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Searider Falcon

Joined February 2012.

39 stories, 0 challenges, 5 comments, and 2 friends

It took me a while to understand that I am a writer, by definition and nature, no matter how many times I stop. Sooner or later the muses pick me up and drop me in front of paper or silicon, waiting for me to collect enough thoughts poured out through my veins.

I am more than words and I learned that sometimes you’ve gotta make your own kind of music even if nobody else sings along. I currently hail from the Midwest in America after spending a good portion of my life in various parts of the Southwest experiencing life and drifting among people learning mostly about myself and insight.

These are my stories or prose, mostly old (dating back 12-14 years in some cases) and rarely based on personal adventures. As you may come to see, I experimented with a lot of narrating styles or flat out observational perspectives seen through the eyes of any number of people. Yes, there is darkness. Light. Sorrow. And joy. These all wash together and add color to each and every one of us.

Stories

  1. Rome is burning (Part III)

    It took a lot of effort to open the door. I had to push it open the rest of the way with my leg. All I could see was the white spattering into my face. I realized I could taste the snowflakes and closed my mouth. I unbuckled and felt a sharp pain requi...

  2. Rome is burning (Part II)

    From the northbound side, a pair of distant headlights swerved and careened off, flying over the dirt and grass median separating the two roads. Events were already out of his control. The vehicle on the right tailed toward me, slamming into the side o...

  3. Rome is burning (Part I)

    The wind was angry that night. It was snowing heavily while I drove down the interstate. The headlights reflected minuscule points of light from the flakes that were careening toward the earth, making it hard to see the icy, black road beneath the tire...

  4. I remember.

    When the chair isn’t soft she leans against me. I hear the confessions never shared with a priest but I can offer no absolution and my benedictions are angry shouts. She wears me smooth, like rushing water over stones. She pulls me apart a violen...

  5. His absinthe smile makes her never want to die (Part 3)

    Pristine violence like Jesus, and all over the six o’clock news: my gun, your bullet, an old man who refused to share his orange. There is always a war. We chanted his eulogy with all the sympathy of wolves, and whispered prayers that made you wa...

  6. His absinthe smile makes her never want to die (Part 2)

    V. You were the good kid. The one all the parents loved. You could’ve convinced any one of them to push their child off a bridge four minutes past twelve, your chin parallel to the tops of their heads. VI. Always relishing when you were called sl...

  7. His absinthe smile makes her never want to die (Part 1)

    You with your teased platinum hair and cigarette, me with my slate eyes and chunky burgundy heels you shoplifted for me, and too much time. It was decided we would write about the politics of the seven deadly sins. I. Anything more passé than a pesky ...

  8. Kissing is indeed overrated

    …if you’re a pathological liar. According to her, my lips are the 8th wonder of the world. An exaggeration to be sure, but I’m not complaining. Besides, it’s our second favorite thing to do. When she slips underneath my arm to s...

  9. In the dark where all the colors come together (Part II)

    Almost dawn, another night wasted. She burns with the question. But will his answer, seized in crimson fingertips, be anything more than the echo of her heels on wet asphalt after the rain? Queen of the hill when the world is in a bar, she wipes the sp...

  10. In the dark where all the colors come together (Part I)

    When she was 12, she left her father lying face down on a dirty linoleum floor. A gift in the form of a rainbow seen in the pool of blood and alcohol sugared by broken glass. People always get what they want in the end. She never looked back. Now there...

  11. Lack of providence (Part III)

    When she’s drunk, her laugh dances and tumbles like a Russian bear and I am helpless against it. Reds follow purples and greens rain down after it. She says that it always feels like this, that it’s supposed to tear you apart but I don’t know if ...

  12. Lack of providence (Part II)

    She spins cartwheels in the rain, her pink shoes, pink palms, pink legs, pink arms and that patch of pink and velvet truffle brown that wink wink winks at me as her toes address the sky and the soft cotton of her skirt brushes her chest. And when she s...

  13. Lack of providence (Part I)

    She doesn’t write poetry about taking the eleven to the community college instead of the seven (just because there’s this girl who cuts her own bangs and has a swirly tattoo on the nape of her neck) or how the boy is so close he’s out...

  14. What a waste.

    Now I understand the lies. The deception. The delusion. It was because you felt guilty and left any semblance that would remind you of our lives being intertwined. You turned your back on not only me, but all your friends. They didn’t hate you. Y...

  15. Unfinished sympathy.

    Moths fluttered about your hair, dodging and weaving among the stray strands. Gently I shooed them away with my hands while I listened to each and every one of your lies. J’accuse! I smiled as you recoiled, thinking my intentions were ill-conceiv...

  16. ...and soon the world will cease to be jaded (Part V) (Mature)

  17. ...and soon the world will cease to be jaded (Part IV) (Mature)

  18. ...and soon the world will cease to be jaded (Part III) (Mature)

  19. ...and soon the world will cease to be jaded (Part II) (Mature)

  20. ...and soon the world will cease to be jaded (Part I) (Mature)

  21. Drive. (Part II)

    The truth is that those people in the cars Have been driving for so long That they forgot how to walk They envy the brave ones who are out there Nothing breaks their stride The cars pass, hardly anybody stops And when they do The walkers stop and stare...

  22. Drive. (Part I) (Mature)

  23. The time I pity you is the time I leave (Part III)

    I hope I didn’t dream the biggest scar in your sky, like a tree that is dark and twisted and grows like my hair is a fist, and you pull me down from the clouds, and I’m sopping wet with all of my yesterdays, and you were never afraid of any...

  24. The time I pity you is the time I leave (Part II)

    It needs to be hands and wrists, and I used to run my fingers over your throat and count the way your heart beat; and I used to want to breathe in everything about you. I used to want to die. I used to be so stuck between “I love you” and &...

  25. The time I pity you is the time I leave (Part I)

    I’ve got ashes in a jar, and I remember who we used to be. I’m still not quite sure why we burned out. Why I killed you. Well, I think that I killed you. I thought you were dead. But you hugged me, and you spoke soft sugar, and, maybe it wa...

  26. Her body was buried in Avalon. (Part III)

    I stepped outside, neck craned into the steady tears of the rain. I didn’t flinch, nor bat an eyelash, firmly watching each drop fall from Heaven. I thought about each and every person I cared for. They all touched me. You did. I remained in embr...

  27. Her body was buried in Avalon. (Part II)

    I never got to tell her. I never dared tell her my secrets even though I knew they would go with her into the dusk. I never told her how his death left me fevered and paralyzed. I waited several years before I visited his grave, and in a way, I returne...

  28. Her body was buried in Avalon. (Part I)

    Sometimes lies are more dependable than truth. I told myself every single one that had cause to break a heart. I want to tell myself one, believe in it, and feel whole again. The reality of the other person lies not in what he reveals to you, but in wh...

  29. The impudence of age (Mature)

  30. Time is the fire in which we burn

    Once in a while, I think about leaving everything behind. Liquidating all that belongs to me and purchasing a ticket to somewhere distant and random. Perhaps Timbuktu. Mt. Fuji? No mementos, no sorrows, no regrets. Living off the land until the batteri...

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