Filed under: fiction
Felisha walked out to the middle of the bridge’s pedestrian sidewalk. She looked over the edge into the blackness far below. There wasn’t much to see of the river at a quarter to midnight, but she could hear it.
As she threw one leg over the railing, a single car lit her briefly as it crossed. She paid no attention to it and didn’t notice that the car came to a stop at the first opportunity on the other side. Nor did she notice the man who got out of the car and began walking toward her.
She swung her other leg over the railing. She faced the bridge with her feet still on the walkway and her hands on the cold metal but her entire body on the wrong side of safety.
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Filed under: haiku
blizzard
snow trickles in
through the window
Filed under: fiction
“Omari, you promised that this year you would explain the human Christmas to me.”
“So I did, Naji. Come, then; let’s take a little walk.”
Omari stretched, curving his back high, and ended up on all four paws. He led the other cat out of the warm shed and down the alley.
“Tell me, young Naji, about Egypt.”
“In Egypt we were worshipped as gods,” Naji replied brightly, “because we were the ones who killed both the rodents that infested the granaries and the fearsome cobras. This knowledge is part of every cat and is every cat’s birthright.”
“Very good,” the older cat said. “But later?”
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Filed under: haiku
cemetery
snow melts
around the gravestones
Filed under: fiction
“Renata!” Dr. van Oustil cried. “This is your report card?”
Heads turned and the party stilled a bit as father began to publicly berate daughter.
“How can you be getting a C- in physics?” he demanded. “Here I am, an internationally renowned particle physicist, and you embarrass me with a C- in high school physics? Does heredity count for nothing, after all? How will you get on in life?”
A few partygoers chuckled; others were red with shame on the girl’s behalf, or perhaps remembering lectures from their own parents.
Renata stared at her father for a moment. The report card had been lying on the table for two days, but he waited until he could be the center of attention to chastise her. She caught a fleeting glance of her mother retreating to the kitchen, wanting to be anywhere other than near the spotlight. This was the van Oustil version of a normal day.
Renata walked a few steps to the open bar next to the refreshment table and snatched up a forbidden glass of merlot. Making certain she had her father’s attention, she downed it in a single gulp.
“Don’t get so upset, Father,” she said. “I have every intention of becoming a prostitute. I already know the little bit of biology I need for that career.” She motioned to her father’s closest collaborator. “Just ask Heinrich. He’ll vouch for me.” And she tossed the glass lightly to the floor and went to her bedroom.
The party broke up shortly after the police arrived. They were responding to an urgent call about a physicist trying to kill his colleague.
Filed under: haiku
bird shadows
flit across
the litter box
Filed under: fiction
Henry happened to look up as Joletta raised her teacup to her lips and stopped. A glassy look came into her eyes, as though she were looking at something inside herself rather than outside.
He reached across the breakfast table and gently took the cup, replacing it on its saucer. Sometimes she came out of these little trances rather sharply, and the tea was hot.
This odd behavior was common in her family. Joletta’s mother had had the sight, and so had her late brother, Randolph, of whom little was said. What was there to say, after all?
Henry continued to watch, waiting for her to come back to him and to see what peculiar direction his life was about to take this Saturday morning.
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Filed under: haiku
frigid night
rabbits run
under the lilac bush
Filed under: fiction
Eight years, five months, seventeen days.
That was how long Hersh had been trying to move a glass with his mind.
He sat each day for two hours in a small room in his home. The room had been emptied of everything save for a fold-up chair and an empty glass which rested on the floor. Hersh sat in the chair and tried to make a psychokinetic connection with the glass. He had dozens of books about the subject and studied everything he could find online. He knew it was possible, and so he practiced.
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Filed under: haiku
foggy night
tree trunks
slowly vanish
Posted on December 31st, 2009 by bryon
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