The Last Link – Dead Deer

The Last Link

Links in a chain. One moves to the next, each an individual with all their hopes and fears, and yet the chain is nothing unless each and every one is strong, maintained, sturdy.

I am the flaky link in this whole chain, the point at which is it most likely to break. Yet I feel I have the most pressure exerted on me, under the most strain. Perhaps not, from another angle maybe I am, in fact, the link who is exerting  the pressure. I am not so sure.

Round and round and round it rolls. I see no way forward, none back, but still it rolls round and around. No end. An end, with no end.

She walks, disconsolately, in the drizzle, wondering what and where and how and who and when and why. No, not why. She knows why.

A dog charges out, it is on it’s lead, but no one is at the other end. She whips around chases, plunges her foot forward, slamming it onto the end of the lead, the last link. The dog jerks in full flight, suddenly seized by great force around the neck. An horrific, in the midst of such joy. It yelps. The chain breaks. For a moment they stare. At each other. Time stands still. Who will recover first?

They move.

Today I wrote between 21:58  and 22:08. I was prompted by an idea here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, my tweets here, and my book here.

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Feb 27th – A gambler and a thief

February 27th – A Gambler and a thief
A Country and Western Song
17.07-17.17

 
Honey, I ain’t anything
But a gambler and a thief
I promised you my everything,
I promised sweet relief,
But I ain’t the man you thought I was,
I ain’t your man at all,
For the cards and sweet temptation
Have robbed you of it all.

The first thing that I ever stole
Was your pretty little heart,
You came to me so easy,
But you were just the start,
Cos I ain’t a man for sittin’ back
Or for working for my pay
You’re better off without me
And I ain’t gonna stay.

When we were out of high school
We didn’t have a thing,
I borrowed from your daddy,
To by your sparkling ring,
But I lost it in a card game
Too another queen of hearts
And the one you’re wearing’s stolen
Bought by my stealing arts.

You thought we were for ever,
You thought we were a dream,
But I’m a man who steals from men
I’m not like what I seem,
You threw your arms around me,
On that bright summer’s day
But I looked far beyond you
For other games to play.

I wish I loved you darling,
I wished that I was true,
I wish I didn’t do those things
I always did to you.
I’m on a train to far away,
I’ve left you to your grief,
For I am what I always was,
A gambler and a thief.

 
Inspired by a prompt from here

Feb 26th – Mashed tator’s and creamed corn cake

20190226_130401Feb 26th – Mashed tator’s and creamed corn cake

16.34-16.44

Oh God.

It was one of those days.

Surely something as simple as a title could be right? But no. There was this. Whatever it was supposed to be.

She could cope with names not on the papers. That was standard. And fairly easy to sort out, in the grand scheme of things, but this was another level entirely.

It should have been pretty simple. A creative writing exercise, write for ten minutes. That was it. Ten minutes. It wasn’t that complicated a task, and because it was only ten minutes she wasn’t expecting wonders, but this crock of shite had surpassed all expectations. And now there was this.

She really didn’t know where to start. Capital letters, probably. After all, she’d told them enough times about setting out work, titles for texts, clearly underlined, and capital letters. Capital letters.

Not. Very. Hard.

Except, obviously, int this case, it was. ‘Mashed’ had a capital letter, though, so that was something. It was a start. And she always tried to look for the positives, even when she was marking Year 9 homework on a Thursday evening.

She was going to have to break a rule.

No wine until you’ve finished was a good one to work with. It was an incentive, a way to get through the marking and feel rewarded at the end, not by the satisfaction of having done the job: that disappeared after the first eighteen months of teaching. No, it was the satisfaction of not having to do any more marking to be able to take her glasses off, move from the table to the sofa, and sink into a glass of wine. And another one.

She opened the wine. This one needed it. She poured herself a glass and returned to the table. A long sip fortified her as she picked up the red pen again.

‘tator’s’

What the fuck does that mean? ‘tator’s’? First of all, there was that apostrophe. Whose ‘tator’s’ was she talking about? No-one’s. Because there was no one there. Because it was followed by ‘and’, meaning that even if, by the slimmest of slim chances, ‘Mashed tator’ (ignoring the capital letter) was a person, or a thing, then following it up with ‘and’ just knocked that fucker into the bin.

She took another swig of wine.

What in the name of all that’s holy was a ‘tator’, anyway?

She looked it up. It was nothing. Because, as she already knew, it wasn’t a word. It could, perhaps, have been a ‘tater’, like a ‘tater tot’, but even that was hideous, and wasn’t ‘Tater Tots’ a brand name? If it was, then it needed capital letters, and if it wasn’t, it was in the title, and it needed a fucking capital letter!

She finished the glass.

‘creamed corn cake’.

The alliteration was, she had to admit, an unexpectedly bright spot. An alliterative triplet, no less. Without capital letters, admittedly, but it had potential. Even if she had no idea what ‘creamed corn cake’ was. That didn’t really matter.

She poured herself another glass, ahead of reading the ten-minute masterpiece.

She needed it.

It was shit.

 

Inspired by a prompt from here