Part 2
2578 Words
I
Here comes Susan
So Susan suddenly slipped on a sloppy slipper and went skiing. Down the deadly daunting drain into the deep dark dug out hole, where were weird whimpering witches who were weary of her presence. Saw her slip by without a say. She was still skiing and only stopped due to a wall…
of flowers.
II
Never Give Up Mermaid
Once upon an hour there was a young mermaid who wanted to play pranks and makes jokes. But she was not that good at it. This one time at sea camp, she had found a banana peel. So she put it on the ground. But everyone just floated over it so no one slipped.
This time she found another banana peel and she tried again. But when someone floated by she would swim, throw the peel up and swim away. She giggled to herself and looked back. The peel just floated and it did not even bother the floater byer. Oh well, She’ll get the next one.
III
Famously Infamous
One day in a place far away, well it was next door... there was a young boy of 27 years old who wanted to be famous, super famous. But for the wrong reasons so super infamous.
He killed people but all of them were murders. He killed animals but all of them were extremely ill. Basically he failed in the right ways (kind of).
One day he was taking a walk and stepped on an ant. A nuclear ant. The world blew up. So in the fin he succeeded but no one knew.
And I am writing this from my grave while you have just found a portal to another world.
IV
Frank-Dream Maker
Frank hated to be screwed over. He would work but nothing would come from it. This would annoy him, as it does everyone. So one day, he took a nap and had a dream. I shall not go into detail but there was a lot of... stuff, some will find pleasant, others will not.
He wakes up with a slight smile across his lips. It was someone else since his work was dark...
People should not have messed with him since he makes dreams come true.
V
It Plays, and Plays and Plays
Don’t you hate it when you get a bad song stuck in your head? It plays, and plays, and plays, and plays, and plays...
As if it mocks you- "Oh, look at me, you can't get me out, la la la"- Stupid song. It's a drug you know? Catchy beats, whatever else it takes to make a song... Bloody annoying. You can't stop thinking about it, when you want to you can't, it just there in your head. Playing, and playing... I blame the musicians -those drug dealers. They know what they do, but no care... It's fine. It is what it is. People need to buy food, pay bills, even drug dealers. I think that may be why I'm not a "hardcore" fan of music... I don't want the addiction...
Well, I don't wanna start and follow and let it play, and play, and play… good thing I'm deaf... But I do get the rhythm stuck in my head and it plays, and plays.
VI
In The Cafe
She sat there tapping the edge of the cup with the tips of her nails. Her eyes were staring into it as if it had the answers to life floating on the surface. She dared not look up, she could feel his eyes burning into her soul.
How did it get this far?
The sound of his chair shifting was the most ear-piercing sound she had ever heard, but she was glad for it. A sound was better than none. His steps sounded that of tiredness, as his presence slowly left the cafe. She was still there with her sore dry throat and wet eyes.
His words rang in her mind: “I am no longer your father”.
VII
By the Hills
The sun was slowly raising above the hill tops as he sat watching the bees doing their daily work of spreading flowers. He had his coffee in one hand and a pen in the other. He had just gotten over his writer’s block so the temptation of creativity robbed him of any sleep. The settling around him helped his finger’s flow while the smell of the morning air gave him the fuel to keep going. He was in the zone with the words hopping and dancing on the page and his character’s singing to life.
There was a knock on the door.
His trance was broken as the detective locked eyes with him, demanding to know what happened to the dead baby in his house.
VIII
An Evening Walk
He was walking on the beach as the waves danced gently with the sand and the sun was slowly making its escape. The air had a freshness to it that one often experiences at this time. His feet gently crashed the sand that would slightly tickle him. as his slopes swung side to side in his hand. He was looking to the ground and noticed something odd. Something unusual...
A skull. He recognized it, as if he knew who it once was. He stopped walking and kneed down to take a closer look. There was enough light to see the details, the tiny shallow crack on the left side above the eyebrow. He put his hand to his own face on that spot and felt the shallow crack there.
He knew... This was his skull on the beach.
IX
Peter
Peter wasn’t a brave man but he was a good man. When trouble was afoot he’ll run to the police, as the wise should do. However, one day it was slightly different. He was taking his evening walk, as the fit should do when he came across a mugging. He ran to the police station since he does not have a phone, as a fool does. He ran in and told them what, where and when. But...
They were all gone since there was a party that they could not miss. So he needed to take matters into his own hands.
He did. And then he went on to a killing spree with a taste for blood.
X
Three words
She had ‘Hello’. He said ‘Goodbye’. Next day. “Hello.” “Goodbye”, he left. Day after that. “Hello?”. “Goodbye”, same thing. Today was different. “Hello.” “Good...”. She stopped him. She asked ‘why?’. Why no reply? Why no...anything?
They were together. There was something. So ‘why?’. “It ended.” He had said. She knew that. But why... No ‘hi’?
“Too many emotions.” He had said. He walked off. She stood still. He was right. But...
She never knew it was that many.
It was never for her.
XI
Tiny Wind
The door slowly opened as the wind came in to say a gentle ‘hello’. It woke her up. She was not a fan of the wind regardless how small and warm, she got up and closed the door trapping what little there was of it inside. Her bed welcomed her back as the small wind hung in the air. It liked not to be trapped or alone with such an unfriendly... creature. The tiny wind did try the window looking for the tiniest of gaps but, of course, there were none. It had to wait till morning to get out.
So it decided to play to pass the time. The lady lost all her sleep that night so much so that that the sun was a delight.
XII
Void
She feels lost... She knows there is a void in her and she knows what she should do. But fear is overwhelming her and the idea of failing is not as strong as the idea of not trying. She wants a hopeful end with a promising beginning.
All she can do is pray and start.
XIII
Pat
Pat was a man, a very, very, hairy, hairy man. If you saw him coming towards you, you would say: “Why is he coming towards? What is happening? I am terrified! HEELLLLPPPP!!!”
And Pat would say nothing.
Because he is polite. And he just ate you since he is a werewolf... man.
XIV
Water
The water was still. There was not a sound to be heard as they slowly walked to the edge of the river, taking in the sights round them. They reached it and they waited. This was the meeting spot. A small boat was meant to come at sunset and they had made it with hours to spare. But the water was still still as the dark slowly came in. The boat finally arrived. And there was only one person on it (instead of two). They got onboard.
The person on the boat was the one they wanted since the other had to sacrificed for a safe trip to spread more harm in the crowd city.
XV
Overdramatic Drama of Building
It wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t. I wouldn’t have done it. If anything I would have done it better. It is not my style. I am neat, careful, caring. I take time, effort and am certainly not sloppy. I swear to you. This is not my work. This is... this is...
I cannot stand to look at it any more. It hurts me, knowing you think I would be capable of such filth...such slop. For one thing...
I would use gaffa tape for the edges instead of weak masking tape.
XVI
Such a lovely cup of tea
Time was meeting up with Death one day for a cup of tea. He asked her how she was doing and she said she was fine. He wondered if he is taking too long with the deliveries. She said he was not and now she had more time to sort everything out. Time was pleased. They spoke for a bit catching up on past events. Making a few plans for future ones. It was a lovely conversation. But Time had to be on his way. So little to do, so many people. The two old friends said good bye and Time went off. Death stayed behind.
Her tea was still warm. She had miss these meetings with Time and was happy to meet up. It reminded her of the past when they were more chaotic, everything was going so fast.
As first loves often are.
XVII
A Text
Tis was a text, filled with much context, context she remembered not.
For her heart nayed her memories had faded and her mind blanked.
But reply she did and she had said ‘no more, no more’.
For torture were him on him, by him in him, never her
Alas tis was done. By gone and merry for torture no more.
XVIII
Home Invasion
One evening as the night hid all wrong-doings there were two men who planned no good. A house, they broke into, a sound never being drawn. They took what they needed and even some that they wanted as the residents snored on into the night. One robber noticed a slightly ajar door with a soft light sneaking through. He let his eyes wonder in and saw nothing of interest.
There was a little girl sleeping whose teddy dropped to the floor. The robber picked it up and placed it as it was before. He took a closer look...
The little girl had blue and purple around her closed eye and her lips were the red that should be kept inside. There are red lines and more dumps then any child should ever have. He left.
After a few weeks the little girl was safely playing at a new home with new parents who never lifted a hand. For if they did he would show again with more than just a warning.
XIX
Get Better Soon South Africa
Footsteps splash through the usually busy sidewalks but not on a night like this. The rain was slowing making its leave with a few drops to say good bye, as the woman walked trying not to get noticed. Her eyes were down but her ears were open. She heard a sound draw closer to her, her pace quicken keeping in time to her heighten heartbeat.
She hated this. This never ending feeling of... something she wish to never know of and something she wished never was.
She got home, locked the door and grabbed a knife. It was not yet over. She peered through her window and saw the origins of the sounds past her by. It was a woman too.
It seems both got lucky. For that night.
XX
Calling Out
The light gently flows over the surface reaching up to her tired face. Her eyes tighten getting used to the feel of the morning. She escaped sleep and is slowing feeling its loss. Her fingers glide over the keyboard as her mind wonders if the words work. This is the deadline. Now is the time.
She sends, leaning back, wondering if what she wrote will matter. She stands pushing her chair to the side as she walks to her bed, her feet almost dragging. She flops. Her head in the pillow has her body plays dead. Her mind asks: Will they read it? Will they ask? Will she answer?
She sleeps. Dreaming of what later will bring. Will her call for attention be heard even if it is badly worded?
XXI
Conversation between Two Inspiring Writers
- I have a story to tell - Lucky you, I have bits from some and pieces from others... - Why not make them into one story?
- Too many this and too many that - Sounds like excuses - Or fear... or doubt - Or laziness... or pride - Pride, the downfall of many artists
- Sloth, the demise of beginnings for many artists - True... true - So I have a story to write, and you have one to finish
- Did you start it? - I was too busy planning to start - Procrastination, the tool of a writer
- Clichés, the repetition of once true words - Or the blueprints for something new
XXII
Knock, knock, knock
Knock, knock, knock. A sound from the door. ”Who that be?” You ask to no one and not getting up. “I did not call for visitors so none should come.”
Knock, knock, knock. Louder and faster as if in a panic. ”Tis shall pass.” You say without moving your eyes to the door.
Knock, knock, knock. As if the door would collapse. You cannot afford that so you get up and stand in front of the door, looking through the peep hole
Knock, knock, knock. From your side with your hand. Nothing. You turn around and there stood a person. A person you knew...
“Sam!!” You yelled, “You do not need to knock you exist here, and we are ghosts.”
- Writer
