Bob pruned his dying orchid while contemplating Valentine’s Day. He hated the “holiday” with more passion than he felt about any relationship he had ever been in. The only redeeming quality was the reduced-price chocolates the next day. He popped one such morsel in his mouth as he moved to the next morbid plant, one given to him by his ex. That’s when he had an epiphany! He knew how to make Valentine’s Day special for everyone. The following year he made ten thousand dollars selling dead flowers and bouquets to people who wanted that special something… for their ex.
Under a gloomy gray sky, she looked at the shattered pieces of her life strewn at her bleeding feet. She stood there dumbfounded. Everything was gone in mere moments! She cried and almost just gave up, but…
Time kept moving.
The sun crept out from behind the clouds.
She grabbed a broom and began to clean up the mess that had been her life and threw it away. She kept a couple of small pieces to remind herself of the before times. She then made a cup of tea and looked at the horizon.
The phoenix watched and learned.
Someone once said that even the villain is the hero of their own story. Yeah, that’s a bunch of…
Sorry. I’m not usually that crass. I prefer to be in control. Total control. That’s why I am leaving this recording. I don’t want myopic historians researching me to think I was lucky or a bumbling opportunist. This will be the witness to my greatness, especially since no one else is capable of fully comprehending what I am about to do without me helping by giving you this simplified commentary. Sit back and marvel at the mind of an unmitigated genius.
He looked at the clutter around him. Neglected, half-finished dreams littered the desk, table, and sections of the floor. At one point each project had held so much life and promise, but now they were on life support, or worse yet zombified corpses. He wondered what was the best approach going forward. Maybe he should just put everything away and pull out pieces when he was ready to resurrect them, but that would mean confronting his failures, and he wasn’t emotionally prepared to do that just yet. Besides, he had a brand new idea, and he knew it would work.
Lincoln believed he was very confident in who he was, but still had this aching desire to be called pretty by someone. Hell, anyone. He was called many things, but never that magical word.
Finally, after a long time of searching everywhere, he finally heard the words, “You are pretty, Lincoln.” It put such a huge smile on his face.
He wished he could have hugged the man in the mirror who said it, but instead he wrapped his arms around himself. It might not be much, but it was a start.
He had to be the first to believe.
Bob bristled at Angie’s comment.
“Love isn’t blind,” he said. “Love sees everything. Every wart, every defect. Everything. Love just accepts all those things and keeps giving hugs. Love wants to show you that it’s okay to not be perfect, to fail, to do something stupid. Love is there to be wounded, kicked to the teeth, and spit upon. That’s why love is considered folly by some and ludicrous by others, but in the end, love wants to see you be the best you you can be.”
“But Charlie is blind in the book,” Angie said.
“But his love isn’t.”
John was the master of his universe. He controlled his schedule. He would sometimes miss meetings just to show the others there who was really important.
He came and went as he pleased, and everyone had to react to his timeline, or he would ignore them out of existence. Most people couldn’t handle being treated like that, but John didn’t care. It was all about him damn it.
At least that’s what he told himself as he downed the rest of the bottle. As he staggered down the street, he wondered how much he could hock his AA pin for.
The ring bound him to her. He wondered what insanity had caused him to willingly volunteer to wear the cursed thing in the first place. Still, in that moment of weakness, he had accepted her boon and doomed his soul.
He looked at the perfect circle of gold and thought about chopping the whole finger off. He’d be better off maimed for the rest of his life. He couldn’t do it though. She had taken so much of his strength that he didn’t have the fortitude anymore.
Instead he closed his eyes and dreamt of her when she was alive.
I found a pot of gold, but then the damn leprechaun mobsters began kicking my knees. No one tells you about that. Find the end of the rainbow they say, but no tells you to bring a Glock! I never stood a chance.
Now I have an empty cast iron pot that smells like cow manure and a single gold coin I managed to hide. Too bad it won’t pay for the emergency room visit for my bloody broken knees.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day everyone! That is everyone except those damned leprechauns. They can go where the damn snakes went!
Tim looked at the shards and fragments of his many broken story ideas. He poked through their remains. Each was as pretty as a stained glass window, but every time he tried to hang one on a sheet of paper they would come crashing to earth. Now they were just jagged pieces of color.
He almost just threw it all away when he had a thought. He began to nudge the pieces together and laying new prose as the glue. Soon a new, even more vibrant, picture began to emerge.
Tim wondered if that is why they called it craft.