these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.



these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.
three hundred sixty five stories that begin and never end.

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Showing posts with label going to the beach. Show all posts
Showing posts with label going to the beach. Show all posts

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Muse 126: butterflies

found via 365vignettes

I was walking on the beach when I saw a butterfly. Its brown wings were the colour of wet sand, the black lines, neat dark grooves drawn by my pinky. The butterfly was neatly pressed, like a dried flower in between pages of books, into the shaven rocks, unmoving. I felt sad, my heart getting heavier by the second. This butterfly, magically kept perfect underneath this shoe, caused the world to collapse around me. My tears would be for this single butterfly, a beautiful winged creature that represented a class of metaphors beyond simple description. Love was represented in this single insect.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Muse 73: Lean on Me


I was worried the first time she asked me to bring her out. "I'm ready, James," she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. I hated when she did that. That starry, misty eyed gaze, coupled with her soft lips drove me insane and I couldn't say no. So I said yes and we drove to the beach that she loved so much. She wore her white sundress that looked more like a slip than something presentable. I pushed her around in her wheelchair, and she looked as heavenly as an angel. Then the wheels started to slow down and it became harder to push through the wet sand. 

Amy sighed. "Help me, James. I want to try." 

A part of me didn't want her to try at all. I thought if she got up, it would be like the blind seeing again. There was a world out there, a world so tantalizing that she would run free from her cage, like a bird and never return. She wobbled slowly like an calf steadying itself for the first time. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the armrest tightly, and waited. "James?" 

"Hm?" 

"Help me." 

She took my hands and guided them to her waist. "I can't walk without you," she said softly, not daring to take a step and letting her entire weight rest in my weak arms.