Each discordant note briefly hangs in the air before falling to shatter on the ground. Shards of sharps and semi-quavers shred the Maestro’s bare feet as his soul continues its endless march around the accursed harpsichord. Eternally bound by the shackles of his sins, the miscarried melodies and tainted tunes saw through his incorporeal existence, spirit broken and broken again by every butchered ballad.
“Forgive me,” the Maestro cries out. “It is too much to bear!”
“Well done Elizabeth,” says the music teacher, the only response the Maestro ever hears. “Now try ‘Greensleeves’.”
Damnation begins anew; in the wrong key.
With pain-filled eyes he walked around the wreck. This was his creation now uncreated, and not through accident but through inattention. What he had wrought with love, effort, and time, he had now let fall to ruin. Another casualty of procrastination; another victim in a long line of lethal lazy. He circled the crushed corpse of his work and his heart ached. No-one mourns like a murderer.
Squatting by the the ruins he picked up some scattered pieces; a bent cog here, a stripped gear there. Was there enough for another attempt?
He owed it to himself to find out. Continue reading
“Our hero, cognisant of the dangers, begins…”
“I’m narrating. This task shall be my last.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m certain. I shall die today.”
“You’re changing a light-bulb.”
“You know I hate heights.”
“I know you’re a big baby.”
“You’re supposed to do this. That was the agreement: you do heights and I do spiders.”
“I’m sure it was in the vows…”
“I’m eight-months pregnant. You wouldn’t send a woman in my condition up a six-foot ladder would you?”
“What if I brought in a spider?”
“What if I shook this ladder?”
“Our hero ascends…”
Lolthario82: hey grrrl a/s/l?
DAGON: WHAT LANGUAGE IS THIS?
Lolthario82: lol u new? age/sex/location?
DAGON: AGELESS IMMORTAL UNDYING. ALL GENDERS AND NONE MOTHER AND FATHER OF CHAOS. I EXIST OUTSIDE OF YOUR FOUR DIMENSIONS AND WITHIN EACH TORMENTED SOUL.
Lolthario82: lol. y no profile pic?
DAGON: MY IMAGE IS GRAVEN ON LUNACY-SOAKED STONES WORSHIPPED BY PAGAN BLOOD-CULTS.
Lolthario82: Mystery grl lol. So…dtf?
Lolthario82: are you Down To F**K?
DAGON: I AM DOWN FURTHER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE.
Lolthario82: sweet – ur place or mine?
DAGON: YOU MUST COME TO ME. I AM CONFINED BY ETERNAL CURSES OF THE ELDER.
Lolthario82: lol, my parents are mad strict too.
Lolthario82: c u soon.
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
“You never take my side. Never.”
“Huh? I don’t understand…”
“I laughed? Wha..? I was grabbing our passports, the photos of our kids…”
“Afterwards. The guy made a crack about my cooking, and you laughed.”
“Never mind. Thanks for all the support. Glad to know you’ll joke it up with a guy you just met at my expense. Feeling really loved.”
“He’s a fireman.”
“And comedian. So talented.”
“You nearly burnt the house down. Making coffee.”
“Maybe you two could go to the pub once he’s done.”
“Do they serve coffee there?”
“Ouch!” Continue reading
“I got Paltrow. G, P. Five fucking points.” Boyd threw his scrabble tiles on the board.
“Eleven points.” Skipper said. Boyd spat. “Queen Latifah.” Skipper gestured to his bulging bag, proof of the shot. “Q, L.”
“Three points.” Boyd was scathing. “Her real name is Dana Owens. D and O. Idiot.”
I took sixteen points and the other paparazzi groaned. Two J’s. Janet Jackson.
The door swung wide and Rod strode in, cardboard box in his arms. It sagged, dripping red on his shirt. “Twenty points fuckers!”
We stared. Finally Skipper asked, “What’s in the box?”
Smirking, Rod opened it, revealing flies, black hair, and pointed prosthetic ears.
“Zachary fucking Quinto.”
“God, this band…”
“Awful. Just awful.”
“Oh you… you boring old sod! You have no soul! Your musical appreciation stops in 1982, no wonder you can’t comprehend more intricate forms of expression! Jazz is art, aural painting, instrumental poetry. Jazz musicians are sharing their improvisation to inspire the audience. Open your ears for once and open your mind too.”
“No wait. You listen for once. Move past Genesis and Huey Lewis. It is NOT hip to be square.”
“Yes? You what?”
“I… think they’re supposed to be Christmas carols.”
“Oh my, they really are shit.”