Friday, May 23, 2014

My latest short story can be read at this website:

Thank You Huesoloco and Florida State University English department.

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

New Short Story for Writing Group

Universe Mother

She started as floaties, small things wrapped around my arms to keep me from drowning. How she grew into a large island I do not know. I remember she changed from floaties to a full-on raft shortly after I called her and told her I was out of food, a fridge-empty-piss-poor-college-student. 500 dollars appeared in my account the next morning. Months later I was more observant than Neil Armstrong ever had been and explored those new regions of the universe where the belly button shaped a hole deeper and larger than asteroids ever made on this little planet.

Mother is bigger than the moon.

I stayed a while on her ribcage. I could feel her breathe in and out, and the motion felt soothing, but soon thereafter, she grew so large she was like the world. Sure we spin and move, but the orb is so large you don’t really know you move, just let scientist and sixth grade teachers explain it. They do it best, besides mom. Mom describes everything the best, whether it be a dead bird or how to tie a shoelace, no one can teach it better than mother. She taught me most of life is found in nature the other half through nurture. Mother is a nature-nurturer.

Once, movement of her body ceased, I felt like she might be dead, so I took out a telescope and surveyed the flesh-covered oceans for as far as the eye sponsored by technology could see. I was certain she no longer existed even though I walked upon her. That’s what happens when something grows so big and you are so small. Mother exists, but she doesn’t. She has grown beyond existence.

I breathe in mother when I breathe. Mother is salty air. Mother is thought. Mother is everything I see and don’t see. Mother is big enough to fill infinity, and mother is as small as my big toe.