Warning: Strong Language, Mature Themes
I stumbled across a prompt online that I really, really like. (writingprompts.tumblr.com) The prompt was, "Convince me that the Universe wants to be noticed." I laughed. And then, wrote. This is a snippet, a sample from a five page prose. Enjoy! :)
If you dig into a pocket,
you may find a pocketwatch...
...or a cookie.
but that's another story.
because I dug into this pocket.
a...
faux pocket on the back of some blue jean jeggings.
a...
careless, nervous, airless gesture
a...
slip of the mind, the thumb, and BOOM.
His freckles only made his frown more pronounced.
His breath still wafted garlic and perhaps,
...a hint of parmesan.
and just maybe, a dot of red.
red.
my red cracked fingernails clutched the pocketwatch,
I bite them
and now those bitten nails hold potential in their hands.
and it is cool and yielding to the touch.
"Are you even listening to me?"
He draws my gaze, but he's always been a sloppy painter.
and the pocketwatch is my Monet.
"Is this your way of saying you don't have time for me? Some more passive aggressive shit to show me you don't care? Well? Fuck you, and all your emotional--"
The clock won't tick.
"--all I've ever done is cater to--"
It has only one single hand,
"--And I'm so tired of--"
and the chain is long and ever ending.
"You're too sensitive--"
it goes on and on, but somehow I can feel it,
hanging,
somewhere in the seam of pockets that shouldn't open
how'd it open?
"--I should have known--"
that nothing is free.
"--I can't believe--"
that for once in my life
when the clock struck midnight--
"I'M SO DONE!"
He...
draws my eyes then.
big and bold and wet, so wet.
He...
does not waver.
my hand shakes on cool metal, and I'm not sure red bitten fingers can hold on tighter, tighter, tight.
"WELL?!" he snaps.
just enough to encourage flinching
it has only a single hand.
and in the wake of the meek
it chimes.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Not some charming gong
just a
twinkle
Just the kind of whisper you'd expect a pocketwatch pulled out of a faux pocket on the back of some blue jean jeggings to make.
and then it was as if time itself lulled for laughter.
So when I looked up,
"Well?!" He repeated.
because time hadn't stopped for him.
"I've got a pocketwatch."
"And?"
"I found it in a fake pocket...a faux one..you know?"
"And?"
I waited.
Thinking....
he didn't get it.
and
he never got it.
"Good." I told him.
He stared.
I felt a tickle, a slight poke.
it was time.
the universe was calling.
"It's been nice." I continued.
"Huh?"
But she didn't hear that part.
because the world was lost in a swirl of purples and blues,
and the one hand was pointing towards forever
and laughing.
she was smiling when she disappeared.
That was what her now ex-boyfriend remembered most,
her smile.
and the chime,
before she shimmered,
and nobody saw her again.
I stumbled across a prompt online that I really, really like. (writingprompts.tumblr.com) The prompt was, "Convince me that the Universe wants to be noticed." I laughed. And then, wrote. This is a snippet, a sample from a five page prose. Enjoy! :)
If you dig into a pocket,
you may find a pocketwatch...
...or a cookie.
but that's another story.
because I dug into this pocket.
a...
faux pocket on the back of some blue jean jeggings.
a...
careless, nervous, airless gesture
a...
slip of the mind, the thumb, and BOOM.
a fake hole turned--
"What the hell are you doing with a pocket-watch?" His freckles only made his frown more pronounced.
His breath still wafted garlic and perhaps,
...a hint of parmesan.
and just maybe, a dot of red.
red.
Red.
I bite them
and now those bitten nails hold potential in their hands.
and it is cool and yielding to the touch.
"Are you even listening to me?"
He draws my gaze, but he's always been a sloppy painter.
and the pocketwatch is my Monet.
"Is this your way of saying you don't have time for me? Some more passive aggressive shit to show me you don't care? Well? Fuck you, and all your emotional--"
The clock won't tick.
"--all I've ever done is cater to--"
It has only one single hand,
"--And I'm so tired of--"
and the chain is long and ever ending.
"You're too sensitive--"
it goes on and on, but somehow I can feel it,
hanging,
somewhere in the seam of pockets that shouldn't open
how'd it open?
"--I should have known--"
that nothing is free.
"--I can't believe--"
that for once in my life
when the clock struck midnight--
"I'M SO DONE!"
He...
draws my eyes then.
big and bold and wet, so wet.
He...
does not waver.
my hand shakes on cool metal, and I'm not sure red bitten fingers can hold on tighter, tighter, tight.
"WELL?!" he snaps.
just enough to encourage flinching
it has only a single hand.
and in the wake of the meek
it chimes.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Not some charming gong
just a
twinkle
Just the kind of whisper you'd expect a pocketwatch pulled out of a faux pocket on the back of some blue jean jeggings to make.
and then it was as if time itself lulled for laughter.
So when I looked up,
"Well?!" He repeated.
because time hadn't stopped for him.
"I've got a pocketwatch."
"And?"
"I found it in a fake pocket...a faux one..you know?"
"And?"
I waited.
Thinking....
he didn't get it.
and
he never got it.
"Good." I told him.
He stared.
I felt a tickle, a slight poke.
it was time.
the universe was calling.
But...
even pocketwatches like to dawdle.
"It's been nice." I continued.
"Huh?"
But she didn't hear that part.
because the world was lost in a swirl of purples and blues,
and the one hand was pointing towards forever
and laughing.
it had an infectious laugh.
and though she was crying,she was smiling when she disappeared.
That was what her now ex-boyfriend remembered most,
her smile.
and the chime,
before she shimmered,
and nobody saw her again.
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