madlydreaming

i hate it when i trust leap fall

Old Burt Yarrow was the first to die.  His was a close-knit family bound by blood and tradition.  When the time came, the cemetery groaned under the burden of the suppressed grief of the generations.  Scant months later, Burt’s niece died.  Unburied, her passing went unnoted by the changing seasons.  There was no one left to come. *    *    * Crowded around the faded man, the children were pressed into an unwanted polaroid intimacy.  He barely seemed to notice their presence.  There they stood, uncomfortable flickers at the furthest edge of his senses as he continued his expressionless monologue. A final performance.  “We always k

Ophelia Reintroduced The stairwell smelt of cool stone and old dirt.  She had been sitting there for some time, faintly illuminated by the flickering torch yet not within its pool of light.  Alone save for the winged creatures of the night.  Shadows danced on the walls and floor as a lone moth serenaded the light.  A wistful smile touched her lips.  To have such devotion, such unending affection, how could anyone perceive moths as an ill omen? To her, sitting in the musty gloom, that moment of not quite happiness was worth the controversy and recrimination that such unchaperoned unorthodoxy would bring.  Perhaps it would go unnoticed in an