Sarah Flanigan - Poetry Simply Put

 (The following story is a joint effort by Sarah Flanigan and Jess Em. We hope you enjoy it.)

The mean summer sun burned a hole in the sky and glared down at me. Mocking and relentless. Grimacing, I turned the key in the ignition and heaved a breath of surrender.The journey to Monday morning dread had begun and I navigated the streets on autopilot.

The weekend was never long enough, nor the work week short enough. Dread was my only friend and confidant there and it whispered in my ear, “Turn back. Go home.” I turned the music up louder. I still heard my dread whimper and whine but pretended to sing along.

My office building loomed over the tiny, surrounding shops and mimicked an architectural flip off. Or maybe it was just my attitude that colored it that way. Nothing like going to a job where you are feared and hated to get the bitter taste of resentment going and the stomach acid brewing.

The slowest elevator in the world is in my building, like the largely old world neighborhood in which it resides, it lumbers and groans with each effort to move forward.

Odd. An empty lobby at 8:58 a.m. A first. I glanced toward the street, through the open door, was there any traffic? “Dah-ding!” the elevator announced, and I moved inside like the good soldier. Each floor announced with a smaller, less significant ding. Top floor, end of the line. The doors opened like a pair of ancient elephants parting company.

The empty hallway smelled of grit and old ashtrays and people who were anti-deodorant. I reached for my keys but the door was already open. No doubt, one of my employees was trying to prove something or angling for a pay raise.

I pushed the door wide, my hand flat against the cool surface. “Morning,” I murmured but there was no one there. I ambled further into the belly of the beast. The staff kitchen was surely atwitter with discussions of dates, diets and bad television shows.

But in my approach, I heard no voices, smelled no coffee, felt no energy. “Why are all the lights off back here?” I groused when my knee hit the door jamb. A flick of the wrist and there was light but nothing else.

“Damned cleaning crew,” I muttered, realizing they’d left the door open. I checked the safe and the cash drawer but everything was as I’d left it the night before.

Urgent and shrill the phone rang and jolted me into the corner of my desk. “Crap!” I dove for the phone. “Good morning, Dr. Black’s office, may I help you?” The screech of a fax scratched at my eardrums and I slammed the phone down.

Where the hell was everybody? Why was it so quiet? I could almost believe I was the only person in the building.

Shrugging it off, I started a pot of coffee and poured a cup when it finished brewing. Astounded by my luck, I found some real half and half and watched the swirls it made in the hot, aromatic brew.

9:15 a.m. Still, no one had arrived. No one had called. Where were they? I turned on the radio while I prepared for the onslaught of patients that would pour through the door any minute. Helen Reddy sang, You and Me Against the World. Irony, I love it. I sang along while I executed the mundane chores of turning off voice mail, checking for messages - none? Printing off the appointments for the day.

Whoosh, the door opened. “Finally,” I said, craning my neck through the cashier’s window. “I was beginning to think . . . ” My words were sucked into a vacuum. No one there. Just an open door. I went through the adjoining door to the waiting room and crossed to the door to close it but felt compelled to look out into the hallway. No one. I stepped out. All the other doors were open but the offices were empty. The creepy-crawly feeling that hurried up my spine put my feet in motion and I retreated into the office. I locked the door behind me. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Stop it. Just call them. They are all late and that’s all that’s going on.” I lectured myself as I fumbled through my Rolodex for phone numbers. First I dialed the doctor. A recording said the number was disconnected. I dialed again. Same recording.

My chest tightened and I pushed down the panic that was trying to snake its way up my throat. “Calm down, will you?” I told myself. I dialed the next number. And the next. And the next. All of them were disconnected. What are the odds that every number I had written down was wrong? I dialed information. What else could I do? Oh come on, that number was disconnected too?

I gave up on the phone and regarded it suspiciously. “Am I being punked?” I looked around, smiling. “Okay, you can all come out now. Very funny. Come on! I’m onto you, no point in keeping up the charade.” I smiled and grinned. Of course, I was on Candid Camera or something. They were playing a joke on me and were watching all of it from a video van on the street.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and went back to my desk. They’d wander in shortly, thinking they had done something funny. “Screw them,” I said and turned on my computer. I clicked on my email but nothing came up. Strange. No email, again? “Servers must be down.” I clicked on my homepage, again nothing came up. Not even an error page. Nothing. As though there was no Internet.

I eyed the clock - 10 a.m., still no one. Still, the utter quiet. I’d had enough. I didn’t know what was going on but I was leaving. Maybe it was a holiday or they’d gone to a party without me but I was damned if I was going to sit there all day by myself. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. My hand closed on the doorknob but it wouldn’t turn. Thud, went my heart. Oh right, I’d locked it. I released the deadbolt. Still, the handle wouldn’t turn. “What the hell?” I twisted at the knob, banged my fists on the door. “Hey, let me out! Hey, is anybody out there? Hello? Hey!”

But no one was and now I was trapped inside. My brain buzzed. I was suddenly hot and felt sweat trickle down my back and under my arms. My pulse raised and panic nagged at my insides. I made myself breathe. The door was just stuck or something. There was no diabolical plot in play. I let out a breath, counted to ten and tried the door again, but slowly. It turned. I pulled it open. No one there. No one in the hallway. I locked the door behind me and headed for the stairs.

As I descended each flight of stairs, I tried to rationalize everything. Where the hell could they all be? Why was no one in the building? Why hadn’t I seen one person since my arrival?

I reached the parking level to the staff lot and pushed through the door. The lot was empty. Empty! There really wasn’t anyone there but me. I had to duck under the barricade at the driveway to get through because, surprise, that wasn’t working either. I felt relieved that I’d parked on the street. I don’t know why I decided to, I just did. Lucky for me, I thought.

I walked and it was just me and the birds. There was not one car on the road. Not one. Not one person on the street but me. The panic started screaming in my head again, and it was screaming for me to run. Run!

My feet flew and I was at my car panting and looking around as though the boogie man would jump out and snatch me away to the dark planet. I unlocked the door and got inside, turned the ignition and pulled away. The streets were like the building, eerily empty. As though all the life had been sucked out of the area. Every light I hit was green. There was no traffic. For twenty minutes I drove, apparently the only car in the entire city, traveling.

Finally, I pulled into my drive. I was home and my panic fell away. I knew if I just could get inside the house, all the nonsense would disappear. I got out of the car on rubbery legs. The key turned the lock and I opened the door. Cool air rushed at me from the dark cavern within.

“Sparky?” I called my dog. She hadn’t come running to the door to welcome me. I walked into the livingroom. I whistled. “Here, girl!” I went to the patio door and looked out to the yard. Empty. Just green grass and the Mimosa tree, swaying in the hot breeze.

There was no point in looking further. The house was empty, even I didn’t seem to occupy the space. I was alone. I was completely alone. In my house. Maybe in the world. What cruel trick was God playing on me?

Breathe. In, out, in out. Bring air into my body, think, breathe out. Don’t panic. Think. That is what I told myself. It worked for a moment. Try the home phone, try my cell phone, turn on the television - see if anything works.

No phone, no cell. A vortex of empty sound buzzed across the phone lines. The silence screamed. This couldn’t be real. Unless . . . it was them.

I went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and I heard it - the light tapping at the back door. Incessantly tap, tap, tap, tap, tap-rhythmically, never stopping, tapping lightly in tune with the breeze. But there was no breeze. The air was thick beyond anything I had ever known. No life, no wind, no sound. What happened to all the sound? Nothing except the tapping at the back door.

I knew what it was. I’d heard it only once before, in a time and place that still haunted my dreams, my worst nightmares. The tapping meant they had come. They found me, they knew me, and they were waiting.

I went out the back door, pulled down the line spliced between the roofing tiles, and disconnected it from the lintel at the back door. They would know, soon. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Panic skittered up my spine, my fingers shaking; I went into my bedroom and pulled up the floorboard, for inside was the small box I knew they wanted. The box! If I destroyed the box, the air would come back. The people would come back. Everything would be okay again, nothing lost. “Remember - if this comes into the wrong hands all is lost. There are many who would destroy that which we protect for what is inside this small rectangular container. Never, never let it go to them.”

Fire, air. Together they would eradicate the life inside the box. The life that was destroying the very essence of everything. They wanted it, for it would give them the power. I had to let the others know, but didn’t know how. Except - if I died, they’d know why.

Fire, air. Pure air. I needed pure air. I could make fire, but pure air, without the taint of exhaust and pollutants, no residue. I had a plant, a small umbrella tree, but it would work.

Voices -outside my house, my little home where I felt safe. Where I should have been safe. Sweat beaded on my back, my heart pounded so hard I was sure they could hear it. How did they find me? Were there any others still alive? Time stopped in this farce, this fevered moment in which I questioned my sanity, my being. I heard the voices. And I knew they had come for me.

I took the box, and the matches to the plant, and hurried to strike the match and set the box aflame. I heard them, the voices coming louder and louder from inside the box, and outside the house, and I knew they were close - too close. I had to stop them, destroy it, before they destroyed all.

As the air sucked into the fire, it grew hotter and hotter, crackling away the edges of the box, the plant, the table, and the curtains. The flames licked up the walls of my house, and I knew I should leave, run, but it was my debt to see the box destroyed. To make sure it died - completely destroyed. I felt the fire growing hotter, larger, coming closer, and I had won. As the smoke thickened, my eyes blurred, I lay down to my last moments on earth, and savored my victory over them. And I heard them scream. I had won. The darkness closed around me and, I smiled. The box was destroyed.

I slipped into the blackness.

copyright Sarah Flanigan & Jess Em 2007

Hi everyone,
My friend Writer Chick, has a fun post up. It’s a round robin, in which all her readers can add to a group story. If you have time and interest, please go visit and add to the story if you’ve a mind to. I just did. This is fun!
Much love,
Sarah

Was it a shadow that glanced my peripheral vision or something real? My head made an automatic turn in that direction but nothing was there. I shrugged, yet another symptom of being on edge, too much stress.

I squinted against the bright sun and let its warmth soak into my bones. An easy day of doing nothing. Wandering. Looking into windows at things I could never afford to buy I felt a calm settle in. I needed this - a respite from the noise and clutter in my mind. A vacation from me.

With bold invisibility I moved with the crowd. Touching no one, no one touching me. A relief to be a stranger among strangers. A joy to offer no revelation of what lie inside. I listened to my sandals meeting the pavement, each step measured and regular. My shoulders relaxed, my mind turned off and my eyes searched and coveted without notice.

Again, the shadow danced out of reach of my perception. What was it? Who was it? I stopped and listened. My senses dialed up a notch, trying to lasso that elusive perception. A color, dark, moved slightly to my right. I fumbled in my bag and pulled out my cell phone. With flair, I pretended to dial and chat with an imaginary friend. “What are you doing?” I said to the no one there. My eyes darted covertly, scanning for a face or a clue. “Really?” I continued. “Uh, huh, uh huh . . . ” I saw what I was feeling. The embodiment of the shadow. It was she. Again.

I ended my imaginary call and put my cell back in my bag. My mind ticked. What should I do? Confront her? How uncomfortable that would be. Ignore her? Didn’t seem possible. Pretend to be happy to have run into her? I wasn’t sure I was that good an actress. So . . . I walked. Hoping she would give up. Hoping she would find fresh prey on the street thronging with countless opportunities for an obsession.

I stopped at a juice bar and bought a smoothie. She stopped at the newsstand next door. I chatted with the kid at the counter so long he probably feared I was hitting on him. Eventually, I had to move on. I had to keep traveling as though unaware. If I stopped too long, I would give a tacit invitation to her to bump into me. Grant her permission to invade my privacy again. Damn her!

The sun was hot but I felt a shiver. What did she want? Why did she want it? How had I become the object of her obsession? We’d met casually, through mutual friends. At first, I thought we could be friends. She seemed bright, witty, intelligent. We even had lunch a couple of times, took in a movie, had drinks and complained about the men in and out of our lives. Normal getting to know you type of stuff. I didn’t think twice about it. Until . . .

Three o’clock in the morning and my phone jolted me out of a dead sleep. “Hello?” a mixture of apprehension and annoyance.

“Kath?”

“Yeah,” I sat up only vaguely recognizing the voice.

“It’s me, Janny.”

Annoyance won. Why was she calling me at this hour? “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. I just couldn’t sleep.” I heard her smoking, exhaling deeply and sensed a nervous ramble.

“Janny, it’s late.”

“I know,” she gushed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called but I can’t sleep. I need to talk . . . ”

I gave in, though I knew I shouldn’t have. It was a bad precedent to set. Soon, late night calls became the norm. I could have unplugged my phone and in fact did, but the cell would ring anyway. I couldn’t completely disconnect, I had family and friends who I wanted to be able to reach me if they needed. I started screening my calls.

After many unreturned calls, she started showing up at my house. Knocking on the door at all hours. Leaving gifts on my doorstep. Pathetic messages on my answering machine. “I thought we were friends,” she’d say, her voice cracking as though on the verge. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing was really wrong. It wasn’t as though I thought she could hurt me or threaten me really. But I just didn’t want to be around her. But that was unavoidable. We had mutual friends - I saw her at parties and gatherings where she would corner me and force feed me the details of her life. I started to notice strange things. She changed her hairstyle and it looked a lot like mine. She started to wear clothes from the same shops where I bought my clothes. Her mannerisms reminded me of me. It was like looking into a fun house mirror and seeing a distorted image of me.

While it was unnerving there wasn’t much, I could do about it. She wasn’t breaking the law or causing me harm - just creeping me out. I saw less of our mutual friends. I avoided places I knew she might turn up. I changed my phone number. For a while, things returned to normal. The calls stopped. I rarely saw her and thought the infatuation was over. A fluke. An unintended assumption of personality goaded by too much admiration?

But now, here she was again. Dogging me. Watching me. What did she want?

I knew if I didn’t do something, I’d be driven to extremes. To move or change jobs or worse. It was time. I had to confront her. I didn’t want to - I didn’t want to accuse her of what was obvious but could never be proved. I didn’t want to deal with the consequences, with friends choosing sides and the mess that would surely follow but she left me no choice.

I stepped into a doorway and waited. She started past and I stepped out in front of her.

“Kath!” she cried as though genuinely surprised. She gave me a hug and my skin crawled. “What are you doing here?”

I backed away from her reach. “The question is, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you following me?” I asked and felt like a ridiculous, paranoid bitch.

She put her hand to her chest as though she would have a case of the vapors. “Following you? I’m not following you. I was just out window shopping. I had no idea you were here too.” Her eyes went large and mimicked hurt.

“Cut the crap,” I said. “We both know the truth. I want you to stop it. Just stop it. Leave me alone.”

She looked around as though the strangers that walked past were her audience. “Can you believe her?”

A couple of people gave a look.

“You want me to stop it? Stop what?” She looked at a man walking by, “she wants me to stop? Stop what?”

The man gave us both the eye and hurried past, looking back once or twice but never stopping.

“Stop trying to be me,” I said, my jaw clenched and pained.

She laughed a high-pitched shriek. “Be you? Why would I want to be you?” Her voice went higher and louder. “What’s so special about you?” She put her hands on her hips and glared.

“I don’t have any idea why you’d want to be me. I can’t think of one reason you’d want to be - but you do. You are. Stop it! Leave me alone!” I shook with anger and was done with it. All of it. I walked away.

She screamed after me. “You don’t walk away from me. You don’t accuse me of this and walk away! Do you hear me?”

I walked faster, harder, to get away. I felt a clutch in my chest and a burn in my lungs but made myself move faster. When I got in my car and locked the doors I felt safe. I let my head fall back against the headrest. I’d said it. It was over. Out in the open. I steeled myself for the onslaught of calls from concerned friends, who would no doubt want to patch things up between us. For the possibility of letting those friends go if it became too much. For the possibility of changing jobs and homes so I could make a clean and total break. I’d done it. There was no turning back.

***

I slept in fits and starts. I could find no comfort in my bed or the still night. Charlie, my cat, hid from me under the bed, growling and spitting any time I tried to coax him out. Finally, I gave up and just lied there. Sleep would come if I just let it and I counted the cracks in the ceiling.

“She won’t give up without a fight, you know,” said a voice in my head, though it sounded from across the room. I punched the pillow and turned on my side. “Are you ignoring me too?”

I felt the breath on the back of my neck. There was another human being in the room with me and I was both angry and terrified. “Who’s there?” I whispered.

“Why me, of course,” and like that he was eye to eye, nose to nose.

I screamed and flew out of bed. Where was the damned phone? “Help!” I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in.

When I turned away from the door, there he sat on the edge of the tub, smiling. My heart thumped but he was really just a little man. A very little man, his feet barely touched the floor and his bow tie was askew.

“Who are you?”

He smiled like a guppy fish. “Oh come now, you know who I am. Think hard. I’m sure it will come to you.”

If he weren’t so odd and harmless I would have jumped him, wrapped him in the shower curtain and called the police. But this strange little creature intrigued me and I knew it had to be a delusion so I decided to engage him instead. “Nope, I got nothing.”

He sighed like a little girl and shook his head. “I’m so disappointed. But fine. I’m your little voice.”

I knew it was my paranoia - not real, harmless. “Oh,” I winked, “I see. My little voice. Well, you certainly are little, aren’t you?” Why was I standing in the freezing bathroom in the middle of the night talking to an apparition wholly of my own making? “Are you here to offer me some advice? Or just to put me to sleep?”

He laughed as though truly amused but there was something a little mean in his eyes. Something that made me back up a step. Did I really have that vivid an imagination? If I reached out and touched him would there be something there?

The doorbell rang and I jumped and screamed again.

“Take it easy. It’s just her,” he said.

“Her?” My heart sped up. “Her, who?”

He pointed his gloved hand toward the door. Like a little puppet, I pulled open the door and went toward the livingroom.

The bell continued to buzz, as though the mystery visitor leaned on it. Short of reaching the door, it stopped. I did too. Like a cat, I froze in mid-stride. My head felt on fire and sweat dampened my hair.

I heard mumbles from the other side of the door, jangling, keys and scraping. Whoever was out there was trying to get inside. “Who . . . ”

“I told you, it’s her,” he hissed in my ear. How did he get beside me without notice?

“Who?” I mouthed to him.

“The one who wants to be you.”

I shook my head. It couldn’t be. I couldn’t believe it could be her. But then, who else could it be? Gingerly I engaged the door chain. I didn’t really think they could get through the deadbolt but it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. In the back of my mind I kept telling myself it was a weird and twisted dream and I would wake from it soon. Kept telling myself to wake up.

The deadbolt slid from its slot and the door eased open - just a crack, because the chain prevented entry. I gasped.

“I told you, I told you, I told you,” little man laughed and danced.

“Kathy, it’s Janny. Open the door.”

“You have to kill her,” he whispered, this time in my other ear. How did he get up on my shoulder? Why couldn’t I feel the weight of him there?

“Go away,” I said and put my weight against the door to close it.

She was strong and pushed back, I couldn’t manage to get the door shut and the chain was threatening to break. Little man squealed and shrieked. “Hurry, hurry, hurry. Kill her now, kill her now!”

“Janny, stop this now! I’m calling the police. Go home. Leave me alone!” I tried to sound angry and authoritative but could barely get the words out. “Do you hear me? Stop this!” I shoved hard against the door but it made no difference.

“We need to talk. I need to talk to you. Just let me in. I’m not going anywhere until we talk.” She shoved hard back and nearly knocked me to the floor.

My brain buzzed - the phone was too far away, little man wouldn’t help since he was just my imagination, the cat hid under the bed. My eyes scanned, looking for anything that would give me leverage and there was nothing. I was exhausted and I knew I couldn’t keep up the tug of war for too much longer. I knew I would lose at this game, she was clearly stronger than I was. Determined to drive me insane. Or?

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Just to talk,” she said.

Little man laughed and shook his head. “Don’t believe her.”

“Talk about what?”

“About what?” she whined. “About that fit you pitched today. I need to set you straight.”

I had to keep her talking. I had to get her to become more involved in her thoughts that trying to break down the door. I could feel she’d let up a little, just a notch . . . if I could just keep her talking.

“Why can’t we talk on the phone? Tomorrow?”

She laughed that mental patient laugh of hers. “Like you’ll even pick up the phone if you know it’s me. I’m not stupid you know, I’m not falling for that trick. No, we’re going to straighten this out tonight! Now!”

“Fine,” I said, “talk!”

She pushed again at the door. “I want in. Let me in!”

I gave up. I was damned if I were going to play this game. I walked away from the door. If she was determined to get in, I wasn’t going to stop her. Let her push all she wanted. Let her break the chain. I walked to the phone and picked up the handset. The minute I dialed 911 the chain went flying and the door banged open.

Little man shrieked and hid behind me. He trembled and hissed. “She’s in now. She’s in. She’s going to kill you. Why didn’t you kill her when you had the chance? Why?”

I put the phone to my ear, “come now, please come now,” and I let the phone drop to the floor.

Janny stood in the doorway, enraged. Her hair greasy with sweat, her eyes wild and cruel. “You!” she screamed. The full moon rushed through the open door behind her, forcing her shadow to touch and molest me. Her right arm, longer than her left, her teeth jagged and grinding. “You are going to pay!”

Fire shot from her hand and buzzed past me.

I dived for cover behind the sofa. The fire blazed every few seconds. My mind couldn’t take it in. I knew it wasn’t really fire. I knew none of this was really happening. I was a ghost in a dream feeling fear but knowing it was all pretend. Little man bit my knee and whimpered. “You bitch. You should have killed her. She’s going to kill us both. It’s all your fault.”

“Shut up, “I screamed at him.

She advanced. “Shut up? Shut up? I will not shut up! I’m going to shut you up for good. I’m going to shut your stupid, vile mouth up for good! Do you hear me?” More fire. More dizziness. Where were the cops? Where were the sirens? Why was I hiding from the crazy lady in my own house?

I hazarded a look around the side of the sofa. She was gone. It was silent. So quiet. Where had she gone? Why hadn’t I heard her? Where was little man? I looked around. I was alone in the dark. Trembling and sweating. Heaving for breath. The door was closed, locked, the chain engaged. The phone was in its cradle. Charlie stood at my feet and meowed. I stooped and picked him up and held him to me.” Oh Mr. Cat, we are losing are fucking minds. What the hell kind of dream was that?”

He meowed louder and I realized he was probably hungry, so I carried him into the kitchen. I flipped on the lights and grab a can of his favorite and dumped it in his dish. He jumped up to the counter and purred while he ate.

The doorbell rang. “What the. ?”

I went to the livingroom and stopped short of the door. “Who is it?”

“The police, ma’am.”

My mind whirred.

“What can I do for you?” I asked but didn’t move.

“We’re responding to a 911 call. Woman in distress.”

“Sorry, it was a mistake. I made a mistake.” I said from my spot in the middle of the livingroom. I knew I shouldn’t move. I knew it would be bad if I moved an inch.

“Could you please open the door ma’am,” the police officer said from the other side of the door. “We have to make sure you’re okay. Open the door ma’am. Open the door now.”

My feet were lead, it seemed to take hours to get to the door. I released the deadbolt but kept the chain in place. My hand closed on the doorknob - it was slick with . . . something - sweat? I used my nightgown to wipe away the slick and turned the knob and pulled open the door a crack. “Yes, officer?” I smiled through the crack in the door.

“Can you let us in, ma’am?” he said, a pleasant looking fatherly type in a uniform.

“I’m afraid I’m not decent, officer. You see, I was sleeping . . . ”

He shined his flashlight in my eyes my hand flew up to shield them.

“Sleeping ma’am?”

“Yes, sleeping, “I said. “Could you please not shine that in my eyes, I can’t see.”

“What’s that on your hand, ma’am? What’s that stain on your hand? Are you hurt? Are you bleeding?” His face was a black shadow against the glare in my eyes.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just fine. I’m sorry, but I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have called. Can’t I just go back to sleep?” He lowered the flashlight and his face came back into view. Little man danced behind him and made ugly faces at me. My stomach knotted. “Really, I’m very tired. I didn’t mean to call you. I guess I just had a bad dream.”

He shook his head. I would have to let him in. I would have to tell him about my stupid dream and paranoia and have to see the snicker on his face that he would try to hide but could not.

I stopped fighting fate. “All right,” I said, “just let me put something on.” I reached into the closet and grabbed my raincoat and covered myself up then returned to him. I unchained the door and pulled it toward me but it wouldn’t budge. “Sorry, something seems wrong with the door. It won’t open. I don’t know what’s wrong . . . there must be something blocking it . . . ”

I looked down and saw Janny’s face staring up. A frozen scream on her face, shadows down the front of her shirt, her hands to her throat. A breath caught in my throat.

The last thing I remember was little man screaming, “KILLLER!”

Copyright 2007

beach dogs catch the rays
that sparkle across water
deep green and perfect

copyright 2007

Winter roses sag
Clip, trim, dead leaves fall to ground
Roses safe in vase

copyright 2006

Not long ago, my buddy Evyl did a really fun post that linked to a quiz which would tell you just how scary you are. Sadly, I discovered I was not scary at all. In fact, it said I was sweet. (boring!) But of course Evyl scored very high on the scary meter (lucky bastard). We got to talking and we thought we’d do our own little test of sorts.

Word association. He came up with a list and I came up with a list. You can see Evyl’s list with my word association and his and below is mine. Remember, I’m sweet and he’s scary. LOL.

Court
Sarah says: Woo me like no other.
Evyl says: The stuffy building where the judge bangs the gavel and says ‘ One more outburst and I will gag you like transvestite bondage queen.’

Line
Sarah says: Dialogue at its best.
Evyl says: What you use to pick up loose women at a seedy bar. Such as ‘Do you have a mirror in your panties because I can see myself in them.’

Paisley
Sarah says: Pattern that is thankfully no longer fashionable.
Evyl says: Isn’t that the pattern you get with Dollar Store Boxer Shorts?

Revile
Sarah says: Hatred from my deepest darkest places.
Evyl says: The emotion shared by all my ex-girlfriends.

Body
Sarah says: The home in which our spirits live.
Evyl says: A good quality to have in beer and women. Too thin and you have lite beer and bony chicks but a good full body and you have Guiness and one hell of a woman.

So, are you sweet or scary? It’s a fun question to ponder.

Sarah