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Showing posts from April, 2005

Iron Clothes

It was not a good day, the day Gwen’s mother never came back. Her father had made her sit in the corner, close to the fire all day. A hot day.
She played in the dirt and the soot, fingers opened or closed, the filth still seeped through her hands.
But all too soon her hands were streaked with sweat. A hot child.
She sat at the fire for a long time (three hours), before she realized the silence.
She wondered why. She knew it was Saturday. And Saturdays were feast days. And feast days were always loud.
Her father was with her all day long; she wondered why he was. Gwen could not see her father; she could only hear him breathe.
He had grabbed her, woke her from her sleep, earlier that morning. She screamed until she saw it was him, but he had dragged her to the fire anyway.
“Sit here and shut-up,” he had said to her.
They were the first words he had ever said to her, so Gwen had listened.
Gwen did complain when she became hungry, nor did she wonder where her mother was until nightfall.

Iron Clothes

489 A.D.

Everything felt new to Gryfflette, as he wandered through the thick grass; it was damp and his ankles were cold. Everything felt new to Gryfflette because in a sense, everything was new. Springtime had begun and the many rains over recent days had started the growth of life.
On this day, Gryfflette saw that the sun was sometimes hiding behind the clouds; they were rimmed in grey, but otherwise white. When the sun hid behind these clouds, Gryfflette would feel horribly cold; no relief he could think of for his bare arms. But this was not reason enough for him to go back home.
The wind whipped his blond curls; sometimes covering his eyes, so sometimes Gryfflette could not see.
Gryfflette was not far from home. He was only twenty feet away, down the small steep hill of Benwick, and his mother knew where he was. She knew her child and her child was always wandering, wandering.
Malaline was Gryfflette’s mother. Malaline had lost Gryfflette once, but only once. Just for ten mi…

Iron Clothes

So, the other night Charlie is over. Sitting on my couch. And Jake is sitting at the computer. Jake is giggling sometimes and it is sometimes worth looking over your shoulder to find out why.
Charlie has the television remote. So, me and Charlie watch an infomercial for ten minutes.
About these ceramic hair straighteners.
Made with REAL ceramic.

So, this very night, Jessyca and I are having a chat.
I am sitting in my living room. Hans Frauenlob is on my TV.
And Jessyca loves my hair. I know this because she always says she does. Tonight was no exception.
...A ceramic hair straightener...she also says these words to me. On this very night.
But, to get right to the point, Jessyca thinks I should try one.



They were walking home.
“I am not doing that,” Tommy yelled, and slammed his feet to a halt on the snow and sidewalk. He was not going to take another step. Ever again.
Tommy hated cleaning his room.
Momma stopped to turn and look at him and Tommy noticing, stomped his feet again, dirty, grey slush flying fast and hitting the white snow of someone’s lawn.
“I mean it!’ he yelled, at Momma.
And then Tommy took off his blue mittens and threw them. Into the snow bank. Turned to glare at Momma.
She turned around and continued walking down the sidewalk.
“I am not picking up these mittens!” Tommy yelled at her. “I don’t want them! I am staying here!”
Momma did not answer Tommy. She just continued walking.
“Momma!” he screamed at her, and again, “Momma!”
She hoped he would stop now, not further this. Then she heard his boots pounding the sidewalk to catch up with her.
“I am not going back to get them, either,” he said, not looking at her, when he did.
“Okay,” said Momma.
“I mean it,” he folded his…