Writing Prompt 202 – The Other Me

I sit uneasy at the kitchen table.  While nothing was out of place, that is exactly the problem here.  I’m not going through all the trouble of cleaning when the dirty dishes rush back in the sink. The washbasin, a peripheral madness that draws clutter. 

But still, I imagine footsteps.   The girl and the invisible door are at play here.  She comes from the chamber of proverbial oddities. I have been there.   And truly owe several complocations in my life.   

Namely the other me.  This is where the cleaning comes from.   Its like a demented twin.  Everything I leave in my preferred state of chaos is ruined and organized.  I find the extra work of searching for any item in place doubles the wasted time organizing it. 

I use the corner of my eye to play a twisted game of mental tag. I like to refer to it as the needle in the dragon’s eye.  I’m just as likely to win as stabbing said dragon. The other me refers to it as the pariah and the marionette, the strings I only feel from tune to time.

So I nurse my coffee.   My mind is engaged in the intimate departure of logic.  Maybe the gravedigger’s maze is more accurate. The daylight has parted awhile back. I resist the dream connoisseur with more confessions from bedlam.

I’m drawn to the chair next to me sliding out.   I see his face… rather my own.  A waking nightmare continues. 



Tied Up in Others 

“Those words…. They were sharp as glass.  I can feel them still.” Dave’s voice monotone delivery fades away.

His mind churns them over and over.   Minutes to hours. His mind whittles away today with their harshness.

His place outside next to his garage.   Blank eyes look in the air for the answer to what consumes him.   His washed out blue eyes hide behind glasses.   Years have added wrinkles to better disguise his intent.  His salt and pepper hair match his close cut bread.  His pallid face blank from lack of conclusion. 

“I can remember… Her words started about me not doing something.  Her brown eye harden and bloodshot. I just thought… well, I can listen. But then I’ll think about the words.  I’ll start making dumb mistakes.”  Dave wave his hands explaining this to an unseen companion.

He sits back on his metal chair.  His breath pauses.  Fingers engage in hunting for a cigarette.  His lost addiction remains fresh to his body.

The chasm of what we do and how quickly it can change, spill before his feet.  A series of bumps shake his thoughts free.   

“I recon I’ll have to check on her.   She’s probably waking up.   She will probably be a little cross about the whole tired up thing.   She never was much for understanding.”  Dave looks toward the door leading in the garage. 

His eyes open a but more.   His head swivels side to side.   Inventory of his neighbors send important now. 

Dave slides forward in his chair.   Both arms come to rest at the edge of the chair to propel him up.   A simple motion seems like slow motion.   Dread suddenly checks on his face.  He had always hated confrontation. Maybe, it will be easier with her tired up a bit. 

The ordinary door leads to a garage more storage than garage.   Boxes of varies color and age stack toward lights and open rafters.   A path, five to eight feet winds through the maze of excess things. The bumping noise get more intense as he moves toward crudely made cage.  More chain link fencing leaned against cinder block wall.  A few metal poles keep an opening with a giant cocoon drifting side to side. A rap of fencing follows a soft bump.  Oddly hypnotic in motion.

“Grace, you are awake.  We didn’t have to go this way.   But now that we did… Get comfortable.   I’m not the best at things,  as you keep reminding me.  Well, I’ve had a few  hours to think it over. I’ll have to think some more about how we move on from here. Please, fur once let me think.” Dave sips at a coffee mug.  He smiles a tad. “I’ll be back in awhile. Don’t go anywhere.”

The Knife

The Knife you twist

It’s just my soul 

It’s only my feelings 

The knife you twist 

Harbors memories long lost 

Yesterday’s when tomorrow counted 

The Knife you twist 

reinforces childhood never leaves some 

pain is a commodity of empty love 

The Knife you twist 

no longer bares wounds within me 

The blood is drained, tears are 

The Knife you twist 

The only object that shows your feelings 

I hope you have memories still 

 The Knife you twist 

Makes your the perfect victim 

From your perfect lonely hand 

The Cabin -100WW

lake breeze races through the woods.   The misty morning lifts like a curtain to reveal a warn Sun.  Birds chatter with squirrels.  Small critters move about the old cabin.

Inside, a low groan.  A mind reassembled details.  Daylight brings pain to the eyes and head.  The forgotten trip here weights heavy.  

“Is he still here?” words too weak to be heard leave Rose’s lips.

Sikence answers her.  Even the shadows hide from her. 

“Who was he?….  How did he know me?…. Why me!”  Her consciousness plays tag with each question.  She lies still waiting.  But for what?


written as part of a challenge called  100 Words Wednesday, details are available at https://bikurgurl.com/2017/02/22/100-word-wednesday-week-7/

The Bridge

Angry clouds rumble. The faint swirls of the remains drift through the knoll.  Smoke fingers break and disperse.  Front winds clean up the last of it.  Embers of trees sizzle as the brush of drizzle arrives.  The work of the lightning quelled by its rainy shadow.  Still angry clouds rumble.  Unseen hands throw rain bitterly to the fields.

Stephen runs from the woods.  His young eyes hope to spy a break in the weather.  Instead the weather spits harder.  He tucks his head within his jacket.  It’s turned collar worthless. Innocence of young eyes glow with a dull sheen.  His eight years are enough to know the way but unable to get by the bridge.

“Davey! Davey!”  Stephen raises his face to the rain.  A voice ripples in fear and wavers hope.  “Davey!  I know you are here!  Come help me!”  

Stephen looks left and right.  The darkness of evening has married the storm.  Scrapes of light imagine trees bending to point the way home.  Past a simple bridge.  Stonework arches and cobblestones rich for the beat of the hoof.  Passage home, a shilling.  A pound of gold couldn’t be harder to find.  To an eight year old, at least.

A solitary figure haunts the bridge.  Two little eyes glow in the distance.  He can sense fear. He can sense silver and gold.  He has a taste for lost children.  His dark face knows no light.  It’s twisted pointed nose of ebony hooks toward an uneven mouth.  Sharps of teeth wickedly part.  A bright red tongue flicks like a snake.   Tasting the air.  Salivating.  

He knows what comes next.  His tortured fingers with spiny barbs rub the sharp chin.  He stretches out angled thin arms.  Impossibly long arms.  They match the tree trunk legs.  By standing taller than a mortal, he keeps his post.  Watching always watching.

Stephen meets eyes with him.  Torrent, the troll holds fast.  Stephen drawn like candle to flame takes the first step toward the bridge.  A zombie walk where steps make links of a chain.   Torrent knows the game.  For silver they walk.  He can only eat one or two a month.  Greed of metal or greed of food, same curses inside.

“Sir?!  Torrent?  I need to be home.  My brother and father…. they follow me.  Please.” Stephen stats twenty feet distant.  His arms pull forward, palms up.  His nervous shake has valid reason.

“I taste you from here.  Yes, you have family.  I’ll eat them too.  No metal, no passage.  You come to my bridge!  I don’t come to you. Yes?”  Torrent picks at his teeth with his fingers.  “Got a bit of little girl left from breakfast.  You children are stringy here.  They should feed you better.”

“Sir, my brother and father are much bigger.  I’m not enough for you to eat….” Stephens voice fades.  

“Save it child!  I have been fooled by goats and people.  But today, I see you served with fresh straw from the underside of the bridge.  My claws will quickly shred your flesh.  You won’t be concerned much longer.  Finish that walk…. Stephen.  Oh yes, I know who you are.”  Torrent smiles a teeth grin.  His tongue flashes and disappears.

“How? How is that possible?  I’ve only seen you once.”  Stephens jaw forgets how to close.

“Davey, he told me.  Let him go then, his brother and father will be right along.  Your father has two boys or metal.  Davey went home first, young Stephen.  So you are mine now.  Simply put.  Your brother does speak for his older brother?  Right?” Torrent reaches out his hand. “Come boy.  Do as your told!”

Stephen looks behind him.  “Davey!  Father!  It can’t be?!”

The rain continues to pelt him.  The trees lose the color in the dark.  An eight year old walks to the bridge.

“Stephen, I’ll let you pass for the silver.  Or well, dinner.  Come here little boy!”  Torrent sees the eyes of the child are glazed.  The bitterness in his soul relaxes as he sees the prize for his learning of the treachery of man.

Torrent grabs Stephen by the throat.

Under the cover of the rain, a faint voice calls “Stephen!”

Davey looks for his younger brother.  His father follows behind him.  They pieced together a hobbled cart.  The bridge is the only way left.  They will find the price paid.

Mythically Female

Photo credit: http://www.mythicalcreatures.com

Within every woman lies a mythical beast.  She portrays herself in a wrap of human clothing.  The flesh is an illusion.   Their hidden treasures include a path to Hades.  A rather rambunctious sojourn and longer than any ride should be. 

I raise a glass.  My bar patrons are rather oblivious to me.  The rest of the world is oblivious to them.   I feel ambivalent.  I should feel drunk.  I suspect my glass is defective.  Maybe ice has devoured the alcohol.

I cast my weary eyes to the barmaid.  Even brooding, they mock me.  I suspect last time may tip was insufficient.  

“Bitch.” I lose the words.  

She didn’t notice.  She does smile…

I’ll celebrate her hearing me.  My glass gives up the party quickly.

The ice melts but I spy creatures inside.  They must be female.  Chimera, Griffin, Thunderbird, Manticore, Roc.  They all suck the life out of me.  But maybe the worst of all awaits me at home.  She’s a hydra.  Spit out of the sea….straight from the gates of Hades.  Explains the icy salt water in the veins.

I will have another.  Maybe three more.  I need to gather my thoughts.  I hoped the alcohol would help.  Divergence rules the memory.  It protects me.  I hide from the facts.  Darkness is the cloak within me.

The clock draws slow.  I wait watching the treachery of the she beasts.  A look for a drink.  Boring conversation.. two drinks.   We wait for them to get desperate. They prey on our souls.  Chewing and demolition of the heart, not enough.

Nervousness hits like a wave.  My phone lights up.  It’s her.  My head hits the bar.

“Dear God!” I scream.

The whole bar looks at me.

I look at the phone.

She has three heads.  She has three heads.  

I used a machete.  It was a clean cut.   I saw it sorta roll to the floor.  It was over.

She really is a hydra.

The text….

‘I’ll be waiting for you’

Dark Skies

​The fog pulls back like a blanket thrown off the bed.  A warm breeze leaves a row of trees out in the open.  A loud rustling moves one of the oaks.  

Two dark figures hang high above the road.  Beneath them the daily traffic goes by without noticing.  

Morgan rustles his wings.   The morning chill has taken its toll.   The hunting trip into the city didn’t go as planned.   No little ones left unattended.  Dare they hang out during the daylight.   The question hangs much like them high in the trees. 

Opal looks back at him.   “We have to catch one before we go back.”

“They don’t know we exist.   I’d like to keep it that way.”  Morgan didn’t like being exposed. 

“Then they won’t know what to do when they see us!”  Opal makes it clear who’s in charge. Her amber eyes glow with emphasis.

“We aren’t meant to be here. Creatures of darkness.  Stealth and elegance of surprise.  No, I don’t like this.” Morgan looks the other way.   His nervousness telegraphed by his words.

“Just shut the hell up already.  I’m eating.   We have others to fed.  Maybe, next time you can stay back and prepare the food.   If you don’t want to become the meal, that is!”  Opal bares her four large canine teeth.

Morgan drops like a rock.  His brown wings spread at the last minute.  His black hair raised down his back like stubby quills.  A black lab gets caught in the crosshairs.  In the silence of the moment,  noone catches the strange scene.

“He picks off a dog.  How classically Morgan of him!  We have came too far for dog meat.  Pride is a dying art form.” Opal sees bodies moving.  The day has brought forth opportunity.  

The cars below grow more restless. Trucks and buses mix in.  The city street is wide awake. No eyes watch like those above.  The sidewalk is a supermarket.  But the targets aren’t solo.  

The stomach and the brain have a loose understanding.   Neither is in charge and decisions are often impulsive.  The hunter gets edgy.  The odds matter less and less.   Daylight is not Opal’s friend.

“I have to get back with something.   That idiot took a dog.  I can’t with back talons empty.  Why did he do that?   We could have picked a couple small ones together. Wait a minute…. There we are.  Come a little closer, my little tender one.”   Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree. 

The six year old is running ahead of her father with backpack dragging the ground. 

“Daddy, hurry!   We are late!” Ashley runs between strangers.  She turns to look at her dad.  His face is strange.  She takes flight without noticing what happened. 

“ASHLEY!”  Steward runs toward what has caught her by the shoulders.   His face twisted by disbelief.  His eyes lost on what has happened.   His heart speed cold by fear. 

Ashley climbs a hundred feet.  She should be scared but isn’t.  She looks up at what had grabbed her. 

“Are you taking me to school?”  Ashley’s quiet voice crawls toward Opal.

“Little one,  I’m taking you to a special place.   You’ll be the center of attention!   No more school for you.” Opal is somewhat shocked by her.   Opal loves to terrify the victim before crushing then with her talons.  This one is different. 

There Be Monsters

“There are fresh prints.  You can see the gap between toes is clear.  The ball of the feet is deep.  Definitely running.  I’m  not sure we have enough daylight to head up into the woods.  You really won’t to follow a wounded animal up there in the dark?” Gaines looks at his partner. 

 They are mud and camouflage covered hunters.  Large brimmed hat cover Thornto’s face.  His desire to kill covers his mouth from speaking the obvious.  Long shadows of bare trees and pines crawl out from the forest.  The cold breath of the woods pushes at the hunters.

“You see blood?!  Ain’t no fucking wounded animal without blood!   I’m killing that critter.   Gut it where it falls.  Come on Man, sack up.”  Thornton stands up.   His six feet looks bigger when he’s pissed and hunting.   It’s killing to him.   Deadly serious.  He loves the blood. 

“You saw it raise up.  It about fell over.  Shook off three shoots and bounced off on a Sunday morning jog.  I got the torches.  Let’s get it over.  It’s your party.”  Gaines draws out two flashlights tapping them against his hand. 

“The path is straight ahead.  You won’t need those.  I’ll kill that thing in a hurry.”  Thornton spits and walksv like a possessed man into the woods.

Gaires follows closely.   His head on a swivel   The pines choke out the fading light.  The path grows dark.  The breath of the woods becomes musky.  Branches pile up on the path.  The fresh breaks add pine scent to the growing darkness.  

“Stop! You hear movement on the right. Draw out the torch but don’t turn it on til I say so.” Thornton tries to whisper against his deep voice but it carries.

“Got it.  You just take that beast out  clean.” Gaines is a half step behind.  

The darkness clings to all but these two. Sounds of birds saying goodnight havec speed since they entered the woods.  The trees seem to sense what’s unfolding.

Two twigs snap in front and behind them.  Two more to the right.  Two branches fly in front of them from the left.

“Mother…” Thornton pulls up the shoot gun and fires into the woods blind. ” What the fuck is that shit?”

A crushing sound comes from ahead of them.  The first boulder rolls by to the left striking a small pine.  It staggers to the side and collapses.   The second boulder finds Gaines.  It glances his right hip pushing him a dozen feet sideways.  

Thornton fires again and again, side to side.  More boulders come at them from the left and right.  Branches take flight in their direction.

Gaines pulls on Thornton.   “Hey, let’s take them out of the woods!  We can’t see them and know where we are!”

The next boulder takes out Gaines leg.

“Help me!  Get us out. ..”  Gaines words end with another boulder silencing him.

“I’ll kill all of you!  You just keep doing what you’re doing.   He was easy.   No guns sitting on you!   I’m killing some of you.  I’ll gut you where you’ll fall!”  Thornton fires a couple more and starts to reload.  

The boulders stop rolling.  The woods grows quiet.   A distant wood knock calls to the night.  Darkness wraps the scene like a fluffy blanket.  One dead.  The prey wins this encounter.

At the top of the hill, a small  band heads home.  Their party all in good health.  The young ones get seen to easy.  


The large silver sail spreads the golden rays like a second sun.   In the wake of this light, dark figures move like ants.  Great winds push forth the majestic craft.  It’s riggings decorated in dark cords of matted metal.  Pieces of silver sliver like add sails and glory to the beast of transportation.  Defying logic silence is the calling card.

Sailors long from Port regale tales of exotic locals.  Their promise of adventure always greatest before arriving.  These distant shores could steal away a few of them.  They always do.

What seem so much like years in the making, voyages end fast.  The stir of leaders on high decks signals landing.  Soon, oh so very soon.

A few hazzard to view where they are going.  The tiny place of their dreams looks so mundane.  Simple lands with aged people. They hide under false skin and scurry from tin shell to box. A good crew never questions the captain .   These boys have plenty of questions.

A general alarm sounds signaling contact imminent.  Several position change on board.  The glimmering sails surely announce them to the people below.

The golden reflection lights up a sky.  From the life giving light, comes a weapon.  Tears of the Sun break free of the sails.  Few notice until too late.  Panic is the downfall.  A few figures below have waited for this very night.