A Solitary Slice

My second foray into Write On Edge, I already prove myself a thief. For this prompt, I stole from The Word Pirate her post’s song, and her toaster. As she’s a pirate n’ all, I’m hoping she won’t be too terribly upset…

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He glanced only momentarily at the toaster before the heavy sigh, sitting ever-present ready to pounce at the back of his throat, made its escape.

It was hardly the toaster’s fault after all, but when he caught it sitting there all smug in its newness, he once again felt acutely halved. You see, the toaster allowed for two slices, but all he ever ate was one. So every day he dragged himself through the process of making his singular slice while the slot beside his sat – still functioning, but empty. And every day that damned empty slot would mockingly remind him of his similar situation, of his never-ending nor seemingly-chance-of-winning quarrel with the world: his emptiness, his “still functioning for no apparent purpose-ness.”

He longed to be able to share his new toaster with someone, and he was also acutely aware of just how foolish that sentiment sounded. But as he was alone in his own head, he saw no reason for embarrassment.  In this space, he once again configured her. Maybe she’d be a writer of books, or maybe a painter, or maybe – well – maybe it didn’t really matter what she was, he reckoned, just as long as she was.

He knew someday he would find her, or maybe she would stumble upon him, if in fact it was ever meant to be. If, in fact, that sort of thing even actually existed. By this point, he was none to sure, but still found himself clinging to a sort of hope about it all.

The sudden sound of popping browned bread bounced him from his revelry. And as with other mornings past, he found that he had unconsciously begun to sway to and fro with a nervous anticipation, whilst waiting for his appliance to function at half capacity. Almost dancing, he thought, but not quite.

With a second, less expressive sigh, he pulled his solitary slice from the toaster for two, and grumbled his slipper shod feet over to the table to eat once more, alone. Pretending and hoping that somewhere out there, anywhere, she was at that very moment also seating herself in a similar fashion, pretending and pining for him in a manner likewise.

•••

Asleep.

To say I’m becoming obsessed with the Flash In The Pan word prompts is just a touch of an understatement. In addition to the word limit placed upon us by Red, I am also enjoying – well, “enjoying” is most likely not the right word to be used here – the mandate I placed upon myself with these prompts; that being to address topics that I would normally not feel comfortable in doing so with. Crawling much deeper down the well than intended with the prompt of “Come,” as always, I welcome your feedback and constructive criticism…

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Anyway, it’ll be good seeing dad again.

At least I hope too.

Pretty painless, these pills. Still… Didn’t realize they’d make my hand melt like that.

They just sorta walked off, ya know? All of ‘em. Abandoned me. Didn’t need me anymore.

I don’t need me anymore.

I don’t need…

So tired. Tired of being alone, a postscript,

a lie.

Time to go home.

Nice to go home… Or’s it “come home?”

What’s home?

Crap… Slidin’ outta view, everything. Blurring. Coming soon, “The End.” Hehe…

Christ.

Why did I?

Oh damn. Now my whole arm’s melting…

You there dad?

Daddy?

•••

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

“Flash in the Pan”

To those of you who read Friday’s post, this is an unintentional “book end” to the daddy motif I started there. As ma is still alive, I was concerned that by using a parent of the “fairer” sex as my character’s sought out post-life guide, I might miss out on some of the emotion I was hoping to evoke with this piece. Then again, should I have failed at even that, I suppose I could always just wrap this whole thing up with a depressing Smiths song as well…

Same Love

In keeping with what I started last time, I will continue to push personal envelopes in regards to my FTP responses, including this 50 Word “Hot Flash,” which gave us “Embark” for the word prompt.

As always, I would invite you to click the link above – both to see the other entries, and to consider please providing one yourself.

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

After spying my name-tag, he looked on radiantly, calling me by name. And even if blind, I still would’ve “seen” the smile through his tone.

He was cute… soooo damned cute. And trying so hard.

Realizing it time to embark upon my life anew, sheepishly I handed him my number.

•••

Down So Long…

Recommended by Seablackwithink, I decided upon trying a new 100 Word-style challenge, hosted by Red and known as “Flash In The Pan” (FTP).

Since it’s a new exercise for me, I used the opportunity to go just a hair to the left of my normal comfort zone (the prompt is “Down,” and I opted for an emotional direction instead of a physical one). Please be advised, the following deals with a subject matter that some might find distasteful.

As always, please let me know your thoughts and critiques, and please visit the FTP link above to read more entries.

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

Defeated, the ropes dangled from the bedpost. Ignored by the wrists that could not be constrained by them alone.

The lotions, the collar, the paddle – all sat idly nearby, achingly unused. Desolate.

The body, naked and shivering, laid curled up fetal, dead center of the bed. In appearance much more deceased than alive, sans the singular tear, slowly jogging its way down the cheek, to the bridge of an unkissed lip.

Kept from contentment, this had given up on ever being touched in that way again.

Down for so long, the owner of this body hoped for it no more.

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