The Hungry Intruder

It had to have been the candle. There’s no other explanation. The small hungry flame got tired of its wax-encrusted prison and jumped off. It landed on the newspaper, slowly creeping across, consuming the day’s events faster than it had taken for most of them to occur. Starving for more, more of anything, the growing flame spilled out onto the table. The tablecloth screamed silently as the flame hungrily devoured it. Soon the table felt itself being devoured by the voracious flame; because of its stalwart build it held out longer, but soon enough it shared in the tablecloth’s merciless fate.

With an exuberant leap the flame jumped off the table onto the floor. The flame savored the taste of the carpet as it dried it of whatever moisture it may have had. Growing in girth, and speed, the flame cruised along picking off anything in its path; chairs, various papers and trinkets that should have been put away. It made a turn for the living room. It sat comfortably in an armchair, taking in the chair’s delectable smell. Then the flame caught a glimpse of the bookshelf. It gluttonously read the works of Lewis, Jackson, Fitzgerald, Williams all at once. Books make such good finger foods. The chair too was devoured, but not before first comforting the flame with a few seconds rest. The living room cried out at its loss, but soon reluctantly resigned itself to the same destiny as the restless flame went from chair to couch to love seat.

The flame crackled and snapped in hunger. It was famished! It crept into the master bedroom. The bed looked thick, full, and scrumptious. The flame crept closer. The bed shrieked in horror when the flame chomped down on the bedposts. In an act of desperation the bed tried to save its silken pillows, but it was for naught. The flame gobbled them up like a four year-old around cookies. The vanity mirror stared blankly as the bed was consigned to its own place of rest.

The flame grew hungrier. It needed more. The other bedrooms proved satisfying with their toys, and sundries, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. Pictures of times gone by on the walls were good snacks, but they were not enough to quell the ever-growing appetite of this hunger pang-ridden intruder. Irritated, the flame marched into the kitchen. Food, food everywhere, but nothing worth eating, though it was all eaten anyway. Records, letters, desks, flowers, clothes, garbage, and a plethora of dust. All of it consumed, but it still was not enough. The flame stormed to the back door of the house, opened it, and stood staring into the backyard. It peered left. It peered right. Then it caught a glimpse of the fence. On the other side a large two-story Tudor towered towards the sky. The flame licked its lips and decided to pay them a little visit.

It's Dangerous at Night

Seventy year-old Maria Parsons walked home in the dark of night.
In the distance a tall imposing silhouette walked in her direction. Soon they were passing each other. He was a gruff-looking man of about thirty-five.
“Careful ma’am, there’s a serial killer out.”
“So I’ve heard,” Maria replied, fingering the bloody knife in her pocket.

I Remember

I am faced with a monstrous-sized husky. He’s not growling, but he is staring at me intently. I know what he wants. He wants me.

“Mommy! Mommy!” my daughter cries. “His name is Fred! He’s so cute! Can we keep him? Pleeeease?”

I stare into the dog’s wolf-like eyes. Then I remember my journey down the esophagus. I had been a fool, and I had paid for it in full. It was dark all around.

“Please mommy?” my daughter begs. I snap back to the present.

“No,” I say firmly. “You have to give it back.”

“But mommy!”

“No! Now hurry up. We have to go to grandma’s house.”

Grandma. Yes. She was there too. I remember her holding my hand. I remember her telling me it’ll be all right.

“I thought it was you!” I tried to explain.

Grandma just shushed me and told me to forget about it. The darkness was thick.
I now watch my daughter begrudgingly cross the street to return the dog to our neighbor Mr. Hunter. He is a good man.

I remember the darkness being broken by a sliver of light. It grew wider and brighter. A strong hand pulled me out. It was like being born again. I was being made new. I promised to never again mistake wolves for women.

The Makings of a Hero

1. In Shining Armor
The dragon spewed fire upon the village. The knight looked on in outrage as he saw helpless men, women, and children scrambling for cover. He charged forth. The dragon roared. The sound of metal clashing claw echoed in the air.
Fire, sweat, teeth, sword, fire, until death came with a crunch. And as the knight drew his sword from the dragon’s heart he knew that the people were saved.

2. Into the Fire
Francis was faced with a literal inferno. A woman ran towards him.
“My daughter! She’s still in there!”
Francis ran towards the blaze ignoring the objections of his captain.
He could hear the girl’s crying as soon as he broke down the door.
“Don’t worry. I’m a fireman.”
He picked up the girl and held her close. The fire blazed on as he handed the girl to her mother.

3. The Contract
It wouldn’t mess with you if you didn’t mess with it. That’s the way city life worked. It would have been a breach of that contract if Rick responded to the “Help!” that echoed above the heads of the people on the sidewalk. They kept their heads down and quickened their pace when they passed the woman being mugged in the alley.
“Help me!”
Rick ran towards the alley.

The Favorite Things of a Nine to Five Girl

· the comforting power of the pillow

· hitting the snooze button...again

· two cups of coffee

· morning talk radio

· being only five minutes late

· staple removers and white out

· spell check

· lunch break

· People Magazine

· Cheez-Its

· two o'clock mail delivery

· the mailman's gorgeous smile

· getting home by five-thirty

· a warm bath

· movie previews

· movie popcorn

· Lifetime to pass the time on Saturday nights

· blaming it on the scale

· laughing

· learning

· loving

· strawberry daiquiris

· a hug letting you know it's all okay

· friends

· chocolate cheesecake

· chocolate anything

· the salon

· the summer wind

· a walk in the park

· unexpected meetings

· good looks

· a smile amidst a conversation

· a polite goodbye

· numbers on a slip of paper

· retelling a story to friends

· the encouragement of friends

· a dial tone

· the confirmation that Saturday night finally has something to offer

· a red cocktail dress

· the excitement of as a limo pulls up!

· Sardi's!

· Sardi's!

· Sardi's!

· a $67 bottle of Chardonnay

· Spaghettie al Filetto di Pomodoro with sautéed shrimp

· a lazy carriage ride through Central Park

· a kiss on the cheek

· a surprise morning flower delivery

· Sunday brunch

· a yacht

· seeing New York Harbor in a new light

· the clinking of champagne glasses

· rainbows during a sun shower

· Chanel

· Gucci

· Prada

· the thrill of late evenings and early mornings

· dancing

· the gentle touch of skin on skin

· the roar of the ocean's waves

· the quickly fading hushing of an audience as the curtain rises

· French cuisine (who knew?)

· diamonds

· the air that surrounds him

· a tender kiss

· the privacy of being behind closed doors

· sweet dreams

· not having to worry about again hitting the snooze button

· the sunshine through an opened window

· the autumn leaves

· window shopping

· daydreaming about the ring

· Sardi's

· a quickening heartbeat

· the hope that in a few seconds the purchasing of Modern Bride will not have been in vain

· a good firm slap across his face

· the excellent timing of a taxicab

· the softness of a pillow against a cheek

· the comforting power of tears

· alone time

· friends not saying "It'll all be okay" for the millionth time

· the comforting power of leftover alcohol

· headache medicine

· a carton of rocky road ice cream

· Bailey's Cream

· using up sick days

· vodka on the rocks

· the breeze from an opened window

· being six stories up

· a sigh and a single tear

· gravity

· the caressing touch of rushing air

· the comforting power of the ground