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Literature Text
Uncle Charlies got the rots again, down with the disease again. They may have to take the other leg this time, at least the foot. He just lays there in bed most of the time, staring out at something only he sees. Grandma Carol tries not to cry when she goes in to tend to him, but he must hear her all the way from the kitchen as she sits there crying over the potatoes. Slice, slice, slice; a little more gone each time. I sit on the porch and think how we all die like that; piece by piece as the good things turn rancid and are cut away. I wonder if Uncle Charlie sees Aunt Martha, seven years gone now. I kind of bet he does.
Literature
big blue
Adrift
in the big blue.
So alive in the surf,
so afraid to break the surface
mid day.
Staring up through the dappled sun,
tail swishing in wonder.
How i wish for
first dark.
Full moon,
the Celtic Sea
is my big blue playground.
My bravado grows in the night.
The stars
are just bright enough to guide me.
The moon controls the tide,
the dawn sends me
adrift.
Literature
Incriminating Evidence
I should have hired a lawyer.
Literature
Strangers Again
I lay there with my head on his chest. I could feel his heart beat in almost perfect rhythm with mine. His breathing was laboured for lascivious reasons. There was something about how he made no effort to talk to or look at me afterward that made me think something was wrong. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have said anything. But I did.
I can’t explain why – I suppose it was instinctual. And who am I to contradict the natural order of things? I brought my hand up to rest on his stomach. It was the last time I would.
I took a deep breath and exhaled in kind, knowing what I was about to do.
“I
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From the title prompt by metamage Unedited, may be an entire story here, we'll see. See what he did with it here:
Uncle Charley's Got the Rots AgainUncle Charley’s got the rots again. I seen him work a finger loose, an’ just like that, he ate it. Damn! Gives finger-licking good a whole new kind a feel now, don't it?
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