Timmy woke up with a start, it was those noises from beneath his bed again. He wanted to run to mommy’s room and cuddle up near her. But he knew the strange man would scold mommy and mommy would scold him. And he would be back in the bed and the noises would continue. Timmy was tired and sick of the noises. He got out of the bed and pulled his wooden sword out of his mattress. He scrunched his face to make it look scary, held his sword hard and pulled up the bedsheet and peered under the bed. There was no monster there. But there was a door and it opened onto darkness. Where had the door come from? Timmy took his flashlight and pointed it at the door. There was a wooden staircase, he climbed down. After a long silent climb down he reached the basement floor. The basement was huge, his flashlight could not find the walls or the ceiling. Continue reading
Are you asking for Mother?
Well, you won’t find her here. You can search all you want.
Go look into her closet that smells of rotten berries and starch.
Raze her bed; raze it off the sickly sweet whiff that permeates from the sheets.
Take a peek inside the kitchen; you won’t witness her breaking that soft loaf of bread,
Her ample behind busying itself around the kitchen, fretting over the crumbs, a sweet song lilting off her luscious lips while her legs tiptoe in a light tread.
You won’t find her here, just like the cops didn’t.
What happened to Mother, you ask?
Oh that’s easy, she ate herself into a tizzy and then dissolved in a whirlpool of pity.
Do you think I am joking, about my own Mother?
Oh, you didn’t see what I saw?
And you didn’t do what Father did?
At first, it was the song that perished on her lips. It died, died in her tongue because she bit it enough to bleed and burn.