What makes a break appealing?
The roughed edges and crumbling pieces?
The promise of what could be?
A gold plated realigning
Designed and designated
A relic, broken, now beautiful
Useless, now worthy
A crack in society
Sealed to history
Tag: ragtag daily prompt
Sangfroid, Instead and Vampires
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.”
Gnaw
There’s something gnawing at the edge of my spirit
Small but persistent, hidden
Words once exchanged, hasty love
Bought sight unseen
Stored away in dark, cool places
It becomes secret doors
Scraped away in stone
And hidden ruminations
Based on smell alone
Ragtag Daily Prompt: Gnaw
We Don’t Have To Stay
Slowly this aberration emerged, a plume of thick smoke sneaking between the cracks in the wall. We were no longer welcome here.
As if the stiff lipped fear ever meant we could stay.
A collective thought grew among us, slow and warming, passed in the offering plate from one to another and nurtured with each passing hand.
Who are we to stay?
In the darkness we gathered what little we could claim and disconnected ourselves from this place.
Incorporating a couple of the daily words. Abberation from FOWC and emerge from RDP.
You Are Not Gossamer
“My confidence is gossamer.”
“Gossamer?”
“Gossamer.”
“That guy was pretty confident I guess.”
“That guy?”
“Yeah, the heart guy. The big monster one. Like an olden days Kool-Aid man.”
“I don’t think … Gossamer is a word. It’s not a person or monster or whatever you’re talking about.”
“No offense, I know my Bugs Bunny. Maybe you mean another word?”
“Maybe you have the name wrong. My word is Gossamer.”
“Google it then. Let’s see who’s right.”
*furious typing*
“Gossamer, thin, delicate, insubstantial.”
“And, right there, Gossamer. Big red heart dude.”
“Huh. Ironic.”
“Yeah, also, have you met yourself? Your confidence is not “gossamer”. You’re not a wilting flower or silk blowing in the wind.”
RDP: Gossamer
Green Milk
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
In The Name of Control
It is an act of happenstance that humans age. We were supposed to be the all supreme, controllers of our environment and all that means.
At least, that’s what this book says. Personally, I’ve never felt one bit in control of this life. Try telling your military commanders or your knuckleheaded children to just go with the flow. They laugh in your face and tell you to put your glasses back on so you can see reality.
They’ll see one day. All these lies in the name of control will fall away. Someone will need glasses, it won’t be me.
Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers AND the RDP word of the day: happenstance
2 for 1! And Friday Fictioneers on Weds!
Schism
There’s a rip
In who I am
Torn
By who I dream to be
RDP Word of the Day: Schism
Her Eyes (Or Untitled)
My eyes trace the same curves over and over, like paper never truly absorbing ink. Gentle folds of skin stand in contrast to stark bone.
She had been so … welcoming, so polite.
“Yes doctor, please, come in. A drink? Food? Of course, anything for you.”
Though she had nothing to give in the end, a couple of blackened lungs, a spoiled liver.
Her eyes, crystalline blue, I would have taken those.
Why did she have to turn it the way she did? It shouldn’t have come to those utterances of hers.
“I think you’re mistaken. I don’t think so. No.”
And in this world, a woman of her standard owning a gun?
My soul will rest easy, hers I’m not sure.
I clean my tools meticulously, disposing of the browning apple core, used condom and bloodied cloths in her make shift fire pit.
I collect the money, laid on her poorly made wooden table … beforehand … in plain sight.
The first sign of trouble.
“Of course I trust you doctor.”
Outside the madam keeps an eye on rowdy drunks. I pass her a handful of crumpled bills.
“Made a bit of a mess, might let her sleep.”
She tucks them away, her eyes never straying from the stumbling fools, never truly catching sight of me.
They never do.
I wrote this as homework for a writer’s meeting I went to. I’m not sure yet where it’s going or if it can go anywhere else. I imagine this character has a bit of wanderlust though.
The Beginning
The most interesting thing
About this tale,
Other than every breath
Passed from your lips to mine,
Remains the fading away.
An ending
That’s really only the beginning.
RDP Prompt: Homecoming
