he came upon a cottage, where a woman wearing a blue gingham dress invited him for supper.

“I’m delivering a revival potion for the cursed queen,” he told her as he ate.
“A queen? There are no queens here. Wizards, witches, munchkins, but no queens.”
“No talking frogs and mice?”
“Mercy, no!”
“This is terrible. The king will have my head if I don’t return home.”
“Maybe I can help you,” the woman said. “What size shoe do you wear?”

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June 29, 2005

Michele: Bang Your Head

Check out how I died: I stuck my head out the car window to whistle at a hot babe. Met up with a stop sign. Smack. Splat. Dead. I think the chick wet her pants. So now I’m on the Train of Stupid Souls, paying for my idiocy, I guess. We’re even in the proverbial tunnel. How cliche. The gods have no sense of style, originality.

Awww yea, there’s a girl on the platform. Holy hell, look at those tits. I need a closer look....I’ll just open the window a bit.....stick my head out a little....

Aaaahh, fuck.

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June 30, 2005

Michele: I Want Candy

The first thing Dave saw was the leg; shiny, bloated and sticking out from under the sofa.

The first thing he smelled was death. Not funeral home death, which smelled like Lysol and face powder, but rancid, rotting death - a smell that made his nostrils quiver and his stomach do a seasick lurch.

“Here.” The captain handed him an old-fashioned, single-wrapped candy.

“I don’t like peppermint.”
“You prefer the taste of death?”

Dave walked away, intent on examining the leg without benefit of peppermint. Two inches from the limb he stooped over and vomited on the crime scene.

“Stupid rookies.”

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July 1, 2005

Michele: Ice, Ice, Baby

“Steve, it’s winter. Put the top on.”
“No way. Live a little.”

A plane overhead. A sudden shadow.

What Steve sees when he looks up turns his face bug-eyed and gape mouthed. Sasha looks at Steve in this cartoon pose, and has the absurd thought that there should be exclamations points hovering above his head.

Something falling from sky: blue, glistening through the fog, streaking like a meteor, crashing through the Jeep’s open roof, landing squarely on Steve’s head, turning his cartoonish face into a mess of blood and brain.

Blue ice. Frozen waste. Should have put the top on.

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