The Way of the World

Their eyes locked, the feelings flowed between them like a river after a rainstorm. She was so beautiful, he thought. Golden hair and sky blue eyes. An angel. He was so beautiful, she thought. Raven hair and blood red eyes. Once an angel. They started toward each other, smooth measured movements, anticipation thick in the air and almost palpable. Their love about to be made known.

Then it happened, like a floodgate had been opened, the ones in white shirts, button down and formal, black pants, sometimes ties. Men women and children poured into the small lobby, shoes making no sound on the white marble floor. They rushed in and stopped behind the golden haired woman, if you could call her that, echoing her slow measured movements. The lobby was large; they were not halfway to each other yet. Once again, as if some release was flipped, movement erupted. The ones in black, ragtag, no two alike, the only thing linking their garments was the consistent black, with the occasional blood red accent. Men women and children poured into the balconies and on top of the reception stand, the receptionist oblivious. The glass in the entrance doors exploded and more poured in, none of the business men scurrying by even noticed, still pushing open the ruined metal skeletons of the glass doors as they came and went. The ones in black paused, coiled, like snakes, or large cats on the prowl, crouched on the balconies or craw-walking in step with the red eyed raven haired man, if you could call him that, echoing his slow calculated movements.

For what seemed like an eternity they came on toward each other in their careful waltz. His red eyes flashed with desire, her blue-white eyes echoed and returned his sentiment. The ones in white organized and trooping behind the woman, rigid and militant. The ones in black crawling down the walls or shambling and gliding along behind the man, venomous and full of cat-calls and curses said in hissing voices under their breath. The white ones completely silent. After a time that cannot be measured in minutes, only in breaths or heart-ticks or the beats of humming bird wing, they were face to face. He lifted a hand to brush a tear from her face. Cacophony erupted. The ones in white flew past the woman, breaking around her and her lover like a rapid around a boulder. The black ones met them, completing the circle around the two. They stared at each other as the battle raged around them. He pulled a dark short sword from the air, it’s red blade gleaming with vicious intent. She pulled a large spear, white as driven snow, from the air around her, it’s tip gleaming gold and engulfed in flames. They both smiled. A single tear ran down the man’s face, her face was already tear stained. In one fluid motion she ran him through with the spear and he, throwing the sword into her chest, burst into flames. She staggered and fell face first into his ashes. What a beautiful dance, she thought as her life-force slipped away.


Their eyes locked, the feelings flowed between them like a river after a rainstorm. She was so beautiful, he thought. Golden hair and sky blue eyes. An angel. He was so beautiful, she thought. Raven hair and blood red eyes. Once an angel. They started toward each other smooth measured movements, anticipation thick in the air and almost palpable. Their love about to be made known.

No One Has Ever Read This One!

Except the wife and I of course!



First of Many




The black plastic bag limped and shuffled along the pavement like an old Moorish hobo. Wrinkled and caked in dust. I watched it limp past me as I rolled along the sidewalk, dropped off by some girl a half a block on and I was already running out of steam. I hit a crack in the sidewalk, faltered then fell flat of my face and wobbled a bit, then settled. I was quickly picked up by a smart looking man in a business suit and carried off toward downtown. My name is Thomas D. Nineteen-Ninety-Nine. So I’m told. Dressed all in silver, in God we Trust.

The smartly dressed young man passed me on to a street vendor, who gave him a hot dog. He said he had to be off to a meeting or something. I stayed with the street vendor for the rest of that day. He dropped me into a bag that smelled of vinyl and dumped me at the bank, along with some others. Some of them all done up in green and beige and other colours, others done in copper or gold, many done up in silver as I was. I spent the night there, next morning I was put in a tube packed face to tail with two others called Thomas that looked just like me, it was strange, but, after two days like that, our tube was forcibly busted open against a hard surface, and we were spilled into a compartment in a large drawer. We had a few meaningful conversations about where we had been and what we had done in our lives that day, some older, some younger than me, all with at least a couple good stories. There was an old man, solid and silver, who had been in this race since 1903. He had been in the collection of a boy in 1947, and had watched that boy grow old and silver himself, then slowly fade away. One day they wheeled him on a new bed out the door and he never came home. When found in his case by the man’s child, my friend from 1903 said he was spent buying a biscuit in a bake shop. Then it was back to the frantic life he had not experienced in over half a century. I spoke of my ten years on the earth, and how I longed to be in a case on a wall.

Later that day I was given to some young man who carried me off and dropped me nonchalantly in the console of his automobile. I stayed there for three days before I was joined by young Abe. All shiny and dressed in copper, his copper hair and eyes gleamed in the sunlight. We were there for a couple of weeks, having conversations that sometimes stretched into the night. I still think of him now and again, I suppose I was in love with him. As much as someone of my profession can allow themselves to be, seeing as how attachments are always fleeting to us.

At the end of those couple weeks, I was handed into a window to a young be-pimpled man, who dropped me into a compartment in yet another drawer. I was there for literally a minute, I didn’t even have time to strike up conversation, until I was passed on to an older gentleman who put me into the pocket of his jacket. I spent the night there amongst lint and used tissues. It was very lonely and the man lived alone.

The very next day was to be the first day of the rest of my life. The man pulled me out of his pocket and handed me to a smiling woman behind the counter who said “Thank you so very much, please fill out that card to tell us how we’ve done, and bring the coupon back in for your free item!” She then turned to a man who was standing close by holding myself, two fine looking young ones named George, and one small copper clad fellow that reminded me so much of young Abe, (This fellow’s name was Abe as well, but he was considerably older.) out on her palm and showed us to the man. She said, in very excited tones. “Our first sale!”

“You know what that means.” The man said holding up a wall-mounting case he brought from under the counter.

He neatly matted and framed us all together on a wall by the front door. On our case it said “Pray We Are First of Many!” and that is where I hang today, shining out at all who pass, and we were first of many. Many that are on their journeys now, may they find a home as I have...