Oct 26, 2011

Night Vision

Write On Wednesday
"I Thought I Saw"

Our awareness can become our enemy while waiting on a street at night.

I thought I saw...

A silhouette skittering across the skyline.

The destination unknown and origins undecipherable.

But that split second had been captured upon my retina.

The briefest moment of a stranger's dash beyond the veil had become the latest feature screening through my minds eye. A recurring flickering motion pitched in greyscale.

Something so peculiar and rapid occurring within a zone of central normality, it hardly seemed correct. The unconcious shroud that covered the unremarkable smear of suburbia had been pierced.

Tiredness and a straying gaze were far from helpful companions on such a dark and deserted night, and reason had seemingly abandoned me.

My will argued radically, determined to dissuade itself from believing what it had just moments before established as truth.

A thought that swung on the slightest of pendulums.

Anothers presence became apparent through a blinding beam of light that suffocated my vision, instantaneous in its effect to render my senses redundant and leaving me with only a fluttering percussion radiating from my chest.

A sudden flash and a secondary dash.

The certainty that clung to me felt impulsive after such agonising deliberation; but certain I found myself to be.

This was not my place.

Some things should remain unseen.

Jaq xx

Oct 22, 2011


When one word can cause an eruption of images...
Whats to stop them evolving?


The instant reaction to this word was rebellion, graffiti, something rushed and adrenaline flowing.  I attempt a mental blank before revealing the word but once this thought process began it was difficult ignoring images of streets leaking through from previous exercises... 

She ran breathlessly, it was always so fast paced.  The air was sucked in with such force it stung her lungs, choking as she exhaled, leaving but a moment before she gasped for more.  Her feet showed none of the distress her internal organs were suffering, connecting with brick and concrete, releasing like a trigger to leap to the next obstacle.

Of course I could not possibly resist the ever present temptation to continue...

Her heart pumped frantically, its pulse vibrating from her fingertips and echoing against the empty walls as she clung to them.  The harshness grated her hands as she propelled herself onwards, always moving.  She laughed deliriously at the thought, keep moving, never stop, rebelling against stillness, only movement kept you alive!  Every muscle synchronised and in harmony flowing across and between everything she came across.  Soaring and tensed to embrace the suffocating solidity of the buildings around her.

How contagious it becomes, where do I stop?
Jaq xx

Oct 16, 2011

One Word

Devising new ways of procrastinating and skirting the obvious,
while finding the motivation to push forward.

During one of my progressively frequent wanderings through blogs and writing prompts I gratefully stumbled across this interesting development.

Each day a new word is provided to which you have precisely 60 seconds to write.  Just write.

The word I was allocated was Advice and this was my input.
That was how people controlled her, with advice.  Carefully constructed words of advice.  Disguising opinions and orders as helpful and caring words, for your benefit of course, to guide you and nurture you.  Confining you.
 always Jaq xx

Oct 11, 2011

Hey Somebody

Write On Wednesday

That strange experience of acting out,
what we have seen played across the tattered cinematic screens of our minds.
And knowing it's all wrong.

The city was silent as it was steadily consumed by the cool night.  The silhouettes of wanderers prominent.  Intent stares swung back and forth, scanning your surroundings was habitual, but when they rested on him and watched as he passed by...  His unease was only intensified by the constant mutterings that infiltrated the air.

His name repeated itself.  A brief second of eye contact.

Another glance in his direction sent his nerves itching.

His brain panicked when footsteps sounded too close behind him.

Every shadowed crevice along the street welcomed a new degree of paranoia.

He was completely vulnerable and it flooded him with dread; the inevitable nature of retribution tormenting him.

Lighting a cigarette just to give his hands something to do, Blazor found himself too preoccupied with his own nervousness to even inhale the dark fumes.  A hobo member of the homeless masses approached wanting to 'bum a light' so he handed him the smoldering roll as he walked past, ignoring whatever the decaying man mumbled in return.

Needing another distraction he peered through the splintered screen of his mobile, the number of missed calls and unread messages an unsympathetic warning of the impeding confrontation.

One of the nameless sauntered past, their shoulder thumping into his and unbalancing his possessed train of thought.  The vagrant brandished a knowing sneer at Blazor's reaction to the contact before moving on.

He couldn't take it.

The tension was overwhelming to the point that it evolved into irritation and progressed into anger.  He wasn''t sure if it was fear driven impulse or some form of determination that provoked him to abandon his evasive wanderings through the streets and face the threat looming over him.

The rusted chain link fence around the warehouse exhibited a myriad of fissures; a skeleton of security.  Blazor weaved through with routine coordination, his body following the ritual that had once governed his life.  There was no time to consider what he was about to do, he knew reason would dissuade him if he let it.

They were all there.  Blazor could feel his hatred for them surfacing; their life, their habits, what they did to her.  It was like peering behind a curtain to find something you sensed was always there but had forgotten.  He recognised the one he had never trusted, carrying himself with the usual arrogance mingled with whatever he had been smoking.  And he threw his compressed fist at him.

"You're so bloody dead yeah"  his opponent spat, uncertainty flitting across his face as he scrambled back to his feet.

"At least I won't have to look at scum like you Duke"

The crowd gathered in anticipation, most too stoned to realise what was actually occurring, others hysterical with the thrill of the unexpected.  Blazor had had enough of pleasantries, he knew Duke had every advantage but didn't care.  He was going to walk away from all of this.

The collision was chaotic; each blow hummed with aggression that was bordering on riotous.  Instinct and experience were irrelevant during the onslaught, only the ability to uphold a constant barrage of force seemed to make the difference.  Nothing was controlling the flood of violence; all knew it would be an unrestrained assault.  Ultimately the brawl ended before the bloodlust did.

Blazor left Duke where he had fallen; a bruised mass collapsed upon itself.  He found shallow breaths escaping his lungs as he stooped to gingerly cautiously remove the small knife Duke had struck out with and landed in his thigh, some form of shock registering at the blood that surged from the gash.  He would deal with it later.

"He's no Duke" he murmured to the skulking bodies gathered round, "and my name isn't Blazor".

They all watched him.  From the corners of their eyes, beneath their hoodies, from the alleyways.

He didn't care.

It was strange how quickly everything had been thrown upside down, how a familiar world had suddenly vanished and left him on the outside.  But being on the outside had its advantages, he didn't have to live by that world anymore.

As he wandered the streets quiet and still, his mind blundered incoherently, and a thought stood alone.  He would be a nomad and find what he needed, he would sacrifice all he had like she had wanted, so he could walk away.

Put a name to the face of the voice inside my head.
Jaq xx

Oct 7, 2011


So many paths to take, but the journey is always the same...

Truth Doesn't Make a Noise - The White Stripes

The fluroscent light above flickered anxiously stream of white fluorescent lighting above made everything seem too sterile, one globe wavered anxiously, too stark a resemblance of the night that had brought them both here. Nothing had changed and it was slowly eating away at him.

"I don't... understand..." he pleaded quietly.

"It's not up to you" she replied, her voice emotionless as she stared across the room at nothing in particular.

"Then who's decision is this!" He stood up pushing the chair away angrily as he moved to the window. The frustration of not having a clear answer mingled with confusion until he couldn't take it anymore. For him the choice was obvious, last night made it so, and her refusal to see that was distressing. He turned around suprised to see she was looking at him at last.

"I can't just stand by and watch you kill yourself! Why won't you listen to me Sophie?" He stepped towards the bed gripping her hand in his, her attempt to jerk it away devastating his already spiralling emotions and forcing him to hold back the words he needed to say to convince her. To prove to her there were better things than living in a hole with a gang of destitutes. Her reaction to his touch just as he was about to admit the feelings he had always entertained were possible left him with only anguish and dispair.

She had become a stranger, and he couldn't help but dwell on the distance that spread between them. The depressing realisation that she had surrendered any chance they had together, and expected him to sacrifice the same only made him want to cling to the few memories he had left. When there had been no need for constant bravado and they could relax from the struggle to survive; they could pretend they were happy. For him that had been better than nothing, but now she wasn't pretending.

Solemly he looked away, a small part of him in denial, still believing that for as long as he held her hand he could take her away from here and keep her safe. But apparently that wasn't up to him.

His body screamed in protest as he let her hand fall from his and moved to the door. The hopsital corridor seemed to mock the bleakness that was now consuming him, as if the raw ache that rose inside of him was not as real as the wounds that existed there. As if nothing he felt even mattered.

Suddenly she stiffened, her indifference seemingly distorted by the emotions he was failing to control.

"I can't just walk away from this Blazor" she said venemously, each word painful in its reality. "And it's time you saw that neither can you". She sat glaring at him, daring him to deny it and attest to his ignorance.

For a minute he stood there, completely drained.

"It was nice seeing ya Espy".  There was nothing left to say.

Consequences always come after.
Jaq xx
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