A further contribution to the 99 word collection. This one was inspired by a place we would all like to avoid I’m sure ?
The monitors and gauges sat bleeping and flashing in some uncoordinated operetta of care, but it didn’t entertain during the wait. Although the procedure was minor and as they say, routine, the waiting like the thought was proving more difficult.
The clinical smells and the shiny surfaces offered only cold comfort, even well-meant heat pouring from squared ducts was lost in its irritating draft.
“Are we ready?”
The smile in a neat blue uniform failed to pacify the butterflies.
Lying down, hypnotic ceiling lights distracted until with thump of bed against door the reality snapped back.
It never ceases to amaze me where inspiration strikes you, but you sometimes have to be ready to receive it or it’s gone in a heart beat.
In a gently rocking carriage, the curious symmetry of seat handles in your eye line draws you into their simple geometry. With eyes falling out of focus they bleed into one flat abstract form while peripheral vision tries to grab hold of the scurrying hedges, pylons and fences that blur yet remain distinctive. Sadly, no longer the thump-de-dump the of track joints on modern sleek continuous rails yet the pulsing imagery holds you transfixed to this modernist sculpture, silently daring you to break your stare. “Tickets please” rescues you and with a grateful sigh you re-enter the chaotic consciousness.
This is another 99 word piece but is linked to a longer piece, Dark Island, as an exercise in concise writing, let’s see if it works?
For years this had been your happy place, despite being only a sad rocky outcrop, pockets of scented greenery and satisfying pools delight to submerge you to rise refreshed and sated.
Pacing around the shoreline, avoiding its grey foaming lips, the occasional glimpse of a white-topped rescue prove to be just tricks of the mind and it’s only the knightly vision of the rearing dappled stallion holding no benevolence in this solitary jaded pit.
Back in the shelter that now only hangs together with wisps of dreams, the cold nights could take you at anytime and no-one would know.
Inspiration is all around us all we have to do is see it. Here is another 99 word tale of a real event.
Borders cleared of weeds, blooms would lie deeply dormant for the spring months after the approaching winter. The rustling behind me wasn’t distracting; I knew him.
My companion in the task wasn’t helpful. Having sat on the fence while I got things from the garage, he moved down to the rough brick wall as I knelt on the grass. The rattle of pots and swish of branches had him noted but unseen.
Soil roughly levelled I returned to the conservatory for coffee and malted milk biscuit, my grey furry helper looked up undeterred, filling cheeks with newly dug bulbs.
99 words that speak quietly of a dark night
The night wasn’t there. The sleep wasn’t protecting me. The smooth-faced young warder was harvesting newly formed skin from my raw back; I was past screaming.
Working a hand loose I grabbed that distracted face as it concentrated on peeling my epidermis. Catching a finger through his large earring, he was incapacitated with the pain and I made it clear that I wanted out.
Staggering from weakness, hanging onto muscular shoulders, we moved awkwardly towards the brightness of our escape.
The alarm went off at the side of my bed and I shuddered myself out of the nightmare.
Another frustrating morning leaves me with this considered observation.
Windows on the world – where you could once eat but watch planes crash into the floors below.
Windows to your soul – you too often keep colour-blind eyes closed, mentally drawing the corporeal blinds.
Windows in my living room – framed trees sway hypnotically in a light afternoon breeze.
Windows in my bathroom – frosted to give only a hint of the naked beauty parading behind.
Windows on my computer – another non-fatal crash, close the system down, again, you sway hypnotically, left naked in the vastness of a digitally world. Such potential but sadly not a 10.
I pick up my pen.
99 words on the 300, a film not for the feint hearted but wonderful in its artistic excess.
The three hundred rage, raining down brutality that is their lives, seen in a sepia monochrome madness, magnificent musculatures swoop and shake as bodies bleed in boundless decapitation. Twisted madness falls to blades and arrows where rivers of gore flow down tall cliffs to the seas.
The 300 Spartans fall few but return to their homes and women in rampant reunions, children training in brutality that sees them step to their fathers pace as maleficence sweeps the known world and blood lust feeds the souls of the lost.
Who would guess the foundations of our society feeds on such.
Another mystery in just 99 words….
The gently undulating banks of neatly trimmed grass in the unused churchyard were easy to keep pristine. However, the only part time gardener was surprised one morning to find a flat headstone stone exposed in his carpet of green; it hadn’t been there the week before. Obviously very old, the name was indecipherable.
The following week another one even more worn. Enquiries at the office drew a blank as did the CCTV.
He nervously rolled out the mower the next time only to have the engine splutter and die; another addition.
Even from a distance the hole loomed darkly.
99 more little words that also helped to avoid ‘the task’.
The washing machine was working annoyingly in the background; the first load of dry things had been fetched in and waited neatly, to be put away. There was something that he needed to do but motivation was hard to dig up, the task was quite a big one admittedly but it was on the list and so had to be done; the list was the ever present imperative. There were few things left on the list for today. It was getting more challenging to avoid it.
The phone rang.
“I was wondering if you had time to…..”