zachmichelini
Her lips moved as the sea at sunset, with a beauty and randomness of waves clapping down upon her face. Whenever they parted, a dark cavern awoke to accept another dripping olive. I wonder, as I look back upon that moment now, whether she had swallowed them or not, for I remember specifically that she did not spit once in the entire duration of our meeting.
Somewhere between improbable and unjust lies an idea that at first glance seems utterly simplistic, even idiotic, in it's vehicle for change. These ideas are the million dollar notions of intelligence and virtue, those which make you utterly in contempt of yourself for not being the one to see such an evident and glaring beacon of ingenuity for what it is, a happenstance of creativity. Such an occurrence is similar to quantum activity, more based on probability that of something corporeal or tangible. Yet there are those that try and try, and because of those stubborn personalities there are those that achieve what most can only dream of, actually beating the odds so incredibly stacked against you, and making you, the receiver, better or worse because of it.
Infrequent trips tend to leave a pin-sized hole in one's reasonably twisted sense of longevity. If one is to believe in such a thing, astrology states that these trips can be affected by singularly being born on a specific day. The trips can be full or empty, tidy or flamboyant, but always short, too brief, too guiltless in their wealth to tip the scales in our favor. We should extend our trips and pull the drawstrings of our intelligence, and in that we will find the answer to lingering questions of soul and philosophy. We can find what it means to have been meant for something meaningful.
We went about collecting the various supplies we needed, a task that long ago became such a chore that sometimes we considered stopping, seeing how long we could last without them just to end the incomprehensibly boring rut of daily life we had created for ourselves. That's not totally accurate, it wasn't us that had made this life the only life possible. It was them, them that destroyed everything that had provided endlessly for us all the way back into oblivion. They now had to live this life with us. We happened upon groups of them from time to time, the only possible punishment acting in complete ignorance of them, to us they did not exist. They called out to us, seeking the simplest of human wants, basic conversation, recognition, but we did not budge. Because of them there was nothing left to celebrate. There were no more holidays. There was only survival in it's most brutal and inescapable form. For that they no longer lived, they, just ghosts marching across the plains, as barren as the Earth itself, forever alone.
A familiar melody played itself out from tinny, under powered, unseen speakers in the waiting room of my soul. I've sat here many times, completely absent of any nervousness, apprehension, or fear. The thing is, I hate sitting here. It seems like every time I get in to see myself, I'm quickly ushered out of the office and handed a bill, and boy do they pile up. Just as soon as I think I've figured it all out, I'm sitting there in those overly comfortable leather chairs, I stand from behind the overly large desk, shaking my hand and saying that I will see me soon, very soon! Then I'm seen to the overly mahogany door, and it's not slammed, but imperatively closed as if it had an urgent appointment with carpenter. Another decade goes by and I'm back again, waiting, with as much patience as a stalking cat, waiting to see if I'll finally transcend this existence, hoping, and waiting.
Instinctively, the slight pressure variation he sensed meant only one thing. The direction of the world was about to change, and like the sunrise every morning inevitably comes the sunset. As if the sky was falling, he began to wonder if this was the last time the tiny bits of sustenance would float by and filter through his rather soft body. Every day was a ball of worry and stress because his mind could really only comprehend a couple hours at a time, if that even. Somehow he came to an idea that could have been new, but as I have just mentioned his brain only remembers a very small window of time, but in any event he decided if this were to his last day on Earth, he should probably attempt to reproduce. So began the internal processes that would culminate in the release of thousands of sperm into the tide, the little guys swimming blind, hoping that the ocean gods would lead them to another sponge, and that this sponge be a "woman".
It was late summer, just when the unbearably hot days began to slowly give way to a smattering of cloudy days and chilly nights. This was one of those nights, a sparse but cold wind blew the very first bunch of fallen leaves, harbingers of what would come soon enough. I was walking, not with any destination in mind, just out to clear my head and try to forget. Her departure was as sudden as an alarm clock shouting at you early in the morning, although things had seemed right and good, it goes to show that you cant ever take anyone for granted. I was constantly distracted, and for someone whose mindset is ruled by the ability to concentrate in nearly any situation, I was quite unnerved. Now everything reminded me of her, from the ancient street lamp to the crooked sign bearing the name of the random avenue I happened to be walking down, even the damned roses, the dried petals hanging on for dear life.
You wear a coat of armor which is shielding below it a chastity belt, immediately surrounded by small wire fence, where on first examination seems to be quite docile but in fact many thousand volts run like raging rivers through its unseen tributaries. Just outside of this lies buried in coarse gravel, hundreds of mines, some manufactured in factories that produce a service that includes death and dismemberment, some crafted by hand, each contributing to the aforementioned ends. Within sight of this field wielding not crops but seeds of pain, exists a brutal pack of pit bulls, irish wolfhounds, and many other manner of third generation feral and hungry beasts, their innate gentleness systematically bred out from underneath them as one would pull a tablecloth from below many earthenware dishes sitting precariously on a table. On more than one occasion I found myself bearing a pack full of tools, each one necessary and designed to combat this defense or that. I stood just outside of the clearing and watched the feral packs through binoculars, waiting for the right moment to make my move, hoisting many steaks and live rabbits from my bag. The rabbits immediately captured the attention of the more apt guardians, running into then dense forest to chase after them, while the more docile wolfhounds remained steadfast in their charge. A few well placed steaks bought me the time I needed to make my way to the killing fields. Knowing full well the dangers of following me into the deadly gravel, the temporarily sated wolfhounds just stood and watched, soon becoming bored and looking back into the forest beyond the clearing, forgetting me altogether. I gently took from my pack, in three pieces, a collapsible metal detector with a useful full color screen, and quickly snapped the pieces into place. Carefully, I scanned the ground while staring at the small screen, avoiding each carnivorous plant before me. Soon I came to the fence, looking so insignificant with it's tiny strands connected at intervals with small fence posts. From within my bag I pulled a pair of thick, lined and padded leather gloves and put them on, also pulling out the rubber coated wire-cutters that I would be using on the small wires stretched out in front of me. With a few short snaps the once electrified fence fell to the ground, now inert. I saw you standing before me, statuesque in your defensive vigil. I walked up to you and began dismantling your suit of armor one piece at a time, until you stood before nearly naked except for the last line of defense, your heavily constructed chastity belt, and looked into your eyes. You put up no resistance as I pulled the last item from my bag, a large and very old iron key, which found itself in the only place it was ever meant to be, inside of the keyhole on the rugged metal diaper. It turned easily and, almost as if it was never one piece to begin with, fell into fragments around your feet. You still stood and without any malice stared into my eyes, and I slowly put my arms around your waist, not pulling but easing you into my chest. I closed my eyes and held you, finding myself in the place I had always wished to be but never thought I would actually make it to, and I felt a happiness that overcame me. I never noticed your arms, which up to this point hung harmlessly at your sides, slowly moving up to my shoulders, then finding their place and resting for a moment. As I held you I began to feel the pressure, expecting an embrace, instead feeling a gap open between us as you pushed ever harder, the fault line growing until it ran the length of our bodies, and I saw in your eyes the same look you gave me when I reached your inner circle. You kept pushing and now I was at arms length, feeling the first pangs of despair, the ones that start small but soon cause you to buckle over in pain. You pushed until my arms no longer touched you at all, and you kept pushing. I found myself stepping through the fence, no longer helpless and inert, and my body vibrated with each volt that passed through every pathway in my body leaving a charred and blackened trail wherever it ran. You continued pushing and soon I found myself stepping on the first of many bulbs of death, those that did not grow from the ground magically year after year, but those whose flowers only lasted moments, their bright colors and smells cold be seen for miles. I was broken into piece after piece as you pushed me through your killing fields, until I finally made it through the gravel and back to where I had started. The hounds, having already forgotten their previous meal, found those many pieces of me and began to fight among themselves over me, each eventually finding that there was plenty of me to go around, thus lying down in the grass and chewing the parts of me not already eaten by the others in the frenzy. Now that there was nothing left of me, your arms slowly retracted back to your sides and you armor floated from the ground and remade itself anew. I watched you from the hundred points of view I now possessed and realized for the first time, I had lost my chance before I even had it. You knew your defenses were penetrable and you let me through, only push be back through all of the one by one until it was as if I had never known you at all.
Some objects that are used in daily life have a certain connotation, one's mind immediately finds an image and a use for whatever it may be. We all infer as a product of our mental reasoning, which is and isn't a bad thing. It can be good when one is in need of speedy decision making, and it can be bad if that fast decision ends up being the wrong one. If you were to wake up and draw your curtains, seeing blue skies and sun, an umbrella would be the last tool you would feel the need to utilize, but, if times were different, and by different I mean of a bygone era or place, that very same umbrella becomes a tool for use in this very weather I have just spoken of, becoming a parasol, transforming into the opposite of what your mind has already inferred.
There was this faint shimmering, so faint that I was barely sure it was real and not just my eyes playing tricks on me. I decided to investigate, so I felt my way along the wall and rounded the corner, coming upon yet another extremely dark hallway of sorts. I could not make out the other wall, but I sensed it, not wanting to leave the safety of the wall I was clinging to. Then the noise started again. Almost like the eternal scratch then fuzz of a record left unattended, but somehow amplified and full of a deep bass. It seemed to be coming from behind me, so I continued forward, feeling with my hands and feet as the hallway gradually became completely black again, then all of the sudden the sound stopped and I saw something. There was this faint shimmering, so faint that I was barely sure it was real and not just my eyes playing tricks on me.
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