to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub. by littleblueraccoon, literature
Literature
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub.
i.
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub:
in the magazine I own that published your story,
they blurred out the crime scene photographs,
erasing your face and
the full curves of your breasts.
some part of me wonders
if you would have wanted this,
or if you would have liked for
the public to see you in your final moments,
half-soaked in grey-looking water,
your hair in strings, glued to the porcelain,
eyes closed and mouth gaping,
no breath stirring, no bubbles rising.
ii.
sometimes when I look
into the depths of my bathroom sink,
I hear your voice
(or what I imagine it to be--
after all, we never met).
you sit on the edge
Chapter 2: Sophia and Darkslaw have a talk
The night fell upon Canzingsvale Wood in a heartbeat and Sophia found herself in a large, pink, princess-like dress. Why? Because of a baby shower that her grandparents were proud to sponsor; at their house too. As much as she didnt want to complain, all Sophia could do was whine about how she didnt want to attend even though the party was going to be downstairs in the large foyer.
Dont they have a house? Why does it have to be here? Its so dumb.
Please dont say that, Sophie. They are very good friends of ours and the gran
Chapter 1: Freaks
They came out of nowhere, those crazy boys.
"Aaah!" Sophia let out a small squeal of surprise as two young boys one who looked to be in his acne-infested midteen years and the other on his way to puberty sprang up from behind a tombstone wearing deranged kabuki masks, wretched and crookedly done. The older one let out a wild series of laughs but the little one emitted no sound.
The teensy little brat known as Sophia fell backwards into the gray snow, almost hitting her head on a nearby tombstone that stuck from the ground like some ugly natural rock. She quickly glanced up at the tall boy as h
Climate Change To Make Lightning More Common by RichardLeach, literature
Literature
Climate Change To Make Lightning More Common
I wake before the alarm goes off. Lightning strikes my pillow
seconds after I get up. I smell singed cotton.
In the kitchen, I put bread in the toaster. Lightning hits it.
I scrape the bread with a knife, then butter it and eat.
I make coffee and carry my cup to the table.
I put it down where lightning struck moments ago.
I turn on the radio and lightning turns it off again.
I read the morning paper around the scorch marks.
Later I leave the house wearing my shoes with thick rubber soles,
though it is a myth that they offer any protection.
my mother tells me that i should be ashamed
for dipping my baby carrots in salad dressing,
that my food doesn't need the salt i sprinkle on it.
my afternoon tea doesn't need any sugar, skip
the lemonade and drink the water instead.
do you really need that?
her sharp tone echoes like military orders in the face of combat.
she tells me that at my age, her jean size was half of mine
and i resist the urge to tell her that maybe that means she
had half the character i do.
shopping with her, she butts heads with a body-image complex,
telling me to quit fooling myself and pick the next size up.
i shock her time and time again when i cram my
It was a day a little bit like today
the way the clouds threw shadows over the hill
the day you realized that you weren’t going to find your future.
You were never going to go to Mars
or Pern
or Krynn
You were never going to open the door that led, inexorably, to Narnia
(or even Telmar, you weren’t picky, and you were confident of your ability
to lead the revolution.)
Inigo Montoya was not going to slap you on the back
and invite you to take up the mantle of the Dread Pirate Roberts.
There would be no sardonic Vulcans or Andorians;
you would never be handed an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.
That was a strange day.
It