The Yellow Sea

     The upland pond smoked continuously, or at least James thought it did.  Or at least it looked like smoke.  Or at least he thought it was a pond.  What was once a spark of relief had now sizzled into decrepit disappointment.  What he had seen was, in actuality, just more sand.  He should've known better.  He hadn't had anything to drink for at least a day and a half, and his back was so red it could've been mistaken for a fire truck.  The severe sun stroke he was experiencing was the sole reward given to him for withstanding the punishing fiery rays of the angry melon in the sky.  But he had seen the pond, even if it was smoking - it had to be here somewhere.  James collapsed onto his knees, sinking into the yellow sea.  After a moment an incredible realization struck the pirate:  mirages were dumb and he would take no further part in them.  It was utterly ridiculous, but it was enough to keep him going...

Saint Mark

           Naturally the wife arose first to share her thoughts about the cold, pale body lying dormant in the next room.  Wiping the tears from her eyes she began,  “Mark was a great man, a loving husband and father.  I met him 25 years ago in a little coffee shop just outside of Dover.  He was working there at the time, and when I entered I immediately thought he was cute.”  The woman smiled to herself, just a little bit, but sure enough it was a smile.  “I ordered a cappuccino and a cherry scone, gave the name Mary, and took my seat.  Before you knew it I was peering into a warm cup of Joe and a foam heart floating on top.  That’s exactly who Mark was, a romantic from the very beginning.”  Another pause, but this time a gentle sob left the woman’s throat.  Two adolescents sitting in the first pew began to tear up as well.  Seeing their mom in such a state wasn’t easy on them.  “Mark always took such great care of the children.  He coached their baseball and football teams, and even Jimmy’s soccer team despite knowing very little of the sport.  He was just so invested in the children.  Every weekend Mark would take the boys out and go play with them, and then he’d give me a call at about noon and…  and tell me how they… were…” the woman began to heave heavily into her sleeve.

            A man from the second row approached the crying woman, took her by the arm, and led her to the two children sobbing in the first row.  After he made sure she had found her seat, he turned and rose to the podium once more.  Apart from the woman’s light sobs the whole church was eerily silent.  The man peered out into a sea of scrunched up faces, but no one dared make a sound lest they miss the history of a man they all once knew.

            He opened his mouth slowly, closed it, and opened it once more.  Then he spoke, “I was so incredibly lucky to have Mark as my brother.  Growing up together wasn’t always easy, but it was always fun.  Mark was always inventing new games for us to play, but the rules never favored him.  Being the younger brother you’d expect that I was at a disadvantage, but in fact I won most of the time.  Mark, seeing even the slightest unfairness, would invent a new rule to make the game even again.  He was like that, always taking care of those who weren’t as big or as smart as he was.”  The brother looked out over the gathering.  All those present were leaning forward, as though the closer they got to his words, the closer they’d all be to bringing Mark back.  All except one.  One man in the very back had his coat pulled tightly around his chest and had lowered his hat over his eyes.  Strange to be wearing a hat indoors.  “It must be his way of coping with the pain” the brother thought to himself.  “I really looked up to Mark, you know, as a role model, all throughout our childhood and even into today.  I’m really going to miss him.”  And with that the brother left the stage and back into the weeping masses.

            Another man, about fourth row back, stood up shakily.  He felt like he should say something – no, he needed to say something.  All eyes followed his smooth footsteps up to the front.  He stood there for a second, looked down at his feet, searching for what to say.  After a short pause he began, “Mark was my best friend in the whole world.  There was nobody else like him.  He could always make you laugh… like one time when…” His voice trailed off.  This probably wasn’t the time nor place to share this memory.  He peered down at his feet once more.  This wasn’t going as planned.  But it was for Mark, so he had to keep on going, just like Mark would’ve done for him. 

            He started again, “Mark really cared about others.  He was just the most selfless guy you could know.”  The best friend caught a few nods scatter throughout the crowd.  “I remember once my daughter was flying into the airport from her eighth grade field trip to DC.  I was supposed to pick her up since Shelby was busy with work.  Something came up, I can’t remember what it is right now, but I remember that something came up.  I was desperate – I couldn’t just leave my little girl at the airport all alone.  So I called Mark and asked him if he could go get her.  He said ‘Sure thing pal’ and headed straight there.  He even bought her ice cream on the way home while he listened to her numerous adventures in Washington.  It wasn’t until later that I found out that Mark had skipped a relatively important business meeting of his own in order to go pick her up.  I mean, this guy really put his friends and family first, even above himself.  I will forever be grateful to my best friend Mark.”  He heard the weeping arise as he left the podium to let the next person whose life was touched by this man speak.

            There was a long silence, nobody got up to speak and nobody said anything.  It was as if everyone was holding his or her breath, afraid to spoil the painted perfection that was Mark.  Right when it appeared that everyone’s lungs would burst the man in the back with the coat and hat arose.  He spoke from where he stood and his voice rung out like daggers into the hearts of those that thought they knew Mark.  “I was there with Mark that day when Mary entered our little coffee shop - in fact it was just the two of us.   Mark wasn’t working the coffee machine that day dearie, he just delivered my little flirtatious present to you.”  And with that he was out the grandiose wooden doors and into the pouring rain as a loud gasp rang throughout the assemblage and Mark turned over in his grave.

The Prodigal Son

He was sure his eyes were open, and yet couldn't see a thing.  Nothing registered, not the violent heat of the sun on the back of his pale neck, not the people hopping on the 4:15, not even the little girl tugging on his pant leg desperately trying to tell him something which meant the world to her.  Breathe.  A loud gasp as oxygen rushed into the reservoirs that were his lungs.  Things slowly returned to focus.  There were his feet, yes, two of them.  The old man opened and closed his hands slowly.  He felt as if he had just woken up and yet desperate for sleep all the same.  Exhale.  The 4:30 bus arrived, people got on, people got off.  He stood there.  There would always be another bus.  Dizziness set in.  The man reached for the bench behind him.  Finding no such relief he fell slowly, as if submerged in water.  A high pitched "clink" emitted from the back of his head as it struck the edge of the sharp metal seat that had disappeared only a second ago.  A warm sensation trickled down his back, zig-zagging through his dark brown hairs.  His heart pumped furiously, rushing blood to the wound.  Beating, beating - defining life.  He staggered to his feet, his coat weighing heavily upon his shoulders.  His clothes tightened around his limbs, trapping his very soul.  He needed relief, desperate relief.  Anything to free himself from the weight of the world.  And so at 4:59 the old man stepped off the paint chipped curb to greet the 5:00 bus and into the arms of his son.

I Am Mary

           She awoke, slowly at first, opening one eye and then the other.  As consciousness swept into her body she realized she felt stiff, oh so very stiff!  Sleeping on that hard wooden floor last night was enough to freeze up not only her back, but her arms, legs and neck as well.  As she struggled to sit up her gaze fell upon the numerous others nearby, all costumed and asleep.  “Why, there must have been some sort of party last night… I wonder what happened to my costume?”  But as hard as she tried she couldn’t remember a thing. 

            Slowly the others began to awaken as well.  Immediately she noted the stiffness in their movements.  “Grown people just shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor!” Suddenly she heard a voice, “Come along now Mary, we’re going to the party!”  Mary?  Yes, that was her name, wasn’t it?  Mary had no idea where the voice had come from though.  She had seen no ones mouth move; perhaps it had come from inside her head?  Either way the others evidently also heard the speaker as one by one they preceded towards the door.  Without even knowing it, she too was leaving, right behind the woman wearing a cat eye mask. 

            Mary piled into the back of a car with the majority of the partygoers – the front was already packed.  It was tight, but they fit with enough room for Mary to crane her neck towards the window.  The trees, the squirrels, the birds, even the people – they all fascinated Mary completely!  There was just something about them….  She decided to strike up a conversation with Cat Eyes who was perched beside her:  “So, where is this party anyways?”  For a second Mary thought Cat Eyes might have shrugged as if to say that she didn’t know, but Mary wasn’t certain.  Come to think of it, she wasn’t even certain if Cat Eyes had heard her at all.  The conversation ended there.  She craned her neck to peer outside once more. 

            Then the car stopped.  Were they there already?  Time always seemed to escape Mary.  She and the others entered a large building one by one, similarly to how they left the room so many hours ago – or had it been minutes?  Inside there was cheering.  Had she missed something?  She wasn’t sure, but then all of a sudden her whole body came to life.  Her limbs, they were working again, and the stiffness left.  It must have been the party scene – had she always been such a party animal?  She began talking to those she had arrived with.  Even Cat Eyes found something to say.  More cheering… what was going on?  Mary was too busy laughing and dancing and joking and flirting to find out.  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped. 

            Mary’s body tensed up again.  Silence as the scenery rushed by.  A door opened, a familiar room.  Why was she here again?  Wasn’t it about time to be getting home?  She tried to speak up, to ask what was going on, but nothing came out.  One by one the costumed partiers lay down to rest. 

            Then it was Mary’s turn.  The ground fell beneath her feet.  No, that wasn’t right – she was being lifted up into the air.  What was going on?  Suddenly she caught sight of something that made her shriek – well, what would have been a shriek if any sound had actually left her mouth.  There was a mirror on the wall, and just for a second Mary caught sight of herself in it.  What scared her wasn’t the fact that she had been wearing a marvelous costume all along without even knowing it; in fact, it fit so well that it looked as if it had been sown onto her body.  No, what frightened her were the strings attached to each of her limbs, and the large figure grasping them from behind her…

Four and Twenty Blackbirds Baked Into a Pie

The swing, perfect, stance, a picture of excellence, the wind at my back.  It was a perfect start to a perfect day of golfing.  Errr, until that bird got in the way...  Hole 1, stroke 1 - it was over faster than it started; the poor thing didn't stand a chance.  Line drive to the head.  I figure it heard the 'clink' of the metal striking the plastic and took off in fright.  Haha but that's totally what did him in.  He flew straight into the path of my Callaway.  What's worse was that my first thought wasn't "Oh shit, I just killed that bird," it was more along the lines of "Fuckkkk, that ball didn't go ANYWHERE."  Worse than that I decided to play through and lost another stroke hitting around the carcass.  Believe it or not I lost that day by 2 strokes...