Object Writing, Prose & Poetry Forum

November 20, 2019, 02:47:27 AM
Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.
Did you miss your activation email?

Login with username, password and session length
This week's words;

Sunday - Instructions

Monday- Motorcycle

Tuesday- Wildflower

Wednesday- Asparagus

Thursday- Stopwatch

Friday - Confetti


Word of the Day
Pages: [1]
Author Topic: Sign  (Read 101 times)
0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.
Sr. Member
Posts: 54

View Profile
« on: July 13, 2019, 12:59:51 PM »

Going to start posting these. Figure that allowing others to see them will be a good way to find advice on how to improve.

   Freezing painted metal with a painted warning on the front. Grueling process to finally make it stop, slowing to a halt at the white markers. Thunderclaps slam into my car windows and I read what might become Armageddon. They called it a sign, a message from God, from a place that we cannot really know. Faith burned like last rites. Slam on the gas, make the car push ever forward. It doesnít really make a difference, to stop or to slow, the intent is all the same. Eyes kept open by needles and wooden clamps. Dissected like a frog in biology class. The briny scent of something dead and preserved. Air on your tongue, the taste of scientific progress. Blowing through the gate, leaving it warped and exploded, wrought iron bars twisted into spiked protrusions, becoming a pineapple without the sweetness.The pain isnít too bad anymore, the seatbelts left welts on our underarms. Purple and black, veins bulging where the health should be. Bruises and scars that never seem to quite heal. We wish to return to our uninhibited state, like babies with drivers licenses. Our experiences push back against innocence, never may it return to their nests. Birds fluttering overhead, their wings pounding tirelessly against the warm summer air. Black ravens swarm the carrion on the road. Blasted into bits of tens or thousands, guts and sinew spread out over the pavement, the highway has become a buffet primarily serving jell-o. Watch the fur moving slowly in the wind. It still moves like its living, the hair on its back is still animate. The air brings it life, and the birds find that funny. Their caws and screeches are the wailing of the peanut gallery, they throw stones and rotten tomatoes from the back row. Brought from afar, their nests are nowhere to be seen, they are protected by anon...
Pages: [1]
Jump to: