Hello members! I'm in! lol. I'll try to post something in this comunity as many times as I can. For now I'll sniff out some of my old stuff. Hope you like them.
Umm bit of a warning, some material might be triggering or sickening for some people. So I'll say something in the cut when I post those.
Picking up the shovel full of hay I threw it over into the empty stall. The rooster called to the sun from afar, as the rays peeked over the hills. I wiped my face with a damp handkerchief and went back to throwing the hay. A small black bug hopped onto the door of the stall and played its tune.
"Well hello there Mr. Cricket. That's a very nice song you have playing, no?" The cricket chirped happily as I leaned the shovel against the barn wall. Stepping out of the cool barn, I am greeted with a wave of heat.
"Noon already," I say to myself as I shade my eyes from the sun up above. Pushing open the screen door it gave a low moan.
"It seems you need some oiling. I'll fix that right away," I said patting the door, "don't worry." Making my way swiftly to the kitchen I poured myself a glass of milk. I leaned back into the chair as I listen to the cows bellow in the background, and their bells chime through the empty house. I smiled into my cup as a memory creeps into my present.
Butterflies pinned onto a piece of cardboard. The glass wall kept them in their clear imprisonment. Ants and beetles inside small jars, lying silently at the bottom from suffocation. I scribble insanely onto a piece of paper as my partner sits in his rolling chair, staring blankly at the wall. A squeak and a ruffle of papers avert my attention to him.
"It's pretty late John," he says grabbing his hat from a near by coat hanger. He looked at me with pleading eyes to leave and I grunted to let him.
"Aren't you going home yet?" he asks before walking out the door.
"Home is where the bugs are."
"Your crazy," he says chuckling and made his departure.
"You don't know how right you are Ted," I whisper to his back as I continue to write the description of the beetle next to me.
The birds chirp crazily on the windowsill. Fumbling around the surface of the desk I chucked an object at the beast that disturbed my sleep. A loud crash followed by complete silence, I settle my head on my arms and continue my slumber.
Bugs of various species filled the room. Buzzing around, flying into my hair and settling on my face. I sat there in my rolling chair, my eyes darting back and forth in their sockets. Crawling up and down my body I shivered at the tickling of their fuzzy legs. Ted hidden under a mass of black, only his hand poked out. No movement or sound came from under the black mass as the hand continued to stay up right. My legs itched as the bugs started to pinch, I moved it in pain. In a split second fruit flies, dung beetles, and other various species of bugs plagued my body. Screaming at the top of my lungs they flew into my mouth, up my nose and suffocated me with their little bodies. I woke up with a start and knocked over the beetle that I was researching. The jar fell and shattered into tiny little pieces.
"What's wrong John," Ted said startling me with his voice. But that wasn’t Ted’s voice, it was sounds of paper wings brushing against one another. The sight of the butterflies made my skin crawl, and I scratched at the invisible bugs on me. Ted, his hand poking out from a dark mass. The one in front of me isn’t Ted. Ted’s dead. The bugs crawl in and out of his mouth and nose as I stare at him. His mouth moved and bugs spilled onto the floor. I shrieked and bumped into a shelf full of bugs in jars. The jars broke and the bugs lay dead on the floor. But they are not dead as they leaped up onto their tiny fuzzy legs and inched closer and closer to me. I take a match and light it. Ted his eyes wide looked at the orange flame. I look at it and watch the flame flick back and forth. A smile tugs at my mouth as I turn my eyes to look at Ted.
"What are you doing!" Ted screams as I throw the match into the pile of bugs on the floor. They curl up and turn into a black crisp as the flame licks up all of the bugs it sees. Ted rushes over and grabs a fire extinguisher, frantically trying to produce the white foam to consume the flames. I leave Ted as he tries to save the bugs locking the door behind me.
Sitting alone in the kitchen. Miles away from the burned building I turn my attention to the cricket from the barn. Fumbling around in my pocket I took out a lighter and lit it. Watching the flames flick back and forth, I fed the flames to the cricket. Sitting back all I could hear were the chiming of the cowbells.
This is one of the reasons that I didn't get into creative writing.
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