Sonoran Moon

     In my burrow, deep underground, I hear her siren song. She whispers my name until my bones ache, waking me from my diurnal slumber. I stir and try to drift back off, but fail. Oh, how sweet she sounds at this hour? Why can’t she just leave me alone for a few more minutes? Why does she conspire with my stomach to rouse me from this pleasant dream?

     Yes, I’m a bit of a grouch once woken…but it doesn’t deter her. No, nothing I do matters to her. All she cares about is the journey to her lofty perch upon her celestial throne.

     I stretch and my long furry limbs creak and moan in protest. I suppose they were enjoying the cozy slumber as well. A quick shake to fluff up my short hairs and I’m up for the day, oops, I mean night. Trotting up the tunnel a world of fresh scents hits me.

     I take a moment to sniff… hmm…Bob’s been by today.

Click

     He laid in bed for hours searching his ceiling for its cloak and dagger encryption. Her shy smile played in endless loops in the back room picture show of his mind. Her fingers coyly tracing the edges of her wine glass was the image that was beyond etched into his memory. Oh how this night made him burn. Years of friendship worked a long slow spark into an inferno between them…but was it right? Gods, he didn’t want to mess up what they had but…his body, his soul, his essence and very being, everything he was screamed at voice shattering levels.

     She stood before his door. Hand hovering like an unsure humming bird, ready to strike, to knock…but frozen. Wild and unfamiliar thoughts snaked through her mind as if electric eels decided to delight in a cocaine party. Nonsense, all of it. She knew that…but what moved her to her current position was beyond her. Her feet, her body conspired and plotted mutiny, drawing her in for her destruction. She’ll have to remember to get them back if she somehow survived their uprising.     

This Guitar

     Jack was a boy of 14 who, once again, found himself in a new school. He lost count on how many times he had moved in the last few years, but it didn’t matter anymore. “Sorry honey, but the work is better there.” He remembered his mom saying. It was the same excuse she always used, but no matter how many times she said it, it was no truer now than before. Empty words.

     In truth, he knew she couldn’t hold down a job. Just like her relationships and the rest of her life, her love of alcohol was all consuming and came first. She’d wreck her life once, sometimes twice a year. And they’d move to new town with new faces.

The Hard Path

     He stood on the side of the road. A wide expanse of nearly nothing but dry dusty fields surrounds him. The only blemishes on the landscapes are the ancient, rundown one-room bus station, a light pole and a few signs. The attendant coughs 20-years of her smoking addiction in one long raspy wheeze. Something Tommy heard effortlessly through the half rotten walls, even over the howling wind.

     He rocks on his heals adjusting the heavy pack on his left shoulder. “Twenty-five minutes before my life to start.” He thinks aloud.

     Tommy Clearwater was a tall young man of 18, with the sun-kissed skin of his people. The Paiute. He decided now was the time of his life to set out and see the world, to find the opportunities outside of his small town. He knew he’d miss his family, but he had to do this. Still, the thought of sacrificing his relationships of the ties to his family’s way of life was a hard pill to swallow. He didn’t feel right about making this choice, but what could he do? He sighed and kicked his boot at the dusty ground.