looming overhead
the flock a-wing for hunting
feast for young tonight
“Loom” is the word of the day for the Tuesday Use It In A Sentence prompt. Check it out and join in! https://stephaniecolpron.wordpress.com/2016/11/01/tuesdayuseitinasentence-loom/
An eerie light
shines starkly through
the stained-glass windows here
that wasn’t there
just yesterday
the reason isn’t clear.
This little poem was brought to you by “The Daily Post,” (link above) and by K’Lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge. This week’s prompt was “glass.” Check it out! It’s fun! https://diaryofaninternetnobody.com/2016/10/31/klee-and-dales-cosmic-photo-challenge-34/
Some women deal with their break-ups by drinking wine, some surround themselves with friends and plot how they’re going to let the air out of their ex’s tires. Me, I’m celebrating with a giant bag of Doritos, a bottle of Coke, and a horror movie.
Jeremy was not a nice guy. He started out okay, as most guys do. Why else would I have dated him in the first place? But as time went on he started in with the digs about my weight. We’d be in bed and he’d squeeze my hips and say things like, “That must be the pizza we had tonight,” or “Have you been sneaking chocolate bars again?” I ignored it for the longest time. But eventually it wears on a gal.
Nope, I’m glad Jeremy’s gone. And now I can sit here with my Doritos and not have to deal with the insults. The fact that I burned off a load of calories burying his body in the back yard makes me feel all that much better.
Taking the Bridge to the inner city is like driving out of fresh air, into the pits of Hell. The Bridge itself is lined on both sides with grills, jails if you will. At the outer edge, near the freshest of air, are the criminals who live, still. But as it gets warmer toward the middle of the Bridge, one can see the prisoners are fighting for air. Zombies, treading upon one another with clubs made of loose bits of the Bridge torn off are closest to the inner city.
Why must we travel there, to the city? For work. The luckiest of us still grow our vegetables at the far end of the Bridge. For meat, we must go to the city. That’s where the brains are.
This post was written entirely in Stream of Consciousness, and left unedited. If you, too, would like to participate in Stream of Consciousness Saturday, click the following link to add your post! https://lindaghill.com/2016/10/28/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-2916/
i love
how you rearrange
my thoughts
you reappear
and re-propose
all those things you did
so long ago
you’re addictive
you know
even though
I’m not
the woman I was
you
seem not to change
that’s why
you rearrange
how
your arch’d brow
makes me vow
there’s never been
another quite the same
and there will never be
for me
for the truth
is that you
like a tattoo
skin deep
are a part of me
I’ll never see
again the same
in the november rain
those showers
how that beauty
will be ever ours
secretly
It has been two days since my precious laboratory burned to the ground. The final spark to go out, did so when the wisp of smoke finally ceased rising from the top of Ogor’s head.
Patients L52 to N2 escaped with their lives (such as they are) with the exception of the poor Patient L63. Ogor is trying to blame him for the blaze, but I blame Ogor. It was he who caused the error in the first place. I must now decide what to do with him.
Hmmm… N3, perhaps.
I can’t believe it! My entire troupe has been banned from the local hospital! We all went into the Emergency Room because one of the guys had a cut on his finger that needed stitching up. One look at the expression on his face and we all knew he needed moral support.
So off we all went, just to keep him company, you know? And then, what do you know; they kicked us out!
Apparently they don’t allow mimes in the ER who aren’t sick or injured. The nerve!
Today we take off the bandages. Patient L63’s transformation should be complete.
“How long has it been since the patient came to us?” I ask my assistant.
“Forty-three days, Master.”
“Would you please stop calling me ‘Master,’ Ogor?”
“Yes, Mas… I mean Doctor.”
“Thank you. So, forty-three days should be enough, right?”
“By your calculations, yes, Doctor.”
“Okay, let’s get at it.”
We peel back the bandages slowly. Meticulously. About half-way through I notice Ogor has begun to tap his foot.
“Whatever is it, Ogor?”
“What’s what?”
“You seem nervous.”
“Not at all, Doctor.”
We continue to work until there is just one bandage left across the patient’s face. As lift it with my tweezers, the patient opens his blue eyes.
“Wait!” I exclaim. I go to the patient’s chart. “Patient L63 has brown eyes. What is the meaning of this? Ogor, double-check the patient’s toe tag!”
“It’s um… It’s um, Patient M63, Mast… I mean Doctor.”
“But this patient isn’t ready! And Patient L63 must be chomping at the bit to get out!”
Just then, a groan came from inside the freezer.
I only knew Tiny from the Internet, so I couldn’t tell for sure if he was really tiny in size, or if his name was one of those ironical-type names. If so, he might have been huge.
Tiny and me were friends in the kind of way you just sling comments back and forth on Facebook and such. Once in a while, we’d say something like, “We should get together for a beer one day,” but it never happened. At least I don’t think it happened.
You see, Tiny disappeared ’round about a year ago. He’d taken a break from the whole online crap for a couple months before, so I wasn’t too worried, until one day when a stranger showed up on his Facebook account. At first they tried to pretend to be Tiny, but I knew. There were little things, like the way words were spelled right that Tiny always spelled wrong. Stuff like that. When I called the character out, they finally said no, they weren’t Tiny and that Tiny had died.
Then three weeks ago, I found the note in my mailbox. It was from Tiny. Said he’d been in town for a month already. It’s a small town; chances are I’ve seen him around and not known it.
Strange thing is, I never told him where I live.
Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.
Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?
We both know your heart is hollow
with a lining of artificial sweetener
and a crust constructed from the ashes
of all the victims who came before me.
“How nice to see you again.”
Your smile hides the snarl
that will wither me, I know
’cause I’ve been here before.
I’m the idiot who comes back for more.
The chase ends here, my fake friend.
You’ll fool me no more with your saccharine ways
The jig is up
and I’ll bury you alive
before you slither back into my life.
Linda G. Hill 