My partner’s flipping awesome,
though their flipping isn’t great.
Whenever they make pancakes,
they don’t end up on the plate.
The ceiling, counter, floor, sure.
All those places and some more.
Most we dust off,
chop up,
chomp on anyway.
Nothing better than pancakes with them
on a rainy, lazy Saturday.
When your sister starts to drive off with her wing mirror tucked in, remind her gently to sort it while you’re still stationary rather than letting it descend into a full-blown argument as she drives, and you’re less likely to end up in an accident!
[published a few days later but largely unedited for authentic post-nightmare vibes]
Don’t fall asleep with your hands behind your head (I can only assume I woke up, consciously shifted to this position, and then immediately nodded off again) or you’ll have a nightmare that:
Hope you got all that. Sleep tight out there!
Ever have one of those days where you just want to collapse onto the floor and lie there until something magically changes?
“I don’t have the energy for this. Hopefully the life fairies will be along soon to lift me up off the floor.”
or
“I’m fine, I just need to slouch on the sofa and slowly melt into a puddle of wallow and binge watch Friends for the eighth time.”
or
“Maybe eating a litre of ice cream and two packs of cheap chocolate-orange cookies will fix things.”
These days seem to come out of nowhere.
They swoop in when everything is going… fine I guess.
Not exactly well, but you know, still here, still plodding along.
Had some little victories and some little defeats.
But there’s still that thing to look forward to.
And then it’s not like everything falls apart
All dramatic, in an explosion of screams and a molten collapse
into darkness and despair and endless wailing.
No, it’s more like things just unravel bit by bit
Until suddenly you look behind you to see
a tangle
of trouble
you’re not sure you can piece back together
at least not right now.
Or something you were excited about
Some spark in your life
An idea, new freedom, that shining beacon ahead
gets snatched away from you
or even worse, from someone you care about
and there’s nothing you can do?
And now you’re wondering if you can promise Satan your first-born just to make things better?
Yeah… me neither. Everything’s fine.
How do you even get hold of Satan anyway? I don’t have any candles and can’t remember how to draw a pentagram.
I’ve never thought of you as a crab.
Perhaps an otter,
sleek and affectionate,
or an owl,
peering wisely over your glasses
at a riddle or a puzzle.
I think actually you may be like an ant.
Please don’t be offended!
Let me explain.
Ants are incredibly strong for their size.
They always seem to be working,
scurrying, going somewhere
or carrying something.
You carried us many times.
Busily striving for a far wider colony.
Serving, helping, connecting.
You are always connecting.
Always know whose birthday
is when, who’s doing well,
who’s sick.
No surprise then
that so many connections
go both ways.
So many anxious, heartfelt messages
from across your colony, our colony.
But of course,
the ant is not a symbol of the zodiac.
So was crab inevitable?
You still have an ant’s strength.
No crab will beat you.
You will beat it.
Your colony is with you.
I see them in streets and I hear them in stories
A catch in my throat as I talk of old glorious days
A life that’s behind us but far from forgotten
I’m sure we both see them, but I far more often
These old, old ghosts
Faces familiar as the back of my hand
Their heads filled with visions of all we had planned to do
They don’t give me much but the faint tinge of sorrow
I shoo them away but they’ll be back tomorrow
These old, old ghosts
Of you and me
These old, young ghosts
We used to be
Every day that I see them we’re further away
A parallel life that was left to decay and wither
Come hither, look closer, this one was you
I never saw all that you knew you could do
Now this old, old ghost
Is left to roam alone
I clank my lonely chains
I’m bound to our old home
You left me cold
Your fire taken flight
You left so fast
You took your light
From me
To see
There’s more
For you
But I
I died
That me you knew
Is gone, is past
Is whispers now
Is ancient, irrelevant
Is still me somehow
I’m the old, old ghost
Of us.
Email pings.
Video.
“Watch this.”
Dark things.
Dark well.
Dark girl.
Welcome to hell.
Your new world.
Video ends.
Phone rings.
“Seven days,” voice sings
“Sorry, am already dead, Samara.”
“Curse you, Kayako.”
Ghost wins.
Runs rings round cursed kid.
Cross—fight—over.
[Pretty sure this is overwhelmingly unfinished but I’m leaving it as it is—twas very much a “time and place” piece! Definitely imagined as a song in the style of the best angsty teen band out there…]
My fingers trace along your waist
Your sigh says as much as the look on your face
Innocent eyes – the real you
Or just a clever disguise only I see through?
Are playing up for me?
Sultry trying to impress me?
Is this you or what you think I want?
I fell before you felt the need for me to need you.
And I can tell you don’t know just what you’re getting into.
Test me til I snap and I won’t snap back.
Break me to your will and I can’t promise I won’t break you.
Cast your shadow cast your lot
In with me until we rot.
Show your soul I’ll give you mine
That side of you I can’t define
She was coming. They could feel it in the air which, after days of hanging lazily above the house and the fields, now pressed down on the roof, pressed in on the windows and on the doors.
The clouds steadily darkened as Robert worked atop the ladder, hammering iron into wood that would be their first line of defence against her.
The creak of the old farmhouse door preceded Emma’s arrival, bearing much-needed liquid refreshment. “I’d like to see him get through this,” he said as he took the glass from her.
“Him?” Emma asked. “It’s a girl, this one.”
Robert shrugged. “Is it? I thought that was a man’s name.”
“Well this is definitely a girl. Jake was the last one, remember?”
“Quite right. Still, I think it’s a good name for a young lad.” He said it aloud a few times, trying it out. “It’s powerful.”
Emma tilted her head, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Yes,” she said after a pause. “I think I do too.”
—
Emma hovered her thumb over the torch’s switch and arched an eyebrow. Robert shrugged. There was nothing to see down here anyway as they sat and waited. “Sure,” he said, and Emma clicked them into darkness.
They remained together on the sofa they’d dragged down the stairs, their fingers entwined, listening to the forces that raged above them.
“There’s something soothing about it,” Robert said a while later. He felt Emma’s body jump a little against him. As suspected, she’d been drifting off. “Maybe it’s knowing that we’re safe.”
Emma’s fingers glided along the side of his face. “I think it’s romantic,” she said in a low voice.
“Is that so?” he asked, turning towards her. “Well, we’ve got nothing but time.”
She chuckled in response, but her lips quickly sought his out, fleetingly. “Maybe she’s making such a racket because she’s jealous of me,” Emma said, shifting further towards him. “Holed up here with you…”
—
They blinked in the light as they prised open the basement door the next morning, scared to see what had become of their home. The sight of shattered glass sprinkled across the hallway carpet made Robert curse.
“Oh what does it matter?” Emma asked, wrapping her arms around him again. “We’ve still got each other.”
“Too true,” Robert with a laugh. He leaned down to kiss Emma lightly on her forehead. “We can patch it up in no time.”
He was right. Within a dozen hours, the house looked as it always had.
But within a dozen weeks, Emma began to look very different.
And within a few more months, she and Robert found themselves at a blank. They couldn’t agree on a single name. Robert wanted something strong, Emma something unique. As they sat brooding, Emma noted, “You know, he was probably conceived during that storm.”
They looked at each other. A moment passed. Robert arched an eyebrow; Emma nodded.
“It can be a boy’s name,” she said, looking down at their son nestled in her arms. “Yes, I think it fits.”
Robert stood and walked over. He considered the new-born, asleep and content. “Hey, little Koren. Nice to meet you.”
He could hear the faint sound of laughter filtering through the trees.
Shafts of sunlight poured through gaps in the canopy, but the air was strangely cold.
Robert thought back, brought up the map in his mind; there shouldn’t be people for miles.
He wandered into the nearest patch of light, glanced up, and confirmed what he expected: thunder clouds rolling in already.
A necromancer, and by the sounds of it, he’d brought a band of witches too.
Just when he needed an easy job.
Roberts sighed, gripped his sword a bit tighter, and jogged off into the gathering darkness.
[100 words]
My name is Skylance 