I Don’t Run Warm

His breath shuddered out of him, turning white in the late winter air. He hurt, why did he hurt?

“Why do I hurt?”

His voice sounded breathless and he wondered why. He could actually see his breath because of the temperature. Which led him to another question

“Why aren’t I cold?”

He should be cold because the temperature is low enough that he can see the water in his breath crystallizing. He was not the kind of person who ‘ran warm’ as his mother used to put it. He was always cold even in the middle of summer when it was pushing 99 degrees Fahrenheit.

He gave up on trying to figure out just why he wasn’t cold and closed his eyes instead.

Opposing Rituals – SoC

Being the opposite of her husband helped with the prolonged ritual, for him at least. He was greedy and grasping and, above all else, a murderer of the innocence of the world.

She was the very antithesis of this and it had helped him to become more powerful.

Now she was finally able to use such a thing, the different ends of hope and despair in order to fuel her own rituals, small though they would be in order to build up the power stored within her shackles.

“The only way to keep something truly caged is to kill it within its cage.” she whispered in the silence of her own mind, “and it is impossible to kill a phoenix, husband.”


This little snippet is brought to you by the Stream of Consciousness prompt of opposites. I was going to go for a longer post, but I just kind of died at this point.

No One Knows – Eclectic Corner #5

My friend I wait at your feet
Along the path we walk
So walk slow or fast with me
To where e’er together we will be
Even as the streets we stalk
Reach out to our heartbeat.
 
Please keep nearby
Even as I cry
To have you by my side.
 

Each day was much the same, waiting for My Boy to come home from school. He was always the first through the door and I was ready and waiting. I loved the others just as much, but My Boy was special. He needed me more than the others, not because life wasn’t just as hard or them but because My Boy didn’t have the same kind of support that his siblings had. I don’t understand much about humans, about how they decide who should and shouldn’t be their friend, but My Boy didn’t have friends his age. Those few that he did have were usually also friends with his siblings.

So during the times when it was just My Boy and me, before the others got home from school, or after school activities, he would curl up against me and with his face pressed into my belly and no one had to know about the tears soaking into my thick coat of fur.

No one had to know about the taunts he’d repeat.

No one had to know that his homework was done twice to hide the tear stains.

No one had to know about the smiles that look so broken, the ones that he practiced to make sure that no one could tell that they were broken.

No one had to know that My Boy’s siblings worried about him.

No one had to know that they would whisper into my ears about their fears.

“He never talks about school.”

“He only hangs out with us when we ask him to, he used to ask to spend time with us all the time.”

“I haven’t seen him happy about anything outside of the house in months.”

“I just don’t know what to do, Rabby.”

So I sit there, curled around My Boy and wait because there is nothing more I can do.


This little story snippet and poem was inspired by the picture prompt from Eclectic Corner #5 for this week from the lovely Justine.

End of the Day

She lay in the bed, exhausted but satisfied. The day had been hard. No, that was an understatement.

Today had been the worst day of her entire life.

But…

But today was also the best day, because the hope that would come from today’s actions outweighed the downsides of the cost.

At least, she hoped that it would.


This little snippet is all I’m up for today I’m afraid. I won’t be on here a whole lot. Too exhausted for much more.

Missing…Alone

You can’t miss what you never had.

This wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. You could miss something that you’ve never had. 

He pulled on his gloves and reached for the top hat, making certain that it was on properly and wouldn’t come loose even when he should step up into the waiting carriage by the door.

“You should have done this years ago!”

“I know! But finding the right time was simply exhausting. We were having too much fun just being in love!”

His thoughts strayed back to the lovely little thing that had been on his brother’s arm, her veil still cascading down her back and only adding a delightful fog to her ebony hair.

It’s perfectly possible to miss something you’ve never had, especially if you can still look at it from the outside so often.

The carriage drove past a lamppost and he looked out at it, feeling a kinship with the loneliest thing on the planet.


This little snippet was inspired by the FreeWriteFriday prompt from this last Friday.

Running Scared

Sometimes I run,
Sometimes I hide,
Sometimes I’m scared of you…

–Brittney Spears, Sometimes

It didn’t matter how far she moved away, the mocking laughter was always there, surrounding her, hounding her, letting her know that all of her attempts to escape were in vain.

“You can’t escape, darling,” the voice taunted, “Wherever you run, I will be there waiting. Wherever you hide, the light will shine.”

Sweat trickled down her neck, disappearing into the opaque clothing that she always wore. Her eyes darted about, but found no one stepping forth from the shadows. Harsh light glared down at her and only her ability to quickly adjust her eyesight saved her from being blinded.

“And though you have always loved the light, you find that it is not what you thought it was, was it?” the voice continued, “Not so comforting nor warm.”

She continued to run, but the harsh light followed after her and the shadows only grew larger.

“You can’t escape something in your own mind~!” the voice, her voice, singsonged at her.

She closed her eyes and kept running.

Be careful when you fight the monsters, lest you become one. —Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 – 1900)

—–

Little snippet inspired by today’s prompt from Light and Shade Challenge. It’s only a little snippet because I’m still sick with that cold and having a hard time doing more than little snippets of work. Just can’t think.

EDIT: Got the first quote slightly wrong, Thanks, joetwo, for pointing it out to me.

Interesting Mystery

He wakes up in a nondescript hotel room, the kind you’ll find, cheap, near any major interstate. He doesn’t know where he is. The last thing he remembers is leaving work Friday afternoon, ready to unwind with some laps at the pool.

Bruises bracelet his wrists; there are tears in his jeans. His wallet, with its twenty dollars, is still in his pocket, along with a jingling array of change. His face, in the mirror, shows weeks worth of beard growth.

Taking a breath, he opens the hotel door. The sun spills pale and bright over the trees, the hoods of cars. The air is full of the odor of fall, crisp air, moldering leaves, woodsmoke. His skin prickles with gooseflesh and something sour and hot stirs in his stomach.

There’s a newspaper rack just down the way. He buys one. The date is September 23.

That sour-hot feeling crawls up the back of his throat.

He’s lost three months.

Where did they go? 


He wasn’t aware of the woman sitting across the street at the cafe, a book lay in front of her and her head tilted as if reading but her eyes watching him through her dark glasses instead. No smirk adorned her pale lips which, instead, were twisted in slight confusion.

Why is he just standing there?

The man was still staring at the newspaper in his hands, though it was wrinkled now from the clenched fists and threatening to rip down the middle. With a harsh look on his face, he closed the newspaper, managing to finally rip it, though not completely through. He folded it again and tucked it under his arm. With his other hand, shaking though it was, he tried to comb through his hair. It didn’t help make him look less shaken, but it seemed to make him feel better, because he straightened his back and began walking purposefully down the road.

The woman watched him, carefully turning a page and once he was out of side actually looking down at the print in front of her.

A smile graced her lips, one that spoke of nothing but ill for the one it was for.

This is going to be far entertaining than I initially thought.


The first part is the prompt from Chaotically Yours, a prompt that I have only been able to take part in once before. I like these prompts, but they only come during the first Wednesday of each month and I am very forgetful at times. The middle part is my response to the prompt. I hope it was enjoyable.

A Long Sleep

I have no fear of death. Must be wonderful, like a long sleep. —Katharine Hepburn

Sometimes, when she stared off into nothing for a long time, she could see the little particles of light-

(Is that what they were?)

-dance around. She was never certain where they came from or if they were even there-

(Was anything really there?)

-but she would look at them regardless.

They helped her feel less…lonely. Yes, that was the word. She was lonely. She hadn’t always been lonely, had she?

(No, once there were others all around her, weren’t there?)

Either way, she was lonely now.

She was old and there were very few who ever came to visit her now. Those that did would talk around her or at her, but not to her. They had tried talking to her in the earlier days of their visits-

(She still didn’t know who they were…)

-but she had such a hard time keeping track of the conversation that they often had to start it all over again every few minutes.

(She didn’t always make it that far, sometimes it was every few seconds.)

They kept coming anyway, though, and after some time, she’d come to appreciate the visits even if they were nothing more than companionable chatter all around her. She was like the rock in a stream, watching everything swim by but still enjoying the atmosphere of the little glade the river ran through.

(How their lovely faces would crinkle and worry and yet still hold so much love…)

She was smiling when her eyes closed for the last time.

List

There wasn’t much left of this life, nothing to do and nothing to learn. She was so bored…

When she wasn’t bored, she was angry. She screamed and cried and threw things about the room.

When she wasn’t bored or angry, she was sad. She sat in one place and stared at nothing, her eyes full of tears. Sometimes the tears would break and stream down her cheeks in rivers that left the skin chapped and her eyes sore.

She didn’t have a happy moment, didn’t have a peaceful setting, didn’t have a moment where there was balance.

If everyone had a list of emotions, then hers would be microscopic next to any other list in existence.

But at least she had a list.

There were those who had no list and just sat. Their faces blank of any emotion and any muscle memory to show what kind of person they were even to the simple changes of the environment around them.

image: Ed Webster and sourced from Wiki Commons under Creative Commons

This was inspired by the picture from the Light and Shade Challenge prompt for today. Unfortunately, I did not quite make the 100 word limit. That’s fine though, it simply gives me another reason to write more today.

Tell Us a Story!

“Why do you hunt pirates?”

“Is it full of adventure, your life?”

“What are they like? Do they all have eye patches!”

“Do you do it for their gold?”

“Tell us! Tell us!”

He chuckled deeply as the small children continued to hound him with questions about his chosen path. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that pirates were nothing like their fairy tale counterparts. They were a lot more dangerous and a lot more prone to killing than small children who didn’t know any better would ever believe.

image: British Library from Roving Jack the Pirate Hunter, published 1867, a romance

Silly little thing that went a little darker at the end. This was inspired by the picture for the Friday prompt from Light and Shade Challenge and this time I kept within the word limit! (looks very pleased with herself)