Scales of the Moon

Credit: layoutsparks.com

Credit: layoutsparks.com

The moon is a fish in the water and she lets a scale drift away with the waves. If I were to step onto it now, would my soul drag me into the depths, or could I use it as a boat and sail across the heavens?

 

——————

Written after a very nice Alcest concert.

 

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The Seed

dandelion

They wanted to keep me from flying, but growing in the darkness made me strong and when I reached the asphalt, it gave way like the earth before it. With the sun’s help I flowered and ripened until I was ready to leave my old body behind.

Now I ride the wind, laughing above the heads of the ones that would keep me down, heading for the moon. She might even become my bride. Everything seems possible so far from the ground.

Three Mini Texts

Because of the festive occasion (I have an exam today, Friday, at 9 o’clock), I have written three miniature stories. I hope you enjoy them.

I often feel like the opposite of Batman. I’m unique like that. Some people might feel like a Cheryl or a Johnny or a Jessica. But who other than me has ever felt like a Namtab?

———————-

‘No, officer, it’s just ketchup, I swear.’
‘Are they dead?’
‘Yes, but we were only playing.’

———————-

‘Ready?’ Dave asked, his hands spread out in front of him. ‘Dragons!’
Everyone else in the meeting sighed.
‘It’s the best idea ever,’ his smile threatened to split his face.
‘And how are you proposing we get a dragon?’ asked Mr. Rodgers. ‘It would burn you to a crisp before you got close.’
‘Dragons aren’t really dangerous,’ said Dave.

Mr. Rodgers agreed to pay for Dave’s tombstone under the condition that he could quote Dave on it.

Dizziness

(credit: wall.alphacoders.com)

(credit: wall.alphacoders.com)

The world is spinning in my head, making me dizzy. Memories of sour sweat and running on bare feet through a graveyard refuse to be stored away. They swirl in and out of my present. Sometimes it feels like I’m dreaming when I walk down the street, but in my dreams the dead faces are always turned towards me.

I should sleep.

Tomorrow will be different, as tomorrows are always different. The sun will be older tomorrow. The world will probably still be spinning though, no matter how much coffee I drink. And the gunfire will still be too loud.

I want to sleep.

Some day, I don’t remember which, a hippie on the train told me that I should find my inner sunshine. He told me inner sunshine will let me see rainbows when the sky is grey. But I am full inner sunshine. And explosions. And rainbows. I might just puke one up if the world does not stop spinning.

So why can’t I sleep?

Stuck

Time

Time

‘The biggest downside of time travel,’ he told the small mammal, ‘is the utter hopelessness if you get stuck sometime. Because you know that if anyone ever makes sense of your notes and decides to save you, they could have saved you within a week of your getting stuck. When I say a week, I mean of course from your own perspective. The perspective of the person who is stuck.’ He scratched his beard. ‘It’s been 23 days.’

A heavy thumping approached and the mammal squeaked and ran down a hole.

‘Of course it could be that they want to teach me a lesson and will not rescue me until day 24. Also, being eaten would probably be painful.’ With a sigh, he ran to live another day.

First Sentences

(Credit: "whitelion", www.fanpop.com)

(Credit: “whitelion”, http://www.fanpop.com)

At a writing course some time ago, there was a writing exercise called simply “First sentences”.

It was very simple; just write as many first sentences as you can think of, but try to always include some sort of contrast or element of surprise. 
Here’s my list (I made some of them into stories later):

I have always hated you, so I find it very fitting that you will be the one to kill me.

It was green grass in front of her, but she saw an endless blue sea. 

Looney Toons always made him cry. 

I was never lonely like Dracula, but sometimes I missed having heartbeats near.  

Her eyes smothered her with affection. 

He had always thought it impossible, but Gregory knew it was not.  

Milk, at least 500 litres that’s what we need! 

Who would have thought that arsenic could be so final? 

Like Nero, I always play the violin when I see something burn.  

Angels used to visit me in my dreams, but I think I’ve chased them away for good this time.  

He hated everything sweet, except anything with sugar in it. 

 

What would your list be?

New Glasses

The half shaved man marched into the optical shop, fists clenched, but the sales assistant was faster to open his mouth.
‘Welcome to Crystal ClearTM,’ the assistant spread his arms wide, ‘we let you see anything. How can I help you?’
‘I want glasses which let me see if someone is or has been cheating me,’ the man said.
‘Cheating?’ the assistant asked.
‘I’ve just had an unnecessary trip to the moon, I’ve had this ridiculous half-beard,’ he pointed to his half shaved face, ‘for a month, someone only just told me that it was definitely NOT “hot with the ladies”.’
‘Ah,’ the assistant nodded. ‘You need a pair of UWONTFOOLMETM. However, I have to warn you, their use is prohibited a number of places.’
‘I don’t care.’

The assistant provided the man with a scarlet box which had ‘UWFM’ written on it.
‘How much?’ asked the man.
’12,000 credits.’
The man frowned.
‘They’re expensive to make,’ the assistant shrugged.
The man paid and opened the box.
‘Wait,’ said the assistant, ‘you ca-’
The man looked at the assistant with his new glasses on.

When the police arrived, the assistant could not see anything out of either eye.

Allergies

Allergies

Allergies

‘Have you been crying?’ her brow folded and the skin cracked letting a few skin flakes nestle on her nose.
‘No,’ he rubbed his red rimmed eyes and sniffed.
‘What’s all this then,’ she waved a hand as dry as her brow at his face.
‘Allergies,’ he sniffed, took a deep breath. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Ok.’ She turned away, already opening drawers right and left. ‘Have you seen my body lotion?’
‘No.’

He left by the kitchen stairs. Down on the street he threw a body lotion in a container.
‘I’m allergic to adultery,’ he muttered as he sniffed again.

 

Ascending a Throne

woman mountain

credit: Hans Peter Kolb, neosurrealism.artdigitaldesign.com

The bells in my hair are made of crystal from the mountains of madness. They jingle my name for every step I take and they have already brought me to the foothills. Here the wind tastes of fear and the rocks all stink of loneliness, but further up is the zone of eternal twilight, where baby dragons play, and further still is where I will find my throne of thorns and nightshade.

When the shadows move behind my back I ignore them, but I pounce at them if they change their colours. Nothing will keep me from reaching the peak.

The fairies will welcome their true queen.

The Best Present

Presents

Presents (Photo credit: Wysz)

He ripped off the shiny, red paper to the sound of Letters from Father Christmas and his parents rummaging around in the kitchen. The cardboard box he uncovered made a nice hollow thump when he drummed on it, but he knew that the real prize was inside.

The tape was a problem for a while, but a good bit of gnawing solved it. Spitting out bits of tape and cardboard, he opened the flaps of the cardboard box, and there it was. Carefully, he lifted out the lump and released the bubble wrap. When the heavy thing in the middle was naked on the floor and the bubble wrap safe in his arms, he ran for the stairs.

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