Bubble Bubble PT. 3

“I’m just gonna put that down for you, cause its freakin’ me out.” whispered April, she turned the t.v off without taking her eyes off Caia. Then grabbed her cell phone from her pocket.

Which seemed to shift Caias concern from her arm. “Wha…who are you calling?” she asked resting the offending arm on her lap.

“Tim, he’s a paramedic.” she said.

Caia took the phone from her hand ending the call with a swipe. “I don’t need a medic. It’s just stress! Alright?” she said, while rubbing the middle of her forehead. “I get headaches, and my arm shakes a little its no BIG deal.” She could see the concern unknot in April’s face.

“Alright. I’m gonna call your mom though, she  should know you’re all but fallin’ apart without her.” she reached for her phone back. Caia didn’t give it. “Look! You won’t even let me tell her, see tha’s messed up. Cause you know its more than just stress, and she’ll hear in your voice.”

Caia ran to the bathroom, with both phones in hand and locked the door. She stooped down to sit on the edge of the tub, noticed it was still pink from April’s dye,  and took a seat on the toilet lid instead–deciding  if she should make the call herself.


Bubble Bubble, pt.2

Caia went to pick up the stack of dishes, which only seemed to cluster when April dropped in for a night or two. This time she had brought everything in her possession,  which consisted of a laptop and a yellow duffle bag that looked like it had been in a fight. Caia looked at her friend, she knew the questions, but didn’t want the answers–so she gave an arms length pat on the back, and a deep sigh, to convey her acceptance of the situation before them. She was moving in.

Dribbles of pink pigment ran down Aprils white t-shirt. “Is my tub pink?” asked Caia.

” It won’t be after I clean it… seriously Caia, check this out!” she said not taking her eyes off the burning images. “This is real life. Shit fell from the sky last night!”

Caia stopped starng at the light pink strands stuck to Aprils face, and looked up at the t.v. It was playing on a loop, an grainy video of hundreds of small bits burning their way towards our little mud ball. Caia reached for the remote on the coffee table, and her arm began to tremble. The rest of her body froze as it continued to quake, like the tail of a rattler.

Caia had been so transfixed on the movement, that she didn’t notice Aprils hand gently lowering her extended arm, with a concerned expression crinkling  her pale face.

Bubble bubble. NEW FICTION.

There was a lovely little fire growing in her belly. Fed by the lies her mother told her, and the dreams her father tried to crush.

Old oak tree branches woke her this morning. Caia rubbed the middle of her forehead trying to will away an impending headache. She knew it would come, as it did whenever the wind blew the branches. She pulled on her robe that was balled up at the foot the bed. Caia never hung things she knew she’d use again sooner rather than later. The gnarly  smell wafting about her house hit her as she threw open the bedroom door–“the fuck is that?” she groaned.

Salmon croquettes, old ones, were slowly adhering to a plate in her kitchen. “Come on! April, what the?” she said mashing them into the garbage.

“Wha? I was gonna eat those! Then I saw this story on the news about a meteor shower and I completely forgot abou’ it. Sorry.” she mumbled.

Queen pt.2

This is a race, not only for land and honor, but for the freedom that comes with the love of ones people.

Hope has always lived inside me, and one must see farther that the storm ahead to lead, but now that I am the storm– the public is trying to see past me.

They circle me like hounds with a taste for something they long missed, and now seek again.

How can I speak to them? When they fight my every word–even before my wishes leave lung for lip.

I can see repression coming to the surface…its so very clear now. The opposition doesn’t need to beat me to win,

they only need me to run, because they know its for my life.


Leaping are our hearts, as the race begins.

This moment has been itching at my heels for a decade, how much longer would I have waited?

Time is the natural equalizer–raising me to be brave and strong enough to race.

Weathered are my opposition, the time I took did that to them.

Waited, they have, to lap me and to break my crown.

Their hate spreads like fire on dead brush, touching my people, and replacing pride with disgust.

I see it in their gate, their art, and most of all their progeny.

No longer am I their Queen.

Clementine pt.2 edit/addition.

I grabbed the usual sun chips and power-aid and went to meet my new admirer. His beard was as patch ridden as his coat, and to put it simply he “belonged” with the rest of the place. I must have been staring with some intent, because he gave me the full up down and made a distinct pop noise with his lips. Since confrontation is my lifeblood– I was mentally gearing up for a small victory. Before I could speak the sky opened up with a resonating crack, sending the hair on the back of my neck up and a tremor down my spine. I clutched my drink a little too tightly and the plastic label came unglued. It looked like I stepped into a crime scene–the sports drink ran a cross the tile.  I stepped over the mess and laid down a ten dollar bill. A barely audible sorry to the cashier left my mouth as I hustled for the exit.

Clementine Pt.2

I grabbed the usual sun chips and power-aid and went to meet my new admirer. His beard was as patch ridden as his coat, and surmise to say he fit his surroundings. He gave me the full up down and made a distinct pop noise with his thin lips. Since confrontation is my lifeblood. I was gearing up for a small victory when the sky opened up with a thunderous crack, sending the hair on my neck up.  I steadied, paid the surly cashier and hustled to my car.

Clementine. pt. 1

I finished the last of my gas station reserves and took the next freeway exit to stock up again. Just off the road I pulled into a little stop n’ go like gas station, no frills–just the way I liked it. There was even a dull sign above the door that read ” fresh chilly dogs 2 for a dollar!”…it was the word fresh that gave me pause, but then I smiled to myself and went in.

The cashier eyed me for along time after his eyes met mine, he must have thought me out of place. Which was understandable since I was dressed in mostly black leather–but nothing kinky, I promise.

Breathe your fire, breather.

Fire. exclamation mark. fire

Your hot breath is fogging my windows, you can’t see for me.

Your scales hurt when you hold me to your back. and I can feel your struggle.

You’re too strong to hold the slippery delicateness of my wings, yet too weak to break my neck.

You’re too fat with greed to release me, and so heavy you can no longer fly.

Your  throat burns lava hot, and when you part lips to speak you breathe fire, and die.

Childish Series: Izzy and the Neighborhood Pt. 3

Froggy Bottom

It looked like a man, but it moved like a toad.

Izzy flattened herself to the grass outside the Buttons backyard, hoping to see and not be seen. The crouching toady man, as she rightly dubbed him, he was looking up at the stars with big glassy eyes, filled with sadness. She almost asked him “what was the matter?” but then she thought better of revealing her hiding spot.

The toady man reached his impossibly large arm up to the McFinn’s front door, and angrily knocked with a thwop! thwop! thwop! ——-There was silence, and not a so much as a porch light flicked on. Unsatisfied with this response, the toady man began whaling on the door with all his might–so long, that the door began to splinter like a boardwalk.

Being the only witness to this fury made Izzy pee her favorite pair of jeans.  Her soiled pants depleted what little courage she had left, so,  slowly, she began crawling on all fours back to the safety of her yard–hoping to pull the gate closed behind her, but as she pulled, the hinges squeaked their rusty coils.