Muse 29: Redlight

found via =L-N-E

Stop. I want you to just stop.

Can't you just see that I am standing here, lying here in this emptiness waiting for you to notice? My head bangs, echoes against the car's hood, and the echo is repeating softly, the sound in my mind. Without you, without you, without you. It's like you are driving at the magic limit where all traffic lights stay forever green. The glowing emerald brightness haunts me because I am standing at every block, watching you pass. This emerald city is not what everyone seems, what a lost world. Stop. If you stop, you can see me. And even if you do see me, will you stop? I don't want to know the answer.

Muse 10: Teacup

image via pavlunka

The table was so radiantly beautiful. Everything was placed invitingly in a way only such boastful colors could offer. It was not green or purple - no, the colors were much more named, such as lime or magenta. These colors with magnificent character cried out not to be ignored. As if the party was crying out to her, "Come to me, come to me. Come rest your body near me and take whatever you wish!" In the midst of a well groomed garden grove, the littered delights on the table called to her like wind chimes responding to a breath of crisp, fresh air that swept through the scenery. As her tiny feet pedaled down the hill, tumbled daintily with the grace of a quick ballerina, she found herself tumbling down the hill where Jack had been waiting all his life.

Muse 8: Seas

With her hair wild and the storming sea behind her, she didn't know what to do. The white noise was a static barrier that she couldn't touch, and what she couldn't touch, she couldn't move. Let me take your picture, he had said, only the wind blew so violently that not a single part of her stayed still. And he tried to yell over the cacophonous breaths of the resentful earth, but she was still unresponsive to his requests. So as he settled for the misty colors of the distant oceans and imaginary shores, he let his camera snap. That moment of miscommunication, desertion and failure to reconnect like storybook lovers became the story for the rest of their lives.

Muse 2: We wish Books were real

He sat on the floor, two feet away from the long bare legs that reached a point where flesh twisted into the curves and shapes of a callow female. "Look, look," he cried as something winked between the ink and the crinkles of the old fantasy story. He reached out and placed his warm little hand on her knee - pushing back and forth the way a mother would rock a baby to sleep, but the sitter was no baby, and she was more consumed with reality embedded in binary stages between the mental and metal. "Look, look - looook," he said once more as the story came to life and hopped, hopped, bounced across the page as if the individual letters were not words but of the greener pastures. As he kept shaking the sitter's leg, he reached out with his other hand to touch the fumbling rabbit. "Look, look, look...." his voice faded in the distance, and when the girl looked up, the warm hand was gone, and the boy of three was mentioned in the fairy tales. In a paragraph of its own, the words "Look, look, look!" became immortally known.