Full Stop

Sure, I'll split my brain open for that one pure moment. Call it atonement. I don't really care what you call it. It's ephemeral. I think. One of them fancy fucking things. Like how when you watch the clouds on a still day and you start to freak, like maybe shit is never going to speed up again and it makes you uncomfortable. But you feel the sun graze your arms and you take the plate that is handed to you, though, lord, it's heavy.

I don't know what you want that I haven't given you already. The spotlight is grown tired. I have shown you the fluttered masses of teeming youth, huddled, unrelenting. I've shown you the glint in a steel man's eye, and the lilac in the corner of that one old lady - those eyes just like molasses, and you never could look at those eyes without feeling guilty and loved at the same time.

And I know you want to talk about when she died, but I don't even know how to do that. Literally. I can't even think about it. I stutter in my brain. I watch her dying, shade to pain - God, I hope it wasn't like it looked. Why would I want to talk about that?

Amusing anecdotes from churlish childhood chivalry.

You can watch my brain implode - no one is going to stop me. The trip will not be televised, but it will be broken down into its component parts and endlessly analyzed. Rebuilt in a way that envies tragedy. Lives next to envy. Relentlessly. Senselessly, sensing all that no one says.

But I'm going to keep going. Whether you want to read it or not. Full stop.

2 Minutes. Go!

ANNOUNCEMENT: MY BEST FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED TODAY! I WON'T BE ABLE TO WRITE MORE THAN THIS PIECE OR COMMENT ON ANY PIECES. SORRY! I TRUST YOU WILL DO YOUR BEST TO #BREAKTHEBLOG :)

Write whatever you want in the comments section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.

Inside the bunker, there is stasis. The believers sit with legs crossed in soft linen; they are in a state of bliss - nothing matters now. They will live in the bunker for the next year. They are prepared. When they emerge, they know the world will be reborn - they will take their birthright. That's what the Leader said. In singsong voice, eyes kind and bright - the Leader has very white teeth.

They do not speak. There is nothing to say that hasn't been said before with more eloquence. The Leader does most of the talking anyway - he is, after all, the enlightened one. They are just grateful for the whole thing. For the bunker with it's rich, wet smell. Thankful for the provisions they collected. Not counting the leader, there are ten women and four men.

While they sit, the Leader breathes deeply - this is the culmination of years of planning, years of shaded lies and sanguine promises. The men will be easy to poison. The bunker is soundproof and the rest will live there as long as they can. Then, the women will die, too. The Leader will live on to preach again. He will leave when they are sleeping and lock the bunker from the outside.

He will live.

Thanks for stopping by! Post your pieces on your blogs, telephone poles, passing pedestrians, etc. if you like...it's a fun web o' writing.

#2minutesgo