MACBETH
If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well
It were done quickly: if the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease success; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
We’d jump the life to come.
Lola was bored. It had been a week since she had gotten up inside this room and though she had left it many times – sometimes to pee, sometimes to bathe and sometimes simply to test this new found freedom – she had nothing to do except stare at the walls and wait for her meals.
Door
The door must hold…that order lost him the war. The door indeed held – held while the troops were slaughtered, as they tried to break free.
Pyre
And as the sun rose, he returned to his empty bed and she walked away from her funeral pyre to return to the light above.
Kiss
Though they were together, he was thinking of another’s kiss while she was dreaming of the lush, full breasts of her lover.
Legacy
He saw her and tears rolled down his face. He had helped made this. If nothing else, this would be his legacy – his daughter.
Torture
She came into my life when I least expected – so beautiful, so perfect. And then the torture began. Is this what having a muse means?
Starting September, I will be trying to commit more to my blog by following an editorial calendar. This is a part of Blogchatter’s challenge – #MyFriendAlexa – to better your blog’s Alexa Rank by the end of the month by #BetterBlogging.
These days, everything you do is a work of art and being a house guest is nothing short of being the highest form. In my twenty-seven years of existence, I have had the privilege of being a guest in a number of households. While I cannot say definitively that I was a good guest, I can most certainly tell you how to be a perfect one.
When Lola woke up, she was surprised to find herself on a comfortable bed, inside, after a long time. She was sure had she not been drugged, she wouldn’t have been able to sleep; so accustomed had she become to the night sky, wind blowing and Hunter’s blankets that smelled faintly of dust, sweat, smoke and raspberries.
This post is dedicated to all the teachers in my life:
A well-made cup of tea
It is easy to get this wrong. The tea leaves, sugar and milk have to be put in the right quantity, time and order. You mess up the order, you mess up the taste. How do you make the perfect cup of tea? You be patient and let the water boil. Add tea leaves ONCE THE WATER IS BOILING. Let it simmer for a minute. Add sugar and milk. Let it simmer for another minute. Serve with goodday biscuits.
Dear I don’t know what I am doing with my life younger-self,
How very fragile your God must be
To be threatened by little old me
How very insipid must He be
To be belittled by the likes of me
How very powerless this limitless power
To lose His significance to the powerful me.
Is it your omnipotent God
Or your impotence
That cannot tolerate my perceived defiance?
Is your God so in need of your protection
Of your crying wolf in His name?
Why then he is no god at all
But a mere mortal who cannot permit dissent.
When I finished writing my first draft, I felt this sense of achievement, like my dream was finally within reach. After that last full-stop had been put, I sat back, admiring my courage, my idea and my writing. I was so happy and so full of that happiness that I decided to treat myself and announce to everyone that I had at least put the story down.
