Posted in blogging, Daily muse, Funny, Humour, Story, Writing

Attempted murder, a toaster and six ugly legs

Inspired by the WordPress Prompt

Locked or in this case STUCK!

 

Attempted Murder, A Toaster, and Six Ugly Legs

 

 

I awoke this morning in my usual fashion-barely able to balance on my feet-stagger, stagger-rubbing my eyes to achieve some kind of focus, grumpy that I was required to exit my bed at all and with a solid plan to avoid anything that resembled a human in case they attacked me with jobs and just stuff, during grump hour.

The kettle was there, waiting for me-same place as yesterday…and the day before…to assist me in dragging myself out of slumber, and into the day ahead. As I approached it, I was given an almighty jab of adrenaline when sitting casually in front of me, spread out completely relaxed on his banana lounge it would seem, was a King cockroach.

Now when I say King Cockroach, I mean King Cockroach. The half bug half cow variety, have you seen those? The feral thing was playing around with its feelers and sussing out my Kitchen bench.

As I knew the littlest kid was up, I proceeded to yell.

“Xavierrrrrrrrrr”

The response, no more than a grunt, was not promising. I didn’t muck around and ran into the lounge room.

“Xav, please come and kill this cockroach”

He looked at me as if it was way too much to ask of him, but decided to assist all the same.

“Oh, that’s disgusting” he said

“You’re telling me. Get him”

I’m not sure what he did next, but it resembled a stiff piece of plank, edging it’s way, less than a millimetre closer and launching a hand towel at it.

“What are you doing? It’ll run away, you’ve got to squash it.

He stood frozen for a second, staring at the creature, and was absolutely no help to me whatsoever.

As I was about to grab the other child, Xavier screamed…

“He’s run into the toaster”

 

“Oh good God” I blasphemed.

“I have no time, and now the thing has made home in the toaster…I need to cook my toast”

Xavier’s response?

“Well I can’t get him now, he’s in the toaster” -and just like that he wondered off, unfussed.

I immediately skipped plan B- grab the second kid-and implemented Plan C-out came the big guns.

“Michaellllllllllllll”

Now Michael was out walking the dog, wasn’t he. Typical, although, strangely he replied.

“Ya”

He was outside.

I bolted out the door.

“There’s a cockroach in the toaster, and I’m hungry. Please can you get it out?”

“Are you sure?” He questioned

“Yes, We saw him run in there”

Twenty minutes later, after thoroughly inspecting the item, bashing it on the grass outside, pulling it apart, and staring at it for ages, Michael looked at me.

“It’s not in there”

“It is”

“It’s not”

“It is”

…and then we heard it. It was wriggling around inside.

“Told you” I said.

Michael thought for a bit.

“Let’s cook it”

“Noooooooo! Oh that’s gross. I’ll never eat toast out of it again. That’s disgusting” I could literally feel my stomach churn at the thought of toasted cockroach.

He pushed down the lever and the toaster began to glow.

I couldn’t stand it, so I left the room, but the burning smell was evident.

“Oh geez Michael are you serious?”

TEN MINUTES LATER

“Did you get him out?”

“Yep. Got him”

I could sense something. I don’t know what, but something in his voice smelled of lies.

I closed one eye, lent toward him…and whispered

“I want evidence”

 

“No really. I took the toaster outside….and ”

“Eeeew, was he cooked?”

“Nope, he was quite chuffed. He crawled out and ran away. Then I stomped on him on the road”

I didn’t believe him for a second. Not for one second. I could smell a rat. Excuse the pun…

“Where’s his body? Prove it” I said

I followed him to the road…

 

image

Posted in Daily muse, Deep, Quotations, Writing

Don’t read these words-Feel them

dark-romance

‘I do my thing

and you do your thing

I am not in this world to live up to your expectations

and you are not in this world to live up to mine

You are you

and I am I

and if by chance we find each other

it’s beautiful’

~Fritz Pearls

Image by Tyler Shields

Posted in Daily muse

What bucket list?- My ‘F*&^ it’ list however…

not-a-single-gram-of-fuck-shall-be-given-today

“Just chuck it in the ‘fuck it’ bucket and move on”

This colourful phrase-courtesy of an unknown genius dabbling on Facebook, has helped me out of many a challenging situation.

Do you find that strange?

-or perhaps a little unlady-like?

Me too.

However when I examine it more closely, I find it’s simplicity and it’s brash attitude, appeals to my somewhat conservative nature.

It gives me a sense of absolute freedom by validating my personal right to simply ‘move on’ without a speck of guilt.

Cathartic to say the least!

So what’s on my bucket list you ask?

I don’t have one-but my ‘f*&^ it’ list is a mile long.

My sincere apologies to those who may feel offended by this post.

Freedom is-

Kick It

My tree of yesterday

My Tree of Yesterday

image

 

‘I want to stroke the soft parts of his ears and look into his eyes and say hello’

 

🍃

‘It’s bark feels rough in my fingers, I remember that.

If I were to return to the earth that lay beneath my feet my entire childhood,  I’d hug it and listen for it’s heartbeart.

I’d skip to my favorite tree, crouch down really low, inhale and smell the dirt around it’s base. I’d stomp on it’s fallen leaves and make the loudest crunching noise I could and I’d roll in them and smell them and fall asleep in them. I’d hide in it’s branches and sit in the fork with my legs dangling down.

Let me sniff the dirt, let me taste it on my tongue, let me roll it in a ball and squash it in my fingers. Allow me to stroke the smooth white trunk of my eucalypt tree- let me hug it, let me hold it in my arms and remember my home that was.

I want to feel it in my bones.

I want to build a bonfire with Dad, in the middle of winter, with my brother and my white Labroador,  and my Tabby cat who sat in the fork of my favourite tree and kept guard, but never really joined in. I want to collect sticks and branches and pile them up in thee bits of me warm.

I want to make a seat out of a log and sit on it watching happily as Dad collects more kindling and my brother rides his BMX over dirt jumps.

I want to see the innocent waddle of my dog-Regal-again.

I want to watch him sniff every blade of grass and every tree trunk and run happily and freely with all of us.  I want to feel his fur on my palms. I want to stroke the soft parts of his ears and look into his eyes and say hello. I want to tell him that I’m sorry I wasn’t there when he grew old, and if I had my time again, I’d make him toast and tea and we’d sit together for a while and chat. I would tell him I’m sorry it took me 40 years to understand that.

I want to walk up that road.

The long dirt road filled with bits of rock that made for a rough bike ride. I want to post a letter to our home-made letterbox that Dad made which lived at the end of the long dirt road, and collect the mail and read it.

I want to smell the air. To suck it up, close my eyes and remember what it felt like to be 12.

I want to fall asleep in my litttle bed and listen to the sounds of my past. The grunting Koala that would wake me, the fighting cats that I always mistook for a deserted baby, the musical notes of the magpie outside my bedroom window.

I want to feel the edginess of the bark on my favorite tree and be swept up by memory lane. I want to scrunch  it’s leaves in my hands and inhale the scent of yesterday.

I want to, I want to, I want to…

So far away, so far, far, away

but I close my eyes

and I’m hugging my favorite tree, and I’m scrunching it’s fallen leaves…

🍂

My Favorite

WordPress -Daily Prompt

 

Posted in blogging, Daily muse, My wordpress, Poem, relaxation, Story, Wordpress prompts, Writing

Yawn

6659625123_4bf69534a6_o

‘I notice an impostor staring back at me from deep within the glass’

( YAWN )

WordPress Daily Prompt

Yawn

Author

Nicole Martin

….

My gaze is fixed on the coffee table.

I’m stuck here

and I’m not moving

this is where I stop.

Just me and the fine layer of dust that’s also comfortable here.

I notice an impostor staring back at me from deep within the glass

Who the hell are you?- I ask

They ignore me.

Disinterested, that’s how I’d describe them.

A timely blink forces me to refocus.

The face is gone and the dust is back.

That happened fast-I thought

I only wiped it the other day

A large speck of white catches my attention

It’s just sitting there, parked off on it’s own

making friends with the crooked glass corner

A toast crumb?

A feather?

A butterfly wing?

A diamond?

My eyes are burning,

-damn you

I close them.

and then I feel it.

A rapid accumulation of energy in my throat that wants to escape

It starts in my chest and explodes out the nearest exit-my mouth

This unwelcome yawn disturbs the edge of my stare

A tear escapes-I feel it on my cheek

“Wake up lady” My brain pleads

“NO WAY”-I reply

I dispense of the tear like a dirty old rag and re-position my solidified gaze to please myself

This time in the direction of the Kettle

Here Kettle, here little Kettle, kettle, kettle, kettle

I’m not getting up-I thought

Although I probably should

If only it would grow wings and fly to me

or sprout little robot legs and run

I’d kill for a cupppa

but my legs are chained to the couch

It’ll have to wait.

My burning eyes blink, and before I know what’s happening my head decides to lie down

I told it not to do that, but it didn’t listen

“It’s only for a minute” it reassures

-I relent

I can see the ceiling now

round and round and round it goes

purring with every revolution

it’s arms are also dusty

the fan did NOT get cleaned last week I remembered, unlike the table

I’ll have to do it another day

not today

I’m not moving.

My legs misbehave now and embark on making themselves comfortable.

-I should get up and do something useful.

They stretch themselves out like they own the place

‘The king has been overthrown’- I am no longer in control of the moment

They stretch their bones

they stretch their muscles

“but it’s only for a minute”-they inform me

“Ok. But just for a minute” I warn.

Round and round and round and round

gone.

Photo credit: DanieleCivello via Foter.com / CC BY-NC

Featured Image: Photo credit: origami_potato via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

Artistry is about reflection not suicide

When youth leaves us

To my Boy