Pretty Sweet Friend of Mine

Photography by Penny C.

Give it a kiss!

Photography by Penny C.


No One Wanted It Around


“Feed me, I am hungry, the beast said. It regarded its reflection on spoon as it awaited the answer. Perhaps he should just crawl into a hole and die–permanently. No one wanted a demon around.

As expected, the woman said No in a flat tone, followed by a: “Leave me alone.”

If only he could make her feel something . . . Then he wouldn’t feel so dead inside. It would never happen again like it used to, though; she had put her foot down–permanently. She didn’t want a demon around.


Thursday is a Good Day

For some ___________________ (insert whatever).

Not the bees! An Extraordinary Glimpse into the First 21 Days of a Bee’s Life in 60 Seconds via Colossal.

Don’t eat while looking at this (I did, and my perogies suddenly became less than appetizing). From the Merrylin Cryptid Museum.


Other Things

Marianna chose to ignore him. She always did; she had no idea if she was being delusional or not. Somehow she had convinced herself that pretending like nothing was there would cause that thing to go away. Somehow she still heard him whispering in her ears.

“Am I crazy?” was the number one question amongst a thousand others. Like most of them it also had no definite answers. Lately she had become to doubt the nature of reality. If she ever found the truth, she wouldn’t know what to do about it.

“I can wait,” he said in a soft whisper. “In the end you always come around.”

She sighed.


This Bird Has Fangs


This Bird Has Fangs

Sure enough, the eldritch beast showed us its true form. How such a small thing could hide something so big . . . We stood helpless, astounded by its sheer awesomeness, by its awful beauty. The monster reminded us of an angelic being; either this was the creature in the flesh, or a cruel mockery of it. It had ten monstrous wings; for a mouth its face split in half. Horizontally.

Four glowing eyes fell on me, and I felt as if the inside of me was being seared as it searched my soul.

Surely, this was not god.


The Lonesome Morning

The first rays of sunlight peered through the windows. There was no one living to appreciate the coming of the dawn. For them (on the inside) it was too late. A raven hopped across the porch railings; an old bird, large, with a cracked beak. The residents had called him Pretty Boy.

Pretty Boy regarded the silent porch, then the windows, looking as uncomfortable as it was possible for him. They used to live there, alive and happy, alive and nice. Many days they would give him food, the same way they had done for years. Pretty Boy looked at the windows again. Through the red smears there wasn’t much to see; their bodies had been  dragged away in the night as he watched from his perch on an old tree. It had frightened him.

He let out a dour cry before taking to the air. A figure loomed up in the window he was watching, startling him. Pretty Boy knew who that was.

And he did not like it.


Yesterday’s Cold Front


Yesterday’s Cold Front

Yesterday was so cold, everything had been cloaked in frost. The trees looked like they were drooping, which got me to thinking: how would a tree feel? If I were a tree, or turned into one by some fluke, my life would become a nightmare. Imagine things crawling on you, boring through your skin, or just ripping it off?

I can see love struck idiots carving their names into me–I don’t want your names carved into me, I do not care! Now I shall contract a fungus. You’re too kind. Thanks.

I try being agreeable as a human, and sometimes other humans take that for granted. Somehow that agreeableness gives them the excuse to dehumanize me, to ignore my personhood. Seldom do other humans truly want other humans acting like humans (alive, flawed, and emotional). As a tree I would be a slave to the elements, bending and swaying till I grow old and rot. I would have no say.

As I’d rot I’d still be alive. Begging for someone to put me out of my misery . . . Then and only then would anyone care about my well-being. They’d say: let’s help this tree, and then only prolong my misery.

Yesterday’s cold front would have been the day I truly broke, as whatever bodily fluids would have been leached out to the surface. Or they would have frozen, expanding till I snapped.

Since I am not a tree, I am thankful that I haven’t.