It was The Anniversary of the Zombie Apocalypse Take 2, and aside from Missing An Eye, it hadn’t been the House Of Bones they’d been expecting. It was beyond Insatiable Doubt really, that The Old Sawmill had remained virtually untouched. Whispers in the Wall advised them, that All That Lies Broken was The Jagged Piece outside the door. As they finally ventured out into the remains of the world, cheers surrounded them. The Sound of Pride of those who’d survived.
Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Sunday Writing Prompt, #232 – It’s All In The Title. Task: Choose one or more of the titles below and fashion a poem or story around it – The Old Sawmill, Insatiable Doubt, The Missing Eye, House of Bones, Zombie Apocalypse Take 2, The Jagged Piece, All That Lies Broken, Whispers in the Wall, The Sound of Pride.
Death by Roses, she thought, Death by Roses. What kind of a name for a perfume was that anyway?!
She reigned in her thoughts and tried to focus on the array before her. It didn’t help that the rows upon rows of delicate little bottles stood behind locked glass doors. She strained to see the names and brands, but ‘Death by Roses’ continued to elude her.
Exasperated, she finally decided to ask someone. If she didn’t get the right one, Heaven help her! What would be a minor catastrophe for most, would become a major catastrophe for her sister. Drama queen! she raged internally, while externally, she smiled, and asked the overly quiffed, but pleasant enough looking sales assistant, for, well…assistance.
“It’s right over here,” the girl indicated, with a sweep of her carefully painted fingernails.
Following her, the girl reached for a key attached to a stretchy chain on her pants.
“We have to keep these cabinets locked,” she stated apologetically, “you know, for the, um, shoplifters.” She lowered her voice as she uttered the last word, unnecessarily, as surely, the shoplifters wouldn’t care.
She picked up a small, blush coloured bottle. It was elaborately shaped into a rose; quite exquisite really. However, in contrast to the pretty pale glass was a black, thorned stem that wrapped around the bottle, culminating in a large thorn that formed the cap. How had she missed it? she wondered. It was altogether, a grotesque juxtaposition of a bottle. And aptly named. The black stem appeared to be choking the rose.
“It’s one of our most popular fragrances,” the sales assistance continued, “would you like to try it?”
“Er, no, thanks. It’s a gift.”
The girl beamed, “Oh wonderful! A present! Shall I have it gift wrapped for you then?”
“Yes please,” she replied, feeling grateful that she didn’t have to attend to that tedious task as well. Her sister would appreciate the professional touch, rather than her own clumsy fingers struggling with sticky tape and awkwardly presenting the perfume in a misshapen, mess of wrapping paper.
Finally making an exit from the crowded shopping mall, she breathed a sigh of relief that her the last of her Christmas shopping was done.
Until, she realised she couldn’t remember which entrance she had parked her car. Dammit! she cursed. Why hadn’t she been paying attention?
She began trawling through her memory; trying to recall landmarks, colours, shops, anything that would help her. She walked and walked, row after row. She was positive it was in this area. Maybe it had been stolen, she thought, dreading the idea.
Frustrated, and not knowing what else to do, she went to the concierge desk to ask for help.
“Have you checked the other levels?” the young man suggested, “this happens quite a bit, you know.”
Of course! Stupid!
“No. I’ll do that now, thank you,” she replied sheepishly.
At this rate, she would miss her family’s Christmas Eve celebrations altogether! Starting to panic a little, she trekked to the floor above, and searched the car park once more. Still, no car.
However, on the third level, there it was. She sighed. Her trusty, red sedan, was patiently waiting, right where she had left it.
Tossing her packages in the back, she opened the door and jumped in. She hastily put the key in the ignition, threw the car into reverse and hurried out of the car park. She winced as her tyres screeched on the glossy grey concrete.
“You’re late!” her sister pointed out as she opened the door.
“Nice to see you too, sis,” she retorted sarcastically. “Sorry, it’s been a day. You know?”
“Yes, I know,” her sister conceded, “Christmas Eve is always crazy. I don’t know why you leave these things to the last minute!”
Because I work two jobs and only get one day off a fortnight, she thought, through gritted teeth. Deciding to ignore the admonishment, she laughed nervously, said nothing and walked through the door, to join the rest of her family.
The minute she saw her mother, father, grandparents and brother, she immediately relaxed. They rushed to greet her and as they hugged and kissed, she thought, what a prickly rose her sister was. Indeed, it was a fitting choice for her perfume.
They had waited for her, and hadn’t eaten yet, so the family convened to the table, said grace and commenced their Christmas Eve traditions. They ate roast turkey, complete with all the trimmings, drank lots of wine and all pretended they couldn’t possibly fit in dessert, before giving into protestations from the host. They talked and talked and caught up on all that was news in each other’s lives. They reminisced and spoke of friends and family no longer here. They spoke of good times and of bad, but also how they’d banded together to get through. This is what Christmas is about, she thought happily.
Next, they moved to the lounge room for the family Kris Kringle. As they started to give and receive gifts, butterflies began to dance in her stomach. She hoped her sister would be pleased. She held her breath as her sister grasped the small package in her hands.
“What beautiful wrapping!” she exclaimed. “Did you do this yourself?”
“Yes,” she found herself lying. She hated how her sister knew that she hadn’t.
“Ooooooh! Death by Roses!!!” she squealed excitedly. “How did you know?”
Rolling her eyes, she gave her mother a look, and smiled, “Just a hunch. Glad you like it.”
Her sister quickly extracted the thorn covered bottle and uncapped the lid. She squirted and sprayed liberally, her wrists and neck, before rushing around the room and spraying everyone else.
“Isn’t this scent divine? Just to die for!” she gushed.
Feeling pleased her sister loved her gift, she didn’t notice at first. It was subtle. A rushing of red to her face, and quickening of her pulse. She thought it may be the wine.
But then the coughing started, and the tightening of her throat. Just like when she was younger. Her eyes began to swell and bug in her face. Her lips began to tingle, and welts appeared on her skin.
She heard her mother scream, and then someone else say, “I thought she’d grown out of her anaphylaxis!”
Just before the world went black, she had one last fleeting thought…
The incident took place after a moment of forgettery in June. The external mesh had a hell of a job, holding back the flinging masses. I asked my friend if I may lend a tool to ease the effect of neglect. With a pop of the shears, the demagogue had been decapitated.
Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #181, Words: incident, lend, forgettery (n. a faculty or facility for forgetting; faulty memory), external, mesh, demagogue (n. a person, especially an orator or political leader, who gains power and popularity by arousing the emotions, passions, and prejudices of the people), hell, fling, effect, June, decapitate, pop
Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Saturday Mix – Same Same But Different, 2 December 2017, Synonyms used for the following words: meet – converge, look – glance, gape, gaze, annoy – perturbed, draw – allure, seduce, fly – flit
Prompt: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #180. Words: collapse, reform, oscitant (adj. yawning, as with drowsiness; gaping. drowsy or inattentive, dull, lazy, negligent, malaise), strand, syncretism (n. the attempted reconciliation or union of different or opposing principles, practices, or parties, as in philosophy or religion), warren, barrel, catch, tough, tendency, uncanny, vertebra
first robin spotted
low lands are facing the dark
as snow falls softly
first robin spotted
upon white, fiery read breast
singing lonely tunes
low lands are facing the dark
no breath of wind stirs
and still air mutes the songbird
as snow falls softly
wooded fingers catch its flakes
robin flies away
By Sarah @2017
Note: For the Troiku you separate the three lines. Every line becomes the first line of the three new haiku. (Line 1 for haiku 1; line 2 for haiku 2; line 3 for haiku 3). It does not follow normal 5/7/5 rules as it cannot!
Prompt: Sammi Scribbles, Weekend Writing Prompt, #29 – Random, Task: Poetry Challenge – Write a three verse poem, where:
• each verse focuses on one of the three random words (Moonstruck – Ragtag – Wanderlust)
• and each verse must somehow reference the photo prompt in some way
and also; Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Saturday Mix, Lucky Dip – 18 November 2017, Task: Write a Shadorma about an emotion (I have obviously chosen to write about confusion!)
It was The Secret that Changed Everything. Jasper and the Magic Teapot stumbled through the Valley of Forgotten Souls and discovered My Inner Feral Child had had A Return to Lucidity, and that The Alter Ego had Got Away with The Cat’s Pajamas!
“For the Love of Absurdity,” Jasper cried, his heart rate breaking its usual 60BPM, “couldn’t they just stay in The Uninhabitable Spaces Between Us?”
I wiggled and jiggled in
The small change room.
I cringe at my reflection.
Broad hips, narrow shoulders.
My body clearly taunting me.
‘Twould be funny.
If it weren’t so serious.
Feeling fury and disbelief,
I test the fabric’s strength.
I win the mission but not the war
As I free the garment from my body,
I hear the resounding RRRRIIIIIPPPP!
I gather up the pieces.
Sometimes in life, we get away with it.
And sometimes we have to pay.
It’s a sliding scale.
Author’s Note: Uponfirst reading, it would seem this poem is about a mishap at a clothing store. Which is one interpretation should you choose to take it 😊. The metaphorical intent behind this free verse is to show the lengths we can go to in life to change, bend and mold ourselves to an ‘ideal’. Eventually it wears and tears and tests our strength. Some of use choosing to cast off the oppressive ‘second self’. Sometimes that price is high and we are left picking up pieces, other times, we can move on. Life’s sliding scale; a balancing act and struggle, but the self in some form, will always endure.
Prompts: Sammi Scribbles, Weekend Writing Prompt, #28 – Life
Poetry Challenge – Write a poem in 20 lines or less about life; the ups and downs, the important things, what it means to live a good life.; and also,
The task: These are 10 Book titles. ACTUAL book titles – and your mission is to read the list, stop long enough from your gut splitting laughter, compose yourself, then choose a few from the list and write the “jacket blurb” – in no more than 10 sentences. Choose no more than 3 selections – and write the “explanation” of the content – in no more than 10 well-crafted sentences for each title.
“Living with Crazy Buttocks” by Ima Quivering
Did you know buttock implants are one of the fastest growing and most popular cosmetic surgeries among women? At a cost of $17,000, Ima expected the firm, satisfying appearance known as the ‘bubble butt’. However, what she ended up with was something else, altogether. Delve into the world of wobbles as Ima explores the weird and wild adventures of a derriere gone wrong… and how to survive it!
“The Pyromaniac’s Cookbook” by Major Burns
Welcome to the Pyromaniac’s Cookbook where recycling, reclaiming and reusing, has reached a whole new level. In this, his first cookbook, ex-firefighter Major Burns, talks you through how to use a burning house to your advantage. Why waste the natural, extreme heat offering you a perfect BBQ that could feed the whole neighbourhood? Sample the unusual flavours of smoked memories and blackened furniture to spice up any meat dish! Garnish with ash and charcoal for a tasty twist. Find out more about this renewable new cooking method, that can be used over and over again, as long as it’s not your house.
“Sorry I Ruined Your Orgy” by Patty Flungdung
Patty bravely shares her story – a gripping tale exploring the dark side of sexual experimentation. No longer satisfied with karma sutra, ménage a trois, or S and M; Patty and her group of extreme orgiest friends have turned to more organic props for their erotic adventures – bodily fluids. Not for the faint hearted, Flungdung tackles the fetish known as scatophilia and why it’s misunderstood by so many.