Occasional Sputterings

Matthew Mews crawled out of his car and headed in to work; the crisp, autumn air served to boost Matt's mood. As Matt stepped across the threshold, the store's sliding doors opened to reveal a garishly-lit store. The sense of abandonment leaked from the lobby as Greeter Marcus nodded to Matt; smiling in response, Matt went to buy his mid-work snack. Fixings for sandwiches were purchased and left in the break-room fridge and Matt proceeded to check-in; the standard notice about break-times and a few comments about station cleaning perused, Matt headed outside. Midnight cart-pushing was a kind of art; at first, the near-abandonment of the parking lot gave Matt ridiculously-long periods of time in which to aggregate the shopping carts. Pushing them as singletons, in groups of ten, and variations in-between, were quickly abandoned to two-fisted swings, and a small host of more complicated cart-pushing techniques. Matt worked his art alone, building small state-machines with ...

Holly Mews dropped the brochure on the desk and looked across the small, empty room. Remnants of children, friends, parties, and fights lay strewn across the floor; bits of toys, books, silverware, and furniture sat solemnly. The quiet, vertical aquarium stood humming, a reminder that some things did not change. Aspects of the brochure's contents came to mind; unbidden, the well-known musical numbers filled Holly's head and she felt her attention spliced as she planned her tomorrow. In her mind's eye, she could vaguely sense the frustration, hope, dread, and intensity of training for a live stage performance. Seeing an angry stage hands interrupt one minor catastrophe after another helped tear hear away from washing one more load of clothing, mending one more pair of pants, scrub one more unrepentant bathroom tile. It was the middle of the second act when Holly realized her phone was ringing; remembering she had placed it atop the bookcase two rooms away, she dashe...

Playing with the small arms, Mary thought “what if I ...” A small whirring sound beneath the base of the object seemed to resonate along the fingertips in contact with the arms. “Of course,” exclaimed Mary as she stepped back from the stone dais. “It is an astrolabe! I used to build these at home when daddy brought home stories!” Excited, Mary watched as the well rotated in place and beneath the aligned arrowheads, a small stone had recessed near her left knee. Bending over, Mary noticed a faint odor. “Is that … violets,” asked Mary as her eyes drew closer to the hole. “Why do I smell violets?” Looking closer, Mary realized the hole into the well went back only a foot; within the hole lay a small bed of blue petals. Amidst the petals lay a small metal object. Near her right foot, Mary picked up a small stick and gently placed it within the hole. Not hearing any response from the hole, Mary moved the small piece of metal closer to the edge. “I wonder what this is,” considered Mary as ...

As Mary made her way along the path, the way grew a little wider; the subtle hint of the crashing waves behind her gave way to a sweet murmuring.  "The air seems cooler," Mary thought to herself, as the murmuring grew gently louder.  Moving along the path, Mary saw the walk bubbling up quietly from some unseen source; where the water flowed, along the path, the slope of the hill fell.  "Wow, natural spring water," Mary thought a she held her flask against the current.  The left and right side of the path were covered in a clear, clean stream, and the center of the path held rocks that continued the path, sloping upwards.  Having taken a few solid gulps and filling her flask, Mary hopped onto the first rock, being careful to land in the center. "How curious," considered Mary, as she looked at the stepping stone.  "It appears to be made of wood but decorated as if it were stone."  Looking forward, Mary noted the stones continued on their steady p...

[.: Brainstorm; random words :.] Gossamer dreams of ember days, ordinary ordinations gone ablaze, and time lost to sand and haze, has come to roost in deeper plays. "Why am I here," asked Mary, as she stood on the beach.  There had been a point where Mary was quite certain of what she had been doing.  She was sure of it.  "I don't recall how I arrived here," stated Mary to her shadow.  Standing on the beach, letting the wind draw attention to her feet, Mary glanced at the designs drawn by waves from unknown shores.  Small eddies revealed shells, filling the spaces between her toes, and slowly she walked; the waves crashed gently to her right as the soft sun hid behind clouds and cast a shadow several feet ahead. "Perhaps I shall run across someone whom I might recognize," said Mary, as she moved along the shore.  "At the very least, they might help me remember something."  As the beach slowly revealed a dune in the distance, the water ...