Irony

She watches on as feet end up pointing at the sky,
Laughter trying not to burst forth.
Inside she’s wondering just why
Pup’s the one to take the slide.
 

I just realized that though Sissy and I take walks in the icy morning she’s always the one to slip while me, the slow, lumbering woman with a cane and constant vertigo is just fine.

Grief-stricken

She screamed out her anger, her rage and her grief.

The winds ripped around her, destroying whatever they could grasp in their wispy fingers and shredding anything that stood against them. Ice spiked out from her and were reduced to hard needles in the whirlwind.

She doesn’t look up to view the destruction she has caused, is causing. She doesn’t care.

In her arms lies her child, his eyes blank and his features slack.

Rigor mortis has not set in yet.


Written because when I’m tired and my head aches a certain way, this scene will not go away.

This was also written quite a bit ago and couldn’t decide if it would settle itself into my Former Guardian universe or not. It just sort of floats around my head from time to time and is incredibly depressing.

Snowstorm Peace

Gently flowing down,

Fluffy and soft and moving from slow to fast.

Tree limbs are lined,

But instead of skeletal looking,

They are blurred along the edges softly.

But underneath the gentle facade

Icy sheets await.

Death has never looked so quiet and peaceful.

Wake-Up Call

My niece hates waking up earlier than 10:00 am on any day, but especially on a day when she doesn’t actually have school. This makes any attempt, by anyone, quite the experience.

My nephews were having a lovely time trying to wake up their elder sister this morning. They took turns shaking her, putting ice packs on her and even jumping up and down on her bed. She was awake, but didn’t want to actually get up or anything, so she lay there through it all, pretending to be asleep. Her youngest brother was going for actual ice cubes so they could slide them down the back of her nightgown. Before he could come back with some of them, I though I might as well give them a bit of help.

Once I’ve helped convince her to get up (without using up their grandma’s giant ice cubes), the first things she says after ‘waking up’ is that they shouldn’t jump on her bed when she’s still in it.

“Catie, if you’re going to pretend to be asleep after your mom has sent them to wake you, you only have yourself to blame for what lengths they’ll go to.”

“Still…” she grumbled back at me and then hurried to hop out of bed when her youngest brother finally returned to the room with a bag full of ice.