September 23, 2019

Posts from "Portfolio"

  • Portfolio | Feb.01, 2012

    Seagulls in St. Paul’s

    The flock of seagulls appeared in St. Paul’s two weeks ago. I said appeared. That’s what they did. There was a group of people there, in the pews right around the statue of Mary, and when they rose to leave, there was a group of gulls perched around the baptismal font. They didn’t touch the water. Nor the bread. But I’m getting ahead of myself—back to where I was. The gulls perched there, not a white feather rustling; and the way Mrs. Hoess tells it, one of the gulls took to the air, flew back to the entrance, and perched right on the announcement board. And then, stranger still, the rest of the gulls rose into the air, all at the same time, not a feather out of place, and flew back with it. Anyway, the strangest thing was that none of those gulls made a noise. None of them cawed, crowed, or cried out at all. I don’t know what else to call the noise a seagull makes, but none of them made a sound at all. They would, though. They’d make quite a ruckus.

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  • Portfolio | Jan.25, 2012

    Sewflakes

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  • Portfolio | Jan.25, 2012

    This Is Not My Life: Part 2

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  • Portfolio | Nov.30, 2011

    The Place of the Skull

    There is a certain bench positioned along a certain path in a certain park that grants the perfect vantage point for watching people walk. I sit there often, and watch the people walk. They are infinite in their variety, even in the brief glances I steal from my bench. Most of them are shy. They never look at me, sitting on my bench. They are afraid to meet the eyes of a stranger. Why should they be? It doesn’t matter; it is all the more charming. Most of them walk with heads down, attention directed inward. They are thinking about family, or work, or any number of temporal problems.

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  • Portfolio | Nov.30, 2011

    Silhouette

    Your shadow dances in the moonlight

    A silhouette, form where there is nothing

    Is this what’s left of us?

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  • Portfolio | Nov.30, 2011

    The Shoes She Wore

    The shoes she wore were tan and thick-strapped, the kind you would see your grandmother wearing to the grocery store. They were comfortable, and for Lana, comfort outweighed the pressure to conform to the thin-heeled, pointy-toed monstrosities that her friends insisted she wear.

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  • Portfolio | Nov.17, 2011

    A Time To Come Home Again

    I pulled my scarf tighter around my face with one hand and clutched my small duffel bag in the other. The November wind shot against my skin, pricking goose bumps on my legs and arms even though they were covered by multiple layers of clothing. The parking lot was just across the frozen dirt of the quad, and my boots tapped briskly against the hardened ground. As I unlocked the doors of my car and put my things in the trunk, I noticed how empty the campus was. The once-full parking lot only had a smattering of cars left in it, and the grid of yellow lines looked strange and spread out.

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  • Portfolio | Nov.02, 2011

    The Poet

    Once upon a midnight dreary, whilst I flew so weak and weary

    Over many strange, deserted places never seen before,

    I had such an urge for napping, I grew weary of my flapping.

    So I sought shelter, and went flying headlong towards a chamber door,

    Just a visitor, searching for shelter at a chamber door,

    Only this, and nothing more.

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  • Portfolio | Nov.02, 2011

    Missing from the Laboratory (Part 5)

    Sophia sped down the busy street and Henry reconsidered letting her drive, but then he remembered he didn’t know where they were going. He had tried to get her to explain what was going on ever since they left the police station, but she just kept saying he would understand everything when they got there.

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  • Portfolio | Oct.27, 2011

    Metal and Knives and Everything Nice

    She couldn’t move. The wet floor soaked through her pants and wracked her body with cold, but she wouldn’t allow the muscular spasms to take place. In the dark, she couldn’t see the long metal daggers that were welded onto each surface of the closet, but she knew they were there. Shivering would surely invite one of the rusted tips into her pulsing white skin, swapping death for life. She wasn’t sure what would get her first, the unstoppable rush of blood from her veins or the infection that laced each spike. She had to get out of there alive.

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