The Man in the Coffee ShopThe man who works at the coffee shop looks like you. I noticed this some time ago and have since frequented the place. He recognizes me now. He smiles at me when I come in. His smile even looks like yours. He doesn't say hey though- you always said hey.The Man in the Coffee Shop4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I still work at the library even though you're not there.
Sometimes I look over to your desk and expect to see you typing at your computer, but someone else is there now. It's not you.
Sometimes someone will come in who looks like you. Maybe he will have the same hair, same stature, same profile, same laugh, same voice. It's never been you.
Sometimes I drive myself crazy. I pull at my hair and scream 'till my lungs burst. I scream for and at you. I ask how you could have left me here.
Sometimes I allow myself to believe that I will see you again. By chance we will run into each other in a Wal-Mart far away.
I go to the coffee shop on Tuesday afternoons. I order a small chai tea with milk.
Sometimes the man is working at th
Burger QueenShe ate her French fries as if she were high society. She cut each one into small pieces with her plastic fork and knife, then pierced one with her fork and dipped it into her side of ketchup. Then she raised it to her mouth and nibbled it. When she went to take a drink from her small Coke, she did so with her pinky raised and only drank in small sips. She set her drink down gently, as if it were a delicate china cup she was afraid of breaking.Burger Queen2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I looked around and sighed. The burger joint reeked of humanity. Grease hung in the air like humidity, and there was tension between everyone, as if all the customers were negative magnets repelling each other. No one looked into each other's eyes, not even the cashier's. People said their orders to the menu above the counter. And it was so loud. There were too many noises—children screaming, cash registers clanging, and fries sizzling as they were dipped into vats of boiling oil. My muscles were tense and my hair bristled. Why d
Tragedy of ExistenceThe world is but a playTragedy of Existence1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Exercised by random
A dance of the untamed
People being tossed about
In determined chaos
By delusions of control
The biomechanical minds
Inventors of meaning
The abusers of time
Billions of egocentric
We crawl like animals
With eyes full of dust
Everyone a falling star
In Tragedy of existence
SilenceIt is thereSilence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When I ask if he still loves me
And the rebounding quiet screams
His unspoken response.
And the occasional reluctant verbal translations:
"I don't want to talk about this"
"We are not having this conversation"
Codify this as the official language of our domestic domain.
"Only silence is spoken here."
It is there
When I ask my child:
"Why have you done this thing?
Endangered yourself, hurt me, hurt others,"
And her reply consists only of a murderous glare.
How dare I break the house rule and speak the forbidden tongue?
And I'm left to wonder if she even cares.
Do my words even matter?
Am I even here at all?
It is there
When my best ideas are offered aloud.
Did I misinterpret the fact that I was elected to this position?
Was it a perception of reticence that was my sole qualification?
My words echo off the walls in the absence of noise that follows,
Meriting nary even an acknowledgment,
Just the deafening roar of soundlessness
Admonishing me for
Breaking this hallowed silence