Spiders

                When a spider lives in a cellar, down in the dank and cold, she doesn’t see many people.  Once in a while a human will climb down her creaking steps. They’ll bend their head to avoid the low pipes and they will search for what they came to retrieve.  In the brief time the person is present, the spider will pause in her web-weaving, and she will observe.

                When a spider lives in the corner of a cottage, she sees humankind on a daily basis.  They bustle about below her, and she hopes they don’t notice her.  If they do, then they’ll tear down her home.  She doesn’t mind that too badly though, she simply moves to a different corner – perhaps higher this time, and rebuilds.  Humans are always around, and this is a hazard that she is prepared to deal with.

                The first spider, the cellar-dweller, rarely sees people.  When she does though, she observes them very carefully.  She watches the way they move, the sounds they make, the tears they cry, and they smiles they beam.  She takes it all in curiously, and stores it away to ponder in the many long hours she spends weaving or waiting alone.

                The second spider is around people all the time.  She takes no special interest in what they do or the way that they do it – this is normalcy to her.  Things simply pass her observation, because after all, she is an expert in people.

                You see, the first spider doesn’t know people at all – she’s barely around them!  The second would be a much better judge of the race called Humans.  

TenWordFiction

“Finished, but not over.” He sighed.  “Blood-stained hands are heavy.”

Ten-Word (or less) Fiction

"No reason to live," Cherie cried, "now I have you."

Five Things I Hate

·         * Public Body Image

·         * Goldfish

·         * Internal Dissention

·         * Hindsight

·         * Abuse

Internal Dissention – the fancy way of saying bickering among the ranks.  Squabbling within the family.  Fighting within the church.  And I absolutely hate it.  I hate when a unit is torn apart because of petty differences; petty differences that could be solved so easily if we would just put aside our pride and arrogance. 

We end up hurting ourselves when we let pride win.  When we pollute our surroundings by our own spite – then we pollute the very air that we must breathe.  We damage ourselves by doing this.  But damaging ourselves is a big part of life, people do it every day.  I’m not saying that I agree with it, it’s always going to happen though.  But when we cannot put aside small differences, then we damage our cause.  Entire regimes have fallen because of the things people could not let go.  Regimes crash every other year though.  What about families?  Those smash every day, every second.  Yet people cannot let go of their irreconcilable differences to save the youth of their child, or the peace of themselves. 

Not all dissention is bad – not every fight can, or should, be avoided.  But when we decide that our own pride is more important than the cause of our loved ones, or our country men – then we make the decision that we are the most important person in our lives.  And when we decide that we are the most important person, we resign ourselves to life-long misery.    

Untitled

“You’re so sweet.” 

That’s what he said, as if two months of knowing me made him an expert.

He’s wrong though.  You see, sweet girls do not smile when they hear the story of mice being incinerated after they are caught.  Sweet girls do not revel in the fact that being pegged as “sweet” allows you to get away with things that others cannot.  Sweet girls find it easy to forgive.  Sweet is the term they give to the girls that obey.

Listen, I may smell like a rose, but I come with thorns.

Sweet?  No, I’m really not. 

But it’s nice to know that I can fool you.

Windows

I traced my finger along the edge of my train window, trying to focus on the glass instead of what it separated me from.  I had only one fellow passenger that night, and the man who paced our train car had no one else to look at.  His gaze felt heavy on me though, and I dropped my eyes to the chipped paint on my fingernails.

The trees outside my window were mostly birches, small and leafless in the winter.  Their trunks seemed small as the train passed them – too small to bear the burden of winter.

The pacing man flung himself into the seat across the aisle from me when he heard approaching footsteps.  Just in time; a second later a man walked through the doors.  His uniform spoke of authority.  He glanced at us briefly, but hurried on his way.  

The door closed behind the man in uniform, leaving us in silence until the man across from me laughed.  He laughed the kind of laugh a regretful man would, if he were just told that he was dying of cancer.

“You know, I really thought you cared.”

My eyes rose to meet his, but he was looking out the window – speaking words not meant for me.  I continued staring, careless of the fact that it was impolite.

“I came all this way just hoping…” he shook his head.  “I guess that’s life though, isn’t it?  Just when you’re on top, someone kicks you off.”

The man shook his head and stared into the night outside his window. 

Tears began falling then, and I let them come.  I cried for what I was leaving behind, and I cried harder for where I was going.   

There is no such thing as home – it isn’t just one place.  Home is anywhere that you can share everything and still be accepted, home is anywhere that you are loved.  And I had no home. 

Going through life without a home isn’t so bad as long as you don’t have to travel alone.  But the seat beside me was cold and empty.

My hand went back to the window and I traced the smudges with my fingers.  I didn’t want to see outside if I meant I would see all the birches turn to palms and the winter disappear.  As long as you’re in winter, that’s where I want to be.

But once you’re on the train, windows are only there to remind you that you can’t go back.