Designated Doodler

Up a winding road, past houses that’ve been alive far longer than I have, there’s a wrought iron mouth. I’ve been up this road several times but I still couldn’t tell you how to get there. Perhaps I should have paid more attention. Perhaps some part of me never wanted to know how to get there. It feels as if there should be wrought iron gates attached to this gaping mouth, but there aren’t, so the car glides inside. Beyond the gate-less mouth the road is smooth for only a few blinks of the eye and then it turns to dust. It narrows and winds and splits in different directions and no matter what vehicle you’re in, you can feel every dip and bump and rock beneath the tires. When I come, I come in the summer, when towering rhododendron bushes bursting with pink flowers tower above the SUV. The trees and bushes and flowers may die each year, but at least they have the privilege of springing back to life.  We come to another fork in the road. To the right is the future that I vehe...

Gravel ground against itself as I took one step after another. Although I could barely make it out in the midnight darkness, I knew that the black asphalt stretched out in front of me like a calloused noir arm reaching into infinity. The night breeze was nearly frigid, a stark contrast to the burning sun of midday. As soon as the sun set I slipped on my jacket. It's fabric slid against my sunburnt skin and sent a burning pain radiating across my arms and neck. I became keenly aware of my body at that moment. The way the fabric of my shirt moved against my skin, the way my feet ached so bad that the hurt travelled all the way to my upper thighs. My feet slid around in the vast house of my shoes, leaving bleeding callouses on my heels. My once soft curls fluttered with each whisper of wind. My hands were in knots, shoved deep into my jacket's pockets. I listened intently for the sound of a car engine, for the promise of human life, but heard only deafening silence. If ther...

There's a hitch in my breathing, just knowing that you're standing like a pillar at the end of the corridor. My mind reconstructs your face, my heart skips, and makes it harder to traverse the distance between us. As one foot steps in front of the other, I feel a spike of adrenaline pulse into my stomach and consider each location in my body that emotion is housed.  Anxiety lives in my legs, making them feel like cold jello, useless beneath me. Joy dwells in my mouth and delights in every scoop of Ben & Jerry's. Anticipation builds in my stomach,just below where my ribcage joins together. Stress accumulates at the base of my skull and delivers painful pulses down the highway of my spine to my knotted back. Sadness balls itself up in my throat and burns in my red eyes. Whereas happiness spreads like fire in the smile on my face and impatience is encapsulated in perpetually tapping toes. Creativity starts in my brain but is housed in my hands that live to create....

The majority of people traveling to work usually interact with a car, an elevator, and a secretary but that wasn't the case for the submersive six. Only they were "fortunate" enough to have a trip to the office that involved a submarine. The job lasted three months during the summer break and typically attracted university types. Sure the site was off the coast and adjacent to the university, but the reason college kids signed up wasn't because of proximity. No, you'd have to have a still developing brain to be daring enough to sign the final non-disclosure document and suit up to go under. What awaited you at your office was a pitch black abyss, inhabited only by the creatures that evolved in order to survive there, which apparently meant surrendering their attractiveness. But who needs good looks when you're in the dark? Case in point Each year the station moved to another section of the grid. Professor Kiln had a well worn map hung above his desk...

The night was muggy. A heaviness hung in the air that wasn't typical to Fort Worth, but the humidity must have followed me here. It was Saturday night, the city was abuzz. And as I walked down the sidewalk I observed the passerby's. Memories of my college years washed over me… seeing plays at the Bass, private shows at McDavid studio, eating lobster at The Chop House, staying at the Worthington Renaissance Hotel, outings with my sorority sisters, pizza and drinks at Uno's, parties at the Flying Saucer.  But I wasn't in town to stroll down memory lane. I was here to get away.  So far my efforts were failing. It may have been a five hour drive to get here, but every stress, every worry, every fear, had followed me here. I came for a distraction, but had yet to find it. Which is exactly why I was making my way towards a nondescript bar with a rich lounge feel.  A sweet melodic sound emanated from the live band and floated through the relaxed atmosphere. Th...

Chocolate eyes Lips that arch like a bow Pulled taught Words ready to go But they're tangled in thoughts Not fit for an arrow PS All works belong to me, Liz Rector and are protected under copyright.

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