Behind Closed Door

It had become very quiet in that big, ageing house after everyone had left, and presently Lydia sat in the large, draped bedroom, listening to that pressing silence. She was used to it now. Years of loneliness taught her to be, but that’s not to say that she didn’t, occasionally, hear things, some of which, she had often thought, might be purely imagined. All the same she felt a bit of a kinship with the place, it being almost as old and empty as she was.

She watched the moon hanging outside her window and sighed. Oh, how she missed Henry. It was such a pity that he had died so young.

Several creaking sounds, seeming very loud in contrast to the silence, stirred her from her musings. They sounded familiar, quite a bit like the hallway stairs, she got up to see if a cat, or perhaps a homeless man had somehow crept in, but when she reached the stairs there was nothing. Perhaps it had only been a rat.

Then she heard a shuffling from behind the door at the top. What if it where a burglar? The thought made her nervous. She tried to creep up the dark staircase as quietly a she could, and held on with both hands to the railing.

At length she reached, and, with a shaky hand, reached for the door. The knob was cold against he fingertips, but it did not affect her, she was already a little chilled, and as she turned it she wondered why the thought of her dead husband had just reappeared in her mind.

Umbrella Boy

Note:
I DID NOT WRITE THIS, my sister did, I did sort of help come up with the story, which is part of why I’m posting it. The other reason is that this kid is one of my favorite characters of all time. Sadly, he was completely borrowed, neither me or my sister came up with the original idea of him. We did change him a bit, though. Any-who, the whole reason for this note is that I didn’t want to accidently be taking credit for things that aren’t mine.

Oh, and the reason I did the pictures is that she did it in this really neat format so that it looks like a worksheet or an assignment or something. You’ll have to click on them to make them big enough to read, sorry.







“Tami! He’s here!”

“I’ll be down there in a second mom!”

Tamela walked down the staircase in her light olive green dress. Her hands where covered with elbow length Wight opera gloves. Braden thought she was beautiful. He pushed his fears and nerves away and held out his hand. She took it and they walked out to the waiting car. They drove for a long while till they reached the creek, Then climbed out of the car, and Braden looked to the sky.

“I wish I had an umbrella,” he said quietly but cheerfully.

Clouds rolled away to reveal a silver moon. A huge black umbrella flew from the moon towards them. He caught it in mid air and popped it open, then set the umbrella upside down on the water, handle up. It looked like a strange cane floating above the surface.

“Shall we?” He asked. Tami grinned as Braden stepped onto the slick surface of the umbrella. He held out his hand and helped her step onto it with him. They sat and Braden shoved off the bay with his foot. The two sailed in their umbrella-boat under an arch of trees. As they passed under the dormant branches they exploded into pink blossoms, leaving a magical trail behind them.

Other stars

Sometimes it happens, always when the sky is darkened to a deep blue-black, and a star touches the earth. I breath in the fairy dust it leaves behind, and save it in my heart. It is almost time. We are almost there. As for those of us who wait, we are ready.

And the night reaches dawn.

Baby Kitties

Mommy says
We are going to my neighbor’s house
To see new baby kitties.
The wheels on my trike
Make funny noises against
My neighbor’s rocky driveway.
Then I go in with my mommy
And there’s a paper box
With funny noises coming from it.
They sound squeaky
Like my bath toys.
I walk over to see inside
And there is pink and white and grey
Roly poly things all next to
The most cutest kitty ever
And I say, “What are these?”
And stick my finger out at them.
“Those are the baby kitties,”
Says Mommy.
I feel a tickle in my insides
And laugh.
“Those aren’t kitties,”
I says,
“No fur!”
“They are too little to have much fur,”
Says Mommy.
I poke one and it is soft
Like our new baby brother
And the mommy cat is mad so I
Poke a different one
And the mommy cat is mad
So I almost poke her
But my mommy says to stop
And I am good
So I stop.
When we leave
I ask Mommy when the babies
Will turn into kitties.
Mommy says in
Some days
and maybe
I will have one of them.

Online

I definitely am a gamer, but I never play at school, anything computer there is painful. To many people, to many eyes. I can’t get away with anything. Even typing’s bad there. It’s not like I didn’t learn, I had to at one point, but it’s been so long now all I can do is hunt and peck. It makes me feel like an idiot. Here’s this computer genius, this total geek, typing slower than your typical third grader.

But then I think of when I was first learning to type the way I really do, and how all my thoughts used to spill out onto the page. I’ve got all that down now, all tamed with practice, and now I only dump words down like that when I actually want to, like if I’m getting a really amazing idea, or when I just need to brainstorm. Then I reach into my pocket and settle my hand against my iPhone. Touch screens are incredibly easy to penetrate and work with, it gives me great control. I find the notes app without really thinking and start letting it flow. All I have to do is keep my hand in my pocket against my partner in crime, and everything else for that matter, because when I touch anything with computer chips and circuits, even if it’s not a touch screen, I’m in complete control. Unless, of course, I get a little to...absorbed.

Petty Remarks

My pet is doing her strange ritual again. She does it every sunrise. I have not yet ventured to understand it, and I decide, for lack of anything better to do, to study it today. She is doing something with her bit of mane. Is she grooming it perhaps? It is such a small patch of fur, it doesn’t seem much worth the bother of grooming; but, I suppose, it’s all she has. I often pity my pets for the lack of pelt.

She is using something long and flat and, on a wider end of it stick things protrude from the surface. It looks rather painful. Perhaps she is doing a form of penance for her wrongdoings. No, not every sunrise and she is not intelligent enough to think to do so anyhow. I remain with my former hypothesis of grooming.

She pulls the thing through her mane in repeated up and downward motions. As she makes these motions she recites sounds from their primitive language. The sounds are familiar ones but they are not any of the few words I have been able to learn such as food, no, goodcat, and badcat. “Won, too, three, for” she says. She continues for a very long time then ends with “wonhundred” and puts the pointy tool down, stops staring into the shiny, rectangular dish of still water that is mounted on the wall, and turns to me.

“Wont sum food, Oreo?” I am not entirely sure what she means to say, but I hear “food” and my name (or “Oreo”, what they think is my name) and I kindly show her to the place I store my food. I watch her as she serves me. My pets are so ignorant, but they serve me well. I suppose I shall keep them in spite of their strange habits.

Rain Dance

Large round droplets tap against the windowpane, and tiptoe over the lawn like black cat’s feet. The air is sweet with the smell of earth and sky as the dripping creates visible music in the puddles.

A longhaired girl dances through the miniature ponds and towering trees. Bliss rushes into her open heart below the weeping heavens.