When Lila and Bat were eight and four years old, respectively, they believed that the elephant tree could hear them. More importantly, they believed that she understood them. Every day and in all kinds of weather, the two girls would run to the bushland near their home, laughing in relief to see that their tree was still there. They were young, but they understood about trees: how one could grow tall and strong for a hundred years or more, only to be killed off in a second by a lightning strike, or killed off more slowly from fatal ring-barking. Lila and Bat relied on the elephant tree, as they relied on each other. She was the best listener they knew. She was their friend.…
Posts from the “13 Ways: Illustrated Stories” Category
“You know when it happened, don’t you?” he asked. I just stared at him, my mind a blank. At that moment there was nothing in it except sunshine and wind and, in one tiny corner, the thought that I really did know where I had misplaced that green scarf. “You took your eyes off it and let it slip from your mind and, just like that, it drifted away. You’ll never get it back. It’s gone for good. You can’t do that. You are responsible for some things forever and it’s up to you to hold on as tightly as you can; as if your life depended on it. After all, someone’s just might.” If I had known him, I might…
Morning comes in with a click, a sigh, an indistinct whisper. Nudges at me. I push night-sweat curled hair out of my face and pull the quilt over my head. Morning sighs again and whispers some indecipherable secret in my ear. Morning, tasting of sleep and coffee, kisses me. Twice quick and light and once hard and lingering. Kisses the bruise on my left thigh. I deny the urging and turn my back on morning. Pull the quilt tighter, squinch my eyes a little harder. I start to fall and then catch myself, nestled in a thousand quilts. A mechanical golden bird clicks its beak against the bedroom window, lets itself in, and traipses across the ceiling, its ticking feet leaving gold hieroglyphic markings…
It’s not what it looks like. It’s just someone jumping on the bed. Even though you could have sworn you were alone in the room when you snapped the photo. You’re misremembering. It’s a trick of the light that makes him…because it is a him, right?…that makes him look like he’s morphing head first into something other than human. No matter what the tour guide said, there is no room 1408 in the hotel. That’s just a story for tourists. And there is no such thing as ghosts. If you were back in that room, at the moment the picture was snapped, you’d recognize the person in the photo. If you reached out to touch him, your hand would grasp firm warm…
It’s times like these, I miss that cat. You taught me ‘thunder,’ but not how to make it stop. You come and go (Where do you go all day?) But that cat – that magic cat, who turned off the sky with a flick of her tail, and back on again with a yawn – She came to stay. You would not name her. Now, you say, “That was no magic cat, only a stray — And, anyway, she could not turn off – or on – the sky! She told me that you would say that, and that all people lie. Now, the cat you would not name – she being ‘the blackest thing you ever saw,’ and…
this is memory — or this is dreams — or this is a memory of dreams. I lie (a darkly-yearning thing) waiting for you to cross the bridge, from where you come, to where you go You are lithe and fair and solitary — the keeper of my hope feel my heart like music carried on the wind run to me, trailing sunlight leap, a backwards child, into this forest womb I lie (a darkly-yearning thing) waiting to catch you in my arms. ***** Photo by Sandra Peterson Ramirez. Text by td Whittle.
13 Ways: Illustrated Stories and Thirteen Ways Press Announcement
Sandra Peterson Ramirez
Posted on August 22, 2013
Dear Readers,
We are excited to announce that our first book, 13 Ways: Illustrated Stories, is available in Kindle and paperback formats at Amazon.
What if, as you stared at a children’s climbing wall, you began to see and hear things that no one else perceived? What if a view of the coast you were enjoying was also being surveyed by an assassin through his rifle scope? What if the last thing you saw when you looked at the sky was the approach of an enormous cloud that looked like a ghost ship?
Ranging from brief vignettes to fully-developed narratives, “13 Ways: Illustrated Stories” comprises sixteen evocative, photo-inspired stories, invoking elements of realism, suspense, fantasy, and modern Gothic. The collection opens with “Sunset at the Hyatt Regency,” in which two strangers at an airport hotel negotiate their way through the complexities of sex, grief, and cold hard cash. It closes with “Hotel Eternity,” in which a woman emerges from an underground train station into a bright spring day, to find a crumpled stranger gesturing to her from the footpath.
In related news, here is our logo for our newly-established, independent virtual publishing imprint:
Happy reading, everyone!
Sandra and td
Thirteen Ways Press
“If a heart breaks in the forest,” she wondered, “does anyone hear?” “The trees hear,” he answered. “That kind of pain always marks this world.” She spent the rest of the day looking for the tree that bore her stain. ***** Photo and text by Sandra Peterson Ramirez.
“It’s not going to last,” she said, carefully squeezing the lime into her drink and giving it a thorough stir. “You sound very sure.” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice. They’d done this dance before. Many times. “She doesn’t like to travel.” She dipped one finger in the drink, ran it along the rim and then licked the salt, tasting it. “But you just went to Vegas?” He hated the question in his voice. Hated the tingle of excitement elicited by watching her lick her fingers. Hated that he wanted details to think about later. She shot him a look of disgusted amusement. “Vegas isn’t traveling. It’s…” She searched for a word. He waited, knowing…
He reached out, set the glasses on the dash. In their reflection he could see trees and light poles flashing by at seventy-five miles an hour. He couldn’t see the gas station he was leaving behind. He couldn’t see her standing inside, behind the dirty plate glass window. She’d told him that she couldn’t go any farther with him. That the bus stopped there and she was going to take it to some other godforsaken little town. Responsibilities, she’d said. He’d gotten in the truck and peeled out like a teenager and it’d started to rain just like in a goddamned movie. He stewed about what could have been while he drove for the next three hours. He finally had to stop at another…