Under the Florida Sun
by Lorelei

Chris knocked on the shining opalescent double doors of the mansion before him. Its size suggested looming, but its light airiness would not allow for it.

When nobody answered his insistent knocking he went around to the back. He walked down the granite stepping-stones to the cream colored backdoor, which opened with a gentle shove.

'Hello?' There was silence after his soft voice echoed through the cavernous home.

Chris slowly made his way across the cream tile, and past the white and gray marble countertops without making a sound.

When his feet fell onto the soft white carpet, he called again.

'Hello?' And, again all that was heard was the faint echoing of his own voice, through the airy cavern.

He made his way, then to the stairs, his eyes never resting on the plush white furniture or sparkling windows or even the shimmering pearl ceilings above.

He came to the foot of the grandiose marble staircase, with its oak banisters, velvet rugs, and golden inlays, and he called again.

'Hello?' Again, his voice was the only answer to his one word question. He stepped onto the first stair and sighed as a bird's melody filled his ears and the sunlight sparkled off of the golden inlays of the banister beneath his palm.

The sparkling notes lifted him to the second step and to the third one and on again, until before he knew it, he was at the top, soft white carpet billowing around his feet.

'Hello?' The birds chirped back, and he began to glide down the hall, past windows and crystal vases.

And, there he stood, at the bedroom door.

It's pure white airiness and beautiful opalescence rivaling that of the entire rest of the house. The birds' chirping seemed to be more melodious and the sunlight seemed to be more warming at this door, than it did in the rest of the entire city of Orlando.

'Hello?' The bird's melody kept playing, filling the home with life even as the white door fell open, underneath Chris's warm palm, at the end of the airy hall, of the opalescent house, on the friendly street, in the heart of Orlando, underneath the shining Florida sun, and Chris gasped.

For leaning up again the crimson stained sheets of the bed, was the dreary white corpse of Justin Timberlake, with a frown on his blood splattered face and a shining silver pistol in his hand.

~

Richard Cory By Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went downtown,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good Morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich- yes, richer than a king-
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we though that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.