Pain

Darling

I don’t think I’ll ever
be hungry again. 

Writing Prompt Wednesday - Write beginning with the phrase “Today I will” for ten minutes.

Today I will… hm. It’s late. 10:47 at night. Late, and I’m tired. But I’ve been tired all day. I’ve got a cold. But I think it’s been brought on by stress. I don’t know.

Odd. About a week or so ago I went to a party—yes, a party amidst all these final exams and papers and shit. I don’t even like drinking. Drinking leads to sex with strangers. Drinking also leads to obnoxious screaming. And I remember laughing my ass off and screaming myself silly throughout the soiree like that.

Next day: wound up with a sore throat. Shouted too much. Alright, nothing a little hot water couldn’t fix. But no. Stressed right the fuck out; term over here in France ending soon, no apartment to return to in Canada. Have to head out west. Alberta, try to find some shit job for the summer. But I’ve had luck; I’m pretty sure I’ve got something. But damn. Hard to believe this atmos in this weird house with this weird family is going to end soon. Thank fucking Christ. No Christmas email?

Whoa. Okay. Didn’t think this WPW would turn out to be a general reflection on how things are going. But whatever. I’ve got some kind of cold—hacking, phlegmy cough, zero energy. It’s bad. Every time I sit down to study I can’t hold up the fucking pen without breaking into a sweat. Uncomfortable sweat.

“Today I will study,” is what I’ve been telling myself for the past two days. Hasn’t happened yet. I just want to sleep, but I’m too tired for that. Restless. It’s frustrating. Can’t go out; can’t go out, either. More reasons for that. But we’re all international students; we’ll never see each other again. Well on to the next thing.

I’m sorry, I’m frustrated.

Today I will—

What, Seagull Man? What’re you planning on doing today,

Peace

Walker?

Save the world from the mutating hordes?

Write the next page of your grandest epic?

Think they’ll remember you when you’re dead?

Think you’ll live to the moment where you actually meet the girl of your dreams?…

Say a prayer for me, people.

Think of a man locked away, trying to live each day the best he can as if it were his last, but is stunted and turned away by the situation: dreaded situation.

Writing Prompt Wednesday - Why would a chef refuse to move to another town?

Hunched over with his hands on his knees, Gary paused in effort to still the rapid beating of his heart. It was the dead of night, and he could hear the angry squabbling of the new neighbours, the McCartney’s, starting up their car.

“But I did it, didn’t I,” breathed Gary, sweat pooling through his already soaked shirt, trickling down his chin. “I gotcha.”

He looked down. From inside the bag the McCartney’s prize-winning cocker spaniel growled at him. Hurriedly, he shut the bag and swung it over his shoulder.

***

“I say, Chef Williams, you’ve simply outdone yourself this time.”

Gary looked up and smiled weakly at the restaurant’s patron, Ms. Whetley.  “I’m glad you like it, ma’am.”

“Yes,” she mused, “Rather, undeterminable origin. Is it pork, Williams? It doesn’t taste like pork, but I’m quite convinced it’s not chicken or beef.

“Uh…” Gary began, but Ms. Whetley cut him off.

“Oh, I know, you’re about to give me that spiel on “Chef’s Secrets” and all that hullabaloo. Very well, Williams! I shall leave you to work another of you culinary delights. Ta!”

Gary watched her stroll off, and returned to chopping his shallot, blinking sporadically. He was unaware that Susan, the dishwasher, was behind him. She waited until Ms. Whetley was out of earshot until she spoke.

“I know what you’re up to!” she hissed.

Gary spun around, wide-eyed. “What?” he demanded. “Th-That’s ‘Chef Williams’ to you… dishwasher!”

“Gary,” she said. “Gary, Gary, Gary. You should be more careful at three in the morning. You’re head is still cloudy. You slip up.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bloody dog collar. “You forget we dishwashers have a lot more to clean than just the dishes.”

Gary’s eyes went even wider. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. Clearing his throat, he meant to respond in a voice of disbelief and outrage of such a turn, but his voice instead came out a dry whisper.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he managed.

“Gary!” Susan said fiercely. The whole town has been talking about the McCartney’s prize dog getting nicked last night! I know it was you. Look at the semi-precious stones on this collar!

“I… I—” Gary’s voice trailed off, and to  Susan’s surprise, he sunk to the floor, weeping. She felt an impulse to comfort him, as it was such a pitiful sight—but then she remembered that he had kidnapped and killed a dog and later fed it to the usuals of a five-star restaurant.

“It—HAS to be… DOG,” Gary managed to splutter. “Cu-cu-cocker suh-spaniels are the b-best!” He inhaled sharply, lungs ventilating for air. “And the Muh-McCartney’s were coming uh-over t-today! He was in some band or suh-something; I huh-had to cook the best!

“Jesus, Gary!” said Susan. “Were there no other cocker spaniels in town?”

“This is th-the dog capital of all of Fuh-fuh-FUH-France!” Gary breathed. “I can nuh-never leeeeave; there are just so many dogsssss!” With that Gary broke down into another fit of sobbing.

“Yes,” Susan said, quietly. “But it’s mostly Dalmatians and shiatsus we have here. I imagine that explains your adult and kid’s menu.”

Can YOU think of an ending? Type something below or hit me up on my ‘Ask’ tag to talk about doing a writing collaboration! 

Yarn

Who are you.

Peace.

I was sent here in 1964 to take out warship dragon sea-faring vessels in the south sea
highlands

but during a raging alcoholic storm there rested only three of my 
best men who were up for the job 

however there were in them crude diamonds which I saw
I could polish and shine and
make them into something

better. 

And so I was about my work
sitting here until now. 

Ouroboros

It rains
I get wet
People tell me I look tired.

Bolting up
Vehemently,
I deny it.

Another onion
forthesoup.

The weeks 
have been long

An interesting life
I lead

When alone 
with my thoughts
I…
turn
on myself

Like a snake without food.
Like a leech
trapped in a schoolboy’s jar.  

Magnifique

I 

woke up this morn

not like

others

where I woke up with a 

start.

I dreamt of the 

normalone 

again.

The beauty,

tarnished art. 

But she was plain.

Oh lord

she was plain. And I could sleep again.

And again.

And again.


And then I woke up.
Rolled over in bed.

Breathed.

Got up.
Perspective.
What was waiting for me at the end of the day
Loss of money
bleeding heart
weighty chains

Silly fool. 

Writing Prompt Wednesday - Complete this phrase: “Please don’t squeeze the ______________.”

Please don’t squeeze the titties

too hard the milk

will come on It’s own.

It comes when it wants

don’t ya know

curdles, separates, sours,

bones.

Himself

Oh

is that the time?

Sorry.

I’ve been out

wondering the streets

you know

luminescence 

junks of wood.

Knees  couldn’t help but hurt 

after so much walking.

Easier for girls

but then again I’m told they have it tough.

Tough.

Stains on the bedroom floor, 

tough.

Tough.

Can’t sleep

but I am tired.

Good night

Peace Walker

that means what, 

exactly?

Brave, sad. 

Brave, sad.

Brave, sad!

We’re brave, 

but we’re sad. 

Don’t listen to them, 

La Mouette. 

It’s just Tiffany and the others

tittering to themselves.

Ha.

Peace Walker.

It’s funny.

Funny! 

Ha

hah

hahaahaha

haaaaaaaaaaa

…

Quiet now. 

Oh,

Now we’re 

alone. 

Alone

ALONE 

with 

himself. 

No  

not that one. Not the one with fur and

chubby cheeks.

The one who laughs 

and spits 

on the hair of mean children.

Hahahahahaha

Oh

good. 

Alone again 

with him

self

Peace

Walker.