swirlsofpurple

Moon sinks, come awake,
With bars blurry in mind, still half-man half beast,
An unthinking thing, like waking dream, sleepwalks,
In mind’s eye,
Reach for coherence- fail,
Growl or swear or something in-between,
Teeth too big for mouth.

She shakes off the last vestiges of her transformation,
Aware of her nakedness once more- she clothes herself,
Sluggishly,
The beast sits at the root of her skull still,
Scratch-scratching her brain-stem like ghosts,
She wants to scream,
Clambers noisily around the kitchen instead,
Banging cupboard doors, slamming pots onto the counter,
Coffee.

The sun pours warm into the room,
She sinks back into herself,
Only an animal in the way humans are,
The day slides by, back to evening,
The thought-stealing blanket encroaches,
She tries to just let it come, violently,
Moon rises, sleep.

On Friday it’s slightly windy as I walk to work, and the rain is oddly violent considering there’s so little of it. The weather doesn’t seem unusual though, or even particularly bad. It’s February and torrential rain and howling wind is the norm in most months here. And so the assumption is that the storm is finding its feet elsewhere.

One of our co-workers doesn’t come in because of it and we think it must be bad where he is. There’s the occasional pondering of whether we will be able to get home again at the end of the day, but the tone is more joking than serious.

Intermittently throughout the day one of us looks out of the window and says: the lamp-post is swaying slightly again.

And then someone on their phone finds a picture.

Oh fuck. Definitely worse elsewhere then. A deep pit in our stomach as we stare at the phone. The chunk ripped out of the large dome of the arena.

Was anyone hurt?

*

I leave work, stepping outside tentatively. The sky is blue. The wind a mere whisper. And I think maybe it missed us almost entirely. And then I see the branches littering the ground.

The path I walk is lined with trees and I keep a wary eye out for if any might fall. I come across a wall, broken down, bricks strewn across the pavement.

As I near my road I come to a police line. I ask the officer if I can cross as I’m fairly nearby. She asks me to explain where and I do so.

She shakes her head, pointing at a tall, multi-story building. The scaffolding is coming down. Debris is flying everywhere.

*

I walk away, turning to go the long way around. I get closer from the other direction, but find another police line: from another point of damage. I don’t need to ask this time- I can see it right in front of me- the building yawning across the street.

I turn away again, walking to come at it from yet another direction. Trepidation sits unsettled in my bones as I consider all the damage near where I live. I wonder if my home is okay. I wonder if my neighbours are okay.

There’s no police line on my third try but there’s too much on the pavement to walk on it. I walk on the road instead.

I reach my home. It’s fine, my neighbours homes are also fine. I give a sigh of relief.

*

At times I think what really matters is different to us all. We all have different drives, passions, loves, the things we know- down to our marrow- that we live for. But then comes a reminder like this, and I think: we are all just humans, wanting somewhere safe and secure, to live and love and be.

Watch on YouTube

We climbed up the mountain together,
We skipped the trellis, we fought the weather,
We put together these ramshackle pieces,
Held with Sellotape and old wire,

And the world was waiting for us,
And the winds ready to-
Knock us down,
And the seas ready to drown us,

But Oh, oh look at us now.

(This has been a sacrifice entry).

There’s someone starting today. They gather around and give the new worker soft but sombre smiles. This is not a celebration: this is a place of the desperate and the damned. The monstrosity continues to whirr loudly, spanning the entire wall: its blades wider than the breadth of any man’s shoulders.
They run about the place, quick but careful, long used to the water beneath their bare feet. Too used to the miss-steps, the injuries, the deaths. No one works here if they have another choice.

“Don’t let any of this stuff touch the water,” he says, gesturing at the wires hanging about the place, desperately taut to prevent them from falling.

The newbie, Lem, stares bewildered. “Why is there water everywhere?”

He shrugs. “The machine; blows it in. Can’t be helped. This place ain’t called Hell just ‘cos it’s deep underground.”

Lem furrows his brow. “I suppose that makes sense. Why are there wires everywhere then?”

“Got to power the thing.”

“And why do we need to do that?”

He cracks a wry smile, which breaks into a loud, dark guffaw, “To save the world of course.”

*

An announcement comes over the speakers, congratulating them on their achievements: on the work they’re doing- on their progress in saving the world. As always the announcer speaks of lush fields and a thriving earth.

None of them believe the propaganda, not even Lem.

“Wouldn’t it be something if it was true though?” Lem asks, moving slower than the rest of them, his muscle memory isn’t wired to the place yet.

“Tch. Even if it was, that world wouldn’t be for the likes of us: they’d never let us step foot in it.”

Lem says, “But wouldn’t it be something if they did?”

*

Lem’s heart sinks. He’s stepped wrong. He knows the moment before his foot lands. Pain slices him through.

He wakes in a strange room, it’s fancy, far fancier than he could ever afford. There’s even a window.

(Though why anyone would want a window he doesn’t know).

He reaches for the curtain, to peer at the charred blackness of the world.

Instead he sees hills of vibrant green, trees with orange-red leaves, and a pale blue sky.

Dear friend,

When I say, ‘Happy Birthday’, I hope you know I mean:
I hope this day is good to you,
I hope this year is good to you,
We should all be celebrating,
Because the world became brighter the day you entered it,
My life became brighter when I met you,
You have helped me more than you know,
I wouldn’t be where I am today without you,
I don’t know if I would be anywhere today without you.

When I say, ‘Congratulations’, I hope you know I mean:
I always knew you could do it,
And watching you on this journey has been wonderful,
I’m so, so proud of you,
You’ve earned this,
I’m so happy for you,
I hope it’s everything you want it to be,
Because you’re amazing and if anyone deserves this,
You do.

When I say, ‘Goodbye, take care’, I hope you know I mean:
I care about you,
I worry about you,
I love you,
I’m sorry that society’s laws on platonic friendship don’t give us space-
To tell each other we love each other,
I wonder what you would think if I told you I loved you,
Would you think I was being weird,
Would you think I wanted something more,
I think you would know exactly what I meant,
You’re good like that,
And if I was going to say it, when?
When we hug hello, when we hug goodbye,
When I see you walk in the door,
Where’s the space to fit these words in my mouth.

When I say, ‘I miss you, I’ll come visit’ and then fail to buy a plane ticket, I hope you know I mean:
I miss you, but I’m a bit of a mess,
I really do want to see you,
I think about the way we laugh together:
The way you made me laugh,
The way I made you laugh,
I think about what we would do together if I visited.

When I say, ‘Get well soon’, I hope you know I mean:
When I heard I stared out of the window for a time,
I don’t know how long,
My mind buzzing emptily,
And when the buzzing stopped-
I thought about how everything would be less without you:
I would be less without you.

When I say, ‘she was a wonderful person who touched all our lives’, I hope you know I mean:
I’m sorry I failed to tell you any of this when it mattered-
That I failed to make you understand how cherished you were,
That I wasn’t enough to keep you here,
I’m sorry I failed you,
Forgive me.

There are people across the water. And they’re starving and dying because of the sea: or rather the sirens who have begun to dwell upon it. The island people are in desperate need of supplies of food and medicine, but all ships who attempt the cross have been wrecked and now all are reluctant to try the treacherous journey.

She has no such reluctance: she has a plan. First: she’s planned a path that will have them avoiding as many rocks as possible, and also the areas that are well-traversed by the sirens. In addition to this she has taken precautions: ear plugs of course, but these sirens are beyond just sound, they show visions of whatever a soul most desires. And so she has also decreed that the entire crew be made of couples, happy ones. That they have plenty of their favourite foods and that no one who has someone or something they could long too strongly for is aboard.

She has picked her crew out meticulously, and done extensive checking, to ensure this is the case. She will answer the peoples’ plight. She will ensure they get their desperately needed food and medicines.
( Read more... )

He blinks awake, eyes adjusting to the dim light. He sees his father work carefully by candle-light; meticulously tipping the candle to anoint the feathers with wax, laying the feathers in rows against the bigger structure. This newest machine is a thing to behold: a pair of wings to give mortal man the power of flight.

As he attaches the device to his arms and shoulders, his father says, “Remember: not too high…”

“I know, I know, if I go too high the sun will melt the wax, too low and the water will dampen the feathers.”

He gives his father a hug, holding onto the thought that they’ll be together again soon; even though the opposite notion sits heavy beside it in his heart.

He runs at the wind, moves his arms and lets himself be carried up and away. It’s an amazing thing, to soar, fast and free, the crisp breeze wild against his face.

But he doesn’t allow himself to savour too long. He needs to be careful, his father’s warnings ever-present in his mind, the potential grip of hades sitting in every heart-beat. He’s hyper-focused on the minutia of his movements; going faster when he sinks too low, and pausing when he moves too high.

He keeps going and going and going, seemingly forever over the endless sea. And the constant vigilance tires his head, just as the weight of the structure tires his body. The strain urges his arms to drop, rest, sink downwards, and he pumps harder to fight against it.

And he’s still moving, the cold does well at keeping him awake. But he’s tired, so, so tired.

( Read more... )

It's Amy's bachelorette party and she hasn't drunk once.

In a desperate attempt to get the bride-to-be to drink, Gina says, "Never have I ever watched a movie without watching the credits."

Amy doesn't move.

"Oh, come on!"

It’s true. Amy has never watched a movie without also watching the credits. Though if her younger self had known she was going to end up having to watch the same movie over and over and over and over again she may’ve been more cautious about how hard she maintained this stance.

(It’s a mere two weeks into The Bet (over whether Amy Santiago or Jake Peralta would get the most felony arrests in a year) and both she and Peralta are running on adrenaline. The challenge is still new and fresh and they’re both determined to win, breaks are for the weak.

“You have been at work way too long! Go home. Both of you!” Terry orders.

Amy quickly attempts to memorise her case file as Jake tries to convince Terry to let him stay.

“Sure thing Sarge, as soon as I close this case, I’ll head off.”

“Now Peralta!”

“Yes, right now, I just need to…”

Terry’s mouth pinches into a circle, the standard Terry scowl.

“Okay fine,” Jake says, pulling on his jacket.

Amy silently picks up her things before Terry’s gaze can turn to her. As soon as they’re out of their superiors ear-shot Amy can’t help but gloat, “While you were wasting your time arguing with Terry, I got my entire case file memorised. Have fun waiting around while I get another solve.”

Peralta makes an outraged face that quickly transforms to a grin. “Unless Terry finds out you’re planning on disobeying his direct orders.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Do you know me at all?”

Amy sighs. “Fine. But if I don’t work, you’re not working either.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Nice try. We’re spending the next day together so I can keep an eye on you.”

And that's how they end up on her couch watching a horror flick.

Peralta reaches for the remote at the end of the movie.

“What are you doing, we have to watch the credits.”

“Ugh, no one watches the credits; that’s so boring.”

“The people worked hard on the film.”

“You’re such a dork,” Jake replies, but even though he mocks all the names he still watches the entirety of the credits with her.

In future months they will stop spending all of their time working and go back to their routine schedules of just spending most of their time working. But in those first few halcyon months of The Bet they gain a tradition of watching movies in their breaks, so they can ensure the other wasn’t working. They take turns picking the films. Jake almost always picks one of the 'Die Hard's.

As they watch Die Hard for the second time and it reaches its end, Jake snatches the remote, with a gleeful expression. “We have to watch the credits. You said every time: it’s your rule.”

From the look on his face he’s expecting her to balk, to say they watched the credits the last time and it doesn’t count. It’s a challenge. She’s signing up for sitting through the credits every time they watch Die Hard.

Really, though, how many times is that possibly going to be? It’s not like the two of them are going to ever end up spending that much time together. Besides, Amy really wants to win.

(Also Amy’s kind of looking forward to it, Jake had been so animated the last time they watched the credits, explaining details about all the cast members and bits of behind the scenes information, and she enjoyed it. But Peralta is the enemy and she’s not willing to admit to herself that maybe she likes him more than she should).

She smiles back, just as gleeful. “Of course.” )

Now he's her fiance, and Jake watches the credits with her for every film they watch together. They still watch the credits every time they watch Die Hard. And while past Amy would’ve definitely not agreed to it had she known. It’s one of Present Amy’s favourite things and she wouldn’t give it up for anything.

This is the story where you murdered yourself.
This is the story where you made yourself anew.
This is the story of your God, your celebrity, your idol.
This is the story of your family, your mentor, your crush.
This is the story of your anchor point.

This is the story of the talisman around your neck.
Of well-worn photographs and keep sake boxes and old VHS tapes.
Of superheroes and the twig that was your wand.
This is the story of the thing you hold onto.
This is the story of the thing that keeps you holding on.

This is the story of the time your anchor isn’t quite strong enough,
Of the time it’s still enough to keep you here.
Of the red line on your wrist, bandaged.
This is the story where you ask for help.
This is the story where you begin to recover.

This is the story of a stormy sea,
And of the water-sodden ground on the other side of it.
This is the story of the time you look into the mirror,
And finally realise…
Oh, hello. This is me. I’m here. I’m home.

Pellie hums in delight as Alec massages her too wrought shoulders. It’s been far too long. For this moment she’s content to lie on her stomach, boneless, to be taken care of for once.

Between spending all hours of the day at work or taking care of their kids, time left over is mainly spent sleeping.

But now the kids are at their grandfathers for the weekend.

(And that in itself is an oddity. Alec had been reluctant to let their girls form a relationship with his father after all the pain the man had put him through. The tenuous peace had broken anew and Alec had asked the questions he never had…

Why did he leave?

And why did he say he was coming to see him, raising his hopes and excitement, only to cancel every time?

Why did he leave him feeling like it was all his fault?

And the answer was simple really, his father had been young, and feckless, and not at all ready to parent a child.

The wounds were fresh again and seemed like they might last forever.

But they hadn’t.)

“I have an idea,” Alec says.

And she groans at the loss of contact as he moves away, while languidly turning to her side to watch him.

He opens their closet, pulling out a familiar slither of grey, his eyes sparkling.

“I can’t,” she says, her gaze sliding to the left, to the window, to the dark-pebbled beach and the beckoning sea beyond it, “What if something happens and one of the kids need me?”

“I will be right here.”

“Okay,” she says as he brings it to her, she wraps it around herself, remembering a time when they were without the responsibilities of having small children who depended on them.

III

They lounge in deck chairs on their balcony, kissing and laughing and running their hands over each other. Their bellies empty except for the cheap wine they had taken from the corner store. They had no money for food, but would probably steal some later. Pellie knew that stealing was wrong, but they were alone; his father for years gone and her parents in the ocean and though they weren’t children, they were still too young.

And the world had hurt them too much already.

At night they would wade into the dirt-addled lake and she would dream of living on a stretch of the palest sand reaching out into the clearest water.

Pellie knows many stories of women like her, who run away to never be seen again. She should probably do the same. But the thought sits ill-fitting inside her. After everything, he shouldn’t be left to carry on like everything is normal.

He’s a kidnapper and a rapist.

So she takes a knife to him while he’s sleeping. And has no qualms.

She’s not going to hide in the shadows. She has a world to explore.

“You need to be more careful,” Pellie’s mother says.

She pays no heed, all the tales seem like scary children’s stories.

Daily, she casts aside her seal-skin and transforms, into an otherworldly creature, into a human.

She runs along the shore. It’s exhilarating and wondrous and new.

One night she can’t find her skin to return home, she searches and searches and searches. It must just be lost. That’s all. It can’t have been taken.

And then she sees him, a large man with a feral smile, tucking a patch of grey under his coat. He walks towards her and says, “Never thought I’d find myself an honest to God Selkie.”

The plagues hit the news on a Wednesday. By Friday the word zombies is being thrown around.

They wait for the world to end.

(Supermarkets overflow with crowds filling up their trolleys, emptying the shelves. Doors are locked, chained, bolted. Every channel is showing the news and all the news is the mounting disaster).

But it doesn’t.

( Read more... )

“To grand new alliances; and the joining of our kingdoms!”

Everyone cheers, though some of them still strained. It’s a good alliance, one that will lead both kingdoms to prosper, but there are better ones.
The king of the East sea lands wanted her hand and would’ve brought great wealth and power to them, but the man also had a reputation as a brute and she had told everyone very plainly that if he left bruises on her she would murder him in his sleep. She had also composed essays, which were eloquent, compelling, well-reasoned, and dreadfully long (the record length being thirty four pages) of why every other suitor for her hand would lead to a poor alliance. And she would read them out for everyone.

There seemed to be an inherent promise that if they tried to push her into one of these marriages they would be listening to these essays until the end of their days (and she would out-live all of them to ensure this was the case).

And so, they had eventually given in.
( Read more... )

The measuring tape is well worn, many numbers faded, but he can still read it, knows every crinkle and tear and smudge. He slides it around his waist, around his arms, around his thighs (and ankles and wrists and neck). He writes the numbers down.
( Read more... )

Cybervision

No more glasses. No more contacts. No more eye exams.

Say goodbye to the expense and hassle with a Cybervision chip. The insertion of which is simple and painless. With Cybervision you will be able to see the world in crisp, high definition as well as having zoom functionality and night-vision which you can control from your phone.

And unlike laser surgery, Cybervision chips are inexpensive and affective with all ages and against all types of eye-sight problems.

Book your appointment today!
( Read more... )

“Do you want to go on a quest?” She asks.

“What’s the quest for?”

“Technically it’s for a square.”

“A square?”

“Well digital squares are the only true squares, because a paper square includes the thickness of the ink so technically has depth and is a cuboid.”

“What?”

“The square is symbolic: an icon as a decorative badge of victory. Anyway, I don’t think we get them anymore.”
( Read more... )

“You can do whatever you want to me,” he says, “It doesn’t matter.”

The words hit her hard and for several moments the world loses all cohesion. She can’t breathe. She wants to scream. Who did this to you? Who hurt you? Who made you think it was okay for people to hurt you? But he’s just looking at her with confusion. As though the words aren’t dark and cold and bloody, as if the words are just a simple statement of facts.

She takes one step and two and three and takes him into her arms and just holds him.
( Read more... )

Jake stands in line for lunch, his hands gripping the tray too tight, and his heart-beat pounding in his ears. He wants to look around, but can’t afford to seem skittish. Tries to hold steel in his spine and isn’t sure he succeeds. Jake’s not sure whether he should be more concerned about being a cop sharing a cell block with guys he’s put away or being Jewish and sharing a cell block with Nazi’s who’ve been convicted of murder. He moves through the day with muscles coiled, fear wrapped around him like a skin.

( Read more... )

Ellie is good at pretending. She watches and listens and mimics what others say, mimics what others do. By the time she reaches adulthood she can feign compassion and caring like a pro. She doesn’t tell anyone about her desire to rend and maim and kill, to taste blood on her lips and feel broken flesh beneath her fingers.

She puts on her face in the morning, expressions well-learned and laboured over. Everyone knows she would never hurt a fly. And if everyone knows- it must be true.

( Read more... )

Yana enters her new master’s home, keeping her head down and fighting the urge to fidget. It’s a new place. There will be new rules. And she’s never good enough. Never follows them properly. She’s too stupid. So stupid. She doesn’t do things right and has to be punished. And that still never works, her masters always tire of her and sell her off. But this is a new chance. And she has to be good. She has to be perfect. She just has to. Tears spring to her eyes. But she can’t, she doesn’t know how. She’s a terrible, useless, slave who doesn’t deserve to be alive.

( Read more... )

A four-foot box, a foot for every year
- Seamus Heaney

Juanita screams. It’s not a cry. It’s a feral, angry thing. A mother lion reaching out to tear her too-young child from death’s maw.

*

Andy, almost catatonic, paws ineffectually at his clothes. Juanita, already dressed, pins the last strand of hair into place and then helps her partner out of his pyjamas and into his funeral suit.

Some family members comment on the horribly ironic sunshine of the day. She doesn’t think much of it.

Some friends mention Heaven. She doesn’t think much of that either.

Andy’s fingers are clasped onto hers, desperate. She finds it cloying. She can’t give him what he needs. She doesn’t have the strength.

Juanita stands up and says words and forces inflection into them. Forces the feeling her daughter, Marie, deserves. She feels empty.

( Read more... )

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Navigation

Title: Moon sinks

The Storm

Week 14, Title: Ramshackle

Week 13, Title: The Dark Sacred Night

Week 12, Title: Dear Friend

Week 11, (II) Title: Sea bound

Week 11, (I) Title: Sky bound

Week 10

This is the story of your anchor point

Week 7, Title: If you immediately know the water is cold, the tale has died too violent

Week 6, Title: And touched the sound of silence

Week 5, Title: I know a place where no one's lost

Week 4, Title: Insurmountable

Week 1, Title: Cybervision

Week 0, Title: Let's go on a QUEST!

week 9, Title: Sucker punch

Week 7, Title: Missing her was dark grey all alone

Week 5, Title: Like it's someplace that you've been

Week 23, Title: But none of them are ours

Week 22, Title: Better by far you should forget and smile