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Word Play

When God created us I think he was bored and wanted playmates.
God no Heff but God know Heff.

He wanted to see who’d play along.
He wanted to see who’d play the Hero, who’d play the fool.
Who’d be a playa- player and chill with players only.

He wanted to see who’d play God, who’d play the villain and try outplay the G.
He wanted to see who was great enough to survive this grimy play ground.
Who’d be the Queen or King on it.
Who’d get bullied or have their hearts played with.

He gave us stage for us to have our house plays.
Gave us the notion of love then we started to play play-play.
played happy families where mom said to “never play the ball in the house” but who gave her the platform to play boss

So he gave us earth and the ball was now in play.
God have messi on this playstation because we didn’t nintend for foul play.
sadly we humans didn’t play fair so we lost our playwright.

We played a weak hand and wasted our playtime.
Now we play along and play possum.
Continue to play our parts, as life plays a silly joke on us.
We played with fire and forgot to pray with god.

Pause!
Play, a rebel with a cause.

Greyhounds

Sitting in my room just waiting for her to break the news.
I haven’t bothered to turn on the lights, it always seems to hurt my eyes, I don’t want this as I retreat to my hidden fortress to escape the endless blabber that seems to dominate the surroundings of my domain.

I must have been sitting staring at the wall for hours before an abrupt silence took hold of the over crowded house.
I knew what was going to happen and to be quaintly honest I was looking forward to it, but I wasn’t going to make it any easier for anyone by giving a hint to my knowledge or indifference.

The whole scene was so predictable, it was as if I had seen it all before in a play or lived through it a thousand times in a dream.
Trapped in a web of a continuous spiral of déjà vu, I count down the seconds before she comes…
There it is, that painful light flooding the room stinging my eyes as if it were heavily salted water, she moves slowly with that all too common pathetic look stamped onto her face. God, it’s as if I’m already dead and she has been given the tedious task of identifying my rotten remains.
I can’t remember what she said, in truth I wasn’t listening, rather I was watching her lips move, she smiled and tried oh so hard to keep it sincere.

I’m at the airport, I have no memory of how I got here, only the calculated waves of t amnesia that floods my mind every so often. Did I use again?
I can’t remember, but the familiarity of this feeling is comforting to an exhausting degree.
Although numb, I can still feel the piercing stares of the putrid people around me, like small daggers slowly being pushed into my skin I’m all to accustom to such madness.
I welcome it, let these maggots stone me with judgment while they gaze down their hawk like noses at the monstrous disease I’ve become.

Its time to board the plane, I still have no idea where I’m going, but then again it doesn’t really matter. Why should I care? Everything is exactly the same. Each day a copy of a copy of a copy, no face is new, each sound is a B flat and no expression reveals any proof of sanity.
As I move the people shift away as if I’m contagious, I can’t help but smile, or maybe I broke out in frantic laughter, I can’t remember. Either way I’m satisfied, what better than to have your atmosphere twist and dissolve to try get away from you. The thought is a delightfully arousing one.

I’m sitting in my seat, though I don’t recall finding it.
I crave stillness and silence so that I can escape the light and surrender to my thoughts, but I’m stuck here, on this forsaken airplane, God knows why and who knows where.
I try to make sense of the happenings but I soon loose interest and follow the grey hounds in my head on their hunt for a fox or prize rabbit.
Anything to prevent myself from being consumed by the chaos around me.
I must have promised to be good.

I’m stolen from the hunt by an assembly of screams. I can’t describe my annoyance with this.
This plane that I loathed with every fragment of my being was going down, I smiled. My mind slowed, my eyes healed and I felt my heart at ease,
I will soon have my dark, uninterrupted stillness, soon I will rejoin the hunt and banish this world from my thoughts, I will be free of chains and the cold hard floor will never again pull at my skin.

I remember now… I remember everything…

Screaming but only in expression

I was quiet my choice not by nature.
People passed me off as shy or simply thought I had no opinions of my own.
The truth is I burn with opinions. The speeches I have recited in my mind are profound and without fault.
I have mastered them leaving no room for debate or the trace of incompetence.
My name is Garrick Owen Dagan and this is my living hell.

My audience stared at me as if a flock of moronic sheep, it was as if they were deaf to all my words but were startled by the noise.
I have waited for my moment of glory and now that i have it i realise it means nothing, people are ignorant to their ignorance or they have chosen to ignore everything that inconveniences them.

I felt an eternal emptiness within me fuelled by a hatred, a hatred i had never before felt for my own kind but how, how were they so blind? Why was it that i could not be part of the unthinking majority? I felt an overwhelming temptation to destroy them, i felt that i would at any moment explode and engulf them all.

My body began to shake, it felt as though every fragment of my being was on the verge of setting alight. The sensation had flooded my mind and was set to massacre the people who stood in front of me.

Without thought or my permission words escaped me, for once they were without the soft tone people had grown accustomed to, my words were raw and i did not know them until they were expelled from me.

How does one describe in words the frustration.
Frustration that has seized the very existence of free thought.
Conjured up from a blistered mind you have falsely accuse life of having purpose.

When the once cold and potent realizations are forsaken, new strategy plungers out their ridged edges and they will cut you as the form alien ideas.
They will dominated your beliefs with strict and violent authority, for fear of madness you will cower away leavening the enraged quake of foreign images to rampage through your head
disqualifying any foreseeable solace.
Allow yourself to become acquainted with the idea, for though I doubt you could imagine
the severe harshness and therefore the severe importance of this testing ordeal, your once naïve and repetitive existence is coming to an abrupt end.

I ran. i ran as fast as my body would allow.

Was those words or just thoughts? i Was unsure, how was i to be sure?
My audience would pass me off as a mad man now. I am lost without them, driven to madness with them.

Why why

What is why, why is why asked or pondered.
Why why?
Perhaps its not the answer that matters but instead its that there is an answer.
Perhaps its not the unknown that scares us but the fact that there is an unknown.
Maybe we ask the question for the answer not to know why but instead to know that there is an answer.

So then why.
What compels us to need to know that there is a known.
Curiosity?
Instinct? Couldn’t be instinct.
Fear.

I know fear is what drove me to be the person I am.
So am I just a product of predictable emotion?
A being that has been designed not by life experiences but the fear of them?
Probably.

I crave sense but am driven to find that which does not make sense.
I want order but am constantly creating ways to disturb it.
I am a creature of contradictions. A living breathing thing that dos not live but instead questions why.

Why ask why?
Why why?
Perhaps its not the answer that matters but instead its that there is an answer.

What i wish to be

i wish to be a whore of horror and gore
where no priest or saint can save me
my legs apart, i’m aching to start
im naked and waiting.

I would reek of cum in the dining halls
my tits always on display
at a glance you would feel repelled
and in disgust you would look away.

my sheets will be soiled with semen and shit
my skin blistered and sore
but nothing will compare to the open scabs
lining the frame of my door.

there is no lock so any swinging cock is able to come in
have his way
jiz and pray
that he doesnt catch anything

but pray in vane you will my boy
i will not leave you without a sore
my cunt enjoys this game you see
and looks forward to more..

Battle wounds

Smeared across the floor
Light flowing from the open door
I can almost feel it
Im not quite sure If I need it

My limbs broken and sore
My mind blistered to the core
I wonder how this came to be
Its unfortunate I cannot see

I do not wail
I do not morn
I break my silence with a sighful yawn

I can feel the air around my face
I can smell the damp of this place
I feel my skin has been battered and torn
I cannot help wonder why I was born

Reader’s Digest ‘100 Word Story’ Contest

Reader’s Digest South Africa is running a ‘100 Word Story’ contest. The competition is free to enter and open only to South African residents. Stories must be exactly 100 words and submitted by 30 November 2012.

The winner will receive R5,000 and be published in the magazine. The first two runners up will receive R1,000.

Visit http://www.readersdigest.co.za/100-word-story for more information.