Tag Archives: insanity

Striking Her Pose

Posted on August 11, 2010 | 8 comments

She knew it was time for her big debut, the photo shoot of a lifetime. After painstakingly going through her vast wardrobe, she found her favorite outfit, a flowing off-white sundress with purple and yellow stripes, her favorite colors. After making sure she was not being watched, she slipped out of her jumper and into the dress, carefully looking both ways as she did so. It wouldn’t be right to expose herself to her fans like some common starlet.

She went to her three-way mirror and started applying makeup, careful to keep it sensible yet beautiful. She wanted to draw attention to her best assets, her beautiful brown eyes and her pouty lips that brought her so much fame. Finished with that, she looked up and down her shoe closet, and decided after much thought to go barefoot for the shoot.

Now for the pose. She put her hand on her chin, tapping away at her cheek as she always did when deep in thought, and looked around the room for the perfect spot. They would be here any minute, and she wanted to show how professional she was by being completely prepared. Her eyes landed on the merry-go-round horse she’d been given by her first co-star, a famous actor who would remain nameless to avoid tabloid speculation. Footsteps could be heard, and she knew she only had a moment to prepare as she jumped on the plaster animal and struck the perfect post against the pole.

The door opened and a man in white walked in, surveying the scene. He carried, not a camera, but a small cup of water and some pills. She suddenly looked around the room, realizing she was sitting on a bedpost and wearing only a white sheet with purple and yellow stripes.

“Time for your medication, Miss Doe.”

Photograph by Adam Courtney and model Suzy Lanza whose blog is can be found here.

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Shards

Posted on June 11, 2010 | 3 comments

She walked in and after a quick hug hello I asked. I just had to. I couldn’t wait another minute since the discovery I made while she was at work.

“So I was cleaning under the sink today,” as her eyes widen. “And I found a few broken mugs and a bowl.” I pause to see if she reacts. Besides the larger-than-usual look in her eyes and a tinge of obvious guilt, nothing. “Know anything about them?”

She walks past me and heads for the stairs.

“Hello?”

She turns and stomps back towards me.

“What.”

“Did you put them there?”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”  Straight faced.

“Really?”

“No, I didn’t.”

We live alone, besides our cat.

“So, what, the cat broke some mugs and a plate and hid them under the sink?”

Nothing.

“Maybe I should be having this conversation with the cat?”

Still nothing. She looks away. I can’t let this go, not because I had any real emotional attachment to the kitchenware, but because I have to understand why someone who was well over the age of ten would hide something she broke.

“Why did you hide them?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then who did?”

“I dunno.” This is the girl I chose?

This is easily the weirdest thing she’s done. I can’t figure it out.

“Could you please, please tell me why you stuffed them under the sink?  I mean, if you didn’t want me to find out, why hide them?  Why not just throw them out?”

She looks away again like a scolded child.

“So you didn’t do it. You didn’t break these.”

“No,” but this time in a low voice.

“Okay then. I guess it will remain a mystery.”

“Yup.” She walked back up the stairs.

I dropped the shards into the trash as I heard the shower turn on.

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An Awkward Moment

Posted on May 5, 2010 | 5 comments

“What the hell are you doing?”

This was awkward.  REALLY awkward.  But I guess I should have expected it.  He’s been kind of a weirdo since he moved into the building years ago.

A pair of tighty-whiteys were on his head.  He was holding a broom, but the way he was cradling it, I could tell he thought it was a gun.  I thought he didn’t like guns, so I asked him about it.

“What’s with the gun?”

“Whatta ya expect?  It’s the damned CIA, they teamed up with the gypsies, I have no choice.”

His eyes went wilder than usual, and I noticed that his long, dark hair wasn’t just messy, but cluttered with sticks and dirt.  Then I whiffed the odd smell of peanut butter.

“Why does it smell like peanut butter?” I asked, looking around the room.

“Oh, that would be me.  I ran out of shampoo.”

“So you used peanut butter?”

“Yeah,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Okay…”

He reached for the door as if to close it with me still standing in the doorway.  How rude.  Then I realized the one question I should have asked, but confusion distracted my normal brain patterns.

“What are you doing in my closet?”

“You’re my sworn enemy.  They’ll never think to look for me here.”

“I see.  Can you leave?”

“Can I have some macaroni and cheese?”

“How…how did you know what I was making for dinner?”

“I can smell it.”

“Oh.”

An awkward moment.

“Sure.  Pull up a chair, but leave the gun.  No weapons at the dinner table.”

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Starving Artists

Posted on April 27, 2010 | 1 comment

Music to go along with this story:  Staralfur by Sigur Ros.

Music played in the background as she was stretched out on the couch, resting her head on his lap and her feet on the arm of the old, beaten up couch.  He played with her short, brown hair, and she smiled.

“I love how content we can be, just sitting here.”  He nodded agreement.  She continued.  “Do you think we’ll be poor forever?”

“Poor but happy,” he said with a smile as she sat up and he put his arm around her, drawing her closing.

“That sounds nice,” she said, allowing herself to be pulled in.

“Starving artists, and all.  But if you want we could totally get nine-to-five jobs.  But…”

“We’d miss out on moments like this.  If we worked normal jobs, we’d both just be getting home.”

“Complaining about work.”

“Worrying about dinner.”

“Fighting over who has to do the dishes.”

“That’s just not us.”

They both paused, thinking about this alternate world.

“You know, we end up with so many…”

“Responsibilities?” he finished.  She smiled at this and nodded, placing her head on his shoulder.

“You know, there’s only one way to ever be free of them, ever again.”

“Going insane?”

“Exactly.  And that would put the burden onto someone else, our parents, most likely.  Seems unfair.  But that’s our only possible escape, from here on out.”

She looked up and played with his hair in the back a little, pulling on it to make him smile.

“Insane is the idea of giving all this up,” she said.  He nodded and picked up a nearby notebook.

“Tic tac toe?”

She smiled and they played.

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