Ring My Bell
By Christine Stoddard
QuailBellMagazine.com
QuailBellMagazine.com
Yellow Wyndham By Christopher Baldwin QuailBellMagazine.com  We are at war with The Bears, just Wyndham and I. Since I moved in the whole neighbourhood's gone. My mouth tastes like a charity shop coffee morning. It's been an intense few weeks, lots of change. I guess Wyndham is trying to get me to smile by puppeteering with breakfast. Welllcome to Breakfastville, Missy. Y'know... things really came to change around here when Lady Bacon Legs came t' town. Yessiree! Ol' Man Muffin couldn't get enough of that streaky mistress. Try hard. Sure, Wyndham's a card at the kitchen table. Still, I can tell he feels monstrous forcing himself on to me. Another grizzly for me to contend with. I don't know why he bothers. I need to tell you says the monster, I do love you. Wyndham's house, surrounded by frosted blades of overgrowing green grasses, is a smouldering blaze for me. A fur coat of burning embers. Ah, sweetheart. I'm only slightly petrified. I dunno. I felt better about the last few weeks but, it's like his sweet thought had been made mundane by the effort it had taken him to make it come out of his mouth. I doodle on the napkins this like novelty dog, eyes fixed upward in feigned distraction, nodding. Yep. Yep. I want a romantic walk, Let's chance it Wyndham! with The Bears lurking in the bushes, capable of anything. Dork DreamsDirector: Tykeya O'Neil Stylists: Lindsey Story and Sidney Shuman Photographer: Jasmine Thompson Clothes: Rumors Models: Rachel West and Todd Baker Extras: Sara Skubal, Elliott Duffy, James Gainous, Aaron Crittendon, Rob Gibson, Katie Dinep, Evan Herr, Lindsey Story, and Sidney Shuman Writer: Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com  [Her] And the professor said...something superfluous, adding a spine to the hairy hedgehog in my meadow of fervent longing, heart-pounding pain and general awkwardness toward... him.  Him—the boy, the man, the prince, the king. Him—the vision, the light, the shining crown. Him—the source of all my love and misery.  But he's not likely to see me as I see him, for lopsided glasses chafe my freckled nose and, though my diction may be perfect, I slurp when I speak.  Except today.  Today I am elegance incarnate, Mademoiselle Sexy Sequins, Miss Lucy Long Legs. Bam! Those hips swivel and sizzle and sing when I strut from my desk to his, sweetly leaning, gracefully hovering, perched on his tabletop with aggressive allure.  Kiss me before I kiss you.  [Him] She's cute, sort of small like something you'd tuck into your picnic basket, wrapped up in some quilted cloth your grandma stitched years ago, the cloth you still use to keep your favorite baked goods from going stale.  She probably tastes like a cookie—when you kiss her, that is. I mean, if I ever kiss her, from pigtail to pigtail, freckle by freckle. I mean, I will, I have to because I want to and I've never wanted anything more and today, well, today, today...  I'm handsome. I'm suave. I'm fashionable. I'm articulate. I'm bold. I'm that guy in the movies you hate so badly because you want to be him so badly. With a flick of my wrist, I'll blow her a kiss and then hop on over there, getting super close until she's sweating, sweating because I've seen her love letters.  Love letters she addressed to me.  Love letters full of hope and yearning and everything else that I feel, too.  She lo—me. Me? Me! She loves me!  [Them] We loved each other before our day dreams ran loose in this little classroom. For centuries, we loved and for a lifetime, we will love in and out of this little classroom.  Not Invented YetBy Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com  Futurista: | The Unreal
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