You Blew Me Away Sculpture By Penny Hardy

“You Blew Me Away” sculpture by Penny Hardy

For the ask game! 1. What was your writing-highlight this year?

My writing highlight this year definitely had to be my NaNoWriMo alternative, which was writing a poem every day for the month. It was a challenge some days to come up with an idea or even know what I was doing, but I made it! I pushed myself to hammer down those poems one by one and I did, even wrote a couple of bonus poems one night.

Thank you so much for the ask!

Cyanide

For my last meal, I requested a shiny green apple and a marble bowl of cherries. They quirked their eyebrows at it. One of the guards cracked a smile I think. "What, no steak? No bucket of fried chicken? Hell, you didn't even ask for a pound of strawberries." "I wouldn't want to go out without this figure." I even flexed for them. "Fucking Christ, you've lost it. Flipping that killswitch can't fry that brain anymore." I shrugged, smiled, and watched them walk away. Minutes later, they brought it and left me to my devices.

I turned the apple in my hands, grinning at myself in the reflection of fruit wax. Even the bowl was right, black veins in white stone. All it took was a moment, one bite and I was gone, crunching away with the largest piece my almost unhinged jaw would let me take. My chin dripped with juice, but I chewed with my mouth closed. I wasn't an animal for God's sake. I chewed in a neat ring around it, carving the best of the meat from this meatless thing. I didn't care about the bits caught between my incisors. I gnawed and punctured the flesh with my canines, vampire sucking the juice out. At last, I dug the seeds from the core, cooing and saving the one with the root spouting. A life to begin where mine was to come to an end. Perhaps they'd plant it for me. I took the others in my fingers and shoved them in my pocket. I imagined taking the leftover pieces, the bit of the top with the stem, the part of the bottom with remnants of flowers, the core, the pile of bones out in my hands, tossing them out to feed the birds. At least, I imagined birds, sparrows, cardinals, even bluejays. A nice crow to come return the favor. I wiped my face on my sleeve, smiling at the sticky residue.

I took my chair and leant in the far corner of the room for the cherries. It wasn't a throne, but the recline would do enough for my mind to forgive the discrepancy. I lifted the marble bowl and carried it to my makeshift throne. I made a scene of them all, dangling each over my open mouth like some cartoon king. I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my empty throat at the halfway point. If only they could see me. But I was on a timer, they said, so they didn't have to sit back and watch my every move. Still, I put on a show, just in case. I continued my routine, dangling, chewing, spitting the stones in the stone bowl. The irony, or was it serendipity? I doubt they'd know.

Soon it wouldn't matter. At the end of it all, I had stones, seeds, and time. So I dumped the pits out and started smashing. Hammering away one after the other. I cringed at the cracks in the cherry seeds but they would do. Crack, shatter, collect. One pile of shattered stones. The marble bowl worked as a hammer, and I almost felt bad for wasting its rich life for my last act. But what else was it doomed for, other than to sit on some granite island contained in white walls and an open floor plan? At least here, things were quiet when all was said and done. I swept the seeds into my palm, sighing at the dust and dirt they'd gathered. Does no one take pride in their work anymore?

I lay down in the center of the concrete floor. One after the other, I dropped a seed from my clenched hand into my open mouth, chewing it into a paste before swallowing. I admit I grew impatient and started dropping pairs of them at once, though never more than two at a time. When the last of the cherry seeds had been ground up by my molars, I chewed the apple seeds for good measure and a little variety. I took the sprouted seed in my fingertips "One day, you'll be a home. I'd like to see it. With your leaves in the wind, a nest in your branches…" I folded the sprouted seed in my hands and rested them on my stomach. Letting my eyes close, I imagined straining my neck, open-mouthed, to a mother with a delectable bug paste she'd chewed for me. I felt her beak in mine, dropping the meal down my throat. What I wouldn't give for a pair of wings. A song to sing on the breath of the morning.

Except I wouldn't have breath for that much longer. Soon they'd come knocking. And my neck would be in a noose. Or a needle in my arm. No…no that wasn't it. Were they gearing up to shoot me full of holes? Maybe they'd slit my throat. No, too messy. I remember that much. No they…they'd press a big red button launch me into space. No, wait. Not a button. A switch. Killswitch. Fry my brain. Fry my brain up like chicken, but no they wouldn't eat it. I wonder what happens after. Whatdotheydo with my body? Duzzit go… do they burn it up? Do they bury it? Ashes, ashes, I'm already down. And out. I hope God doesn't punish me for stealing death from the executioner.

why you should keep writing your story

because it’s a puzzle no one else will ever arrange the same way as you.

because there are ideas that simply won’t come to you until you write down the wrong words.

because all the bad scenes are the bones of the wonderful scenes.

because someone will love it: someone will read it once, and twice, and thrice; someone will ramble to you about the complexity of it; someone will doodle your characters out of love; someone will find it in exactly what they were looking for with or without knowing it.

because they have things to say, your characters. they’ve told you all those secrets and they have more to tell you, if you will listen.

because you love it even when you don’t; even when it drives you mad or when it accidentally turns into apathy; even when you think you’re doing it all wrong; you love it, and it loves you back.

because you can get a treasure even from things that go wrong; because if a story crumbles down you can build a shinier one on the same spot; because you won’t know where it will take you until it takes you there.

Secret Garden - https://weheartit.com/entry/110400638

“You Blew Me Away” sculpture by Penny Hardy