Vertigo
by Loser
She’s dizzy.
It’s constant and it will never end for her.
I can’t tell if it’s from the weight of her wings or from not eating for three days. I seldom see her eat, but I have once. She sank her teeth into the flesh of an apple and let the juice dribble from her lips. Our eyes locked but she shielded her eyes back to the fruit.
I never saw her eat again.
She has bruises on her midriff. Punctured in. Nobody notices it, but I do. I see her but she doesn’t see me. I hear her but she doesn’t hear me.
Her voice is like syrup and it hurts me that I could never bring her laughter into this world. She doesn’t know I exist. I’m a face in a crowd -- dust.
I wish I could hold her -- but her skin, white as egg, would bleed red if I fret her.
This is no place for a weirdo like me.
She’s too perfect.
It’s constant and it will never end for her.
I can’t tell if it’s from the weight of her wings or from not eating for three days. I seldom see her eat, but I have once. She sank her teeth into the flesh of an apple and let the juice dribble from her lips. Our eyes locked but she shielded her eyes back to the fruit.
I never saw her eat again.
She has bruises on her midriff. Punctured in. Nobody notices it, but I do. I see her but she doesn’t see me. I hear her but she doesn’t hear me.
Her voice is like syrup and it hurts me that I could never bring her laughter into this world. She doesn’t know I exist. I’m a face in a crowd -- dust.
I wish I could hold her -- but her skin, white as egg, would bleed red if I fret her.
This is no place for a weirdo like me.
She’s too perfect.
On the Fence
by REM
I tell ya, ya oughta savor days like this. Clear sky, sun on the patio, not too hot, not too cold. I’ll go so far as to say it’s one of the best days I’ve had since the neighborhood went quiet. For once, not a care in the --
“ARIN! HOW ARE YA?! Is it just me, or has your coat gotten grayer?”
Aaand there goes my day. “Baron, I was born with a gray coat, and unless my belly somehow darkens, my fur won’t get any grayer.”
“I know, I know. Just messing with ya. I see you’re your usual self today.”
“When am I not? And why do you insist on hanging off the fence? Either get your butt on the fence or keep it on the ground.”
“I like doing it. What do you care? It’s not like I’ll fall. I have my back claws dug into the fence. I’m fine. Seriously, Arin, you don’t have to worry nearly as much as you currently do.”
“And how the hell would you know? You’ve never had a taste of responsibility in your life.”
Baron rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Hmph. I guess cats with gloves really do act all high and mighty.”
“IS THAT ANY WAY TO SPEAK TO THE CAT WHO RAISED YOU, BOY?!”
Baron may step a bit too far out of line sometimes, but a good yell is sure to knock him back into place. And in this case, off the fence, through the flower bushes, and onto the soft earth below.
“AAAH OOF!”
I cleared my throat while glaring in his general direction, with the momentary satisfaction of (hopefully) teaching him a lesson. “You ok?”
“Yeah, Yeah, I’m fine. Ooof...my tail…”
Sigh. And they said cats always land on their feet. After a few minutes of licking his wound, he climbed up the grape vine trellis to join me in properly sitting on the fence. I swear, some days I could just smack that tortoise-shell face of his. He’s two years old now yet he acts like a seven month old. I glance at him once more, our yellow eyes meeting before he backs off a bit.
“I tell ya, Baron, you really need to be more careful.”
“But Mom said to enjoy life as you see fit. You said so yourself. That’s what I’m doing, aren’t I?”
“She would also say to be cautious. Cece and I were friends for years. I know she would.”
“Still though…”
“There’s no one to help you if you get seriously injured, you know. Especially nowadays, since the humans fled.”
“Well I’ve heard rumors that-”
BARK!
“-that there’s a cluster of them by the-”
BARK!
“- craft store. There’s bound to be-”
BARK! BARK!
“- at least one of them there who’s-”
BARK!
“- able and
BARK!
“-willing to
BARK!!!
“- help-”
BARK BARK BARK BAR-
“OH MY CLAWED SHUT UP!”
As you may have gathered by now, this was directed to the dog in the yard next door, whom we had been facing,and were now watching as he yapped his head off at a rustle in his orange tree (probably another hapless sparrow
“I could gouge out his vocal chords right about now. Why do you feed this guy, again?”
I sighed as I stared at the spectacle that was the barking skeleton before me until an especially loud bark interrupted my train of thought. At this point, even I had to respond.
“Damn it, dog! Quiet the hell down, will ya?”
“B-but-”
“But what?”
“That could’ve been an intruder!“
“That couldn’t even lift an orange off that damn tree without crashing to the ground!”
“I must protect the home until my family comes back!”
“The humans have been gone for five years. They’re not coming back!”
“YES THEY ARE! They’ll come back! I know it!”
“LOOK AT YOU MAN! You used to be a fine dog! Running laps around the house. Keeping yourself in shape. Happily playing in the yard when you got too bored. Now look at ya! You’re dirt, fur, and bones now, even with me supporting you! You’ve been digging at stone for too long, man! You have to let it go!”
“WHAT DO YOU KNOW?! ...Agh, that’s a stupid question…” he growled as he turned his back to us and sat down clumsily with swollen, arthritic joints. “You ferals can’t know love.”
“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO MY CARETAKER LIKE THAT! I’LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS, MONGREL!”
“Hey, hey. HEY! THAT’S ENOUGH! I did not feed this dog for the last thirteen months to have you tear him open!”
Baron obeyed with a low hiss in my direction. I continued with a sigh.
“Look, I admire your dedication, but you really need to move on. There’s no more kibble in the pantry and no one to bring you any. It’s hard enough catching my own meals at my age, let alone catching you three crows a day.”
The dog was slowly starting to hunch over, the filth and plant matter in his once fine brown and black coat exposed to the sunlight.
“There’s a couple of malteses down the street. Rumor has it that their human was able to stay with them. An old former vet tech, I think.Even if she isn’t there, I’m sure they’ll be happy to take you in and take care of you.”
The dog scoffed.
“Please. I want to help you but there’s only so much I can do. I….I can’t see you like this.”
He turned slowly after a moment. “I...appreciate your concern, but...I can’t. I can’t live away from them,” he sighed, gesturing towards his treasured shamble of a house before lumbering over to a shady corner at the other end of the yard and plopping himself down.
I took a deep breath before hearing a pawing at the gate. Baron leapt down to check.
“There’s some Siamese Point at the gate,” he stated.
“Are they wearing a piece of yarn around their neck?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Berty, ya idiot. Let her in.”
Baron climbed up to free the gate from its lock. It slowly swung open as Berty softly entered. She gracefully climbed the fence post and sat to my left as Baron relocked the gate and reclaimed his spot to my right.
“Berty! It’s been so long, kit. You know you can just come in, right?”
“I know, but it’s more polite to knock.”
“Oh, I suppose. So, how are you?”
“Fine, I guess…”
“And how’s the old man?”
“Uncle Samson?” Berty’s sky blue eyes started to flood, though her words never wavered. “Well...he ate his last kibble last night, and uh…”
Baron and I bowed our heads in respect. “Oh...I’m...I’m very sorry…”
Berty sniffed. “We buried him in our backyard and put his frayed collar and a can of wet food on his grave. It’s...what he would’ve wanted.”
“Yeah…” I sighed. “He...he was a good cat. At least... he got to see you and your siblings grow up and enjoy his time on this earth...and be buried in the home he liked best.”
“Yeah…”
“To Samson,” declared Baron as he lightly stomped twice with his front right paw.
“To Samson,” we replied, with two accompanying stomps.
We sat there in silence for a few eternal moments, letting the light late afternoon breeze blow our fur like grass.
Baron cautiously broke the silence. “Late afternoon already?”
“You have plans?” I asked.
“Presumably. Uncle Braveheart said he’d try to visit today. He might even be able to bring Mom.” He leapt down from the fence. “Berty, would you like to come? I mean...if you’re not busy or anything. They’re pretty laid back. I’m sure they won’t mind. It’s not too far. Just shy of the old office building by the school.”
Berty smiled, blinking away tears. “I’m heading that way anyway to get some squirrels for dinner tonight. I guess I could come.”
“Ok, “ replied Baron, with a pleasant smile. “And how ‘bout you, Arin?”
“Ah...not tonight. I’m getting too old even for short treks. Maybe I’ll join you later.”
“Alright.”
Berty joined Baron on the ground. They traversed through the overgrown lawn past the three cavy graves and through a hole in the back fence, talking of happier times as they went, which visibly cheered Berty up little by little.
I watched them slip through as I carefully jumped down to the patio, tempted to call after them, tell them to be back home by moonrise and to not have too much catnip, but something stopped me. By Clawed, it was two years ago when those two had been weaned and left with Samson and I…
I smiled and shook my head before I laid myself down on the sun-warmed concrete, barely shaded by a flower bush, and started to nap. I tell ya, ya oughta savor days like these...
“ARIN! HOW ARE YA?! Is it just me, or has your coat gotten grayer?”
Aaand there goes my day. “Baron, I was born with a gray coat, and unless my belly somehow darkens, my fur won’t get any grayer.”
“I know, I know. Just messing with ya. I see you’re your usual self today.”
“When am I not? And why do you insist on hanging off the fence? Either get your butt on the fence or keep it on the ground.”
“I like doing it. What do you care? It’s not like I’ll fall. I have my back claws dug into the fence. I’m fine. Seriously, Arin, you don’t have to worry nearly as much as you currently do.”
“And how the hell would you know? You’ve never had a taste of responsibility in your life.”
Baron rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Hmph. I guess cats with gloves really do act all high and mighty.”
“IS THAT ANY WAY TO SPEAK TO THE CAT WHO RAISED YOU, BOY?!”
Baron may step a bit too far out of line sometimes, but a good yell is sure to knock him back into place. And in this case, off the fence, through the flower bushes, and onto the soft earth below.
“AAAH OOF!”
I cleared my throat while glaring in his general direction, with the momentary satisfaction of (hopefully) teaching him a lesson. “You ok?”
“Yeah, Yeah, I’m fine. Ooof...my tail…”
Sigh. And they said cats always land on their feet. After a few minutes of licking his wound, he climbed up the grape vine trellis to join me in properly sitting on the fence. I swear, some days I could just smack that tortoise-shell face of his. He’s two years old now yet he acts like a seven month old. I glance at him once more, our yellow eyes meeting before he backs off a bit.
“I tell ya, Baron, you really need to be more careful.”
“But Mom said to enjoy life as you see fit. You said so yourself. That’s what I’m doing, aren’t I?”
“She would also say to be cautious. Cece and I were friends for years. I know she would.”
“Still though…”
“There’s no one to help you if you get seriously injured, you know. Especially nowadays, since the humans fled.”
“Well I’ve heard rumors that-”
BARK!
“-that there’s a cluster of them by the-”
BARK!
“- craft store. There’s bound to be-”
BARK! BARK!
“- at least one of them there who’s-”
BARK!
“- able and
BARK!
“-willing to
BARK!!!
“- help-”
BARK BARK BARK BAR-
“OH MY CLAWED SHUT UP!”
As you may have gathered by now, this was directed to the dog in the yard next door, whom we had been facing,and were now watching as he yapped his head off at a rustle in his orange tree (probably another hapless sparrow
“I could gouge out his vocal chords right about now. Why do you feed this guy, again?”
I sighed as I stared at the spectacle that was the barking skeleton before me until an especially loud bark interrupted my train of thought. At this point, even I had to respond.
“Damn it, dog! Quiet the hell down, will ya?”
“B-but-”
“But what?”
“That could’ve been an intruder!“
“That couldn’t even lift an orange off that damn tree without crashing to the ground!”
“I must protect the home until my family comes back!”
“The humans have been gone for five years. They’re not coming back!”
“YES THEY ARE! They’ll come back! I know it!”
“LOOK AT YOU MAN! You used to be a fine dog! Running laps around the house. Keeping yourself in shape. Happily playing in the yard when you got too bored. Now look at ya! You’re dirt, fur, and bones now, even with me supporting you! You’ve been digging at stone for too long, man! You have to let it go!”
“WHAT DO YOU KNOW?! ...Agh, that’s a stupid question…” he growled as he turned his back to us and sat down clumsily with swollen, arthritic joints. “You ferals can’t know love.”
“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO MY CARETAKER LIKE THAT! I’LL RIP YOU TO SHREDS, MONGREL!”
“Hey, hey. HEY! THAT’S ENOUGH! I did not feed this dog for the last thirteen months to have you tear him open!”
Baron obeyed with a low hiss in my direction. I continued with a sigh.
“Look, I admire your dedication, but you really need to move on. There’s no more kibble in the pantry and no one to bring you any. It’s hard enough catching my own meals at my age, let alone catching you three crows a day.”
The dog was slowly starting to hunch over, the filth and plant matter in his once fine brown and black coat exposed to the sunlight.
“There’s a couple of malteses down the street. Rumor has it that their human was able to stay with them. An old former vet tech, I think.Even if she isn’t there, I’m sure they’ll be happy to take you in and take care of you.”
The dog scoffed.
“Please. I want to help you but there’s only so much I can do. I….I can’t see you like this.”
He turned slowly after a moment. “I...appreciate your concern, but...I can’t. I can’t live away from them,” he sighed, gesturing towards his treasured shamble of a house before lumbering over to a shady corner at the other end of the yard and plopping himself down.
I took a deep breath before hearing a pawing at the gate. Baron leapt down to check.
“There’s some Siamese Point at the gate,” he stated.
“Are they wearing a piece of yarn around their neck?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Berty, ya idiot. Let her in.”
Baron climbed up to free the gate from its lock. It slowly swung open as Berty softly entered. She gracefully climbed the fence post and sat to my left as Baron relocked the gate and reclaimed his spot to my right.
“Berty! It’s been so long, kit. You know you can just come in, right?”
“I know, but it’s more polite to knock.”
“Oh, I suppose. So, how are you?”
“Fine, I guess…”
“And how’s the old man?”
“Uncle Samson?” Berty’s sky blue eyes started to flood, though her words never wavered. “Well...he ate his last kibble last night, and uh…”
Baron and I bowed our heads in respect. “Oh...I’m...I’m very sorry…”
Berty sniffed. “We buried him in our backyard and put his frayed collar and a can of wet food on his grave. It’s...what he would’ve wanted.”
“Yeah…” I sighed. “He...he was a good cat. At least... he got to see you and your siblings grow up and enjoy his time on this earth...and be buried in the home he liked best.”
“Yeah…”
“To Samson,” declared Baron as he lightly stomped twice with his front right paw.
“To Samson,” we replied, with two accompanying stomps.
We sat there in silence for a few eternal moments, letting the light late afternoon breeze blow our fur like grass.
Baron cautiously broke the silence. “Late afternoon already?”
“You have plans?” I asked.
“Presumably. Uncle Braveheart said he’d try to visit today. He might even be able to bring Mom.” He leapt down from the fence. “Berty, would you like to come? I mean...if you’re not busy or anything. They’re pretty laid back. I’m sure they won’t mind. It’s not too far. Just shy of the old office building by the school.”
Berty smiled, blinking away tears. “I’m heading that way anyway to get some squirrels for dinner tonight. I guess I could come.”
“Ok, “ replied Baron, with a pleasant smile. “And how ‘bout you, Arin?”
“Ah...not tonight. I’m getting too old even for short treks. Maybe I’ll join you later.”
“Alright.”
Berty joined Baron on the ground. They traversed through the overgrown lawn past the three cavy graves and through a hole in the back fence, talking of happier times as they went, which visibly cheered Berty up little by little.
I watched them slip through as I carefully jumped down to the patio, tempted to call after them, tell them to be back home by moonrise and to not have too much catnip, but something stopped me. By Clawed, it was two years ago when those two had been weaned and left with Samson and I…
I smiled and shook my head before I laid myself down on the sun-warmed concrete, barely shaded by a flower bush, and started to nap. I tell ya, ya oughta savor days like these...
This Too Shall Pass
by Luka Maeda
High school sucked.
You skimmed through classes and you did the bare minimum. Never took an honors class, never joined any clubs. Everything was confusing. You spent your 40-minute lunch in the library but everything was so slow. You occupied that numbing feeling with a five by three inch screen. You haven’t had a friend since sixth grade. Artificial happiness filled you.
It’s senior year and it’s more anticlimatic than you thought. Everyone around you is going to the beach over spring break and mini golf after prom. You wish you had something to look forward to. You also need to figure out what to do. Get it together. You’re on a time crunch. You decide community college is your best choice. You apply to a few schools. Everyone around you got into their dream schools in big cities, but you didn’t. You didn’t get into any schools. You’ve never had something to be passionate about and you don’t know what to do. Math isn’t your strongest suit but writing isn’t bad. You’ve written some poems and submitted to small contests before.
…So this is it. You’ll write.
Community college isn’t any better. You’re in that stupid library again but at least it stays open until nine. You’re four months in and… you actually like intro to creative writing. You pick up some ceramic courses too. Photography. You keep seeing her in class. She waves hi. She keeps you going.
You finally transfer to a school nearby after two years. It’s bigger, cleaner, nicer. You room with two others and it’s a little crowded but that’s fine. You’re right by the beach and the breeze is nice, too. You stop going to the library.
But everyone around you starts to get internships and job offers. You’ve had a stubborn writer’sblock the past two weeks and you’re a little buzzed on coffee. You start to wonder if you’re good enough. You’re not. Your portfolio keeps getting rejected. Is there any point in trying anymore? The beach is cold.
It’s May. You graduate with a degree. You’re a little clueless, though. You find yourself staying at your parents’ place. That freaking writer’s block again. You’re racked up with student debt, too. Your parents sigh. What now?
Then December. You get an email. They... liked that novella you submitted to them last month. They’re wondering if they can see more of your work. You send them in. They love it. They want it published. Then you go to high schools to answer questions. An author Q and A session.
“What’s your inspiration?”
“Why did you write the book?”
“I just wanted to say you inspired me to write more.” You inspired kids.
At this point, you’ve got enough to get an apartment. Leave your parents. You find living alone is well.. lonely. So you get four cats and you name them Lettuce, Spoon, Tomato, and Grim Reaper. You cook pasta on most nights. You invite your college roommates over. You offer wine. You take a sip. It’s bitter. Tom pets Grim Reaper and ask why you named him that. You shrug. All of you swirl your wines and reminisce college. Then you all agree at the dinner table that high school sucked. You take a sip. You laugh and sigh. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
You skimmed through classes and you did the bare minimum. Never took an honors class, never joined any clubs. Everything was confusing. You spent your 40-minute lunch in the library but everything was so slow. You occupied that numbing feeling with a five by three inch screen. You haven’t had a friend since sixth grade. Artificial happiness filled you.
It’s senior year and it’s more anticlimatic than you thought. Everyone around you is going to the beach over spring break and mini golf after prom. You wish you had something to look forward to. You also need to figure out what to do. Get it together. You’re on a time crunch. You decide community college is your best choice. You apply to a few schools. Everyone around you got into their dream schools in big cities, but you didn’t. You didn’t get into any schools. You’ve never had something to be passionate about and you don’t know what to do. Math isn’t your strongest suit but writing isn’t bad. You’ve written some poems and submitted to small contests before.
…So this is it. You’ll write.
Community college isn’t any better. You’re in that stupid library again but at least it stays open until nine. You’re four months in and… you actually like intro to creative writing. You pick up some ceramic courses too. Photography. You keep seeing her in class. She waves hi. She keeps you going.
You finally transfer to a school nearby after two years. It’s bigger, cleaner, nicer. You room with two others and it’s a little crowded but that’s fine. You’re right by the beach and the breeze is nice, too. You stop going to the library.
But everyone around you starts to get internships and job offers. You’ve had a stubborn writer’sblock the past two weeks and you’re a little buzzed on coffee. You start to wonder if you’re good enough. You’re not. Your portfolio keeps getting rejected. Is there any point in trying anymore? The beach is cold.
It’s May. You graduate with a degree. You’re a little clueless, though. You find yourself staying at your parents’ place. That freaking writer’s block again. You’re racked up with student debt, too. Your parents sigh. What now?
Then December. You get an email. They... liked that novella you submitted to them last month. They’re wondering if they can see more of your work. You send them in. They love it. They want it published. Then you go to high schools to answer questions. An author Q and A session.
“What’s your inspiration?”
“Why did you write the book?”
“I just wanted to say you inspired me to write more.” You inspired kids.
At this point, you’ve got enough to get an apartment. Leave your parents. You find living alone is well.. lonely. So you get four cats and you name them Lettuce, Spoon, Tomato, and Grim Reaper. You cook pasta on most nights. You invite your college roommates over. You offer wine. You take a sip. It’s bitter. Tom pets Grim Reaper and ask why you named him that. You shrug. All of you swirl your wines and reminisce college. Then you all agree at the dinner table that high school sucked. You take a sip. You laugh and sigh. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
Leo's Day
by Katie Heaney
I wake up. It’s dark. She’s still asleep. For now. I go to the kitchen. My bowl is empty. I’ll have to tell her later. For now, I’ll take a nap.
It’s almost time for her to wake up! I jump on the bed to be ready. The alarm sounds and she starts to move. I lay on her tummy to get some pets before she gets up. Purrr.
We go to the kitchen. She gets some food for herself. I want some food too! She puts kibble in my bowl and I eat. Then I follow her. I watch her brush her teeth. I watch her comb her hair. I watch her pack her bag. All this makes me tired. I watch the rest of her routine from the couch. She’s going to leave again. Why does she always go? She gives me another pat on the head as she walks out the door and I close my eyes for a nap.
I wake up. Eat more kibble. Play with the mouse toy. Is she home yet? Where is she? I jump on the bed and curl up on her pillow. It smells like her. She would be mad if she caught me here. I take a nap.
I look out the window. The brown cat is outside again. I yell at him and scratch the window. He yells at me back. Hiss! He gives up and wanders away. I win this time. Nap.
Wake. Is she home yet? Kibble. Mouse toy. Window. Nap.
I hear her footsteps. To the window, where I watch her come up the stairs to our door. When she comes in I start telling her all about my day. She gives me a pet but has other things to do. It’s getting cold. I’ll nap in front of the heater.
She’s sitting on the couch watching the TV screen. I ball up next to her and she gives me pets. Purrr. Nap.
I hear the freezer door open. Could it be? Dash to the kitchen! She has ice cream! I tell her I want some but she doesn’t listen. I watch her as she eats. Do not break eye contact. She cannot forget that I am here. Watching. Waiting. Until I hear that last scrape of metal spoon on the ceramic bowl that tells me that she’s done. I rub against her legs and remind her that I want some. She puts the bowl down on the floor. I lick up the last of the ice cream from the bowl. Happiness! I return to my spot on the couch for another nap. This is such a good day.
She’s brushing her teeth. Nighttime routine. I watch from the hallway as she sets her alarm and gets into the bed. I jump onto the bed to join. I curl up next to her. She pets me and I hear her say my name. This is the best. Purrr. Sleep.
It’s almost time for her to wake up! I jump on the bed to be ready. The alarm sounds and she starts to move. I lay on her tummy to get some pets before she gets up. Purrr.
We go to the kitchen. She gets some food for herself. I want some food too! She puts kibble in my bowl and I eat. Then I follow her. I watch her brush her teeth. I watch her comb her hair. I watch her pack her bag. All this makes me tired. I watch the rest of her routine from the couch. She’s going to leave again. Why does she always go? She gives me another pat on the head as she walks out the door and I close my eyes for a nap.
I wake up. Eat more kibble. Play with the mouse toy. Is she home yet? Where is she? I jump on the bed and curl up on her pillow. It smells like her. She would be mad if she caught me here. I take a nap.
I look out the window. The brown cat is outside again. I yell at him and scratch the window. He yells at me back. Hiss! He gives up and wanders away. I win this time. Nap.
Wake. Is she home yet? Kibble. Mouse toy. Window. Nap.
I hear her footsteps. To the window, where I watch her come up the stairs to our door. When she comes in I start telling her all about my day. She gives me a pet but has other things to do. It’s getting cold. I’ll nap in front of the heater.
She’s sitting on the couch watching the TV screen. I ball up next to her and she gives me pets. Purrr. Nap.
I hear the freezer door open. Could it be? Dash to the kitchen! She has ice cream! I tell her I want some but she doesn’t listen. I watch her as she eats. Do not break eye contact. She cannot forget that I am here. Watching. Waiting. Until I hear that last scrape of metal spoon on the ceramic bowl that tells me that she’s done. I rub against her legs and remind her that I want some. She puts the bowl down on the floor. I lick up the last of the ice cream from the bowl. Happiness! I return to my spot on the couch for another nap. This is such a good day.
She’s brushing her teeth. Nighttime routine. I watch from the hallway as she sets her alarm and gets into the bed. I jump onto the bed to join. I curl up next to her. She pets me and I hear her say my name. This is the best. Purrr. Sleep.
Night's Drapery
by Melody Chen
I shudder under the black curtains of Night. Glimmers of celestial bodies rotate around the cloth,
forcing uneven ridges to form. An enigmatic whisper disturbs the constancy of the drapery as it
entangles my wing. Distorted, crumbled. The eye of a raindrop can never be denied as raw
images turn silver and idealized. Without contrition, a slice of resolution lacerates my wing and
laughter penetrates the sky with resonating tremors.
forcing uneven ridges to form. An enigmatic whisper disturbs the constancy of the drapery as it
entangles my wing. Distorted, crumbled. The eye of a raindrop can never be denied as raw
images turn silver and idealized. Without contrition, a slice of resolution lacerates my wing and
laughter penetrates the sky with resonating tremors.
Whiskers of Cold Coke
by Melody Chen
A round egg-like body and two carrot ears outline the fine contours and five-inches of fluff of a
humble creature. A creature who explores and marks his royalty of the animal kingdom. Spitballs
of fingernails and human hairs soar through the galaxy of five feet across and backwards. Well,
you see. I highly doubt you’ll recognize this sensational, modest individual. Ha! It’s me.
I’m a calico cat. Six years old. Ahem! Not old ... child of good treatment. Two two-legged, bare
living things, otherwise known as humans or Mom and Dad, give me all the salmon and goody
cold cake (ice cream) I want. You see. I want. The frost would always manage to find its way to
my head and a blizzard would occur. Yeah, yeah. Goody cold cakes are not healthy for cats, so
Dad and Mom hid it. What a shame to not experience the antarctic gale in a house of your own.
One day, Dad decides to eat purple balls of toxins, called grapes. My eyes wanders to each
mouthful of grape skin slices and juice lingering on his buzz-cut chins. Dad’s eye is fixed on the
daily news, while neglecting the crimson river of juice running down the feathery paper. All of a
sudden, Dad’s eyes shoots out as his face immediately transforms into the same crimson hue of
the river of juice. He clutches his throat and staggers to the couch, making horse-like honks and
snorts, and collapses. Oblivious, indeed I was oblivious. Two spoonfuls of cold cake lingered on
the living room table. My mouth shifts and my eyes sparkle. I leaped on the steps of my Dad
as I made a jump forward to the treasure. Suddenly, Dad’s arms fly around my neck and he gave
me a deathly squeeze. Another second, five scoops of cold cake were awaiting me on the dining
table. Ah! This is called paradise. Dizzy spells of snow filled my head to the brim and slowly
melted away. I was revived.
humble creature. A creature who explores and marks his royalty of the animal kingdom. Spitballs
of fingernails and human hairs soar through the galaxy of five feet across and backwards. Well,
you see. I highly doubt you’ll recognize this sensational, modest individual. Ha! It’s me.
I’m a calico cat. Six years old. Ahem! Not old ... child of good treatment. Two two-legged, bare
living things, otherwise known as humans or Mom and Dad, give me all the salmon and goody
cold cake (ice cream) I want. You see. I want. The frost would always manage to find its way to
my head and a blizzard would occur. Yeah, yeah. Goody cold cakes are not healthy for cats, so
Dad and Mom hid it. What a shame to not experience the antarctic gale in a house of your own.
One day, Dad decides to eat purple balls of toxins, called grapes. My eyes wanders to each
mouthful of grape skin slices and juice lingering on his buzz-cut chins. Dad’s eye is fixed on the
daily news, while neglecting the crimson river of juice running down the feathery paper. All of a
sudden, Dad’s eyes shoots out as his face immediately transforms into the same crimson hue of
the river of juice. He clutches his throat and staggers to the couch, making horse-like honks and
snorts, and collapses. Oblivious, indeed I was oblivious. Two spoonfuls of cold cake lingered on
the living room table. My mouth shifts and my eyes sparkle. I leaped on the steps of my Dad
as I made a jump forward to the treasure. Suddenly, Dad’s arms fly around my neck and he gave
me a deathly squeeze. Another second, five scoops of cold cake were awaiting me on the dining
table. Ah! This is called paradise. Dizzy spells of snow filled my head to the brim and slowly
melted away. I was revived.