Warm, soft glows to harsh, cold gazes
She meets me right here every cycle
Waiting with open arms wearing her favourite colours
Eventually I will wither, all hope gone
Ravaged by her eternal cycle
I worry if she will even notice I’m gone
when my shadow no longer greets her every rising?
“Where did they go?” Up and out was little Jack’s reply.
The cherry haired kid had no damn idea what Up and Out really meant. His face splitting grin so fraught with innocence. In our little Mojave community, the sudden downturn of business left families under. It was often you hear Up and Out, sometimes couples did it other times alone. The nearby verdant lush hills were the perfect backdrop.
His endless chatter hummed in my ears, bright kid the only child. One day his innocence will be broken. Will he hate us or understand that we cared enough to lie.Sudden he stopped and asked me eyes, up and wide searching for any sign.
‘When are they coming back?’
Every child of Up and Out asked and I gave the same answer.
‘When they make enough money Jack.’
Turning his little back to me, it slumps just a little, he knew they were never coming back.
A little whisper clues me into his horror.
‘How do you wake up from suicide, aunty?’
Inspired by Mondays Finish the Story – August 10th, 2015
It took one night and our last bag was gone. Devoured. The ghouls drank it all, and ate the brewing pot too. The mere scent like an Elixir, driving sane men schizophrenic.
A relic of our old life gone, we are next.
Love. Desire. Chaos.
Craving the irrational,
Futile bids to escape,
A sure End.
Inspired by Grammar Ghoul: Shape-shifting 13
Ten quid and all the rotten luck in this world, ends me with the short stick at the devils table. Almost down to my birthday suit losing ghastly at poker to a weathered old gargoyle in my living room.
My luck couldn’t get any worse.
3 hrs before.
Walking into my little apartment block at the corner of 3rd and 6th street. The sweet sticky smell of the bakery on the ground floor wet my appetite sorely. Luckily my night-time job pay was right at hand, today i cant taste my early morning torment.
Stepped in, open the windows, run water for a bath and cook breakfast. My 15 min routine every morning.
Lady luck steps in right at the end. As my toast popped outta the machine to a little chime. I had a wistful thought. Maybe just maybe, the grey time beaten gargoyle will come in and play a game with me.
Here we are now. I, almost naked wishing on a game with a mystical creature.
“The team employed the use of Nightshade to get the information they wanted from their captive.” the message was half truth at best, uncovering even more grey shades of the growing nightmare that was The Silver killer.
The victims from all areas of the city, living different lives the only thread connecting them was their death and the Sliver of Hair borne on their pale necks. A very fancy message of the hangman’s noose.
The evening of June 18th stated with lady luck throwing me a tasty nibblet. Our famed killer might be on the prowl tonight. The whispered tale, far fetched and unlikely but it was something worth my troubles tonight. Looking at the lengthening shadows on the train from Scotland Yard, the prickles on my back as I walked the quiet street adding even more truth to my slippery info.
Sweaty, sticky perfumed air hung like old drapes over the bar. Not a large crowd but enough to have decent background chatter to a beautiful songstress. She was indeed pretty, probably looking to make it big in London.
As I nursed a new drink while she stepped backstage, I surveyed the little club.
My skin prickled. Needing fresh air I took my cracked glass outside. It was a full moon but the clouds weren’t going to allow the light have its way.
Soon a little shaft of moon light broke through and I saw a lithe figure running the roofs. The moon drenched silver hair waving in the wind burned an acid taste into my mouth.
The beautiful songstress was my new Jane Doe.
Inspired by Mondays Finish the Story – August 3rd, 2015
Photo – © 2015, Barbara W. Beacham
Granddad left my family with a cabinet of the best Irish whiskey he accumulated over 80 yrs. Clear and potent, almost like a witch’s brew we always dreamed of tasting when ever dad cracked open a bottle. Its scent wound round the house gut-punching any unsuspecting fellow.
it crept into my room a fortnight ago, punching the breathe outta my weary lungs. invading my tiny, book clustered single window room.
A single whiff and he was here, body, soul and full gusto. Just like old times, i and my grandpa played away time with card games. Who says who have to drink spirits to see Spirits.
Run, Run to the old amusement park sally,
when you enter play and play.
Ride all around but not the round one.
One ride that's all she chimed.
And around she went 12 times.
One more ride, one more ride she said.
Now sally's new home goes round and round,
hungry for another.