There was just something special about this bouncy house. Andy couldn’t explain. The Dayton Family Fun Fair was anything but.
Outside kids were running back and forth. Old people rock music was blaring. Mom had insisted Andy play in the bounce house. He kicked up a fuss but he relented in case mommy made him go face painting with Olive. Shuddering Andy snuggled deeper into the plastic.
First in the crowded fair attraction, Andy was in a nightmare. Reeking of sick and dirty socks the bouncy house was too noisy. Hands over his ears Andy looked for his quiet place. David, a kid Andy kinda knew from school, pushed him hard. Andy fell backwards. Tumbling he flipped over somebody else.
Confused Andy tried to stand on the wobbly floor. A big headed girl rammed into his belly. He rolled into a corner of the inflatable sinking between the floor and one of the walls. Outside a kid screamed with laughter.
Outside there was the dance music and arcade games. Someone was yelling about on dollar hot dogs. Tucked in his corner the fun fair was muffled. Like a rubber hug the bouncy house held him on all sides safe.
Eventually Olive and her friends would be ready to go home. Mommy would come looking for him with that tired face. Whup whup the bouncing felt like a gentle push in and out. He had been so antsy about going to the fair but now he could rest. Andy curled into the quiet.
The waiting room chair squeaked in protest. Candor the Crusher of Skulls shifted his broadsword uneasily. There was a half dead philodendron in the corner and old scrolls on crop yields in the southern lands on occasional table. The air reeked of stale yaya flowers and despair. Girding his loins for battle, Candor took note of the bad omens.
The great warrior tapped his knee. He looked at time sand charm over the door. His appointment time had passed nearly three quarters of an hour ago. A handful of sea hags, two bickering demon knights, and an ancient centaur with a cough were Candor’s waiting room companions. Candor shifted again.
“Coldo Crush? Is there a Mr. Crush here?” The receptionist called out.
Confused Candor looked around the Office of Senior Wizardry Benefits waiting room. One of the seahags gave Candor a flirty wink. Collecting his OFC paperwork, he walked his joints complaining to reception.
“I am Candor the Crusher of Skulls. Key Bearer of the Sacred Gates, the Left Hand of her Royal Majesty Queen Velle, and hero of the Dragon War. Here to seek counsel with Wizard General Ragik regarding my benefits.”
“That’s what I said, Mr. Crush. Do you have your paperwork filled out in triplicate? Good. Take this down the hall to the second bay and Seer Meladay, second class, will be of assistance filing your benefit complaint.”
With a lime green finger, the receptionist indicated the correct direction. The great warrior spluttered and swore to the moon goddess.
“Three crowned heads owe me their purple and children in the highlands sing my herald. My appointment was with the Wizard General,” Candor said.
“Would you like me to reschedule the WG has opening in three years?”
Patting his faithful sword, the great, old warrior bowed his head and walked stiffly to bay two.
Hello rubs my ankle by the front door Winding missed you around each step Nimble footsteps of how are you Following me from room to room From making dinner to cleaning up Your curled purring my evening’s soundtrack Slow blinks on the book I want to read Could have done without the goodnight leap on my belly when I’m sleeping I love you snores too close to my head Sighing into sleep I scritch I love you back
“I heard you were the best,” Parker said.
His words were hissed out as the first sting of the whip faded and the slow burn of the after pain radiated in warm circles across his skin. Wap! The second strike across his back knocked out his breath. Suddenly there was a volley of slaps. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision. If he hadn’t already been on his knees Parker would have fallen. Delicious pain bloomed. Parker leaned into the sensation.
Few understood. People thought dominance and submission was a sex thing. As if Parker and those like him were kinky freaks. Disgusting. Of course there was a luscious endorphin rush after the fury of a punishment. But the gift was in submitting, letting go completely, not having to be everything to everyone for a few moments.
The tip of her bull whip prodded his left inner leg. Parker jerked. He heard her click her tongue in warning. Using all of his strength he remained still. Smothered in the perfume of red rose petals and his own sweat, Parker focused on his pose of supplication. Knees together, forehead on the floor, back exposed, Parker took slow even breaths.
The tip of the whip handle teased up Parker’s thigh, tantalizing his damp skin. Her high heeled boots made music as she circled his pliant form. Her vermillion silk robe redolent of dark amber swept past him. Head down nestled among her rose petals, Parker smiled on the inside. Gently she lifted Parker’s chin with a gloved finger. He shivered in expectation; the Red Queen was pleased.
I was never trying to be an artist I just started with the shadows the darkest darks learning the language of lines stroke by stroke until I could make my mark
I was never seeking self care but I built layer upon layer carving stippled shapes capturing the light desperate to gain perspective
from a fresh canvas to a masterpiece of time gorgeously spent simply drawing what is there versus what I think should be there I want to be complete not perfect
Summer was here. From tail to the tip of his snout, Bingo could feel it. He stuck his nose in the patio door crack. Fresh grass shoots scented from the warming earth. Sugar sap bubbled deep beneath the bark. Rain two days out tickled his long bones. A few houses down a squirrel worried an acorn. Overjoyed, Bingo yapped Summer! Summer! to his fluffy neighbor. The squirrel chittered his annoyance.
Bingo pranced into the kitchen. Soon there would be forever days and naps in the shade. Summer was sticky mud for rolling and dandelion jungles to explore. Bingo could taste the scrumptious grubs wriggling just for him. Hungry, Bingo yapped Sumber! Summer! to his person, Sam. Standing by the sink, Sam ignored him.
What, Bingo said with a head cock, I know you heard me. The small terrier stomped he wanted to go outside. The kitchen air was heavy with the smell of smoky paprika and cumin. Bingo circled taking in the variety of dirtied bowls. Mustard, deviled eggs, and the tang of Carolina barbecue sauce the smells lit up his brain. Suddenly it clicked. All is forgiven. We are having a cookout, Bingo yapped.
“Hunger, boy?” Sam called over her shoulder.
The spare human Peter dragged a bag of charcoal. The air was spiked with charred mesquite and the promise of crispy edges. Bingo jumped on the charcoal bag and bit it to help Peter get the fire started. Peter grumbled over the grill as their dog barked loud encouragement.
Summer was here. The bistro table was laden with potato salad and icy lemonade. With delicious smoke in his eyes, Bingo yelped his excitement to the treetops.
“We really should sign him up for obedience training or an exorcism or something,” Peter said.
“He’s just hungry,” Sam said. “Here you go, my sweet baboo.”
Sam slipped a hot patty of yumminess on a plate for him. Bingo took his first gobble of summer and froze. Tofu. Bingo sniffed and growled. He looked up at his person, horrified. Overhead a squirrel danced ha ha.
Moving my little treasures Handknits, vintage fabrics, skein splurges Tiny tan moth Fluttered up
Looking for comfort amidst Storage bins and promises to be organized Tiny tan moth Fluttered up
Lifting the lid to a chest of holes Once shawls, scarves, my first sweater Tiny tan moth Fluttered up
Crying over what I lost Weeks days hours unraveled Tiny tan moth Fluttered up
Rap! Rap! The relentless thumping on the front door began again. Wrapped in his comforter, Travis continued his weak shuffle to his front door. Had he ordered DoorDash and forgotten?
“T-Bone, cmon man open up!”
Travis opened his door and his old college buddy Kenny bowled in him over. He landed on his floor butt first. His friend hurried into Travis’ living room.
“What the—“
“No time for small talk, mate. I need 143.125 milliliters of carbonated beverage, a protein rich snack, and a set of encyclopedias. Stat!” Kenny shouted.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t seen you since Smitty’s party where you got sick in his printer and disappeared with my favorite pen. I’m sick and I can’t deal with you right now.”
As if he hadn’t heard Kenny attacked Travis’ bookcase, searching. Books landed on the rug. Travis wrestled Kenny to the sofa.
“Ow! I can’t explain it all to you in detail cause it would rupture the time distance continuum but in the future experimental time travel is possible through the manipulation of word wormholes. I was doing research in 2367 when a electromagnetic storm struck that caused me to stutter back in time. I need those things to reset my lexichronograph. An encyclopedia or even better a dictionary. I need a paper database of words. Please believe me mate.”
Travis looked deep into his buddy’s eyes. Clad in metallic pajamas things, Kenny looked a decade older than he should. Travis scrubbed his face in exasperated.
“Just sit here and don’t touch anything. Don’t make me pop you. I got you,” Travis said trailing his blanket on the way to the kitchen.
“Grab a couple of aspirin and juice,” Kenny called after him.
A few minutes later, Travis was back with a bottle of ginger ale, a glass of orange juice, a couple of peanut butter sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, and something bulky tucked under his arm. Cross legged eyes closed Kenny was mediating on Travis’ coffee table. Travis toed his buddy in the side.
“Here’s what I got. The previous owner used it to prop open the kitchen window. Take it and go. My head is splitting.”
Coughing, Travis held out a dust covered 1987 Yellow Pages. Excited Kenny hugged the dirty thing to his chest. In a gulp, He downed the drink. Belching Kenny shoved the sandwiches into his pajamas pockets.
“You’re a lifesaver. Wait you forgot the medicine,” Kenny said.
Shrugging, Travis dragged himself to the bathroom. He returned with a packet of pills.
“Man all I got is this nighttime cold medicine and—“
His living room was vacant. Looking around, Travis shrugged and took the cold medicine. His old favorite pen was sitting on his coffee table. Confused he picked it up.
“Fever dream, that’s what this is. This is not happening. I’m asleep.”
Travis stared at the pen again and then gingerly set the pen down.
Desire sniffed her plastic wineglass and grimaced. Nudging her shoulder, her brother Dream came up behind her. Sighing they both stared blankly at the canvas before them. The hum of the gallery’s halogen blended with the murmur from the sparse crowd around the free bar.
“What is it?” Desire whispered.
“Maybe, it’s hung the wrong way?” Dream answered.
The Endless siblings cocked their heads to one side. The globs of chewed gum and fingerprints covering the giant canvas looked just as confusing in landscape mode as in portrait mode. Guzzling from a bottle of mid-range Chablis, Despair joined them.
“Trust me that won’t help,” Despair said. “I’ve haunted artist studios from Paris to Pennsauken and I know crapola when I see it.”
“Well we can’t say that. Desire, you’re the poet. You have to come up with something wonderful to say before Death comes over here and asks what we all think,” Dream said.
“Look, first we went through Death’s whole standup comedian phase, glassblowing, then funky macrame. I still have all those squishy pull pots from her pottery kick. We’re immortals with the ability to shape humanity and big sis spends all her corporeal time making weird stuff. Let’s just tell him the truth and get tacos,” Despair said despairingly.
“Dude, Mom would kill us. Quick think of something classy,” Desire said.
Despair snorted while Dream scratched his head. Concentrating, all three siblings tipped their heads to the other side. Dressed in her typical all-black but with a jaunty beret instead of her hooded shroud, Death walked over. She watched her family confused. Death cleared her throat. The trio jumped in surprise. Desire drained her glass.
“Guys I am so thrilled you came out to support my show. But why are you staring at this old access panel?”
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Oceans of empty streets Gulping mouthfuls of aloneness Breeching the surface Before diving back under Away from the weight of expectations Breast stroking through vacant lanes Castaway in my home Moored among my favorite things While the world above belly flops Flailing Bubbles floating away shimmery translucent