May 12, 2006
Posted in Story Scrapbook at 8:37 pm by Kristiina
This spring burrows into me, stretching its claws far, far under my ribs, and hisses: breeeeathe!
I danced on the lawn in the back yard today, danced for the sprouting daisies and for starving ladybugs; danced for every teardrop I could not hold back and for walled up dreams. I laid out my heart on the pavement, whispered death spells over it and left it there for better days; danced under the trees, making leaves sprinkle wishes in my hair, sparkling and broken.
My longing stretched proudly under the stars, clumsy and loud; so loud that its grumbling should have reached your ears from far away, scratching, wailing sounds into your hearing and making you listen.
Thump-thump goes the heart, and spring kisses me on the nose, fiddling with the rain, laughing at loneliness, inviting me for a walk.
Sour-faced apples stare at me, as if it were my fault I could not eat anything else. I walk with the spring by my side with its greedy paws and too much passion, walk, knowing love is better at hide-and-seek than I ever will be, walk, feeling the dance in my tired, swelling blood, my reaching fingers, my wine-soaked tongue, my every fibre that cries for you.
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May 1, 2006
Posted in Story Scrapbook at 7:35 pm by Kristiina
God climbs out of the sock on the floor and chuckles, covering his mouth with a wrinkly hand.
- That was amusing. Now, what’s for dinner?
You stare at him and throw an orange his way.
- I created oranges purely for the texture, you know.
God munches on the orange, slurps, and spits out a seed.
- Forgot about those. There’s a purpose to them, though.
- What purpose? you ask.
- Forget it, too philosophical. You wouldn’t understand.
You cross your arms and frown at him.
- That’s the attitude. Did I ever tell you about the ducks?
- Yeah.
You nod.
- Well, then. It’s the same thing, in a quintessential sense.
You shrug and sit cross-legged on the floor. You’ve plans for the day and don’t feel like babysitting a deity.
- Wanna go to the park?
You shake your head.
- Why not?
- I’m busy. Seriously. Go bug someone else, old man.
God chuckles, showing two missing front teeth.
- I’m younger than you. And older. But what really matters is that as soon as you walk out the door, you’ll meet death.
- Is he as annoying as you?
- Right. I’ve had about enough of this. See you tomorrow.
God climbs back into the sock, leaving a trail of blue smoke in his path.
You pick up the orange peels, clean the ashtray, and put on a coat.
The doorbell rings.
You open the door, step outside, and punch death in the face.
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