“Good dog!”

Reg reached the top of the stairs before he realized Maggie was not behind him.

Turning to find her muzzle deep in the crack of a stair just before the second landing, he recognized her crouched posture as that of a dog that had trapped a rodent and was not going to leave off simply because he called upon her to do it.

“Come on, Mags.” he admonished her, as he descended to nudge her in the right direction.

Upon reaching the landing, Maggie emerged, proof of her hunting prowess caught deftly in her jaw.

“Aw Mags, you can pick the most inopportune times..”

Quivering with pride, Maggie dropped her prize at Reg’s feet, her soulful eyes begging for his approval.

As she waited for the resounding “Good dog!” she knew was well earned, Reg snatched up Kaitlyn’s freshly severed ring finger and swiftly slipped it in his coat pocket.

Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #16

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Ophelia

accursed by ardor
withered,
never culled
from her sweet vine,
she acquiesced
her ache, for Hamlet's
ever afflicted mind.

his avarice
voracious,
his fixation ever vile,
allege
incarnate she,
imbued
with feminine denial.

undesirable
indigent
alone she stood
deride,
destitute and agonized
by tragic love's demise.

instead
impaled innocent,
virginity's
indentured slave, lies
interred amongst the lilies,
infatuations
aquatic grave.

awash with somber solitude
in still waters
does she lie,
succumbed alas,
to lunacy;
immortalities
insane bride.

Inspired in part by Cubbys satirical take off on Shakespeare,
To Scratch or not to Scratch.
Posted for Sue Vincent's Thursday Photo prompt #writephoto

Elevation 7200

Photo Promt@Jean L Hays

Artis suffered bouts of sleeplessness brought on by dreams of suffocation. In one dream, his head became a balloon, something was pinching his throat, forcing noises reminiscent of flatus to escape as he waited in terror for his head to be released, and subsequently blow away.

Its source remained a mystery until he entertained a local female and suffered the whole night through reliving that dream. When he woke, his companion was quick to offer him absolution for the ‘noisy case of gastritis’ he had experienced during her stay.

“Don’t feel bad,” she offered sheepishly, “it comes with the altitude.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

bawk-bawk-bawk

On mornings like this, when two poorly insulated 1/2 inch sheets of drywall were all that separated the headboard of his bed from the blaring alarm clock in the adjacent apartment,  James secretly cursed the rental agent that had left he and Janie alone in the apartment long enough for Janie to slip her panties into her handbag, and him into her, atop the current ‘must have’ for every modern housewife, the olive green enameled, fully automatic dishwasher…

The telltale scents of a new day dawning roused him as he leaned heavily against the wall behind the toilet with one hand and did his best to aim from memory with the other- ‘how does she do that, always get up in plenty of time to have the coffee perking and the bacon frying before my feet ever hit the floor?’ James wondered as he shuddered, shook, and snapped the elastic waistband of his white jockey style briefs back into place…

The bawk- bawk- bawk- of the neighbors alarm clock, though still audible, grew fainter as he stumbled down the hall and nearer the kitchen where it was pleasingly replaced by Janie singing along with Simon and Garfunkel’s, The Boxer, as it emanated from the state of the art transistor radio on the kitchen window sill…

Slipping in behind Janie, her warm, soft, body molding instantly to him, James instinctively rolled his hips against her, the smooth white cotton of his briefs gliding effortlessly into place against the softly quilted rayon finish of her pale pink, floor-length robe- he buried his face in the nape of her neck and inhaled deeply, savoring the remnants of Jean Naté body splash as it intermingled with the musky traces his love had left on her satiny smooth skin the night before…

Just as James was exhaling his warm contented breath into the heaven that was his Janie’s sweet, soft, shoulder, the radio, having evidently lost its signal, began broadcasting a shrill screaming “WAAAAAAAAAAA” sound that instantly ended the tender moment and sent James scrambling to grab the hand held transistor from the window sill, pop the cover off the compartment that housed the 9-volt battery on the backside of the radio and yank the battery free from the red and black cables that secured it into the battery compartment causing a rush of electricity unlike any he ever imagined could possibly be generated by a single 9-volt battery to run up his arm and land with a thud in his chest…

“Clear!!” the lead EMT on the scene called out in hopes of drowning out the exuberance of a young Marine as he correctly solved the lyrical puzzle on tonight’s episode of Wheel of Fortune and shouted out in knowing victory over the silence of the studio audience,  “What is The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel!”, as a wave of molten electricity found its way deep into James’ thoracic cavity…

Posted for Girlie on the Edge’s Six Sentence Story, Cue word: Clear.

Forgive Me

Standing on the corner by Lexis Kayzenobia

Does it ever occur to you, that you have sacrificed
Everything, for a hope, for a wish, for a dream? that your
Armageddon, may never come? that your “new world”,
Real though you have made it in your own mind’s
Eye could, in the end, be no more “the truth”, than the
Stories of heaven and hell, which you so vehemently reject?
That the afterlife is, what it is, regardless of what we believe?

Many times you have said, even if it turns
Out that “the truth” is not “the truth”, you will die secure in
The fact that you have led an honorable life…
How can you say that, knowing that you have turned your back on
Each of us? that you have time and time again chosen the path of
R
ighteousness, over your own flesh and blood??

Please hear me out. don’t interject your
Life’s philosophy, your god’s word’s. while I know they mean
Everything to you, they mean nothing, at all to me.
All I know is he/she/it has taken you, prisoner,
Stolen your free will, white-washed your mind,
Erased from your heart, every trace of the girl that bore me.

For every hurt, I have caused you, for every
One of my transgressions, I have come before you,
Repentant, full of regret, begging your forgiveness… the
God of my comprehension, has forgiven me. and yet
I know, in your eyes, I remain unacceptable.
Virtually judged and sentenced am I, as you choose
Everlasting life- in paradise with your god- yet again, over me.

Mother please, just this once, before it is too late, before
Everything we could ever be, is forever lost- forgive me…

An Acrostic Poem posted in response to dverse Poet’s Pub Poetics call for poems dealing with Blame and Forgiveness