Complicated Coast Proof Jagged Weed

My words this week are : Complicated Coast Proof Jagged Weed

 

Inhale.
Frigid air filled her nose, carrying with it the dew and cleanliness of morning. In the distance the birds and chipmunks carried on their relentless war over the feeder. The suns first, weak attempts decorating the sky a multitude of colors.

Exhale.
She was finally starting to feel a buzz, but guessed you couldn’t really complain about the quality of free weedLetting her cardigan fall slack on her shoulders, she lazily leaned back on the garage. The dope making her head the disconnected static she craved more and more as of late.

Releasing O’s of smoke into the air she sighed.

Since moving to the East Coast this was how she’d spent the beginning of every day, getting stoned,  staring into space while coating her lungs with as much nicotine as she could before the kids got up and started their demands. Not that she didn’t love them or appreciate being the one they entrusted to fulfill their needs, they were everything, the only thing.  Since Rick left it was all she could do to get out of bed every morning… okay, most mornings. The babies were always mimicking the question that rang endlessly inside her her skull; Where’s daddy? Where’d he go? When’s he coming back? Where the fuck is he?
He didn’t leave a single damned thing behind.
The only proof she’d never slept alone was the ache in her chest.

They had been happy once upon a time, before the complicated components came into play; the pregnant test, the lying, the cheating, the 2nd pregnancy test, the wedding, the drinking, the fighting, the 3rd pregnancy test, the fighting, the miscarriage.. they had been happy right? She could still see them dancing through the streets, heads back, howling in the moonlight. When did he stop trying to make her laugh? When did he become so jagged? 

Her eyes began to burn with the effort of staying dry while she lit up another joint and inhaled deeply.

 

 

 

 

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Rum Scream Total Brain Lockbox

My words this week are: Rum Scream Total Brain Lockbox

The door to the lockbox creaked on its hinges, the rust seal that formed with time made it difficult. She rubbed her eyes for what felt like the millionth time, but dust allergies be damned she had finally found it. How many years since she’d been here, 5? 10? Longer?
Her fingers froze while she reaffirmed her desire to be there. Her need to be there. This would be the proof she needs to convince himat last. Her resolve solid, she filled her lungs and braced her knees on either side of the wall. With an exageratted heave the door finally gave way, flying off it’s rusted hinges. The sudden slack caused her to overcompensate, and she flew to the concrete amongst a shower of dark orange flakes.

Fire screamed through her skull as she hit the ground with a sickening CRACK, it radiated throughout her body heating the blood in her veins. She felt her eyelids falling as her brain shot off it’s final signals, spiralling into total darkness she sighed….

..
.
and then..

..
.
Pain.
Indescribably searing pain.
Almost everywhere.

..
.

She gasped, nails scratching into concrete. Concrete? Her fingers were so numb she could only faintly feel the roughness underneath. As she began to recall the evenings events a heavy shame loomed over her.
The fight. The crying.
The rum. The screaming.
The running. And running.
Then the lockbox.

Shaking on the cold floor was an odd sensation she couldn’t place. A deep breath revealed the stench that had somehow been ignored until now; a stale metallic scent akin to a burning library.
Thick, dusty  air caused her lungs to spasm, leading to a coughing fit that confirmed her initial fear; her pain ceased from the waist down.

She clutched desperately at fistfulls of material and lifeless flesh, panic setting in, causing her skull to throb mercilessly. Her brain could hardly register what was dawning on her as a horrifying fact, she couldn’t feel her legs. She willed them to move, to feel the pinches she was sure must be drawing blood by now. They refused to respond to any of her ministrations. They were totally useless.
A new desperation set in, one she felt spark in her lungs, and erupt as a blood curdling scream. Followed by another. And another. She continued this new approach until her throat ripped raw and her tastebuds were flooded with blood.
No-one was coming.