It’s been one of those days. Eyes looking upwards, seeing the otter fur-patterned clouds and not registering some degree of contented awe. The reality? It’s been raining the whole day and the sky’s in perpetual overcast the past week. Probably a good thing though since I like the rain.
It’s worth remembering that the rut I find myself in eventually levels out, even if it’ll find me again down the road. I keep telling myself that the bad days make me stronger. I don’t know if it’s true, I mean, I’d like to believe it.
I’m just playing with words and ideas here. Perhaps it’s during these times we should reevaluate how far we’ve come and where exactly we want to go. Dreams change all the time and not all survive our equally changing perspectives as we experience what it means to be alive.
Most dreams are obtainable with dedication, or sheer stubbornness if that’s your thing. Things get real when you make them into goals otherwise all we’ll have are castles in the air. It would be an injustice to throw in the towel because of a tough couple of days if not weeks, however miserable.
Anyway, here’s to the hard times. Don’t forget all the times you spat out the dirt and kept moving. Maybe it’s in that same dirt we rise up as our better selves.
I’d like to take the time to give my heartfelt condolences for the victims of the recent school shooting at the high school in Santa Fe, Texas.
Not forgetting the Palestinian protestors who died/ were injured in the clashes with Isreal four days ago.
There isn’t much that I can do but know that I have you all in my thoughts. For what it’s worth I’ll pray and hope that you all begin to heal and grow stronger in the face of tyrany, what ever it may look like to you.
Wishing you peeps the best possible futures, and hoping you’re all safe.
He scoops me up like one would a small sleeping child. I am neither. I scramble for bars of my cage frame but he was stronger. Thrashing wildly as I can the fucker holds on like I’m nothing. Not always a happy person, not particularly strong, but I meant something once. I could again.
“You’re making this worse, sweetheart, more than it has to be,” his breath comes in puffs of fetid peppermint.
Screaming was moot, the basement took care of that. The two men that still breathed roused from their cages, their teeth bared in feral grimaces. One throws himself against his door, the other follows suit.
I know he’s hauling me to the steel table by the incinerator where Carter’s corpse had slept. Chest split open. Organs harvested. I feel the wince crack apart dried up riverbed of tears. Hell wasn’t the destination it was just a passage to something worse than the tales, and ours had its jowls laced with ashes and flames for teeth.
I may be nothing in this moment but I’m not stupid. Faked injuries facilitated recovery time. He’d wanted to have some fun with us before he got down to business eventually. The slime was considerate enough to let me off the hook so he could start all over again.
The plan, need to follow the plan. I go lax in his arms. I sing a lullaby with my body, arms like wilting flowers and breaths leafless trees in the wind. I feel his grip ease, only a little.
Got it. My hand closes around cool metal at his hip. I need to act quickly.
This is my bit for the Picture it and Write! photo prompt, again I’m late (a few weeks) but I’m here 😉
My heart was thumping madly in my throat as I was jostled along the angst ridden crowd of humanity and smoke. Shouts and cries permeated the streets like gas, leaving hardly any air to draw into my lungs. My left hand held onto Dani’s, my eldest brother, dirty vest, in the other was an unlit Diet Coke can filled with sulfur and kerosene and a piece of cloth hanging limply from the opening. I dreaded the moment when he would tell me to light it, when he would demand me to.
An explosion went off a hundred feet ahead of us. I shrank back fought against the impulse to drop to the ground in a shivering mess. No matter how many times it happened, I would never get used to this kind of life. I hardly remembered what it was like before the uprising, when I would play with my pretty straw dolls and dressing up to go to the city. That was before daddy was gunned down by the police, before mama became a stranger and before Dani was mad and restless all the time. Before my world came crashing down. I’m too scared to think about what the final after will be like.
I would recommend: Persons above the age of 16 due to graphical nature of contents and anyone one who has a taste to mystery and thrillers.
Enter, the recently disgraced financial journalist, Mikael Blomkvist, who has just been convicted of libeling a heavy weight financier, Hans-Erik Wennerström, and faces a hefty sum and three months in the slammers at Rullåker. His rapidly deteriorating career begins to turn around when he is approached by the the prominent industrialist Henrik of Vanger Industries as one last resort to unravel the mystery surrounding his great niece’s, Harriet Vanger, disappearance over forty years ago. In return, Vanger will provide Blomkvist with damaging information against Wennerström.
Blomkvist agrees, albeit reluctantly and skeptically. For one year he’ll be on Hedby Island while he goes about the business of the investigation, and scrutinizing the alibis of those of the Vanger clan that were on the island on the day Harriet had gone missing, as Henrik is convinced that one or more amongst his family is responsible.
Blomkvist goes under the cover story of ghost writing the Vanger family chronicle. He’s aided by the title character Lisbeth Salander, the girl with the dragon tattoo. Salander is a social ward of the state, she’s antisocial, has no urge what so ever to submit willingly to authority and is covered with an assortment of tattoos along with piercings to complete the gothic ensemble. She also happens to be a genius hacker who prefers to dish out her own brand of justice and revenge upon those vile and ruthless users and abusers that crawl on the face of the earth, whom she despises with a passion to be reckoned with.