Icy night

Skittish shadows leaving wet footprints and proof of our crime, right to the unlit pool, where the dark mirror has but one flicking moon.

The reflection melts as we enter and the biting chill drowns us, a pair of silhouettes sneaking a glace at each other while we look around for anyone who might see us at this hour.

I would have said it was a honest mistake, I came back after college and walked into the wrong apartment and someone else’s flame embraced me. I shook off the rain and I didn’t know where I was. The evergreens brushed against the windows and my breath steamed as we sneaked outside.

Here in the ice cold water I look at the walls before I turn on my back and push down into the darkness. My body freezes and then flows as I swim towards the light. I wonder if my reflection would shattered if I swam back fast enough.

For no reason at all I remember a novel, a child with a yellow origami dragon. I see my companion buoy back up again. We meet, the lights gone out and we’re faceless in the dark, laughing and shivering.

A great theif

I, an accomplished thief, do not steal because I greed, or envy the men behind their walls or fine fabrics. I steal because it makes for good story telling.

I trespass on principle. And of course on great and virtuous aims.

My job is to rescue. I enter homes, battle great gaurdian demons of suspicion, and seduce vaults to save defenseless gems from their imprisonment. Their lives, henceforth, of fast hands and shadowed passage make for far more fitting tales for such prizes.

Every stone valued behind some hero’s quest to retrieve them. Every rock growing more coveted once it’s gone, holding their masters in an unbreakable grip that men may only dream of.

Poison Eater

“This tastes good. Really…” he trails off before he decided to go back eating. He does not see her notice.

He does not notice either. She offers the closest thing to a genuine smile in months, to no none in particular. “Never did I hear that rat poison tastes good” she smiles at the though. And waits. And waits.

Slowly. Very slowly he finishes. He is distracted. His eyes like fluttering flies as he pours over his screen. Unconcerned with the world, her face, and now- everything else. It  stung and now it seemed insulting that the meal could  hold him only so long.

Death lacking intimacy wasn’t exciting at all. There is something disappointing about waiting for death when prey is content to graze. But she waited and watched with fascination the spoon ringing against the plate.