janet whynot opened the safety deposit box and found a pair of gloves inside. she stared at them for a moment, having expected something much more interesting and valuable. in fact, she expected either cash or its equivalent in jewelry.

after several more moments of disbelief she swore aloud at the gloves, her dead father's last malicious token to her. she had endured his tyranny throughout his short life, which had increased several-fold after the untimely death of her mother.

she slipped the gloves on, still wondering why he had left these for her. staring at the gloves, now on her hands, the image of police photos flashed in her mind. in one photo lay her mother, dark bruises decorating her neck in place of the broken pearl necklace on the floor.

[10/27/03]

as he came to the table and asked the customers what they would like to drink he was mostly ignored, while some stared with contempt for his having come to the table before they had consulted the menu. the waiter, aware that he was facing a tough table that would likely screw him on the bill, still retained his professionalism.

while preparing their drinks a co-worker commented, "a lot of assholes, they are. you should spit in their drinks." he considered this for a moment. however, the desire for revenge had never had much force within his mind. delivering the drinks with utmost care, he patiently took their food order. they chided him for his uniform and for his accent.

throughout the meal they would demand attention to their whims. the temptation to spit in their drinks arose in him again, though he would not. another waiter, one that had been short-changed the month before by the group, went outside and emptied the air from their car tires. twenty-eight seconds later the leader of the group would storm inside, demanding that the restaurant be held accountable for their flat tires. the waiter was fired immediately, without protest by anyone.

[10/27/03]

the children were playing on the carpet when the daycare worker left the room. one of the kids acted in a manner disagreeable to three other children so they jostled him. soon, several others joined in this quarrel.

quickly, the pushing and shoving lead to scratching and biting. biting led to more biting and when the adult returned to the room she saw a bloodied child buried under a pile of gnawing faces. thoughts of horror films flashed in her mind, though dispelled immediately, as she ran yelling to the rescue of the wounded child.

her yelling disrupted the trance state the children appeared to have fallen under while acting out their inexplicable violence. soon there was much agitation and crying amongst the youth while they struggled to grasp the gravity of their actions. that night over dinner the worker would tell her husband about the attack, breaking down several times in the course of her narrative and drinking the better part of a bottle of wine during the meal.

[10/27/03]

the fog refused to lift, as did he. sipping tea he decided impulsively to make a thousand films. they would be about the world around him, with no aim at ever showing them to anyone. he simply determined he had to accomplish this.

without a script or any help he braved the murky weather and began to film anything that caught his eye. his first film was about the installation of a street light near his house. everywhere he went he did this. people whom he would have otherwise thought unfriendly became suddenly cooperative when faced with the prospect of being in his film.

this went on for many years until he remembered what his initial aim had been. when he counted up all the five minute, two hour, and four hour films he had created he realized he had come nowhere near his goal.

[10/20/03]

while it rained outside he sat in the library and stared at the brick wall adjacent to the building. behind the trees, growing orange-red from the onset of fall, he could see the dark coloured bricks defined by rows and columns of white grout.

the more he stared at the bricks the more he came to notice how uneven they were, and how licks of grout remained on the edges of some bricks while not on others.

it was clear that the imperfect craftsmanship of a human hand had been behind the construction of this wall. staring yet closer he thought he could see patterns in the work, a sudden understanding of the hand that had lain row after row. he imagined the good days the worker had experienced, flush with enthusiasm and pride, as well as the tired and bitter days where the bricks were heaped up in near recklessness.

[10/20/03]

sitting on the old wooden bench, hunched over with her left elbow on her knee, she eats a pale yellow apple. there is a bottle of water and a knapsack on the ground beside her. in front of her is a vista of the ocean, with a stretch of mountains behind it, a painting of some kind.

the apple crunches, audible to the two other people also sitting at the scenic view point. it makes a crisp, slightly moist sound. it tastes mildly bitter.

she contemplates the bright afternoon, taking respite from the rushing around she spent the morning doing. this scene inspires her, and she regrets having come here. a beautiful view i'll have to abandon in a moment, she thinks. a few minutes later she picks up her belongings and limps back in the direction she came.

[10/20/03]

the black squirrel hops across the path and onto the grass. i wonder if the dew chills its belly. i wonder how to tell if it is male or female.

from my left a grey squirrel crosses the path, following the black squirrel. a sense of panic embraces me as the grey squirrel begins chasing the black squirrel. this is not a game, and they are certainly not playmates.

there is fear. the black squirrel disappears into nearby bushes, the grey one in pursuit, their tails jogging up and down as they run to and from. soon they are out of sight, and all i can hear is the sound of scuffle and the thought that this is not a parable.

[10/20/03]

"i only knew the sting of being called a motherfucker after my mother died." the phrase constructed itself in his unconscious mind and spilled out, as though accidentally, while he ate dinner. it was one of those mysterious phrases that appears whole, born onto the tip of his tongue and repressed by closed lips.

his friend's mother had recently died and he was thinking of impermanence. another friend had lost her way with reality, and a third friend was held by the ropes of loneliness.

selves defined by others, forged in the sadness of being and being alone, caught in the struggle of existing as an individual that desires companionship. they tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid meaning, and its inverse, and were injured by the force of its intrusion.

[10/20/03]

in the midst of the pelting rain and the settling fog she appeared across the street. her bone coloured raincoat and enormous matching coloured umbrella were the brightest things he'd seen all day. she stood there patiently, completely dry.

her shoes were dry and the filled shopping bags she carried were dry. she looked as though rain had never touched her. dreary weather was something she loved walking in so long as she did not get wet, or even damp.

he had spent the morning in bed weeping about his miserable life before he was forced to leave his house and go to work. while he watched her on the other side of the street he felt he was witnessing a form of happiness float in front of him. his attraction was obvious as he stared directly at her spectral form. when the traffic light changed, and she began to cross the street towards him, she caught his stare and looked away immediately.

[10/20/03]

she watched him walk along the steel beam. though she dismissed the thought immediately, she wondered what it would feel like to fall from that height. a feeling of emptiness filled her. her eyes traced the route between the man and the ground, pausing for a moment when they fell on the pile of rubble at the base of the construction site.

the air was filled with a fall chill and she buttoned her jacket without thinking about it. she stood in the middle of the sidewalk, people coursing around her, while she continued staring at the specks of workers on the building.

when he did fall she became him for an instant, feeling the rush of air and overwhelming pulse of adrenaline and panic. he tore through the air for only an instant before crashing into a pile of broken concrete. she immediately closed her eyes and tried to decide if she had imagined this. when she opened her eyes the world came back, screams became audible, and a crowd of people pulsed around the body of the man.

[10/06/03]