The clock struck twelve on Sunday’s tail.
Hypnos taunts me from a loud corner.
So I take up my sneakers and hit the road.
Drown out the gabber with a midnight stroll.
And find myself lost in the deep of woods.
Where two hoots sound behind foggy veils.
Good or bad company I welcome.
Roberto had no idea what he’d gotten himself into after the casting crew told him to strip down. The audition was for a sidekick role on a pilot of a cross-over sci-fi detective series between Sherlock Holmes meeting inter-galactic crime syndicate. He felt a slight chill in his briefs after the cameras started rolling.
“Recite these lines” commanded a female producer as she pointed to a page on the script.
“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” Roberto uttered in his best Watson imitation.
“Again” ordered the producer, “this time with rage.”
“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!” Roberto yelled, channeling Taxi driver.
“Again! With sorrow and disgust!” dictated the producer.
Several hours after the audition, an exhausted Roberto stumbled back to his flat. Upon entering, he found a DVD and letter by his TV. The video showed Roberto starring in a live-action trailer of the upcoming pilot with lines and scenes that he neither spoke nor shot in. The backside of the letter revealed a contract, signing away all rights to his façade. Dotted lines hovered below a signature, undoubtedly his. Beneath that was a simple order…
Freida and Freya touched palms before parting east and west. The twins had been inseparable since birth but the rites of royalty demanded they forge separate communities. Even so, they wished their bond to remain strong over distance and time. Praying to Ganesha, their request was answered by violent sounds of waves crashing at sea and the rumble of earth quaking atop mountains. Both elements then merged into a whirlwind which erupted between them before dissipating. The message was clear. They were to separate and unite the lands.
Selene loved waking up on Sunday mornings. Every week, her husband would pick a different vase of flowers before dawn and leave them by their bedside. Sunflowers energized them for the day. Irises strengthen their devotion and union under God. Before marriage, romance sparked all the varieties of Rose. After childbirth, new beginnings delivered her Daffodils. When she got cancer, Gladiolas gave her strength. When she beat cancer, Chrysanthemums gave her long-life. This continued until old-age and eventually her husband’s passing. On that Sunday funeral, no vase of flowers appeared. Instead, a field of colors bloomed.
The separatists drew lines in the sand after the cold-blooded assassination of their leader. Once a prosperous colony, Damos was on the verge of fracturing in two after an early winter wiped out the harvest and unyielding blizzards decimated the population. Late spring trickled in but arguments for abandoning the settlement started long before. Southward raged the young separatists who dreamt of green pastures and wild game roaming the countryside. Nay voiced the old majority who recalled nothing but desolation over those grounds from whence they traversed long ago. Two shots were fired at the pulpit and mayhem ensued. By next spring, there were no survivors.
The house had a long line of owners. Twelve families in all from counts and dukes, merchants and bankers, to peasants and squatters. It outlasted fires and floods, mice and bugs, several wars even. The newest owner however was a real-estate mogul who wanted to raze the area and erect a skyscraper. Hiring a team of demolishers, the titan planned for a huge spectacle on the fourth of July. The fateful day arrived but miraculously, no demolition took place for the stock market had crashed and land value plummeted. Liquidating the assets, the government took ownership but eventually gave it up to nature by which the house promptly collapsed to rest in peace.