drabble day 5: cookie dough

dear cookie dough,

as a child i was told you are dangerous for me to eat. something about raw eggs could kill me, i guess. i trusted my mom.

as a teenager, you were my flirtation with mortality. a way of walking on the edge. a rebellion.

as an adult, i learned that my mom was eating you when i wasn't aware.

and now, a little later in life, i realize you're not going to kill me in an instant, but you could still be my down fall in the end.

cookie dough, this needs to stop.

with love,
women.

5-31-2012 Deadly Poison

“Their faces will be the last you see forever!” 

He shuddered as the words ran through his mind. Forever, the man couldn’t truly be promising him that. He would die in just a few short moments. He could feel the poison slowly pumping through his veins, heading directly towards his heart where it would steadily climb to an all consuming pain before his heart stopped and he ceased. 

But he would see their faces. Their looks of terror and anguish as they were tortured and killed, because of him. 

He was the poison that had invaded their lives —  killed them. 

(for 5-29) Blood and War

He rushed to her tent. Dropping to one knee as he entered, he knelt, gasping for breath. 

She whirled around, her hair twisting about her, her leather armor clinging to her figure, every inch looking the queen she was. 

“What? What is it?” she demanded coldly. 

The man couldn’t reply for a moment as he struggled to breathe 

“H-He’s here. He fell in battle. Our soldiers guard him now.” 

She stalked over to her table, where her blood colored sword threw red into her face, turning her blue eyes red. She gripped the sword, smiling.

“I will kill him.” 

{Stats.} (for) 5.15.12 (written) 9.6.11

1.8 million died from aids in 2009. 4,477 US troop casualties. 42 million abortions per year. 2,819 killed in the 9 11 attack. 6 million Jews killed in the Holocaust. 42,636 people die in car crashes every year.

They have become numbers. They are, to us merely statistics, words on a page or lines on a graph. But to them-their family and friends, to their Creator they were more. Fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents, they were best friends, husbands and wives. They were more, but now they are gone. 

They had voices of their own. 

Fire (for 5.20.12 and 5.21.12)

I am roughly forced into a kneeling position. The sickening smell of a burnt field wafts up to me as my knees hit the ground.

“This boy killed the Shadow!” I hear a roar of anguished anger from what must be a legion of warriors. When the yelling dies down the first voice speaks again.

“Now he must pay for the life he has taken.” cries of agreement echo from the crowd. “You are here to witness his death.” I feel something it my head, then drip down my face.

He spat on me!

The crowd erupts into loud cheers.

“Remove the blindfold, and look me in the face!” I challenge.

In reply, something heavy and damp is draped over me.

“He thought destroying the Shadow would end the attack, but he was wrong! The attack will end only when the entire world is conquered, and pays tribute to us.”

The crow roars again.

“So now he will burn with his country!”

I hear the faint crackle of fire.

The cloak grows warm…then hot.

“Be warned, you Legions!” I yell. “The world will fight back. This is only the beginning of a rebellion. We will not be ruled by tyrants!”

Fate (for 5.18.12)

I crouch with my hands tied behind me. The ropes dig into my wrists, causing them to bleed. The warriors of the Shadow sit around the rekindled fire.

“What do we do with the boy?” one growls.

“Kill ‘im!” they shout.

“How?” says the first.

“Burn ‘im alive! Cut off ‘is head! Stab ‘im, just like ‘e stabbed the Shadow!”

These and many other gruesome ideas of how to kill me roar from the crowd.

One of the warriors looks over at me, and harshly hushes the others.

My fate is set. The manner of my death remains a mystery.

May 25th, 2012 Revenge

She couldn’t help it. Rage took over her mind, her body. 

And she shot him. She stared into his eyes as he slowly fell, only his eyes questioning. The look of misused trust. 

She backed away as he reached out for support. She felt her face twisting into a sneer. 

With a thud his body fell to the cold dirt, still silent, he reached out a hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as his head tipped back to the dirt, eyes roving wildly, staring at the sky. 

She dropped to her knees beside him. 

“Revenge for what you ripped from me.” 

5.24.12 Song of the Sea

He doesn’t move.  Neither do I.  He because he knows the proximity of the edge, me because I’m too scared to even twitch.  But somehow it feels right.  I’m within reach of his arms but I’m also one false move from a rocky death.

                The song of the sea is calling. 

                Come child.

He’s calling too.  A whisper in the wind.

                The ocean’s in my ears.

                Touch my gentle waters.  Fall into the foam.

                Yes.

The sea grass pushes closer.  Gulls call out encouragement.

He’s my only opponent, holding out his hand. Pleading.

No.  I’m ready.  I’m ready to fall.

Death (for 5.17.12)

He stares up at me from his chair. His snake-like eyes looked surprised. His face continually grows paler, making the handprint stand out.

I can hear the steady pound of feet as they run towards the tent.

I continue the song:

“One moment can define a man,

Or make a man its slave.”

They come closer. Then the footsteps stop. The tent flat is torn open, and three warriors step into the tent. One kneels down next to the Shadow, futilely trying to save him, but I know he is dead.

I begin to laugh uncontrollably. Am I going mad?

(5.20.2012) The Hunt

She hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet here she was, frantically running for her life. If she stopped, or slowed for any reason, it would mean a very painful end. 

Her hair whipped in her face, the wind whistling as it passed across the ridges in her ear. She looked over her shoulder and there it was. 

It’s ears were flattened to it’s pointed skull, eyes small — narrowed. There was no friendly lolling of the tongue, no wagging of the tail. 

One hundred and ten pounds of pure devastation pursued her. 

She tripped, let loose a scream. 

It was upon her. 

the final breath. {and the last installment!} (a double drabble) (part 5/5) {for 5.18.12}

i open my eyes, and the world seeps in.

the light hurts and my left temple throbs.

I move my hand in attempt to rub it, to massage the pain, but i realize i can’t. I feel my hands tied to the chair. I go to say something, to alarm the people, but I realize I can’t speak, the soiled piece of cloth tied around my mouth makes it impossible to say anything.

Footsteps alert me of their arrival. One leans on the kitchen counter while the other paces around my chair. He asks me questions I can’t answer.

“Do you know my father wanted to destroy me? So he recruited your parents to do so?”

“Did you know that I had the opportunity to kill your mummy and daddy many times, but I didn’t? Only left them with the warning of a knife gash?”

“did you know I’ve killed many people in the last week in order to get to your parents and now I must kill you because I’ve told you things no one can know about?”

The revolver lays heavy against my temple, and I know what’s coming next.

~

The men leave, while the innocent girl still sits, her hands are strapped to her chair, her mouth gagged.

But she will never speak again.

No wonder his father wants him destroyed.

5.20.12 Bitter Rain

I had this quaint little dream once to become a famous journalist and report on the most eventful of events. 

But that was before.  That was during the Last Peace, as some are calling it now.  Before the grass was charred black and the cars turned to metal skeletons and the rain to bitter acid.

Now there’s nothing but ruins and radiation and sickness and hunger and murder.  Blood in the streets and poison in the food.  Every breath I take coats my lungs in ash again.

This will be my final report.  Pray, Nation, for deliverance. 

God save America.

5.18.12 A Deathly Hill

The bucket was empty, the well was far.

The hill was steep, the crank was stuck.

It took two of them, little hands pushing pulling tugging, before water came up.  Cold, so cold .  And colored brown.  A little muddy, yes.

The grass was wet, the ground had holes.

The sky was dark, they couldn’t see.

He tripped first on a patch of wet mud.  And she came tumbling after.

The water was spilt, it pooled in the mud.

But no one cared, the crying wasn’t for that.

The tears were for the blood that swirled around his broken head.

(for 5.16.12) Thunder Rolling

The thunder rumbles ominously in the distance. 

He idles in his car, his thumb bouncing against cold metal. He didn’t want it to go any further, but didn’t see a way out. There was no other way. 

There is a deafening crack of thunder, and it seems to last a bit long. 

She flinches. The thunder got close quickly. But it was that last resound that made her get up. Slip into her shoes and leave the house. 

Her stomach sank and tears welled. 

“Not like this. God. Not like this” 

His blood dripped from his head. 

Her heart broke.

5.13.12 In the Colosseum

His hair hangs loose, his body’s bare.

I wear the battle bloodied uniform of my rank.

Was it not I, my Emperor, who grew up beside you?  Held your hand when the surgeon cut, stood by you to shoulder the scorn of your father the Emperor Past?

Was it not I who led your legions to victory?

Have I betrayed you?  By your orders I stand in this arena to fight a barbarian before thousands of your intoxicated subjects.  Is this how I shall die?  In shame?

All my life I’ve protected you, and you’ve left to make my grave.

In The Colosseum 5.13.2012

He wears the battle bloodied uniform of his rank.

      My hair hangs loose, my body’s bare.

      He stares unflinching. All I see in his eyes are the screams of the deceased, the cries of the maimed. He is responsible. He epitomizes all I abhor.

 Hatred burns in my vision, consuming me like fire.

 He had brought the fire, destroyed all in his path.

 The wind that followed, carried the element, had caressed it. Destruction. There was only death in his wake. He was responsible for all. The charred bodies, the maimed.

 In these final moments, he will pay his dues.

5.11.12 The Call of the Sea

I leaned over the pier, pretending a spyglass was in my hand.

And the ships, I imagined they were mine.

Then Mum was there, reaching out, draging me away.“Beware the call of the sea.  The sweet rocking of waves will murder you, my son!”

The rifles, the canons, the screams.   

Our mast has fallen.  Our flag has burned.  Blood runs down my face, my chest, my hands.

The waves reach up to claim me.  Colored red, smeared with bodies.

Death beckons beneath the waves. 

Mother’s warning echoes.

There’s no sweetness here.  The sea is bloodthirsty.  The sea is murder.

{bedside whispers.} for 5.7.12

“You don’t have much time.”

The hand I’m holding grows weaker by the minute.

“You’ll be with Jesus soon.”

Say hi to mama and my baby brother for me.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

But it won’t, you’ll be gone.

“Make sure you ask one of the angels to get you a puzzle to work on.”

And maybe a McDonalds apple pie to eat, because you always said the two combined admirably.

The hand grows limp, the eyes shut, and the heart beat stops.

That’s the man that nurtured, fed, hugged, grounded, married, kissed, and loved me.

 “Goodbye, daddy.”

                        The tears begin to slide.

“I love you.”

(i felt the need to write something with italics.)

Vision Fading

His whole world— destroyed. 

“Don’t you know I love you?”  she had asked with a smile. 

He had just grunted that morning, not awake as he readied for work. 

“See you tonight! Be home on time!” she had called. 

He blinked, not sure if the wet on his cheeks were tears or rain. 

Hearing the deep rolling of wheels, he jerked out of the way of a group of skateboarders.

With a tremendous smash, his body collided with a car and he limply rolled to the black tar. Vision fading, he saw her beautiful face. His eyes closed in death.  

5.2.12 Brother

It wasn’t all that long ago, brother, when we promised undying friendship.  I thought that being there for you was all I ever wanted.  To watch you grow up, choose a bride, build a home.  I’d never be too far away, never leave you to walk this road alone. And everything I did was always for your good. All my life I’ve loved you, protected you, fought for you.

Brother, I would have died for you.

But you changed.  So did I.

Now you lie before me with a bullet in your chest. 

The gun still smoking in my hand.