Fiction

With her cheek pressed against the window of the car, hurtling down a freeway to god knew where, she watched with tired eyes and a heavy soul as the scenery flew by.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m not.”

“I love you.”

“You don’t.”

“You live in the stars.”

“My feet are planted on the earth.”

“But your eyes are reflecting them.”

“They’re not.”

“Believe me.”

...but maybe that's the point?  I wrote at random inspiration and when I was tired, but I hope you find it entertaining

“The world,” said Claire, “is a very pointless place.”

The swirling, hazy perspective on a long summer's day. The feeling as if time has halted. Expansive blue sky dotted with lazy clouds, watched from patches of warm, tickling grass. The swish of clothing, movement.

Somewhere far away, just far enough away that you won’t find it, there is a highway that goes on forever.  Driving down that highway at 75 miles an hour, is a car that will never run out of gas.

A glowing tree appeared in his backyard. Its roots curled in the dirt, grounding itself and claiming the earth. The bark shimmered faintly in the light, a beautiful light taupe color, reflecting the sun covered by a thin layer of clouds.

Note: This is listed as "fiction" but all stories about Earl are real. 

That… aroma!

It envelopes the summer breeze with the purity of ripe, succulent pineapple. But… not just pineapple chunks? Pineapple sorbet, with a tinge of six-minute-old waffle cone.

I was walking through the bush when I stumbled upon a quaint fairy dwelling built into the surrounding oaks.

They were surrounded by the buzz of their counterparts moving in ripples controlled by the wind, yet they stood still. Two blades in a meadow. They need not be found, rescued, or saved. An unspoken companionship kindled by Mother Nature.

After dusk, we become paranoid. Our brains, primed for hyperactive pattern seeking by millennia of evolution, can't help but tell us that that noise downstairs was an intruder, or maybe even something worse...

A mini-canvas of me and her in a faceless painting style lies face down in the corner of my bookshelf. It took a month or two to turn over, but I still have the canvas. We made it at her house during a sleepover.