dark writings
the marshmallow girl
Marshmallow girl was sent to the gallows, punishment for having been born into a sweet life in a world of strife. But she grew indignant, bitter, and was promptly allowed to live. She married the executioner, had a batch of marshmallow kids in the lusterless marriage, and decided to roast them alive.
‘Let their sweetness not be wasted,’ thought she tearfully. ‘Let their lives have meaning, not as I gave up mine. Let them die, or live a death such as I.’
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All candy is born to die, and marshmallow girl had foolishly missed her turn.the magic carousel
Every turn of the carousel muffled merriment, until all that was left was a silent, spinning wheel, the rictus of a Kabuki grin on the face of each mute, horrified child. Every turn of the carousel shrank them, till they became little matryoshka dolls put out and sold as souvenirs.
At their lifelike details people marvelled, and to the fair people took their kids. And the carousel cranks up again, neverending, always revolving, always reeling children in. And the dolls sit and stare, noiseless except when they fall from tiny hands and break.
Look into their eyes, look at your reflection, and see that you are but a dream of the stolen child, conjured up in a mind and living a life that doesn’t exist. Blink. Realise this. Then fall, break, and come alive again.
The end.
fishy
I take the school bus home every night. Only I’m not in school any more, and it’s not a bus either. Concepts.
I fold myself into the too-small van and surrender my posture, like a sardine in an airy tin. That’s a clashing concept.
If you tilt the can, and pour me out: is that tomato sauce covering me, or blood coming out of me? Abstractions.
I am a fish travelling in tins to various dinner places, and it’s tiresome to bleed when you are bitten into.
So yes, I am bleeding.
But I’m also home right now, healing, like the vampires in True Blood.
Yes, I have been watching True Blood,
but it’s also true that I took the school bus home last night. Only I’m not in school any more, and it’s not a bus either.
Fishy.in deep water
Sleep is a stalker that wants my life, weighing me down like the bricks a murderer ties to his victim before pushing him into the sea. I must get away! I must wake up. Help me.
balloon girl
Balloon girl had enough of drifting aimlessly in the sky. She threw her weight to one side, to steer her rubber sac body as best as she could, into the flight path of an oncoming aeroplane. The pilot never saw her.
She popped, and plunged to earth like the expulsion of a foetus from a mother’s body, while the rubbery remains fell alongside, like airborne placenta, till they all collected in a bloody mess on a field.
Because, you see, death from that state is birth, and she needed the plane to push her out of an existence that was never meant to be permanent. No, it wasn’t a death wish at all; just the insane desire to really live, to feel the wind in hair and taste the air, even if only for a short while.
Balloons aren’t all happy things, she would know, and now her body tells it so.
absolute futility
she smashed her head on the wall, over and over and over again.
and when it bled all over her fingers, she thought she would smile. because this was what she was familiar with. the futility of every thought and action.
absolute futility.
she launched herself full and strong against the bloodied wall, but she could not die. only her spirit died, again and again and again.