A Proposal
Her laugh broke the silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just one born of anticipation. The bystanders, who just happened to be her family, looked on with hungry eyes.
"You're so sweet... of course I will. Yes, yes!" She said, with that amiable laugh of hers.
I slid the wedding ring onto her finger as cheers erupted behind us.
@ Time Tested Books
Her laugh broke the silence. It wasn't an oppressive silence, more of a quiet lull between songs being played on the PA in the store. It might as well have been cymbals crashing the way she reacted. She cleared her throat and ran a quick hand through her hair. I was several cases away, pawing my way through a coffee table book from the 70's. I looked her way and smiled. I knew exactly what she found. I closed the book somewhat louder than her ejaculation, and quickly meandered over and stood beside her. "You found it, didn't you?" She looked up and smiled shyly. "Found what? how do you know what it is?" I leaned over and flipped back the first five records and produced an astounding record cover. She stifled a laugh with her hand and pushed me at the shoulder. "How'd you know?" She smiled brightly and the roses dropped from her cheeks. "How'd I know? I did the exact same thing last week, but I didn't have someone as beautiful as you to save me from the embarrassment."
Her laugh broke the silence, but it was forced, that I could tell. Her lips were pressed into a smile, although her eyes were flaring with anger.
"What an... Odd statement!" she exclaimed.
'Odd,' I thought, looking at my feet. 'That's all people think of me. Odd. Unusual. Not to bother with.' I had told her that she reminded me of somebody--no, of someTHING--the witches. She was exactly like them, with her changing personality, her cherry-red lips, and her eyes being a strange reddish color.
My blonde hair was starting to drip from the rain, although her auburn hair was perfectly dry. Her smile faded as she saw me staring. "What is it?" She asked sharply.
I gritted my teeth. "Your hair."
She flipped her hair back, almost teasingly, and cocked her head to one side. "My hair?"
"It's dry," I said. "And it's raining," I added.
She paused for a moment, as if searching for the right answer. Then she smiled again, and her hair was dripping, like mine was. "My hair? You call this dry?" She dismissed my question with another laugh, but it did't cut it.
"Your hair was dry," I pressed.
"How about we come inside?" She asked.
"Your hair-"
"COME INSIDE!" She roared, her red eyes flaring. For a moment, her hair was dry again, and it flew up from behind her as if there had been a big gust of wind.
There hadn't.
She glanced at my terrified face, and said more sweetly, "Come inside. It's too wet out here."
I tensed. Witches could not be trusted. They were unpredictable and, sometimes, murderous. But I slowly nodded.
"Okay," I said. "Sure. I'll come inside."
The house that she lived in was old--and when I say old, I don't mean one-hundred-years-ago-old, I mean that kind of old that dates back to--well, before time. The house was patchy--it looked like a quilt, having random colorful splashes all over it--and it smelled strongly of dust as I got closer to it.
She held out the door for me, which creaked like there was not tomorrow.
"You first," she said.
I glanced inside. The door led into a small room. There were jars full of who-knows-what on shelves, and, to my horror, a large cauldron in the middle of the room.
"N-no, you first,"I said, although my voice came out squeaky, not sounding like myself.
She sighed, and gave the door to me. "Okay. It's not like I had a trap set up or anything." But as she grinned a mossy smile at me and snapped her fingers, I got the feeling that that was exactly what she had in mind.
I followed her into the small room, and a feeling of dread started building a house in my stomach. Now I could see what were in the jars--there were labels. 'Eyeballs, pickled' said one. Another said, 'Junibigs, ready to brew'.
"Um, excuse me?" I asked.
She turned to me. "Is anything wrong?"
"What are Ju-ni-bigs?" I asked, but it was risky. Her being a witch was a touchy subject, it seemed.
Her eyes flared again for a moment, but they died down. "Ah, that's not how you pronounce it," she said. "It's pronounced JUH-NEYE-bigs. The middle part rhymes with 'eye', you see," she explained. "Junibigs are these strange animals that hu-" she paused. "That we have not found before. I actually just found the first one last week, and then soon found a whole nest of them. They taste delicious." She reached up and pulled down the jar. She stuck a hand in the jar, pulled a small animal-like-thing out, and handed it to me. "Try it," she instructed.
I slowly looked down at the animal. It was pale, and looked like a rat. "Uh, no thanks," I said.
"EAT!" She yelled.
"F-fine," I whimpered. I took a bite out of the Junibig. It actually tasted okay, so I finished it.
I glanced up at her face, which had broken into a grin. I started feeling dizzy, so I looked down at the ground, which was swooping beneath my feet.
"Sorry," she said. "I needed more human body parts. Never. Eat. Witches'. Food."
And that was the last thing I heard before my vision went black and I hit the ground with a THUD.
Such A World...
Her laugh broke the silence. Those who knew the truth, looked at her in disgust. Who would push a girl like that, and then just.. Laugh about it? How dare she, they all thought. The clueless remained clueless. The rest whispered among each other, with shaking fists, as the three girls walked from the coffin giggling.
Daughter And Her Dad
Her laugh broke the silence
and caressed his calloused ear
He knew that he was blessed
to have her close as death drew near
He remembered when her giggles
were all he needed to rejoice
He recalled the happiness he felt
the day she first found her voice
She took him tenderly
by his thick yet wilting hand
Touched it to her cheek
in the hope he would understand
Even in this her darkest hour
she would stay strong for him
He would always be her guide
even though his light grows dim
They returned to the quiet still
their thoughts were of each other
As the final breaths approached
they pictured her loving mother
He would rejoin his true love
she would celebrate what she had
But in this final eternal moment
they were just daughter and her dad
Pained Laughter
Her laugh broke the silence.
Such an ironic sound for her current state of mind, with the silence weighing heavily around her.
She laughed because the alternative was to cry, sitting in her room all alone. Assessing her situation, and wondering how she became so lonely.
But it's a self imposed loneliness, and she knows that. She can't bring herself to put every problem on the few people who care.
So she sits, and she thinks. While the laughter quickly turns into sobbing, and the sun goes down.
Paint and life.
Her laugh broke the silence, as she studied the pieces he painted. The late nights and work he put his paintings.
"That is nothing like her, it looks like... me." Elliott gulped.
She looked into his eyes, carefully examining the shine they reflected.
"It is me, isn't it?" All he could do was stand, and listen to her voice. If strawberries had a sound, then her voice would be sweet as they tasted.
He nodded his head, yet unable to look at her. Anastasha smiled, her fingers reached for his hands, carefully tracing small patterns on that the paint left.
"I can't. Not now, Elliott."