It came in the smallest of small packages, yet made the loudest thud when dropped on the ground in front of the door.
The man behind the door jumped at the loud noise and opened the door to investigate. He looked at it, bent down a bit, then quickly stood back up and closed the door in silence.
The box jumped and flipped over, the man swung the door back open.
“Ahhhhhhhyyaaaaa,” he blurted and pointed at finger.
The box jumped and flipped again. The man slammed the door once again.
Her fingers, long…dainty…soft, dragged along the wall, the pinky finger nail stopped to tap.
Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling where water slowly dripped to the floor in front of her. She matched her tapping to the dripping.
The man on the other side of the wall began to scream, agitated from the racket her nail was doing through his wall. A man in the hall started to slap his hands on the floor like that of a drum. The screams in the room grew until the thumping of shoes hitting the concrete floor echoed in the hall.
The men in white were coming.
He sits on the curb. His shoes scrape the black-top underneath them. In his hand he holds a worn and bent ace of spades. The design on the back is flaking off from constantly being handled.
Several cars drive by, nearly in slow motion, the drivers glancing at him sitting on the curb.
Foot steps approach, painted toes and a flowing dress.
He notices her and squeezes the card harder into its familiar bended shape.
She reaches her hand down, he reaches his up with his empty hand, and grabs tightly.
She floats in and out of his memory like a vivid ghost. Yet she was far from dead. The memory of her digs into the creases of his mind.
He shifts positions, jams his fists into the pillow, and lets out a helpless and frustrated groan.
What will ever make these memories and thoughts finally dissipate? He does not have those answers, no one does.
But he closes his eyes and with a desperate thought of peace that someday these memories and thoughts of her will be covered by a new love, a better love, and he will never struggle with this vivid ghost again.
© Karin Cameron, 2011
She wraps her hands around themselves, twists, scrunches, cracks, and pulls. They shake slightly…she tries to keep them still, but fails.
The wooden chair she sits on the edge of creaks with each squirm she makes, fidgeting, fighting the nerves.
She watches the shoes of people coming and going, some rushing, some shuffling. She does not make eye contact with anyone, for they are all dealing with the same emotions.
Even though she knows what they will say, she does not want to hear it. For once it slips from their lips it will finally be true. And the truth will haunt her every second. It will never fade even in the happiest of times.
It was white and crumpled, some aged spots of brown on the ends. She folded it in many different ways, then refolded, and refolded.
She put it away in the chest, then pulled it back out. Never able to decide if she should store it or display it.
When it was in the chest she felt bad, she felt….alone. Yet when it was on display she felt watched and concerned.
Once again she opened the chest and displayed it.
Feeling satisfied, she turned out the lights and locked the store front door, and flipped the sign.
Tomorrow she would come to regret leaving it on display.
© 2011, Karin Cameron
The cool crisp green leaves nearly whispered as they rubbed together in the wind. A little girl, sat crying in the shaded grass below.
A butterfly of bold orange and black fluttered past, then circled back around and landed on the tip of her toe.
The little girl noticed the flowers sprouting nearby, it all happened rather fast, from stems to buds to blossoms.
She wiped a tear, and the butterfly floated to her knee. She wiped another tear and the butterfly moved to her hand.
Laughter rose in the air, growing closer and closer. The little girl stood and looked out towards the hill, the butterfly still resting on the tip of her hand.
Children appeared at the top of the hill now, the laughter immense, the little girl wiped the last tear, and with the butterfly, went towards the laughter, smiles, and loving waves.
Once the little girl took the hand of a child nearby, the butterfly danced up into the hair, and she swears she saw the butterfly smile.
* We don’t have to know someone to feel saddened by events…especially death. This 5 minute fiction piece was written in memoriam of Christina-Taylor Green who was a casualty of the shooting in Tucson, AZ on Saturday, Jan. 8th.
© 2011 Karin Cameron
Delicate crystal like flakes fell slowly onto her hat as she carefully stepped out to get the mail. Oddly the mailman made it through the snow to deliver those last few Christmas cards on Christmas Eve. Of course she could have cared less if the mailman made it to her mailbox.
She sifted through the pile, mailbox lid still open, catching snow.
Glancing over as she heard crunching in the snow. A neighbor had come out to fix his blow up snowman who had taken a turn in the wrong direction.
“Merry Christmas!” he yelled with holly-jolly in his voice.
She smiled, and waved, by no Merry Christmas was coming from her lips.
As she turned back to close the mailbox lid, she noticed there were more letters. How did she miss these, she thought, and added them to the pile in her hand.
“Watch out lady!” A teenage boy yelled as he flew past her on his sled. A little boy was chasing after him. “Santa is coming tonight. I hope you don’t get coal lady!” the little boy yelled as he tried to catch up to the boy on the sled.
Covered in a spray of snow from the sled she brushed herself off and went to close the mailbox lid once more, only to find the mailbox full again.
“Well for Christ’s sake!” she blurted.
“Yes, Merry Christmas, and may Christ bless you too,” a woman said running past, obviously trying to catch up to the two boys that flew past moments ago.
Slamming the mailbox lid closed, and with a pile nearly too big to carry she crunched back through the snow, snowflakes falling thicker than ever.
Once inside, she unloaded the mail on the table, noticing they all were addressed to “Santa.”
I know I’m in the deepest love with you because I’ve changed my life for you and you’ve changed yours for me.
I’ll stand in a lighting storm for you. I know.
When time away from you seems lonely and cold.
When we give it my all in this relationship, I know.
You have taken my heart and soul and I have taken yours.
When I know it’s only the beginning of it all.
When our fights and love battle at each other, I know.
Mistakes are forgotten, I know.
When we have extended more than a hand, shared more than a kiss, I know.
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