Dear Weekend,

once upon a time, we were friends.
I don’t even recall when this changed, but when I think back, it seems, you’ve been such a traitorous bitch for the past couple of months. It is probably my fault, so I should apologize for calling you names, but damn… I am mad at you.
I long for you, week after week. Welcome you with open arms when you arrive, always hoping we can go back to the way we were. But every single time it bites me in the ass. When there is nothing left to clean, nothing left to rearrange, vacuum, restock, scrub or build, you leave me alone. Utterly alone. Once, we used to enjoy our time together. Now, when there’s nothing left to do, you leave me all alone with my thoughts – and wow, this is still such a painful experience. I never thought I would say this, but when you’re here, and I have “endured” your presence for more than a day, I long for Monday to come and sweep me away. Keep me busy… keep me away from painful memories, that haunt me (for the time being).

I didn’t mean to call you names. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I am just so disappointed that you and I don’t work out anymore – when I just know how much I really need you.
I hope this period of time will be a short one… and that we will learn to spend time with each other again.
I miss you. Very much.

Faithfully,
The Involuntary Thinker

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Dear Sores,

for the millionth time in the past couple of weeks, I wish I could stop scratching. The scabs are yet tender, and I can’t seem to leave them alone. What lies beneath their fragility is much more vivid than what I have to face now… and I can’t really bring myself to accept the fact that soon, they will dry and eventually scar.
There is not a damn thing I can do about it.
A part of me appreciates the faint stabs of pain you cause. Even when my eyes roam elsewhere, I know you are still with me. It is a somewhat comforting reminder of the depth of my feelings. After all, I found I am still human. For that, I am grateful.

Nevertheless I would ask of you to help me still my hands by muting your sometimes fierce and fiery tongues – because we both know, it will be for the better… in the end. You were never meant to stay.
Let’s both be brave and get this over with. I know you can do it.
And so can I.

Sincerely,
the Recovering

From Beyond

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And in this greatest turmoil we gather, to walk alongside men once more.
Too long have we been absent; too long have we witnessed decay and destruction turn this world into a shadow of its former self.
It is time.

We are the past, present and future.
We spin the threads of life that hold the fate of man, and we shall guide you to the dawning of a new age.

Embrace your destiny.
It is time.

(77 words)

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In Norse Mythology, the Norns are female beings who rule the destiny of gods and men.

Written for VisDare33: Indifferent – 150 words or less. Grab a pen and join the fun!
photo credits: leclownlyrique.files.wordpress.com

Evolution

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“So, this is it?” she asks, and stands up on her tiptoes to get a better view. ” I don’t understand what’s so funny about them, Mom. They don’t look funny to me.”
Molly is seven.
How can I explain to her, why those store window mannequins just caused me to laugh hysterically?
She was born in the age of Botox, where people pluck, shave and shape everything. We, as a whole, are evolving from ape to plastic. How can I explain to her, that those plastic figures don’t resemble anything remotely human, when she is surrounded by people looking exactly like them? It takes a lot of effort to hide my tears of frustration behind laughter.
” It’s an old person’s joke, Molly. Maybe someday, you will understand.”
She gives me a quizzical look, takes my hand, and together, we stride through a world of make-believe; a world no longer human.

(149 words)

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Written for VisDare31: Focused – 150 words or less. Grab a pen and join the fun!
photo credits: saatchionline.com

The Horse’s Head

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He was unmoved by the fact, that he had instantly smelled the gun on Frank, who had picked him up to “go, see the man” a few minutes ago. The look in Frank’s eyes, as they casually exchanged pleasantries, screamed murder. Frank had never been much of a poker player, nor would he ever be – the inability to hide emotions would not get Frank far in this business.
It did not matter. For once, they would not be able to use his family as leverage. His wife and children were safely out of the picture, he had seen to that.
As he entered the room, his eyes fell on the polished mahogany desk and those manicured hands, tapping the smooth surface. Pavolini fixed him with his grey, concrete stare.
“Sam. Please, have a seat.”

This time, there would be no mercy.
This time, there would be blood.

(147 words)

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Written for VisDare28: Obscured – 150 words or less. Grab a pen and join the fun!
photo credits: observatory.designobserver.com