I haven’t done a stream of consciousness write in a long time. I didn’t time this one.
If you haven’t read these before. This is a stream of conciousness write with very little editing (so apologies for anything that doesn’t make sense). I pick a prompt, usually a word of the day, turn on some music and just write whatever comes to my head for a set time (usually 10 minutes).
It’s lips curve downwards and it’s nose hooks right under those skeptical eyes. Made in your image but it’s not you.
It’s soft and stretchy, moist and sticky. Strings of dough stretch from one lip to the other as it mocks my humanoid appearance.
A spark forms in my belly and spreads like wildfire. Before I realize the scope of my ideas, my limbs begin acting. My legs carry me forth, my arms swing out wildly. My fingers pinch at its doughy arms, pulling away long pieces and tossing them into the endless span of existence below us.
They can’t work fast enough, its sticky being pulls at the hairs on my arms and legs. Doughy fingers work their way through my hair, ripping me back.
I could try to frantically escape but something tells me this is like quicksand. It envelops me. Moist strings pry into my mouth, holding my tongue and filling my lungs.
You are dreaming. You are dreaming.
My jerking body flings onto the floor. Pizza boxes scatter and cower from my cries.
A stray pepperoni sticks to the bridge of my nose. A menacing reminder encroaching on my vision.
Jada had no idea why it was the kettle. Surely it wasn’t always. How many childhood stories were there about tea kettles being possessed?
She couldn’t resist the designs. It begged to be taken home.
Such a tea slut.
The walls rumbled. In front of her individual scales twitched and flapped. A beast of terrifying size draped over her furniture.
Jada knew the beast couldn’t be real. Yet here it was, half chasing something in its sleep; its forked tongue hanging from between scaly lips. Its serrated claws curled as it feigned trotting through a field playfully tossing its massive head.
And probably a corpse.
A feeling of panic rested low in her belly. Jada’s legs ached to run but she was frozen.
Its head snapped up. Jada could see her reflection in the glossy red iris. The beast inhaled as its nose passed across her.
Not a snack, the whole meal. Is this really gonna be my last thought before I die?
Its putrid breath filled Jada’s nose. Instead of a roar it let out a series of low clicks.
Oh god, it’s engine won’t turn over.
Word Count: 200
For Sunday Photo Fiction – It’s my first time joining in with this (we can post on days other than Sunday right?) Also, dragons are like puppies. Who knew?
The sight of him sends heat pulsing through my veins. My skin grows warm. Sheer will pushes me forward. What’s worse, my throat dries and heart hammers, I can feel his energy fixating on me. There’s a thousand women in this room; a thousand men too. He’s misdirected. He’s confused. Why would anyone pursue?
Doesn’t he see? People like me … We exist in the shadow. There for your amusement, or bemusement, but never serious inquiry. We slip in the cracks, stay behind a crowd’s back. His aim’s amiss. That must be it.
He must know I’m just a play thing, just the monster free of chains.
It started with a dream, a thousand eyes surrounding me.
Now they’re part of the permanent daydream.
Drenched in disdain from behind the dime store shelf,
Heavy lidded and high as I drive.
I can feel them on me, even now.
Sitting at my desk, drowning Bailey’s in coffee
They stick to my legs, crawl between my toes.
How’d they get in my shoes?
I can feel them, eyelashes stroking the hairs
Serenading down my hands,
They even exist alone in the air.
How do I survive
With a thousand eyes?