I always get fixated on the most random details, like the stain on mother’s teeth on her wedding picture, or the dog sneezing at the ticket office before the concert, and I remember these details, and they flood my memory, they clog my mind when the flow of thoughts should go freely, move away, instead of rot inside my brain, breeding all sorts of horrible creatures, like parasites, and bugs, and bumpy amphibians with a taste for nightmares. But those creatures come out at night, long after the details crystalise and cement in front of me, so that it’s not easy to see how my observations hurt me in the long run, just in the same way it’s not easy to see one of your feet is going to be amputated when you’re eating the second donut years before. I don’t have time to fight future monsters when present monsters threaten my wake. It’s funny how we think simple, mundane acts will solve problems by simply happening, like Mr Morrisons, who thought he would be happy when he got rich, and then, he didn’t know what to do with all that money, all that time and none of the hope, none of the ambition of the time he was poor, so that his monster showed up when he expected it to die. I’m the same. I thought my wedding would kill my monsters, but my monsters never worry and never worried, as if they knew I would never get married, and I can’t help but fixating on the details of those mornings and nights.
“It will not be long, my love, till our wedding day.”
She said this the last time I saw her, at the fair, under the angry eyes of the village, defiant of a danger we underestimate, and all I can remember is how cold the grass felt under my bare feet, in the morning, when the sun was still pale and shy, and it made such an impression of me I can barely remember her walking away in her confidence and beauty, because the cold clogged my mind just as it clogs my mind when I panic, thinking that it could have been me, becoming cold, colder than the grass, colder than the ground, instead of my love, and I would have preferred this, maybe, and yet I dread the thought, the cold under my feet, which is the same cold I feel when I dream of her, when she tells me it’s not long until our wedding day.
Prompt
David Bowie Day
We’re sure most of you are aware of this yearly tribute to the late, great David Bowie. (If you’re new here just ask the veteran flashers, they know.) Whether you love it or loathe it it’s here!
Element 1: Choose a door below. (Choose your door before you keep reading!)
Keyboard of chaos. Planchette of doom. Hungry heads. Viva Hydra. Vampire Bite.
Once you’ve opened your door, hit “shuffle.” You must use a lyric from the first song in your story. (If you’ve shuffled up an instrumental piece, then you must include the title OR feature an instrument from the song in your story.)
Element 2: Write your story in stream of consciousness.
I got the song: “She Moved Through The Fair” by Loreena McKennitt.
The lyric I chose is: “It will not be long, my love Till our wedding day”