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Roseanne is the 2nd Place Winner of tellitintype's "Into the Unknown" writing competition!
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April 20th, in Flash Fiction
Estimated reading time: 3 minutes, 10 seconds. Contains 635 words
I can't speak --
The silence shakes my body awake
An element of doom surrounds me
As the chill of night permeates throughout
The quiet room
Casting shadows over half-sunken faces
Not a trace of a tear;
A menacing hum trails in an echo
Eyes like a viper
Serpentine smile
No sweeter than a vulture
Her nasally caw signals doom
Thick, venomous air
She's ready for the kill
Again, and again, and again, she prowls
Hunts me down in her effort of thrill
Push me towards the edge --
A sliver of hope beckons me from the hall
Begging my chattering teeth to take a bite
The menacing hum slithers across the quiet room
Jaded future, wicked past
Present current in a void, soulless vacuum
Leave a trail of obsequious breaths, for
Darkened fumes swirl in a midnight cyclone
In the quiet room
I cannot speak --
I remain buoyed to my empty space
And the hum's volume grows
Encroachment of the mist
The scent of manure and diesel infiltrates the air
In the underbelly of the suburbs,
Still, in the silence, waiting for the kill
In the underbelly of the suburbs,
I chance a look towards the great beyond
An ice-pick tap on the door jolts me from fantasy
Cold viper eyes neon in the blackness
The fervor of her wrath impales the silence
No haven in sight for the child of mind
Take a slow, deathly crawl under sheets too thin
Nerves fiercely raging in a warning sign
I lift up my head to catch the glint in her eye
The chatter of teeth grows wilder
Pointed gaze of dissatisfaction and malaise
Too rare does she bear a softer side
"Show yourself, child"
"It's me, it's me! This has always been me!"
Talons raised once more to paint me crimson red
I cry, "Lord, you have pushed me towards the edge!"
I dodge each attempt at falsified praise
Sweet-nothing twisted truths from vulture's caw
My lips concave as a breath escapes too quickly
Beats at rapid pace thundering in my ears
I close my eyes as she swallows me whole
All too familiar, never too old
An age old tale passed from soul to soul
A girl embossed in the darkness of motherly cold
Condescension, her stalwart
Degradation, her vice
Fire and vitriol her only sworn comrades
It never tickles her to shake hands with nice
Loquacious in nature, unwavering in colorful language
The vulture amused by its prey's defeat
Haughty laughter as she pecks to the bone
Inescapable, it is -- the inevitability of her barbarity
Shelter I find in memories; These memories...
Bandages for the cracks in the lives I lived
Tourniquets for the soldiers marred from battle
Never enough left for the grief of my plight
As pure as the hollandaise on a fresh morning egg
Lay the schemes of her madness
The lack of her praise
What praise she only should have known, too
A lashing here or there, a simple name call
"A mind game or two never hurt you," she'd say
And from littlest me to today's young girl
I wait in the night for the viper's tempest play
As the midnight cyclone grows thicker with bloodthirsty delight
The suburban air reeks of iron
Three trails of blood leak down precious limb
Melting like sorbet onto innocent skin
Run amok in the violence
This misery has become her serenity
Cut my ear off to spite me, please
Or perhaps to free me
Guilt's hand in mine a comfort to behold
"Do you know what you've done to me?"
Relentless to the charms of unholy hatred
A reptile of indomitable victimhood
I wrap myself in my own vice grip
Eyes engorged with unshed tears
The hiss of her shortcomings like knives in my ears
Knives coated in the freeloading of her only daughter
And as iniquitous as I know her to be
She convinces herself the darkness solely belongs to me
This nasal caw will grow fainter with time, as I know true
And the darkness may lighten to a shade of dark blue
Still as a gargoyle shrouded in crystal night
Walls shrink in until I'm forced to bloom
And as hushes turn to whispers turn to solitary gloom
I am nothing but smithereens dusting across the quiet room
About the Author:
Roseanne has a penchant for writing and deep desire to write for a living. She also loves dogs, music, movies, and the New York Yankees!