Author Archives: Sarah

Twelve Minutes

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Here’s an old, old poem from my journals. I was probably twenty-one.

 

 

Ten minutes, twelve

A slim segment of

Boundless possibilities

Life-changing structure

Structureless life

Miracles and sanity and reason and hope

Whirl in twelve minutes

Six minutes

So much in six minutes

If you keep halving it

You’ll keep having it

The end will never come

If you focus

Try hard enough

Escape the impermeability

The wretched maze

Of time

 

Time doesn’t tick anymore

It squeezes in silence

And bloats our fears

And miles yawn before us

And thirty-odd years

And when the end happens

We’ll look back and see

Just nothing, black nothing

And eternity

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inktober Comic – Last Minute

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Last Minute, page 11. It’s been renamed. I seem to recall saying this would be a five or six page comic. Ha!

It still needs proper scanning and shading and a little bit of Photoshop, but I’m just happy to have completed something!

I wanted to post it in full today to celebrate Halloween, so we’re going with my draft pages. At least the whole story is told. I’ll probably clean it up later.

Now get back to work!

 

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AC

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She exhaled. The air froze her breath, turning it to mist.

She turned, her high ponytail bouncing, and headed towards the fridge.

In her home hung icy stalactites. The floor was slick as a rink.

She cracked off an icicle as she passed through a door and picked her teeth with it.

Once this room was stiflingly warm, full of chaos and arguments and pets and children and steaming meals. Every blanket was a shared blanket. There wasn’t enough house to go around.

Now things were much better.

She checked her fridge and swore to herself. There wasn’t enough milk for her to make the ice cream. It was already time for another grocery run?

Grabbing her keys, she put on a visor and sunglasses, a light shawl, considered sunblock but decided against it.

When she opened the door, the sun hit her hard, even through the sunglasses. She took a deep breath of conditioned air before heading out. Her mantra would get her through this: only five minutes, only five minutes. Then she could be back home, making ice cream, enjoying the cold dark quiet isolation of her safe, safe house. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to talk to a single person.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Reader

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I long for worlds I have never seen.

I am weak with nostalgia for people I’ve never met.

I grieve, broken from the loss of an imaginary friend.

I am giddy at the prospect of pretending to meet these nonexistent loved ones again.

A show every Friday night at seven.

New chapter release on the first of the month.

The game comes out in time for Christmas.

I am fulfilled, thrilled, excited

I laugh, fight, cry, fall in love, win, lose,

Live

Able to forget

For a brief span of time

That this adventure too must end

And I will be faced

With the dead air

The closed book

The black screen

And unforgiving reality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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