Tuesday, May 15, 2012

The Angelic Harpist

This week, I am writing flash fiction.
Read why.  Or don't.  Either way.



A harpist

            Harped:


Pluck, strum

            Strum, pluck!


A beautiful

            Heavenly resonance.


Her forehead,

            Chin, eyebrows,

All tilted

             Toward heaven.

Her hand,
             After plucking

Would sometimes
             Point to the sky.

Smiling,
            She envisioned

The gods approving
             And pointing back.

Slowly,
          The sound of
The courtly march
           Drew closer:

Rat tat tat
            Of the drums.
Blonk blonk
            Of the horns.

Pluck strum
         Strum pluck
Of her harp
         Was being conquered

Rat tat tat tat tat
       Blonk blonk womp
The courtly parade was there
  And overpowering her song

Rat tat tat tat tat tat tat
   There was a crowd of people following the
Procession as it went toward the arena and
   She saw Steve playing the drums and looking
miserable as usual.
   Rat tat tat tat

Strum, pluck, her melody had faded, and so had her high, but she didn’t care because she realized that nobody was watching or could hear anyway and seeing that rat tat tat Steve made her stomach churn like blonk blonk
  Because it reminded her that there were no decent men out there and that work was worse than home, where that blonk blonk menace of a kid was waiting to never let her sleep and the landlord that gave her half price rent for blowjobs had started making her kiss him on the mouth which was rat tat tat ten times worse.

Strum strum strum strum strum strum she realized that she had zoned out, but not in the good way, and that she was alone in the village center because she heard the horn in the distance which meant that the jousting had begun
  She thought about her shitty Toyota sitting in the gravel parking lot and knew that nobody would notice if she just left early today but she knew that her shitty Toyota would just take her back to her shitty and loud apartment that she couldn’t even afford so instead of going to her shitty Toyota she went to the outhouse which was the only place that she could be alone and clear her mind somewhat and so she went there and sat on the dirty toilet and peed while she took Steve’s stuff out of her purse and took a hit of it and Ahhhh!

She couldn’t find any toilet paper.
    But found it hard to care.

She left the outhouse
       And grinned as

She returned
       To her harp.

Roaaaar!

          The crowd said, faintly

And she smiled

          At their distance.


She caressed

              The wood

Of her beloved

              Angelic instrument.

Strum, pluck

                   Pluck strum!

Her hand,

                     After plucking,

Pointed to the sky,

                          To heaven.


But it was not

                             Heaven


She desired


                                 But merely




                                    
                                          Someplace else.


 

16 comments:

  1. Great work... as always.

    Love me some Onomatopoeia... but you know that.

    WG

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  2. I loved the shape of that story - very clever.

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  3. Wow, this is really different for you.

    There is always *something* behind the angelic smile, eh?

    As for technique (which you have oozing out your pores, by the way), I really like how you start and finish like a poem, like the soft notes of a harp, but in the middle of your piece you get into her real "story" and you ramble (which is PERFECT here).

    Nicely done.

    xxo
    MOV

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  4. I'm with MOV. Love the poem for the start and finish. Peaceful. You don't realize that this beautiful woman is living the shitty life she is. It makes me happy that she has her harp....at least. Can't wait to read more of your stuff.

    Thanks for being my newest follower.
    Gina

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  5. I'm incredibly thankful I have no children nor a drug addiction that leads me to an outhouse.

    Great piece and I concur with the ladies who love the flow of the piece. I heard the sounds in my head, the drums, the harp, the screaming people. Well done.

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  6. This is so well done; I love it! Like everyone else has said, the flow is great, and the imagery is beautifully heartbreaking.


    (p.s. off topic, but I watched the final Flyers game at a restaurant with my friends and a rowdy Devils fan. I spent the whole game being annoyed at the drunken idiot and annoyed at the Flyers, but when they lost, I felt sad for you haha.)

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  7. You are really plucky today, great fiction at your bay.

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  8. What they said ^

    This was brilliant.

    And sad.

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  9. Awww Mike, that was everything they said and a bag of cheetos. I feel like her sometimes (except for the blowjobs, lol) but I use my piano to ting ting ting to some melancholy music. You're such a fantastic writer and I enjoy each and every one of your posts :)

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  10. very cool change in post style...I liked it as well.

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  11. Wow! That was great in all aspects - the style of the words and the way those words flowed.

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  12. That was different yet so fun to read!! :)

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  13. I'm liking the flash fiction stuff. I find it very challenging to tell a story without setting an elaborate stage. You do it very well.

    By the way, I wanted to pass along a Liebster award to you - I love reading your blog. Check it out here:
    http://followingthemasala.blogspot.in/2012/05/one-in-which-i-blush-and-simper-and.html

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  14. um. this is awesome!! love this. i really feel flash fiction, and this was really great.

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