BC | By the Vending Machines by Flutterbest, literature
BC | By the Vending Machines
There are a lot of machines in the city. Some big, some small, some people and in direct contrast with their decrepit image, alive. They're really the only things that still seem alive at nighttime when the overcast blues and ruddy metals of the neighborhoods all melt into one unintelligible shade of midnight. Humans still mill about in the evenings, but there is a certain quiet even in the cheers from the pig pens or screaming from the depths. Each scenario is wrapped into its own bubble of late hour serenity simply waiting to be popped by daybreak.
It was always in one of these bubbles I found myself there with you. The lights from those m
A shadow snuck over the already dark colors in the divots of my sleeves and the silhouette of my own figure on the table. I dared to peek out from behind the fabric again. Henry was there of course, smiling down at me as per usual.
"Hey, Ibby," he said.
Finally I forced myself to fully lift my head away from the comfort of my sweater and fell back against the back of the chair, stretching my arms out in front of me and pressing my palms down on the hardwood lest I instantly collapse after letting out the chestful of air I'd collected—which I was positive was the only thing keeping me upright. "Hi," I managed.
Henry was unperturbed an
I sat quietly, my arms outstretched on the table in front of me. My head was nestled in between them. The cool wood brushing against my hands and chin was a strangely pleasant contrast to the soft warmth of the sweater cradling my forehead. I guess without realizing it I had become accustomed to that spot.
My eyes fluttered open at the bright chime of bell above the bookstore’s entrance. I peeked over the fluffy folds of fabric at the door. I could just barely see Henry as he walked in, smiling like always. I had become accustomed to that too, to him. That had been what I wanted for a good while but it still felt bizarre. My head sunk
Huh? Isn’t there something missing here? How did this happen? These questions took up the majority of my thoughts as I stood alone under the beating sun. The flimsy alcove of the bus stop provided little shade to stop my clearly heat-stricken delirium.
“Hey!” Henry’s voice called out from behind. I turned haltingly to face him. He was still running up the small hill to meet me when I saw him. He smiled and handed me a water bottle. I couldn’t help thinking he was the one who actually needed it. “Sorry for making you wait.”
“No problem,” I replied. “Thanks.”
“Ah I think
I open my eyes
Surprised to be in the same place I fell asleep
Close them again
This familiarity so unknown to me I could just weep
How the time flies
But I feel like I haven’t even unpacked, haven’t lived here yet
Boxes piled up like past sighs
I’m waiting for them to be moved and put in order again
I’m seeking a place I won’t be alone
A place like the somewhere and nowhere we just met
Each new thing better than all I’ve already seen
Even so I can’t say I’m able to speak these things without regret
With all the places I’ve been
You would think I’d be smarter than to try explainin
I peeked over Olivia’s shoulder as she flipped through the pages of a magazine. Vibrant photos of sparkling beaches and glistening ocean flew by under the quick flicks of the cashier’s thumb. She barely noticed the chime of the bell when Henry walked in. I glanced over Olivia’s growing stack of muttered grievances, and saw him raise a questioning eyebrow. I shrugged.
“What are you guys looking at?” He asked aloud. Olivia groaned and waved him over. She turned the magazine to show him and swiped her fingers over the page, letting them linger dreamily.
“Ahh I wish I could be there,” she whined. She le
The way two people can
And want to stay together
It’s always seemed so
And much rarer than what people make it out to be
Friendships that last a lifetime
And a constant shoulder to cry on
I wish it were possible to
And already know you that well
Perhaps if we had met earlier
It wouldn’t be so hard
But this snail’s pace is hard
And starting to bore me
How long it takes
After all it was only the other day
I found out your name
But I’ll hold out if need be
Promise myself we’ll get to
Counting my steps along the sidewalk
Repeating the same words
They’re meant for you but are kept
Mostly to myself
I thought that moment was just one
So it was alright to play out
These different scenes
With you and me
But you keep showing up here
And we continue to meet
It seems only fair that we’d speak
Just a little
More than that
I’d like to know you
Just a little
Learn how to read the pages of your book
Before that I have to learn
What’s the perfect “Good morning”
What’s the right “Hello”
I have to practice my speech again tonight
Walking down the street to the place where
I scanned the wall of books in front of me, letting my fingertips skim along the covers. My eyelids felt particularly heavy that morning and I had to fight to keep my concentration. I blinked several times trying to wash the sleep away before picking out a random book from the shelf. The small synopsis on the back of the novel flew past my vision and I shrugged to myself, figuring I’d give it a shot. I glanced down the aisle and nearly jumped out of my skin. A tall boy with short, scruffy hair was coming up the walkway.
In my startled panic I ended up violently smacking my hand against the nearby shelf and dropping my book. The boy sta
I ran my fingers along the row of book spines lining the shelf in front of me. Every so often my feet would have to shift a step or two to keep up. My eyes scanned the covers rapidly, perfectly in sync with my hand, but I barely registered any of the titles blurring past my vision. Suddenly a rough cloth-like texture brushed against my skin and I brought my hand to a stop. Almost robotically, I pulled out the beat up volume. I ran my thumb over the cover again and looked at it a bit more closely, tapping my fingers against the back of the book. Eventually I let it fall to my side and began making my slow descent through the odd, staircasing a
WoM Happy Hour | Gone Fishing by Flutterbest, literature
WoM Happy Hour | Gone Fishing
It was a brisk, snowy day as usual in Whitefall and the townsfolk drifted leisurely over the streets as they went on with their daily routine. Among them a red cloaked figure scuttled gallantly, stopping every now and then to adjust his hat lest it spill the precious tea inside it. He waved his flipper and squawked amiably at anyone he passed but didn’t slow down to talk. He was on a very important mission.
Soon the nobleman could see his destination sitting invitingly on the horizon, a humble fishing hut on the water. He walked up to it and threw open the door without hesitation. The small seal sitting on a shelf nearby looked annoyed,
"The Bubble Lotus, also known as the Morgan Lily, is an aquatic plant that lives in deep water. It has two protective layers that shield the blossom from water but when light shines near you can see past them and witness the beautiful flower."
The Morgan Lily
There is a myth surrounding the Bubble Lotus of an enchanting water nymph, Morgan. Morgan lived in a time ages past, a time when it was believed the water nymphs could not survive out of the water. She lived in a small, peaceful pond where small, peaceful fish would gather and bask in her warmth and beauty. She was rather contented with this life and didn’t think of ever leaving i