MouHarle

Today is the day your father is going to die. You both know this very well, as he tells you many times how people want him dead for what he has done. You know this is your fault. You both walk down the river at the park miles away from your home. Everyone says how this is the best park in the city; You remember this is your father's favorite because of all the variety of trees growing there, he says its like seeing all the different people in the world at once. You are childishly kicking stones into the muddy water beside you when he asks you something. "Simon, do you know what is different between you and us humans?" He stops walking to st

Sydmund could kill you with a flick of his tiny, nine year old wrist. The dainty bones in his hands would not break, the muscles attaching to them would not pull, and the nerves on those extremities would not even know that any action had occurred. He would continue to smile and laugh at your 10th birthday party even if he had killed you, say, thirty minutes ago in the boy's restroom in between cake and presents. His short, shaggy brown hair wouldn't have an ounce of sweat beading from it's oily strands, or a drop of worry on his childish face as he jumped into the pool with the attending-party-clown Bobo, who in all honesty didn't want to ju

When I was asked as a child "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and I answered back "A butterfly!" with whole-hearted sincerity and a glow in my face that couldn't have been duplicated by a thousand watt light bulb, that's when my mother knew she shouldn't have taken acid in that last trimester. She lost that notion as she took another hit later that night. I wish I could remember my mother more than just by her frequent blank stares from the other room as she lit up another pipe. I recall how the spark would send a vivid light across her face that made her look so demonic yet vulnerable—the perfect two words to describe her. She wou