792 Words Plus A Sentence, Plus Another Sentence

As honored as I always am to be the one chosen worthy to pick a prompt, I very rarely ever provide just one, as I feel that the challenge host may also want a say in the matter. And this week Prof. SAM did just that, deciding to offer the Master Class 2014 students (2) of the (3) I provided as options (please click the link above to learn more about the prompts, and to play along).

We were told we could use either one or both, so you know that I just had to try for the latter. I also decided to take the Prof.’s lead and jump on board with the Inspiration Monday prompt (using “epilogue”) as well. I hope it all worked well in the end, and I do hope that you enjoy…

 

Unruffled, Carl smiled at me one last time, as he’d always done.

That smile, the very one that originally attracted me to him long before it ever turned into such a nuisance. The smile that used to arouse every last inch of even my soul, had since then become almost a standard bore to his condescension. His condescension not just to all men, but especially towards me. When first I realized that I could no longer look pretty for him, and attempted to become more learned in order to somehow compensate – to have more to offer – I read somewhere something to the effect of, “There are some people you like immediately, some whom you think you might learn to like in the fullness of time, and some that you simply want to push away from you with a sharp stick.”

Now what the somewhat naive author of this particular ideology didn’t realize, was that of these three options, the worst type – the very worst – was that of the unmentioned fourth kind, primarily those like Carl. Those who presented themselves initially as the former type, when in fact and over the course of time, proved to be truly those of the latter.

Carl was my first you see. And right from there, I should’ve realized the epilogue of this story. He was younger than I, but more experienced, and much more comfortable in his own skin. Partially as a result of his being a lifelong “team player,” he had no children to explain things to (as did I) and he had absolutely no qualms about publicly bantering his freak flag about, (as I sometimes – well, most oft-times – was fearful to do.)

Ultimately, he wasn’t really the one who called me out. But he, him and that damned smile, was the first one there, waiting to catch me when it happened. His scruffy beard, disheveled wardrobe and bookish knowledge, all played well into the role of the professor that he was trying valiantly to project early on in his career. And when he placed it all “just so” – again with that damned smile to wrap up the whole package – I found myself beyond smitten, finally ready to embrace and experience a truth about me left for years in the dark closet of my being.

We enjoyed a love together longer than I thought possible. Longer (and more passionately I might add) than I previously had experienced with any woman I had ever swore my allegiance to. It was a sort of heaven really, and I’m almost certain that ours might have even been a case of “happily ever-after,” had the accident not occurred.

I won’t tell you too much about it, as it is still painfully embarrassing to this day. Suffice to say, there was a lot of alcohol, a blustery night, one last joint, a menacing snowflake or two, and a 3^rd floor patio with unreliable rails involved. My chances of survival were almost guaranteed at that height (though mom swore that my continued breath upon this plain was “simply miraculous,” and a sure sign from Jesus that all my recent “impure love” foolishness had to stop to prevent further punishment), but the visual quality of my upper body and face were seriously in doubt, as in the game of rock/paper/scissors, it turns out that hardened cold concrete always beats aged bone and drunken wobbly flesh. Carl wasn’t the one to blame for the fall, but this time he wasn’t able to catch me either.

The time spent in the hospital was lonely, although he did visit more often than most others would have, or did. But when he wasn’t there, the clock came to a standstill. And that sense of oppressive timelessness and stale air one day interrupted our latest visit, as I noticed that even when he was there, the second-hand ticks increased by only a fraction, the dust motes dragging but painfully slow against the windowed sunshine. I started to notice, that even when he was there the room was still empty, sans my self-loathing, his damned smile, and me. I started to notice, even when he was there, he continued to not catch me.

I suppose I’ll never know if his heart had simply given up and moved on, or if in my anguish I’d inadvertently pushed him out in some form or fashion. Regardless, I do know that by the end, his smile – that damned smile – the very one that had once wooed me into a near-frenzy, only now served to turn my previously astute soul into obtuse stone.

So I survived, much less attractive than before, and now far more alone. Deciding to live on in the knowledge that regardless the gender, lovers will only use you until they’ve taken their fill, before moving on. And regardless of what mom may say to the contrary, I will now forever feel that while I’m still technically alive, my ”miraculous survival” will not change my opinion that Heaven is an idea constructed by man to help him cope with the fact that life on earth is both brutally short, and paradoxically, far too long.

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Briefly… the Douglas Adams Remembrance Saturday edition

Happy Towel Day everyone. Let’s make it a good one!

It could very well be our last.

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684 Words Plus A Sentence

OK, so check this out! Know who got to pick the prompt this week? THIS KID!  

Hell yeah, I’m a suck up! But whadda I care, as long as I walk outta here with my 4.0, BITCHES!!!

So anywho, I’m pretty sure that we all knew I would go with either Lewis or Adams. And, as the prompt had to be the fourth line from page 144, Adams eventually won (sorry Clive, but every single one of your books seemed to have a real suck line, prompt-wise, at this exact location.)

All that verbal cacophony aside, and with the somewhat insane task of placing the prompt sentence somewhere within the 4th line position only (4, 8, 12, etc., etc.), here is my response to this week’s Master Class 2013, as pulled from Douglas Adams’ piece of genius “Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency.”

Please let me know if you like it!

As he normally did, Leonard walked into the room, unannounced and unnoticed.

The children were busily sucking off the teat of the flat screen, slowly turning bloated and blue from the poison of mediocrity and “lowest common denominator,” while the tube of boob slowly drained their life force. Similarly, Leonard’s wife sat ignoring him, giving all her attention instead to a smaller screen, held by one hand and stroked lovingly by the other. She gave this device the sort of attention that would have had a boy on the cusp of manhood running home in order to change his soiled trousers. Saddened by seeing his world in such an alien state – one that, had he actually been paying attention, would have realized had been corroding like this for years – Leonard walked over slowly to the wall. Limply at first, followed by a more forceful attempt, he pulled the hard plastic plug of the television from the socket, causing the children to almost fall to their faces, as if the very light from the screen had been a physical thing that they’d been leaning on up till then.

As was normally the case, it was only when he pulled stunts such as this, that his wife seemingly remembered they shared the same house, space and life, and immediately thrust the entirety of her personality into exploding her reign of anger upon him, screeching, “Now what in the fuck did ya that for? Ain’t you got no common sense, love? Ya stupid fucker, plug it back in!” Leonard knew the attack was coming, but it still hit him like a brick when it did. The only solace was his amusement over her continued use of the word “love.” It was a habit started when they first met and she meant it, but now just a disconcerting reminder to him of what once was. The fact that at times she would call him this, all while cursing the very flesh used to make him, caused him to giggle uncomfortably inside.

The children also knew the attack was coming, and as such simply stayed put until the venom and spit had flown. Once they knew the coast was clear however, they too joined in with their mother hen, verbally pecking at Leonard’s soul with insults and complaints.

Gathering what little self-worth was left, Leonard stiffened as he meekly chirped aloud, “Now listen lovelies, we can’t keep livin’ on like this, as livin’ on like this ain’t very much like livin’ at all.” But even before the words had finished dribbling forth, he saw the steely gaze from his wife, and realized his mistake – he should have kept his mouth shut, stayed in the background, hidden.

“Plug. It. Back. IN!!!!!”

Things had been much better when he had been hidden.

“But Dearie…”

“PLUG IT! BACK IN!!!!”

The tone in her voice alerted Leonard to the idea that the words she growled no longer meant what you would normally think they did. No, this time “plug it back in” could have been read more accurately along the lines of simply, “die, you turd.” It was a common enough phrase for Leonard to hear from her as well, just one normally stated with the actual words being used to express the idea.

Slowly looking about the room, Leonard realized his error. His life was no longer his own. He had been beaten out by technology and – again had he been paying attention – his own indifference. His wife had taken to her, her phone as a lover. His children had left his lap, for that of the flat screen’s. And he, well, he had allowed it all to pass while apparently off in some cloud of his own.

Defeated, Leonard fumbled about as he plugged the television back in, thrusting the hard plastic plug once more into the electric vagina that had become the life source for his kin. Shortly thereafter, the children returned to their previous state, one that even a zombie would see as unbecoming. And his wife, after muttering one more “Ya stupid fucker,” returned absent-mindedly to the task of jacking off her handheld lover.

And, as he normally did, Leonard walked out the room, unannounced and unnoticed.

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Much to my surprise, today’s track was actually posted on Youtube by my friend and former DJ for Buffalo NY’s “premier” Punk Rock club, The Continental… enjoy!

“You say there’s a horse in your bathroom, and all you can do is stand there naming Beatles songs?”

Still in search of that “special something” for the “special someone” in your special life?

Well, you’re a tad bit screwed if you haven’t found it by now.

OR,

You could still save the day, by simply purchasing for them the gift that everyone on the planet – young and old alike – would simply adore: a book written by Douglas Adams!

Don’t believe me? Click here for my latest 1001 Books To Read Before You Die review, and then run out and buy a box load for the entire family to enjoy!

Please click here to check out all my reviews for the 1001 Books team.

Merry Christmas Eve everyone.

Here’s hoping that 2013 will be kind, and wholly unlike the year that preceded it.

Now, without further ado, the second bestest Christmas song ever:

In remembrance of Douglas

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Happy Towel Day everyone!

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