“It is not just black and white. There are bluish green areas over there, and if you look closely enough, you’ll see the occasional splotch of yellow. But the truth is, it is red all over.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Todd?”
“What is it?”
“It’s a joke, Todd. Don’t you get it?”
“What if,” I asked my husband as we sipped coffee from our china cups, “coffee contains some sort of secret ingredient that allows the government to read our thoughts.”
“What are you saying, Darling? That now coffee is part of your conspiracy theory? I honestly don’t know why I married you.”
“Now that you mention it, I was thinking the same thing. How could I have married someone who is so… insensitive to the possibility that everything is spying on us?”
“Everything is not… wait. Did you say you were thinking the same thing as I? Put down the cup.”
I’m not a nocturnal wanderer. I love to sleep at night. I work hard while the sun shines – I get up as it rises, so that I may be ready to labour when the day begins.
The moment it sets, I go to my rest. I’m a vampire of light.
“Well then John, if she won’t have me, I’ll marry someone else!”
“You can’t just ‘marry someone else,’ old chap. The wedding is scheduled for tomorrow. You’ll have to call it off.”
“But I can’t do that. There are people coming from all over the world. I know, I’ll call Cupid.”
“Please don’t.”
“It’s too late. There he is at the window! Wait! Don’t aim it at me now!”
“Duck!”
“John? Please, will you marry me?”
“I should rather die!”
“But then, who will be my best man?”
“It won’t be me, old chap. I don’t swing that way.”
“Drat.”
It’s a major disaster. So much blood has been spilled. I had one job to do. Just one. How could I have been so careless? I’ll never be able to show my face in public again!
I should have known I was too clumsy to work in a butcher shop.
a dark flower blooms
like black ink upon the petal of a rose
deep within my chest
where my heart
should lie to you but i can’t;
your love for me so sweet,
such like i wish upon myself
before i lie in
my grave will surely be marked
by all who misunderstood
my happiness, my confidence,
that was all bravado
and darkness
there is a light inside
but not one i’d wish upon
humankind’s most hideous enemy
for it lives already inside of him
but he is not me
i am but a simple seed inside
a grown man’s body, my heart is a
dry husk, hollowed out by one who should have sacrificed
himself but instead betrayed,
with a soul diseased, rotten, calloused
yet hurting; afraid of who he might be to
the one whose light he held in his hand and breathed upon it and
left unable to love
with his brittle heart
susceptible to flame
and spark
“That thing is not going in my closet.” It was the last thing I ever heard her say.
We’d been talking about moving in together for months. She knew about my collection. Sure, she’d never seen it… she hadn’t wanted to. I tried to explain to her how big it was and how freakin’ awe-inspiring it was. I guess she didn’t believe me. In retrospect, I do remember her just nodding and smiling as though she was humouring me.
I think it was the boa that took offense to her screaming first. Or maybe it was the cobra. Oh well.
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the link to find the rules and discover how you can join in! http://lindaghill.com/2016/03/04/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-516/
*Author’s note: No editing went into this post in order to make it an 100-word story. Just how it turned out. I’m happy about that. 😉
The sign on the gate of the public campsite, said, “Welcome all, whether happy or sad.” And so the happy campers and the sad campers sat side-by-side at their bonfires, telling ghost stories and playing tunes. Sometimes they all woke up happy and sometimes, sad, but the mosquitoes always won.
just one of those ready-to-scream moments
when there’s nothing left inside but frustration
and anger
except you’re stuck inside there
the open door may as well be barred and force-field guarded
because it’s not the fresh air that keeps you in
it’s those others inside with you
those who whisper sweet pleas as they swallow their peas
and cues
and accuse you of never paying enough attention
to the screaming in your head
that you must get out
away from the pain and the
whining whingeing dreams
of cockroach infested corners and sleeping
bags with sticky zippers that won’t undo
after nights of sweaty striving and distraction
and so you drag yourself up because the sun sucks
and the radio makes you
and there’s never enough coffee to
make the voices stop.
lean on the window
but oh how wide is the world out there
Linda G. Hill 