s.wordthruheart

2013 ***  In the interlife space I hang suspended as I drive home on this night. My thoughts meander to the previous life I completed not long ago: I was a president of an organization and I ran a marathon of relations. I had a significant other, a name, and a job, but a little part of me was always aware it was only a game. Whew, what a rush , I shake my head, glad to drop that role at last. Because there’s no place I like more than the sweet interlife before the next set of circumstances and parameters sweeps over me and I – too late – and committed and given new words and become somebody again for a while…. I don’t glance in the mirror as I drive to my little isolated bubble home with no hooks embedded, no messages on my phone, no texts, no family – now, I’m even alone from them , and I think back to my little sibling as I cruise past our old neighborhood. That was so last week – but these sheets seem to fall so easily away and leave me once again in the interlife space. No

 from 2016 *** The Killing Field What growth crops out from the balding earth is parched and brittle and coalesces in patches rather evenly distributed along a wide savanna seeming never to curve. The dirt, packed flat, is pockmarked with craters from the ghosts of crashing knees and sweaty, rolling backs that impacted long before we appeared. Now it is our thumping heels that bore in new scars, digging and pivoting and ripping up the frail subterranean tendrils of the last delicate blades. A spell of peace falls around us and we stop to catch our breaths. I let three seconds pass, finding nothing in sight, and ease the tension in my shoulders. I steal a quick glance at Tor, the man I had just spent, what - hours? days? - pressed firmly to with my arms flat on his shoulders in our impenetrable bodily dome, glancing when I could around his neck to make notes on where in the beige sandstorm wall that had enveloped us the debris rocketed from toward our tight mass. Ribbons

  another old story, from 2014 **********   God's Instructions to the Angels Building on the World for the Paths to Beauty “The issue is Beauty,” He said to the assembled angels. “The mantra is always, indubitably, invariably, this : I am the most beautiful . Nearly every human shall grapple with this challenge their life long, striving always and everywhere to be the most beautiful human in the vicinity. The paths to this end should be many and varied, some straightforward, some meandering.” The angels peered through the clouds down at empty Earth. What loveliness covered the smooth, naked crust of this planet, where not a single path was etched! But they were building these paths for “human” due soon to be dropped. “One shall be the conventional path,” God went on. “Those who are born to walk it shall have an easy fate around beauty. What's more, much about life among the people will revolve around the conventional path. They will pay for any and every additions to

 Posting some of my old writing. This is a story from 2015 that I never completed. Might not finish it because where it was going was kind of reddit, but maybe I'll try. *********** At just the moment her body was finally torn, a soft hand pulled her out of the frame. She was flying backwards near lightspeed, but the sensation registered like a warm, gentle breeze on her skin. Tension had long been pulling her opposite ways. Too long. Unbearable tension caused by the various possible futures swimming alternatingly into her view: each one blooming, unfolding, dancing, and then collapsing back into flat dimensionality to allow the other's next round to begin anew. Her own fate played out in each one, sped up before her observer's eyes... or she herself had slowed drastically down. All stopped. She stopped flying. The parental hand exuding the long-sought force of comfort that had brought relief and guided her belonged to a body. Her old brain wanted to call