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

Tales of A Teenage Wasteland

When I was 18 I got so drunk that my friends thought I was going to die. I went limp, crumpled onto the floor like a discarded shirt.

As you do, in some realms of fantasy when your friend may be dying, they stripped my clothes and tossed me into the shower then set to planning. 

How could they handle this? How could they keep from getting in trouble? After all, I was certainly not supposed to be drinking. 

“I know!” I’m sure one of them said. “Let’s put her on the curb and call 911.” 

Let it be known, my friends weren’t the most brilliant because it was January in a very north eastern state and the curb was a snow bank they could lose me in.

The rising water in the tub nearly choked me as my friends tried to wrangle my wet body. I tried to breathe but at first my lungs just wouldn’t expand. 

“We thought you were dead!” Their gazes passed over my cold naked body. “We were going to leave you outside.” 

“That the best idea you had?”

Drunk and nearly dead I managed to wonder if it was too late to look for new friends.

Posted in Word Prompt

All The Rage

Has anyone ever really thought about how Santa’s fat ass fits down the chimney?

He slaps on some spanx, squeezes his ass down there. The miracle of Christmas. 

It doesn’t feel like Christmas. It feels like rush hour on Monday morning when you’re already late. 

Stop. Go. In and out of traffic. 

Did you just honk at me?! Motherfucker.

I slam the gas until I’m not sure it’ll unstick and ride up beside the only asshole my 20 mph over the speed limit wasn’t fast enough for. 

It’s Christmas and I intend to bestow the gift of a great big F you. 

I swerve in between the lanes. I can see the sweat running down this jerks neck and the veins in his eyes as they go wide. 

Merry Christmas fucker.

My fingers are tingling, a sensation that dances up my arms. 

I pay enough attention to know this is a bad sign. I have to dial in my frustrations. 

Calm. Calm. Relax. 

I take deep breaths, my therapist would be proud.  My doctor probably would be too. The air moves in and out of my lungs, sponges absorbing this cursed city air. 

That’s ok. Just breathe.

The tingling recedes only slightly as I focus on the point between breaths, just like the therapist taught me. 

In … Out

RDP: Chimney
FOWC: Dial

Posted in Word Prompt

Every Day is the Same

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.

RDP Prompt: Memory Lane – FOWC: Daily

Posted in Word Prompt

Apparitions

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.

Posted in Word Prompt

When Lightning Strikes

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 enchanted

I glow. 

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.

Posted in Word Prompt

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

Posted in Word Prompt

Passage

The passage of time

Of lines in the road

Or trees on the horizon

Seconds passing

Or years gliding

Through dim tunnels

And dark underbrush

How far we travel

Without realizing

How far we’ve come

See also: (I will never not mention this song when given the chance)

RDP: Passage

Posted in Word Prompt

Ash

Is this what becomes of us?

Today freezing rain
Tomorrow a summer breeze

Wind blows along the stream
Rustling thickets
Driving rain

I exist at the funeral
But I float above
Searching
For the right combination
The moment you walked away

I try to redirect you
With empty threats
And promises of gold

As with most things
I fail

RDP: Ash