200words.

I was twelve.  Despite my pleas my brother named our dog Muffin.  She was a very sweet dog and we all loved her.

One Saturday afternoon my brother and I were outside with Muffin.  She had her leash on, trotting around with it dragging behind her.  My brother and I had the brilliant idea to tie something to the leash so that she could drag that around as well.  We found a long cardboard box, tied it to her leash, and stepped back to see what would happen.  She started to walk, noticed the box following behind her, and immediately started freaking out, running faster and faster to get away from the box.  Initially it was funny but soon became horrifying to watch and difficult to stop as she was running around and around like a maniac.  We caught her just as my mother came running out of the house.  She gave us a mean look and took the dog away.  We sat outside feeling incredibly guilty and soon notice a little piece of shit in the driveway.  Terrified Muffin had pooped while running away from the box.  I felt like a true asshole.

We never played that game again.

Summer comes to Greenpoint, Miller High Life, tapenade, a lazy privilege-induced haze over people crouched behind drinks or powerbooks on some rooftop at dusk. Everyone is smooth plastic pretty and smart and someone has fresh brioche and someone else has brought Hello Kitty strawberry flavored Pocky because they just couldn’t resist. Girls trade pills from the pharmacies in their messenger bags, Old Galaxie 500 and then Band Of Horses plays from battered speakers someone brought up from their kitchen, and everyone is taking a break from working on a novel or a film or the latest Puma campaign. Someone says “we’re running low on ice, guy” and someone else says “well there was nothing else to do in Helsinki,” and people are either wearing sunglasses or designer ball caps or Chuck Taylor All Stars with no socks, and it was too hot but now it’s perfect.

like lime or lemon
you put this look on my face
still can’t spit you out

in that little room at the top of the house, it was warm enough to make me sleepy. you pointed to the bruise on my knee and said, hey, that’s your submission for FALL.

i said, oh yeah. i could do that.

but does anyone want to read about a girl too tired to wake up completely, and too drunk to find the right door, who tumbled gracelessly down a flight of stairs in the middle of the night?

i mean, don’t we all have a story like that?

besides, all i can really remember is this:

i dreamt i was lost in a maze of gauzy sheets and then, the surprise of no carpet under my foot and then there was the concise pain at the back of my head when the wall stopped me at the bottom.

the other injuries weren’t found until the next day.

on the next to last plane home, we made a sharp turn during our descent. i half-dreamed that the window opened up and then the panel around it was gone and then i was falling down down down toward the green lights on the ground.

i remember thinking:
what a relief to pass the enormous spinning engine unscathed.

“Slayer”

Flash of light, fades. Alien architecture comes into focus.
Blue - gold pulsing grav-lift.
In my ear,“You’re going down, bitch.”

My intent crystallizes.

Movement, left.
Vapor trails, reload, more vapor trails.
Frag and point. Easy.
“You always start off on that side.”

Incoming vapor trail. Way off right.
Recon by assault.
Contact.
Fire exchange. Pause.
He’s standing still. Charge and jack him.
Frag and point.
“You know, you really should take cover when reloading.”
“Yeah yeah. Let’s go, bitch.”

Movement, left. Vapor trails way high.
Crouch. Wait. Indicate.
Incoming. Wait for it. Take it.
“You never saw it coming.”

Respawn. High ground. Gear up. Hunt.
Indicate - jump through the grav-lift.
Jump again. Drawing vapor trails – he can’t hit movement.
One more lift - then unload.
Frag and point.
“Hey, nice shot.”
“You didn’t move from the position you fired from. They teach you that in Green Beret school?”
“You’re such a prick.”

“30 Seconds Remaining”

Aim at the wall. Fire.
“Ha ha. What happened?”
“Thought I saw you, got excited. Shot the wall.”
“You’re slippin’!”

Wall. Fire.
“Damn”

Wall. Fire.
“Damn Damn”

“Game Over”

“1 to nothin’. I’m getting better.”
“I can tell you’ve been practicing.”