Muse 131: Drowning

photo credits:marie edwards

"The water's soiled," he said. "I'm not sure if you want to take a bath just right now."

It was dirty. The rusty tea colour was a mixture of bronzed apricots and chinese medicine. Small handfuls of scattered iron laid at the bottom of the tub like dirt. Anna dipped her toe into the hot water half expecting her body to slowly rot right off. The result could be powerful, a dare from fate, or it could be poison. She imagined this to be do or die. After all she had the entire tub's worth of time as if filled with sewage water to change her mind. By now the water was at her ankle, and it felt like her entire body was decomposing. Her eyes clutched shut like tiny fists and she got ready for the plunge.

Muse 122: cat and mouse

found via iamabilliontinyfeathers

They said to never let them catch you skinny-dipping. Don't let them catch you; don't ever let them, they warned ambiguously. Frankly, we didn't give a shit. The three of us went to the lake and stripped for the other three boys to see. We dared them to follow us into the cool collection, staring at the clouds while keeping an eye on them. That caused our eyes to go batshit for a while before they splashed into the water, coming after us, swimming underneath us for a good scare. The boys caught us, by choice. And no one else did, so we went again.

Muse 119: eventually, but not now.

found via pigeons&peacocks blog - by rachel crowder

Today the skirt was shorter than usual, and the top's cut lower than he recognized. Today his little girl was wearing an outfit he did not see as her Sunday best. In fact, he didn't like how he, and perhaps - well most likely - the rest of the male population, suddenly noticed how white her thighs were. "It's a bit cold outside," he said, putting down the television remote without a pause, "Don't you think you should change? And those heels look horrible. Like you'll fall and die." After a few minor alterations, his only daughter came pretty close to a 3AM hooker.

Alice blinked rapidly. Her eyes were painfully dry and irritated from her new powdered makeup, so there was also plenty of squinting. "I'll be fine Da," she stumbled over in baby steps and sloppily kissed his cheek. He felt better, in a small perverse satisfaction, when he realized that everyone could look safely down her top and find nothing to see. 

She straightened her back and flipped a jacket over her shoulder. "Besides," her heels clicked like little bullets in the hard wood floor, "I have my pepper spray, rape whistle and taser all tucked away in this purse." All this was said with a comforting pat. 

"Mm," he hummed, feeling more comfortable by the minute. "Did you remember to get the house keys?" 

"Ah hah, I knew I forgot something!"

Muse 117: pursuit

 found via hondasniper

These days it's so difficult.

I am not endlessly searching for the words anymore. Those perfect words that make a story more beautiful than it should ever be are written by someone else. I am not pursuing the joie de vivre as properly as I should. I am not moving. I am not fresh, but a stagnant fish in a farmed pond. The flesh you eat is rotten and full of worms. A headache of black swamp water that is not even drinkable.

I am not inspired. I am not in love. The worms I want to consume are supposed to take a heart of me, the part that will turn rainbows black and white and the monotonous flashes into color. The drenched world will come back to life, and I will find hope once more. But I am not inspired. I am not in love with these words. I have no one to write for, not even myself. Not when I have never loved myself properly.

I am frightened. At most my skills have been dulled to the senses of bullets and cars. In awe, I am the deer in the headlights, and the buck desensitized to danger. I have become a plaque on your wall, where I am worth more never living than barely alive.

Muse 116: Bathtime

found via playgroundlover

Sitting in the shower, staring at the white tiles as water embedded me slowly, I leaned back, enjoying the contrast of the cold porcelain tub on my heated skin. The comfort of baths must be universal. I couldn't think of one person that wouldn't enjoy a long hot soak. No, not as I closed my eyes and gave my thoughts away to nothing. For the first time in a long while, not a single thought inspired me to wake up and write, not a single murmur or hum interrupted the calm. In the bath tub, nothing inspired, nothing sparked and the swishing of water was just the sound of my body shifting around. To most people it sounds dead and wish less, but when you've suffered and heard nothing but the rushing cars, beeping phones, click and clattering keys, non-stop talking, shouts and calls inside your mind for desperate inspiration... Nothing is the best medicine around.

Muse 112: Until they died.

found via tumblrpost

The first set of scans said he was okay. He was lucky. His wife replied thank you before she brought him home, bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs for support. He was asked to come back in a two weeks for a second check-up; for another x-ray scan that would rack up the numbers on his credit card. So when his wife asked about the coming appointment, he told her he felt fine. He didn't have to go anywhere, not when it cost so much just to stay alive. He reassured her that he felt fine, even pressed onto his ribcage and held in the cough to delay the illusion, and smiled. Smiles work for everything as long as you hold them up long enough. He waited a few more seconds and refreshed his lips with a strain. 

She believed him until he started coughing red. 

Muse 59: Birds

found via tumblr

It's always when the quiet is the loudest that I get scared the most. The fear approaches me like birds. Birds - I always hear the birds before I see them. Their wings flap like sheets of paper whipping against each other, and the noise grows louder, freakishly louder, until I'm pretty convinced that the birds are here to eat me. They're vultures in my mind. They're chasing me in vicious circles - cycles - until I drop down dead. "I don't want to go," my voice is mildly pathetic and I fold my hands over my face. I'm scared of the birds. I hear them before I can see them. They warn me I'm already dead.