The sun reached its apex again
Giving one hell of an effort
Civilization deserved that last hoorah
A deep yellow disk conjuring fantasies
So why then did everything go dark?
It wasn’t death that brought resentment
Just the five stolen hours
That were spirited away
A magic number faded
Paving the way for a new life
Since first impressions mattered most
He was sitting in an abyss
Without proper cords
And only a sense of timelessness
To keep him company
The musty halls were calling his name
He could only respond with brevity
But it was fine
Because nostalgia hadn’t been warped yet
The night was smothering and warm, and Dayton Blake didn’t know quite what to do with it. He was sitting on a faded, sunken in lawn chair in a parking lot of an abandoned retail store across from his home. Dayton needed some down time, away from the familiar and stale, but he didn’t trust most people in this town. They were all bored little shitheads that spent any excess cash on bingbangboom.com, a gambling website. Not that Dayton didn’t do the same, but he liked to diversify his portfolio every now and then.
So he watched his home with a can of bumbeer in his hand. The activity was hypnotic, and he could practically hear the mosquitoes buzzing on the edge of the vast bog he had only explored a few times. Mostly uninteresting swampland with a few horrifying experiences to offer.
Dayton’s phone rang.
“Give that lawn chair of yours a break, meet me you-know-where.”
Dayton grunted and clicked the end call button. He still resented having to upgrade to a smartphone. It had been an annoyingly social month so far.
As the night seemed like it would be one incident after another, Dayton was trying to steel himself for the festivities nature had in store. Glowing green rabbits were hopping along on the other side of the street, no doubt a side-effect of the contents of the vial he had chugged down earlier. So much for a cure. That liquid coursing through his body was just another problem.
They swarm in and out
Agents of Empire
Brandishing imperial writs
Given life under a distracting cloud
They do as please
Waiting for the next writ
The red royal seal making their hearts
One day the orders ceased
No calming slips of paper
To heal fresh cracks
So they decided to write their own
Until the lights came back on
What fun they were having
Trying to mimic the language
That air of fractured authority
Once done they gazed at their handiwork
Everything looked great
Ts were crossed, Is were dotted
They pinned it to the wall
Hoping one day the mogul
With gold dipped hands would visit
Exclaiming over the great words
Despite being inferior to the actual thing
But he never came
The lights never flashed to life again
The parking lot fell into ruin
Boards were placed over the windows
More time to have fun in the dark
The candles would keep them warm
A nice sunset
An oasis between workdays
Starts to break into darkness
Just a few more days left
Luggage is already starting to wail
Lonely waves crash and burn
Or maybe that’s your career
On the brink of destruction
Enjoy the dying sun
It’s a beautiful shade of pre-sleep
And hey, you’ve earned it
Here is an excerpt from my questionable freshmen effort Metallic Trees Bloom.
It takes several moments for the dust to settle. The three of you look like archeological finds of a defeated dynasty.
It’s not long before your sad, wonderfully preserved faces twist into activity once more. Dante is the first to stand up and frantically brush off that clinging layer of dust. You and Sixta clumsily follow suit, awkward follow-ups to the ex-patriot’s graceful movements. The three of you oscillate your heads, scanning your environment with welcome confusion.
Thought the plot was fairly irredeemable, but some of the word choice might have been okay, if a little pedantic in places. Let me know what you think.
Food forces you to take a break from politics, at least while cooking. You know, for safety reasons.
Maybe “safety reasons” are overrated.