The Final Bullet

“I summon you, the beasts of war!”

One soldier suddenly screamed into the darkening lazuline skies nearly obscured by smoke and flame surrounding them as they huddled in a found trench.

The tokens that had moved around maps in the plotting and paper rehearsal of their campaign in the sterility of the general’s compound, had not lived up to its gritty reality.  If 100 things could have gone wrong, it seemed that 90 of them had. Watson again pushed away the mental reminder that this mission would be his final bullets for a while; he would be on leave in a few days. Having been back-turned twice, this mission was one for the Fail column. Those thoughts did him no good now when the few of them left were simply trying to survive long enough to report this failure of a mission.

“Janssen! What the bloody hell are you doing? Shut it!” Another soldier, Corporal Murray, hissed.

With his rifle raised overhead to the sky in defiant punctuation, Lieutenant Janssen continued his rant.

“Come! Cast your shadows upon my flesh. You think me afraid? Come then! Come find a gallant feast of fear in which to dine and learn that Janssen is a poor man’s buffet indeed for I am not ear-marked to be such food stuffs!”

Captain Watson’s head spun from Janssen’s outcry, to Lieutenant Rupali,  a meter on his opposite side in a clear do you hear this? expression before they ducked from a spray of stone and debris from another blast close to where they were. Blasts that were getting closer and closer as the enemy closed in.

Captain Watson wished he were surprised. He had always felt there was something off with Janssen but had kept it to himself. The man was a decent soldier, if high strung. When Janssen, what they at the time had thought was jokingly, fancied himself a modern-day Shakespearean tragedy in the making and started to sprinkle Elizabethan speech into his words, Watson knew he was no longer the only one who had begun to worry as signs of that off-ness increased. It explained Janssen’s language as the mission and his mind started unraveling. 

They have been on the run for three days straight as they wove their way out of the gauntlet of enemy territory. At times there was no choice but to quickly fish through the belongings of the slain, picking up ammunition and whatever supplies from the fallen who no longer needed them. Leave no man behind, an abandoned concept in their desperation for survival. Watson felt the weight from the collected dog tags of those he could get to that he carried in his med pack.

He knew they were so close to being saved. Their last radio communique before it was shot out had them no more than a couple of kilometers from the rescue approaching on the other side.  The last thing they needed was attention drawn to themselves. It was clear Lieutenant Janssen had not got that message as another grenade blast went off far too close to them. Watson knew the next one would strike true. They had to abandon their position.

“Come you spilled seed! A worthiness for only the lead of my bullets to eat!”

There was no ambiguity about it, Janssen had gone mad; the screaming man rising to his feet now put them all at risk.

“Jesus Christ! He’s going to get us killed!” Rupali swung his rifle around, his intention clear.

It was Rupali’s outcry that made Janssen turn and lock eyes with his fellow lieutenant. Watson and Rupali knew then that any chance at communion with Janssen was gone a moment before he turned and started screaming at a run when he was brought down.

“No!” Watson yelled as he scrambled out of the trench, the doctor already swinging his med pack around for use.

Some part of him registered the increased firepower as his people began to engage the enemy to give him a chance. He ignored it as he made his way to Janssen.   

He dropped to his knees, his mind already in medic mode as he began to triage. It took a moment before it registered that he was too far from his patient. It was another moment before the agonizing pain that caused him to drop his med pack from the bullet that tore through him made itself known.

But Watson knew it was bad. Very bad.

He did not notice that their rescue had finally arrived; his thoughts as he slipped into unconsciousness: Please, God, let me live. Don’t let this be the final bullet.


The Sunday Whirl  | Wordle 509
Language, Eat, Fish, Flame, Feast, Saved, Risk, Unraveling, Spray, Shadow, Stone, Off

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Wordle #249
Gallant, Ear-Marked, Sterility, Fail, Stone, Plotting, Rehearsal, Punctuation, Ambiguity, 100, Back-Turned, Communion

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie |First Line Friday: July 16, 2021
“I summon you, the beasts of war!”

Microwave

Shawn stood at the stove, fry pan in hand as warmed-up yet another of James’ impromptu dinners. The man had a gift for taking leftovers and whatever else he could find and conjure up deliciousness. It was the only way to get a decent meal in Shawn sometimes. He let work keep him up all manners of hours and a proper meal oft fell by the wayside in the process. James made sure he ate.

After three other roommates had come and gone in a two year span. James signed on. They gave each other a million reason to walk away from being roommates. Yet in a short few weeks of living together there had been a marked difference in the daily routine of the place. Holly claimed it was like the apartment had a cold draft that someone finally sealed and the place was warm again. Shawn knew the draft was him and the warmth was James. He was always the mar, the blemish, the thing wrong in the equation. Until James that is, who arrived with his own issues. His temper being the worst.

Normally Shawn would use the microwave, but he had conducted a food experiment that had not gone quite as expected. James understandably had refused to clean it this time as he had all the other times, but the man was a hard-wired germaphobe. Shawn would often just wait it out knowing James would cave in and do it. Still, every now and then the man would raise a brow and get a stubborn streak. And it would be like sand in his shoe  he couldn’t seem to shake out until it was resolved. This was three days later – that was a record. Shawn knew he really was going to have to do something about it. He couldn’t stand it if James employed the silent treatment again.

Over a year ago, the first and last time Shawn made a huge mess and didn’t clean, James absolutely did not speak to him. Being petty, after a week, Shawn had moved the sofa to block the front door, delaying him when he knew James was running late. Shawn sat at the desk on his, earphones on, acting engrossed on his laptop. He looked up just in time to see James eyes turned stormy as he glared at Shawn. He still said nothing as he lifted the couch, flipped it over where it landed on the side table smashing it and went on his way leaving the door wide open. Holly, their landlady heard the crash and came running upstairs, passing a furious James along the way. She walked up to him and smacked on the back of his head so hard he saw stars ordering him to fix it. He knew she did not mean the table. Shawn was not in the least surprised when the cost of the table was charged to his share of the rent. By then he had cleaned the apartment, apologized. He almost cried in relief when James very efficiently and justifiably proceeded to curse him out.

Somehow they made the worse seem better in each other. Now at nearly two years together it was so much improved. James made him do better. No James made him want to do better. Shawn knew James learned to better manage his temper from dealing with him. They balanced each other.

Shawn sighed looking back at the microwave with guilt.  He turned off the stove and got the cleaning supplies.

<>=========<>
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Music Challenge #24: “Million Reasons” by Lady Gaga

The Sunday Whirl – Wordle #342
Mar, Draft, Stormy, Sand, Charge, Silence, Fry, Star, Wired, Manner, Gift, Guilt

 

The Last – a Tale

The words blurred into one another, every yellowed page like the one before.

Sela pulled her sweater tighter around her, the sudden chill making her teeth rattle from more than the air conditioning protecting the ancient scrolls and text. Preconceived notions now shattered under the gravity of what she has learnt.

She was not ugly, but she knew she was no raving beauty, either. She was simply layogenic, all the pieces were there, yet they did not quite seem to align up for true beauty. In school her interests were not those of the other girls her age. She was very intelligent, but she was not valedictorian. She was popular enough to be the good friend, the wing man, but never enough to keep the guy. And she had her secrets. She had spent her teenage through late twenties with a constant sense of the autophobic.  Then three years ago, just when she was truly starting to accept the single life would be her lot in life, she met Avery.

He courted her. With flowers and conversation arcane, often profound, sometimes profane. And when the granite walls she had built around her hear came down at last, she in turn courted him. With creativity and art and myths and politics. The curves to his edges. Avery with his pale fine near otherworldly features. His naturally pale blonde locks that naturally bleached to almost platinum in the summer sun. Avery never made her feel anything other than utterly beautiful inside and out. He was not perfect. She could barely get him to stay the night. And if he stayed he was always up by dawn puttering about.

It was all so transparent now, so obvious, but it was anything but several months ago.

It had started as a joke, a far-fetched notion dreamt up after the late night/early morning hours following an alcohol fused evening. They had lain nude in the sand, under the stars of Cancer. Their bare bodies, beginning to be tinged blue from the cool night outdoors, was now slowly pinking again as they greeted the warmth of dawn.

Then she saw it.

Sela had awoken on her back, Avery was laying sideways, facing away from her, his back to the burgeoning dawn of the shore. Every instinct told her do not move. So naturally Sela found herself in a rapid series of suppression as the urge to yawn, to sneeze and most of all, to reach and touch his beautiful back tried to overtake her, but she persevered.

His skin was so fair she felt she could all but see the blood flood as his flash warmed. She was admiring the fine-boned, yet nicely toned structure of his back.  It was she was looking at his back, at his shoulders, that she saw the thin curved lines that sudden marked his shoulder blades. It was just a flash of light, a bright electrified blue that appeared and was gone in a flash. She was so surprised by it she must have made some sort of sound, for Avery quickly turned to face her. His smile was beguiling and she assured herself she must have been seeing things as he pulled her in his arms.

Later that morning they sat in an outdoor café, sipping chamomile tea with honey, for him, coffee black, for her. They listened to the rising crescendo of the local birds as they woke for the day when she spied a dragonfly in the distance. Not afraid of insects she pointed out the beauty of its transparent wings. She jokingly wondered how such wings would look on him with his coloring. Avery had simply smiled at her flight of fancy and changed the subject, but that flash in the dawn popped into her head and again tried to dismiss what she thought she saw.

She tried to. She couldn’t.

She could not let it go and every single cell of her being knew she could not just ask him. At least not yet. So she didn’t. It was good fortune they both travelled for work. If she stayed an extra day overseas to research something he never batted an eye, just as she never questioned his trips if he chose to stay an extra day. She sometimes felt guilty, but not enough to stop researching. Until today.

Today she had the answers, the evidence; the truth.

She carefully closed the yellowed pages and packed away the last notes she’ll take on the matter.

Sela, the last Nyx Fairy, will trust Avery with the truth of her wings come dusk.

She has faith the Avery, the last Aeshnidae Fairy, will trust her with the truth of his come dawn.

<>==========<>

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie|First Line Friday – March 2, 2018
The words blurred into one another, every yellowed page like the one before.

Use the above as your opening line in a story or prose.

The Sunday Whirl 340
Honey, Crescendo, Gravity, Blood, Blue, Shatter, Edges, Teeth, Bare, Rattle, Birds, Electrify

Use at least ten of the words in a story or poem.

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie|Wordle #186
Cancer, Fairy, Sideways, Farfetched, Chamomile, Bleach, Assure, Granite, Suppression, Layogenic, Transparent, Autophobia

Use at least ten of the words in a story or poem.

In the Time of James

His world had been comprised of hastily constructed philosophies, which upon close examination, had failed him and promptly collapsed.

It failed James as a child whose smart mind disagreed with being limited by his scrawniness of sickly body. All were sure he would be buried before his parents would be. His mother would mash together any and every concoction anyone told her in dogged determination to prevent such. Decades later he would semi joke that he could still hear the nasal voice of his mother coaxing him to consume the shed skin of a snake, that some witch – though he usually pronounced that word with a b –  had convinced her would help.

It failed at puberty when the truth of what he was became evident. Where was sickly he becomes strong and different. Oh, so different. He is outcast by those who are terrified of what he had become. Unconditional love apparently had its conditions after all. Those early years on his own were hard.  He was not there for the passing of his progenitor. And as far off as it may be, he knew no one would be there for his passing. That which made him unique had also made him lonely.

As time passed for him, the more he rebuilt himself, the more it failed him. Logan learns to be the best there is at what he does, “…but what I do best isn’t very nice.” Coworkers came and went with jobs and time. He lives vicariously through others’ primitive view of what a normal life should be, as the pâro of his own wedged its way through any hope that friends, true relationships would ever be his lot.

Then he met a young girl named Marie. In rapid succession he then met Scott and Ororo. And Jean. And most important he met Charles.

Finally, his life started to pile up memories that were of not of just co-workers, but colleagues, not acquaintances, but friends. It took some time to get there, you don’t unlearn things taught via decades of heartache overnight, but he got there. In time he learned new philosophies that stayed. He was still unique, but not alone. He had people he knew had his back as he had theirs. If they were not of his blood, it didn’t matter, he had family.

Still, that which makes him unique has him watching as his family passes over time. Even he himself starts to feel its affects as he begins to fall victim to its ravages. He had accepted his fate his life, but Fate had one more trick up the sleeves in the form of Laura. In the dusk of his days, as even he was running out of time, he learns of his daughter. His old philosophy failed him, but this last once he could not complain for Laura was there. Her hand in his, as time caught up with him at last.

Logan Noir - Image with Wolverine and Laura holding handsImage: From Logan Noir – Wolverine (James “Logan” Howlett) and Laura holding hands.

<>==========<>

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: Wordle #154

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form. Use the words in any order that you like.

Pile, Smart, Pâro, Vicarious, Mash, Nasal,
Disagree, Witch, Shed, Primitive, Wedge, Scrawny

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: First Line Friday 12.05.17

It’s that every other Friday again where Dylan gives the first line, and we all get to write the rest.

A Long Season

Feeling every second of the long season, it had been an especially rough time for her these past months. She can, and has done little else but, imagine how his penchant to skin a razor with his trade likely had him meander a little too long. She knows it was not greed that delayed him, compared to the mediocre craftsmanship of what was immediately available, he knew what their wares were worth and would not accept a sou less than. She did not begrudge him for an instant for it, but winter had assailed the mountain early. Its velvety white touch unusually brutal and endless, it was unsafe to travel the passage.

She thought she would go mad stewing in helpless isolation with the same cask of chores to occupy her days. Checking the store of supplies, because how on earth did those darn insects keep getting into the flour was beyond her ken, as if there were aught she could do had she run out. Checking the flue near religiously because only one lesson of waking, and nearly choking, in a dark smoke fill room was enough. He usually did that – checked the flue among other things. God how she missed him! His bawdy laugh, his soft whispers, his strong hands.  Her one solace had been her sewing. As his lutalica was what made him a master craftsman in his trade, she was with hers. A massive quilt in shades of blue, with white stars and one small red comet, with coordinating pillow covers, now adorned the bed she wearily crawled into.

She did not need a calendar to know winter was nearly over.  The winds were not so brisk. When she ventured out, the sweet scent of something green in the air adds to the warm sunshine finally reaching the foothills. With heavy lids she pressed her cheek to a star festooned pillow at last, even as she looked out of the window to the cold dark night and smiled with hope. The passage would be open and he would be home soon.

img_6373-1

Seeing Stars, Charcoal – Karin Gustafson

====================
Sunday Wordle #292
Sweet, Touch, Months, Adds, Sunshine, Stew, Cask, Red, Velvety, Smoke, Foothills, Long

MLMM Wordle #148
Cheek, Heavy, Insect, Skin a Razor(Drive a hard bargain), Instant, Greed, Helpless, Meander, Assail, Mediocre, Passage, Lutalica{Lutalica: The Part of Your Identity That Doesn’t Fit Into Categories)

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form, in any order that you like.

ManicDDaily – Seeing Stars, charcoal
This story was going to be something different, and from a male perspective until I saw Karin’s lovely art, then everything changed.

MLMM Wordle 147: Pride Love Letter

My Darling Vita,

I who would paint iridescent murals, pen epic tomes, sing the most tear-inducing of arias, for its sheer beauty, all in tribute of you, had I the talents for such, know that there is no earthly media truly worthy of encompassing that magical core that is you. All the hoardings of my imagination I have laid bare to you. So forgiveness is begged sorely as I attempt, still, to do such with this lowly pen and ink.

You are my Sol, and I a mere human heliotrope whose face, legs, arms, oh my entire being ever gravitate towards your light, your heat. My passion for your most beautiful mind burned long before you levitated in the chambers of this once hollow heart, now made hallowed by your presence within.  And once introduced to that flashover of heart, body, and soul – the harmonious ballet – of the grace of our physical expressions? Oh! Even when apart I am inseparable from you for there is not a recess in my being into which you haven’t penetrated wholly.  It is the impetuous which spurs me to beg of your return to my side as quickly as the gods allow.

Oh my love! What cost, on the pricelessness of us, can be latched? This war proves it is far too much and far too little all the same, but pay it gladly I will, when I know it garners this magic which is us. Upon my return, I pray that you hold as much fervor to endure its costs with me. Forever…

…and ever yours,
Violet

<>==========<>==========<>

In the early 1900s, in an era long before LGBTQA pride, but before LGBTQA shaming somehow became the societal de rigueur, English author Vita Sackville-West fell in love with writer and socialite Violet Keppel. The two embarked upon one of the most notorious love affairs in LGBTQA history. This affair is especially noted for Violet’s most beautiful, yet heartbreaking and poignant love letters to Vita. The above is my take on such a letter had gay pride and marriage equality existed in their day.

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle: Week 147 graphic

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle: 147

Latch, Ballet, Levitate, Heliotrope, Iridescence, Media, Passion, Harmony, Inseparable, Legs, Heat, Flashover

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form.

Let Me Be There

Sometimes life just isn’t good,
Nothing feels right, nothing feels like it should
Let me be the one you call
Let me be there

It’s the Tree of Life, we all get to climb
But you may feel you’re out on a weak limb
If you jump I’ll break your fall
Let me be there

Abandon the flaws, just forget it
But never give up on belief in mirabilia, let it
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
Let me be there 

When you feel the apotropaic fail
I can hold you close should you want to wail
If you need to fall apart
Let me be there 

Let me be the lucida of your soul
Should the darkness baldly enter, grow to take control
I can mend a broken heart
Let me be there 

Hey, it’s plausible that you’re only human
That there will be days when it’s just more than
If you need to crash, then crash and burn
Let me be there 

We’re all in this through tense and tender
So on the days that you feel different remember
You’re not alone
Let me be there
<>==========<>==========<>

Italicized lines from “Crash and Burn” by Savage Garden
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie| Music Prompt # 75 “Crash and Burn”

Bold words from:
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle #144 “February 27th, 2017″

Good, Enter, Tree, Mirabilis, Different, Abandon, Plausible, Lucida, Bald, Flaw, Apotropaic, Grow

Use at least ten in a poem or story.

Real Toads: The Tuesday Platform

MLMM: Atriocaval Shunt

Can I live without him? Unfortunately, yes.
Will I want to? No. God, No.

I sit here and listen to the beep of the heart monitor. It used to be a most gall and wormwood noise before – when it was attached to someone else. It is the most wonderful sound in my world right now. For as long as I hear that sound, that beep, I know his heart still beats, and as his beats – so does mine. Because he is my heart and no one ever wants their warm heart to be attached to a frigid heart monitor. It was so touch and go in the beginning, he coded twice in the ER. The damage to him was that massive. And I sit here by his side, again in the fruitless mental exercise of how we got here.

My bike was showing its age; I didn’t trust it enough to participate in the upcoming Annual All City Cycle so he and I were at our favorite bike shop perusing for a new one.  I was looking at a ridiculously expensive silver and carbon frameset when he called my name to check out a vintage apple red Schwinn that was on display near the showcase window facing the street. I turned just in time to see a car careening towards him at a rapid speed. A woman having a massive heart attack, lost control of the vehicle and crashed into the window of the store. It was less than a heartbeat’s pause – just time for me to scream, not enough time at all for him to dive out of the way before the car jumped the curb, shattering glass panes and my world into a million fragments.

I have been here nearly every day and night for over three weeks now. Our assistant Margie has been such a godsend, showing her talents by holding down the fort at the office in a cinch, but I can see the strain is beginning to get to her. We will give her one hell of a raise once we are back at the office. I will feel so guilty if the business falls into a less lucrative position that what it was before all of this happened. However, its potential failure will not appease the guilt I will feel if he awakens and I am not here. I have only left his side to shower because it drives me more than halfway insane – the grimy feel of being in a sterile hospital 24/7, and yes, I appreciate the irony of it.

There is a difference between sympathy and empathy and you learn it at times like this. Most of our clients are sympathetic, but business is business – they want theirs taken care of, and logically, I understand that. Yet I take one look at him lying there and I could not possibly care less right now.  One of our overseas clients, who had gone through what I’m going through now, sent over a nature sound machine. When I called to thank him and ask why, he says that he had used one when his wife was in a coma a few years back.  He does not know if really worked, but what could it hurt, right? I checked with his doctors first, who also agreed it couldn’t hurt, so I have played different sounds over the past few days.

Tonight, to accompany the palinoia of the heart monitor, I chose wind and rain sounds as it reminded me of our last trip to the coast a few months back for a different race.  A really great picture of us leading a pack of cyclists had made the papers and I pulled out the folded-up copy I always carry with me and grin. I remember the moment the shot was taken, the concentration on my face was less about the race and more about me not stopping to cuss him out yet again. That day had started out with rain and a three hour long argument, but ended with sun and our engagement.

Listening to the sounds and reminiscing, I fall into an exhausted sleep. I wake with him holding my hand.

Wait…he’s holding my hand…

I slowly move my hand to be sure and feel the grip tighten more.

My head pops up to see him smiling at me and I hear the raspiest, but most wonderful sound in three weeks, outside of the heart monitor.

“It’s about time you woke up.”

mlmm-cyclists

<>==========<>==========<>

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Weekly Wordle #143

Apple, Frigid, Pane, Gall and Wormwood, Dive, Cinch, Halfway, Grime, Wind, Vintage, Palinoia, Pause

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form, in any order that you like.

<>==========<>

Writing Prompt February 19th – Randomize!

For this week, we are asked to seek inspiration in random places. What does that mean?

1st  – Use the Wikipedia! Random Article button, and the article you get, is the title of your write, in my case Atriocaval Shunt.

2nd – Go to http://writingexercises.co.uk/random-image-generator.php, to receive a random image. Post this image and connect it with your written piece. I feel the Muses, especially Calliope, were being ridiculously generous to me when the bike race image came up. Thus the above story.

<>==========<>

Real Toads : Tuesday Platform

The Sunday Whirl: Wordle-286 – Bar None

Three people walk into a bar; stop at the top step and look around…

The place truly had seen better days. Cloth covers most of the major furnishings.  What was not covered by cloth was under the same thick layers of dust that covered the cloths. A few shafts of sunlight slanted across the room giving an otherworldly sparkle to the dust motes that took to flight upon their entrance and were now resettling. Desaturated of color, the many gray and black shades of dirt and dust gave a horror film quality to the place. In spite of the dust, decay had not taken root. The place had solid bones. The owner was willing to sell it for practically a song as long as someone else was willing to spend for the necessary repairs that certainly would be needed.

With a dramatic flair she takes the few steps down to the main level and walks over to a corner, grabs the edge of a cloth and flips it over onto itself revealing the upright underneath. It was unusual for its time period. Heavy walnut with mother-of-pearl inlays greeted them. Well, what was left of the inlay that is. The inlay was chipped in some places and outright missing in others.  The wood itself had its own dents and stains. Looking at it you could all but imagine someone zoot suited pulling up a stool and hammering out the rhythms of a resounding rag.  She played a couple of chords of what could be called a melody with some love and care and tuning.

Next she unveils a table which had similar inlay work. She leans a little on the table, testing its strength, nearly falling to the floor as the wobbly legs finally revealed themselves and the table broke in half as it crashed to the floor sending up a cloud of dust.   She spies the dubious face of one her companions as she fans the dust away from her and she sighs.

Slowly, they uncover the other furnishings.  Like the first table, most were in some state of disrepair, though the chandeliers looked to be in good enough condition that nothing more than a little, perhaps a lot, of elbow grease couldn’t fix.  The more they looked, the more it seemed she could see the dubious companion’s hope fall even more. The realtor knew the place was going to be a challenge.

Without a word she and the other companion look to each other knowingly. Together the husband and wife turn to the realtor looking at the two of them pretty much resigned to not making a sale.

“We’ll take it!”

<>==========<>==========<>

sunday whirl
The Sunday Whirl: Wordle – 286

challenge, face, half, melody, rag, resound, rhythms, root, song, stool, unusual, upright

MLMM’s Wordle #141 – Brained

With his latest exploit leaving him temporarily unable to yell, his adroit digits fly over the keyboard. It almost seemed diabolist as the more he typed the more the words accelerated across the page in a desperate attempt to catch up with the seething mess of thoughts as they escaped the confines of his synapses. Drowning in his rage he pulled no punches. No he would not be polite in this, there will be no form of tact to soften the blows. Otherwise silent, only the rapid staccato of key strikes gave testament to his diatribe.

Minutes of manic typing pass before the cramp formed from being so tensely hunched over made him straighten his back and lift his head. He stopped cold as he caught sight of the furious expression of his likeness in the mirror off to the side. Still, the depth of his fury paled in comparison to the dazed and confused reflection of his partner standing off in a corner away from him. And just like that, the anger vanishes as he sighs in exulansis. With fanfare he yanks the sheet from the typewriter, balls it up and bins it.

Seeing the usual temper tantrum has once again passed, his partner smiles and happily bounces over to him expectantly.

“Gee, Brain. What are we going to do tonight?”
“The same thing we do every night, Pinky…”
<>==========<>==========<>
week-141
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie | Weekly Wordle #141

Escape, Exulansis, Diabolist, Polite, Likeness, Fanfare, Seethe, Soften, Adroit, Drown, Mess, Accelerate

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem. The words can appear in an alternate form, in any order that you like.

<>==========<>
For those of you who may have no idea about those last two lines – try this:

And if you’re still flummoxed go here: Pinky & The Brain.