Mind voice

Evacuate! Evacuate! Evacuate!

The pilot thought.

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Maternal instinct

What no parent should ever do
Mrs Tibbins did to her offspring

when still young and tender
its skin moist, palms closed
and beetle eyes full of wonder
the mother left her child alone

wandered away from home
in place of nurturing care
suffering a blow after blow
from the unkind world over

alone, helpless, and smelly it grew
seeking friendships in dirty pubs
scouring meals in garbage cans
and letting time live its course

years later, like mother the child
when was its turn to be a mother
did what no parent should ever do
and cast away its child, letting it go

for who could change the nature
of cats abandoning their kittens?

Good day

“Have a good day” the little girl chirped as she left the counter slurping her large iced coffee. She’d smiled as she said it. As if she’d meant it.

Pfft, Jeremy thought to himself. It was only midday, and he’s had thousands of people wishing him a good day already. It no longer felt sincere—most people wouldn’t even look him in the eye. They’d bring their haul tapping their card on the counter while waiting for him to finish billing. And as soon as the machine’s ready for their card, they’d swipe it and out without so much as a second glance at him. Then waving off their receipt, “good day” they’d mutter before pulling out their phone and exiting the store.

He’d been the cashier at the gas station for seven years now. Ever since the nasty divorce, he’d been trying to find alternative ways to support himself. Although his pension covered the basics, his severed leg needed additional medication and constant care.

It didn’t matter whether the girl meant it or not. As long as he had the job, it was a good day for him.

Inspiration

Hear me out, a writer I am
with clues none whatsoever
in an investigation of tales
for when inspiration strikes
it strikes hard as a storm
hurling thoughts all amok
swirling in my own mind
scenarios for a scenic event
of monologues and dialogues
and a criminal plot twist
so moving the loveable crime
with a perfect metaphor
some puns and clever idioms
never one to miss a rhetoric
a character arc so gullible
worthy of a Clooney cameo
whirling on as a tornado
a tale possessing my being
from start to almost the end
a narrative spread as jam
and so smiling I ink my pen
ambitious to impact the world
to tell a story to the masses
of the man who beats them all
letting the first drop drip
I watch mute, feeling destitute
sensing the tornado move
from the edge to the eye
oh, what sudden change
a severe calm in my mind
the once-swirling thoughts
once wailing, now silenced
as the second drop drips
I wait in patience still
alas, the mind’s wiped off
thoughts gone with the wind
blown away just as it’d come
in a flurry—inspiration tornado

Morning, sunshine

I awake to the sound of my favourite music—to the rising tunes of a strumming guitar. I snooze. It’s ok, I tell myself, for I’d worked late the previous night. I deserve more sleep. Before I know it, the alarm goes off again, this time more annoying than soothing. Sighing, I get up only to lean on the wall, palms resting on my chin. It doesn’t seem like a good morning.

As I force myself to brush my teeth and crack my knuckles, I feel a little more awake than before. Clinging on to that feeling, I begin my workout routine and feel better with each stretch. Now it’s starting to seem like a better morning. There’s still a long way to go, though.

Finishing my routine, I make a pot of coffee and slump into the chair—it’s browsing time. I scroll, without a second thought, through feeds and stories, watching but not caring about the lives of my connections and friends. It’s just a way to pass time while drinking coffee—nothing more, nothing less. Drowning the last of my coffee, I head for a shower. I let the cold water wash over me, feeling the heat evaporating as steam over hot cocoa. Soon, I’m ready for work. I plug in random trance music, as I leave, to help cope with the terrible walk to work.

With the slight buzz in my head, I reach office in a piece. I’m ready, sleep-deprived but not yet drooping, to face the day. Perhaps it is a good morning, I tell myself. I wave to my friend at the security desk, take the stairs two at a time, and arrive at my desk with work in mind. I prop up my laptop and open up the word editor—to write today’s blog.

Blank.

A morning. Blocked.