And as the Moon Exploded… Dead Deer

“Get the fuck out of my fucking head, and out of my fucking face.”

The shoes squealed their own expletives spinning on the lacquered floor before marching away from the scene of anger. The space was empty now, but it remained jagged from the harshness that occurred in that gap. It hung, a deep red and ice blue shattered space, there in the artificial light, refusing to disappear rapidly as one did, nor melt defeatedly away as the other had.

The insect’s instinct kept them away from that soiled space, seemingly empty, but still bursting with intense, furious energy. The pent up fury of months finally erupting, leaving this cold patch of busy air, unmoving yet frenzied, such as that is left when a moon implodes. Even humans unknowingly step around it, unnoticed but making its presence felt unseen.

The world moves on around it but that site still holds its demons, a disastrous confrontation, unnecessary and unhelpful. The world does move on, however, even if not for those two whose emotional rage spoiled the very oxygen that they spat and wrangled over. Who could know what had occurred there, its potency and gravity. Certainly not this one, as she waddles along whilst droning on and on to her companion who cannot have any idea at all how happy he is.

“The sauce was a lovely gift.”

Today I wrote from 23:18 to 23:28. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Dec 8th – Consumed by fear, he stood as still as the dark night above him

December 8th – Consumed by fear, he stood as still as the dark night above him.

16.45-16.55

Consumed by fear, he stood as still as it

and held his breath; the stars were holding theirs

and seemed to sparkle less. They seemed to sit

in silent space and feed off life’s despairs.

They waited. His fear was tomorrow’s shine

and tomorrow night’s night terrors would scream

of creeping dread and stifling, choking twine,

of poisoned things that crawl from out of dreams.

At last he exhaled: his breath in frozen rags

coiled and snaked, twisting against the night sky.

His feet were slow to move, in shuffled drags

he trudged his body home, he felt, to die.

But once inside, the curtains drawn, the light

that blazed his house alive put out the night.

 

Inspired by a prompt from here

Dec 7th – Two Halves of a Dress, Frayed and Torn

December 7th – Two Halves of a Dress, Frayed and Worn

16.20-16.30

In retrospect, wearing a dress was not the best choice he made that night.

In his defence, it wasn’t his best dress. It was a little frayed at the edges, and there was a tear in the neckline where he was a little heavy-handed taking it off one evening, but it was a dress all the same. And it would probably have been easier if he hadn’t worn it that night, and just gone out in a shirt and jeans, but then again, who’s to say it would have been?

Luke was always a little different, though. That’s what his friends liked about him. There weren’t many of them, but those that he did count among his friends were pretty loyal and tolerated Luke’s sartorial eccentricities. He was known about town as the boy in the dress, and pretty much accepted there.

But the night in particular, the night of this narrative, didn’t take place in Luke’s surprisingly tolerant hometown. The events of this night took place in a bigger city, where Luke’s friends, some of their friends, and Stella, who found his dress-wearing fascinating were due to meet.

It would perhaps have been easier if Luke had taken the dress with him, and changed when he met his friends, if he had to wear it at all. But Luke was Luke, and he wore it on the bus.

Apart from a couple of odd looks and muttered comments, though, the bus journey passed off without incident. It was when he got off the other side that his problems started. And quickly finished, although, obviously, Luke was not to know this.

Two minutes from the bus stop, and seven from where he was due to meet his friends, Luke encountered Francis.

Francis, also known as Frank, was a Ninja.

In his head.

Francis had two charges hanging over him, and a court appearance due next Tuesday. That didn’t stop him walking the streets, in full shinobi shōzoku, carrying his katana. He had a mission, steeped in Imperial history, to clear up the city. And so, when he saw Luke, a man in a dress, his noble sensibilities were incensed. He challenged the outsider in his best Japanese, and when no response was forthcoming, drew the katana.

Francis would later tell the police that he acted out of a sense of decency and justice. This was of no consolation to Luke, who would never wear that, or any, dress again.

Because half on the pavement, and half in the road, under a sodium yellow glow, lay two halves of Luke, and two halves of a dress, frayed and torn.

 

Inspired by a prompt from here