#59

a guardian angel branded in tarnished silver rubbed against copper portraits of lincoln and smooth-edged jeffersons.
it couldn't buy a stick of gum, but it was always there, and sometimes a hand reached down, cleared the other coins away, eroding it a little more, rough fingers to smooth surface.
before this pocket, it had traveled from a factory, to a store where it was purchased with lots of lincolns and jeffersons, by a little girl. not long after, it traveled to a soft patch of grass and a quick running stream.
there was a flash of a photographer's bulb and it was picked up again, soon to be dropped near a waiting cab on the sidewalk of st. paul.
it was picked up again, looked at curiously, and thrust into this pocket. this new pocket belonged to a man who lived in a perpetual state of monotony. he didn't even believe in guardian angels. but for some reason, it helped him to know that somewhere, someone did.

#58

"selfishness is necessary to our very existence as a society." as he took a drag of his cigarette. "sine qua non." smoke escaped with every vowel.
"every business ever built was for personal economic gain. or social gain that leads to it. the very internet we all worship and adore for being ubiquitous, universal. all for someone to get ahead. nothing is linear. you need a car to get a job, you need a job to pay for the car." ash fell to the tray without prodding.

"what about aid workers? that's pretty selfless, don't you think." she brought another rum and coke.

"to look good. to feel good about themselves. there's no real compassion. aid workers, missionaries, all of them- the greatest paradox you'll ever see. maybe not the usual style, but it's about them." the extinguished cigarette lay crumpled in a sea of its own refuse.

he threw a dollar to her. "the most gratuitous thing in our world today."

#58

marrying someone who is both manipulative and dependent is probably the most socially acceptable way of destroying your life.
how else could your family and friends celebrate your imminent downfall.
clapping and cheering to start a life that was meant to be so much better. was meant to be so much more.

was not meant to be with someone so fake.

he looked at the ring in his hand.
she looked at him anxiously, waiting to see if her words would take effect.
shifting quickly from carefully weighing her words to indignant anger, he walked away from her.
it wasn't that she wanted to upset him. she wanted to save his life.
she had to try before he made his choice.

later that night, she got the news. with sickness rising, she forced a congratulations from the pit of her stomach.
suicide it is, she thought.

#57

another photo box. a bigger one this time. so many photographs to organize.

the sepia toned couple outside of the bistro. the man was dark-haired, arrogant and handsome, in a James Bond by Pierce Brosnan kind of way. he said something to her and looked to his menu and she looked at his downturned face, hurt and sadness creasing her laughlines in an irregular way.
a young girl in a pretty yellow dress, squatting on the dirty sidewalk to pet a stray cat. her mother never looked.
reading a well-worn letter, a camoflaged and clean cut army private sitting at the bus stop, no one taking note of him.

all these pictures, waiting for the box. he made his purchase and as he walked away, took another snapshot of the store clerk as she greeted the next customer.
this was his adrenaline rush, this was his defiance. no one noticed, no one knew, but he held these memories, made them his own in the dimming light of his room. he stole these memories, no one would know.
he stole these memories and now they were his.

#56

splashing and bubbling, the cool water running fervently down the creekbed, unearthing stones, taunting and swirling algae over to the calmer edges of the water.
day to day it flowed differently, sometimes so tranquil a butterfly could land on the crystal surface.
today it burst wildly over the sandy earth below, shooting streams of cold mist upwards, concealing grateful salmon until the next time it slowed and proved itself a feeding ground yet again.
tempestuous and moody, never dependable, never predictable. but beautiful in its anger, agonizing in its calm.

#55

the baby was crying again. she covered her ears. every time she heard that familiar wail, she wanted to throw a fit and cry herself. no one came to comfort her, and it was tiresome to go to someone else.
they had always said it would be different when it's her own. patronizingly, your motherly instinct will kick in, then looking at her with a mix of disdain and ill conceived sympathy, they would go on to tell the joys of parenting.
she was grateful to her own parents, and now, she would protect her baby with all of her might.
and though her sense of morality, her sense of duty, would always outweigh her bitterness, this unwanted child would always carry that stigma.