Oneword:

"Presenting ... the Legendary ... Fazenda!"

She strode out onto the stage, produced pigeons, a light show, and a man and woman sawed in half and then reassembled backwards.

The applause was like fine wine.

It was magic.

There was light spilling in from the kitchen beyond, but the den was dark. Not even a TV to cast a colorful flicker. A few green and yellow LEDs on the stereo equipment, but nothing actually running.

Sitting solo sounds better than sitting alone.

I could only destroy, not create. That took -- something not within me, some force or power or primal gift, beyond anything that had gone into *my* creation. I looked at them, wistfully, wishing again those wishes I could never voice.

The voices hammered, yammered, jammered in my ear. All I wanted to do was concentrate, focus, create something out of nothing, and they would simply not leave me alone. I gritted my teeth until I thought my dentist would sense it from miles away. They just kept talking.

She sputtered at the TV. "That -- damned -- smooth -- smiling -- slick son-of-a-bitch politician!"

She sputtered some more, unable to think of anything else she could say that wouldn't offend her own ears.

"Whee!" Thump.

"What was that, girl?"

I went upstairs. The five-year-old daughter was doing somersaults. Stark naked.

"Whee!" Thump.

I battled between propriety and admiration. Propriety won out, barely. "Very cool. Now get some clothes on."

"Okay! Whee!" Thump.

The voice on the phone droned on and on.

I wondered what would spice up the conversation. Make it interesting. Wake folks up.

"I'm on fire!" Or maybe, "These panties are too tight." Or perhaps, "I wonder what those SWAT guys are doing here."

I sighed, and kept typing notes.

He sat on the phone, listening to the others talk, each person giving their perspective, asserting their particular facts, spinning a yarn or countering another's spun yarn.

It was dull, boring, and he had very, very little choice.

I gingerly stepped out onto the ice. Within five seconds, I was lying flat on my back, the surface cold below me, and terrified that a novice (okay, another novice) skater was going to run over me and slice me in half like something from a Warner Bros. cartoon.