seussical-love

There's an empty cell in Arkham today. I pushed the door open, let it swing. The hinges creaked, then silence. There was no laughter in the stone. The bed was quiet. The light, of course, would betray nothing. I took one step in, kept my eyes on his window. So, this is what he saw as he died. Gotham, spread like cancer, interrupted by bars. The sky was violet like his shirt. I popped the collar against the damp and drew my breath deep. It still smelled like him, like blood, like sex, like violence. There'd never be another him. People wept with joy. I just wept. The night was pockmarked with car horns, barks, sirens. But i

On the mountain did Chernabog rest breathing smoke and fog upon the moors and bogs. While water dogs dripping like clockwork--     wheels and cogs stood on their shores maws silent as they stared at the summit, glossed over by the stars-- though the demon's shape, his hoggish build was betrayed by the moon upon his God-locked wings. They saw Death that their masters, so boxed inside their daily jobs like trap't foxes failed to notice.

Seeing him walk was like hearing an improv jazz session, complete with a spindly-fingered pianist looking at your all doe-eyed from underneath the spotlight's glare. Jeff always seemed to take up more space than he actually did, but the lank in his limbs was melodious, in harmony with his smooth legato gait.

We were lucky. These were the slow kind. Of zombies, that is. They shuffled their feet as they trudged over the baseball diamond; some of them were missing their lower jaws, so their tongues swayed as they moved. I found it better if they missed appendages rather than walking around without any skin. I was with my best friend, Tegan, who was reclining on the bleachers. There was no wind; her blonde hair fell in a sheet. She blew a big, pink bubble with her gum and then popped it. The snapping sound was harsh. "You ready to do this?" She asked me, reaching up and touching the brim of her baseball cap as she stared out at the approaching horde

We were lucky. These were the slow kind. Of zombies, that is. They shuffled their feet as they trudged over the baseball diamond; some of them were missing their lower jaws, so their tongues swayed as they moved. I found it better if they missed appendages rather than walking around without any skin. I was with my best friend, Tegan, who was reclining on the bleachers. There was no wind; her blonde hair fell in a sheet. She blew a big, pink bubble with her gum and then popped it. The snapping sound was harsh. "You ready to do this?" She asked me, reaching up and touching the brim of her baseball cap as she stared out at the approaching horde

He froze up, still holding her bare arm so gently  (the blood around the new stitches   was a little hard to look at) and his mind kept repeating I'mahologramI'mahologramI'mahologram but when her lips grazed his he shuddered it felt so              real.

The only things that connected the two was the fact they both were cut out of the same uterus and the fact that they were both closet alcoholics at the tender ages of twenty. Other than that, there were no bonds, no connections, nothing. Well, other than a third point that had pleasantly surprised everyone: painting. Their parents had set up a large, full-wall canvas in one of the spare rooms of their home that the girls could go crazy in when they came back from their respective universities, one in California, the other in Florida. Tarps splattered with unusual shades laid tangled on the floor. Spots of polished, orange hardwood peered thr

If they catch you, they will kill you. Watership Down had been one of her favorite books when she was little. From behind closed lids kissed by a summer waft of putrid city air she could see the words forming in white out of the blackness. “But first...” She spoke out loud, and her eyes slowly opened. Los Angeles spread out before her, a monstrosity of cement, iron and human folly. The farther away you are, the more beautiful it almost looks. However many stories she was up was enough to do it some justice. “... they must catch you.” Another breeze, and she swayed, smiling as she heard the door behind her slam open.

“Son of a... freakin’ midget little... gah!” Emiko inhaled deeply, setting the glass pickle jar back down with a soft, crystalline slam. She glared at it, the tender skin of her palms now an irritated pink. “I’m on to you, you little motherf-”       “Emi! I’m constantly amazed at your ability to make an absolute ton of noise no matter what it is you’re doing!” Emiko winced slightly as her roommate Jen’s shrill voice danced around walls to get into the kitchen. “Cool it! I have to write something for English class... something about conflict...”  

We've paved our relationship with molten brick; then tied our fingers against thunderstruck trees while prudent street dogs spat selfish lyrics and served lightly-salted soliloquies. I cried starshine into your emerald arms, so you could become the meaningful whisper I'll never hear. I fell for faithless, plastic charms in rooms that smelled like smoke, white oak and beer. Our hearts became rocket ships tied to ribbons, one crawling on an overstuffed belly; always too far behind like the sons and daughters of Elias Fitzgibbons who said we would wed us on Tuesday, that holy bind. Wicked felt-tipped pens, forging "I love yous." wer