One Quirk Later #9–not to get all poetical on you, but…

Hello, friends!

The New Year is underway (regardless of whether or not we can recall the fact when we are writing out the date). What sort of year will it be? It’s too early to say. But one thing is for certain: it will be a year in which I will continue to participate in Jem Jones‘ Quirk series.

This is promising indeed. Because participating in this organized chaos* is always a delight.

*I mean, it’s not THAT chaotic, except that someone almost always inevitably gets stabbed

To summarize for those not familiar with this post series: Jem gives us pictures. We stare at the pictures for long hours, searching for the plot bunnies hidden within them, then we Write Things. And, finally, we all READ the things that everyone else wrote, and a jolly good time is had by all.

Be sure to check out Jem’s post introducing the prompt (and Jem’s blog in general because it’s quite excellent).

Here’s the prompt:

A few things you don’t need to know before you read what I wrote:

• So….narrative freeverse? For no apparent reason?
• Eh, why not?
• I wrote two pages about this character about…five years ago? He just popped back into my head out of nowhere.
• (Characters are sneaky like that)
• Will there be angst? Do you even have to ask??
• You know, in retrospect, I’m pretty sure that’s actually a toad in the watering can…

***

I put a frog in the watering can
because I’m feeling
whimsical, I guess
or nostalgic
or maybe just sleep deprived
to the point of
idiocy

She loves it
because of course she would
Because it’s something
she would do
She wraps her hands
around its slimy body, giggling
at its flailing legs, until I tell her
Don’t squeeze it so tight
Her face gets serious, brown eyes as wide
as the frog’s, she nods
because she would never
hurt anything, never
on purpose, never
do what I’ve
done

The frog slips through
her fingers, launching
across the mismatched grass
and knots of weeds
touching the ground
only twice before diving into
the perfect epicenter
of ripples

She is so close
freckles of water dot her cheeks

Say goodbye

Goodbye, Mr. Frog
I drop to my knees and she climbs
on my back, one arm
around my neck, one hand
on my head, tiny fist
gripping my hair, she whoops
and urges me on—
her magnificent steed

And I don’t care
that her hands are frog-slimed
dirt-smeared
pulling on my hair like reins
until my scalp sings

I don’t care

Inside we sit at the piano
my fingers resting
on the keys
my chin resting
on the top of her head
She says show me how
and I play, slow and simple
until she cuts me off
Okay, my turn

Tiny frog-slimed hands
on the chipped white teeth

It is a new composition
never heard before, never
to be heard again
a cacophony of harmonious
dissonance

Wow. Beethoven should quit
She looks up at me with green eyes,
brow furrowed, Who’s Beethoven?
I just laugh

Show me more
But I can feel the seconds
slipping, almost gone
so I wrap my arms around her
like I could possibly
hold her

It was just daylight
but outside the window
there are stars
because why not?
Because she loves them
Because I love them

We stare at them and I hold her
and hold her
whisper
I love you

She looks up at me
Time’s up, she says
though I don’t mean for her to
You’re going to miss me
I stare down at her
nod wordlessly
You’re going to miss me
so much, she whispers
She opens her mouth again
but before she can speak—

This session has ended.
Do not attempt to set a new configuration.
Please report to the barracks immediately.

I pull the goggles off
stare at the non-descript panels
of the walls
their faint luminance
stark and empty

I rip the patch from the base
of my skull, return it
to the console
because free time is over
and it’s just a patch again
not a conductor
of the thoughts in my head
not a tool to help me pretend
I’m not talking
to myself

Lying in my bunk
in the barracks while I wait
for morning, for a voice
to come blaring through the speakers
tell us its time to go
raze another city

I can’t remember
what color my sister’s eyes are

were

And suddenly, I don’t think
I can stand it, I don’t think
I want to

But I know I will

I’ll survive.
Somehow I always do

***

….Did you notice it’s my sci-fi-war-default-setting again?

There you have it!

Many thanks to Jem Jones for being my honorary grandma giving us the prompt!

Have you ever put a frog in a watering can? (Or a frog that was actually a TOAD??) Do you ever write narrative free-verse? Do you ever wonder why you’re writing narrative free-verse? Do you see any plot-bunnies hidden in Jem’s prompt? Do tell!

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