Rolling My Eyes

Grandma had The Livingroom. No one was suppose to go in there unless it was Christmas Day. But Grandma let you go in The Livingroom if you needed to lie down or if you wanted to do something quiet or if you wanted to follow her around while she watered the plants. There were two huge windows in the room; wood crossing wood and morning sunlight pushing through. Grandma would let me play with her Glass Dolls. I would line them up on the thick carpet. And play. My favorite was a girl with blushing cheeks, holding her herself in a green gowned curtsy. I thought she was Cinderella. So, many years later, Aunt Sue said something about the Royal Doultons and my Grandmother's death. My Grandma laughed. I piped up, "Oh, I do not want one of those. I want the green girl." Grandma replied, "Which one?" Then she got up and went into The Livingroom. She came back out holding her. "This one?" "Yeah," I said and smiled. "Your Mother ...

Chapter One You'll Find Something "I miss you," he whispered, into the phone. Sarah smiled because she missed him, too. "It is just another week until we see each other," she continued to smile. "I am so tired of this motel room. Thank god this show is almost done." "I wish I could have been there every night to watch you," he said. "Oh, yes. I am all shiny. I am a star!" she laughed and he laughed, too. "Do you remember what I told you about Dylan a few days a go? What he tried to do with the new colt?" he suddenly asked. "No," she replied. Chapter Two That's Enough To Keep You "I miss you," he whispered, into the phone. Chelsea smiled because she missed him, too. "I miss you," she replied. "Just two more weeks, then I will see you. We can go to the beach," he said. "I cannot wait until I have nothing to think about," Chelsea answered. "Although, I think ...

"Slow down," my son demanded from behind me, as we walked along to the store last night. "Whatever for?" I turned to ask, for I had not been walking fast. "I am trying to jump over your shadow!" he said and laughed. So, I walked even slower and he jumped over my shadow walking along behind me. Until a streetlight shot my shadow ahead of me. "Hey!" said my son, as he ran in front of me. And stomped on my shadow. "Hey!" I said. "Are you trying to hurt my shadow?" "No," he said. "That is good, or I would be stomping on your shadow's head right now." He laughed. And stomped on my shadow's head. So, I stomped on his shadow's head. And laughed. "Shadows are fun!" said my son. I beckoned him close to me. "I know some shadow secrets," I said, bending down towards him. "Watch our shadows." I pointed and followed his eyes to our shadows. It was funny my Moth...

Minnie was 14. She liked bright red lipstick and getting high. And she needed to get high right now. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched her father, as he raged. She watched him twist off his tie; his hand suddenly flying in the air. "Nowhere!" he yelled. Then he slammed his fist down into the green countertop; knuckles deep. Minnie wanted to close her eyes. "And go get that shit off your face. I do not know why you would even think I would let you out of this house looking like a whore. Jesus Christ, does your Mother let you leave the house like this in the morning?" He grabbed his drink from the counter and stepped closer towards her. "My daughter is a little whore," he said. He shrugged his shoulders. He shook his head. He laughed; looking upwards. "My daughter is a whore," he said, softer. Minnie bit her lip. "You're such a bastard," she said. She had to or she would cry. His finger flung up into her f...

She hitchhikes back and forth, from the Wal-Mart to the grocery store everyday. It is not so far; just a few miles. It is easier for her to ask for money when only one person is looking at her, when she is able to look at them and know they hear. She tells the woman she has a child, just a child. Her baby boy; he is so big now. He just started Kindergarten. And she has to be out here. Because she has to feed her child. She just needs the ride to the grocery store. She has been looking for work. In the mornings. But she has a child she has to feed. God, she hates to beg, but she has no choice. She cannot bring anything home to her child unless she does. A child needs to eat. The woman gets to be the hero. If she wants to. If she needs to. She tells the man she has a child, a child waiting for her at the other store. Just a young child and she is late. She puts the worry in her voice. She has lost her wallet. A few dollars to get us the rest of the way home? The man can save th...

It was an off grey over most, such that you would almost think brown on a cloudy evening. The sort of evening though where the clouds gave way to the moon. The eyes were blue. On the second day, I named her Sam, just in case. As a rule, Cats are Girls, and I figured Sam was, too. But you can never be too sure and have to watch them a bit before you decide. She had looked up at me from my blue cloth chair on that second day the same as the first. I looked back down at her on the first day the same as I had on the second, and locked my door. I did not kick her though. Or say, 'shoo cat' as I might normally. She seemed to belong there, on the porch, on the blue fold-out chair. On the night of the second day, it was canned chicken that had to do. She still looked off grey rather than brown. Sam didn't seem to mind that it was not tuna. She apparently hadn't eaten for a while. After several mouthfulls and rapid chewing, she stepped away and put her back too it. Then ...

Eight Years Old We were walking up Chapel Street hill in the dark. My brother was done his Thursday night meeting with other boys. My mother and I were done our weekly trip to the library. There were no leaves. There were no patches of green. Snow crunched beneath our steady footfalls. The air bit up inside of my nose and my cheeks tingled with chill. My breath was a steady stream of white that would sometimes mask the stars that I would often look up at. I was not tired as we walked up the hill. I was not cold. I had a good book in my bag, I knew. We would be home in time to watch The Cosby Show. My mother sometimes looked up at the stars, too.

We huddled close together, but not for comfort. It was the darkest night, yet the moon was full. There were heavy midnight clouds passing over often, hiding the white glow of the orb. It left the night too cold. He grabbed me when the train came. I listened to the murmurs of the others board, some of them already thankful. Some of them already forgetting. He stood us there until the train pulled away. I watched the other men left behind mull around waiting for orders. All their voices were thick and low. Mostly ugly words fell from their mouths. When he told them to leave, they did not question him. He dragged me across the grassland and I could hear her, the woman who had lost her children, somewhere near. She was pure animal now, past any point of misery. "Wir können sie töten," he taunted me in my ear; he laughed. If I had been younger, I would have offered to do it. I wanted to kick her in her teeth. End her. She was gone, already. The sound of the gun surprised...

I believe he stepped on the baby's head on purpose. Mud splashed on his pant legs. His eyes were still red. I could see that from where I stood. I watched his eyes turn on me as he drew nearer. He looked away. But he looked back again. That is probably why he chose me, as another man grabbed me from behind and issued his order of which pile I belonged in. "Nein! Sie kommt!" the man with red eyes shouted, walking himself towards us with a finger pointed. The man behind me wanted to say something, but he stopped short. I heard the catch in his breath. He gripped my shoulder tighter for a second. I do not know if to issue me pain or if he was scared himself. He loosened his nails from me and I felt his fingertips slide down my back and off of me. It seemed to last a lifetime, as I watched the man who had saved me, come to stand before me. He looked into my eyes. He had decided he wanted to watch me die. He smirked at me until I would not look away. The man behind me s...

I watched them move amongst us, flint in their eyes. Watched them grab us, handle us with no care. Good. Bad. Good. Bad. Like we were the pigs. Long fingers, sinking into our flesh as they sorted us. I watched the men with pointed guns. They smiled too much, but each one of them had nice, solid arms. Everything about those armed men was so primal. They were more alive then our soft cries and the occasional shrieks of names. The man beside me was quiet in his black suit. I am sure he was cold. "Are you cold?" I asked him. And his eyes turned on me. "I do not want to live this. I do not want to live this," he spoke. I watched him curl in his hands, slowly. More a prayer than an act of strength. I looked around me. The cleanness of grey. The dirt already in the hair of women, clothes, tattered. One young girl with a breast exposed. And the baby left where it lay. Stepped on. Pushed into the earth. It was too much to see, so I looked at my own hands. I look...