Dec 20, 2011


Five Sentence Fiction

She clutched feebly at her throat, struggling to keep the hysteria from bubbling forth, but her flesh was in a panic and it all seemed so beyond seriousness.  Her mind was drowning in sensation as she collapsed upon the rich sofa, tossing aside the adorning cushions and sinking into the satin layers of her gown.  The bright chandelier glared at her from above as it swayed like a pendulum, the candles fluctuating nervously while everything seemed to race to the rhythym of her pulse as it crashed beneath her chest.  Her painted lips fell open in laughter at the sight of the beautiful room dancing around her,  straining to lift her thin arms she flitted her hands back and forth, orchestrating the lights and colours that were spinning so fancifully, and wondered if this is what it was to die.

Wasn't it marvellous?

Craving the old centuries,
Jaq xx

Dec 6, 2011

In Denial

To find these midnight musings quite interesting,
and that which is formed so readily.

Watch them there.  Look as they stand silent, none wanting to acknowledge, pleading ignorance to the obvious.  They exchange glances, unaware that their eyes betray them.  How proud these people must be to deny the truth that blatantly glares at them, and from a face so newly devoid of such sheltered naivety.  The curiously binding nature of a feeling of injustice, especially to oneself, that we expect to be owed at least that much.  Agitation and nervousness have casually scented the atmosphere.  Attempts to evade the radiating force of righteous anger have fallen to an unrelenting standstill.  They will not concede to abandon their delusions and she will not forfeit without their confession of guilt.

I turn to leave and find my hands are shaking, fingernails drilling into my palms as fingers curl tightly inward.  Even my body is denying what it is so forcefully faced with.  No one is looking at her, as if she now possessed the suns ability to blind.  The polished floor upon which we all stood invoking an immense degree of fascination.  I sense the tears of frustration that she is battling to withhold but she has lost and the moisture escapes.  Her shoulders collapse at the centre of a gathering of mutterings and the shaking of heads, disappointment has risen to combat the fresh desperation.  Gentle hands seek earnestly to lead her from the sight of others and there is minimal effort at defiance.  That bold stare connects with mine before it is buried beneath her shame.

Deep within a place I had no knowledge of, my soul is crushed.

And I don't know why.

I prefer such vagueness in defence of severe editing,
and wonder at the different perspectives it instills.

Jaq x

Dec 4, 2011


Simplicity is bliss upon the surface,
Until we delve deeper to discover the wonder of its complexity.

The level rises as droplets plummet
To shatter peace so hard earned
Continuing lines interrupt that cold calm
As darkness spreads above

Silence creates from monstrous clattering
And pattering as intensity augments
Atmosphere fills with swirls of
Precipitation unable to halt
As they are hurled to splinter

Calm reclaims as the darkness
Moves on its rage of tears
To raise a death toll elsewhere
As corpses maintain their downward
Tread through crumble and claw
Of blackness become saturated
Warmth attends that left
Evaporating all traces

From the ancient,
Jaq xx

Dec 1, 2011


Write On Wednesday
'Notre Dame de Paris'

To the unknown past that lays behind, and holds its patrons close to heart.

Whimsical spatterings of light erupted from my footsteps, dancing beneath my trepid paces as the shadows shied away, retreating to their mass within the darkness as I watched.  Consumed.  The single flame rose from the wick steadily crafting its shape within the wax, hot drippings creeping from the melted pool. 
To wonder at the murky stone that surrounded myself, what lives must have transcended this same thick tunnel, the long past flesh that filled these halls, such history to be forgotten.  The loneliness of being left behind had been daunting, an old soul caught within a people who have abandoned such philosophical thoughts. 
Can I not yet find a place here?  The slender sickly guide to my sight continued to sweat profusely as the light hungers so, wavering against the damp drafts that journeyed with us.  To have waited like so many before, I am grateful.  The weary stump of wax is cast aside upon reaching the gateway to the open air, salvaging it from its imminent demise.  To now share their fate by sealing my own by the steely resolve of the executioners blade, I am honoured.

May I finally rest upon the wooden block and feel this release in its finality.

yours faithfully,
Jaq xx
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...