…writes Marcus.
by Marcus Jonathan Chapman
And my youth
is running out
and your age
is coming
to an end
and our time
together
has been
short lived.
So when my time
comes
let it be
in the embrace
of a hug,
the verge
of a smile
or
that wave of
emotion
that crashes into
a new parent
when they hold
their child
for the first time.
Let it be
in the silent scream
of a shooting star.
A short story incorporating three random words, written in 20 minutes.
by Marcus Jonathan Chapman
I cry hard, like something is forcing itself out of me. Its wrinkled hands prying my jaws open from the inside, sending out a beam of aching sound, like wind chopped by the blades of a mill. Grunts and groans, the acoustics of pain are beautiful.
Plea’s to higher powers only expand the shadow over me. Nothing comes down, nothing hugs me, nothing screams in my ear the comfort of an existence lived any other way than alone. Let us look up, in the holy scripture, the book of 2nd bullshit and find out what lies lick our ears and send us life preservers with no rope attached to dry land.
Half-baked illusions equate to disillusions. Heaping helpings of please and thank you’s, excuse me’s and handshakes do not replace a single realization that we are and will always be entirely alone. Living in ovens, separated from the rest of the kitchen, getting weaker and weaker until we finally fall asleep in the warmth of wires glowing red. To become a meal, an example for some fresh batch of lives, popped into the oven.
A short story incorporating three random words, written in 20 minutes.
by Marcus Jonathan Chapman
Stars, sun and moon pattern canvases of purples and blues.
Bloated fingers stuffed through rings dab foreheads, stomachs and shoulders.
White hairs spill from Mitres jabbing at the sky.
Oceans of pink pressed hands squeezed white.
Fire licks spit roasted gluttons.
Salivating teeth taste smoke.
Souls peep morning skies through dewy windows.
Stars stab sun.
Moon kill sky.
Sun kill moon.
3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320
words/phrase provided by https://wordcounter.net/random-word-generator
At the end of your life you are shown to a theater and given an accounting of all your stats. It isn’t some thundering proclamation from a white haired god. No, by the end of the presentation, most people find themselves bored to death. That is exactly the point.
In the beginning it can be quite interesting. You’re offered coffee, tea or water and shown to a small couch. In front of you is a man on suspenders poised to turn over a large paper flip chart. There is no preamble he gets right into it.
“These are your statistics,” he says.
“Boogers! had you saved all of them up you’d have a gigantic mound of mucus about the size of an elephant.”
(By the way in this scenario you’re 81 years old.)
“Instead you’ve picked, flicked and blew all your not into garbages, toilets, streets, and cars.”
“Earwax!”
He goes on very similarly about the earwax, except its about the size of an SUV, which you think is roughly the size of an elephant and he’s just trying to keep his comparisons interesting.
“Hair! You’ve lost 37,564 hairs from the top of your head BUT you gained 63 hairs in and around your left ear and 59 hairs in and around your right. You had an increase in your nose hairs, both in number of individual follicles as well as girth of each hair.”
“Nutsack!”
It did surprise me that the terms were not more scientific but then again he may be using language I can understand.
“Your has distended 3.73 inches!”
“Fingernails! If gone uncut and unbroken they would now be 53 yards, 2 feet, 4 inches and 7millimeters long.”
Eventually you tune out. The stats become more absurd and then suspenders opens a dusty book and things get interesting again.
“I will now read your language stats!”
“Fuck you’s! 759,000 even. Impressive!”
You think it could be more.
“Fuck offs! 33,542”
“Fuck! 3,259,117.”
“Son of a bitch!…”
“Cunt!…”
“Damn!”
It continues like this for a while and eventually you just sort of die like I said earlier, of boredom. Fuck.
3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320
words/phrase provided by https://wordcounter.net/random-word-generator
In the Yukon there is a train that runs through the mountains. How the builders of this railway constructed those hundreds of miles of perfectly parallel lines through rocky, mountainous terrain, is a wonder every bit as spectacular as the views from the cars.
My grandfather loved that trip. We took a boat from Seattle to Alaska and floated around the last frontier. He was all smiles, a grin that covered his teeth but ran ear to ear.
On the train we rode during a day trip, he bought a hat as a souvenir. He wore that hat almost everyday until he went to the hospital for the last time.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about him now but I do know that I often think about him during times when I have a lot on my mind.
All my life I’ve been compared to my grandfather. The same short, stocky build. The same generally mild temperament but with a rare temper.
I think about where I am in life and the things I’ve gone through to get here. Normally I compare them to my grandfathers life and the things he went through.
None of it was remotely the same but somehow we’re similar.
The question I have for myself now is what am I thinking about that has me going through this exercise.
Maybe there is no reason. Maybe it’s year seven and all my cells have completely changed, I’m a different person. Maybe it’s just bed time.
Whatever reason, I know I’m thinking about my grandpa, wearing that velcro strap hat with “Alaska” written on the crown of the cap and he’s smiling.
Whilst making a living... 