drixaeterna

I dream of a man who is gray - not by the years in his past or his outlook on life but by the pigment of his skin. The gray man lives in a world of ever-changing color and he knows he must act like it. So every day the gray man paints himself. Today's color is blue. Tomorrow it might be purple. Violet? Brown? Never gray. The now blue man walks to the blue park to watch the blue birds in the blue sky. "Tomorrow this may all be green." He thinks in his gray mind. Red? Yellow? "Not a chance of gray." He continues to think in his gray mind. He starts walking home. He walks by the blue harpist playing his music. Even the notes seem blue. Blue co

THIS PART IS TOLD FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF HARRY THE HARLEQUIN I played the night over and over again in my head as I watched Catherine sleeping on my bed. I could not even explain to myself how I had gotten there, sitting on the floor across the room from a woman I had met hours ago, who had told me the dangers that followed her and the life she lived as the result of an enigmatic group adamant in their mission to destroy her. It was even harder to explain how I had fallen in love with that woman and why I had chosen to risk my life for her. What was impossible to explain was why I refused to share that bed with her, fully knowing that doing

THIS PART IS TOLD FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF HARRY THE HARLEQUIN “Consider that a warning. Keep following me and I’ll throw the knife.” She said fearlessly. I raised my hands in surrender, trying to show that I meant her no harm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” “I suppose you’re going to tell me that your house is just in the exact same direction I’m going.” “I was going to.” “I would have believed you if you hadn’t been hiding from the lights.” With the tip of her knife she traced the exact pattern I had walked. “You saw that?” &ldq

THIS PART IS TOLD FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF HARRY THE HARLEQUIN My family has a bit of an odd history. My mother migrated to the United States from Mexico shortly after her nineteenth birthday. She worked as a maid for a family whose eldest son would become her husband and, eventually, my father. My father fell in love with my mother the very first time he laid his eyes on her. This was not the case with my mother. My mother left most of my father’s advances unrequited. She found sleeping in a soft bed pleasant. When the governing forces of the house, my father’s parents, caught wind of the growing relationship between my parents,

I had never been on a train before that day. I had also never been on anything that fast. I had also never been that motion sick. It was a menagerie of new experiences which were, for the most part, pleasant. After the motion sickness made sure I had nothing but my spirit left inside to vomit out, I slumped onto the seat across from Harry. “I’ve never known a clown to get so motion sick, m’boy.” He jested. “Whatever part of me was clown is on the roadside now. I might still get some of it back if I can scrape it off the train.” I said, unable to raise my head and meet his gaze. “I bet you’re

“Harry!” I called from five yards back. “Slow down, will you? Rushing back won’t get your leg to heal any faster.” “Nonsense, m’boy!” He shouted back, quickening his pace. “I’m feeling better already. By the time we get there, I’ll be able to swim the Ebro with my arm tied behind my back!” “What?” “Catch up and maybe you could hear me!” “I’m being outpaced by a man on crutches.” When I caught up to Harry, I was greeted by a sight I could never have wished for the previous night just after the performance. A man stood beside

 Lyde opened her eyes to see the blurry figure of a boy. She smiled and spoke to it. “Carvin, what are you doing here?” It moved closer to her without replying. She spoke again, a stutter finding its way into her sentence. “Carvin, what are you –” She was interrupted by the figure putting his hand over her lip, hushing her. A rush of terror came over her when the figure spoke with a voice so familiar, like a horrific memory of the past clawing its way to her present. “I’m not Carvin.” It said. She crawled backwards screaming, “No! Please no!” “What’s wrong?

A child is born, unchanged untainted A life ahead to be created Catherine lives, Catherine breathes A moment's calmness, a moment's peace But the family's past will haunt her way Their debts, their dues, all she must pay Although she prays, salvation flees She spends her nights out on the streets "Remain discreet; ne'er will I rest" She tells herself; she pounds her chest Run, run! Oh, Catherine Your chances are so paper thin Escape the scars burned on your skin And on your mind and in your soul Seek not revenge, retain control Look not behind, just look ahead Pause for too long, they'll take your head You're far enough, at l

 I entered Harry's room and greeted him with a smile. He returned my smile with an even bigger grin. He had heard the news of last night's show. I sat closed the door and tried to start a conversation with him. He cut me off even before I got the first syllable out. "M'boy! My boy! You've done me proud." He proclaimed as if I was Joan of Arc and I had defeated the English army at Orleans – except I was far less manly. He was ecstatic. He was proud. I felt immeasurably accomplished. "You heard, huh?" I didn't even need to ask. "You bet I heard! I could hear them from here, people talking about it on the streets." "Except that you

 "I'm sorry, señor." I said meekly. I could not decide whether to look down or at him. If I looked down, I would appear weak and humbled which could make him forgive me out of pity. Then again, he could pounce on me and tear me to shreds like as if he were rabid wolverine. If I looked at him, I would appear genuine and honest, which could make him forgive me out of honor. Then again, he could pounce on me and tear me to shreds as if he were a rabid, honor-bound wolverine. "No apologies necessary. I wasn't paying attention either." He spoke without any hesitation. He was not even fazed by the collision with me. Money must have made h