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Jan 19, 2017 00:15
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 10:51 |
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quote:1) Notice Sylvia Plath didn't rhyme the final word of the each stanza's second line with each other. You don't have to either unless you want to, despite what wikipedia says. Is it ok if the the second line of every stanza shares the rhyme with 1 and 3? (AAA rhyming structure instead of ABA) I already have it like that but I guess I could make it not rhyme if it comes to that.
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Jan 21, 2017 21:05
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163words My sorrow A gleaming rainbow; a missive in the sky. A peace branch, a memorial, one final goodbye. I claim it for myself with a passionate cry. Though anyone may see and anyone may spy, the message is for me so they mustn't pry. A gleaming rainbow; a missive in the sky. All your words have been exhausted so this is your last reply: A colorful eulogy; an apology, a lie. I claim it for myself with a passionate cry. The rain wanes steadily, the sundown is nigh, I'm fearful to witness your ultimate sigh: A gleaming rainbow; a missive in the sky. A tear slides and trickles down from my eye. The grief is obvious, I cannot deny. I claim it for myself with a passionate cry. All sensations have now faded, but my bleak desire to die. Though within my will awakens through your silent lullaby: A gleaming rainbow; a missive in the sky. I claim it for myself with a passionate cry.
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Jan 22, 2017 19:49
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Jan 25, 2017 00:10
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The missing ingredient 1262 Wayne stood before the camera, his arm extended with a piece of raw meat in his hand. To his side hung the carcass of a bird. “The locals recommend applying a herbal rub before cooking. I wanted to gather the plants myself but they warned me it could be extremely dangerous since I'm not familiar with the poisonous plants around the area.” Wayne retrieved a wooden mortar with a green mixture inside, which he rubbed onto the meat chunk. “Luckily they agreed to make me some of it. I can't tell you how excited I am right now!” He glanced up at the camera and smiled awkwardly. “Cut!” Patrick yelled. “What's the matter?” “That smile, It didn't look genuine,” Patrick said. “Well, it's hard to be excited about eating this poo poo with this other green poo poo on it,” Wayne answered as he extended the meat towards Patrick's face. “Just smell it for God's sake.” Patrick gagged and pushed Wayne's arm aside. “Alright, alright. You've got a point there. But...” “But what?” Patrick shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Well...” Patrick sighed, “I didn't want to tell you until we were done but… it's looking like it's over. This, the show, everything. They want to can it after this season is over. I overheard it at the office before coming here.” Wayne shook his head. It had taken him two years of networking and befriending the right people in order to get his show made. Four years of hard work: doing research, rallying up the crew and living in terrible conditions for weeks at a time. At first it had been great, all things considered: He had gotten to travel the world and try new foods while providing for his family. But after every episode they filmed his meal options shrunk, and so did his enjoyment. The food was often disgusting and he would have to put on a big fake smile. When it came down to it though, the ratings were dwindling indeed. “No.” Wayne uttered. Patrick raised an eyebrow. “No what?” “I won't let 'em,” Wayne said. “But how?” “We've still got this whole season right? We will mix it up a little, you'll see. Now get your rear end over there and start rolling.” Wayne scraped the green mixture off the meat back into the mortar. Patrick's confused look turned into a wide smile. “Aye captain!” The camera followed Wayne as he took a few steps forward, the chunk of meat now clean. “Wow! This is disgusting,” Wayne said as he dangled the meat in front of the camera. “I will eat it in the name of science though. The locals recommend applying a herbal rub before cooking but I must be extremely cautious with my selection since there are many poisonous species of plants in the area. I just want to remind everyone that I'm a trained professional and you shouldn't attempt this at home.” Wayne signaled Patrick to follow and then began walking through the jungle. He stopped at random intervals to pull weeds and plants out of the ground. He stored some in his pouch and dropped the rest. He smelled or tasted some before deciding. After a while Wayne turned towards the camera. “Okay, cut it. We should have enough footage for that part.” “Wait a second. You aren't actually going to eat those plants. Are you?” Patrick asked hesitantly. Wayne grabbed his pouch and turned it upside down letting all the plants drop to the ground. “Hell no! But if the viewers want a show, I'll give them one.” “But we are making a documentary!” Patrick reproached. “That was before, now think of it as reality TV show. So basically not real at all, I will be doing more of a performance.” Patrick groaned and pointed the camera at Wayne. Wayne grabbed the piece of meat and slathered it in the green mixture again. “I have applied the herbal rub. Now we are ready to pan sear it nice and slow.” Wayne dropped the meat on a frying pan and put it aside. He walked towards a pile of wood they had prepared earlier and lit it. He held the pan over the fire and the meat began sizzling with excitement, the shades of green slowly turning into golden browns. “Just look at that! Perfect.” He let the meat slide onto a plate which he held before the camera for a few seconds, then sat on a rock with the dish on his knees. A frown appeared on his face as he took the first bite. “Wow, that's so gross!” He took another bite reluctantly. “I was hoping it would be bad, but not this bad. It has an earthy over-salted flavor. Sandy. It's like a greasier and tougher duck meat. Wanna try some Pat?” The camera shook slightly as Patrick waved his finger in the air. “Cameramen, they never like to get their hands dirty,” Wayne said as he shrugged. He finished eating his meal despite groaning and frowning constantly. Patrick turned off the camera. “It's actually delicious. You should try it Pat.” “You have got to be kidding me.” “I may very well be, but you should definitely try this. It's pretty good. Though right now we need an ending.” “What do you mean an ending? Your conclusions?” Wayne shook his open hand from side to side. “No, no. Wait here and start rolling.” Patrick pointed the camera at Wayne, who ran clumsily towards a tree and knelt over the ground behind it. He stuck a finger in his throat and began heaving until the food was forced out of his stomach. He wasn't proud of it but he was not willing to let the suits in charge cancel his show. Perhaps it would turn into something stupid and terrible but if that's what people wanted to see, that would be what he would give them. “Are you okay?” Patrick yelled from the other side. Wayne didn't reply so Patrick ran towards him, leaving the tripod behind. As he drew near, Wayne crawled out; his face as white as a ghost and his khaki shirt tainted in vomit. “Ugh… I think I poisoned myself.“ “No way! We need help.” “There's no civilization in a 6 mile radius. I won't make it.” “Shut up and come with me. We'll get you help.” Patrick said as he helped Wayne up. “And scene!” Wayne yelled with a reverence. “Maybe we can add a dramatic shot where we are running desperately through the jungle or something.” “What in the... Are you...” Patrick paused, “you need to warn me about this stuff.” “Where would be the fun in that?” Wayne smiled. “Besides, I got a better reaction out of you this way.” He took his shirt off. “Did you get a good shot of me throwing up? Hopefully you couldn't see when I stuck my finger in. I guess you didn't if I actually fooled you.” “You are hopeless,” Patrick said while shaking his head, then smiled and pat Wayne on the shoulder. “Let's assume you get away with this,” Patrick said, “what if the ratings don't rise?” “We will need to make some adjustments to the format. And come up with new plots. Maybe hire a writer or something. The missing ingredient was excitement.” FADE TO BLACK Wayne's show is now a success. He has several guest appearances scheduled in the near future. Patrick still works with Wayne as a cameraman and editor. He just recently had his first daughter, her name is Emily.
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Jan 29, 2017 19:52
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Obliterati posted:I will not be submitting, as it turns out words make hard when your jaw is infected by bacteria unknown and incidentally you are heavily hosed on opiates which are nowhere near as good at pain relief as Trainspotting makes out I'll take one. I'll do one of yours if you want.
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Jan 29, 2017 19:53
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I will enter and submit on time next week
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Thanks for the crit. And the previous ones as well.
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Jan 30, 2017 03:34
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IN. Time to dust off my inner Ayn Rand. And thanks for the crits you guys.
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Jan 31, 2017 21:16
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Princessdom 639 They told me I couldn't be a firefighter or lumberjack among other careers. 'Those are jobs for men', they said. Maybe I was supposed to argue, to fight the good fight like my girlfriends. They love talking about that stuff, gender roles and whatnot. But honestly I didn't care, I just wanted to become a princess. Yeah, I know. That's both cliche and silly. And it perpetrates the stereotypes or whatever. I never actually spoke about it though. I wasn't about to commit social suicide so no harm on keeping it for myself. It was most definitely an unrealistic career expectation. Maybe I could have become the princess of pop or princess of whatever-the-hell-there-is-to-be-a-princess-of. I could have earned the title. But that's not good enough, no sir. It's not the real thing. Perhaps the only way to achieve it would've been to marry a prince and the odds of must be pretty drat low. First, there aren't that many available princes around. Second, I doubt they'd have a reason to look at your average SoCal girl. Well, it's not that I consider myself average per se but not particularly distinguished either. I like social events, biology and good books. Long walks on the beach. What kind of monster doesn't? Not exactly princess material right there if I'm being realistic. Why would I want to be a princess you ask? When I was a child my dad used to call me 'his little princess'. Well, technically he still does. It's lovely. He even built me a castle to play in. But that has nothing to do with it, I don't think… I don't know. Maybe I am just a childish dreamer indeed. Or stupid. I don't really believe that last part but it has to be considered. Who knows? A glamorous life where you get pampered all the time sounds kinda neat. Some might find it boring but not me of course. In the end that's not the path I took, I mean, obviously. Nobody actually does that. Nursing was my real calling. Yeah... it has no resemblance to princessdom. It's not even like I'm in charge of anything, I'm neither a doctor nor a head nurse. I don't hold some position of authority. When it comes down to it I just like to help people. Seeing their smile at the end of the days makes it all worth it. Because nursing is a real hassle I have to say. It's demanding tough work and certainly not for the weak stomached. When you have to clean somebody's blood or crap – that right there – is the real test of character. Many people can't handle it and they end up leaving. I don't get why they'd want to be nurses in the first place but I don't blame them for changing their minds. It's good even, to realize it wasn't the right choice before it is too late. Before wasting several months or years on something they wouldn't have been able to follow through. As I sort of did when fantasizing about my future. Sometimes I wonder if those smiles on my patients are the reason I wanted to be a ruler of some sort: to be in a position of power where I could help tons of people. Maybe I could have gotten the same rush by working at an animal shelter, or the senate or as a firefighter even. Someplace where I felt I was making a difference. Perhaps my girlfriends were right about that, I could have been a firefighter. The idea is kind of amusing at least. And I would have rocked the hell out of that uniform for sure. I guess the only thing that matters is to do what makes you and the people around happy. At this point I wouldn't change my career for anything.
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Feb 4, 2017 17:19
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In.
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Feb 17, 2017 19:18
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Two and the Same. 2505 Dr. Nisha Khatri let go off the samples, shattering them against the rocky beach into hundreds of pieces. She watched with horror as the world came to an end. The brightness of the explosion faded and an enormous black cloud expanded rapidly across the sky, engulfing the entire Earth in darkness. She held on tightly to a palm tree, bracing for the impervious winds that were sure to follow. The wall of air hit her in full force nearly tearing her away from the tree's bark. When the wind calmed down she finally let go, exhausted. “We need to get up higher!” Nathaniel yelled. Nisha nodded instinctively despite knowing he wouldn't be able to see her through that pitch black darkness. She switched on her flashlight and saw him picking up his backpack and rope. “Let's go,” he said. They made their way up the mountain as fast as they could manage, though climbing with such a small amount of light had proven to be more challenging than they had anticipated. As they advanced, the sound of crashing water roared louder in the distance. “I told you we should've gone earlier!” Nisha screamed over the thunderous noise. Nathaniel didn't reply but he hurried his pace. As the tsunami approached the sound became louder and the sea breeze scent stronger. Had they not chosen to ignore the warnings they might have stood a better chance of surviving the initial nuclear impact. However, they knew that even if they survived the impact, the ensuing radiation would wither and doom the entire Earth. Nathaniel intercrossed his fingers and helped Nisha climb onto a boulder. “Give me a hand,” he said as he extended his arm towards her, “just a bit more.” Nisha lowered her arm but it was too late. The water came crashing down on Nathaniel in a tumultuous rage, swallowing him whole. Nisha was pushed back. The waterline receded quickly and she emerged unscathed. “Nate! Nate!” She yelled. There was absolute silence. Nisha scanned the lower levels of the mountain with her flashlight. There, she found Nate, laying over a rock with his head bleeding. She climbed down and put her fingers on his throat. He did not breathe but there was still a pulse. She pinched his nose and began breathing life into his mouth. After a few repetitions he violently coughed the water within his lungs. Finally she bandaged his head wound. She leaned down and kissed his cold lips. A chirping bird woke her up. The sound was comforting, it meant that at least some animals had survived. She knew that without sunlight they would die eventually, but perhaps some life on Earth would be able to go on; Maybe some bacteria would survive or even some deep sea creatures. Then again they would have to deal with the radiation and the obliterated ecosystems. Life itself was at risk of extinction and it was a shame that no human would be left to study the post-apocalyptic evolution of the remaining species, if there were any. Everything was still dark. Nisha brushed her wet black hair away from her face and turned on the flashlight. Nathaniel was still on the floor where she had left him; still unconscious, still breathing. She turned around and saw an infinitely long tentacle coming from the sky, it's faint white glow contrasting against the stark blackness of the sky. At the tip of the tentacle was a smooth white orb that slithered across the air towards her. She fell back and screamed. “What the gently caress is that?” She grabbed a rock and threw it at the orb. It dodged effortlessly and continued moving towards her. Nisha stood up and sprinted away but tripped on a rock. The impact on her elbow caused blood to trickle down her forearm. “Leave me alone! What are you?” She said as she turned towards the creature. The tentacle quickly wove around her like a coil, the orb stopping before her eyes. A face formed on the sphere's surface as if it had been extruded from a ball of clay, an exact replica of Nisha's face. “What the gently caress is that? Leave me alone! What are you?” the creature repeated. “That's my face! You don't get to use it,” Nisha protested. The fake version of Nisha frowned, then released its hold off her and recoiled across the air towards the backpack that lay on the floor. Two tentacles emerged from the back of the head and it began rummaging through Nisha's belongings. It pulled out a camera, inspected it for a moment and tossed it away. Then a pen. It grabbed her logbook and deftly scanned through the pages. “Knock it off! First you grab my face and now my things,” Nisha said as she caught up to the creature. The tentacle turned towards her but remained silent and motionless. Nisha hesitated but walked up to face the creature. At that point it wasn't like there was much to lose: she could die to that monster now or in a matter of days to the radiation. A couple of minutes passed bu the creature didn't move or react. “Well, I don't have time for this,” Nisha said as she abandoned the creature and walked towards Nathaniel. “Maybe I do but it doesn't matter.” “I have synthesized your language. We may now communicate without impairments.” The creature finally said in a mechanical voice. Nisha turned. “What do you want? The creature remained silent and motionless once again, eyes unblinking. Nisha frowned. The skin of the alien began bubbling like boiling water and a humanoid body was spit out from the underside of the dangling head. It was smooth and glassy and featureless. Even though it seemed functional the creature remained hanging from the sky, still connected to the tentacle on the back of its head. Nisha gagged. “I apologize for the communication delay. My brain was thousands of light years away, and while I have the means to send information faster than the speed of light it still has its limitations,” the creature said. “Your brain…. was what? Light years? I don't even know where to start.” Nisha's face held an expression of fascination and confusion. “Oh yes indeed. I just made a new brain over here. It is located within this fake body.” “You put what where? Oh, just forget it! Can you like… change to another face? Talking to myself is creeping me out,” she shivered. “And for heaven's sake, can you land on the floor? It looks like you are in the gallows with that thing coming out of your neck.” The creature's facial features shifted along the orb's surface until they no longer resembled Nisha. At the same time the creature landed on the floor. “I apologize, mimicry usually works to incite dialogue.” “It's not mimicry if you do it half-wrong. And stop apologizing…” Nisha paused. “I don't have a name. I am a brain of the universe.” “God?” The alien smiled awkwardly. While its spoken language was perfect its body language was not. “No. I am sentient but not omniscient. My senses are limited to the reach of my probes, such as the one you saw earlier. You and I are two of the same, I'm just more developed.” “Oh great!” Nisha, replied. “Well, I'm gonna call your advancedness 'Sen', for sentience.” Sen made a reverence with a hand gesture Nisha could not recognize. “So what brings you here anyway?” She continued, “I don't know if you noticed but the Earth is undergoing a bit of an apocalypse.” “Precisely. My probe caught an energy spike that was unaccounted for. That is usually a sign of intelligence.” “If you can call this intelligence,” Nisha waved her open palm through the darkness. “Hm...” Sen closed its eyes. Rays of sunlight broke through the smoky sky, revealing a second white tentacle that sucked the polluted air around it. A whirlwind of smoke and dust followed its every move as the air began to clear at a steady pace. “That is amazing! You are siphoning it.” “Not siphoning, processing. We don't want to remove the atmosphere.” Nisha nodded. “Unfortunately I can't do anything about the radiation. The remaining humans will have to wait it out.” Nisha's face of excitement turned sour. “So we are hosed either way. I'd be shocked if the nuclear winds didn't poison me already.” “I apologize, I have done what I can.” Nisha's dark brown eyes wandered off into the distance. Her analytical mind had always tried to anticipate the future, to stay one step ahead. To be prepared for every probable possibility. But nothing had prepared her for a nuclear war breaking out from nowhere, nobody had been. 'It won't happen' everybody said. 'The leaders know what's at stake'. They sure did. The reality of the situation was that neither she nor anyone could fix it, apparently not even Sen, an amazing creature that most biologists wouldn’t have even dreamed off. And here she was sulking instead of taking advantage of her last few moments on Earth. “I know,” Sen interrupted her thoughts, “You have many questions. “Did you just read my mind? Are you telepathic?” “No, I have met many other beings around your level of development and they usually think in a similar fashion. Telepathy doesn't exist. And besides, talking is a telepathy of sorts.” Nisha cupped her chin between her index and thumb. “Alright, here it is. I am the only one of my species, I don't have a gender and don't reproduce. I do evolve however. While my sentience does not go all the way back to the big bang – that's what you call it here on Earth right? – I can trace back my existence for millions of Earth years. I am quite possibly the oldest and most intelligent being in the entire universe. My body spans across many galaxies. Obviously that is huge for a human, though it is not much in regards to the universe itself. What you see right here -talking to you- is just a diminutive appendage. Every fraction of a second I make millions and millions of computations to ensure none of my appendages run into a star or meteor or black hole. And all those calculations are without considering the sensory data I collect simultaneously. As you can imagine, interpolating your language and speech patterns from the small sample provided is something within my computational possibilities. As a matter of fact, right now I am communicating with several thousand beings across the universe.” “So you are God,” Nisha replied, “What could you possibly want from Earth? Or from me? I'm not even a spec of dust to you.” “As I said earlier, I am a brain of the universe. I'm here to experience, anything and everything. And you are too. I know what it is like to feel pain and so I try to diminish it. Unfortunately I don't think I can do anything else for Earth. I cannot bend the laws of physics.” Nisha lowered her gaze. “Though I do have an offer to make you. And everyone in this planet who will take it.” “Go on.” Nisha said. “I can assimilate you, absorb your body and consciousness into my own. My organism can withstand the radiation.” “No! That's horrible.” “I know how it sounds, but you would not die, your mind would still be your own. It would just be integrated into my own. I am like a colony for consciousnesses. Imagine all the planets and galaxies you could see, all the wonders in the universe. All the creatures you could study. There are endless words out there still waiting to be discovered.” “If all you want is to assimilate other beings why don't you just go ahead and do it? It's not like I have any power to stop you.” Nisha crossed her arms. “It does not work that way. I cannot take an unwilling mind, nor I would want to. If the assimilation is rejected it will cause death to the subject, and a minor but not negligible disruption to my systems.” Nisha sighed and lifted her gaze towards Nathaniel. Even if he survived the head trauma the radiation would get him eventually. “Can you save him?” She pointed at Nathaniel. “And anybody else who's willing,” Sen added. “I will take my chances here on Earth. I can't… be assimilated. But please, save him.” Sen nodded and closed its made up eyes. His expressions had already begun to resemble human ones. Hundreds of thousands of white tentacles appeared on the sky, spreading through the air like thunderbolts moving at a glacial speed, dividing and branching off towards different locations around the world. The land darkened under that canopy of tendrils. Sen walked towards Nathaniel and extended his arm. “You understand this could kill him right? I do not know if his consciousness will accept the assimilation, though his weakened state could prove favorable.” “Do what you can,” Nisha's voice trembled. Sen lowered his arm. From its palm emerged a bubble of white material which engulfed Nathaniel. The bubble drained back into the tentacle leaving nothing behind where Nathaniel had been. Sen's features began twisting and changing into those of Nathaniel. His long protruding nose appeared, then his split up chin and wide eyebrows. The white skin changed its hue as if a drop of blood had been dripped onto a water surface, his freckles and imperfections popping to the surface of the skin. Nisha gasped. “Is that really you?” She said. “Yes and no,” Nathaniel answered, “I'm still me but I'm also so much more. I cannot describe it.” He extended his arm. “Come with me.” Nisha grabbed his fingers and let them go, then walked around him. She caressed the tentacle attached to his skull. “I don't...” She hesitated, “this is so weird.” “It's still me. Remember when we first met? How I screwed up your experiment? I thought you'd never forgive me, but then you did.” Nisha smiled, then closed her eyes. A mantle of warmth and excitement enveloped her. Nisha swam in a stream of consciousness. Some people she knew were there along many many more she hadn't ever met. The vast majority of the consciousnesses were alien, and they were all hers as much as she was theirs. In the blink of an eye she understood all the mysteries she ever wondered about and many more she hadn't even known existed. She knew of stars and planets situated millions of light years away and creatures that seemed to be pulled out of a dream. It was as if thousands of doors had been opened and all the knowledge had come pouring in into her psyche. As wondrous as this knowledge was, there was something that stood out to her: the perfect understanding of Nathaniel's mind. Their minds had melded together while still retaining their individuality. They were now two and the same and the entire universe was open to them.
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Feb 20, 2017 06:13
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Thanks hawkland, great crit.
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Feb 22, 2017 02:30
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In. 
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Feb 24, 2017 21:35
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 10:51 |
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That way of hers 818 I will always remember her every move. The way she prepared coleslaw salad for example, it drove me crazy: How she swayed her hips as she cut the cabbage, how her cheekbones gleamed under the window light, her dainty hands covered in moisture. Her apron would always be tied in a bow, just slightly to her right side, and her brown hair always bundled up in a perfectly tight bun. She'd turn every once in a while to throw a gentle smile at me, as if checking I was still there. The inherent swagger in all of her actions was unreal, hypnotizing even. I need not smell her coconut and roses scent to remember, for I can easily conjure it up in my thoughts, as fresh and real as it has always been. She did not like the overwhelming nature of perfumes so the only scent that remained was that of her soap. Details like this may seem irrelevant, but they are what define a person as much as the person defines the quirks and peculiarities themselves. These details belong to each person and them only, traced by their own existence. So that coconut and roses scent was my wife's, of that I am certain. The disease slithered in silently, like a burglar in the middle of the night. At first we didn't notice. The signs were there, don't get me wrong, but they were not readily apparent. She would forget a thing here or there. 'It's just her klutziness,' we thought. A thing misplaced or an event overlooked. Eventually her movements changed, slightly but definitely. Small things, like the way she cut vegetables or how she carried herself through the hallway. Her potato salad did not taste the same. Even the light seemed to be off, bouncing with a different hue or refraction after touching her skin. It was almost as if I was watching a different version of her, a fake one. An interloper who had perfectly duplicated her body but had failed to inherit her mannerisms and demeanor. When one is married for such a long time you start to notice these things, everything. You really do. You notice the pattern and the inconsistencies and ask yourself if this is the same person you married. You realize the change is not on purpose, 'It is all on the mental illness,' you reassure yourself. And yet you hold some degree of resentment. It is unavoidable. The important part is to remember for the both of you. To know what is hidden within that husk of a person who stands before you. The illness got worse, it is degenerative after all. She'd stop in the middle of a sentence and ask me what she was doing. She could be holding a knife or writing a letter or taking a shower. Anything, really. And I'd just stare sadly, my lips frowned in a sympathetic thin line. I'd calm her down and explain what was going on. To this day I can still hear her reply: 'Don't worry luv, everything will be okay,' Her voice soft and mournful. Oh yes indeed, I will always remember her every move and her every feature. She may be gone but I still see signs of her wherever I look, in the sky, the sea and the stars. I see her clearly in my mind's eye; her visit foretold by the sweet scent of coconut in the air. She enters wearing all white, her favorite color. The rhythm of her steps may be off but the timbre is still hers. I feel her warm breath as she softens my pillow and we stare into each others' eyes. “Rose, luv. Guess what's for lunch today?” she asks. I don't answer but she places a dish with coleslaw salad on the table. She walks up to the window and opens the blinds in that way of hers, wrapping the cord around her hand and pulling firmly. The tight bundle of hair on her head is there but the color is wrong, blonde. The bow behind her apron is off too, right in the middle. I ask her about it. Did she change? Is she trying a new look? “Don't worry luv, everything will be okay,” she answers. I try to wake up from my vision, to yank myself out through sheer force of will. I thrash violently in bed but my attempt proves futile, I am still here. Her lips form a sympathetic thin line as the meds begin to flood my system. She then smiles at me, though it is not an honest smile. She holds resentment I know. It's not her fault, I don't blame her. I am like this because destiny itself defined me as such. She picks up a clipboard and begins writing as my consciousness slips away. Her presence brings me some solace at least, she will never abandon me.
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Feb 26, 2017 21:53
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