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100 Words

This is some of the most fun Ihave had writing in a long time. As I write in word streams often triggered by a line or a word from a previous post this is great exercise for the creative mind.... Thanks for letting me play!!!




Enough time has passed. That empty place that once held you still not filled. Not for lack of trying. Five men, audited and auditioned fell sadly lacking to the side. Why did it seem that even though you ignored me for days on end, those few hours that you spent laser targeted has ruined the thrill of any other? Four years, spilling into five and still my fantasies spiral around how you could make this body sing nay scream. Every spark flickers into darkness and I can still feel your hands on me, backed into a corner as you decided how you would take me today.
 
Tzara said:
Well, thanks, RF, but my tongue can only go so far into cheek.
Click to expand...


On this site, that has a whole different connotation. Although, people rarely admit to limits in that realm so I am sure nobody will misread it. ;)
 
“That is so like you,” he snarled.

I never understood that, should I strive to be less like me? Of course my actions would always predominantly be “like me”, should they be more “like you”, “like them”, or “like her”?

Sound it out slowly, don’t miss a syllable of your ignorant statement. You want someone like her? Here’s an idea, go fuck HER. Go ruin her credit, go snatch up her dreams, go freeload in her apartment, go fuck her friends.

“You’re such a bitch,” he muttered.

“And you’re so like you,” I spit back, what worse insult was there?
 
okay i succumbed

It wasn’t simply the way she moved along the aisle, nor was it the way her trolley veered unexpectedly to the left and tumbled the mountain of beetroot cans until they scattered across the floor, nor was it the way the sun streamed through the big windows sending rays of light that showed dust mites dancing. It had everything to do with the way her boots clicked on the concrete floor, and everything to do with the mouse that ran out from behind the shelf, the local ginger stray that chased the mouse and the shopkeeper who fired the gun.
 
hard. it was hard. like cold steel. like stiff wood.
harder. unforgiving stone. unbending flesh.
harder still. it pierced the shell. false reserve broken.
plundering rampage. hardest will.
bent and twisted. smacking deep. bumping into pain.
until the endorphins kicked in. the body always does that.
eliminates the worst of it. even when the brain captures
every second for posterities sake.
Adamantine. Electrum. conglomerated. unbreakable.
Deeper. Harder. splitting apart.
Blood seeped. Tears weep.
When will I see you again?
 
Everyman, growing casually lonelier and lonelier—as a figurative representations of society’s whole can become—invited Noman to coffee. It was a simple, casual meeting held in a small coffee shop in an even smaller city fifty miles outside of Atlanta. Tobacco Alley territory, great morning brew.

“How can you be lonely? Even with no friends, you have the constant support of embodying the views, actions, and feelings of the public masses. Surely, that must account for something?”

Everyman could only think to say, “You can have an entire crowd agreeing with you, without listening to a word you’ve said.”
 
"...when life hands you lemons, kick life in the goodie bag..."

"Stop right there. That isn't really poetic, is it?"

Someone should kick that douche in the goodie bag, too. I am sorry I don't write your couplet la-dee-bullshit formulas.

"Well, sir, my attempt here was to take a classic saying and make it my own. Really, a personal style device."

"But how many people know your personal style enough to evaluate the nuances? Not many. When you are famous, you can use all the hackneyed devices you want."

If I was famous, my first hackneyed device would be to kick him in goodie bag.
 
aww

aww shucks, bashful blush heats lightly reddened skin that is dew glossed from exertion.
"You are incredibly good at that."
Better than all five of your ex's I believe. I know that your vanilla ice cream begs for chocolate sauce with toasted nuts and candied sprinkles in the extreme. Will you ever let me speak of which I need?
Ignore me at your peril.
I will take this skillful mouth and avid tongue, this clutching throat and find another whom to please. You think I am good?
You ain't seen nothing yet. Will you feed me skin and heat, touch complete, skimming deep to make me thrum? Perchance to cum?
I will not wait for long.
I am not afraid of losing you.
But you are afraid of losing me.
 
Vigilance. Laser focus. Eyes peeled back, toothpicks an unsubtle joke of driving too long, too late, too fast in the middle of too much snow and ice. The window is cracked open to let in frigid gusts of 70 mph winds that try and fail to clear the fog of sleeplessness from a brain gone on autopilot.
Yeah autopilot, where staying between the lines is the only thing that keeps 3 tons of steel barreling through the maze of New York highways in a relatively straight line. Freaking idiots, rampage left and right breaking the solliloquey of monorailed thoughts, glancing blows of radioactive red blinding visions of the night. You'll get us all killed you fucker...fuckhead...dipsquad...asswipe....Mother Of God!
 
Spring was holding its breath. Crocus thrust brilliant heads through lacy, icing coated snow. Tree tips swelled, blushing pink in the pale light of dawn. The world was in that fulcrum moment between winters bite and springs freshening wind. When colds run rampant, and blood begins to thin. First fruits are still unfurled white blossoms, burgeoning outward only when the sun would kiss them true. Give it week, maybe two then walk with me in the Cherry Blossom rain. The sky will beam its robin egg blue while you do.​
 
You don’t show your love in three words. You show it in the scrap of paper that’s been floating in your wallet for years. In the ticket stub that’s been hanging on the ceiling above your bed for a decade. In your last thought before sleeping, the only dream you remember, and the first thought you have upon waking. You show it in the random pieces of beauty sifted out of newspapers and websites. You show it in this passive-aggressive self-destructive set of behaviorisms that are guaranteed to end with you burning out. At least I do.
 
Narrative Therapy--Excerpt

I’d sit listening to the music and watch groups of people leave for the woods. They’d come back happy, laughing, and smelling weird. I asked one of them--Big George, a bible-toting, long-haired motorcycle rider--what was up. He invited me to join him and his friends on their next trip to the woods. I was just 14. Big George and his friends (all older than me) taught me to smoke pot. I was thrilled to “belong” to this “grown-up” group of kids. And I loved smoking pot, I loved the way it made me feel and what fun it made everything.
 
Narrative Therapy--Excerpt 2

All that mattered was that we loved each other, frail or failing as we had been over the years to show that love. It took me years to understand this, years and a lot of pain. And I think it is what my father was trying to explain to me before he died, but then, when I was still so young, I didn’t have the maturity to see it. Maybe if I hadn’t been so young and inexperienced at life, I might have acted differently. It might have made a difference. But that is another thing I will never know.
 
The blackened glass tubes
that in better days formed a
glowing red O to draw in the weary
now serves as an echo of our affair.

Nestled in a snug embrace between H and T,
phantoms of neon still whisper
in passing about us.
Mostly about you.

Many other letters have passed away
in long years of neglect.
They are not replaced nor forgotten,
as travelers learn when inquiring about a room:

"We're full, the 'No' has burned out."

For those lucky enough to experience
what $75 can bring you in comfort:
I'll bet the stucco ceilings have stories, too.
 
morning breaks

Morning breaks open the night that has spent itself in cold slumber. Five nights have ended with frustration boiling in the brain. Depression settles over me, black thoughts clouding all the issues that have reared their deadly heads.
"When I get better I will be able to please you." "Remember before I met you, I have only had sex 9 times in four years. Its not easy going from 2 miles an hour to Mach 5" "Are you sure your doctor is giving you the right amount of estrogen? I mean really, you are always in heat!"
Tears crowd but never fall as I gulp his words down like bitter medicine. Its true what they say about love and hate. Today I hate you. By tonight I will love you again as I try once more to cope with this unreasonable unrequited need to be truly, madly, passionately fucked.
 
Trembling, terror crowds. Eyes open and blind to all except the video that rears up onto that interior screen.
Rewinding, backing up to start over gain.
Fever and fear spike. Cannot Breath! Choking. Feeling the barrel of the shotgun shoved into her little mouth dry as the nevada dessert at noon.

Why should I let you live?​
You aren't worth the effort.​
Maybe it would just be better if I put you out of your misery now?​
cli-CLICK!!

The Trigger is pulled. Hammers ram home. It hits like thunder right overhead.
The boneless slide to the floor, chin busting open, limbs sprawled in high fevered shakes.
Shock.
The trembles turn to earthquakes and speech nothing but incoherent babbles as that small child is dragged up from the floor. She is shaken ruthlessly, then flung onto the bed where he stabs fingers deep into her tiny body adding to the destruction of her every innocent belief of safety and love.
There is no such thing as disbelief now.
He has made certain that.
There is only terror.
There is only pain.
There is only certainty that if she ever speaks of his acts he will put the bullets in the gun the next time
 
christabelll said:
Trembling, terror crowds. Eyes open and blind to all except the video that rears up onto that interior screen.
Rewinding, backing up to start over gain.
Fever and fear spike. Cannot Breath! Choking. Feeling the barrel of the shotgun shoved into her little mouth dry as the nevada dessert at noon.

Why should I let you live?​
You aren't worth the effort.​
Maybe it would just be better if I put you out of your misery now?​
cli-CLICK!!

The Trigger is pulled. Hammers ram home. It hits like thunder right overhead.
The boneless slide to the floor, chin busting open, limbs sprawled in high fevered shakes.
Shock.
The trembles turn to earthquakes and speech nothing but incoherent babbles as that small child is dragged up from the floor. She is shaken ruthlessly, then flung onto the bed where he stabs fingers deep into her tiny body adding to the destruction of her every innocent belief of safety and love.
There is no such thing as disbelief now.
He has made certain that.
There is only terror.
There is only pain.
There is only certainty that if she ever speaks of his acts he will put the bullets in the gun the next time
Click to expand...

From boiling depths, a demon fed. Gnawing at every internal scar, growing--a cancerous fetus. At first, she ignored its cries, for they were quiet and easily forgotten.

But, as she crept town the cellar steps in ruffled white socks, the beast's demands were overpowering. On the workbench she found the small ball-peen hammer she had once used in the construction of a tiny birdhouse.

There were a hundred times as many steps on the way back up.

Only when she let the hammer drop on his temple for the third time, did the voice go quiet again.
 
11 years have passed. She stood over the monsters bed, panting. A snubnose 357 in her hand. Terrified she aims, hands unable to support the diminuitive weight of death.
Her Pa.
Stepfather but the only father she has ever known.
He is sleeping hard, the 5 valium she slipped into his bitter coffee working better than she thought they would. Oh how she has planned this. Ever since Merv Griffin told the truth of her life on national TV. She had lain in the floor, sweating, hands over her head, listening to the truth of her life from strangers Just Like HER.

Inside voices rage and taunt. Kill Him KILL HIM KILL HIM
Others - NO no NO noNO he is not worth the rest of your life!
HE DesERVES IT
EVERYBODY DIES LET HIM DIE SOONER
NO NO NO NO NO NO
Another pure voice rings its clarion call. If you kill him He WINS. He tried everything to destroy you. YOU ARE STILL ALIVE and you will survive. Put the Gun away. Wipe it off. Slip back to your own room. Don't breathe. Don't make a sound. Its okay to drown for a little while longer.
 
Last edited:
13 years have come and gone. The demon still lurks, silent bombs within her. How can anyone in their right mind love her? Use her yes. Love her? Never.
Self Discovery in bondage. Self Reprisal in masochism. Self Defining explorations into the darkest aspects of sex and sensuality. At least this time its voluntary.
Well one thing is certain. She does NOT like that! Little nips. Little bites and scratches. The pinning of hands on occasion. Yeah that works. The rest. No. Not just no, but Hell No.
Too much light remains within her.
Funny how the brain works. It finds a way. One way or another. It finds a way to cope with horrors. 22 voices slowly begin to meld into one.
Slowly the internal committee that kept her functioning is coming into harmony, solidifying. All except one.
One stands to the side and trembles and shakes unable to believe in anything anymore.
 
The little one still trembles.
The tiny girl, with the hgh fever and terror like ice in her veins.
The committee is one voice now.
All except her.
Last night she relived it all again.
Right down to fainting on the floor.
Gentle soothing hands helped her back up.
What? Wait.
Gentle?
Soothing?
Sobs tore through her, the woman locked in her childhood terror.
Half a box of tissues later, soggy, swollen, but somehow, strangely lighter she looked her friend in the eye.
He was a sick twisted bastard.
I was a little girl who only wanted to be loved.
Come here baby. Come here. I love you.
I will never not love you.
She rocked herself on the lime green sofa, hot pink flowers with turquiose stems covering her fire scarred legs.
The little girl turned huge eyes on the Woman. Her eyes as large and tearfilled.
Come here baby girl. You are safe now. You are safe.
The incandescent pain in her head eased.
Little one snuggled close.
Huge breath.
Deeper.
Heart pounds and races.
Shhhh.
Shhhh.
We are together now.
Shhhh.

This morning broke clear and warm.
Winter is finally over.
 
Another day blooms. Warm, so warm. Cherry blossoms are ready to burst free. Early. Experts say its earlier than normal. Whats normal?
We all seem to strive for it. But are we it? What constitutes normal to you. Job, spouse, 2.5 kids, two dogs and one flea bitten cat 120k in debt with mortgages car payments cell phones? TO me normal is not hurting anyone on purpose.
Yeah that just about sums it up. Don't hurt anyone and just go about your business. And my business isn't yours so stay out of it. Unless of course I invite you into it. Then you can muck about all you want. Okay. Wanna come dance in my private normalcy?
 
he will come. condom
in hand, handling me
with such tenderness.

stars for eyes
his lifemate, in mind.
in love
with a sweet, cuttie pie
girl next door, dream.

he knows not,
the nights that pass.
nor, the demons
that play havoc
with this emotion filled
fairy. who plays

with matches after midnight
when the moon is full
and love drips down
cum coated thighs.

nightmares of destruction
contest
a convient story, only
what's real or imagined
places me, with another.

who was with
another
not so long ago. to play this out
or live the story book romance
remains to be seen.

~~~


two can play
equaling four,
which really equals
no longer one ...



...
 
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