| |
|
An Idea Wrought From Calamity In a fit of passion the idea came to me. “You must write down your most intellectual thoughts and tidbits of prose as the words flow from your mind, else you may risk them fading from your conscious nature into oblivion,” was the nearest digression of the inspiration that overtook me on that dreadfully ebony evening. Torrents of rain poured down upon the earth as if God himself were shedding a sorrowful tear of emotion on the state of our current world. Personally I found it to be best to silence the cries of the world, in spite of the calamity that has befallen the human race, with the comfort of the all the solitude a small house on a dark evening in a rainstorm can give. An Unfortunate Turn of Events The groaning of the boards above my head echoed down the interminable, dingy tunnel and served to quicken my already elevated heartrate. The solitude I had once found in the darkness quickly turned to a creeping, consuming, panic as the boards above me gave way and the earth rushed down to greet me with the grim leer of death. Ungrateful for a Life of Complacency In theory, our life was as it should be; we had all we could ever hope to have and a surplus more. However, deep in our souls sat a barren void of satisfaction. Desire consumed us and though we knew not what we longed for, our sole purpose was to acquire that which we desired. The Eyes of a Lovesick Mind Blue at this angle, clear and bright, his eyes radiated an intelligence unrivaled by any who I had previously known. At the turn of his head the green of the ocean settled over his eyes like a sunset on a blissful day. The bronze of his skin shone over the toned muscle that rippled beneath, in my eyes he was the epitome of perfection. Although cut too short, his golden hair caught the attention of any who dared to meet his gaze. The dimple of his grow challenged anyone to dare respond to him in an intelligence beneath his own. However, to the trained eye, it could be noticed that he held a mirth towards the cards he’d been dealt. Though his hadn’t turned out as desired, the notion of a life well lived seemed to be the focus of his strength. Evermore, his perseverance dragged him towards a shore he could never hope to reach, a pursuit of happiness he deserved but would never find. The Swamp - A Haiku damp balmy swamp air slow creeping in my lungs consumed by the swamp |
|  |
|
| |
|
Feel free to share thoughts, comments, suggestions, critiques or even short bits of prose of your own. :) |
| |
|
| |
|
the cowboy Sheets of rain poured down upon the earth as the heavens expelled their fury upon Gideon Mathis. His sins had caught him, and with them, the weather. Alone on the ridge he stood, stoney embankments below. Harshly grown cacti and desert brambles dotted the barren plains. The cracked earth groaned as the weight of the water overwhelmed the unseasonable dry desert. A soft nicker was emitted from the horse standing beside the lone cowboy. With nowhere to go and nowhere to return to, the outcasts stood alone together, braving the elements, and the fury of God, alone, on that lonesome, mournful night. |
| |
|
| |
 |
|
| |
|
(this one is not so brief but I am immensely proud of it) paranoia On a clear evening in deep south of Florida a man sat upon his porch, creaking back and forth in a weathered and decrepit rocking chair. A warm buzzing rose from the swamps and from years of life here he knew that the mosquitos were rising in swarms, prepared for the summer months. In waves they would wash over the squelching shores of mud that encased the swamp. Bubbling water colored puke green and umber brown was the birthplace of the swarms that devoured the land each summer. In the eyes of the man it would be a harsh summer. Temperature records had already been broken and it was only the onset of the summer months. Pale blue eyes, set deep in creases of tanned skin, scanned the horizon waiting for the buzzing to cease. It did not. Previous seasons had brought mild mosquito seasons; this summer was different. Deep inside he knew that despite the many years he had lived in the swamp this would be his last. Buzzing droned in his ears and consumed his consciousness. They were coming for him. The man rose unsteadily from his rocker, a wrinkled hand grasping the feeble arm of the chair in a firm grip. Pale blue eyes flicked back and forth, observing the dark crevices of the swamp that lay before him. Was it possible that the droning was increasing in volume? For a moment he realized his foolishness and slowly descended back into the rocker. There was no need to leave, the buzzing would remain in the swamp, he would remain on the porch. So he wished. Rays of sunlight filtered through the dense foliage above the man. Evenings in Florida were quick; the final light of the afternoon plummeted quickly into depths of the night. Rocking quicker the man’s old eyes studied the ever darkening swamp that lay before him. His heart rate was increasing steadily. The man chuckled to himself and finally stood. Sitting was a waste of time, instead of causing himself unnecessary trepidation he figured that he would leave the porch and walk among the palmettos lining the walk to his house. A single lamp was lit, hanging on the front post of his porch. Dull light emanated from the lantern barely illuminating the surrounding area, but it was enough. Hobbling down his walkway, a shadow of the man that had once lived here, he extended an aged, creased hand to softly rustle the branches of the palms. A murmur rose once more from the swamp. Hastily the man’s eyes flashed up, he peered unseeingly into the darkness, searching for what he knew caused the sounds. Gloom canvassed the landscape as stars appeared in the sky. With the onset of night came the sounds of the nocturnals. Hissing noises could be heard from the gators that inhabited the putrid waters of the swamp. The elderly man found himself wandering off the path of his home and into the swamp. His eyes were weak and fumbled over the surrounding, searching for a recognizable landmark. Buzzing purred on. He reeled around searching for the source of the troublesome, grating sound. In the dark he could only make out a shadow. The gnarled voice barked out a low greeting, assuming the shadow belonged to a fellow wanderer. No reply was offered. Stumbling over twisted roots of cypress trees the man found that his shoes were wet. Looking down he realized the filthy water had dampened the cuffs of his jeans and risen to his ankles. Frantically he sloshed backwards, eager to free himself from the mucky grasp of the swamp water. As he thrashed the night grew still. All sounds ceased and from the darkness a set of glowing eyes had locked upon him in his struggle. No longer was the buzzing rising from behind trees out of the water. On his arm he noticed one of the pesky noisemakers, desperately trying to suck enough lifeblood to sustain itself. Slowly the old man squashed the bug against his arm, ending its attempt to steal his precious life. Against his leg he felt a cold scaly limp, rubbing like sandpaper on his skin. In his fright, his blood ran cold and shivers shook the decaying body of the man. Yellow eyes were fixated on him. They were much closer than they had been a minute prior. It was dark. Painfully dark. No light was available to create sight for the old man. All that glowed in the dark were the eyes watching him. Struggling against the swamp but also fixated, the man watched the eyes. They bobbed, up and down, the water level would cover them then once more the glowing beams were gazing right upon him. Occasionally an eye would close, relieving the unwavering gaze. It was only ever one eye that closed. The scent of fear permeated the already reeking swamp air. The eyes disappeared beneath the surface of the water. The man gave out a shriek. The man disappeared beneath the water along with the eyes. Bubbles rose to the surface of the swamp where the man had gone. The droning of mosquitos returned and a new smell joined the melting pot of scent already present in the swamp. A metallic, cold, eerie smell was now present in the swamp. Only one substance could create such a smell. Large quantities of blood. |
| |
|
Hurricane ! Follow Evacuation Routes.
