The Nipple

*This is so random and more of an exercise than a finished product*


"There's something wrong with my nipple, honey," she said simply.

"No, there's not, darling," he caressed her face. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because it's true. There's something wrong with it." She pouted and brought her hands to her sides.

"Darling, you're just not twisting it hard enough. Play around with it a bit."

"Oh, like you're the Master of all Nipple Function. I don't want to twist it anymore! It doesn't work."

"Dear, calm yourself down."

"Don't tell me to calm myself. You're the one who got us into this mess."

"Oh, now you're pointing fingers. Lovely. Last time I buy you anything." He walked away from her.

"The old one was fine. Bastard! But no, we need all the new toys. We always have to try all the new things." She took a breath and tried to collect herself.  "Google it?" she suggested sweetly. "There must be loads of videos on YouTube."

"No, I don't want to look up videos on YouTube, that's embarrassing. We're educated adults."

She looked under a stack of newspapers. "Fine, where's the manual?"

"It comes with a manual?" he asked in awe.

She glared at him venomously.

"Come here, baby...I'm sorry."

She crossed to him and he hugged her. "I'm sorry too," she whispered.

"Okay then."

"Okay."

"So when does the sitter get here?" he asked.

"Ten minutes."

"Grand. And where's the old bottle?"

"In the kitchen."

"Okay, we'll give the sitter the old bottle to use tonight and tomorrow we'll return this fancy dumb one. How does that sound?"

"Deal." She curled up on the couch.

He took a seat next to her and they both sighed in relief.

"We've got ten minutes," he said.

 They sat in silence a few moments.

"Porn?" she suggested.

"Sure," he picked up the remote, "Why not."

Random Thoughts Before Midnight---* or "Cinderella's Gonna Turn into a Pumpkin"

Mouse Noose

1. When Mama said 'there would be days like this,' did she know that sometimes tomorrow would still suck a little bit more than the day before? Where's her song for that? Oh that's right, Mama didn't write a little ditty for that. That is why doctors prescribe Xanax. It is also why cookies exist.

2. If I could be a cookie, I'd be a Nutella cookie. With a big glob of peanut butter in the middle. Or maybe a peanut butter cookie with a big glob of Nutella. They both sound delicious. It makes me want to bake. Except I don't know how to bake. No one ever taught me. And I just had two margaritas. And someone who can't bake who just had two margaritas should never turn on an oven.

3. Do Cobblers like cobbler pie? Or do they find it ironic and un-funny. I feel that if I were a cobbler, I would constantly want to eat pie while fixing shoes. I'd also insist my name was Gus. Of note, my Cobbler's name IS Gus. He's not really MY cobbler because I only went to him once. It's just that I feel important when I say I have a Cobbler. So I am possibly a liar. But damn, can Gus can fix a pair of boots.

4. When people say they wish they were a fly on the wall, are they really thinking about the consequences of being a fly on the wall? Life would be forever altered. What if you could never revert back to human form? What if someone smacked you with a newspaper and you scrunched up and bit the big one? What does it even mean to 'bite the big one'? What does 'the big one' even mean, really. Obviously, it's death. But is death like a big putrid sandwich we're biting into? Is it like a big piece of plywood that cracks your teeth open? All of that for a bit of gossip. That is why gossip is bad and why people who watch TMZ should die.

5. When you see sharp objects or seemingly ordinary objects that are somewhat dangerous-looking, do you automatically think, 'Gosh, you could kill someone with that"......? Because I do. Straws? They're weapons. I know so from Physics class in high school. With just the right velocity, you could stab a hole in someone's neck. Said person would die. Tiny piece of plastic you can tie into a cherry stem knot? Well that's a noose for a mouse. It's true. You could hang a mouse with that. Why is that the first thing I think of when I see a tiny piece of plastic on the ground? It's because I'm sick and twisty. Mouse Noose. What about a broken window pane? Obviously an opportunity to off someone like in the movie 'Ghost' when the bad guy bites the big one.

 And that's what you get for fucking with Patrick Swayze.

Ditto.

Gladys

Gladys stood by the living room window waiting for him to come home. 

Her eyes scanned the front yard and she sighed. The lawn was overgrown again. She never did like it when the grass grew too high. She would have to ask the neighbor’s boy to come over and take care of it. She hoped five dollars would do. 

When would he come home? She listened for the sweet and familiar melody of his whistling, but there was nothing. Just a dull and monotonous silence. 

Gladys looked out into the yard again. Her mind started pulsing, exploring the thick towers of green. She started to dizzy herself and looked away.

No, it was better when the lawn was neat and tidy.  She’d call the boy right now. Maybe she’d give him a few extra dollars if he’d take some boxes to the curb. She picked up the phone and briskly dialed next door.

A young girl picked up the phone, “Hello?” The child’s voice was like song, round and musical and innocent.

“Rachel, honey. It’s Mrs. Patterson. Is your Mom home?”

“Oh, Mrs. Patterson.” There was an awkward silence. Gladys hated silence.

“Well? Is she home?” 

“No, no, she’s not home.” There was no music in the child’s voice any longer.

“Of course. What about your brother?”

“No.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back, Rachel? It’s very simple really. I just need a favor.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Mrs. Patterson.”

Gladys put her hand to her head; the pulsing beat had started again, more intense than before. “It’s very important I speak to your mother.” 

There was a silence on the other end. “Rachel? Are you still there? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“... I’m not supposed to talk to you... Mom said we’re not supposed to talk to you.”

Gladys held the receiver close to her ear.

“Why, Rachel?” There was no reply. “Rachel, have you seen Mr. Patterson? He’s late. I’m worried about him,” She bowed her head, tears stinging her eyes. “Rachel… Has he been to your house again?”

“I have to go, Mrs. Patterson. I’m sorry.” Rachel hung up the phone.

Gladys stood motionless for a moment, collecting herself. She looked at her watch. It was late and she was tired of waiting. She picked up a cardboard box of Mr. Patterson’s belongings, opened the front door, and walked to the curb. She dropped the box, letting articles of clothing spill from the sides and land haphazardly onto the driveway. She ripped her necklace from her throat, the one he’d given her for their third anniversary, breaking the strand; and as pearls flew out into the street, she saw from the corner of her eye Mr. Patterson driving towards the house.

Gladys turned on her heels and marched back inside. The pulsing in her head was like a drum now. She walked straight into the kitchen, as if under a spell, and very calmly took out her knives, the very set she’d received as a wedding gift ten years ago. 

She sat at the table and laid the largest knife over the stack of divorce papers she’d refused to sign.

There was no familiar whistle this time, only the sound of the keys at the front door. 

“Dear, I’m in the kitchen,” she called.

His footsteps grew louder as he walked through the living room.

Gladys picked up the knife and smiled.

The Pursuit of Happiness on The Sea of Discontent

 












Josephina was a sailor.

She was a lone sailor on a ship full of old men who'd been sailing their whole lives.

The men spit into the dark angry ocean because they could. 

They killed sharks because they knew how.

And they looked at Josephina like she was shark bait. Their shark bait.

She was scared at first, but she knew the ocean would one day run through her veins like it did for the others.

"I don't go by Josephina on this ship, do you hear me? It's Jo. Do you understand!" she grunted. Her long brown hair was piled high on top of her head, curls spilling loose around her pale, delicate face. Her eyes were wide and gray as she spoke, her voice high and flimsy.

The sailors laughed. Their shark bait had some fight in her. They shook their heads and walked away.

The days were long and arduous and sometimes Jo missed her life on land very much. She heard the voices of her family in her head, begging her not to leave, asking her with desperation not to go. But she had made the decision to live on the sea, where the waves were both beautiful and heartbreaking, where the ship rocked at night in such a way that she felt both sick and in the arms of her mother at the same time. Some nights she tossed and turned violently with the ocean, some nights she slept as if she were a child in a cradle.

"Jo, you're doing it all wrong," the sailors would taunt her. They were ruthless. One particularly rough sailor with a weathered face and a deep voice pushed her close to the rail and threatened her, holding her inches from the wrath of the waves. "You don't belong here, little girl!" He held her down with his textured hands, his palms scarred with thick grooved cuts from battle. She kicked and fought her way back over the edge, breathing rapidly and wildly. "The ocean holds no refuge for you!" he screamed at her as she backed away from him, the fury and sadness in his voice striking her heart. "Don't you see? You will only suffer!" he cried, as she held back a wail of defeat.

Jo ran to her quarters and slammed the door shut. She threw herself onto her worn bed and began to sob. She hadn't cried once since arriving, but the tears now poured from her easily, freely. Perhaps she had been wrong to come. She was alone and tired and broken. It seemed she had been here forever... Yet, how little respect she'd earned from the others. She never should have journeyed so far from home, the risks had been too great. This admission of failure made her cry even harder, and Jo felt the warm streams of water running down her cheeks, hitting her lips like rain, her tongue puckering at the taste.

Her tears were salty like the ocean she desperately wanted to be a part of.

...And then Jo stopped crying.

Not right away, no, her muffled cries were slow to cease, but she eventually found herself in silence. Her shoulders had stopped heaving. Her heart had resumed a normal beat. But her mind....her mind was quickening. The ring of salt from her tears was still on her lips.

Josephina sat up in realization. The ocean was within her.

She was already a part of the mysterious water...the ocean had always been a part of her, had been a part of her long before this day.

The ocean whispered deep within her soul and she'd must learn to listen to the current.

She wiped her eyes and ran back to the deck, determined, her hair wild in the wind.

"I will not concede!" Josephina cried, as she infringed upon the men. The sailors were all in a circle, laughing and joking, having long forgotten about the little girl who ran away.

She broke through the center and cried out again, louder this time, "I will not concede!" The men quieted and looked at her with shocked, curious eyes. Josephina continued. "I have come this far and I will not leave. I will learn your secrets." The sailors were silenced by her spell.

She looked out to the sea, her voice rich with conviction. "I will be unruly, I will scream and cry, and I will succumb to the power of the tide with grace and strength. I will yield to its magnificence and I will learn from the battle. I know why I am here and I will not leave," she growled. Josephina grew more glorious by the second. Her passion seared the ears and eyes of all who beheld her. "The time will come when I will sail these waters not only as your equal, but one day as your leader, and you will all wonder how I learned to wrestle Poseidon... I will listen and I will understand the high sea's wails and whispers...because it is within me: it is who I am...."

The men didn't know what to say. Some looked on in respect, a handful looked on in fear...for they all knew what she said was true. 

She believed it and it would be so.

Josephina crossed the circle and the ring of sailors parted for her as she walked back to her corner of the ship. She placed her hands on the ropes, running her calloused fingers across the dirty ridges.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. For the first time since she'd set foot on the ship, she was certain she belonged here.

She would fight to remain. And she would win.

Waves rocked the vessel, and when she stirred, she saw before her the sailor who'd threatened her. He stared her down for a moment with his piercing eyes. Josephina held his rough gaze.

"...Good girl," he nodded. "Honor your words, Jo. And do what you say."

She took him in and nodded back.

The sailor gave her one last look and turned the other way, smiling when he was certain she would not see.

Josephina sat serenely for a moment, letting the wind embrace her.

And then she got to her feet.

There was work to be done.