Friday, December 6, 2013

3 Minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we do a fun free write. Basically, you can write whatever you want in the comments section. You have ONE minute. Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So tell a friend. If you have one. If not, tell your enemies. 

Wide awake with copper taste in mouth. You roll over. Grab the blanket. Think. Just think. From the expanse of blackness, small lights shine through. Shooting stars and snaps, blist, fronks of recognition. You see her face. You wonder how it ended. You look in the mirror, searching evidence. Your eyes are tired. Low. Puffy. You step back and feel your muscles, your arms. Nothing seems to be out of place. You check your cell phone. No drunken texts. No missed calls. This was a missed call, you think. A close call. One that could have been closer.

You smell the cigarette legacy on your denim jacket and you remember the laughing. Your throat aches with it. You want to see it all. A lump forms in your throat and you look yourself dagger deep. YOU did this. No one else. You chose it. And you will choose it again until the days of choice pile up and your ability to choose is revoked.

17 comments:

  1. Cathy closed her eyes, listening for James' soft footsteps.
    But James was already close. Close enough to reach an arm around her and to pull her tight against his chest. Grinning salaciously, he placed his lips against her cheek.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I like it! The tone is really cool. Can be read two ways. Thanks for sharing. And I'm 1/3 Rasta FYI. ;)

      Delete
  2. She didn't know how much longer she could continue.
    Anger or was it frustration? an unpleasant feeling was rumbling like a volcano stirring from after years of being dormant threatening her peace of mind.
    Palms sweaty, tongue like sand paper. Anxiousness fluttered in her breast.
    The need to scream was overwhelming. She envisioned herself launching her coffee cup against the wall followed by the bedside lamp.
    She jumped as something crashed through the window accompanied by high pitched shrieking.
    Then awareness that the noise was coming from her mouth and her trembling hands had thrown the laptop.....and so the trashing dance began....

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The trashing dance! Absolutely love it. ;)

      Delete
  3. How long must I wait in the shadows and placing my trust in you
    While your'e hiding behind different masks every day
    Are you so afraid to reveal your true colours? Who or what has frightened you so?
    Have you lost all sense of trust in another through hurt or a broken heart?
    Or is this a special game you play. I won't be in a harem, I'm a free spirit and I'm standing on the edge of the highest mountain, wings unfurling, I'm preparing to fly.
    If I can't look upon your face tonight it is time to say goodbye.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That was beautiful, lady. Just lovely.

      Who or what has frightened you so? - I love this phrasing.

      Delete
  4. Stand here on this precipice, hold my beer, I'ma take a piss. Wind carry my sins away, let all the bad kids out to play. The ones with holsters full of paint cans, decorating suburban wastelands. The dudes around the trash can fire, pull up a crate and sit a while. The single moms in kitchens, sweating, wondering if there's still a heaven.

    I don't see it all too well, sometimes I feel like something fell - some grandiose delusion spent. Shit, I just want to pay the rent.

    Bring me your angry, your sad, your struggling to not scream. Give me the beggars the addicts, the drunks. I want to surround myself with the soldiers who can't squeeze themselves into the boxes even I don't understand.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Love this. "Bring me your angry, your sad, your struggling not to scream" Awesome. :)

      Delete
  5. The big old clock on the mantle struck seven pm. Gerda rose with effort from her chair and smiled to herself as she made her way into the hallway and pulled on her thick old coat and winter boots.
    She chided herself when she almost forgot the gift she was about to deliver and stooped to retrieve it from the hearth.
    Biting wind stung her cheeks and caused her rheumy eyes to water as she bent her old body and forced herself forward
    The small parcel she held in her pocket was satisfyingly warm against arthritic fingers.
    One street along she turned into the old peoples flats and stopped at number five to deliver her present.
    She dropped it through the letter box carefully retaining the brown packaging.
    It landed with a plop on the other side of the door. (3 minutes)

    "Enjoy old fella," she whispered as she hurried along the passage way towards the exit.
    A pile of news papers had been stacked inside the foyer sporting an eye catching headline.
    She stepped out into the freezing evening, happy with her choice of recipient for her weekly anonymous gift.
    There was a spring in her step on the way home despite the cold and she cackled to herself as she recalled the headline on the weekly paper.
    It had said "Residents take another hit from the Phantom Dog S*** !"
    A few flurries of snow whirled in the wind as she hurried home.
    "Merry Christmas you dirty old bastard," she chuckled "From the Phantom dog shit deliverer!"
    She laughed even as warm piss tickled down her woolen stockings, never mind almost home now.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Wow. That was the awesome. I'm so glad you kept going after 3 mins. :)

      Delete
  6. Charles Mingus was God incarnate. He gave life to the thumping heartbeat. He can make the strings flutter so that you swear your heart is following suit. He can bend a string so hard you feel the ache. He was/is an earthy, yet ethereal presence that activates all five senses at the same time.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. And the band plays on. Thanks for stopping by brother. I can hear it.

      Delete
  7. "Shit, it's one o'clock, last call." Paul said. I returned "Hey, let's run out to Stables, they're outside the county line and don't close till three." We hit the highway and made it there in twenty minutes. Plenty of time to get a few more belts. Stables was a notorious biker bar back in those days, but I'd been going there for ten years. Can't scare me. We walked in the front door and bellied up to the bar, sitting on stools with the door to our backs and ordered a couple of beers. Ten minutes later, someone came in behind me and I could here him bitching about something. "Where the fuck am I gonna hang my fucking jacket?" or something. I slowly turned my head around to see who it was, and I didn't recognize him, so I turned back to the bar. Just as I raised the bottle to take a drink, I heard "What the fuck are you looking at?!" My arm froze in mid lift and without turning to face the monkey I let out a booming response "IF I WAS LOOKIN' AT YA, I'D FUCKIN' LOOK AT YA." Without another word, I reanimated my arm, pressed the bottle to my mouth and chugged the remaining half a beer. Paul watched the neanderthal stand there, confused and fingering-fucking himself for a bit. Then he just threw his rag over his arm and loped into the crowd. JT still writes non-fiction.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. lol. Awesome. The disclaimer at the end. Perfect.

      Delete
  8. Whiskers tickle thighs
    Slow jazz beat keeps the rhythm
    Two kinds of hot licks

    ReplyDelete

Please leave comments. Good, bad or ugly. Especially ugly.