Freefall

There’s a freedom in the fall.

It comes in letting go of your desire for control.  In the fall, you have to accept that there are forces greater than you will ever be, and that you’re along for their ride.  It’s an eventuality for every one of us.  We’re waiting for the universe to take what we have and throw us to the sky.

In the fall, there’s a chance to reflect, and relax.  You’re alone with the air, and the feeling in your gut that everything you were has been left behind.

And, eventually, you hit the ground.

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There’s a spark, and a hiss, and smoke blurs the stars.  She pulls at the joint, breathing deep, hands it to him, and falls on her back in the grass.  He does the same a moment later, and passes the joint back.  After a few minutes, she pockets the roach and they light cigarettes.

There are streaks in the sky, stars shooting silver.  They wish, and laugh.

“You realize,” he says, “these are the misspent hours of our youth.  Years from now, we’ll remember this and frown.”

“Years from now,” she says, “we’ll wish we had the time to waste.”

Good Advice

Walk out your front door.  Bring good shoes – you’ll need them.

Don’t pick the flowers from the side of the road.  Don’t talk to the birds.  Don’t trust anyone.  Look both ways.

Feel the wind on your face; walk towards its source.  Forget about the things you leave behind.  Think of everyone you’re going to miss, but don’t get sentimental.  Look back, only to see if you’re being followed.

Walk forever.

When you get to the door, knock softly.  Straighten your shirt, but don’t bother wiping the dirt off; it’ll show through.

When it opens, tell the truth.

A Moment

“The kiss isn’t the best part,” she told me.  “It’s nice.  But getting there’s the real thing.”

“I don’t kn-” I started to say.

“The best part,” she leaned in, “is the moment right before.  Sharing breath, feeling the ghost of her lips on yours, everything alive.  It’s the infinite possibility of what’s ahead, of what that kiss could be.”

I could feel the heat of her, so close to me.  “In the moment right before, your blood runs electric and the world drops away and everything is what’s about to happen.”

I told her she was right.

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At first, he didn’t mind the little statue, sitting on the desk.  Its smile was idyllic, its eyes warm little beads, its ears wide, silly things.  It watched him while he worked, and when he was lost in thought he would pick it up and rub its head, unconsciously.

But its hands were clasped, hiding some secret from him.  He wondered about it at work.  Days later, he thought about it at home.  After months, he dreamed about it.

The statue’s smile mocked him; its eyes gleamed.  He watched it constantly, his work forgotten.

Eventually, he could do nothing else.

Stalemate

The pawn remembers.

It remembers its king as general and marshall, emperor and shah.  It remembers the rook, those mighty stone towers, as robed and screaming cavalry, riding camels in a vicious desert.  It remembers its queen, beautiful and terrible, as counselor and advisor, not as warrior queen but as lackey and sycophant.  It remembers being moved by ancient lords, by shogun in their battle tents, by the people of a hundred nations, in a hundred generations.

And it remembers, once as always, when it was a scared little boy, clutching his weapon on a strange and brutal battlefield.

Lamia

Her smile never reached her eyes, hard blue and unblinking, but it was a pretty smile, sweet and soft and full of promise.  He danced with her, feeling her pulse pulse to the music. When they left, her hand was warm in his.

“I’m cold,” she told him, as they walked.

“Where’s your coat?” he asked.

“Make me warm,” she said, and pulled him to her.  Her lips were soft and moist, but her tongue was icy.  He breathed her in.

The next day, they found him with frost in his lungs and a smile forever on his lips.

The Change

“It don’t hurt,” he said, “but it ain’t comfortable.”

He stabbed at his steak, blood running onto the plate. He liked it rare.  I said he looked rough; he shrugged. “Hard to keep the beard trim.  Some things stick around, once the moon’s gone.”

I asked him if I should’ve been scared.

“It ain’t as bad as all that,” he growled, and lapped at his water.  “Rough on the wardrobe, and my cat ain’t as fond of me, but it’s got its ups.”

I told him I thought he was more of a dog person.

He howled laughter.