kate312
Texture. Textiles. Bathroom floor tiles. Textures in a rubbly manner, as if visiting the bathroom is like visiting the pebbled beach. Tred carefully on the textured floor tiles.
Dehydrated ice cream, that's space food. Don't let them make you think it's anything exciting. Go for the real ice cream from the little shop down the street. I mean, maybe not everything is quite as neat as it seems.
The tin can lingered atop the dusty medicine cabinet shelf. I reached for it, and I felt the grimy sticky residue under my fingerpads. Inside, they thought, were bandages. Simple bandages in an old tin bandage time. Oh, they were wrong.
Crust will make your hair curly, or so my grandmother said. Cut the crusts of my sandwich, I always requested. But the crusts are what make your hair curly! She spoke slyly, trying to convince little old me to eat those nasty crusts. I don't care, I'd say, because I never wanted curly hair, just a de-crusted sandwich.
The beer distributor truck pulled into the parking lot. My buddy and I watched it mosey along across the parking spaces. Harmless, it would seem. Not going fast enough to startle anybody really, except for the chipmunk that chose to scurry across the parking lot at that time, right in front of those giant, slowly rolling tires.
First base! The crowd roared, waving their orange and off-orange pendants. "The Basball Players have reached first base! A first in the history of the Baseball Players!" An odd team name, yes, but not quite as odd as their mascot, the tent worm.
The cat ate the entire batch of cornish hens, which was the dinner party's entree. He was found later, vomiting in the hallway. And so the party began, no cornish hen for dinner, but there was cat puke in the hallway.
On the sand, white like the polar bear's coat. She scooped it, and closed her eyes as the sand fell gently between the spaces of her fingers. Her eyes opened to examine the beauty. A ruby, more brilliant than anything. Her hand slid the ruby into her pocket, allowing some sand to fall in as well.
away flotsam away away into the sun away into the horizon drifting away away away...away like a feather. away like a leaf.
The residue of the old scotch tape lingered on my Great Aunt's chest of drawers. She died in her house, and this is what I got. Crappy. Old. Furniture. Now, I didn't really know her-- other than the delicious peanut butter cookies she made for Christmas. Christmases before my tenth birthday of course, when our family all still got together for those holidays and stuff.
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writing since 2011 · 43 entries · 43 days shown up
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