Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts

Exalt

>> Monday, June 22, 2009

I am king, and I am ruler supreme, and my kingdom is mine own to bless or condemn as I see fit. These people, who scurry about like ants in search of food for hoarding, they are my serfs, and all of their toiling would be for naught were it not for my grace and benevolence.
My chariot is of gold, and it shall be hoisted by my men, their supple bodies tan and oiled. Raise me higher, so my people can marvel at my majestic being, at their sovereign. Watch, as they gape in awe, these weaklings, slack-jawed.
Join me tonight; we shall dine at my palace. The table is set for a hundred. Watch now, how these men, these beings of lesser order bow, watch how they grovel before my countenance. None dare be inattentive to my luxuries, for my wrath is not to be made light of. Not for me, your Stoic restraint. I shall have my women as I have my wine - full-bodied and voluptuous, not unlike Rubens' Venus. And they shall love me, these women, and be devoted to my every need, for they shall know no other.
Come now, let us feast.

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She talks to angels

>> Thursday, May 7, 2009

[Title sourced from the Counting Crows song of the same name]

She was a little girl in a wild, overgrown garden and the tall grass dwarfed her.
She was five, wearing the green dress with the pretty yellow socks and the white mary-janes. And she was bent over a tiny puddle helping catterpillars cross, and she would marvel at the way they curled around the twig.
She was seven, lying on her back in the grass when she saw the eagle. And he would soar higher with every beat of his wings. And it was beautiful and magnificent and her eyes were large with wonder.
She was ten, with her face raised to the sky, and she could smell the allspice leaf crushed in her palm and she could smell the rain.
She was parting the wispy wayward wildgrass stems and she could see in the endless distance a tall chimney, and the breeze was curling the smoke into fantastic patterns.
She was on her favorite mango tree as high as she could go, and she stood on tiptoe to see what was beyond the sudden drop of road along the slight hill and she saw the silhouette of a lone tree, leafless and wizened and bent against the indigo of the sky, and it made her want to weep.
She was the sun. And the earth belonged to her and she belonged to the earth.
She was a dervish, whirling barefoot on damp soil.

She trips and lands on the mattress, laughing.

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Wild thing, I think I love you

>> Monday, April 20, 2009

Introduction

Title courtesy Jimi. This line from the song 'Wild Thing' stuck in my head, and I wanted to write something which would adequately capture it's spirit. I don't know how well I've managed, but well...here it is.

Chapter I

"I don't think we should", he grumbles as she pulls him along. She turns around to stare at him, her hands on her hips. "It's my tenth birthday. On your birthday, you decide what we do", she says and turns back with a toss of her long, curly hair, continuing to drag him by the hand.
The boy with the unruly mop of black hair and the deep green eyes glowers at her back. He is after all, still nine-and-three-quarters. And a whole inch shorter than her.
There is a mango orchard on the other side of the fence. They race to the nearest tree, panting. She starts to climb. "Get down", he whispers loudly, "You'll hurt yourself".
"Don't be silly", she yells back, throwing him a ripe mango. "I'm stronger than you are".
He grins at her, biting into the mango, the juice running down his shirt.
As she sits on a branch not very high up, the sun shines down on her. He looks up from his mango to see her slim legs dangling from the branch, her large brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
There is suddenly a lump in his throat. He swallows. And then coughs.
"Are you allright?"
"I'm fine", he says, frowning up at her.

Chapter II

Her brain clouded in a drug-induced haze, she sways lazily to the Pink Floyd playing somewhere in the distance as she fiddles with the buttons on her shirt.
She slips it off. Now in jeans and a bra, she walks across the room to sit astride his lap. She kisses him. Feeling lightheaded, he watches as she stands up to slowly remove her jeans, and then her bra. The black lace of her panties is in sharp, beautiful contrast to the cream of her skin. She turns to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs spread, and smiles at him.
He stands up and unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He walks to where she is sitting and she drags him closer by the waistband of his trousers, pushing him onto the bed. She crawls to him, her knees on either side of his. Spreading her hands over his chest, her brown eyes look deep into his unfathomable green ones and she grins. As she kisses him along the hard line of his jaw, her eyelashes brush his lower lip.

He breathes in, sharp.
She purrs, catlike.

Epilogue

Sitting hand in hand on the edge of the pier, their toes skim the cool waters of the lake. Her hair is loosely tied with a cloth. His is beginning to turn grey around the temples.
They are quiet as they watch the sun go down. As the evening chill starts to set in, she snuggles in closer to him. The boy with the green eyes kisses her forehead, and smiles down at his brown-eyed girl.

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The living

>> Wednesday, April 15, 2009

She lay curled on her side, her eyes open. The room was narrow and ill-lit, with a bulb above the dressing table giving it a sick, deathly glow. Paint was chipping off the walls, and there was a damp patch on the ceiling from a leak somewhere.
She had been awake all night, for countless nights now. Her eyes were bleary, her eyelids tired and heavy. But she continued to stare unfocussedly into the distance as she willed them open - almost as if hoping that this only contact with the real world would stop her demons from turning on themselves.
As one of her legs dangled off the edge of the bed, her toe grazed the marble floor. It was much cooler than the bed she lay on. She slid off the bed to lie on the floor, her arms spread in an unrequited embrace. A thin sliver of sunlight from a crack in a shuttered window lit up a small patch on the ground.
The noise of the fan whirring above filled her head, and it grew louder and louder till there was nothing but silence.

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Pink Panther Killed Snagglepuss

>> Friday, April 10, 2009

The sea is turquoise green I say, just perfect, even. A pink cat with a bow tie saunters along the beach, the water occasionally sloshing over his feet. Another feline - lanky and whiskered (also pink) creeps out from behind a boulder to stand at full height.

Snagglepuss stares into the the barrel of a gun pointed at his heart. Heavens to Murgatroyd!
*sound of gunshot*
Blood spurts from the hole in his chest to turn the clear waters a murky, dark, ugly colour.
Staring stricken at his attacker, he crumples.
A hero dies.
Exit, stage nowhere.

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