Die Writing

That dance

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on December 30, 2011

They slid toward each other with a grind. There was electricity between them. The kind with lightning arcs snapping back and forth. Their movements were slow, dragging. Muscles taught, ready for a fight. The hands did not so much glide to their resting spots as scraped along.

The music swelled, ripped up its own strings. They danced. They moved together with the fluidity of a mad mountain stream – rough, torn up, perfect. Never breaking the intimate embrace, they clutched at the dance and each other, furious at everything that led up to this moment, thankful that this moment existed. The line between the music and their broken love blurred and dissolved. Breaths shallow anxious. Tears in their eyes.

The last note sounded off like an executioner’s gun. The ring hung in the air as the last of the dream faded. The world came back crystal clear. Painfully clear. Everything was a pile a bloody shards, and now even the last song had come and gone.


A thin membrane

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on December 11, 2011


Who are the people I keep talking to in my head?

One night, too late

They both leaned against the wall, much too late in the night and much too close for the conversation to be polite and friendly. They were both anxiously expected elsewhere. She put a hand on his chest, felt the heat of his skin through the fabric. His breath formed into steam. It was freezing, but they were completely unaware.

“Never thought…”

“It is a thin membrane that you are up against. And terrible, terrible things are writhing awake just beneath.”

They stopped. They breathed again, filling the shrinking space with steam. She curled up her fingers, gathering this shirt into her grasp.

“I am not the choice. You are not choosing me. The choice is our worst demons.”

“It is dark poetry.”

He shifted his weight forward and his hand bumped into her hip. The fingertips turned and traced her outline, glided on the silk around her waist. Her eyes walked up his body. Their swirling gazes met.

The grasp on his shirt tightened. Some of her fingers slipped into the gap between the buttons and were touching his skin. She held on with all her strength, but was not drawing him closer. His hand on her waist was pulling on her as much as it was holding her in place.

Strong tea

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on December 11, 2011

The man moved like an engine lathe in low gear. Ponderous, unstoppable, precise. He maintained the unquestionable sort of silence. Poured boiling water over the teabag and let then patiently let it steep for a while. The tea came out impenetrably dark, strong, bitter. He drank it in long draws, squinting in the steam.