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 flash fiction, 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 stream of consciousness, Word Prompt

Jagged Edges

I exist in jagged spaces. Like the frayed strands of jeans ripped between my thighs or the breaks in the outlines of unfinished tattoos. Art that doesn’t cover my walls, instead propping up dust in corners, or bits and pieces of a life I forgot to throw away all speak to my permanent displacement.

I exist in the breaks between puffs on a cigarette, in the spaces between words. Never fully pulling myself up and away. I remain suffocated by the sheer amount of air. I exist for no one, not even myself, and fail to connect the lines between here and there.

My reflection, red lips curled around a cigarette or smoky eyes hiding thoughts much more sinister, feigns surprise though I don’t feel anything more than recognition. 

I’ve become so accustomed that I can’t even claim myself anymore.

Not very deep (RDP)