Tag Archives: studio 30 plus

My Father

My father is the king
so I get all the scotch
tape from his empire
of office products.

All hail the king of staples,
the master of supplies.

My father is the king
A princesse wrapped
in gold, I am not.

My throne is made of leather
of the faux kind sitting
atop spinning swivel wheels.

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S30PBadgeI’ve been feeling blocked lately which really means I’ve been writing up a storm in cover letters. This week’s prompt was MY FATHER IS THE KING pulled from the amazing Stephanie and her magical story: The Elven Games 22.

Self-Medicated.

Source: istock free dl
Source: istockphoto.com – free image

Lucy was in a semi-permanent state of self-medication. But she had goals. Lucy had dreams and aspirations. She knew she was placed on this earth for something big, something major. She wanted and yearned a fully and complete state of self-medication.

Semi was just not good enough.

Lucy read the stories, and watched the movies. Unlike the others, she didn’t start with squirrels or neighborhood cats. This little girl did not waste time. She wanted to touch real flesh, she needed to be up close to actually watch the pupils dilated with fear and witness the sweat glands working in overtime. Most cringed the acid smell of fear in others, she wished it could be bottled and sold.

Eau de Frisson.

Attribution: Florian Siebeck
Attribution: Florian Siebeck

She liked to imagine a bottle in the shape of a claw. Something mid-evil like. A gargoyle-shaped bottle of perfume.

Lucy’s medication of choice was complicated. She debated on if it was the actual fear of death in others, or the sensation of a fading heartbeat in her tiny little hands when she wrapped them around a stranger’s neck. She was addicted to feeling the sweat, she was addicted to the smells and the exhilarated sensation she got afterwards when she simply skipped away.

On most days she felt like she could leap upon tall buildings, such was the power she got.

“Oh dear, another mysterious death. The police are saying we may have a serial killer on our hands.” Said Lucy’s mother to her father as she folded the newspaper throwing looks of concern towards their daughter. Lucy pretended not to hear her parents’ whispers at the kitchen table while she played with Malibu Barbie, humming to herself.

They armed her with a multi-use swiss army knife, the one for campers with a small wood saw “Just for your Girl Scouts expeditions” they said. Lucy kept that knife neatly tucked away in its holder on her belt and wore it to school, wore it to church, wore it to bed…

Be Prepared.

She scratched a little notch in its shiny red plate each time she used it. She knew that one day, the red paint would no longer be seen.

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S30PBadge (1)This week’s prompt is a line pulled from Katy’s story: In a semi-permanent state of self-medication. The image is licensed under the Creative Commons attribution. It was taken by Florian Siebeck.

Frisson translates to “shiver”.

The Show Must Go On

The following scene takes place on a saturday morning sometime after 3:30. The location is the dressing room of an old burlesque cabaret. The room reminds one of an artist’s palette with splashes of color by carelessly thrown shoes, wigs and feather boas.
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516px-Mae_West_Allan_Warren“As humiliating as it was, I had to go back.”

She removed her wig exposing clumps of sweaty bobby pinned hair under strips of duct tape in the attempts of holding her facial skin tight. Some strips were peeling, sliding from the sweat.

“Stop it. Don’t give me that look” She spoke to nobody in particular, or maybe she spoke to ghosts in the closet. “I know because you think I wear women’s clothes you assume I’m addicted to the humiliation. This has nothing to do with that, I’m proud of who I am.”

“I went back because I left something behind. Something important.” She started removing her makeup. Tears had cleared the path through her foundation, like a river of rain awakening a drought, turning the dry soil to mud upon contact.

The something important she’d left behind was her dignity, and it hung in tatters above her. She forced a smile on her lips. “And I was dazzling,” she poured a few drops of baby oil on a cotton ball and dabbed at her eyes. “My best performance ever.”

She stared in the mirror, slowly fading away, watching a memory as if it were a movie only she could see. Her eyes rolled backwards before her eyelids dropped down over them. She hummed, and hugged herself.

“Of course I had to go back. My last performance could not be one where I run off the stage in shame.” She roughly stabbed at her eyes with the blackened cotton ball trying to remove the last particles of mascara. Her makeup matched her level of stubbornness.  “If you fall off a horse…” she tossed the soiled cotton aside.

“And now I can retire,” she spread her fingers widely framing her face “Fade to black.” She picked up a facecloth and removed the bulk of her foundation revealing a greying five o-clock shadow. She zipped up her baby blue velvet hoodie, and stood up just as she was being summoned from the doorway.

“Are you ready Nana? I want to go home.”

She turned the lights off the dresser, and closed the door behind her, leaving her wig where it had been dropped.

≈FADE TO BLACK≈

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S30PBadge (1)This was a S30P writing prompt using the line “hung in tatters above her” pulled from HAUNTING a story by the talented and gifted Tara. I didn’t know where I was going with this. I woke up at 4:45 am with the first paragraphs. I allowed the story to guide me, holding my hand like a child…

Oh how I love drag queens…

Image attribution:  Allan Warren (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 via Wikimedia Commons