I have this listed under the word of the day – Acquisition … I guess I can see where I was going with that.
Hate is an acquired taste bought off discount shelves when no else would bother letting it percolate. I have no qualms about the boiling rage rushing through my veins. All the what ifs, the whys, they mingle into a frenzy, a syrup of regret and blame. I won’t be the one drinking it this time.
Today’s random sentence was: A purple pig and a green donkey flew a kite in the middle of the night and ended up sunburnt.
Here’s what came of it:
A purple pig and a green donkey flew a kite in the middle of the night and ended up sunburnt. Pig’s skin darkened into a thick dark clay while Donkey’s browned, like grass under the autumn sun. Pig swore he was fine though he moved like molasses through the field.
“I’m just a little crunchy but it’ll peel.”
“Come on Pig, I’ll carry you.”
Donkey’s legs, wilting like leaves, crumbled under the weight.
I’ve been writing from a random word everyday for several weeks. Today I switched it up to a random sentence. The randomness did not disappoint.
Tomatoes make good weapons when water balloons aren’t available.
And this is where I went with it:
Tomatoes make good weapons when water balloons aren’t available. They’re just heavy enough to slow a thing down and appropriately messy. I don’t know for a fact that tomato guts to the eye will be as effective as holy water but it can’t be far off.
My nerves settle into my belly releasing a wave of nausea. Perhaps the heaved chunks of a morning breakfast will work too.
Just outside the metal cafeteria doors I can hear a raging river of small voices murmuring in sync.
What is it they’re saying?
It sounds like a low squalling but a distinctive rhythm makes me pause. The murmur starts low, rising then declining again. A distinctive hum begins to form, one that has echoed through the cafeteria many times before.
Are they chanting “hash browns”?
One of my goals for this year is to put together another book. I’ve had a thought for a while that it would be cool to write a book with several micro fiction or vignette type pieces around a central theme or character or event.
Starting in Feb/end of Jan I’m going to try and write 1 piece a week, which after writing practically nothing last year will be a challenge.
I’ve read books like this and plan to revisit those too. What books have you read that were comprised of smaller stories centered around one event, character, etc?
I’m also excited to actually put together a book again. When I released my poetry book in 2020 it was very much an experiment for me. I picked the pieces, composed them in a way that felt good (but may not have actually flowed well), designed the cover … It was fun. I want to continue learning about that part of the process this year.
I hope you’re all doing well in this unending insanity we call life.
RDP – Apparition
I fell asleep
In the arms of an apparition
A breath of cold air
Brushing my hair
It’s a perfectly unscary Halloween tale of what happens when the silence grows
It’s not really the smell of cooking eggs that I hate.
It’s the nose curdling smell of burning butter.
The smell of an incoming fight as my sister and I struggle to properly fry eggs for my dad’s plate. It sets into the nose, waving disgust throughout the face.
It’s the sneer as he gazes upon broken yolks.
It becomes the increasingly fraught silence as he refuses to eat. Then tears, as my mother stares everywhere but at the glaring reality.
At night, while the washing machine spins our soiled clothes, it moans like a haunted whale song. Notes echo through the dark rooms, tempting us to a depth we’ve never met before. Slipping away beneath the waves of sleep, the songs carry us until we’re resting on the backs of giants hidden at the bottom of the sea. Their skin, like velvet, holds us against the undulating weight of the water trying to carry us on.
“You aren’t meant to stay”
The giants drop us, sending our bodies down into the darkness. We fall forever, deeper and darker than we knew possible, before landing in beds of sand. Small creatures, keepers of this new darkness, prickle our fingers and toes. The sand curls into the folds of our skin and dances through our hair. The itching is infuriating but the darkness is heavy. It sits on our chests like a bully on the playground, pummeling our faces with meaty hands.
Suddenly, light, a small beam reflecting from a hook strung down by a fishing line. It roots in the darkness, searching for the target, before finding the fabric of my gown. More hooks descend, each carefully hooking our linen night clothes and pulling us away from the sand. We ascend, past the giants, towards the light. Our previous fears fall away with each grain of sand taken by the tide. Anxiously we await the chance to truly breathe.
Breaking the surface we are met with nothing but fishing boats rowing away.
Image from the Pexel’s photo library
Offering a sort of sangfroid, the music was unlike anything the crowd had ever heard. Notes weaving from the stage slid their ways into the patrons brains.
They swayed.
They bounced.
They flailed.
They … except Marlon. A singular bastion of disgust in a sea of enthralled fish.
Marlon watched the band jump around the stage creating a cacophony.
“I will never understand.”
“You don’t have to! Just let the music take you!” His right hand woman, Aileen, jumped around beside him. “I can’t stop!”
“I can’t imagine why. Instead of dancing why don’t you help kill the vampires.”
Aileen spun away, joining with another vibrating group of club patrons.
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.”
Hattie almost missed the fraying brown clue blending into the brickwork.
Almost.
Matt would never let anyone miss it completely.
“It’s a clue!” He howled as he dropped to his belly and slithered towards the string. “Hattie. Hattie. Look. They were here.”
“I don’t see anything Matt.” He groaned and lifted the string between clenched knuckles.
“Right here. They were here.”
“Who?”
“The ghosts! Hattie! Did you forget what we were doing today?”
“I guess so Matt.”
“Ghosts. Ghost hunting. The email invite was clear.”
Hattie gazed at the sunset. Why were the cute ones always so weird?
Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers (I’m getting better at this!)
Photo credit: © CEAyr
“If your friends jumped off a bridge would you jump too?”
Well mom, looks like we know the answer.
In my defense, it was only 3 feet off the ground.
Surely I would’ve come to my senses before diving off anything higher.
You’re not amused. It’s ok, I get it.
It wasn’t in your weekend plans to care for this ungrateful snot you call a daughter.
I hop to the window, wave to my friends and part of me wonders …
Would they believe you pushed me if I jumped again?
Word Count: 91
For Friday Fictioneers, serving up photo prompts, hot and with a side of crazy fries.
PHOTO PROMPT © Susan Eames
Kelley Farrell 