The girls stared across the table at each other. Each clutched a brightly colored piece of paper in dirty fingers. The warden tapped his watch. “Which one’s it gonna be?” Hana watched as her younger sister slowly unfolded her small pink slip. Janey’s face contorted into a silent victorious howl as she shot up from her old chair to take a lap around the room. Hana slumped, defeated. “Ok Hana, let’s go.” “No!” Without thinking, Hana was up and running towards the muddy grass outside. “You’ll never take me alive!”
Her father groaned towards the sky, “It’s just a bath.”
Some movie once said, somewhere between those unfortunate ages of 12 and 15, I should have a “coming of age” moment. Something forever cemented in time as the moment I knew; the moment I became … something more. I balked and bought a book then grimaced when it preached the same line around page 53.
Who ever said I really had to grow up anyway?
Even a million miles away I can see mom purse her lips over my messy shelves. Her sigh is evidence enough though she smiles through the words.
“I just wish you would clean up your mess and come home.”
Here we stand, on precipices of stars and skies. One step, a small breath, a slight breeze to tousle my hair. A lovers hand, gently swaying strands. Will he pull? Will he strike? Will he push me? Leave me to the night?
Not today it seems as we step away, a dance of carefully crafted precision. Dangerous games we play here on the ledge. Yet there’s a piece of me, rising again, demon in disguise.
She charges again and again, wild in her being, eyes chasing the sand. Determined and unsteadying she demands control of the wind. Throw me down she will so she can stand here too. Plucking the stars from their branches, shoving her hungry mouth full, she’ll devour the light within you.
As in, I did not expect this to work. I used a first line generator, first line was “Before the day of harmony the trees echo,”
Before the day of harmony the trees echo,
Below the mountainous bellow.
Begging to take cover,
Wild things trample over
Giving rise to roaring sound.
Hiding beneath cloudless skies,
Smoke snakes along paths of lies.
Desperate for salvation
We search for causation.
Missing truth among the darkness;
Unfeeling in our catharsis.
Before the day of harmony can return,
The world must first burn.
Please go take a look at The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch! We have some lovely and deep stories this week about writing through pain (or in my case around it).
Bring out my wild side,
Pull her back and hold her still.
I promise you baby,
She’ll fight the whole way out.
Pin her down and whisper in her ear,
It’s always fun when you try
Taming wild things.
Grip her waist and sit her down,
Tell her she’s been bad today,
That little wild thing doesn’t care.
Touch her soul,
Try to bring her peace.
I know what you’ll find.
Those wild things are meant to be.
There’s this thing,
Running circles in my soul.
It’s happy and sad,
It’s light and dark,
It’s beautiful and bad.
It feels like your hands,
And tastes like your tongue.
It slips along my skin,
Seeps through my pores.
It sends shivers up my spine,
A chill through my brain.
It has your name,
In big flashy letters,
And a sabertooth grin.
Won’t you come help me tame it?