Popping the Question

He opened his lips a sliver, forming a crescent moon in between all the pink. Sucking in a cold breath, he tried his best to stop his heart from pounding out of his chest.

It didn't work.

"You hear me?" She said. Her fingers shifted slightly, clammy around the knife. Her other hand was in his hair, pulling his head back painfully against her collarbone. The blade was inches away from his bare throat. 

Very slowly he leaned back, as far away from the weapon as possible. He could smell her, the distinct musk of nicotine and her jasmine perfume. He didn't want to be close to her, but he valued his own life more.

He still hadn't said a word. His memory was throbbing, too busy to give him something to speak up about.

"Listen to me," her lips said, hot against his ear. "Listen to me carefully. You are going to die. Do you realize that? You are going to die and this knife is going to kill you."

The weapon in question twitched slightly in her long fingers, and he winced as the tip of it prodded the flesh by his jaw. Please don't make me do this.

"Or..." She whispered, slowly and suddenly, sending chills up and down his spine. Her voice turned velvety and smooth, and a strange sense of familiarity began to creep through him. "Or you could think about what I asked. You think about that. And I think you'll reconsider your answer."

His mind was shapes and colours, millions of little doppelgangers, screaming his name, shouting instructions through his system. His heartbeat seemed to quicken, then screech to a halt, only to start the race again, leaving him gasping for breath, his lungs not being able to contain what was needed of them.

"Baby?" Her voice was pleading. Soft fingers ran through his hair. He closed his eyes. He remembered everything.

"I'm going to ask you, one more time, okay?" The knife wavered, as if unsure of itself. The uncertainty in her voice made his heart swell with hope. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe...

"Will you marry me?"

The knife clattered to the floor. There was no blood on it.

Conscience

"Hello."

Tens of thousands of feet each day. Shiny leather, gleaming buttons, zippers that don't ever stick. Shoes don't look you in the eye, but past you, like they have somewhere more important to be. You don't just take a joyride on someone's foot, you know. Shoes like that, you're going places.

"Good day, sir. How are you doing?"

There's a buzz in the air, like someone knocked a pot of coffee over and it spilled, down into the atmosphere with no umbrellas to catch it. The sky was dark and spotted with clouds, yet somehow, it wasn't raining.

"Morning. Funny weather we've been having, huh?"

Ringtones blur into a haze of pleasant chaos, and it's cold out. You can see the breaths of people passing, and not just the smokers. Suspended in the air like little cauliflower ghosts, they wave their little foggy tails in parting before they disappear.

"Hello. Hi. Hello."

I waved back once, but everyone looked at me like I had sprouted another nose. Maybe I was going insane, talking to objects that only seemed to exist for a few split seconds until they, too, were swept away by the economic demand on Wall Street's sidewalk.

"Ciao. Bonjour. Aloha, ma'am."

When I talk to people, they look at me like I'm crazy, too. Whenever I open my mouth, the little frown lines on someone's brow make me want to close it forever and swallow my tongue, locking it up in the safe that is my stomach and throwing away the key forever.

"Hello there. Good day."

Nobody really feels guilty, overlooking me like a fly on the wall. Just another stranger, right? I'll probably be the guy behind the counter when you swipe your MetroCard home, or the guy walking his dog in front of your apartment near the park, or the guy who asks you for a stick of gum, because he has a date tonight and doesn't want to scare her away.

"Hi. How are you? I'm fine, thanks for asking."

They don't ask. They'll never see me again, after the subway or the sidewalk or the corner store. I'm a face, and I blend into the crowd, like someone smudged their fingertip across the chalky mass of New York, blurring the lines together until no one is recognizable anymore.

"Good day. Good morning. Good afternoon, miss."

I say hello to everyone that passes me, and make deals with myself, to try to talk me out of what I'm going to do. If anyone says hello back, if anyone nods back, if anyone gives the slightest hint of a smile, I won't do it. I won't be the guy on the news who went on a trigger-happy rampage through a high school. I won't be the guy on the wanted posters hanging in the police department window. I won't be the guy who hung himself from his living room rafter with the only shirt he owns.

"Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello."

If anyone pays attention to me at all.

"Hello?"

---

Just don't sweat it

Hope you regret it

When your elevator takes you there.

Look up, honey

It's raining money

And people are starting to stare.

Hold my old boots

While I dig up the roots

And your hands remain unsoiled.

Face facts, baby

Possibly, maybe,

In guilt you will be boiled.

Nameless

Is she new?

Hair, cut close around her face, streaked different shades of black, blue, and green. A new colour appeared every week or so, but nobody asked for an explanation. Eyes shaded with dark pencil, usually only half-open, slits of defiance. They were dark, murky brown, not unlike a swamp monster's footsteps in the sand. Long nose with a ruby stud in one nostril, mouth tweaked up slightly in a permanently crooked smirk.

She actually looks kind of scary.

Fine, she stood out. From the cookie-cutter straight-A, all-American cheerleaders that roamed the halls of the school. The ones that were so perky, their voices could make paint peel if you got them happy about something. Being mad all the time wouldn't be an endearing quality. 

Usually.

She wore her iPod earphones in class, artfully tucked behind her many piercings to disguise them from her teachers. People within a ten-foot radius could hear the pounding beats of The Clash or the soft strumming of Jack Johnson or the honey-smooth voice of Alicia Keys. It was a different song every day, and he often saw her subtly tapping along to the rhythm, her green-tipped fingernails scratching out a beat through her desktop.

Does she play anything? Guitar or something?

He saw her at her locker, discreetly slipping a pair of drumsticks into her sweatshirt pocket. He imagined her at home, headphones on, multicoloured hair flying, the room filling with loud music. Not angry pounding, nor annoying cymbals. Merely the percussion of what was on her mind.

I wish I could play something. All I play is baseball.

At lunch she didn't eat, just slipped a tablet under her tongue and disappeared into the crowd. 

Isn't she hungry?

She pushed past all the people in front of her, not being rude, just trying to get by.

Where is she going?

She made her way through the throng all the way to a table at the very back, where a bunch of his friends were sitting. Marsha, John, Patrick. She whispered something into Casey's ear and walked away.

I should really get Casey an anniversary present. Last time I forgot and she had a hissy fit. Maybe flowers or something like that; I'll make a car-

"Excuse me," she said. I looked up. It was the new girl.

That's odd... What could she possibly...

She leaned in until her swamp monster eyes were level with mine. I uncomfortably looked away. "I told your girlfriend you were staring at me," she said. The silver braces on her teeth glinted in the dim light. "Might want to go fix that."

Um, what?

"I have a name," she spat. "And it's most definitely not 'new girl'." He watched her walk away, keeping his eyes on the back of her arm. He squinted. Scars, all in a row. Like lines on a chalkboard.

Oh my God-

"Hello?" Casey's voice was in my ear as she roughly grabbed me by the elbow. "Quit checking out the freak!" He ignored her and craned his neck forward to see where the nameless girl had gone. He searched silently, but no head of black and green appeared in the crowd.

Is that why she won't talk to anybody?

It was like she'd never been there at all.

The Shortest Short Story In The Universe

So this isn't the shortest short story in the universe, but I named it that way for a reason. "The 3390th Shortest Short Story in the universe" sounds pretty stupid, no?

I'm writing such a short short story because I have a million things to do but I haven't posted in a while. Here we go...

---

Somewhere up in space, there are thousands and thousands of people, just like us.
Far, far away, in the deep dark of the universe, each person sits on a tiny planet, swinging their legs in anticipation, peering down at Earth to see who is worth their attention.
*
A shooting star drifted down through the fog, swirling in the breeze to land upon a child's nose.
*
"Look, Mama," he said, giggling as the snow melted quickly on his skin. He spread his fingers a centimetre apart, letting the water trickle down his arm.
"I caught a wish this big."

---

That was easy.

You Say Goodbye...

...I say hello...

---

Five four nine, one one six two.
She stared at the crumpled piece of paper in her shaky hand, the red ink blurring together on the page and making her mind spin in circles. Somewhere on the platform, somebody sneezed, and there was the soft sound of shuffling as they searched through their pocket for a much-needed tissue.
Five four nine, one one six two.
Clasping the scrap of paper between her fingers, she spun around and stared at the posters on the wall, the one of the city map, the Coca-Cola ad, the informational diagram about STIs. Pulling her wool hat over her ears, she exhaled softly, her breath coming out in a plume of thin smoke, her chest tightening with the very movement.
Five four nine, one one six two.
The overhead loudspeaker boomed something about luggage being left in the east wing, but it wasn't the droning, muffled voice she heard in her head.
Five four nine, one one six two.
"Please!"
"I can't stay. You know I would if I could."
"But I-"
"Look, I'll make this easier on you. We don't have to be friends. We can just talk about the weather every time I come into town."
"I can't-I won't-"
"I'll get out of your way now. Might as well end it off here, right?"
"Please don't-"
"All right, bye then. I'll see you... No, I won't. I'll... Call you? Here, take-"
"You can't do this..."
Five four nine, one one six two.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the five o'clock train has now left the station. I repeat, the five o'clock train has now left the station. Please stand by for further notice about the delay in Belleville..."
Five four nine, one one six two.
She tossed the paper into the wind, and it whipped against the train window as it rushed by. The numbers spun around in her head like flies circling honey, and she closed her eyes, blocking the sight of the darkened platform from her view. She retrieved her phone from her backpack and began to dial.
Five four nine, one one six two.
"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice recording. Please leave a message after the beep!"
Five four nine, one one six two.
She hung up.

---

Well, that was depressing.

Tidbit

tidbit - a choice or pleasing bit (as of information)
from Merriam-Webster English Dictionary

What an interesting word! Tidbit. Tidbit. Tidbit.

---

She'd never really cared for jewelry.
The gold hoop earrings, the diamond-studded bracelet, the beautiful jade ring with her initials graved into it. It was too flashy, annoying. An extra reminder of something that she didn't want to belong to anymore.
Legs strung across the edge of the bridge, she hummed a gentle melody as she emptied the box into her lap. Silver chains, charm bracelets, jeweled brooches in the shape of hummingbirds. Too many memories. Too much to store.
Taking a deep breath she began to sort through them, remembering each ring, each bracelet, each pin. John. Bradley. Sam. Neil. She whispered their names aloud as she tossed each trinket over the edge, listening to the satisfying plop of metal hitting the water. They were all gone, drowned, taking with them the bitter remains of all the creeps who'd taken more than they'd asked for.
Soft gurgling sounds filled the silence as each now useless item floated to the bottom of the creek. For a minute she sat there in the quiet, listening to her own thoughts, watching the jewelry disappear from her sight and the pain disappear from her heart.
"I can't be bought."

---

TIDBIT.