amphibi.us » Ashent

Exposed

Shannon Peil — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 01:54:28 +0000

Wind shears her tears off the sides of her face, slicing cold wetness over the cheeks, stinging her eyes, rubbing the ducts raw with agitation, seemingly burning with frigid Winter, sticking strands of errant hair to her cheeks, rosy with remorse, snapping against the freezing brick wall, stoic against the impending glacial freeze of December darkness, allowing small people to scurry back and forth, searching for cover inside, but dashing out to take care of whatever it is these little people do all day before returning here, passing by this woman huddled against the bricks, freezing and coating the already slick sidewalk with tears of regret, or anger, or everything mixed together, so exposed on the outside of the building because she can’t go back in, won’t sit down on her bed, their bed, alone this time, amidst piles of things that used to be theirs, now separated into his and hers, so easily put into piles of goodbye as snow collects on the sill, she’s pressed between the cold of the weather, and the harsh chill of the lonely apartment upstairs, unwilling to go into either without kicking, screaming, the old ‘I love you, I know I told you to get out but how the fuck am I supposed to live without you, I hate you, get out, come back,’ and the stinging eyes of December, tears steaming on her cheeks, blushing them with icy finality like the sting of a sharp slap across the face she gave him that morning.

© Shannon Peil, 2009

[others]

Addlebrained

Shannon Peil — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 19:27:47 +0000

The expectant mother’s face was positively beaming. Her husband held her shoulder tightly and they both jittered with anticipative excitement as a lab-coated retainer handed them the small package. Her eyes glimmered and took on a wet shine as she gazed upon the pair’s new baby for the first time. She took her eyes off the child briefly to kiss her husband, and whispered, ‘Adelle’ to him apprehensively. He smiled and gave a gentle nod, running his fingers over the porcelain forehead of the baby girl.

The retainer flashed a wide smile and ran a hand-held scanner along the baby’s eyes, causing their soft green to flutter momentarily. He took a step back and then nodded to the doctor on his right. The man opened up an index and seemed to select an entry randomly. He cleared his throat and then addressed Adelle sternly.

“What is the Division, Class, and Order of the flowering plant: Actaea pachypoda?” The new parents held their breath, worried. The baby’s eyes darted back and forth quickly, finally resting on her mother’s face. It licked its lips.

“Well?” The doctor frowned. His brows furrowed deeply and he risked a quick glance to the retainer, who shrugged uneasily.

“The flowering plant Actaea pachypoda belongs to the.. uhm.. Magnoliophyta Division… Magnoliopsida Class… of the Order Ranuncl… Ranuncul… Ranunculal-” Adelle stuttered.

She winced at her mother’s reaction, and began to cry. Her father took the bundle of blanket and offered it back to the retainer, stepping back and grabbing his wife.

“How could this have happened?” The man demanded. “Your warranty guaranteed a child of at least average intellect! This… This thing is addlebrained!” He was shaking now, clutching his wife’s shoulder with white knuckles. The doctor waved his technician away with the baby and attempted to calm the young couple down, as he punched in the request for a new child into a terminal. He apologized profusely until his assistant returned with a new order.

© Shannon Peil, 2009

[others]

Casket

Shannon Peil — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 21:25:46 +0000

“What do you mean, ‘you were a man,’ what does that mean?” Asked the casket. It was curious, curious and speaking softly to its quiet passenger.

“I mean I was once a man, and now that I’ve died, the mourners will come. They will deliver a eulogy, all my friends will stand here and say I was a kind man, and that I lived a good life. And then they will cry that I am gone.” The corpse spoke softly, silently and the casket did not understand.

“Why would people cry over a corpse?”

“Well I wasn’t always a corpse. I was a person, once. I was a husband. Look, there’s my wife.”

“I can’t see. I’m a casket. You can’t see, either. You are a corpse,” the casket said.

“I can see. I’m here to see my funeral before I go to Heaven.” He watched the people mill about in their dark colors, holding each other, placing flowers, some crying.

“Corpses don’t go to Heaven. People go to Heaven. Corpses just rot.”

The corpse tried to fidget uncomfortably, but was immobile. His arms were crossed impeccably over his waist, and his shoes were laced tightly. He again spoke to the casket, as if it cared.

“I am on my way to Heaven.” He stated.

“Again, corpses do not go to Heaven. I’m just a casket and even I know that. If you were going to Heaven, why aren’t you there yet?”

Deep blue

Shannon Peil — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 04:50:40 +0000

Deep blue, such a brilliant hue
Blonde hair, cascades everywhere
Lovely eyes, makes me wonder why

You killed our son.

You fucking cunt.

Happy fucking Birthday

Shannon Peil — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 19:15:38 +0000

That morning I woke up thinking

‘It’s your Birthday again’

I know because while I never say a thing about it

I wake up thinking about you

Every fucking year.

I hope your Birthday sucks.

Sick

Shannon Peil — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:52:56 +0000

Her screams were muffled and no one could hear, but she continued trying. Her breath came shorter and shorter now, eyes wide and frantic from being held down. Kicking, scratching and thrashing about, she caught him hard in the knee and he yelped, releasing his hand from her mouth. She yelled at him then, licking away the salt on her lips from his palm, her face red and breathing hoarse. When he rose and again came close to her, she laughed and pushed him down, kissing his forehead and lying upon his chest. He rearranged the pillows and smiled down at her, fingers all wrapped up in her hair.

“I love sick days,” he mumbled.

Good ideas

Shannon Peil — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 17:22:06 +0000

At 3am, lots of things seem like a good idea

When you are very drunk.

The best idea at this time involves a sandwich, and going to bed

But we talk about relationships instead.

What is it?

Shannon Peil — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 20:27:05 +0000

When you aren’t paying attention

Staring outwards, scarcely breathing

It all melts away and your face loses its tension

I look upon you and wonder what it is you’re seeking

What is it that you are looking through, around, past

What is it that you dream to see, yearn to be

And will it last?

Pockmarks

Shannon Peil — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 23:55:22 +0000

I didn’t mind the rock’s jagged edges

Sun crisping my stomach as I lay across the pockmarks

Pools of tide emptied and filled themselves

As I lay absorbing the heat, soft wind washing

Across my skin, fingers playing on the sharp rock

Watching you play in tidal pools

Remembering a childhood much different from mine

[others]

Streetside Elegance

Shannon Peil — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 04:35:41 +0000

This asphalt curb
Held you like a soft rocking crib
Secured you safely in wait
For someone to come in rescue
Waiting for an ambulance like a limo
An elegant ride to come pump your stomach