Faces

This morning
I rose in bed
At the poignant tune
Of the robin

Towel over face
I shuddered
At the thought
Of facing me

I did not know
Which face
I should don
For yet another day

On the train
There they were
Faces
Different ones

The lady with mascara
The boy in spectacles
The man with pimples
The baby in deep sleep

Were they
Passing clouds?
Or just
Significant beings?

At the hospital
There they were too
Faces after faces
Very different ones

The doctor with looks
The old man in ICU
The nurse with boobs
The girl in ward 21

Were they
Passing clouds?
Or just
Significant beings?

Back in the closet
He told me again
Those faces I saw
Were masks un-unveiled

I told him
To go away
I did not want
To be swayed

He said he knew
I was desperate
To know
What lay beneath

I always wondered
Behind all the smiles
The sorrows, the angers
What would I see?

Tonight
He told me
To pick one
Again

A dilemma
I wanted to know
Yet
I didn’t want to hurt

Not the paramedic
He’s a nice guy
How could you
Let me choose him?

Mind’s in a whirl
Soul’s in a twirl
Heart’s in a swirl
Body’s in a……

His face was removed
I saw nothing
But flesh and blood
Like the other day

On the train
There they were
Faces
Different ones

The vixen with mascara
The nerd in spectacles
The dude with dimples
The elderly lady in deep sleep

Were they
Passing clouds?
Or just
Significant beings?

For yet another day
I had donned
The face
I did not know

I removed the towel
From my face
And stared
Into the mirror

The melted nose
And mouth
And the lidless eyes
– Gifts from heaven

The midnight news
Bore my face on screen
Hospital janitor
Wanted for murder

Alpha

I sat in the dark room, thinking that I was alone and waiting for the master. Lo and behold, his hand slipped into mine. Before I could react, his deep sullen voice echoed softly into my ear, “Take this. It is what you are asking for.” A tiny scroll was conveniently placed on my hand. He disappeared a fraction of a second later.

I stepped out of the room and unrolled the scroll.

The Great Wealth Recipe

The haima of cockerel
On the countenance of slumber
Is like a Mona Lisa
To the imp of prosperity

Fortitude is the key
In the wait of the ghoul
For the juice shall be savoured
And the glorious riches shall be served

I smiled.

The Beast

I was sitting by the beach
Building my sandcastle

When it appeared
And pulled up to me
It bared its ravenous teeth
And sank its claws into my flesh

My head was swimming
As it huffed and puffed
My heart was thumping
As it moved within me

The pain inflicted
Was beyond description
The joy ensued
Was oddly enthralling

Then it froze for a second
And allowed them to swim
While I caught my breath
Like tomorrow’s the last

It wagged its tail
And bounced to safety
Then I tossed and turned
Looking for sanity

I continued sitting by the beach
Building my sandcastle

never better

cold coffee has just logged in on the msn chat

shining star says:
tiring day?

cold coffee says:
yeah, a little. you?

shining star says:
never better.

cold coffee says:
i thought we had a great chat the other night.

shining star says:
i agree.

cold coffee says:
we talked so much about football, about our dreams to play for spurs.

shining star says:
yeah.

cold coffee says:
i really think defoe should go since barbatov is staying and bent is coming.

shining star says:
we’d talked about this.

cold coffee says:
yes, sorry. just that my perspective on this is rather strong.

shining star says:
no apologies, please.

cold coffee says:
what are you doing now?

shining star says:
chatting with you.

cold coffee says:
ok…before that?

shining star says:
waiting for you.

the girl at the window

mum,
who’s that girl
at the window?
i don’t like the way
she looks at me.
i’m trying hard
to concentrate here.
am I doing
something wrong here?
please, mum,
tell her to go away.
the girl at the window,
she’s scaring
the wits out of me.

son,
who’s that girl
at the window?
i don’t like the way
she looks at you either.
concentrate and
don’t be bothered yet.
no, you are not doing
something wrong here.
please, son,
chew up the man’s brain now.
the girl at the window,
we’re going
to finish her up after this.

my first entry

Jason Evans opened a fiction-writing contest that challenges us to write something of 250 words based on the theme “Endless Hour” and this picture.

I knew I had to take part in it though I’ve not written many fictions. It’s not so much about the prizes, but the exposure and the learning experience, and hopefully the feedback I get from people round the world. Spent about one and a half hours working on my first competitive entry. Can’t say I’m totally satisfied with it, but quietly delighted that I have written this one, exactly 250.

Moebius

It’s 10.33 a.m.

I saunter into the kitchen. I stand up.

The end.

It is finished. I’m liberated, irrevocably.

It has been a protracted decision to do it; utterly iniquitous to myself. Vertigo has no meaning now. Sensation is found wanting at my limps. This is it.

In a fraction of a second, I am on top. 40 months of weight-training has primed me for this. I tighten my grasp on the grills.

Please, Lord, help me with my final impetus. I stare at the dishes and make my wishes. I’m now literally on my knees, if you can still spot them. I snigger again. Again the nerve tries to wreck me with pain. The skin just tears. Not as smooth, ’cos it has the v-edges. I pick up another piece and slit across the right one.

I chortle and cast it aside. The nerve tries to wreck me with the weapon, pain. The cut is clean albeit the trace of fluid has flourished. This piece’s appetite has been whetted over a long period and it shows. Almost instantly, my hand swiftly severs the left one.

I need to draw strength from you, Lord, please. I stare at the dishes and make my wishes again. The mind is acting up again. I pick up the pieces and begin to quiver. Please, Lord, give me the courage to complete my task. I stare at the dishes and make my wishes.

I saunter into the kitchen. I stand up.

It’s 10.33 a.m.