Prose

The Final Countdown

Fifteen minutes, this is the countdown: how are you supposed to say everything you want to say in just fifteen minutes? Unprepared too! Sum it all up they said, you have 15 minutes that’s enough to point out the highlights, throw in some messages to loved ones and let them know you were thinking about them when the moment happened. But it’s not enough I said, fifteen minutes is just not enough time to express everything, I can’t press my life down into a nutshell and hope that people will be OK with the way things have turned out. I mean, what if I forget to mention someone?  What if this is the most important fifteen minutes of my life and then I forget someone dear to me because of the pressure? How would you feel knowing that you have devoted yourself to helping someone and then in those last final moments you were not on their most important list? What if you were that person?

Look, you get fifteen minutes, same as everyone else!

But-

No, fifteen minutes! He was adamant. So there I was with my rushed list trying desperately to count people’s names on my fingers and run through words in my head desperate to just say the right thing: it was too important to mess up. This was it. My last chance to show the world, to say what I really wanted to say before everything turned black. Just fifteen minutes to say all those things that had held me back through life, to tell people that I loved them or hated them (no I wouldn’t do this, still), but to just imprint a part of me into the hearts of people that I cared for: before the memory of me was lost in entirety, enveloped in the ether. Yes I had fifteen minutes to make an impact and not give way to fear. I had to hold my nerve and speak out, show true courage and then impress them, maybe I could change their minds. Perhaps I could get them to allow me a longer existence, beg them to keep my name on the list longer, help me stay alive. Yet now the end was nearing I couldn’t help but give way to the frog residing in my throat. I reached out for the mike but I could feel my throat squeezing the life from my words.

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Winds of change

Ever get those days when you feel on the very edge of change and you fear somewhere deep inside that something unknown is about to snap and leave you blowing about in the wind. You get that little unsettling feeling in your stomach as it lurches towards the what ifs and the who knows, and the knowledge that you are not in the safe and secure place that you imagined yourself to be in.

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A-Z Challenge:Luminous L

Light of my life

A coiled refraction

Cast over by half shadow

Awaiting full potential

Dust laying thick on membrane

Protection from eyeballs

Knotted together like a comet

Upside down – and held

Star struck , naked and aloft

Strung up with impunity

A weight overbearing

For such a flimsy facade

My comfort; the light in my dark

Mornings… ugh

Just a start of something more perhaps…

 

The alarm screamed into her ears to wake her violently from her dream. An arm jutted out from under the sheets and aimlessly patted the side table in an effort to find the source of the noise. After a minute of useless fumbling the sheets were thrown off and she grabbed the clock with both hands, hitting it into quiet submission.

‘I hate you!’

She screamed at the clock as she slammed it to the floor. Stumbling into her slippers she cursed at the cold air and having to get up so early, she hated mornings anyway but Monday was always the worst. Grabbing her robe for warmth she made her way to the bathroom in a sleepy haze, luckily she managed to navigate the route on auto pilot most mornings.

Turning the tap on she pondered her tired face in the mirror as she waited for the water to heat up. Poking her tongue out at her reflection she thought about how nice it would be to just go back to sleep and ignore the world but she knew that wasn’t an option. So instead she splashed her face with tepid water until her eyes were fully open and brushed her teeth begrudgingly

The slow tide of time

There lies a sadness
which lingers
Hovering over my heart
Hiding within my soul
And it haunts me
Both day and night

A cloud of stillness
Sitting on the face of time
Applying resistance to hands
Reaching out for the future

Seconds are dragged
Held hostage to the present
Minutes that trickle
Into stagnant hours
Flecked with fragments of gloom
Of despair

So I sit
And I wait
For the inevitable change
Which never ever comes

Beyond repair

It barely shows at first
Just a hairline fracture
Nestled beneath the rim

The slow erosion over time
Overuse making it’s mark
On creamy porcelain skin

Pressures of everyday life
Gnawing against it’s existence
Forcing the blemish to grow

Branching out across the belly
Of this old china teapot
Weakening both surface and below

We see them of course
Yet don’t worry about the strain
Continuing to fill it to the brim

As long as it’s job is done
The outcome still the same
We won’t question the state within

Until that one day
Water will seep from the cracks
Dampen wooden worktops
And split open from the pressure
Only then do we acknowledge
And despair at it’s demise

The Dance

Back to this incessant dance.
The gentle to and fro of being,
Following steps unknown
With feet unwilling
Trying to keep up
With the ever changing beat

One day the dance is wild
Ferocious
The next day, slow
And demure

Following an erratic composer
Into the ether
It’s exhausting
Exhilarating
Exquisite