GearsI am coming to a standstill.I can feel it in the back of my mind,train brakes grinding with slow precisionto a halt.
KetchupMom said it was only ketchup. It was only ketchup. Only
I watched the movie--no, I lived the movie. I was in every scene, I was every character. I was the lonely prop in the corner of the shot; I was an old mans bald spot. Somewhere in my head I knew it was just a movie, but for the moment I was the movie, and so you see the complication. And when the gun went off, I jumped as high as the man did, because I was the man
and then there was red stuff everywhere and fear dropped through me like a rock, crashing into my stomach with the velocity of a meteorite. Mom walked in just then, and I ran straight to her, clutching my arms around her dress as though it were a parachute. She put down her laundry basket and pried her legs free, bending. My arms clamped down like crab claws around her neck. She lifted me easily and carried me over to the television set a
TransitionsPain swirled around with the ice in my coke as I stirred. I hadnt ordered it to drink, just to stir; the bubbles were known to get inside of me and pop--each little bubble a bullet, each pop an explosion, each motion puncturing my heart.Moving on didnt mean packing up cardboard boxes. Moving on meant closing doors. It meant lifting my leaden arm towards the handle, forcing my fingers to close around the metal knob, willing my arm to force the door shut. I dont know if I can pinpoint that moment when it didnt matter anymore. When my hands felt like my own again, when my lungs could expand without bursting into pieces, and when each room I stepped into stopped smelling like tears.When freedom came to me in a shower of colored glass; every day things became kaleidoscope shapes and I was a balloon barely anchored to the ground. When I ran faster than the wind through the grass, leapt higher than th