The Little Girl That Grew On My Head

I grew a little girl on my head as the skies turned red with smears of unwanted and wanted blood. Her weight was as heavy as a pencil, and her eyes were as deep as an empty wishing well, barred from hands that reached for drowning dreams. We watched the blood from the horizon smear down into the ocean. What a sight. The sun was setting between mountainous folding clouds that parted from the light. But everything was melting into an oceanic puddle of everything ruined. But it was beautiful.

I didn’t know why she grew there. Maybe she was the untouched conscience, the one that suffered most. She was the most natural element from humanity that hasn’t been shaded by any kind of man-made chemical or influence. And she was dying. Her frail body struggled to watch with me as she sat on my shoulder.

We saw the waves grow bigger and bigger. I thought how strong the ocean was, its current moving like a silent cyclone from below. For a moment I closed my eyes and heard its deep rumble. It was deeper than a typhoon’s thunder. And I felt the ground with my hands and pressed hard against it, the earth was still alive, dominant and powerful.

Of course it was. It has been breathing for billions of years, through fire, ice and fallen stars. Its path has already been made; it knows where it is going. And I thought about the destruction we’ve caused and how we abused then tried to save it. I looked at my hands and looked at the horizon, “What have we done?” Then the little girl from my shoulder whispered so carefully to my ear.

“Mother Earth doesn’t need saving. It’s doing fine. What you need to worry about is your own race.”

And I sat there in shock as I thought I was watching the end of the world, but no world was ending, only humanity.

I Knew a Man Who Ate the Concrete Floor

I knew a man who ate the concrete floor and vomited it out into soil. He never knew how to speak or write, all he knew was to eat cement. His face was covered with grey dust and his eyes were as pale as the city when it rained. His body was well built but every time he ate, he looked weak, like a man sipping food from a hospital bed. I never knew why he ate cement. Sometimes I think he was trying to save the world, to turn it back into soil, a mission to rid the ills of progress; to stop us from turning the earth into a cold hard tomb, sealed from all that is natural.

8 years old.

8 years old.

She woke up in her dream and ate the crescent moon. She ate it whole, and as it settled inside her stomach, she began to float. Her stomach grew bigger and bigger that it lifted her up above a bright star that shone more than the rest. Her insides started to glow. Her veins, like tree branches, lit up into luminous streams all over her body. She flew with a big belly among the planets; she spread her arms and embraced the open space, freedom.

Then she heard a heartbeat from her stomach. And there she saw another person, its hands not much bigger than hers, its feet not much bigger than hers. The luminous light from her veins stopped glowing, and she held her stomach with fear, as the brightest star died into a faint light and the universe folded into a used bed.

She went back to sleep in her reality. 

Night was a Fat Man

Night was afraid of Dawn. Dawn was a man, you see. He had a thirst for the dark.

Night was the most delicious darkness of all for it covered a thousand miles of cities and countries. But Night was a fat man and Dawn had the muscles and might of a dog in a hunt. They often race around the globe and Night would always get eaten by Dawn. Dawn doesn’t know though that Night leaves a bit of himself in every man and every thing. So after Dawn burps up the last juicy darkness of the unknown black, he sleeps with a full stomach thinking he ate the whole nighttime, and out of the tender shades, Night rises from every person and every thing and lives once more, to escape from Dawn and leaves himself in each and everyone as shadows.