For all those hanging out in Northern California, I will be signing books at the Girl Scouts Holiday Boutique in Ukiah on Saturday, December first. Many other crafty people will be there as well. Location is the Veterans hall on S. Oak st. I hope to see you there:)
13 Jun 2011 3 Comments
He walked. He had no place to just be, so he stayed in motion. The whole world seemed to be owned by others. It had all been divided up into portions large and small. Someone, or some group, corporation, civil bureaucracy laid claim to every square inch of it. There was none left over for him.
Sure, there were parks, so called public lands. But they were owned by government agencies that had their own rules; no loitering, closed after dark, use fees and camping fees. These rules were designed to keep him moving on. It didn’t matter where, just not here.
If he had a little money he could rend a small patch of ground to lay out a bedroll and sleep for the night. If he had a little more money he could rent a room, an oversized box to contain him while the night passed. But he had no money, so he walked.
The roads were free, but there were rules. They were for going places. Motion must be maintained. So he walked. It was the only transportation available to him, the one he was born with.
When he grew tired, he rested. Maybe he would sit in the shade of a tree for a few minutes, or maybe he would sleep hidden in the underbrush for a few hours. Either way he would be walking again before too long.
He had no bedroll, no blanket or pillow. Possessions were a burden when you had to carry everything you owned everywhere you went. When he slept, he slept huddled around himself for warmth. When he shivered himself awake from the seeping cold he would walk some more until the motion warmed him up. And so the nights passed, and the days went by.
He walked on, and as he walked he thought of all the things he had, the warm sun, the refreshing rain, an entire world filled with infinite beauty and wonder. He walked with a smile on his face, at peace with his soul.
17 May 2011 Leave a Comment
Detective Gilraen tried not to show the disgust she felt by being in such close proximity to such a foul creature. She really did try to treat everyone without bias but this stringy haired piece of slimy misery nearly turned her stomach. She just wished he would go back to whatever cave he’d crawled out of. She tried to avoid looking at him by staring at the glass wall in front of them but his pale reflection stared into her eyes. How could she avoid those gruesomely large orbs that seemed to shine with their own inner light like swamp gas. He looked like someone capable of murder, but only in the sneakiest sort of way. At the sound of his sniffling she turned her head to look at him directly. He sat with his hands splayed on the table, reminding her of a giant spider, and she hated spiders. Their silent trap laying and their far too many appendages were just wrong, and should be illegal. She repressed a shiver.
He should be on the other side of the glass, she thought, where the motliest rouges gallery she had ever seen was filing in. Even as they reached their places and turned to face the mirrored surface before them the gangly creature leapt to his feet and pointed a long thin finger at the lat figure in line, a well dressed portly gentleman in an immaculate waistcoat.
“That’s him,” hissed her witness. “The short one with the hairy feet. Just you see what it’s got in it’s pocketses.”