5.4 Read On

“’In the beginning, God created the heavens, and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep,’” The voice paused.

“Read on,” the other gentleman urged.

The owner of the voice continued, before pausing again. “’And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.’ What is it, sir?”

The other gentleman didn’t move, “Read on.”

The owner of the voice sighed, but continued, “’Bearing fruit each according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.’”

“Ah,” the other gentleman’s voice stopped him, “With God, it’s always good.”

On the Wrong Side

You curse at the alarm clock, yanking you from sleep with its grating, blaring, beating refrain.  The bathroom mirror informs you of a bad hair day, and that you shouldn’t have called that last slice of pizza.  And you think of how much you hate weekdays, hate your job, hate your gossiping coworkers, hate your boss and hate the way he bosses.  You slam the bathroom door shut.  You kick the dog, but he doesn’t deserve it.  He whimpers and scurries off, tail between his legs.  And for a moment you feel bad.  Why is it always about you anyway?

Probably a Daft Fool

I nearly had a life.

Oh sure, I breathe, eat, talk, sometimes I even smile. But I have no life. Then one day a strange man ran up. Brown hair, brown eyes, a tie still around his neck, pulled loose and flapping around his chest. “Ever run away from the police?”

I frowned. “No, I can’t say I have.”

“Well, you should probably try not to.” He winked and for a moment I thought, wished, he’d pull me along on his adventure. “Not unless it’s for a good cause.”

I shrug, pour more to drink. “Probably a daft fool anyways.”

{radio relationship} 5.4.12

The radio serenaded me on my drive home from class. Justin Beiber told me he could be my boyfriend, Adele told me that she set fire to the rain, The Wanted told me that "you cast a spell on me...and I decided you look well on me." Song after song about relationships-what the radio defines as relationship, emphasizing the physical, playing up feelings, and empowering the moment-the highlight is that one night. But God planned for something so much better. He created relationships more potent than physicality, deeper than feelings. 

I don't want a radio relationship.

the little, black copycat {5.4.12}

The childs face is aglow, her feet running as fast as they can, her footsteps blending with those running with her. her blonde hair is the color of sweet, golden hay, and when she smiles, i realize her two front are missing. all of a sudden, she stops, her smile disappearing from her face.
one boy notices, “TRACYY!! Whatsa matter?”
She points to the ground by her feet.
“He’s following me!!”
All of the children look at their feet, suddenly aware that they have people following them too.
One little girl speaks up, waving to the dark object that imitates her movements. "You wanna be friends?"
I do believe shadows make lovely acquaintances.

Things

Things feel nothing. Empty and emotionless. Bright paint on shelves and books, jolly and sweet. Doesn’t matter how nice they are, how lovely and dear. They won’t care when you are dying. Can’t feel, and that makes it worse. Like their very lack of empathy mocks you and your weakness.

But I can feel. You can do nothing without people, someone to paint the smiles on the china doll faces. I can control my own emotions. No one dresses me up, speaks their words in my mouth, bend my arms like little barbie limbs.

That is why I am better.

Super Saturday Drabble Title Assignment

Hello Drabblers. It's time to assign the first title for Super Saturday (or Weekly Words as it was called last year). 

*ahem*

A Near Life Experience. 

Write away!!

5.3 The Past

“I want that one.”

“No, honey.”

“But Mommy, I like that one.”

“You can find another one you like.”

Her daughter’s lip poked out and her shoulders slummed, but she obeyed and began to look for something else.

She did not want her daughter to own anything like it. Was it because it stirred up bitter memories? Memories she reburied every year.  Or that the shape of it reminded her of the brokenness she endured? Or the pain that she had caused? Pain that had pierced long.

No. She did not want her daughter to be what she had been.  

The Unknown

Glowing eyes peek at me from underneath the bed and from the darkness of my closet. They think they’re so clever, but I can see them, fur, scales, claws, horns, and all. I laugh, “My old fears! I’ve missed you guys.” Smiling fangs slink from the shadows. Drool drips on my carpet. “You’re all grown up,” one purrs, wiping a tear from his single eye. “Will you stay now?” I smile. Heads shake, sad. “Our job is done. You have grownup fears now, and they’re much too scary for us.” So they shuffle back to the closet, powerless, whispering goodnight.

no use crying

What was it about you and me and all of this that just didn’t work? 

Was it something I said?

Was it something you didn’t?

The pen flew across the paper, scratching in the silence of the coffee shop, the girlish scrawl filling up the pages.  Her tongue played the corners of her lower lip.  Her eyes filled with tears.

Suddenly, the table shook.  “Oh! Excuse me!”  But it was too late.  Coffee, light with milk and stevia, spilled all over the words, black ink running with brown liquid.

She put down the pen and slowly reached for a napkin.

Paranoia 5.3.2012

Paranoia. She couldn’t stop it. It was like an infectious disease, spreading and poisoning her mind. A word, a phrase, a simple comment, all are twisted as they roll through her mind. She turns them over in her thoughts, extrapolating and altering their meanings. 

The disease is stealing her life. Her very being seems but a shadow. The essence of her life is gone, replaced with this new terrifying self. 

        She suspects everyone, hiding in her room. Blue eyes now grey, and bloodshot. She does not sleep. She is dangerous, so very dangerous now. 

 

The paranoia has taken over utterly. 

5.3.12 Ostrich

[dedicated to my lil' sis, Pita.]

It was always my little birdy dream to cross the road.  The chickens did it, so too should the Ostriches.  But people out here don’t pay attention to the crosswalk paint. 

I nearly got killed by a car.

So I stuck to the sidewalks.  But some lady with a stroller drove over my tail   

(I lost my favorite feather).

Then a bike hit my head.  And l lost my brain.

So I took to air to escape those people.  And I flew.

 I FLEW! With my underdeveloped wings!

Right smack into an airplane. 

And now, quite frankly, I’m nude.

.

Exhaled Power Collects

"Look!"

Megan looked. "I don't see it."

Alex's thin eyebrows arched. "There's a gathering power. Someone has shaken the world with a great deed."

"Yea? And how do you know?"

"How much time has passed?" Alex pointed at the sun, but didn't wait for an answer. "More than accounts for that. The birds stopped moving. The ground, it feels less... solid."

Megan saw. "Oh. What does it mean?"

A big grin emerged on Alex's face. "Just kidding!" and he ran. Megan chased after him. "Not funny," she shouted, punctuating each word.

Off in the distance, a thunderstorm visibly slid toward them.

{what you don't see} (a double drabble) 5.3.12

As I walked down the row of booths and tables at work, checking each one, inspecting for crumbs, running through a constant list of what I needed to do next, I stole glances at the people sitting there. Some attempted to quiet giddy children, some leaned on their lover's shoulders, some sat quietly behind their computers, some celebrated a birthday, some laughed uncontrollably with friends, some had their nose stuck in a book, some merely gazed at the empty bench across from them. But they all held one thing in common: a story no one else could ever fully know.

And I wondered, what did they hide behind their plastic smiles? What caused the tears in her eyes? Who was missing from the seat across from him? Was that the only job he could find? Where was that little boy's daddy? Was that ring on her finger new? And I suddenly wondered-who am I to judge that grumpy lady, or single mother, or screaming baby, or the young couple who stayed ten minutes past closing, or the man who sat there working for hours, or the ditsy girls roaring with laughter? For theirs are the stories make up our world

{silence - i just don't have a witty title for this one.} 5.3.12

The room is crowded. Full to the brim with bustling people, every one with their own agenda. She sits in the corner, her blonde hair hiding her face from the public. Her thoughts filling her in sadness. The loneliness spreads and takes over her body. but she is silent. And her blue eyes are dry. She lifts her head and smiles at oncoming throng of people. But behind the smile is despair, anguish. Inside, her screams echo off the walls, and she is sobbing. She’s broken. She feels as though no one is there for her. She’s tried.  No one will listen.

She is surrounded by people but she has never felt more alone.

She sits. silent. But, then again, silence is her loudest scream.