Awoken by a dream at 8:30am

They enter the city by gliding the boat ashore, using the momentum they had gained from the water.  As they skid to a stop, they take in the city.  They find it strange how much it resembles there home, though it's so different.

The mother turns from the steering wheel and looks down into the hull.  There's her baby boy, lying in their waste.  How did they create so much garbage?  It fills the entire boat.  Maybe the boy shouldn't be lying in it, but he can't be moved.  He's too weak, and she needs a plan.  Her husband is out there, right now, trying to find sustenance for them.  She could wait for him, or she could go herself.  She looks at her daughter, at the cheekbones jutting though her matted blonde hair.  Yes, she would go herself.

As the mother and daughter walk toward the town,  they look for signs of life along the road.  The girl can barely walk, she's so weak, and the hunger seems to have started in on her brain.  The mother takes her hand and half-drags her.  The walk seems never-ending along the life-less expanse.  The mother is not much stronger than the child, she just has more will-power.  She can convince her body that it's stronger than it really is.

They reach the town, and the contrast of its prosperity against their hunger seems absurd.  There must be food for them somewhere here.  The mother feels the bundle of bills in her pocket and sighs at their uselessness.  They wonder through the streets and find wide smiles and laughter, but no food.  They find people rejoicing, oblivious.  How can there be such happiness, the mother wonders, while we are in such hell?  Soon she loses hope, and her strength is nearly spent.  So, she lets her body wonder back toward the boat that holds her son, daughter in tow.

As they leave the town, the two notice a pasture on the left, with a low wooden fence around it.  They certainly didn't see this on the way in.  They stop to get a look and see with their squinting eyes animals grazing.  Life!  The daughter tugs at her mothers skirt, pointing out the eggs lining the fence.  She picks one up with one little hand, sticking the other one in her shirt.  She pulls out a small white egg to compare to the one from the ground.  The white egg looks plain and fragile next to the sparkling, jeweled egg from the fence, but it hadn't broke all this time.  The girl looks up at her mother, and they both smile.  Perhaps there is hope for them after all!

The two turn from the fence with confidence and head toward the boy they'd left behind.  A figure appears on the left of their path.  The mother turns to see a chocolate colored young man with European features in a chocolate robe, holding a scythe.  She swings around and circles her arms around the chest of her bony child.  The man rolls his eyes at her futile gesture and holds his arms out to them.  The girl's feet lift into the air as the mother screams is despair.  He pulls her little soul out through her little feet, leaving her lifeless body to fall to the ground.  Her mother sobs over the little body, as Death turns toward the boat.  "No!" the mother screams.  "Don't take my son, too!"

Death stops and turns to her with a laugh.  "You're son?  He's been dead for days."

It Rained Last Night

It's funny how rain brings out the stench in everything. Though, everything stinks to me, when I've only had a couple hours of sleep.

Funny, many people think it's best to sacrifice as much sleep as possible, as long as you can keep functioning. But it really makes the world foggy, and my brain fidgety.

I can't tell if I'm depressed or content. Is that bad? Maybe I'm neither, what would that be? Floating in apathy?

I don't know, though. I can tell I'm feeling something, it's just blurry. Disappointment, that much is clear. Somehow the daily disappointments that should be the norm are starting to wear me down.

Autumn

"Am I crushing you?" It's my signature question. It never makes sense. I can smell that it's colder now. I'd need a jacket, if I weren't numb from alcohol. I don't feel ready for fall, even though it's my favorite season. It always makes me heavy. I was just getting in the mood to fall in love, but now the feeling's tinted auburn.

That smell reminds me of school. Sinking down into studies, bundling into your mind. I don't feel ready for my mind. I liked ignoring it for the summer -- mindless bounty and restless nights. I don't want to go into introspection, because I'm afraid of what I might discover. No, I'm afraid of what I won't discover. I've thought so much, I've lost track of where I started. What is all this thinking for, if it doesn't relate to action? My head feels infinite, and I'm always getting lost in it, forgetting why I was thinking in the first place.

"No." He's not sure what to think of my question; it seems out of place to him. It is. But I can't find my thoughts right now. All I know is that I like the closeness. I wish I could have the closeness without the complication, and, right now, I can. So I exhale my heavy thoughts and see if I can see him in the sky.

"You guys ready to go?" I'm shocked by the sudden presence of another person. Time to move. My limbs push through the air like deep water -- I wish I could go for a swim. Close my eyes, empty my lungs, and sink to the bottom. Let go of my muscles, be surrounded, submit. Whoops, better concentrate. He'll think I bumped into him on purpose. Maybe I did. But I feel the intimacy slipping away with my consciousness. I want to hold on a little longer. It wasn't enough. Maybe I do want a little complication. Simplicity is overrated.

A Mother

I look around the tiny cottage and see that every little thing is in its place. There's not too much clutter, and every little piece in each little corner was carefully selected for that spot, all collected from the 60-odd years of her life. Even the place is a perfect fit. How did she find a cottage in the middle of New York anyway? And this picnic table in the kitchen section of the room with one candle and a wooden bowl from Japan full of dark chocolate almonds from the co-op on it. The careful selection and planning isn't abundantly obvious, however. It is so well done, it all looks natural and effortless.

She picks at the edges of the hand-woven potholder on the table, flipping it over and over. "Tell me what you like about school," there's some kind of yearning in the glance at her son, but she offers me one as well, for politeness's sake. I smile back and let her get the answer from the person she's actually interested in. She could never see a single flaw in him; she agrees with all of his opinions and ideas. She acts as if she is madly in love with him. "Do you like your tutors?" She pours us both more wine. "Well, you never know, maybe he has something going on at home," her motherly instinct wants to deny all that's negative in the world and hold it far from her sweet child. But he takes it as an attack; she's taking his side. "You're right, honey, I'm so sorry. I have such a bad habit of making excuses for everyone..." She looks at me. I stare at her face, trying to see her genetic make-up. This child of hers could hurl insults at her all day long, all his life for that matter, in a pathetic tantrum and her love for him wouldn't even flinch.

With more strain in her face, trying to give me the same kind of attention, she asks me something. I take it as a sweet gesture, but, knowing I could never withstand that kind of love, I mumble the question away. I just want to observe her more, so I offer a subject for them to continue on. She bums a cigarette from him. I find it sort of adorable, the way she adores him. She's even willing to give herself cancer in order to feel closer to him.

Looking at them, I feel an envy swell up in my chest. I bum a cigarette from him as well and start to pull at the strings of the potholder.

An Addendum

And what is it with men and marriage anyway? They laugh and scoff at women because they supposedly spend their entire lives thinking about marriage. Then, when the thought suddenly strikes their dull minds, they marry the very next woman they come across. Just like that. I mean, really, it is just ridiculous.