Bus stop. Life stops as bus service is cancelled. Thirty-two minutes of no life asking whoever is listening why the only time I don’t check if the bus is cancelled it is cancelled. I don’t like change. Change from go to no go. Do I have ASD? Am I one of them who will get a late diagnosis? Life stopped at the bus stop. Am I the Bus without Driver? Will I be cancelled. I count each minute, and wait.
The Thought took flight long ago
along an oral path that spanned a lifetime; but as Death came and
Distortion followed the Thought morphed into another’s. Then the Thought
caught the turning tide; through the ink splattered on papyrus and
parchments the Thought found a final resting place at the hand of Man
and the pen of the Mighty.
It’s Amazon-delivers-your-recent-book-purchase-early Friday! Here’s mine. By @lorienfae where the words are wrapped in hardcover, but not completely impenetrable. Looking forward to studying this work of art (and I might just take some inspiration from it for some future projects!)
I left highway 99 and sped towards Billith, Rosie’s Diner the specific target in mind.
With the sun at zenith and my nerves at nadir I slowly dragged my feet across the cobbled yard towards my single source of sustenance for the day.
‘The soup … of the day?’ the proprietor and part time chef said hesitantly, looking bewildered at me. ‘We no longer serve … soup … at this establishment.’ She wiped her beaded forehead and continued, ‘There was a surprise inspection by the Food Stuff and General Health Authority this morning. Apparently they had received a firm complaint from a customer, a boy had given a stern lecture in the composition of soups. Enough quantity of some special kind of crumbs … can’t remember what the inspector called them… ailsome, balesome … apparently needs to be present to call a soup a soup. The boy had even brought all 25 volumes of The Primordial Soup – How to Satisfy the God of the Stomach, as evidence!’
I looked across the empty booths, empty tables, empty chairs. I was the single soul in Rosie’s Diner. A single starving soul that craved soup.
‘So when will you get these “crumbs” delivered?’ I said with as patient a tone I could muster, my knees beginning to weaken.
‘Not for another week I’m afraid. But the inspector left this red emergency push button for… well… emergencies… Is this an emergency?’
‘YES!!!!! … sorry … I need to sit down. Please push press and proceed …. I just need soup right now …’ I sat and my head started spinning. What I saw next could not have been real, and I blame my interpretation of these next events on my lack of soup.
As Rosie slowly placed the red emergency push button on the counter a silence fell across the aisle; the light seemed to dim and a tangible presence could be felt. We looked at each other for what seemed an eternity before I nodded to her to go ahead. The red emergency push button did not light up. Nor did it make any sound. No words were spoken. Nothing needed to be said, we both understood the meaning of scams. But as Rosie made ready to hurl the red emergency push button out the open front door a cloud of smoke swiftly rose between us. Dissipated it left a wide-eyed boy standing in its stead.
‘HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII,’ the boy said. ‘Don’t throw that away! It can be reused you know, like hugs!’
As I drove away from Rosie’s Diner later that afternoon I felt a joy as innocent as that radiating from a newborn child. That joy lasted for days, and I often think back to that specific junction in my life when I first met Jay – a boy of eleven, the source of Innocence and Jaysome.
This is @randomlyjay fan fiction.
You sneezed and trees in fair Olympia
Awoke the god of gods from deepest sleep
In toppling turmoil rose and kissed your cheeks
As if a wind of change had come to greet
The dawn of dawns of Time and Sorrow gone.
Like liquid core about to crack the earth
Spew forth a golden storm of hate and hurt
Untempered torrents swept the land of Man
Like plague and famine both in search of leaves
My pen delined them all in greyest grey
But barely shivers felt or whispers heard
Among the living dead on this scorched Earth
The dawn of dawns beyond all comprehend.
My past has no shadows, as shadows need light to live. Life is a dance between light and night and the darkness of days. My present has shadows, but no dance of happiness or merriment of being a worldly presence. My future is unrefined, undefined as the sun may never rise above the horizon of maybes and likelihood of a waltz.
