All this happened, more or less.

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five (1969)

Most people would call me young, even those I am older than. The ripe age of twenty three my beloved and I stroll into an encapsulating environment with profoundness found wall to wall. I had forgot my dreams until now, as each snipped of a story I know passed through my mind. Recalling the wonders I once stared at so boldly. Daring to extend myself in desire, wanting to create something from nothing. Crafting and sculpting words into sentences to give what was an empty page a soul and a beauty to behold. I lost my way down the path I once found so attractive. Surrounded by the memory of those that came before me, now ignites that last cinder remaining somewhere unidentifiable inside me. The fire burns bright, however my time to bear the torch of dreams has passed. My road leads elsewhere, and yet I carry intention. To craft and create that from nothing I will continue as I can, not as I would have liked. This art is special as the way I could not leave it behind. Now and forth I am a cautionary tale to those who dream.


Sweat, and dance, and men with muscle, and then the words that come and don't -- like men, like time, like the spider I spent a week not killing because I told myself that I would stop breaking into pieces what I simply was afraid of, did not understand. When the eighth leg finally inched onto the bedpost, I said I was sorry. I asked the dumb insect why it had to come so close.


She looked at me in the most improbable of ways.

Mary Mi

And then I turned inside out.

Mary Mi

Trying to find who I really was, not the illusion I presented to the world. Dare I show the real "me" and risk the knowledge that I might be cast aside like an scrap of paper, that at the time seemed like a good idea. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard, hoping that she had not heard it.

- Trish

Trish Meegan

  • She looked over at me. It was the look of someone resigned to their lot in life but none too thrilled with it. It looked for a moment as if she was going to speak to me.


However, she turned back away distracted by a ding on her phone which signaled something important was happening and I was the stranger who didn't deserve to know it. Somehow, I want to be important to this girl, but I am not.


We found each other in the House of G-d. Though we did not know it yet, we were destined to meet again. I caught a fleeting glimpse of his coal-brown eyes, a curly mop of hair, and became speechless. Though our moments were bitterly brief, the bond that birthed was everlasting.



I peeled peaches but all I could think about was him. When would I see him again? What was he like? Would the peaches ever end?

Someone Else

I never saw him again. But the taste of fresh peaches remained.


The peaches did not stay fresh for long.


I turned them into a paste and offered them to the fairies in the garden. A garden that was once bursting with colors. But now a dense a thick mass of pale weeds. I wonder what kind of fairies live there now.