On the floor

I sat there in silence staring at the sumptous banquet placed before me, and found myself unable to enjoy it. I could think of nothing but long hours spent in front of a stove, of a lone woman spending interminable lengths of time in moist darkness, chopping vegetables and baking bread, curing meat and boiling pasta. I picked up a checkin drumstick, put it in my mouth and chewed and looked in the doorway. All I saw was the silhouette of a large mangy beast, probaly an ape. It stood there, bright shiny eyes piercing directly into my heart. I looked down into my food, unable to eat.

Here is how this story was written: one day I was hanging out with some freinds in their apartment, a conversation took place that I now forget all the details of, but I do know that I advised them to "write a story about it", and they said, "Why don't you write a story about it?" So I did, and then I read it to them. I think they liked it.

Walking Home

The little boy ran down the long hot sidewalk, his face open and clear. When he saw the dead grey bird lying there on the ground, he stopped and peered at it a long time. Then he began to lick it. He licked and licked. Hours later, the boy returned home with a strange look on his face. "What's wrong son?" his father asked. The little boy stared at his father for a while, his eyes large and milky, then opened his mouth wide. Out flew a small grey bird, wet with a little boy's spit.






















This was drawn by my best freind Lee, check out her drawings and other stuff at http://www.flickr.com/photos/medicinetongue/
And maybe buy some stuff too!!
http://www.etsy.com/shop/LuvLee12

p.s. I thought of this story while walking home one night.