Magic. It’s in the air, in the blank snowflakes drifting down and landing on the dirty brown ground. It’s in your ice blue eyes, in the way you smile at me, shy like I’ve never seen you before. Magic. It’s in the way you held my hand with utmost gentleness, in the way we walk, synchronized like we’d done it many times before. There was magic in the air, and you could see it, I could see you watching it and it was beautiful. We were beautiful, in that moment, with the magic snow and twinkling streetlights, like they were winking at us. But just like everything good, everything magic, it died, drifted off into the distance, before we knew how the trick was done. And I’d fallen for you, don’t you understand? In that magic moment, before everything fell apart and I let go of your hand, it was magic. So I’ll remember that, yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll focus on that. Because now, looking at you hurts. Your eyes don’t have magic in them anymore. And the snow is gone, melted and turned into slush. The air has the smell of spring in it, and it was winter then, wasn’t it? You haven’t held my hand in months, and we seem to be walking in opposite directions anyway, so screw the synchronized walking. And it’s done then. Read more »
The house sat abandoned on a hill, protected by a bent wire fence. Our parents had told us at a very young age to never open the old gate and cross to the other side of the fence. In our defense, we weren’t very good listeners. At least, that’s what I told the police later.
The house was quiet, like any haunted house would be. I wasn’t scared, though. I didn’t believe in ghosts and that kind of stuff. It was all myth. Apparently, my two best friends had a different opinion. Bella and Ella hugged each other, shivering even though we’d only just stepped into the front door. The house was still fully furnished, plastic coverings sat over the drab furniture that made up the living room. We walked into the kitchen that was about the same, dirty dishes still sat in the tiny sink, and the refrigerator was still fully stocked with long expired food. I shine my flashlight around the dark room, searching for a light switch. I find one and switch it on. Nothing. Somebody must have forgotten to pay the power bill.
“I can’t believe they made us do this!” Ella whispers, shaking her head.
Our three boyfriends had dared us to go into the haunted house and grab at least five things from it that we couldn’t get anywhere else.
“Come on girls, don’t be chickens! You do our dare, and we do your dare. It’s not that hard, come on. Play the game.” My boyfriend, Matt, had said to us earlier this evening.
I grabbed a dirty dish and a cup of expired yogurt and slipped them in a garbage bag I’d been carrying. Read more »
There is not a cloud in the sky.
Well, that’s a lie.
But almost the truth,
Almost isn’t enough.
I can see a blue mountain across the valley.
The trees are salted different fall colors:
Yellow, green, red and orange.
The old, rusty, speed limit sign supports my weight.
I can smell.
Fall, that’s what I smell.
Mud, the crisp fresh air.
A perfect fall day.
You were wearing a green shirt, the first time I saw you.
Your hair was a dirty blonde,
Your eyes were sparkled green, a permanent smirk glued on your face.
You were beautiful.
The air smelled like summer, if there is such a scent.
I felt like I’d just been punched in the gut when I looked at you.
I watched you stand up there, smirking,
Your hands jammed into the pockets of your striped shorts.
I could taste the bittersweet want.
I could hear your voice and wanted to hear it forever.
I watched you walk away.
Your hands in your pockets.
Your flip-flops flipping.
Walking a walk I learned to love.
I watched you walk away.
I wish I had gone after you.
I can no longer see your clover green shirt.
Can no longer hear your flip-flops.
Can no longer taste the want I felt for you then.
Can no longer smell the perfect,
Scent summer nights bring.
But I can still feel the regret.
It was the first snowfall of the year. The light snowflakes dusted the quiet town in a layer of sparkling white. The sky was a deep dark blue, a wide contrast to the bright crystal falling from it. There were no stars tonight, there never really were in Springfield, Minnesota, not in the middle of winter.
The streetlights on 606 Appel Street were dimmed, flickering occasionally. The third house on the right side was normal, painted the same bland color just like all the others; the box shrubs cut to exactly Mrs. Prune’s measurements, the garage door shut just like everyone liked it. Mr. and Mrs. Prune’s house looked just like it was supposed to look. They tried very hard to fit in, despite their misfit son, George. Read more »
“Things do not happen. Things are made to happen.” John F. Kennedy once said.
I always knew my cat, KitKat, would stay the same; I always relied on that stability. Even when he’d be outside way too late, or have puked on the front porch, I still knew there was nothing to worry over. Like the time my cousins were over, and we were walking down the street barefoot, shaking his treats, calling his name into the pitch black night. For the first time I started to get worried. But then he appeared on the porch, with his ears perked up, his eyes wide, the look on his face suggesting nothing was wrong, nothing ever had been, or ever would be. In that moment of his yellow green eyes looking hopefully at me, I believed him. Because he was fine, at least, for today.
It was a Wednesday morning when woke up to my mother saying KitKat was making weird noises and that she was going to take him to the vet. The night before, when he’d been walking clumsily, not acting like himself, I thought it would pass, that it was nothing. When my mom said I might have to say goodbye, I crumpled; there suddenly really was something to worry about. I petted his soft fur, cold tears suddenly running down my cheeks. “You can’t die, honey, I love you, you’re going to be fine, you have to be fine,” I mumbled to his scared, annoyed face. He was so helpless, I couldn’t do anything to make him better. I couldn’t help him. Read more »