Connective Cube
Connecting the hard edges
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Category: Fiction
Mostly made up.
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The cityscape, with rolling hills of houses with grey tongues licking with humid hue. Does ole silver map the ground beneath? Not now, power down. Chair up, armrest down I forgot to call. Broccoli below Where did I show my shell? Did I leave it far below on another latitude? It turns out the other way around.…
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Lissa fears a communal living situation. A few days ago, Maxie changed the subject when Lissa asked where they would stay the night. The last time Lissa visited Washington DC, she stayed with self-described anti-establishment political artists and activists who could afford to live in a four bedroom house. Her friend begged for her to…
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This is the third time Lissa takes a trip with friends, or a friend, in the past four years. She forgets to renew her prescription, again, and this time it is two weeks without it. All she can hope is the weeks of anxious nausea stay somewhere in her core, or her head, or anywhere…
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Birds. If I see one in the flesh, they are seagulls or pigeons firmly grounded near the bay. They wouldn’t stand a change with the quick rotations of the current propellors. The swooping birds roar constantly, hovering above, glaring below. Once they land, they sleep until they warm up and whiz around a two square mile space.…
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It had officially been five years. Her pencil nubs need sharpening, and her eraser, still in cellophane. She didn’t know where to start, what to draw, how to begin a project. Didn’t she go to school to be an art production machine, to be known at the galleries where she relied on free metallic red…
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“There is always a way to convey mood with my fingernails,” Lissa says to Ashley. “I don’t see mood – I just see you picking colors that look like they don’t go together.” “Most colors go together. They do. You just think about the rules too much.” “How can you tell me that this creamsicle…
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Lissa opens her door. Her roommate, who is usually at her boyfriend’s house, is putting on her boots. They nod at each other, like they usually do. Lissa moved here three months ago, and she found the place on Craigslist. This is her third move in two years. Like the other two times, she doesn’t…
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Lissa tosses her Milky Way wrapper amongst the Snickers and Reese’s. The guilt over eating sugar, of imagining a momentary candy island, lasts maybe five seconds. It is a much shorter shift of euphoria, and an even longer one of craving the next square pellet of goo. This happens again for the third time. That is,…
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Cassandra stands in a slow moving line for the alpine slide. She checks her phone, anxious about the battery running out in the next 20 minutes. Hopefully her sons will remember to meet her by the entrance of the slide. The line lurches forward. With the line and ride, Cassandra figures she has 20 minutes…
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My arms, my arms! Marcy exclaims as her trainer screams like a pitbull underwater in the distance. Stopping won’t shut her up. She doesn’t know that it is much easier to drink sweet tea on the porch. There is a ball on my head, and all Marcy can do is try to bend her arms…
Connective Cube 