September 26, 2009

  • (no, this isn't the next installment either. I'll write it soon, Kaz, I promise)

         I became a writer because I wanted to see God.
         You know, God? The way you wake up on a cold morning, glance out the newly breath-stained window and smile weakly at the way the piss-yellow sunlight (on the days you've happened to actually bothered to drink the right amount of water, for whatever reason) compliments the cool steel outside your window and the filter that smoke makes as it wafts through.
         Or you've walked into someone's room and they've painted this little girl across their walls, in too many shades of metallic gray; she spiders across the wood, breaching the corners with those downturn eyes, the fabrics of her being unraveling in the frozen moment. He said he'd painted her so that even when he started rotting from not being found, life wouldn't be able to escape him.
         Or the crumpled sheets at the pitch of night as she trails her arm along his, hearing his pounding heart and hoping it's to chase her should she run away. The spiderweb strands of her hair trail lightly onto his face, clinging a hold of the brunette wire that grows from him. The top of his head has started to try curling, but it hasn't grown out long enough yet. He's staring toward the ceiling, his leg on hers so to frame her body, balanced between the task of grasping and falling off the side of the bed.
         But it seems God would rather show than gift.

     

     

     

    cleangene17 (7:58:41 PM): Jonathan, are you out there?

    cleangene17 (8:03:23 PM): We' re going to have to borrow about 40.00 dollars from your account because we just don't have enough money foe gas or food for.next week, so please don't take any out.  I am sorry about our emergency...  please send a quick IM back so that I know you got this.