Oncifelis

There is a tale told to grieving owners, Of a rainbow bridge and a meadow of flowers, Of tranquility, joy, and a future reunion. The tale does not soothe the barren wasteland of an empty home, The long nights of fingers yearning for soft fur, Of cheeks wet only with tears and not kisses. It does not comfort the survivors of sudden loss, Curled up in the dead of night alone in bed, Clutching the favourite toy of the departed. It is no balm to a soul ravaged with guilt, Last moments replayed on the movie screen of memories, Sobs like scimitars slicing through the chest. For the rainbow bridge is not meant to be crossed, Grieving owners tort

It started with a dream. I had dreamed the dream before, many years ago (though it feels like yesterday) and always it ends the same: Happiness. When they ask you in school, what do you want to be (always write I don't know) and the answer is never the same: Veterinarian, doctor, lawyer, trophy wife. None of these are the dream. But the dream crumbles, before long (nothing is ever the same) and with it goes what I knew of the world: Safety. The next years are spent in upheaval, in recovery (re-learning how to survive) and the wound heals but the dream dies: White picket fences, marriage, a future worth waiting for. So much for the d

In the spring A leaf grows Awakening with the first breath of life With its entire life ahead of it And that was how it started. In the summer A leaf flourishes Stained with the vibrant green of life In the prime of its life And that was how it was. In the autumn A leaf dies Crumpling with the weight of life The responsibility of life a burden And that was what happened. In the winter A leaf is gone A forgotten memory of lost life The faded remains of a life And that was all that was left.

Tell me sweetly, tell me softly, Tell me kindly, wishful thoughts, Say it roughly, say it harshly, Say it strongly, or not at all. Say you love me, say you'll be there, Say it's true, say I'm the one, Say I'm nothing, say you hate me, Say it all, I'll come undone. You could break me, you could keep me, You could do it all, sweetheart, You could love me, you could hate me, I'd feel both as sharp. My love and care are undivided, There's no one else but thee, But the question still remains the same, Do you feel the same for me? I feel as though I share you with her, Even though she is long gone, You say you love me but feel fo

The shadowy silence stretched around her in the small town, nestled quietly in the middle of the valley, the chill of the night spreading through her clothing, though she didn't feel it much. Full moon shone brightly in the night, the light glaringly bright on the structures below, providing no cover for the figure to slip into and meld with, mesh in as tightly wound as chickenwire, defend herself from the prying gazes of those who expected the nights to repeat themselves. Salvation seemed like a thing of the past, and hope was dead. If it bleeds, I can kill it. Gentle scudding of the first clouds caused some relief from the harsh light of

Dear Valued Customer, On behalf of the staff here at George's Renovations, I would like to take time out of my day to give you a checklist - a checklist you make sure to complete in the time you spend shopping with us. We like to keep ourselves on our toes throughout the day (no breaktimes or relaxation here!) and we would most appreciate it if you could follow this simple checklist. We're sure you won't find it too difficult. 1. By all means, please be sure to complain that it's too hot or too cold (once you walk in the door, even!). Really, we need to know exactly what you think on the subject of the temperature in our store because, as w

Such a peaceful setting for such a cut-throat match. The birds are singing, the trees are swaying, not a cloud in the sky yet it isn't warm. A tea table set with all the fine china, but it's really porcelain, it's just nobody is admitting that indeed they're the same thing. The silk red and white cloth draped daintily over it with all the stains, all from Uncle Jack and his alcoholic wife, when indeed it was some wine carelessly tossed during the mistress' rage. Oh, the lies, what a typical tea party. Refreshments' on us. Two women, both familiar, both not even real. Perhaps they've never met, perhaps they're the same. Perhaps they can't eve

She doesn't know why. She's waiting for him. The moonlight is bright tonight, the roses have dew, it's so dark, so quiet. She waits for him. He was lovely tonight, at the dinner. Charming, handsome, witty, charismatic, oh, all those things, those things she adores. She envies. She's bitter about. She remembers. There was dancing, wine, food, a banquet, everyone was present. So gay. So light. Such lies. Such deceit. She can tell, she isn't stupid, oh, she knows. It's always about the politics of society, who to marry who, who was running did you say? and the classic, darling, how young you look, how good to see you! Deceit. Lies. Mystery. T

     It was very cold. Darkness engulfed her on all sides, thick and suffocatingly insistant, like a comforter you just couldn't throw off. It was useless to struggle; the only success you had was getting more and more tangled. She lay there, not at all comfortably but relatively decent, at least well off for now. For now, she was content to be suspended, wrapped by the dark comforter.      She wasn't sure how long she'd been there. Not yet, at least, because time seemed to be different; her internal clock wasn't on the same wavelength. She wondered briefly if she was dead, but then, that wou