(A quick note: the grammar and syntax is how I meant it to be, to capture the specific character voice. Comments here should be about the story or the reading). I posted a little less than a page and a half of the story.
JimmySamantha
Our lives are quite hectic, chaotic, bizarre. Sometimes we do nothing, sometimes we do strange things, sometimes we wash our hair in the toilet, sometimes we busy ourselves swinging. And the postman comes looking for us.
We get our rush hiding out in the church sanctuary's cry room during nutrition break, locking the door and hoping the teachers don't see us. We spray too much perfume to cover up caustic scents and slam back and forth against the walls in the dark.
We are hybrid. We go faster, stronger, better, brighter. Our hands taste of sweat and sulfur, our fingernails are caked with mud from explorations in the back yard, lying on the wet grass, dogs growling inches away on their chains, flowers growing fast beneath us.
We're a freight train, carrying loads of baggage and managing to lift it like it's nothing. We are strong. We have done this all of our lives.
We climbed an oak tree and sat on its topmost branches, examining the sky like we owned it. (We own it.) It was blue and pure, and I caught hold of a cloud and felt it drop me in one fell swoop.
You climbed down on top of me and shook my shoulders. I felt my brain knock about in my skull.
Sometimes we do something, sometimes we do strange things, sometimes we do nothing at all. And the postman comes looking for us.
LittleBoyBlue
Jimmy Daughtry used to live on the street down the road, but you won't find him there no more. Folks reckon he's right out of his mind, but I seen him, all tailcoats a flyin', hopping outta his winder couple Saturday nights ago. Plopped straight down onto that cement, and pullin' his backpack straight after him.
Reckon he fell down right across the street, between the alleyway where the Jones' and the Smith's keep house. Scraped the skin clean to his kneebones and kept on a runnin' like he had a monster on his heels. What monster, I dunno, but I'da shore liketa. Wouldn' wanna monster like that after me, no Sir.
Little house there, the one with the blue an' yeller windershutters? And the red roofin'? That was Jimmy Daughtry's house. Reckon he clean run off though, you won't find him here, Mr. Postman, sir. I'll take his letter for ya, iffin you want it took offa yer hands. So's ya don't have to worry 'bout it no more.
I wouldn' wanna halfta worry 'bout something like that, something real important. Jimmy'd like it better iffen I took that offa yer hands. No use stressin' 'bout it now, if he ever comes back (he won't though, Sir, not with that monster on his heels), I'll give it to him.
The House
I was built on top of a hill in the grasslands. Unsteady hands pushed my planks together, nailed me with wooden nails, gave me wooden shingles, and a wooden floor. Later somebody came in and nailed the plushy carpet to my sides and put in a new roof.
I still wet myself occasionally.
And the Master doesn't live here anymore.
The intruders came at 9:52, according to the clock on the wall, which stopped before the decay of my walls. I am now dry rot, and the Master rots within me.
I felt their rubber-soled shoes scrape against my well-worn carpet as they closed the door with a squeak. They shivered and clung to each other like tired vessels, too worn to make another move.
"H-hello?" the wet one said.
"Is any-any-anybody h-home?" Its counterpart squealed next to it.
I do not know for whom they called; did they expect an answer from me? Or was it the Master whom they sought?
The first one who'd spoken moved its hand to the other one's hair and ran its fingers through the tangles.
The yellow, long haired one-the young one who slurred its words, began to rain all over itself, the tiny being.
The red haired one took an unsteady step into the kitchen. I hadn't been stepped on there in so many years, I immediately moaned loudly in protest. It stepped back, and I groaned in relief.
The two tiny beings wandered through the banks of my encampment for some time, and I swallowed them whole, creaking and crying out, and doing my best to deter them from the basement.
The Master would not want them here.
The yellow haired one continued to rain herself, while clutching her fingers to her little belly. When it realized there was no food and no real shelter, it begged its counterpart to find another place to spend the night.
"This house is haunted!" sobbed the little one.
They are not so far from wrong.
In the end the red haired youth took the other by the arm, and they went back out into the rain.
I stayed empty for another fifteen years, and oft wondered to myself, what became of them?
The Sparrow
The swarthy little girl left two years ago, but I used to chip and flit-flit outside her window and she fed me little crumbs of white and brown. She used to laugh and wear purple bracelets on her wrists, and sometimes purple splotches on her face and mouth. She danced a mad dance on her bed with her father as I watched from the open window. He made the louder noises and had his hand over her mouth. They played the music loudly. I chirped along.
It was a very jovial family. They dressed the girl in bright colored dresses but she seemed to tire of them too easily, coming home with blue legs, hair loosed, feet click-clicking. I twittered.
Then she started to rouse me in the night, climb-climbing down my tree and running down the block, smoothing black skirt, tweeting loudly at Him.
Him was underneath my tree and she tossed her bag down at Him, and climbed down my tree, and I saw her no more. But the two beings in their nest went on and on about Him, and I twittered softly but no one fed me bread crumbs anymore.
I lay down in my nest and I died as the second winter set, but still the purple-bracelet girl did not come back.
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teeheeeheeh *sneaky grin*
