The cable hung down, a bright steel twine with chromed tongs dangling.
innocent enough, this hygenic convenience, innocent and harmless enough at the bakery section. Not a place where worries dwell, amongst the flaky pastry, toasted almonds and sugar sweet frostings.
But there it was, that cold rolled steel loop of wire. Strong enough to bear the weight of any unwatched child scampering into its unforgiving snare.
With a slam and a thud, she barred the ancient oaken door. The reverberating echo implied a vacuous vaulted void. Dust fell from rafters in dingy yellow light.
Silence, yet commotion, like a room full of relatives, hiding in the dark.
Something . . . clink . . . clinked.
She caught a breath before her lungs constricted, and held it. Every tissue tightened. A chain was looped around the door post, magnificent and menacing and swallowed by the gloom.
We walk around the oval, the four of us. We talk. Sometimes important things. Sometimes trivia. Sometimes I’m tongue tied. But no matter what, this one circuit is all you give me, perhaps all you will ever give me. We reach our starting point, you smile, say goodbye. Are we back where we started, exactly where we started? Or have we built some infinitesimal foundation? Is this a loop, or a spiral, an ascending spiral? What surveyor could tell me?
Every day was a déjà vu. Or so it seemed. Maybe he lost his mind, or his mind lost him. Andrew swore he saw the same patterns; people going about their quotidian lives, milling about in the streets, repeating the same things without end as if trundling along an assembly line and yielding the same results. For what purpose? The questions drove him to the brink of madness. Upon asking others about his concerns, they threw their hands up and shook their heads, their faces twisted into a look of why he would ask something so inane.
They didn’t know. They weren’t aware. How could they when stuck inside the mechanism that birthed them from start to finish and locked them in an zoetrope that spun round and round, the same animation playing over and over again.
One day, Andrew, finally succumbed, or so he thought. The world changed for the worse, losing its sense of whatever modicum of individuality that seeped through the collective monolith. Human dynamics and the reality surrounding them dwindled to the size of a petri dish where each of its patterns observably stood out. Andrew stared at cogs, pinions, and shunts going round and round and back and forth. He either hallucinated, or was suddenly endowed with a God’s eye view of the world.
Kicking and thrashing, he collapsed to the ground in fit a of seizures until a coma set in. A voice came to him. An angel?
It said, “Earth is but a stage, a training ground. But now the game is finished…”
He woke up, staring at the simulator, and vowed to never to play that game again!
The cooler ones flow in, and the warmer ones flow out. Just her chest up and down, no other movement. She was in pain yesterday. Today, it was just numbness. Damp cave wall her only back support. Her vision blurred, legs buried underneath piles of rocks.
Couldn’t move, not asleep, but not awake. She remembered falling and bouncing. Until someone came out for a rescue, she only had one companion: her breaths. Cool ones in, warm ones out. In, out.
thanks Nick. Instead of being trapped in a cave, you could also try sitting upright, with crosslegs, and close your eyes. 'Watch' the breath in and out, how is it? (If you do it daily, it's apparently good for the mind and focus ... :) ).
After I was T-boned, I was prescribed Scorvida. It was supposed to be less addictive than opiates. I consumed a thirty-day supply in a week. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I needed them. They called my name. I couldn’t function without Scorvida. One morning, I woke up with obsidian plates covering my body. My fingers fused into pincers. I’ve had the best orgasms of my life on Scorvida. I hit bottom when a stinger punched through my stomach.
My caterpillars had escaped! I had to find them pronto before Dad got home. I frantically searched the living room, and began finding crysalises all over the place - they'd decided to pupate outside of their enclosure. I finally found the last fugitive, hanging from a silken loop on the back of Dad's Lazy Boy. I covered the enclosure just as Dad walked into the kitchen.
Ten days later, I woke up to a house full of fluttering swallowtail butterflies. Oops...
The boomerang was tossed. Fetch, , I yelled to the dog. He had no idea it was a closed loop system . The boomerang returned. Many throws later, frustrated the dog tired, we went home. Mission accomplished. Dog’s tired. The algorithm looped-de-looed with unpredictable results. Biased opinion; the dog collected data . Once I fed him, he regurgitated; pissed off by his own recommended algorithm with feed back loops that influenced his next suggestion to: “Toss your cookies.”
The cable hung down, a bright steel twine with chromed tongs dangling.
innocent enough, this hygenic convenience, innocent and harmless enough at the bakery section. Not a place where worries dwell, amongst the flaky pastry, toasted almonds and sugar sweet frostings.
But there it was, that cold rolled steel loop of wire. Strong enough to bear the weight of any unwatched child scampering into its unforgiving snare.
It hung there, waiting for the inevitable.
Loop
Morning coffee grows cold as headlines scroll by,
each one a paper cut to our shared dreams.
You squeeze my hand under the kitchen table
while pundits predict our future like weather.
.
We spin in this dance of dread and hope,
counting rings of anxiety like tree growth—
each cycle bringing us back to this moment:
your warmth beside me, both compass and question mark.
.
In the loop between terror and tenderness,
we keep brewing coffee, keep holding on.
genuinely felt my eyes watering up reading this. sighing a deep sigh of wholesomeness in the realisation of how lucky I am.
Thank you 🙏
Beautifully written, as always! 😎
With a slam and a thud, she barred the ancient oaken door. The reverberating echo implied a vacuous vaulted void. Dust fell from rafters in dingy yellow light.
Silence, yet commotion, like a room full of relatives, hiding in the dark.
Something . . . clink . . . clinked.
She caught a breath before her lungs constricted, and held it. Every tissue tightened. A chain was looped around the door post, magnificent and menacing and swallowed by the gloom.
She turned, just as he leapt.
Nice! I especially like the line, "...commotion, like a room full of relatives..."
Thanks Jeannine - If you have fallen victim as many surprise birthday parties as I have, you know the feeling! 😁
We walk around the oval, the four of us. We talk. Sometimes important things. Sometimes trivia. Sometimes I’m tongue tied. But no matter what, this one circuit is all you give me, perhaps all you will ever give me. We reach our starting point, you smile, say goodbye. Are we back where we started, exactly where we started? Or have we built some infinitesimal foundation? Is this a loop, or a spiral, an ascending spiral? What surveyor could tell me?
PROMPT: LOOP
THE LOOP
All it kept showing us was red.
And then more red.
There was no sign of a yellow coming, let alone a green.
It was like it had just decided to get stuck in a constant loop, and never change.
Which was incredibly frustrating, and we were starting to lose patience.
Because it was completely ruining our game of Twister… 😎
Microdosing - "Loop"
COGS
Every day was a déjà vu. Or so it seemed. Maybe he lost his mind, or his mind lost him. Andrew swore he saw the same patterns; people going about their quotidian lives, milling about in the streets, repeating the same things without end as if trundling along an assembly line and yielding the same results. For what purpose? The questions drove him to the brink of madness. Upon asking others about his concerns, they threw their hands up and shook their heads, their faces twisted into a look of why he would ask something so inane.
They didn’t know. They weren’t aware. How could they when stuck inside the mechanism that birthed them from start to finish and locked them in an zoetrope that spun round and round, the same animation playing over and over again.
One day, Andrew, finally succumbed, or so he thought. The world changed for the worse, losing its sense of whatever modicum of individuality that seeped through the collective monolith. Human dynamics and the reality surrounding them dwindled to the size of a petri dish where each of its patterns observably stood out. Andrew stared at cogs, pinions, and shunts going round and round and back and forth. He either hallucinated, or was suddenly endowed with a God’s eye view of the world.
Kicking and thrashing, he collapsed to the ground in fit a of seizures until a coma set in. A voice came to him. An angel?
It said, “Earth is but a stage, a training ground. But now the game is finished…”
He woke up, staring at the simulator, and vowed to never to play that game again!
Microdosing - 80mg of a Loop
===
The cooler ones flow in, and the warmer ones flow out. Just her chest up and down, no other movement. She was in pain yesterday. Today, it was just numbness. Damp cave wall her only back support. Her vision blurred, legs buried underneath piles of rocks.
Couldn’t move, not asleep, but not awake. She remembered falling and bouncing. Until someone came out for a rescue, she only had one companion: her breaths. Cool ones in, warm ones out. In, out.
wow. how bizarrely specific. where did that one come from??? really affecting! im in the cave. i can see my breath.
thanks Nick. Instead of being trapped in a cave, you could also try sitting upright, with crosslegs, and close your eyes. 'Watch' the breath in and out, how is it? (If you do it daily, it's apparently good for the mind and focus ... :) ).
used to do this at yoga
After I was T-boned, I was prescribed Scorvida. It was supposed to be less addictive than opiates. I consumed a thirty-day supply in a week. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I needed them. They called my name. I couldn’t function without Scorvida. One morning, I woke up with obsidian plates covering my body. My fingers fused into pincers. I’ve had the best orgasms of my life on Scorvida. I hit bottom when a stinger punched through my stomach.
hilarious. where can i get me some dat??
Your local pharmacy. Drink plenty of water when you take em.
My caterpillars had escaped! I had to find them pronto before Dad got home. I frantically searched the living room, and began finding crysalises all over the place - they'd decided to pupate outside of their enclosure. I finally found the last fugitive, hanging from a silken loop on the back of Dad's Lazy Boy. I covered the enclosure just as Dad walked into the kitchen.
Ten days later, I woke up to a house full of fluttering swallowtail butterflies. Oops...
Loop: 80 mega dose
The boomerang was tossed. Fetch, , I yelled to the dog. He had no idea it was a closed loop system . The boomerang returned. Many throws later, frustrated the dog tired, we went home. Mission accomplished. Dog’s tired. The algorithm looped-de-looed with unpredictable results. Biased opinion; the dog collected data . Once I fed him, he regurgitated; pissed off by his own recommended algorithm with feed back loops that influenced his next suggestion to: “Toss your cookies.”
That's a pretty heartbreaking tale 😢
Loop
Same time on the alarm.
Same shower gel.
Same breakfast.
Same train.
Same work.
Same colleagues.
Same lunch.
Same train home.
Same comfy seat to break the loop in.
New book.
Different world.
Fresh faces.
Conflicting emotions.
Expression through food.
Bold flavours.
Iconic films.
Cult classics.
Infamous lines.
Tired eyes.
Finite time. Worn in the wrong places.
Eight hours.
Same bed.
Same time on the alarm.
clever
This one is kind of sad, too.
Ted scarfed his lunch. It was about that time.
“Prompt’s here! 70 words on eczema. Do I go sappy or snarky?”
“It’s Groundhog Day. Same every 24 hours. You jump.”
“I love it!”
“You’ve done it from the ER. In the woods. Behind the wheel!”
“I love it!”
“Do you? Seems like you’re trapped. All you have to do is step off the treadmill. Anytime. Why do you do it?”
“I say this with love. You’ve never written, have you?”
truth
Quite meta!
Art imitating life imitating art