Rhythmic and regular, the click and swish continue incessantly.
Each thread woven in sequence, layering side by side.
Slowly the colors emerge, interwoven amidst the threads designed to strengthen.
The cut of the fabric is shaped and molded.
Every stitch, meticulous; every fold, crucial.
The narrative robed in cloth.
Reviewing the painting, I smiled. “No,” Timmy said, looking me square in the eyes. “I would rather you didn’t.” “You seem to be my perfect subject, though.” “Yes, and your first painting came out perfect, did it not?” “I suppose it did.” Timmy reached up and poked at his cheeks and twisted his fingers, exaggerating…
The light flickered… the landscape, reflected and mirrored, stretches out, filling the expanse. The little pieces are placed—trees and bushes set, and then adjusted perfectly. The intricate details were difficult to manage, but these… miniature, small… diminutive… I am not even sure anymore what to call them. They are detailed and seem perfect for the…
The book lay open on the desk, the cigarette in the ashtray still trailing smoke. The soft murmur of the television barely covered the incessant ticking that filled the room with audible angst. The darkened room filled with a flickering puddle of light from the movie being played. The oasis of light from the desk…
“They had not gone out together, in… damn… years,” she thought. Humming quietly to herself, “…don’t expect it this time either, girl, but there is always hope. He finally buy me new sensible shoes yesterday, and they fit perfectly. And the black shoes even matched my cute little black top.” They exercised together every day,…
Death, meet Black Hole…
The anticipation of the launch filled the room as everyone waited with bated breath. The tanks of the rocket were full, and the countdown had begun. This damned rickety control station, hastily constructed, rocked to and fro as everyone concerned focused on the impending launch. Somewhere, two solid objects of the control platform were thumping…
