It’s a rising undercurrent
A love that settles in the sand
Clear and understated
Bound by your hand
It’s a rising undercurrent
A love that settles in the sand
Clear and understated
Bound by your hand
We came here on the backs of our ancestors greatest invention. The ability to cross among the paths of time has been an integral part of society but, as with any great discoveries, it was coveted.
Facing extinction we gathered our prized possessions, animals, science … and sent them across realms.
We would have returned for them sooner but …
George didn’t write down the coordinates of where he sent them.
Right, we would have returned sooner but … were unable to.
We believed our ideas, our species, our discoveries were safe. We believed there would be reprieve from a world too far gone. We’ve been driven nearly to extinction in the name of progress.
But this, this is not what our people left behind. Where are the animals? The science?
Maybe they ate it.
Perhaps they are far more advanced than we think? Did they somehow find the exact coordinates before we could recover them?
Hear me out. Maybe they are our science, our discoveries. We did save a number of cellular organisms. Perhaps they ‘evolved’. This proves their significance at least.
Significant? They are killing themselves. This is not what our ancestors wanted. A planet of intruders? No.
Theus, you’re getting a little worked up.
Millenia of progress has been bastardized.
It rarely goes any other way. Perhaps this is for the best. Remember, change is the very essence of everything we know.
I’m going to blow it up.
The command has been activated. We can find another planet to maintain our civilization on.
Every full moon we’re given permits. On occasion they’ve felt like rocks, weighing down our souls. Sometimes they function as population control.
The abstract isn’t something we’re terribly familiar with but I remember what it’s like to feel. When I was first brought here sadness compounded fear. Anger settled in next. A long lost cousin staying despite what I insisted.
They dangle these permits, inspiring us with lust and greed.
What shall we receive?
The paper melts away in my hand but not before I can read. A permit for hope, emotion I no longer crave.
I’d heard of the yellow brick road. I saw The Wizard of Oz when it first came out. I never thought I’d find myself standing here. The bricks aren’t yellow, more of a grey, and the air hangs heavy and full of electricity.
Trees aren’t the same. They’re monstrous and dead. Orbs of fruitful memories drop to land. They scatter, running from the light, but I catch a few. And what delight! They’re flexible and sticky. They play back cherished memories.
But what of the ones that run? They roll from the path, away from the sun, into the trees, obscured by dead leaves.
I chase them down, determined to know.
What is it these scared orbs hold?
In the darkness they reveal things unknown. Small strings which take hold. They pull me farther, abandoning the path, as they trap me under a forest wrath.
These memories aren’t cherished. Forgotten and unloved, they demand immediate resolve. I find one after the other, a path none should take.
I abandon handfuls of the light and cling to the dark. They pull at my strings, they break my heart.
Then I jerk awake, just an old woman in a bed. Little memory of the dreams I’ve had. Nothing rushes back, nothing remains. It’s just me and a window and brick wall company.
Every day is the same.
When I’m stressed I don’t really sleep. It’s not that I don’t want to but I just can’t, not when I’m coiled like a rocket. One slight trigger, a breeze that feels a little malicious, and I’m off towards the stars.
My dreams, in an effort to help, mill around my room.
Bernie, my oldest apparition, is the most sensible of them all. He peaks in through my door and offers milk and cookies. He pads along the halls in a robe errantly open. He pats my arm in efforts to talk me down.
Reasonable is seldom what I want.
Harry has a devilish grin and hair molded into flaming tufts. He’s the demon on my shoulder pushing me to indulge. He slips his fingers along my skin, careful not to scratch. He whispers in my ear, oh the things he says. But when I slip back to consciousness he’s never there.
Hilda is my warrior princess, my inner child gone sideways. She sits at the end of my bed, broad back and silken hair framed by her tri horned helmet. In a flagrant disregard for the boys, she tells me how she ransacked a town killing all the men and picking them apart piece by piece. It’s the same story every time but I wouldn’t dare remind her.
I’m going to write a story called “the great interrupted life”. It’s going to be a mom trying to say 1 sentence throughout and never finishing it.
What an amazing coincidence.
That I’d be standing here when lightning struck.
Sure, it stings a little at first but the results?
It turned me into a multifaceted shimmering disco ball of flame.
I’m Glinda the good witch if she were slightly damaged
Which I think we could argue she was …
But I can’t concentrate on these things right now.
It’s getting hard to breathe.
And I’m coming apart at the seams.
That over there is Henry.
Henry is currently neck deep in a bowl of lucky charms. I’m not sure if he’s sleeping. I’m not sure he’s even alive.
I’m not sure I care either way.
I sweep back and forth, not really cleaning so much as biding my time. Any minute now these little monsters will rise with the bell, a fastidious cult. Once they’ve filed away into classrooms to be pumped full of information, whether it’s right or wrong, I can get on with my day.
“Get a job at a prestigious private school.” They said. “It’ll be great money.”
Have I got news for them.
“Think that spots clean enough Maude?”
The principal is this little round man. He covers his smattering of graying hair with weird hats and always wears a cartoon tie. Today’s tie is Marvin the Martian.
And now he’s shuffling me to another corner of the cafeteria.
“Jimmy spilled his milk.”
He puts me to task cleaning up Jimmy’s failed science experiment. I swear there’s something unearthly in this milk. It’s green and doing a little jive. I’m no scientist but I’m pretty sure that’s not right.
The bell rings summoning the demon spawn towards the halls.
I watch them go with not one bit of regret but notice Henry, still head down in his lucky charms. I suppose I have some obligation. I poke him with the end of my broom.
His head lolls over sending milk strangely tinted with green splattering over the floor.
Shit, is Henry dead? I think he might be the richest kid at this school. That’s no good.
As I’m sorting my alibi and evidence that I had no hand in this event, Henry opens his eyes. Jet black pupils take over leaving only thin edges of white. He throws his head back, emitting a punctuated screech.
Huh. Well Henry’s not dead. I’m not sure what he is but I’m not sure I care.
Word Count: 327
Words from FOWC (Fandango’s One Word Challenge) – task – and Ragtag Daily Prompt – fastidious
Around Christmas I disappeared from here. It’s typical for me to take a break but it’s usually a week or so. Aside from a Merry Christmas post and Recap post I didn’t write anything after mid-December.
In November and December I posted half of what I usually post in a month.
In real life I locked myself in a bathroom stall at work and cried. I thought about not waking up more often than I had in years.
I wondered how I came back to this point.
This is a post I started in January. As we come to the holidays again I find myself thinking about this time last year and wondering if I should share.
I didn’t at the time because I honestly didn’t believe anyone would care. I pushed myself back to a childhood state of believing the things I felt were completely invalid. I felt if I shared then I’d have to immediately apologize for feeling that way and possibly even be punished for it.
It had been years since I actually had suicidal thoughts but last Christmas, for me, they were alive and well. I tried to remember everything I would leave behind. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t really that bad because I could at least think of things worth sticking around for.
I tried to think about things I had accomplished. I tried to make sense of my life in terms of gratitude.
None of that stopped me from constantly thinking about ending it.
I don’t feel that way anymore but I fear at any moment it could engulf me again.
It makes me feel defective. Of course I’ve remained single. Of course I’ve had trouble keeping up with friends. Of course. Who wants someone that could slip into this at any time?
I say this year has flown by but in reality I just feel like I’ve lost it. I’ve felt mired the entire time and have struggled to get past it.
Maybe it’s a late quarter life crisis or a very early mid life crisis. Maybe it’s just a life crisis in general.
In reflecting over the past year I decided to share, if for nothing more than to get it off me. Maybe putting it out into space will help clear some of it. Maybe someone reading this needs to know they aren’t alone.
Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255 – they also offer online chat – You can also text HOME to 741741 (in the US)
I exist in jagged spaces. Like the frayed strands of jeans ripped between my thighs or the breaks in the outlines of unfinished tattoos. Art that doesn’t cover my walls, instead propping up dust in corners, or bits and pieces of a life I forgot to throw away all speak to my permanent displacement.
I exist in the breaks between puffs on a cigarette, in the spaces between words. Never fully pulling myself up and away. I remain suffocated by the sheer amount of air. I exist for no one, not even myself, and fail to connect the lines between here and there.
My reflection, red lips curled around a cigarette or smoky eyes hiding thoughts much more sinister, feigns surprise though I don’t feel anything more than recognition.
I’ve become so accustomed that I can’t even claim myself anymore.
Not very deep (RDP)
Hi everyone, I’ve been a little bit absent lately. Between work, house stuff, travel, family … I haven’t had any of myself to spread over to writing.
I’ve also made some changes on the blog recently.
I changed the background image because my old “tacky wallpaper” disappeared. I figured it was time for a little update anyway.
I also added a page for editing services. If you or anyone you know is in need of an editor please check out that page.
Otherwise things are steadying out for me and I hope to get back to prompt/challenge writing and reading very soon.
Have a wonderfully spooky rest of October!
Anyone ever feel like things get this out of control at the keyboard (or typewriter in this case)?