Murder

 
The first of the 50-worders:

His hands were a deeper pale color than I expected. His face, too - a lazy coral. I knew it would elicit a reaction, but not like this. I grabbed the nearest bit of cloth to shield him from the truth. One should never have to witness one's own death.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Radiohead, How To Disappear Completely

Desperate, much?

 
My friend and I have decided we needed more impetus to keep writing, and our strategy has boiled down to making each other write a 50-word story every day for the next 4 weeks. The first one should go up tomorrow (dunno if he'll let me publish his, too, but I'll try) and the run should end sometime around the middle of October. I figured NaPoWriMo worked so well for me, why not try the same method once more?

We'll see.

Smartphone

Decided to try this again, but with my work Blackberry this time. Not as good a shape as the recorder, but still a challenge to fill it with meaningful language...which, of course, is the point.

                                    A structure
                          so incomplete, but
                so meaningful. A bare frame
              filled to its empty walls with the
              pale ghosts of our collective past,
                shining in the mirrored glass and
                  howling to be forgotten - no, not
                    forgotten, let go. Released from
                     our memorial tethers; allowed to
                       stay at rest without the imminen
                         interruption of policy, rhetoric,
                           commercialism; allowed to settle
                             into the light grooves of their new
                               homes - at home in the mind,
                                 and at home in the heart.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
TV On The Radio, Blues From Down Here

Something's fishy

 
Welcome
to my halibut-lined anxiety.
Allergies hold no promise
but the constant itch
of time
spent in a cathedral,
colored in stained glass.
My years in the sea
spent yearning
for a tinge of hell,
salty misery
seasoned to taste.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Rage Against the Machine, Wake Up