“What’s that, Dive?” Snapped the bat-eared Captain, who was eager for a conciliatory battle: something to replace the one that never came during the day’s march.
But Dive knew better. She opted to get busy gathering her “shit” in lieu of speaking. Even a simple, “Nuthin’ ma’am,” would be an open invitation for the Captain’s pent up frustration. In fact the entire squad had gone silent in a way that eerily resembled the chilling calm before battle––for that is exactly what this was. The Captain was poised to launch a battery of verbal bombardment at any poor fool that spoke up. And just when the tide had seemed to turn for the better, a poor fool, Bri “6-pack” Jackson, belatedly entered the fray.Read More
Frothy foam floating atop steaming chemical vats
Boils, becoming warm white clouds
Climbing up cold concrete columns,
And billowing forth from icy smoke stacks.
The spouting towers stand in testimony:
An armada spanning across the horizon.
Obelisk overlords exploiting our energy addiction,
Polluting the air with grey oppression,
Forcing us to accept their overcast depression.
Snowflakes fall from the man-made melancholy.
The pleasant white specks against poignant grey
Appear to swirl about playfully on chilly eddies,
Until the warming Earth melts this frivolous fiction
And a frigid downpour dampens our hypnotic joy.
Suddenly the obelisks’ true colors show,
And the consequence of our reliance
To the parasitic dichotomy we’ve fostered
Placing Us above absolutely everything else
Has finally run its course. Read More
For months I stood there
Teetering upon the precipice;
It being clear what I should do
Yet all I would or could choose
Was to merely waste away in fear.
For years I stood like an oak
My roots digging deeper and deeper
Into fertile soil with fright,
Seeking in childish desperation
To cling to my ledge and fight the erosion
Crumbling the world around me,
And threatening to dethrone me
From my carefully constructed perch. Read More
The dull, rhythmic thud of a cane sounded throughout the chapel. Worn wood wove around the warped shaft like a mess of braided vines clinging to a tree in the forest. Attached to the crutch was an old woman whose warped spine complimented that of her cane. She hunched over the support staring at her feet as she shuffled down the aisle. Without bending her neck, she looked up under her eyebrows at the cross behind the altar.
Her entire life she had seen that poor man hanging there, clad in nothing more than torn cloth and thorns. Every Sunday she had consumed his body and imbibed his blood, swearing the sincerity of her belief in his divine martyrdom with a resolute, “Amen.” Yet today, that sincerity faltered. Read More
The beautiful song of a mother robin chirping to her hatchling wafted through the window on a warm spring breeze. The serenity of the scene was suddenly interrupted by the metallic twang of a mechanical marimba ringtone. A hand groggily reached out from under the covers to silence the violently vibrating intrusion. Its back looked like the varicose vein road map of a budding urban metropolis. The hand unfurled an index finger and repeatedly pushed against the smooth screen, blindly searching for the “snooze” button.