Nov 03
Ccook's picture


Spinners spin; arrows point. 
This hand here, that foot there. 
Bodies obey the rules; bodies live by them. 
Right hands stretch to yellow dots.

Yellow? Why yellow? 

Because the directions say so. 
What would we do without the directions? 
His pinky finger has no place to land but on her thumb and 
Bam! – FearLongingDoubtLove pulse from him and strike her like lighting. 
It’s all about the electricity. 
But she’s scared, she’s bent out of shape, she doesn’t know what to do with this stranger touching her thumb. 
If only she had both feet under her; if only they were both on green. 

She’s scared. 
She falls. 
She’s lost. 

One less body plays the game now, but there’s always more to replace her. 
The game goes on. 

Spinners spin; arrows point; bodies follow. 
Left feet wriggle and squirm to red.
Toes touch; pulses pulse; electricity skips from one vulnerable heart to another. 
He’s still standing, but another goes down.  
His FearLongingDoubtLove is too much for that one, too. 

And the game goes on. 
He’s nimble; he doesn’t fall when the lighting strikes him. 
He’s strong with his right hand on green and his left foot on red and his soul hanging on in the middle. 

But the other players can’t do what he does, 
and soon he is alone. 

The winner. 
You can’t win alone. 
But that's what the rules say. 

And we must follow them, 
because it's all a game. 
A game? 

Yes. A horrible, wondrous, twisted game, 
Between the Lovers and the Lost.