This micro fiction is inspired by and uses a phrase from Gloria Anzaldua's "Borderlands/La Frontera." The phrase is "car flowing down a lava of highway."
"We"
Car flowing down a lava of highway, we can feel the bridge between us and the Atlantic swell, stretch, and finally crumble beneath the weight of the distance. We rolled the windows down, our laughter fueled by the sandy wind that turned our hair into dancing flames. At the Grand Canyon, we tossed our phones into the deep cracks of the earth. The lights of Vegas called out to us, and under a gazebo lit with twinkling lights, we tied the knot on a whim. In the city of angels we placed our hands in hardened cement, jumping and shouting when we found a familiar name. Tourists stared at us but we just got back into the car and turned west. The beach, this moment, arrived quicker than we had thought, but we had no regrets. We tossed the keys to a bum leaning against A Starry Night sky. We stripped ourselves of our shoes and jewelry, leaving a trail of the contents of this life behind us as we ran towards the ocean. There was no pause, only a moment to grasp our hands together before we plunged into the Pacific.
This micro fiction was inspired by a tweet I made where I said: "Only Shakespeare can get away with phrases like 'sluttish time.' "
(Untitled)
Time is a whore, a slut. She gives herself away to everyone at any time she pleases. She lends herself to extended deadlines for term papers, to Daylight Savings in the spring time, to children who are beg for just one more episode of Spongebob Squarepants. She is no stranger to weekend getaways, to naps on rainy days, to New Year’s Eve. She will give herself to children, students, business executives, mechanics, musicians, teachers and secretaries. It’s all the same to her.
But ask her for a favor and she’ll turn an icy shoulder to you. Time works for herself, on her own schedule, and can’t be bothered by prayers and requests. This is why she won’t come to hospitals. She glares at them when she floats by and huffs, giving off an air of superiority. She wants everyone to know that she owes no soul a single damn thing…but really I think she feels shame for the only time in her existence, when she is near the sick and suffering and dying people, because she knows she couldn’t do a thing about it even if she tried.
"We"
Car flowing down a lava of highway, we can feel the bridge between us and the Atlantic swell, stretch, and finally crumble beneath the weight of the distance. We rolled the windows down, our laughter fueled by the sandy wind that turned our hair into dancing flames. At the Grand Canyon, we tossed our phones into the deep cracks of the earth. The lights of Vegas called out to us, and under a gazebo lit with twinkling lights, we tied the knot on a whim. In the city of angels we placed our hands in hardened cement, jumping and shouting when we found a familiar name. Tourists stared at us but we just got back into the car and turned west. The beach, this moment, arrived quicker than we had thought, but we had no regrets. We tossed the keys to a bum leaning against A Starry Night sky. We stripped ourselves of our shoes and jewelry, leaving a trail of the contents of this life behind us as we ran towards the ocean. There was no pause, only a moment to grasp our hands together before we plunged into the Pacific.
This micro fiction was inspired by a tweet I made where I said: "Only Shakespeare can get away with phrases like 'sluttish time.' "
(Untitled)
Time is a whore, a slut. She gives herself away to everyone at any time she pleases. She lends herself to extended deadlines for term papers, to Daylight Savings in the spring time, to children who are beg for just one more episode of Spongebob Squarepants. She is no stranger to weekend getaways, to naps on rainy days, to New Year’s Eve. She will give herself to children, students, business executives, mechanics, musicians, teachers and secretaries. It’s all the same to her.
But ask her for a favor and she’ll turn an icy shoulder to you. Time works for herself, on her own schedule, and can’t be bothered by prayers and requests. This is why she won’t come to hospitals. She glares at them when she floats by and huffs, giving off an air of superiority. She wants everyone to know that she owes no soul a single damn thing…but really I think she feels shame for the only time in her existence, when she is near the sick and suffering and dying people, because she knows she couldn’t do a thing about it even if she tried.
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