trying a ting here, writing for a preexisting character addressing a nex' preexisting character, using fff as the experiment it intended to be; still eh sure the end strong enough but these characters wukkin to deadline too, so, ready or not, here we come; my flash fiction friday #61 [adjust tenses+pronouns to suit]trigger: …everything you [do and/or say] only make it worse… all them pleading faces, nothing like wha’ you expect when you come out; when you went off, gun cock, you thought yourself a martyr for the cause, martyr for your sins, to be taken down once you get everybody attention focus on the right issue, and your own issues dead+bury with you. but the universe had a nex’ plan. now you here in front the people, people who need somebody to show them the way, people looking to you because they feel them currently jockeying for leadership doh have their interests to study…but you know you was only ever a man of talk; all talk, no action (to the despair of the long-suffering madam) and this time your grand attempt at self-sabotage backfire…or maybe work too damn good for your own damn good…your tongue slip on your conscience and sell out your secrets, one after the next, everything you say only make it worse until you thought you done and could retire to obscurity and not have to actually do wha’ you say the good lord tell you do. you know i doh care for allyuh religious types; i’s my own religion, am my own obeah. but you was called. i hear the call, hear your name, see your face behind my eyelids. you have been called. you have been called to come out. we called to come out and stand up, stand up for the people. walk good.
late because, life, again; so it go. no ado. flash fiction friday #61; [tenses+pronouns to suit] trigger: …everything you [do and/or say] only make it worse… rules of engagement: you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55a.m. friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.* if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week. you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided. you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog). you may join in at any time prior to deadline.* you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on my trigger-post or fasbook note or whaever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?). you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.*[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i'll leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]* write fresh! walk good.
my flash fiction friday #60; trigger: …hate [pronoun]self for wanting… letters swim into words+sentences; thoughts crash against each other and i feel like i going+vomit…she had ask me if it still had curry crab on the table when she reach, late, as usual, she+he both, as usual, smug, like they really believe alla-we cyah tell wha’ the arse going on, like we eh seeing them both leave for lunch every pay-friday and neither reach back until we all come back out monday morning; steups…and as much as i hate myself for wanting a 3rd helping i somehow cyah stop my lying mouth trying to save for my greedy belly what i had done make out was a las’ serving hiding in the dish, just enough curry to saturate another warm, fluffy, buttery heap of buss-up-shut, masquerading as mere gravy because joan had know marcia was currying crab for today too and heaven forbid marcia own should somehow impress mr.johnson more, so joan gone all out, cracking shell and shredding meat until it allow me to tell the little white lie, “nah, dread, alla-them pot is jus’ dregs; it might have some dry paratha in the microwave, but tha’s all, nah…” to discourage her foraging+discovering my treasure, since she seem to be looking for something specific…my heart drop when she say she hungry+going+see if it have enough sauce to take down the dryness of a plate of lystra buss-up-shut, but wha’ you go do, eh? cyah have everything…now my screen screaming my foolish mistake…they rush her to port of spain general, but too late; her throat close up faster than her brain+organs could get the oxygen they need to survive…an hour ago my biggest sins were lying+greed; now, i’s a murderer… walk good.
this extra-late because life is full of ambushes; apologies, and flash fiction friday #60; trigger: ...hate [pronoun]self for wanting... rules of engagement: you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55a.m. friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.* if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week. you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided. you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog). you may join in at any time prior to deadline.* you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on my trigger-post or fasbook note or whaever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?). you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.*[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i'll leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]* write fresh! walk good.
hadda admit, i quite like my flash fiction friday #59; [inclusions]trigger: machine, concentrate, alone, astray coming from behind i pass a baldhead black fella precariously dangling the longest ash i ever see, singing rihanna bitch better have my money hard hard, word for word, full-on chicken-neck and ducklips pouting around the butt, clearly forgetting he in the car and not his bedroom. i let my grin escape the confines of propriety the same moment my stride and his neckswivel make we eyes make 4 and i hastily drop with mine to the pavement, slightly amazed i can even smile right now, mess that i am, girl undone, led astray, ruined… …concentrate on the task at hand: straight to the parlour, hot guinness, as instructed; handle the part that is yours…he shoulda talk to his cousin by now, ent; call? you mad?! he mad? of course! who wouldn’t be? as if beckoned by my interior commess…pathetic fallacy, ent? just learn that the other day; but maybe is only for weather…the road penetrates, way more pong than necessary for the hour; afternoon rush, allyuh eh tired?! i suddenly aware how exposed i am out here, walking, the only one alone; other uniforms clutter the pavement in groups but i am the only one in mine; we don’t lime in the road in our uniform after school. steups. watch me get ketch stupid stupid out here now…and i supposed to be scholarship material?! although, in my defense, my plan didn’ include change of clothes because when we was done i was jumping straight in a car right outside his door and getting out on my streetcorner; hot guinness wasn’ on my itinerary…shit…call, boy? he’ll be more upset to hear my voice asking if he ok or more upset if i doh check? wait until i drink it and reassure him i had the hot guinness? right now he could even worry about breaking inside, with a bus’ frenulum? well, at least he know i eh lie ‘bout being a virgin…but look how whole time i pray for deus ex machina to rid me of him after he rid me of cherry i didn’ really think it could happen…who coulda predict tearing that?! and all i know is, now i doh hadda study he coming ‘round again, and no mess that shower didn’ fix… walk good.
flash fiction friday #59; [inclusions]trigger: machine, concentrate, alone, astray rules of engagement: you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55a.m. friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.* if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week. you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided. you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog). you may join in at any time prior to deadline.* you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on my trigger-post or fasbook note or whaever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?). you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.*[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i'll leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]* write fresh! walk good.
cyah keep sitting on good ting to share just because i eh making time to be as discerning as i desire in the process, so again, hasty wash-foot and jump eeen... still eh sure, after several rereads, what exactly it is i like about this story (but apparently i do) the human phonograph by jonathan tel. this, i know i like, just now getting to it because, life; stumbled across+shared 1 of matt getty's stories the other day and he came by+commented so i went to actually check him out and fell for another of his stories [linking you to his actual website this rounds] she falls down. this story is somehow an unexpected loveliness, even on multiple rereads, the ironworkers' hayride by robert olen butler. and carol emshwiller's mrs.jones a different kinna delight... and again, with cat rambo's magnificent pigs. this video, a gift from my macomere; i sure i supposed to be offended by its commentary on how women viewed under the male gaze+etc. but it too true (of how minds can be) to not be absolutely hilarious to me...watch is tropical's "dancing anymore" before i spoil the surprise with words to help my archiving it...like masturbation+house-porn... and as we talk archives, yao ramesar (whose upcoming last dance of the karaoke king i am fully determined to be in, and have thus already informed him thusly) [film]documents (about halfhour) dying elements of trinidad's traditional mas (bat, minstrel, black indian [with speech]). and closing with more for the archives, some of trinidad's current music scene as seen+heard+documented by gira latina; loving mungal patesar+pantar around 8minutes (always love me some mungal!) and the amazing robert munro to close later, playing that cuattro straight into the core of me...
my flash fiction friday #58: coffee, picture, write, cream[s/y/etc.] inhale, slow, exhale, slow, inhale, slow, exhale, slow, inhale, slow, exhale, slow...trying to drink fast but not burn any part of my mouth, i wonder how much my breath…inhale, slow, exhale, slow, inhale, slow, exhale, slow…barely making it across the entire surface, could possibly be cooling the dark liquid…inhale, slow, exhale, slow, inhale, slow, exhale, slow…especially as tipping the cup to drink must bring some…inhale, slow, exhale, slow…unbreathed-upon…inhale, slow, exhale, slow…sloshing up from below to surprise my lips and tip of my tongue…inhale, slow, exhale, slow…too besides, my breath particularly scanty right now…inhale, exhale…right now the air i expel lacking both quantity+power…inhale, exhale…and its relative oxygen-richness doh help with temperature, far as i know…inhale, exhale…hence the black coffee in the 1st place, is not like tha’s my usual style; i like my cream+sugar, yes…inhale, exhale…i suppose is granny have me so…inhale, exhale…but wait, our interior body temperature not nearly boiling point anyway? why we’s feel blowing on something could cool it down again? inhale, exhale…admittedly, less steam rising into my nostrils now, sooo…inhale…smells so good…exhale…inhale…better than it taste, for damn sure…exhale, inhale…wonder why black coffee supposed to help an asthma attack…well, how, i suppose, is how it help…some kinna chemical reaction something? caffeine? riiight…caffeine, because coke supposed to work too…dark matters, dread…wait, breathing good again there? gosh yes, thank…but wait…because of gran my introduction to coffee had milk…oh shit! all these years i picturing coffee-coloured skin looking like latte when alla these writers mean something totally different...what the…well, shit…how much else i getting wrong?! walk good.
flash fiction friday #58; [inclusions]trigger: coffee, picture, write, cream[s/y/ier/iest/etc. if needed] rules of engagement: you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, structural challenges, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55a.m. friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.* if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week. you will write an anecdote, short story, song or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided. you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog). you may join in at any time prior to deadline.* you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on my trigger-post or fasbook note or whaever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?). you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.*[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i'll leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]* write fresh! walk good.
before story, just hadda say, these fffs been very useful for me as i try to finish diablesse diaries, and i real glad allyuh public-demanded i set it up again, so thanks for this flash fiction friday #57; trigger: …moments [that] amount to nothing momentous… this year’s resolution: to die. and this place will never know wha’ it gain through my loss. they say it cyah be done. and plus nobody ever want to doublecross bois. but this cycle must stop because if i doh break it, it go break me. you would think in making something like me, bois would have the sense to twist my insides too, render me unfeeling except for the child i must make. and i assumed he did, until i find myself falling, falling, falling… he was supposed to be another conquest like the rest: engage, lead astray, fuck, send mad+abandon to his death, pray to the forest night for fertilisation; rinse+repeat, if no. instead i find myself not doing the deed i know is mine, stealing time with the walking dead desperately wanting to enjoy him longer, anything for a little more time… 3months later i still stalling+falling deeper+deeper, my blood singing+calling his name into the night, maybe into bois’ ear…i fear for my love’s immortal soul if bois hear i protecting a mark…but this man different; he had the look, the scent, but not the mind of the kinna man i am tasked with culling. when i make him out in the dance that night i make my usual spell and he come straight to my side; it eh decades i doing this and i doh miss…but this man bring a different spirit, not the usual brand of asshole…he talk me into talking and when later i coax him into walking me home i know i will not take him that night. i don’t take him the nex’ night neither, nor the next. nights become weeks become months and i become weak with hunger because i cannot consume another while i keep him. serial monogamy comes with the hoof; my condition allows me to take only one at a time and use each [one] only once, impregnated or not. until i consume him i starve both desire+obsession, but he feed something i didn’ know still grew in me…i know i was attempting the impossible, the undead cannot love the living, and live flesh recoils from death; my true face cyah stay hidden forever… but still, months make me comfortable pretending i am not what i am and when he slide his hands up under my skirts i was sitting wide open, no spell holding him to boundaries i should know better than to let lapse. he was just being affectionate and the lightness of his touch take a moment to register the animal nature of the altar he crouch to worship but as i see it dawn on him what he groping i do the unthinkable, and tell him. everything. what i am, why he still here, how i feel and who i fear… and he pull back and watch me tell him, listening but barely hearing, shock blocking the weight of my words. and i know it was impossible when he hold my hands, still on his knees, and tell me if he alive because i love him too much to let my actions run their course, that love mean we can be together. absurd, all the hours we spend, back+forth through the night…love doh make me not what i am. what does? then give the obsession what it crave. we make a child together and raise our child together and i will cease to be what i have been…but i allow myself to believe when he come into me as the hours for my kind dissipating, sun rising to light the 1st+last man to bare my flank, and he touch me and show me he want to love me, prepared to take me as i am, and i feel him move deep inside me and for the 1st time in centuries that sensation doh come with an equally deep flash of hatred. when i eventually sleep i expect to wake to a new world, not an empty bed. but when i see the note i know is my fault for not knowing better. i’m sorry. i can’t. no “love”. i don’t even remember to check myself in the days after; too weak to hunt, i do nothing but cry+sleep+eat until i feel strong enough to talk to the night again. i hear story on the breeze of him pacing streets of port of spain talking to himself, progressively dirtier, stranger, not recognising friends+family who try to intervene, to carry him home; the irony doesn’t escape me. is that make me realise it happen, my love left his promise fulfilled… the world is its usual circus but as they navigate hangovers and remembering to write the new date, i considering i have less than 9months now, and this is my only chance. if diablesse exists solely to conceive and bear the child she so covet, then i will make this baby, to sacrifice to the forest night, and when i out her little light, these infinite moments that amount to nothing momentous can finally, finally, end. walk good.
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