Melanie's Embarrassingly Egotistical Page

After some requests from readers, I have finally decided to take a supremely egotistical step and post some of my fiction/poetry/prose here. If you agree that this is the supreme form of egotism, please, don't let me know, because there's no need to let me know what I already know.

According to some famous writer, you are visitor number since May 5, 1996.


The Eyes of the Stars | Mindfish | Untitled | Dark Poetry | Have Your Cake and Eat it Too

The Eyes of the Stars

The earth tugs me,
Pulls me, holds me down.
Newton's hands grasp my ankles.
I am terra-bound,
Doomed to looking upward.
Yet I feel the earth's grip faltering --
Abruptly I break free!

I rise with constant accelertaion,
A bubble in Archimedes' bath.
Below, a stand of trees
Becomes a dark beard
On the pale curve of a cheek;
A valley
is transformed into a smile,
its stream shining teeth;
And a pine-fringed hill
Is now an eye watching me ascend.
The deep hues beneath me
Begin to fade slowly
As I continue my journey aloft.

The soft delft of atmosphere
Ebbs into midnight blue,
Then black as I pass through
The earth's last protective shell.
Grains of salt
Have been sprinkled about me
In endless fields of ebony,
Each crystal's form and color
Once familiar but now foreign.
Yet even this infinity
Does not imprison
My last remaining sense.
I turn
And my eyes find a new infinity --

White cirrus sine waves
Chiffon across blue-black oceans.
Cumuliform causeways of shining cream
Span a continent.
The grey of stratus
Delineates the finest carvings in a coastline.
Popcorn cumulus
Spill across high plains.
The tentacles of a tropical storm
Reach for tiny islands.
Immobile clouds on mountain peaks --
Swirls and whirls of whites,
And light
Clothe a hemisphere.

The revolution of night
Begins its approach.
The dark line of its infantry
Rolls across the continents,
Its navy
Scudding over the seas.
Soon all beneath me
Has been conquered and disappears.
Yet, look!
A bright flash --
Mortar fire?
A rebellion?
Another flash follows,
Then another,
A cascading trail of lights.
The mighty cumulonimbus
Are making their presence apparent.
They throw out their lightning,
Yet there is a rhythm
To the silent flashes.
Without the violent shock of thunder,
The yellow-white bubbles of light
Are gentle fireflies
Blinking in communication.

As the sun strikes
Like a snake from behind the globe,
I am momentarily sightless.
I begin my descent,
Showered by a sunrise.
I fall,
The Earth slowly reduced to a face once more,
A cheek, an eye, and a smile.
My missing senses return,
The wind in my ears
A song of whispers,
The air
Cool fluid on my flesh.
I sink through the clouds,
And soon my feet alight,
And I feel
Newton's fingers
Close around my ankles once again.
I look upward
At the bellies of ragged stratus,
And I remember,
As I always shall,
That I saw the Earth and her garments
Through the eyes of the stars.


I cast the line and saw it plop into the relatively smooth, deeper part of the stream. Most of the bigger trout would be hiding there. I waited alertly for a few moments, making certain that a fish did not take the yellow salmon-egg-bait immediately. When nothing happened to my line, I relaxed, looking about me.

The water felt cool around my waders, and the small amount which leaked inside the left boot actually felt comfortable around my toes. The day was clear and warm, especially for an area so close to the Continental Divide. Mosquitoes swirled about languidly, and even the clear stream seemed to flow more slowly than usual, soaking warmth into its snow-melt waters.

The trees lining the banks of the stream occasionally gave a pine-needle rustle, sounding like the distant applause of a mannered crowd. I walked a bit in the shallows, taking each step slowly so as not to be toppled by an unruly river stone. I heard voices calling to one another from around the bend in the stream where I was stationed. There were others who knew about this spot, but not many.

My mind wandered then, as it always seemed to do, and I imagined myself living in a comfortable house near this stream, among the applauding pine trees. I could keep my horse on the property and ride him when I wished, even into higher country and to lesser-known fishing spots. I might even catch "the big one" there. I would admire him and then throw him back.

I was abruptly yanked from my musings as my rod was almost yanked from my hands. Had I found the big one here? I began turning the reel as though it were a pencil sharpener and I was trying for a very fine point. Suddenly the rod jumped back towards me -- my ten-pound test line had snapped! So much for throwing the big one back.


A line of spider's silk sails toward Earth,
Its source a rod and reel.
The wind in the pines sounds like
The distant applause of a mannered crowd,
Cheering the cast.
The fly on the line
Becomes a spider on her silk.
The spider drops
Beneath the stream's surface.
There she waits in her web.

The fish opens his mouth,
Spider-blind, eager for the fly.
Only when he swallows
Does he feel the spider's bite.
He becomes the fly,
Caught in the spider's web.
He thrashes and pulls,
Ensuring his capture.
The trees still applaud.

The rainbow glitters
On waterless rocks.
The spider, sodden,
Becomes a fly again.

Have Your Cake and Eat It Too

A sci-fi short story.