Sunday, September 27, 2009

Flash! Aa-ah! He's a miracle!














"Know what would be a miracle?"

"This blog not sucking Vultan's ass?"

Ladies and germs, it's that time again.

There was no respite; the vivid, violent dreams that ruthlessly tormented her slumber had now relentlessly stretched the abyss, to envelop her during her day. In the grey pregnant with growing shadow, whose fathomless shade of rough, irritating November was swallowing the worn hardwood, the corner of the rumpled bed that lay unseen under the sheet disheveled like her hair; was creeping as a malicious vine over the cold spaces onto her warm flesh, strangling the last tears from her weeping mind, she sat waiting, alone.

The maw of the sleeping, unseen pit, its voluptuous breath black as tar burrowing beneath her salty skin -- how she wanted to scratch and tear, praying that the poisonous vapor would leave and never return -- drove her away from the edge, nightshirt breathlessly clinging to her contours, her back haphazardly propped up against the grey headboard. All color had been drained from the room. The rich, scarlet bedspread, the ceiling -- her eyes darted at a most feeble sound. Cornered by the thundering echo, she had forgotten how intoxicating, how relaxing, the shades of the walls were, freshly painted mere weeks ago. It wasn't far enough, never far enough. She heard it again. Louder. Closer.

Brushing dark tresses out of her eyes, a strand caught on a fingernail, she pulled her hand violently away. Things weren't any clearer, only grey. The wisp of hair quickly vanished in the billowing gloom. Out the window, the fiercest scrutiny lain upon the frigid vista, no orange radiance sliced through bruised, purpled clouds; only unending fields of grey. Morning hadn't come. And she heard it again. Louder. Closer.

Managing to find an untapped well of resolve, she carefully ambled to the edge of the bed, her knees stopped as if blocked by an invisible force, and looked down upon the tired planks. Frightened like a child half-recalling the tangible horrors of old Poe, through troubled lips she weakly chuckled to no one. The floorboards lay motionless. The only heartbeat was her own. The nearly leafless boughs, carefully textured with frost, stretched in repose. There was no gust of deep autumn air, no flutter of a wing, slam of a car door in the parking lot that sat behind her property. No sound at all, an unearthly stillness.

Shaking off the sparks of frayed synapses, she stood up, pacing around the room dormant as a mausoleum of stone and dust. Not even the shuffle of her feet, the ruffling of the nightshirt against her nudity, made a noise. The shadows that danced in a Dionysian frenzy when the wind howled against the panes, elegantly waltzed when she caressed them, now shambled as the living dead, animated by -- she jerked, spinning her body around. Nothing. The house that would always settle in the evening hour, as predictable as the hands of a freshly wound clock, had failed to speak a word. She sat back down on the corner of the bed and, taking a determined breath, stared in silence.

She was no longer waiting, no longer alone.

21 comments:

sunshine said...

Randal... that was beautiful. Really beautiful. :) A joy to read.

I wasn't sure.. in my blog, were you disrespecting the song that I liked??? Hmmmm....
((Hugs))
laura

S.W. Anderson said...

I couldn't help but wonder if the lady's abyssmal wake-up-time had something to do with a too-generous hot toddy at bedtime. Or, maybe it was the vulture Alfredo and nightshade vinaigrette she had for dinner.

Seriously, another richly descriptive, highly imaginative piece, RG. I enjoyed it.

Distributorcap said...

i always preferred Buster Crabbe

Tengrain said...

Graves, you swine!

Freud is always better to read in the original Viennese.

Regards,

Tengrain

Tom Harper said...

You're posting on the Sabbath? What happened?

susan said...

I'm thinking she needs to find a couple of jolly room mates to play cards with when these moods arrive. Or was that who just showed up?

Randal Graves said...

sunshine, if I didn't like it, I would have been clear: "I don't like this." ;-)

SWA, I like to think of it as a cautionary tale. This is what happens when you run out of booze.

dcap, we dug him up, but he was a little too dead.

tengrain, just giving the people Die Kunst they want, Hollywood.

tom, as long as it's a black one, I think I'm alright.

susan, as long as they're not dogs. One bad painting is enough.

themom said...

OK...now I am hanging here, waiting for more. ** So glad I didn't have to read this is in Viennese. I'm a bit rusty!

sunshine said...

Gotcha! :)

MRMacrum said...

Hmm, no longer alone? You may be right. But I think she was just feeling some gas.

Cormac Brown said...

Haunting.

TomCat said...

Didn't anyone offer her coffee?

Mary Ellen said...

Holy cow...you pulled out all the stops on this one. Excellent.

She was no longer waiting, no longer alone.

That happened to me this weekend when I found I was no longer alone, only it was my dog in the bedroom panting because she had to go out to take a piss.

TomCat: :-D

Beach Bum said...

Damn, that was simply excellent. Now I have had an official bad day. Got told I will have to have a root canal Friday, start working the 11:00pm to 7:00am shift at the hospital Sunday night because the suits want "total coverage", and this piece of real and honestly professional class writing blew mine out the water.

Luckily I have beer! Cheap beer but right now I'd drink just about anything.

Hill said...

Randal, fantastic!

While reading, this came to mind.

You did good.

:)

Randal Graves said...

themom, good thing I didn't put up the Vietnamese translation.

sunshine, so keep your 'words-in-mouth' tricks to yourself, Canuck. ;-)

mrmacrum, that Taco Bell will go right through you.

cormac, thanks, exactly what I was going for, even though I fell short.

tomcat, and make her even more jittery?

nunly, which is also a haunting tale, the ghost of stale urine in the carpet. ;-)

BB, thanks, and a root canal? Fuck man, if I were you, I'd show up plastered AND baked.

hill, I thought it was going to be a clip of an old Vincent Price flick!

Übermilf said...

I like that Tengrain guy.

I don't understand, if she was wearing a nightshirt, how could she be nude, too? That doesn't make sense. I think you just wanted to include the word "nudity" somewhere.

Also, I am jealous that this is so much better than mine, but I am going to give the whiny excuse that I had the stomach flu the past couple of days and only had like 30 minutes to write something.

Randal Graves said...

Tengrain just wants me to include him in a sexy story for once, he can't fool me.

I like the word nudity. I'm shallow, I'll freely admit it.

Is your story about your stomach flu? 'cause that would be fucking cool.

Paul Brazill said...

Very good indeed.

Dr. Zaius said...

Ha! Frayed synapses are my meat and potatoes!

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