Opus - The Needles Drip Blots of Blue [June Challenge]
michael
news:<3EEEAEB2...@bloomcounty.com>...
Hey there, Opie.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> The Needles Drip Blots of Blue
> Copyright (c) 2003, Opus (CR)
> 2494 Words
>
> Dedicated to Barry.
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
>
> Life is a dance of the grotesque. Find the beauty bemused and you've
> mastered your demons.
>
> The blood gushed river-raging down my cheek, orchard sweet. Wine I'd
> tasted once, when Jimmy took me to my juniour prom. We drank it on the
> way home before he fucked me raw. I never told them . . .
Junior?
>
> "Now look what you've done," Mr. Lewis said. Eyes flashed red like
> Satan's scrotum.
A comic analogy, to be sure.
> I sat up, trying to focus. Mistake. My body floated back to the pillow
> as another blow locked with my head. I began to dream of far away
> fields of clover and golden retrievers.
>
> Sleep, child.
>
> "Guess what? Today makes one year since the courts said you could live
> with us. Isn't that *wonderful*?" Mrs. Lewis gave a thread-bare smile
> when Mr. Lewis was around.
>
> He sat proselytising to no one.
>
> "After breakfast, we are taking you to the Museum. Wouldn't you like
> that?" she asked with fear singeing her eyes.
>
> Nodding was a way of life for me. Safer that way, I s'ppose.
>
> But not today.
>
> "The LORD has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my
> maidservant; perhaps I can build a family through her." He whispered in
> my ear and shoved into me until he fell sweat-stained onto my padded
> cell bed. He hiked up his pants.
Ugh.
>
> I didn't look him in the eye -- it was still swollen blue from
> yesterday.
His eye or yours? I suspect yours, but if it is, then the above doesn't
quite make sense.
> "You are doing God's work here, my little maidservant. Get ready for
> the museum. I'll be back to unlock the door when you're ready."
>
> Mrs. Lewis watched from her hole in the wall.
>
> The golden retriever jumped over the fence.
>
> My mind ran rampant with joy at the museum. The paintings were full of
> cheap-paint colours I adored. Cold marble felt good on my bare feet and
> the air was like in our refrigerator. When "he" wasn't looking, I would
> smile at Mrs. Lewis and she would muse-touch my shoulder. For an
> instant, it was almost like . . .
"rampant with joy" is splendid.
>
> We always had lunch in the café. I was allowed water or sometimes if I
> was good, iced tea. Today I wasn't good. As they munched burgers I saw
> pig teeth and giggled. I didn't mean to. He kicked my leg. I was
> brave as the knot raised on my shin.
>
> "Is anything wrong?" said the manager, whose head was twice its normal
> size. "Did you just kick that child?"
>
> Mrs. Lewis dropped her coward-head and Mr. Lewis lowered his fool one.
>
> "No sir, I had a leg cramp and accidentally kicked his." I waited,
> heart-leaden.
>
> He ignored me. "If I ever see you touch that child again, I will have
> you arrested." He didn't wait for an answer.
>
> Mr. Lewis glared at me.
>
> I'd never seen a man's bathroom before. It's not like I imagined. The
> stalls are big enough for two people. I always got to wear dresses
> cause they hid things better. This time lasted a long time, and the
> hand-gagging kept me from making noise, so as not to "'mburrass the
> family."
>
Oh, that's vile.
> "My, doesn't she look pretty? What a beautiful young lady. I'll bet
> the boys are lining up for you already. Dear, did you see that
> beautiful golden retriever just jump through those clouds?"
>
> The tile was cool. I was dizzy. He shoved me to stand up straight.
>
> The whispering. "That you may tell your children and grandchildren how
> I dealt harshly with the Egyptians and how I performed my signs among
> them, and that you may know that I am the LORD."
>
> He brushed my cheek.
>
> I'll try harder.
>
> Mrs. Lewis gave me sunglasses and we walked to the Van Goghs. I liked
> one they called "Starry Night." It swirled and massed and danced and
> eye-flirted with me. I stared at it so long the colours washed into
> each other and began to drip.
[OT]My favourite painting. My favourite painter.[/OT]
I'm liking your conjunctives - muse-touched, eye-flirted. Interesting.
>
> "Will you behave yourself while we're over there?"
>
> Another nod.
>
> I resumed my game. Its circles hypnotic and beckoning. Endless.
> Joyous and endless. I followed each brush stroke around the perimeter
> of each star. I couldn't stop myself. Each stroke pushed me into the
> next and the next and . . .
>
> "May I swallow you whole?"
>
> I turned but no one was there.
>
> I resumed my star-gazing.
>
> "Let me swallow you whole."
>
> This time it exhaled from the painting, and I walked as close as they
> would allow. I heard a euphony like ocean waves. It so soothed me that
> I wanted to sleep-serene on its shores.
>
> "Are you talking to me?" I answered my own question by assuming I was
> now brain-busted.
>
> "Your visits here are as welcome as a swallow in the spring." The voice
> had a chime-like quality while still floating on top of the whooshing
> wave, and I got greedy and wanted to hear more. It read my thoughts.
>
> "And in the proof much comfort will I give, If ye will take that comfort
> in its truth and enter in." The lights from the stars began to pulsate
> and I stared transfixed, the soporific combination of wave-chimes and
> pulse-particles nearly tipping me over.
>
> "Are you for real?" I sounded like I was in the third grade.
>
> "Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
> Whisper?d of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell?d."
Damn apostrophe/question mark Google confusion.
> For a moment, the voice went quiet and I waited. Instead of soft-water
> poetry, a wind began to blow the fields beneath the rotary sky, and as
> the wind became louder, the grasses and trees swayed with such vehemence
> that they overlapped the entire community below. Everything in the
> painting increased in concentration: intensity of the starlight,
> colours of the sky and field and the din of the wind. The painting was
> coming to life!
>
<snips excellent section>
> At sometime during the night the voice awakened me with a chorus of
> singing, and I got up and danced. The golden retriever morphed into a
> man -- a handsome, rugged, dark long-haired man with gentle eyes and
> touch. He placed his arms around me and we tangoed. He never stopped
> staring into my eyes. We danced circles around trees, flower fields and
> rivers; each measure accompanied by doves that flew from my chest, then
> lit delicately on tree limbs as they watched our pas de deux.
glorious
> "Don't be afraid. Here, the sky obeys your commands."
>
>
> The wasps were upon me and I let out a throat-ripping scream. They flew
> around me, above, between, chilling me to the bone. They dived bombed
> for a relentless two minutes, and as they did, I felt an anger well up
> from within. It felt foreign, as if I had red-hot goo in my belly, and
> it spread to my extremities.
>
> The wasps continued, but this time, I heard them laughing --
> taunt-teasing my fear, and as the queen drew up in front of me, now as
> large as an adult human, her eyes flashed green as she stared me down,
> her wings creating an intimidating tumult.
>
> For a moment, we both stared, neither moving. She advanced on me, her
> stinger raised high and wings outstretched, and I'd had enough.
>
> "STOP! NO MORE! You have no more power over me. Leave!"
>
> She stopped forward-moving, beckoned to the swarm to return, and with a
> final nod of her head to me in defeat, retreated to whence they came.
>
> "Well done. Now."
>
> I was getting tired of the voice's plastic bread crumb clues, but I
> waited. At that moment, Mr. Lewis's voice rang over the once serene
> flower-fields. I heard Mrs. Lewis crying. They rounded the corner of
> the church, and were now standing in front of me.
Excellent. I can picture this.
>For an instant, the
> golden retriever coward behind my legs, but I swallowed hard and
> comforted him, then returned my steel gaze.
Cowered?
>I was on home turf now, and
> I refused to be afraid.
>
> "What are you doing here?" I said.
>
> "Where in hell are we? Did YOU do this?"
>
> "I did not, but don't think you didn't deserve it." My courage
> continued to rise.
>
> He became so indignant his fat face beeted up. "How DARE you speak to
> me in such a manner." With that he advanced on me and in one stride was
> in front of me, fists raised.
>
> I did not cower. My hand made contact with his face and the knot on his
> forehead sent him backwards. I braced for a second attempt, and he
> delivered. He kicked his leg into what should have been my groin, but I
> side-stepped him and laid my own boot into his crotch.
>
> He folded like origami.
>
> The doves, swallows and forest animals were laughing. So I laughed,
> too.
>
> "Have you had enough?" I said as he gasped.
>
> "Why? After all I've done for you."
>
> "Touché."
>
> Mrs. Lewis spoke up. "I . . .I . . ."
>
> "Can't stand to watch now, can ya?"
>
> Mr. Lewis only coughed and she just stared dumbly.
>
> The golden retriever began to circle me excitedly. The doves cooed even
> louder.
>
> "C'mon, you fat bastard! Bring it on!"
>
> He shot up like a missile and charged me once more, with a force as
> great as a hurricane. Again, I only braced, prepared to use his weight
> against him. But this time I misjudged and he landed with his arms
> locked around my windpipe, squeezing as hard as he could. He continued
> squeezing and I began choking and gagging. He was close enough so that
> I could smell the booze on his breath. I felt the air slip from me and
> as I looked over the fields once more I saw them begin to dim, certain
> my time had run out.
>
> I noticed the golden retriever out of my eye's corner, and he wasn't
> moving to help. As my eyesight drew darker, I pleaded with my eyes for
> help.
>
> He stood on his hind legs and into my ear, whispered, "Love yourself
> enough to fight. You are worth it."
>
> I looked back at the drink-ridden fat-bastard beet in front of me and
> got pissed one more time. Raising my arms above my head, I brought them
> down across his own and turned, loosening his grip on me. With a free
> foot I kicked straight up behind me and into his crotch once more, which
> sent him down a last time, passed out.
>
> I fell to the ground exhausted, and the golden retriever licked my face
> as the sky turned to night.
>
> "How long has she been like this?" the nurse said as she tightened the
> restraints.
>
> "Four years now. Just keeps staring at the picture. Won't talk."
>
> "She have any family?"
>
> "She did, but they came up missing about two years ago and were never
> found."
>
> "It's a nice painting. Van Gogh, isn't it?"
>
> "Starry Night."
>
> Both of the nurses left, and the girl in the bed began to chuckle at the
> painting and its two figures in the field who moved around like bugs in
> a jar.
>
> "You there?" she said.
>
> A wet tongue caressed her restrained hand, then the golden retriever lay
> down beside her bed -- where he had been sleeping for the last two
> years.
Nicely done, O. I liked your wordplay. I also liked the enthusiasm with
which the second half of the story unfolds itself. Not sure about "folded
like Origami" though.
Once again, I must be retarded as I cannot tie up the Golden Retriever to
the story at all. I'm going to go stare at my painting for a while and see
whether that helps. Going to have to think about this. No real nits to
speak of. Enjoyable. Thanks for sharing!
Michael
--
"Revival ran along the hedge,
And made my spirit whole
When steam was on the window-panes,
And glory in my soul"
Betjeman, 'Undenominational'
Allegory60
I could not review your piece. I could not understand your piece. I was never
very good at anagrams or finding meaning in obscurity, nor could I ever catch a
fish in a vague stream-of-consciousness. After a couple of pages of what seemed
total nonsensical words (not quite gibberish, but the effect on me was the
same) I gave up. I can only surmise that since Westy gave the challenge, and I
have no clue what it was, that this must explain why I'm in the dark.
Please try me when you do another piece. This one seemed drug-induced and I'm
just not very good at evaluating anything that experimental. Sorry.
Hank
(who's now putting his "challenge" filter back on--egads)
Opus
>
Um, wow. Thank you?
I'm sorry to have put you through such angst, Hank.
So, fine. You thought my story shite--however, challenge stories now
make up about 2/3 of what's posted here, and for you to equate them all
with being sub-standard is just silly. Go to the archive and look up
one from me called, "A Sleep To Startle Us." I assure you, it's one of
my best and you will not regret it. It was a challenge entry for last
December, but I'm now awaiting word from two magazines as to its final
status for publishing.
About Charles Dickens.
There are plenty of challenge entries that are worthy of being read.
Look at ANY of Barry's, Alaric's, Dan's, doc's or Fraser's, not to
mention the tons of others by other regular contributors. I'm just not
as familiar with their numbers being as consistently on target as I am
these guys.
Opus
--
"Thank you for your submission. We are not interested in your work at
this time. That doesn't mean we didn't laugh, it just means we didn't
laugh hard enough." --Carla's rejection letter number 5.
http://www.carlarene.com
http://www.opusgraphics.net
Alaric
"Allegory60" <alleg...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20030622211020...@mb-m29.aol.com...
>
> Hank
> (who's now putting his "challenge" filter back on--egads)
That's very on topic thread unfriendly of you.