Posted in Word Prompt

Permit for Hope

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.

Ragtag Daily Prompt: Hope
Fandangos One Word Challenge: Permit

Posted in Word Prompt

Full of Words

I’m full of words
Maybe they’re just the wrong ones
Cartwheeling from my fingers
Carving paths in the crowd
I hold onto golden hope
That they’ll lead me to you
So far I’ve found
A mouse, a louse, a house
A duck, a truck, a puck
A thousand nonsensical rhymes with time
Not a single one has your path
Crossed with mine.

RPD Prompt: Orange (nothing rhymes with orange and it isn’t used in this but it was word inspiration)

Posted in Word Prompt

Ticking (Again)

I’ve posted this here before, in fact I think it was one of my first posts back in early 2016. It fits the prompt today so I’m reposting it. 

WordPress Daily Prompt – Mercy

Sometimes I hear the ticking, loud as can be in my head. The incessant ticking. A time bomb that waits years to release its poison, but when it does it is my time. I know then, when I hear, that I must go to work.

My work is dirty, faithless, but it is my work . . . it is beauty, by my definition. Yes, it is loveless, taking the souls of the few good men who are mixed with the souls of the hated. It is safe to say that he has his hands in good here, he knows what he has done and lately the ticking does not stop.

I sweep away one after another, whisking them to the hidden realms. I sometimes pass War, he is at his best these days. The creation of atomic bombs and nuclear weapons have set him astride a metal cannon of a horse.

Faster than lightening he descends and he does not leave until his work is utterly done . . . and mine is just beginning.

Occasionally I hear Kindness and Hope crying, locked away in our master’s dungeon. They are my sisters yet I feel no love or despair; I feel no emotion. Mercy is the only one left, she alone has not been caught.

Every day he draws closer to her, every day she saves one more soul that should have been his. Her work is small, but greatly aggravating for our master.

Still I hear the ticking, the clock telling me that someone else has run out of time, that someone worse has survived.

I glide in on the darkness, the deafness of those last few moments. I laugh out of fear; the fear pasted across their faces as they feel my cold breath on their skin. I give them one second, just one, to decide; then they are swept away with me.

Down we go, through the realms, down to the very bottom where the underworld lies. Where one shall be judged and await the future of their soul.

They will all go back, they will all be deposited once again. Only a few, a select few, stay. These are the good men, the wise men . . . the enemies. Indeed, our master has his hands soaked in the blood, just the way he prefers it.

I rest until I hear the ticking, but these days it is constant. Yes, indeed, the ticking never stops.

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