Tiny Cities Made of Ashes

I was listening to my iTunes today and this song came on, and of course it gave me a creepy feeling.

Yesterday I cleaned out the closet under the stairs and came up with a box of toys to donate to the poor kiddos at the convention center. On the way to pick up my son, I saw a sign by the side of the road that said;
which is very cool. I guess it’s easier though to donate your old stuff as opposed to your time.

My father called me while I was cleaning out the closet and he breathlessly told me about these two ideas he has for books/movies. He doesn’t do this as often as he used to, tell me ideas for plots, but these two were particluarly good (they both feature cloning and or time travel). While he was telling me the ideas I found a picture of him, in a plastic box at the back of the closet. It was taken just over 7 years ago, so he was still in his forties, around 47 or 48, and in the picture, he is standing next to a little tree he’d planted when we’d first moved into that house in CT. The tree in the picture is shorter than he is.

I suddenly got an idea for a story then, as my father was on the phone and a picture of him was in my palm. I’ve been reading Colette lately and there’s all these funny stories about her insane father, and a part of that factors into the idea I have for my own story.

When we moved into that house in CT, none of discussed whether we were afraid that we’d lose it, as we’d lost our old home. Once, a storm blew in and we lost power and lit candles. It lasted a day. We were convinced we would have to move again. Now, my folks are selling that house, as though in a rush to get rid of it before it gets rid of us.

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