The feeling of throats clearing
I feel like somebody put my brain through a pasta strainer. My muse didn't stick around to see what came out. So here are my meagre offerings from a summer spent on the road before college takes over my life. Constructive criticism always welcome!
Universe: Eclipse of Ash
Rating: E
Flavors: Flavor of the Day: hierogram (a sacred symbol, as an emblem, pictograph, or the like)
Toppings/Extras: Pocky, Wafer Cookie
Wordcount: 76
Warnings: N/A
Notes: Just some random worldbuilding for Eclipse of Ash. Related to this piece
Emblem of the Paladin's of Arw, an elite group of daemonslayers founded during the early years of the Third War by Zhoch of Threenash. It is comprised of the symbols for Holy and Elemental Magic, to represent the gifts of the divine; an arrow for the defenders of Calris; and a Paladin's sword hilt. Typically used to seal official correspondence and brand gear, with a more elaborate and colored variation for display on tapestries and capes.
Universe: Standalone
Rating: PG
Flavors: Espresso #6 (I'll never look at _ the same way again)
Toppings/Extras: Gummy Bunnies (prompt: “And wait, at 3 PM to die” source: RL Writers’ Group)
Wordcount: 323
Warnings: References to death and suicide
Notes: Another prompt where we steal a line from a book/poem. This one comes out of the book The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over The Hills by Charles Bukowski, although I forget to write down which poem exactly.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because every time I ran my fingers across its impossibly soft fabric on those achingly long journeys, I’m surrounded by the heady fragrance of gingerbread, the frantic tearing of brightly colored paper, and the constant ringing of silver bells and your laughter.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because every time I spread it across a new hotel bed designed for two but sleeping one, I shake out specks of dust and blades of grass and I wonder if they saw the dog riding on an elephant across the nile in those fluffy clouds too, or if I was right and there were only cotton swabs.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because every time I crawl inside its silken warmth to hide from the harsh light of day and the overly starched sheets pressing in on either side I can see the flicker of a flashlight, glimpse a dozen empty candy wrappers shared with you, feel the promise of a scary story like a ghost across my skin.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because even with my life mingling with the other blood stains tainting the baby blue, I can taste cheap chocolate and midnight rambles and nights spent whispering back and forth caused by insomnia I could never quite wish away.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because here, trapped with all my senses by you, I am less lonely than I’ve been in the two and a half years; surrounded by the blanket that still holds parts of you.
So I lie here in the blinding light of three in the afternoon and wait for my last breath to join yours in this blue blanket I’ve never washed.
Universe: Standalone
Rating: E
Flavors: Butter Pecan #15 (silent), Strawberry #22 (flowers)
Toppings/Extras: N/A
Wordcount: 211
Warnings: References to death
Notes: Can you tell I thought the undertaker's was really creepy?
The aroma hung so heavy in the air Kevin half expected to see it wafting in pink clouds where the light filtered through dusty windows onto the sun bleached upholstery of the bench across from him. The smell stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter, caused the muscles in his throat to constrict, and coated the insides of his lungs until he was certain he’d inhaled the entirety of a flower shop on accident and then tried to create floral arrangements in his stomach.
Of all the things to focus on in the room, the crucifix mounted over the mantel and the menorah sitting directly beneath were the strangest. Although the watercolor recreation of a rainy day hanging behind the desk entitled “Somewhere over the Rainbow” was close competition. That was of course, excluding the shelf of reading material which included titles like “The Five Stages of Grief”, “Exorcisms of Dummies”, and 9 months worth of “Taxidermist's Weekly”.
But instead of pondering the questionable interior decorating choices and what he hoped was a horrible sense of humor, all Kevin can think about is how much Pops hated flowers and all the wisecracks he would’ve made about paying 8 grand for a box to keep worm food in.
Universe: Poetry
Rating: E
Flavors: Huckleberry #19 (smile, and the world smiles with you, cry, and you cry alone)
Toppings/Extras: Gummy Bunnies (prompt: “Or pretended to be” source: RL Writers’ Group)
Wordcount: 133
Warnings: N/A
Notes: Line borrowed from a Sandra Cisneros poem. Oh, the meter on this thing is awful. There’s a line that rhymes with nothing. There are two places where three lines rhyme instead of just two. I kinda want to scream, but at the same time, I like it.
We could’ve been happy
Or at least pretended to be
Truth may be stranger than the craziest of fiction
But even they see through lines delivered without any conviction
What does it matter, real faces against masks?
They never seek reality, whatever they ask
They’re for keeping up appearances
Making up experiences
If I smile, and you smile, everyone will smile
And no one ever needs to see the differences
Because it’s all about appeasing a guilt they don’t want
That keeps shoulders taut, faces gaunt
It haunts and daunts even the nonchalant that flaunt
Their perfectly unruffled feathers
How they’re all put together
Nobody’s trying to look through lies
Because time is flying by and everybody dies
So I recommend we pretend to amend
Wouldn’t you rather be smiling when everything ends?
Universe: It Always Rains in Calumny
Rating: PG
Flavors: Strawberry Cheesecake #8 (knapsack)
Toppings/Extras: Pocky
Wordcount: 97
Warnings: Reference to running away
Notes: Starting to flush out Ginny’s backstory.
It sits there, tucked in the farthest corner of her closet. Despite the fact Ginny hasn't lifted it since she moved in--hasn't touched it, even--she knows it's heavier than it appears to be; weighted down by years of things she prefers not to remember.
It's still packed, as if waiting for the day she'll get the itch in her heels to run. Run far, far away from all these... people.
"Do you like...camping?" Theo once asked skeptically when he saw it there (waiting, lurking).
And he hadn't left when she said no and changed the subject.
Universe: It Always Rains in Calumny
Rating: E
Flavors: Banana Cream #9 (follow)
Toppings/Extras: Pocky, Caramel, Banana
Wordcount: 100
Warnings: N/A
Notes: After writing the previous short, I couldn’t help following it up with this post-HEA short and a quick doodle I'm pretty proud of considering the new program. A nice encapsulation of what is (currently) the end (projected/unwritten) of Calumny.
Ginny’s apartment hadn't felt like home filled with...things; but it's an lonely, echoing, empty space now, and she can’t wait to fill the last two boxes. The back of her closet is fairly empty--she's not sentimental--but she knows what lurks in the furthest corner. She takes a deep breath, visualizes Theo puttering around in his stupid apron, and pulls the duffle out. Ginny doesn't intend to unpack it, even if she’s never going to need it again, but one of the zippers is open and an old, faded piece of paper flutters to floor.
Maybe she should be sentimental.
Universe: Poetry (roughly equal to Eclipse’s wheel of elements)
Rating: E
Flavors: Peanut Butter Binge
Toppings/Extras: Cherry (Syllables. Why are syllables important again?), Pocky, Pocky Chain
Wordcount: 93 words total
Warnings: I should not be allowed to write haikus.
Notes: Seriously, I shouldn’t be allowed to write haikus.
#1 - Fire:
Licking and lapping
Heat, passion, anger and fear
Leaving but blisters
#2 - Water:
In, out, in and out
Down from heaven, up from hell
o'er and o'er again
#3 - Air/Wind:
Withering whispers
Constant motion, never unchanged
There and back again
#4 - Earth: (Stone)
Tumbl'ing and Rumbl'ing
Mountains and valleys anew
Shiver deep down deep
#5 - Wood: (Nature)
Knock, oh knock, we say
Upon our great protector
Shelter, shade, and home
#6 - Metal:
Rusty and tarnished
Yet it's strong and sleek and fierce
Up 'til it crumbles
#7 - Light:
Sparkle and glitter
Dazzle and amaze, oh
Chaser of shadows
#8 - Dark:
Lurking everywhere
Whisp'ring enticing promises
Fiend and blanket, both
Universe: Standalone
Rating: PG
Flavors: Banana Cream #4 (squeeze)
Toppings/Extras: Pocky
Wordcount: 77
Warnings: References to family discord and death
Notes: Continuing my Banana Cream + Pocky Sundae
It's been years since she'd seen them. Even longer since she'd considered them family.
But watching the empty coffin disappear slowly into the ground, all she can think about is gaudy Christmas decorations, Snickerdoodles cooling on the windowsill, and old Jazz tunes drifting off-key from the bathroom.
This town isn't home, these people aren't family.
But when a hand falls onto her shoulder and squeezes, the world blurs into a slapdash mosaic of monochrome light and tears.
Universe: Poetry
Rating: PG
Flavors: Sugar Plum #13 (Do you hear what I hear?), Red Currant #3 (Distant thunder)
Toppings/Extras: N/A
Wordcount: 145
Warnings: References to war and death
Notes: I actually did this without the help of a rhyming dictionary. Took soooo long. Still corrupting Christmas Carols.
Tilt your head, perk your ear
Do you hear what I hear?
Far, far off, but coming near
Do you hear what I hear?
All those whispers becoming clear
Do you hear what I hear?
War drums from a bygone year
Do you hear what I hear?
Taking payment: blood for tear
Do you hear what I hear?
We could stop them, never fear
If you had heard what I did hear
But your response was to ridicule and jeer
You wouldn't hear what I did hear
From their warpath they'll never veer
Now everyone hears what I did hear
It's too late for loved ones dear
You should have heard what I did hear
They rain destruction; kill, plunder, and sear
No one left to hear what I hear
So I ask the ruins, all that remains here
Do you hear what I hear?
Universe: Eclipse of Ash
Rating: E
Flavors: Flavor of the Day: hierogram (a sacred symbol, as an emblem, pictograph, or the like)
Toppings/Extras: Pocky, Wafer Cookie
Wordcount: 76
Warnings: N/A
Notes: Just some random worldbuilding for Eclipse of Ash. Related to this piece
Emblem of the Paladin's of Arw, an elite group of daemonslayers founded during the early years of the Third War by Zhoch of Threenash. It is comprised of the symbols for Holy and Elemental Magic, to represent the gifts of the divine; an arrow for the defenders of Calris; and a Paladin's sword hilt. Typically used to seal official correspondence and brand gear, with a more elaborate and colored variation for display on tapestries and capes.
Universe: Standalone
Rating: PG
Flavors: Espresso #6 (I'll never look at _ the same way again)
Toppings/Extras: Gummy Bunnies (prompt: “And wait, at 3 PM to die” source: RL Writers’ Group)
Wordcount: 323
Warnings: References to death and suicide
Notes: Another prompt where we steal a line from a book/poem. This one comes out of the book The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over The Hills by Charles Bukowski, although I forget to write down which poem exactly.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because every time I ran my fingers across its impossibly soft fabric on those achingly long journeys, I’m surrounded by the heady fragrance of gingerbread, the frantic tearing of brightly colored paper, and the constant ringing of silver bells and your laughter.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because every time I spread it across a new hotel bed designed for two but sleeping one, I shake out specks of dust and blades of grass and I wonder if they saw the dog riding on an elephant across the nile in those fluffy clouds too, or if I was right and there were only cotton swabs.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because every time I crawl inside its silken warmth to hide from the harsh light of day and the overly starched sheets pressing in on either side I can see the flicker of a flashlight, glimpse a dozen empty candy wrappers shared with you, feel the promise of a scary story like a ghost across my skin.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because even with my life mingling with the other blood stains tainting the baby blue, I can taste cheap chocolate and midnight rambles and nights spent whispering back and forth caused by insomnia I could never quite wish away.
I’ve never washed my blue blanket in the three years I’ve owned it; because here, trapped with all my senses by you, I am less lonely than I’ve been in the two and a half years; surrounded by the blanket that still holds parts of you.
So I lie here in the blinding light of three in the afternoon and wait for my last breath to join yours in this blue blanket I’ve never washed.
Universe: Standalone
Rating: E
Flavors: Butter Pecan #15 (silent), Strawberry #22 (flowers)
Toppings/Extras: N/A
Wordcount: 211
Warnings: References to death
Notes: Can you tell I thought the undertaker's was really creepy?
The aroma hung so heavy in the air Kevin half expected to see it wafting in pink clouds where the light filtered through dusty windows onto the sun bleached upholstery of the bench across from him. The smell stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter, caused the muscles in his throat to constrict, and coated the insides of his lungs until he was certain he’d inhaled the entirety of a flower shop on accident and then tried to create floral arrangements in his stomach.
Of all the things to focus on in the room, the crucifix mounted over the mantel and the menorah sitting directly beneath were the strangest. Although the watercolor recreation of a rainy day hanging behind the desk entitled “Somewhere over the Rainbow” was close competition. That was of course, excluding the shelf of reading material which included titles like “The Five Stages of Grief”, “Exorcisms of Dummies”, and 9 months worth of “Taxidermist's Weekly”.
But instead of pondering the questionable interior decorating choices and what he hoped was a horrible sense of humor, all Kevin can think about is how much Pops hated flowers and all the wisecracks he would’ve made about paying 8 grand for a box to keep worm food in.
Universe: Poetry
Rating: E
Flavors: Huckleberry #19 (smile, and the world smiles with you, cry, and you cry alone)
Toppings/Extras: Gummy Bunnies (prompt: “Or pretended to be” source: RL Writers’ Group)
Wordcount: 133
Warnings: N/A
Notes: Line borrowed from a Sandra Cisneros poem. Oh, the meter on this thing is awful. There’s a line that rhymes with nothing. There are two places where three lines rhyme instead of just two. I kinda want to scream, but at the same time, I like it.
We could’ve been happy
Or at least pretended to be
Truth may be stranger than the craziest of fiction
But even they see through lines delivered without any conviction
What does it matter, real faces against masks?
They never seek reality, whatever they ask
They’re for keeping up appearances
Making up experiences
If I smile, and you smile, everyone will smile
And no one ever needs to see the differences
Because it’s all about appeasing a guilt they don’t want
That keeps shoulders taut, faces gaunt
It haunts and daunts even the nonchalant that flaunt
Their perfectly unruffled feathers
How they’re all put together
Nobody’s trying to look through lies
Because time is flying by and everybody dies
So I recommend we pretend to amend
Wouldn’t you rather be smiling when everything ends?
Universe: It Always Rains in Calumny
Rating: PG
Flavors: Strawberry Cheesecake #8 (knapsack)
Toppings/Extras: Pocky
Wordcount: 97
Warnings: Reference to running away
Notes: Starting to flush out Ginny’s backstory.
It sits there, tucked in the farthest corner of her closet. Despite the fact Ginny hasn't lifted it since she moved in--hasn't touched it, even--she knows it's heavier than it appears to be; weighted down by years of things she prefers not to remember.
It's still packed, as if waiting for the day she'll get the itch in her heels to run. Run far, far away from all these... people.
"Do you like...camping?" Theo once asked skeptically when he saw it there (waiting, lurking).
And he hadn't left when she said no and changed the subject.
Universe: It Always Rains in Calumny
Rating: E
Flavors: Banana Cream #9 (follow)
Toppings/Extras: Pocky, Caramel, Banana
Wordcount: 100
Warnings: N/A
Notes: After writing the previous short, I couldn’t help following it up with this post-HEA short and a quick doodle I'm pretty proud of considering the new program. A nice encapsulation of what is (currently) the end (projected/unwritten) of Calumny.
Ginny’s apartment hadn't felt like home filled with...things; but it's an lonely, echoing, empty space now, and she can’t wait to fill the last two boxes. The back of her closet is fairly empty--she's not sentimental--but she knows what lurks in the furthest corner. She takes a deep breath, visualizes Theo puttering around in his stupid apron, and pulls the duffle out. Ginny doesn't intend to unpack it, even if she’s never going to need it again, but one of the zippers is open and an old, faded piece of paper flutters to floor.
Maybe she should be sentimental.
Universe: Poetry (roughly equal to Eclipse’s wheel of elements)
Rating: E
Flavors: Peanut Butter Binge
Toppings/Extras: Cherry (Syllables. Why are syllables important again?), Pocky, Pocky Chain
Wordcount: 93 words total
Warnings: I should not be allowed to write haikus.
Notes: Seriously, I shouldn’t be allowed to write haikus.
#1 - Fire:
Licking and lapping
Heat, passion, anger and fear
Leaving but blisters
#2 - Water:
In, out, in and out
Down from heaven, up from hell
o'er and o'er again
#3 - Air/Wind:
Withering whispers
Constant motion, never unchanged
There and back again
#4 - Earth: (Stone)
Tumbl'ing and Rumbl'ing
Mountains and valleys anew
Shiver deep down deep
#5 - Wood: (Nature)
Knock, oh knock, we say
Upon our great protector
Shelter, shade, and home
#6 - Metal:
Rusty and tarnished
Yet it's strong and sleek and fierce
Up 'til it crumbles
#7 - Light:
Sparkle and glitter
Dazzle and amaze, oh
Chaser of shadows
#8 - Dark:
Lurking everywhere
Whisp'ring enticing promises
Fiend and blanket, both
Universe: Standalone
Rating: PG
Flavors: Banana Cream #4 (squeeze)
Toppings/Extras: Pocky
Wordcount: 77
Warnings: References to family discord and death
Notes: Continuing my Banana Cream + Pocky Sundae
It's been years since she'd seen them. Even longer since she'd considered them family.
But watching the empty coffin disappear slowly into the ground, all she can think about is gaudy Christmas decorations, Snickerdoodles cooling on the windowsill, and old Jazz tunes drifting off-key from the bathroom.
This town isn't home, these people aren't family.
But when a hand falls onto her shoulder and squeezes, the world blurs into a slapdash mosaic of monochrome light and tears.
Universe: Poetry
Rating: PG
Flavors: Sugar Plum #13 (Do you hear what I hear?), Red Currant #3 (Distant thunder)
Toppings/Extras: N/A
Wordcount: 145
Warnings: References to war and death
Notes: I actually did this without the help of a rhyming dictionary. Took soooo long. Still corrupting Christmas Carols.
Tilt your head, perk your ear
Do you hear what I hear?
Far, far off, but coming near
Do you hear what I hear?
All those whispers becoming clear
Do you hear what I hear?
War drums from a bygone year
Do you hear what I hear?
Taking payment: blood for tear
Do you hear what I hear?
We could stop them, never fear
If you had heard what I did hear
But your response was to ridicule and jeer
You wouldn't hear what I did hear
From their warpath they'll never veer
Now everyone hears what I did hear
It's too late for loved ones dear
You should have heard what I did hear
They rain destruction; kill, plunder, and sear
No one left to hear what I hear
So I ask the ruins, all that remains here
Do you hear what I hear?