Michele Archives

July 24, 2005

Michele: All The Small Things

Greta was able to get into the market early, before the pushing, jostling crowds burst through the doors.

She walked the perimeter, taking in the specialties of each section. Edibles, where the vendors hung their pickings over vats of steaming, spiced water, the aroma drifting through the aisles. In HomeHelpers and Pets, sellers had their products out already, making sure they were ready to go. Greta marveled at the pickings; she’d never seen such a better lot of wares.

Finally, the opening announcement: “Welcome to the Annual WitchCove Children Market!”

If only the children didn’t cry so much, Greta thought.

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July 25, 2005

Michele: Future's So Bright

“The light reveals all. I wave magic light on your palms, I see word, I tell your fortune.”

Madame Fukudaya smiled pushed her cup toward the edge of the table and waited.. The three girls dropped coins in the cup and Madame began.

“Do not be alarmed. Words mean things. I tell you what they mean. Ok?” The girls nodded and the teller waved the beam over the first girl’s upturned hands.

“Glory. You are destined for good things. Next.”

“ Gold. destined for riches. Next.”

“Sale. You are destined to be whore. See me at 18. I have job for you.”

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July 26, 2005

Michele: Stand in the Place Where You Are

Lights were strung across the booths, casting a spirited glow across the bazaar. It looked exactly the same way last year, when he was there with Greta. They walked the aisles, buying exotic spices and odd statues and when a waltz drifted from one of the booths, they danced right there, by the “Spiritual Advisor” who told their fortunes.

He knelt down on the exact spot where they danced, holding back tears.

“You came.” The Advisor knelt next to him. “Your daughter, she says she is at peace.”

A waltz drifted through the night, and John felt his grief lift.

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July 27, 2005

Michele: Bad Luck Wind Blowing At My Back

Aunt Marsha said, “Your doors shouldn’t be lined up. A Good Luck wind will come in the front door and go right out the back.”

We decided to outsmart the wind. On Sunday, it howled through the front door and Aunt Marsha said “It feels like Good!” Meryl ran down the hall, slammed the back door shut, capturing Good Luck in the house.

We waited for the luck to start.

The stove exploded. We waited.

The ceiling caved in. We waited.

The bathroom flooded. We waited.

Aunt Marsha said,”Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

So I killed her.

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July 28, 2005

Michele: Oops, I Did it Again

“Michael, can I have a word with you?”
“What did I do now?”
“Do you remember when I said Mr. Moriarity should experience a trial by fire?”
“Yes.”
“Micheal, do you know what the term figuratively means?”
“Ahh...no.”
“Ok then. See, when I say trial by fire, I mean gain experience by doing, even if the doing doesn’t turn out so well.”
“Ohh..ahh...so you didn’t mean....”
“ No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“Bummer. I don’t think I can undo...”
“No, you can’t. No undo.”
“Shit.”
“And they wonder why angels get cast out.”
“I’ll pack my pitchfork, sir.”

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July 29, 2005

Michele: In The Night Kitchen

Night is falling and with it comes the noise. I shut the windows and hope that tonight’s rainstorm drowns that noise out. Or drives him away.

I wrestle with the children to get their earplugs on. They don’t understand what’s happening or why they can’t listen to the crunches and crumbles of the evening.

“But mamma, it’s just noise!”

My little one, so simple. There’s no complexity when you’re five.

Just noise. The sky goes dark and immediately, it starts.

Earth is half eaten now. I hope the monster is ravenous tonight. The hopelessness of waiting is probably worse than the dying.

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August 1, 2005

Michele: The Stain Remains

I scrub, but the stain does not disappear, or lighten. I rub the cloth on a rock, but the bright splotch of red remains, shaped like an eye that stares at me accusingly.

I throw the shirt into the lake, wait for the wind-ridden current to take it away, to carry it eastward towards the beavers, where it may end up as damn filler.

It catches on a lily pad instead. The bloody eye gapes at me and as the shirt shifts with movement of the water, it folds and wrinkles until the stain is not an eye, but a finger.

I stand at the lake, accused and guilty.

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August 9, 2005

Michele: All Of Us Food That Hasn't Died

They came out at night, when the shadows of dusk faded and all that was left was a blackened stillness that, within minutes, became bloated with sound.

The buzzing was incessant and maddening and continued until dawn broke each morning, when they stopped their hunt for flesh and blood.

One night the creak of a door was heard among the buzzing. Marinda walked into the blackness and let them feed upon her, their beaks like hooks in her flesh, ripping her skin from her bones, dining and slurping until at last they were sated.

And they were heard no more.

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August 10, 2005

Michele: Heart Full of Soul

“You must be the violin, Jorge. Be the bow! Be the instrument!”

When Jorge missed a note, Gustav whacked him with the bow. He was used to a strike or two during lessons, but this time, Gustav didn’t stop. He kept at Jorge, striking him on his shoulders, back and head. Jorge crouched in defense and Gustav beat the bow across Jorge’s hands, yelling “Be the bow!” as he did. Jorge managed to grab the bow from Gustav and pounced on him, driving the bow through Gustav’s skin and straight into his heart.

“Be the bow, Gustav. Be the bow.”

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August 11, 2005

Michele: One is the Loneliest Number

Relatives crunched into a corner table at Friday’s as Jake tried to wipe his cheek of the red-kissed stains left by beastly aunts. He cringed as they hovered over him with pinches and hugs.

Mortification came again via the waitstaff, who marched in singing some clap-happy song in Jake's honor. Fat Aunt Harriet squealed and jiggled with delight. Dad cooed and Uncle Bob clapped his hands like a retarded chimpanzee.

Jake had enough of this idiotic celebration. He swiped the rattle off his high chair and let out a barrier breaking scream. A good tantrum and he’d feel vindicated.

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