On the back of a meeting, full of work rubbish and efforts to increase productivity for little cost, meaning we have to bust a gut, for what? Nothing. It is indeed a fine evening when I have poured myself an IPA in error at 11.pm, and settled down to see how Rochelle and the FF’s are hanging this dark winter’s evening, too dark to see the weather and the music too loud to allow the sound of the weather in. A photograph produced by the one and only Rochelle too, meaning a double thanks for keeping us all in line.
Anyway, Bagpuss style (google it) thinking caps on.
On My Marks…
Get Set…
GO!!!
:
I couldn’t say how long i’ve been looking at this view, fixed to my chair, bare feet wet in puddles on the floor.
Beings feed me 3 times a day, I think, although the days are confusing, light to dark and back again sometimes several times between feeding. The food is good but what is it?
White noise increases as the windows start to melt, pitter pitter; is this rain, or am I leaking, could it be sweat?
The steps are swimming, becoming amorphous, dappled.
I’m forgetting .
Shapes and sounds, the glass pours shimmering wet.
Lights flicker, I’m becoming the noise.
There we are; 100 words on the nose, about the deconstruction of a human.
The Count Of North Clifton 
IS he comatose? Sometimes a patient may seem unconscious but is capable of knowing what’s happening in his presence
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I was thinking he was being slowly drugged, until he is but a sack of flesh, his mind numb
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I love the stream of consciousness of this one with the disorientation.
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That is a new departure for you. I was looking for the nursery rhyme and then realised this was a darker thing altogether. I understood but was puzzled by the lack of emotion until I read your explanation that the narrator was being drugged.
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Dear Shrawley,
I’d say this person’s cheese is slipping off his cracker. Becoming the noise. I like that.Perhaps he’s being forced to watch the American drug advertisements in my story. 😉 Nicely done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Maybe it’s all easier if we just switch off and stop thinking…
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Poor creature! Bring on the sun!
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Those Old People’s homes are just the pits. You know they have borrowed the doorway to make sure I can’t get out with my Turbo Charged Mobility Chair.
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“”narrowed the doorway”” – see what I mean, they confuse the hell out of me.
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Shrawls… this was a departure from you and fabulously done. I wasn’t sure if he was slowly losing his mind to Alzheimer’s but saw your response on the drugs which, let’s face it, these places are not shy to use to keep their patients quiet.
Truly wonderful writing, here.
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Wow! Thank you Dale, if you really mean this then I’m truly appreciative of your comments. I always think it’s a type of cliche to write like this.
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I do! I always say what I mean.
Why do you think it’s a type of cliché?
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Oh I don’t know, I just feel it’s not me, I didn’t feel particularly imaginative, I feel sometimes like I have to torture my self and be too cocky/ edgy when I write. A slave to the pen, I can’t abide putting stuff out I’m not happy with. And so I feel like it’s just any old junk. Maybe I should believe in myself a little more
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The word ‘Beings’ make me wonder if it is divine supernatural or alien race? At least they are feeding him good food.
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Nah, he’s confused, they’re giving him sweet tasting drugs to break him down, methodically tearing his brain into shreds.
I think!!
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Oh I see. How awful! That’s why he is becoming the noise. This is so different than your bastardized fairytales. Well done.
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Thanks Fatima!! Fairy tales are finite and finding different angles each time requires rest!!
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