Michele Archives

July 14, 2005

Michele: Ashes to Ashes

Karla said she couldn’t stay for the 5am shift, but Ernie said tough. Ernie was the manager, goddamn it. He said, do the shift or get fired! and Karla scuttled off to the office in tears. Too damn bad. Lazy freaking kids.

At 5:30 a customer impatiently rang the bell. Where the fuck was Karla?

Ernie stalked into the office with a tirade on his lips, looking for Karla. His righteous anger balloon burst when he saw James crying over a pile of dust gathered in a stream of sunlight.

“She told you she couldn’t do the morning shift, man.”

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July 15, 2005

Michele: One Step Closer

I always wondered how thin the line between sanity and insanity is. What causes a brain to suddenly, instantaneously fritz out?

Once I was standing on a mountain overlook. I had the urge to hurl myself down, just because. What if, at that moment, my brain said, ok, I’m going to take a rest and shut off my right/wrong switch? You can’t time this stuff, you know. Just happens.

Which is why I find myself standing in front of Broadway Mall in my “Sunday” undies, waiting for the doors to open.

At least I’m not hurling myself down a cliff.

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July 16, 2005

Michele: Loved

I run my finger along the dust on your desk. I hold back the urge to scrawl my name in your dirt. The dust clings to my pinky and I wipe it on your shirt, the one you were wearing the last time I saw you. It hangs on the bedpost like a reminder, a ghost of you with loose arms and wrinkles and a fading marker stain on the right sleeve.

It’s starting to snow now, light puffs of white slapping against the window. Headlights peer through the window and I tumble from your bed, out the back door.

[Book: Solipsist, by Henry Rollins]

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July 17, 2005

Michele: Fading Reminder

They stared straight ahead at the woman, who noticed and played along. She tilted her head and swayed her hips and her breasts and ass moved like fluid. Damon found himself thinking of a quarter rolling down the woman’s left breast and up the right breast and down her sides and hips and over her ass, where it deposited itself in her crack, where it developed an eye, which winked at Damon as if to say, come on over and fish me out of this bitch’s ass.

The prison bus jerked into motion as the light changed. Their journey resumed.

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July 18, 2005

Michele: Catch a Buzz

Boy had captured several fireflies, imprisoning them in glass. He picked one, crushed the bug under his shoe and laughed. The others sadly watched the smeared glow of their comrade fade on the sidewalk.

Soon, a free Firefly came to Boy, surprising him by talking in Human.

“We have an offering for you in the backyard, if you let the others go.”

Boy, being a greedy sort, accepted.

A pinata! Following the firefly’s rules, he donned a hood before swinging wildly, thinking of spilled candy and coins.

“Do you think,” said one firefly, “that hornets is overdoing it a bit?”

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July 19, 2005

Michele: The New Franklins Fly Their Kites

Three days after they attacked, we are still without contact from anyone. I expected the National Guard, maybe some special ops. It’s been silence.

Most of our belongings disintegrated. We’ve made do with wearing bedsheets for now, but it’s getting cold; a weird winter has set upon us in August. The sun hasn’t been seen in days.

I hate the silence. Where are my neighbors? Dead, I presume. Why did the creatures spare us, then?

Albert and Danny are acting weird. And the growth that crowned their heads this morning has encroached their backs and arms.

I am so alone.

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July 20, 2005

Michele: A Quart or So

He’d had this fantasy since 1982 and he vowed some day to live it. Twenty years later it seemed lame by fantasy standards. Even so, he had spent $200 to make this happen.


She swayed her way to the diving board, all hips and tits, the most perfect measurements of body parts he’d ever seen. His breath hitched as she moved her long legs up the ladder. He shivered slightly as she faced him: tanned, sleek, gorgeous, undoing the front clasp of her oh, so tiny bikini.

He tipped his beer to Judge Reinhold as the show played on.

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July 21, 2005

Michele: Memories Are Made of This

Poppa drags the accordion out of the closet. He blows on it and a year’s worth of accumulated dust scatters around him. Speckles rest in his hair and Nanna wipes them away with a loving touch that makes me sigh.

Poppa stands by the tree. Nanna waits for her cue as the accordion starts up and then she sings, her voice sweet, if crackly.

Hey! Chingedy ching,
It's Dominick the donkey...

The kids do the “hee-haw” part.

The clock chimes eleven. I realize I haven’t set out the presents yet. I turn off the videotape and get to work.

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July 22, 2005

Michele: Things That Go Bump

1am: 7-11.
2am: Reading.
5am: Pacing.
7am: Driving to work, bleary eyed, wired and on edge.

On Williams Street, a small kid runs in front of her car. She slams on the brakes, jumps out, ready to scream at the careless child. She sees only a garbage pail on the ground, thrown there by gusting wind.

Good old insomnia hallucinations. She laughs nervously, drives away.

On Porter Street, the wind kicks up again. Another garbage pail flies in front of her car. This time she hits it, and she curses her sleep-deprived reflexes.

Wait, she thinks. Garbage pails don’t scream.

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July 23, 2005

Michele: Carry On, My Wayward Son

“Introducing, the future betrothed of Emperor Augustus!” The curtain parted, causing mummers of anticipation to rise up; weeks of speculation brought the villagers to a fever pitch.

“.....Joseph, my loyal footservant. We’ve been together secretly for six years and I intend to make him my, err....Queen.”

Gasp, screams, even some fainting ensued. Augustus stoically carried on.

“Before you pass judgment, you should know that Wizard Marcotte has cast an enchantment. Anyone who begrudges our happiness aloud will find a dark secret of theirs printed on the front page of the Herald.”

And the villagers prepared for the joyous marriage.

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