Quiver full of bullet tipped arrows.
The bow of aluminum my dad made in high school.
I step into the sunlight on the south side of the house.
I don't know why I pull the bowstring
back to my eye, aim upward, and loose.
Straight above my head.
And the voice said,
"You are a most common creature,
though of a peculiar people."
The Sun glints off the arrow's shaft.
I shade my eyes and wonder how long
before the arrow hits me. How long before
I step aside. How long to decipher a riddle
from a lipless voice.
Now I'm 16.
These days, I fire two arrows above my head.
Bring back that voice.
One arrow. Two seconds la
HOW TO CREATE A HAUNTED TREE
1. Marry someone you don't love.
If you are already in a loveless marriage, you can skip this step.
2. Bring up the subject of moving with your spouse.
Prepare a list or reasons you want to move. Pick someplace very far away, ideally in another country. Be firm but not impatient, do not seem over eager. Tie up any loose ends, ship possessions ahead and be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Expect this step to take some time.
3. Create a garden in the backyard.
Mention to your spouse how relaxing gardening is, and point out that it will raise the value of your home. If you do not have a yard, locate a s
Janice didn't rush towards the dome wall. She limped as fast as she could, shifting weight to her good foot, painfully moving forward. She splayed her hands on the transparent wall and gazed at the growing crack. I realized I was holding my breath - everyone was - but I relaxed when the crack stopped growing. Janice sighed, lowered her head and just stood there, hands still on the wall, her silhouette framed by the red sand outside.
I wanted to get up from the gray grass, to tell Janice it was all going to be okay. I wanted to tell her it was just a surface crack and that I would fix it in the morning, before I did my rounds checking the ai
If you can't rush, run. Spill out of yourself and down the street for spring has come. It's a riot, a full helter-skelter of blossoms and hope, a firework out in the quiet. The long lope of winter slows for it. Autumn trembles below it. A great green goddess is pushing up the horizon and they have to run to keep up or fall. Spring is tossing us between her two hands like a ball. Up and catch and never stop us, never drop us. She knows her game. It's to get every one of us chanting her name. And I'm the same. I want to be your Spring, the queer wild thing that startles you out of your bed with flowers. I want to turn your minutes into hours in
"Tuques! Get your tuques here! Made with genuine penguin fluff." The voice was muffled because the speaker was wrapped head to foot in winter gear, even including one of said tuques. It was less impressive than it sounds. The speaker was only four feet tall.
A couple in aerodynamic sunglasses, and many layers clearly improvised for the mid May cold snap, came up to the stall. One of them reached into her satchel - emblazoned with a constipated bald eagle, the international symbol for "trigger happy American" - and examined a wilderness guide closely before frowning and putting it back.
"Says here that penguins live on the South Pole," she s
The Chief Wizard of the Free City of Babylon was out of options.
There were only two things on her desk: an immense scorch mark and a fragment of clay roughly cut with cuneiform. Her hand wavered over the spy's message - maybe the fourth time she listened to it would be different after all. Hoping, and knowing that hope was futile, she triggered playback.
They are obsessed with their Master Record. They claim it is superior because the ways of the ancients are superior, and they have echoed it across the Empire. It is obvious to you or I, but these heathens cannot sense the hand of Marduk in its creation.
The Wizard cut off the message - the rest of it was just the usual litany of greetings and prayers.
She thought she had already done the hardest thing she had ever done. They didn't have the resources to fight fairly, so the Wizard had found thirty willing, comely couples and sacrificed them to Ishtar. That should have been it. The devastation of flooding
“You won’t tell once you’re on the inside,” she said.
“Bullshit. I’ll let the world know. Everyone has to know. It’s why I’m doing it.”
She didn’t look at me but continued folding her clothes. Underwear, jeans, shirts.
Then they hired me.
She was right.
I didn’t tell anyone, and I never saw her again.