“Dexterity is the name of this game,” he thought as he spiked the wicket down the diamond. “Also, basketball.”
There were a lot of reasons why it didn’t work out, but the most important one had to be the murders.
His laughter was infectious. Also, his virus.
Mayor Tiny Tim of Tiny Town presided over a short and troubled administration for Tiny Tim held a tiny insistence that all things be teeny tiny, up to and including the fire fighting equipment.
After nine months, several trips to the obstetrician, and a painful reconciliation, Fragments came to an end.
We sat alert on that hill as the sun came up, holding hands, silently crying, numbly feeling each other, waiting for the fire of Sodom to inevitably consume us and our children.
Jeff lay there unmoving, awestruck by the majesty of his spinal paralysis.
“What big teeth you had!” cried Little Red Riding Hood, tasting the grandma carcass soup.
It seems as if time stood still, as if they held hands forever, those two corpses.
Too often had we discounted the power of children: their innocence, their beautiful naïvety, their powerful tiny fists.
“Porridge!” she shouted wildly, she too having forgotten the safe word.
“What big teeth you have, Grandma!” said Little Red Riding Hood, hungrily feeling her toothless jaws, craving what she could not have.
One day, Princess Michael Thicklegs snuck outside the castle when her father, the king, wasn’t paying attention, which was always. She found hope and respite within nature’s bosom, as nature continually mistook her thick, hairy legs as squirrels.
Love is a fickle mistress, like having a secret wife.
Death is but the final voyage in life, if voyages were permanent and one-way and extremely physically and emotionally painful.
