Free Writing, (spring '10)

Cardaloom ran along the side of the canal, testing his balance and coordination- the patches of spring snow providing just enough of a challenge without making it a bad bet. The sidewalk curved away from the water and he followed the path, deciding it was a good time to stop the game anyways. He was ahead, so he had won, and he wondered if anyone had seen his display of agility.

After his cellphone had fallen out of his pocket and broke a week ago, Cardaloom was enjoying this newfound freedom and detachment from the pace of 'plugged-in society'...

Bennet couldn't sleep. He stared at his wall, playing that afternoon's scene in the flower shop over and over in his mind. He cursed the flowers and their colors, he cursed his anniversary, and he cursed himself. Maybe, he hopefully thought, if it was under different circumstances, he would've hit that guy. Toughts of saving the day, beating up the bad guy, being the hero, were met with memories of reality. His fists clenched underneath the covers.

A few years ago, one of Bennet's friends was drunk at a bar and called Bennet on the phone. He called Bennet a pussy and asked him how he ever managed to score such a hot wife. Anger washed over him, but it didn't manage to work its way to his mouth, allowing only stuttering and nervous laughter. That night, after making love to his wife, Bennet cried.

Carl T. Pasen was working a double into the the night shift. Again. Second time in two weeks. A horrible way to get by, he thought. Needing the extra hours for a bit of his own money after paying child-support, this heavy schedule left him tired and withdrawn whenever he was allowed to see his son...