Category: writing

Jumanji

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I’m on holiday from tomorrow with friends, so no regular post on Saturday.

I am, however, organising a game of Jumanji for my friends to play using GURPS (the Generic Universal RolePlaying System), so I though you might enjoy the ominous couplets that I’m adding in!

This was inspired by the Film Reroll podcast, which I do recommend listening to if you get a chance. Just pick your favourite childhood movie and listen to a group of friends erect a joyous circus on its foundations.

You’re about to meet a new friend
With smile large enough for your entire head

A million stomachs in congregation
Will soon devour your foundation

Make a deal, make a bargain
Offer a gift and you may roll again

Some idols don’t want what’s best for you
Look into its eyes, see what it asks you to do

They grow so fragrant and bright
See if you can still take flight

Don’t worry about their poison
It’s venom that does you in

Try not to sleep just yet
You don’t know what you’ll forget

Reinforcements have arrived!
Only one round will they survive

It is so beautiful, so bright
Attractive to all in sight

You already knew you were in trouble
Hope you know how to avoid the rubble

A thousand now take flight
Watch out for their bite

There is someone at the front door
A helpful guest, I am sure

It’s all a bit messy – time to vanish
Choose one effect to banish

Of course you are not the first to play
Meet your predecessor, in a state of decay

Narcissus Reversed

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There is a hall of mirrors somewhere
Not where it should be, but there all the same
It waits patiently to see who shall visit
who to reshape and remake in their gilded frames

A stranger now wanders amongst them
Reflected, elongated and compressed
They follow their shifting form throughout
They are amused if not very impressed

They have inspected the mirrors
Reflections to amuse or abhor
Certain they have seen all on offer
But the worst hangs upon the exit door.

The one mirror they must pass to leave
And within is absolute perfection
The stranger stands, entranced and ashamed
Staring at their much-improved reflection

There is no argument to be made
The stranger has no reason at all
Why they should be allowed to leave
While a better version remains in the hall

The world would be so disappointed,
Says the image with kindness and grace
For the stranger to return home
When a better version could take their place

A stranger exits the hall alone
Confident and sure in their selection
The only right choice had been made
And the halls have a new misshapen reflection

Unobserved

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The moment is coming.

I know it will be fleeting, but weeks of preparation have gone into this and I will hold onto these few seconds for years.

The bags previously stores in the boot of my car were thrown away miles back. The ID was burned in a service station bin. I pulled into a hairdresser in a town so small that I don’t believe it extended even one layer away from the highway. I asked for something new. I wonder if I will like it when I next look at myself.

I have pulled over at a crossroads. The road here is blanketed in red dust, then occasional vehicle kicking up clouds of the stuff. It is perfect.

It has been five minutes since I last saw a car drive past. I have kept watch over the four directions the crossroads go. The small cloud will soon disappear out of eyesight, and so I will be alone.

I will, for one moment, be completely unobserved. I will be only myself.

I cannot guess how long that moment will stretch. Perhaps it will be hours before someone new comes down this road. It could be seconds. It could still be interrupted, I remind myself as I scan the horizon again.

It is time. The last car is gone and I am alone.

I smile brightly in that moment. I am nowhere and no one and I am myself.

I wonder how long this moment will last – when will the next car pass? When will I become a part of the world again, even if only in a stranger’s periphery?

For now I am by myself. I look at my reflection in the car’s rear windshield as I push it off the road. It is a vision only I will ever see. I wonder what direction the new me will take? Who will pick me up and how long will it take to realise that their passenger is gazing at them with their own smile?

The car rolls down the hill, the memories of a five-year life going with it. It is time for a fresh start as someone new.



Three Sentence Stories (Part 11)

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I told everyone the truth about what I had seen the day the child disappeared from the park. Much like his mother, I saw him enter the slide, but never saw him emerge.

The only bit I left out is the part I hope his mother did not hear: the awful sounds of chewing and swallowing.

It’s been difficult, learning to live alone. My mother had forbidden me from learning anything that might lead to independence and departure. I was only recently allowed to boil the jug and make tea, which I excitedly did, adding just enough sedatives to seem like an accident.

There were only enough supplies for one of us to survive the winter. We were trapped, isolated in the wilderness at the edge of a harsh winter that would trap us here.

Of course, I was the one who had planned it that way.

Track

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They had set out on their walk that morning, smiling at each other in the sunshine. They were caught in the rain the moment they were out of sight of their cars. It had fallen hard enough that they sought shelter, hiding beneath a large tree. Pulling their hoods down, he had insisted that they keep going despite her joking protests. So, hunched and laughing they had headed out into the rain.

They had been walking for hours. On their right side was thick, impenetrable bush and on their left was a clear and still lake.
Every time she asked how far they were from the car, he told her they would be there soon. But they never arrived.

Soon she began to recognise landmarks, passing every few hours like clockwork. When they sped up or slowed down, the path followed a clear routine.

She recognised the fallen tree that they had passed when they originally joined the path, but the bush blocked where the car park should be. She tried to stop and climb through, but it was too thick to even get her hand through. They sat on the log, a hand on her shoulder nudging her to get up after some time had passed. She stared at the path as they walked, trying to ignore the sight and focusing on the sounds of rainfall and her companion’s steps beside her.

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Foresight

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There is a house down the lane
Its crooked path keeping it from view
Leading through a vibrant garden
And that path is not meant for you

There is an old woman inside
Who says she can see your future
She waits within those crooked walls
and it is best for all that you never meet her

She used to leave, a long time ago
Offering fortunes, told in rhyme
The children all adored her so
Until she found three that had no more time

She wept in the street, children confused
She must be lying, they said
Soon their parents pulled them away
But dawn found those three children dead

She had only told them the truth
That she saw their unmet birthdays
but the town was mad with grief
and so she left and locked herself away

I visit her sometimes, in her garden
She smiles at me, quite satisfied
No matter what they say, she says
She saw the grim future and she did not lie

There is a house down the lane
its path is not meant for you
For if you visit and she sees your death
I will have to kill you too.

Return

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I watched the man walk out of the surf
stepping smoothly onto land
I sat atop a rock and watched
as he gracefully offered me his hand

He told me his name
Which I had heard before
A man who had lived in this town
Until he did not return to shore

His face did not match my memory
Smooth, serene and surreal
I stared at his youth and beauty
as he explained his deal

He had found himself drowning
A great wave had stolen his breath
And pulled beneath the waves
He had felt the grip of death

He was offered a task
From the darkness swelling below
Drown one hundred others
And the sea would let him go

He never granted mercy
for each expired life
dragged to the waiting darkness
Led him closer to his child and wife

The last sacrifice, he described
Had not taken a step from the shore
Sat on a rock, her feet in lapping waves
Staring out into a rising storm

He had met her in a sudden wave
The old woman fighting lamely
He happily pulled her to the darkness
and left her to finally see his family

His story finished, the man smiled
I had remained silent for it all
He asked where he might find his wife
And his lad, who should be three or four

My reply was swift.
Though meant for another purpose
The knife served me well
and between his ribs it took purchase

I let him fall to the ground
I watched him recognise his error
And as the waves dragged him back
I saw a face awash in grief and terror.

I left the rock where I had sat
As my mother had before
Hoping for her husband’s return
when he did not return to shore.

Shift

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It had been a promising morning
Fog dispersed by bright daytime
And energy had gripped the townsfolk
the day the town awoke for the last time.

Not one, even the most quiet and still
found their rest from that night on
Whatever their methods and habits
The routine comfort of sleep was gone. 

It was not discussed in the first days
that not one person had slept
but neighbours shared mirrored looks 
and barely understanding, they wept

As the days went past, they settled
It would not harm them, it seemed
The lack of rest gave more hours to the day
Although many missed their dreams

Days blurred from one to the other
Life went on, sunlit or moonlit
But soon the townsfolk noticed
That strangers had come to visit

They never quite fit in
They were not all there, it seemed
Their visits were only a matter of hours
But such is the nature of dreams. 

Definite

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It was Ben who insisted that they play with the Ouija board he had brought to the sleepover. He claimed he found it in a deserted building site, despite its near-mint condition. Plus, they were ten and Adam was pretty sure he stole that story from when they saw Jumanji a few weeks before. Regardless, the four young boys had gathered around, strategically dimming lights for the right ambience.

Adam had smiled and laughed with the others as the planchette began moving, convinced it was his friends playing with him. At one point he tried to spell something funny, but found he could not alter its path. He had stopped laughing then, but the others did not seem to notice. They asked a series of questions about crushes and dead relatives.

Then Ben asked how he would die.

MOTORBIKE

Nine years later, Ben died in a horrible crash. He had never been one for safety gear, so the long smear of blood on the road was what led the emergency responders to find his body in the bushes, 50 metres from the bike.

Adam’s best friend, Josh had also asked, a little less jokingly.

CANCER

Despite making his best efforts to lead a healthy life, Josh was diagnosed with brain cancer during his first year at university. Against all odds he had gone into remission, but nothing anyone said could convince him it would not come back again. Two years later, he was proven right. There was only a month between the diagnosis and the funeral.

David then asked, egged on by the others.

DROWNING

Really, the aneurysm would have killed him if it had happened anywhere except the bath.

Adam had not wanted to ask. But to his young mind it would be unfair and shameful to refuse to ask, regardless of how scared he was.

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