In the jungle or in the desert.
Some of them swim
When they do not climb a tree.
Longer snakes…shorter snakes,
Dangerous or just frightening
Looking out the window, resting my legs on the chair, I think.
The beginning, the sun, the adventure, the exuberance.
The end, the darkness, the monotony, the emptiness.
Now the beast that lives inside me has left.
The tears, the metamorphosis, the distress, the pain.
I’m looking out the window, and soon I’ll be sinking in your arms again.
The sound of the splash was muffled by the overhanging trees. Ripples spread out, lessened and disappeared. Insects resumed their buzzing in the heavy summer air.
Diana stepped back from the riverbank, and dropped her improvised spear to the grass.
“No está muerto,” she said aloud. No. He… it… wasn’t dead, only asleep again. For how long? A generation? A hundred years?
Far overhead, clouds rose and pinnacled into fantastic shapes as detailed as ivory carvings. In the distance she heard the faint roar of trucks on the interstate: a normal sound, an American sound, reminding her of how far she was from home, how far she had come from Granada.
The dark water flowed on by with its senile murmur and chuckle, telling itself the oldest story in the world.
She took off the necklace and flung it as far as she could. It sparkled for a moment in the bright sun, then plopped in the river and was gone.
One summer’s day, a little bird flew into a field of giant windmills. The windmills towered above the ground, their white blades slowly spinning, making only a quiet whoosh and hum. There were no trees, only green grass, blue sky and the giant windmills. The little bird, finding nowhere to rest, became terribly depressed and drowned itself in a barrel of synthetic oil that a worker had left open.
I watched my father hack at it with his knife, which bounced off without leaving a mark. The look of horror on my mother’s face reflected the emotions that I felt. With a curse my father admitted the truth to himself; there was no way to pierce the outer carapace, it was over. Backing away slowly, drenched in sweat, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on it, knife clenched in one hand, he shakily voiced what we all knew it our hearts, “It’s over, there is nothing that I can do. Honey, what did you glaze the ham with?”
It happened on a sunny August day.
“That feels amazing,” you said between breaths.
I took you in my mouth and knew.
That moment I knew happiness.
I felt it, in my heart,
in my hand; in my mouth,
I tasted pure happiness.
We won’t tell anyone.
Afterwards we hugged.
It surpises me how much it never happened.
Your wife doesn’t know.
Yet, each time I see you I want more.
It pains me to see you act like we’re still just friends.
Now there is an elephant in the room.
A big, pink elephant.
The sky opened up like a mouth and swallowed me whole. I passed through its throat, a black-shadowed and flexible tube that smelled of esters and monomers, and fell into a room as wide as all the sky, suffused with misty pink light.
I wasn’t alone. If only! But there were three others that I could see, and countless others that I could sense.
The thing nearest me—I hesitate to call it a person, though of course it was—sibilated and grunted in my direction. I didn’t understand its tongue, of course. But I understood it nonetheless, via some eldritch technology that our hosts had instilled in the room. Where are you from?
“Earth, of course,” I said.
Indeed. Did you know that in my tongue, my world’s name is Earth too?
I considered. “Sol three, then.”
Ah. It waved a tentacle, and a small window appeared. A yellow sun appeared therein, receding. Sol, I trust?
“Yes,” I said, and choked back a sob as I watched my sun dwindle and finally disappear.
You get used to it,it said. Eventually