She accuses me all the time of being moody. I’ll show her.
The mood is set. The candles are lit around the steaming, lavender-scented bath, the wine is poured, and the dinner is warming, ready for when she gets out. I’m already in the bath waiting for her to come ho…
There she is! I hear her key in the door! And… who’s she talking to? She brought her good-looking boss home again?
She thought I was moody before! I’ll show her!
you look at me as though you would drink my blood
slice my skin with a pointed nail
“oh, if you only knew
what i could do to you right now,” you say,
then you eat me alive
my veins drip red wine
you suck the life from my pores
and drunk on the torture of love
i obey
awe-inspiring words
put together just right
cause madness
can give birth to a thousand, a million other words
if placed before the eyes
or whispered in the ear
of a maddened artist…
these words
this well-hung quote
laps up all the juices
and spits them back
into the maddening wilderness
of the writer’s mind
“I don’t understand how it is that the Christmas song ‘Deck the Halls’ was written before Nintendo was invented.”
“Why is that?”
“Well it starts out, ‘Deck the halls with Bowser folly,’ right?”
“Not really, it’s…”
“And then the next line after all the ‘fa la las’ is, ”Tis the seas on tubie jolly,’ which clearly talks about Mario going from island to island through a tube.”
“Oookay. Go on.”
“Right. So the next line is, ‘Don we now our gay apparel.'”
“And how does that relate to the game?”
“Oh come on! Have you seen Mario’s hat? If that’s not gay I don’t know what is. It’s red! Red is a happy colour!”
“I’ll give you that one. Any more?”
“Um, let’s see… what’s the next line. Oh yeah. ‘Troll the henchmen you tied Carol.’ They kinda messed that one up.”
“How so?”
“It should have been Peach, not Carol. Or hey! Maybe her name was originally Carol. What do you think?”
“It’s a mystery.”
“Here we are again.”
Yep, here we are again.
“What do you want to do?”
I dunno. The world is our oyster.
“We can do anything we want?”
Anything at all.
“Can we unbury you so you can hold my hand one more time?”
No. We can’t do that.
“I miss you.”
I miss you too, my love.
lift the shrouds from the faces of the dead
ghosts rise high into the night to say
life is too short to rest
but sleep well
sleep wisely
There once was a man who would flee
A store with an armful for free
He dodged the alarm
And with oodles of charm
Sent the cops on a goose-chase, yippee!
“Billy, you can’t give a mystical answer to a math question.”
“But Mr. Johnson, what if the center point of the circumference of ‘A’ did intersect with the center of the universe?”
“Then, Billy, we’d all be obliterated.”
“Exac…”
THE END
Author’s note: My proficiency in Grade 11 math eludes me. But my grammar is up to par…
I can’t bear to abide by the rules of love. Why is it, for instance, insisted that love go both ways? Or that we must have met in the flesh? I can love you simply because I know you. I’ve heard your songs and I know you wrote them for me. They speak to my heart. They bare your soul to me, just as though you were here, on your knees, singing to me.
Why should I suppress my everlasting love for you? I shall lay down my life for you, if you ask.
You hear me, don’t you?
This piece of Stream of Consciousness fiction is part of SoCS. Click the link to read more posts, and join in, too! https://lindaghill.com/2016/12/09/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-1016/
“It’s missing something,” Samantha said as she drew the spoon away from her lips and stirred the pot again.
Petra frowned at her. “Did you remember the eye of newt?”
“Of course! It’s the main ingredient.”
“How about the toad toes?”
Samantha snorted. “They were a pain in the ass. Picking all those tiny nails off?”
“You didn’t have to, you know.”
“Normally not. But the little buggers had been to the salon. I didn’t want nail polish in the brew.”
Petra pointed her own sharply filed nail at her friend and winked. “Good thinking.”
“What else might I be missing?”
“No clue. This is what you get for not writing down the recipe when Zelda was still alive.”
“That’s it! She always used to cry a tear into it. What are we going to do?”
Petra squinted. “I think I can squeeze a tear out.”
“No!” Samantha cried. “Zelda was a virgin. That’s the whole purpose behind this concoction. To help us become born-again virgins, so we can experience having our cherries popped again.”
“Right. So who do we know who’s a virgin. Oh, I know! That Jimmie brat down the street. I’d like to make him cry for digging my asparagus up last spring.”
“Let’s go get him!”
***
Three months later…
“I think all we’re missing is the last ingredient,” Samantha said as she drew the spoon away from her lips and stirred the pot again.
“Excellent. Little Suzie’s just waking up.”
“Can’t wait to get rid of this penis.”
“Nope,” Petra said, scratching her balls. “Me neither.”
Linda G. Hill 