Jump to content
The Hidden Fortress
Sign in to follow this  
Mackie

shorties

Recommended Posts

Lacking Fences

 

Best forgotten, the old ways. When insults bandied about made for dead cattle. She’d tried, too. After the second time she’d run to the deformed poplar bending in the wind , pricked her finger, said her piece thrice, had her “wish” fulfilled – she’d sworn off cursing. She’d regretted it, wanting badly to wipe the smirks from the clueless neighbors’ vacant faces. Slammed her door and seethed behind it.

 

In two days the son was stuck in the heat in the grandmother of traffic jams and a car had hit their cat. Morrigan and Merlin, what had she spoken in her dreams?

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

On Being Locked Up.

 

Half-ton gates slam behind me. Dank, slime-covered stones rise above my head, mosses and liverworts dripping coldly down my neck as I turn to see what’s coming.

 

Somewhere above me, there is a clanking as hidden doors are opened; water starts gushing into the narrow chamber. I am thrown forward and backwards by the torrent, fighting to hold my position and stop myself being hurled against the gates by the water’s force.

 

I rise on the flood to the top of the chamber, into sunshine now, and engage forward gear. The gates ahead open - we’re clear of the lock.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

T(h)ree Paths

 

 

“Who was I meant to have been?” I breathed, “In that life that overshadows this one?”

I shuffled thrice, and cut thrice, and drew the High Priestess.

 

“But what became of me?”

Thrice, and thrice again, and up sprang the Magician.

 

“Oh, who must I be now?”

It appeared, with its little capering dog.

 

So, head in the air, I must strut and stumble the winding way along the cliff, balancing my lumpy bundle on its stick, and trust to the dog to keep me from the edge.

 

With my luck, he’ll bay at the Moon and jump over first.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Curséd Anna

 

‘Avoid the wood’ they said. But it’s getting late, and with nowhere else to take shelter, I have little choice.

He appears as I crossed the stile. Ancient and wizened, he holds up a hand ‘Go no further. Beware her stare.’ I shake him off and continue. After the place I’ve been, why should I worry?

 

She’s tall, dark, gorgeous. Strange how she looks at me. Hungry. Like me. She’s coming closer. I know what I want…

 

The young girl runs, vanishing amongst leaves. Laughter. I trip, fall, stare into the stream…

Scream.

 

Ancient, wizened, I say: ‘Go no further.’

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Wrong Side of Town.

 

It’s a full moon tonight.

I’m heading for home, foot to the floor, hoping to avoid trouble in this end of town. The streetlamps seem dim and yellow, the houses derelict, not a place to be stuck.

 

Something dives out from an alley, almost under the wheels – I brake hard, waiting for the thump. Nothing.

My heart hammers, and I hit first gear, stall, engine coughing. Curse.

Something dark, coming at me from a sidestreet. The window shatters. A snarling noise…

 

Bright moonlight spills across tarmac and wet blackness runs into the gutter.

 

He didn’t stand a chance.

 

Not tonight.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

What Tunnel?

 

It’s just been a long day, guess that’s why it’s so damned hard getting a couple of bags of groceries out of the trunk and up the outside stairs.

 

Wish my purse wasn’t so heavy. Better watch out for that moss, too, all I need is to slip and fall.

 

Great, NOW I remember I wanted to buy a little flashlight – can’t find the housekey in the dark, which is it?

 

Not that one, not that one.

 

Okay!

 

Think I need to sit down on the inside stairs for a second.

 

Huh?

 

Jingling dogtags?

 

Charlie’s been gone what?

 

Ten years.

 

. . .

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Triptych.

 

When I was young, I drove them wild, sent them to battle with no more than a kiss, spun them dreams with a flirting glance . They called me gorgeous.

 

Later, grown to womanhood, I ruled their everyday lives, wove their clothes, bore their children. I washed their blood-spattered garments in the stream, told their fortunes in the cauldron of war. They called me Queen.

 

Now, at the end of all things, I hide my wrinkles and grey hair from their eyes, hearing their muttered curses – gore crow, they call me.

 

Things come full circle. I have my scissors ready.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Godmother.

 

It’s their own fault. They didn’t ask me. If they’d asked me, it would have been all right.

But they didn’t, and that’s why I did it.

 

Laid a trap for their milk-white darling, golden-haired girlchild.

Oh they tried to avoid it, useless fools. But I had it all figured out.

Cocky little bitch, laughing at my bent, crippled fingers – ‘give it here’ she said, ‘I can do that better than you. I can do anything.’

Oh yes? Try waking up.

 

Think I’ll see how the other one’s enjoying that red, shiny apple.

 

You know, they should have asked me.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

June 22nd. An Interview, the Morning After the Night Before.

 

Can we keep this short?

 

Thank you. Firstly, I must state categorically, there is no truth in the rumour that my husband and I are getting a divorce. We have had a few disagreements, but – well, that’s marriage, even when you’re in our position.

 

Drugs? Where did you get that idea – oh I know – that nasty little P.A. person Ron employs. He’s nothing but a bloody troublemaker; I’ve never liked him. WHAT? He’s saying I’m into bestiality? No – before you even think it, no. A matter of some actors. Total misunderstanding.

 

Do excuse me – my phone.

 

Hello, this is ‘Tania….

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Amanita, Meet a Maid

 

How I hate “the Island” – as they call it, as if there were only the one. McMansions and no trespassing signs where we used to play down by the water. Bitches who think a couple of hours is plenty to clean up what would be sties, without someone like me. Spoiled brats driving Daddies’ cars. Laughing at my good old girl, parked in the lot behind their precious destination market, with the almost eight bucks a pound salad bar. I wonder who’ll get the nice organic gift I sliced and left there, neatly mixed in? And how they’ll like it?

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

What I did on my holidays.

 

One very sunny day Mum and Dad and I went for a walk and we had lots of fun. When we got home we found the back door was open. Oh dear said Dad have we been burgled? The door was open and the kitchen was a real mess. There was food on the floor and on the wall as well. Mum was really upset. Have they taken anything said Dad. I said oh no my chair is broken. There was a funny noise upstairs. We crept up and found the burglar asleep in my bed. So we ate her.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Queen of Hearts.

 

When it started, I didn’t think it would be like this.

 

It was all such a glamorous whirl, the fashion, the fame, the pictures in the paper. Flashbulb darling of the daily papers, fêted all over the world, desired by every man I met.

 

I never realised it would be such hard work, such dutiful drudgery. Trailing around dreary factories, when there were wonderful places just around the corner, never visited. Smiling, smiling, smiling until my face ached. And the least little frown plastered all over the headlines.

 

I’d give anything to go back to the kitchen, and the dustpan.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Club Red

 

Hi! I couldn’t help notice you weren’t at the activities this afternoon. Are you feeling OK?

 

That’s terrific. It’s just we do like all our guests to get involved as much as possible – this isn’t Sandals after all! What are you drinking? Come on, there’s a great offer on jugs of sangria. No? That’s a shame… look, there’s a couple of the girls really want to meet you. Me? No – couriers aren’t supposed to… though it’s more a guideline than a rule…you know, you’re very attractive…maybe we…

 

Can I turn the light on?

 

Ow! Your teeth are sharp… oh…

 

Noooooooo…..

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Bad Hair Day

 

Idiot. He knows what I’m like, he knows how my temper goes nuclear at the least little interruption when I’m trying to get ready.

 

So when I’m desperately trying to do something with this disaster, what else can I call it - on my head, and he comes in yapping trivialities – what’s for lunch, did I get the wine for the party, had I heard about the new flying horse scandal,– well, I lost it.

 

I let rip, gave him one of my looks. Now he just stands there, stonefaced.

 

And it’s bloody hard finding new boyfriends, being a gorgon.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Dreamweaver

 

Every one of you has one of us.

 

Even the ones who say they don’t dream.

 

We lurk in the cobweb-corners of your soul, deep in the dark recesses of your mind. We taste your unspoken thoughts, wrap them tight in silken threads to keep them fresh, hang them in our night-time webs for you to find, unexpected images in the zigzag spiral weaving that forms your dreams.

 

We are not always kind. We hunt the fluttering anxieties, the many-legged phobias, the scuttling, chitin-armoured deepest fears; send them out into the harsh spotlight of panic.

 

I’ll see you tonight, then…

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Please sign in to comment

You will be able to leave a comment after signing in



Sign In Now
Sign in to follow this  

×