Hello and welcome to Volume Cinco. Because it’s Friday in some parts of the world, if not mine, I present you with my phlegm inspried 50 word fiction based on this weeks theme… hollow head. Or was it hallow? Or haunted, if you want to go that way with it. Six of one, half dozen of another… I went with what felt true to me.
The Last 48 hours
Sludgey cement, slime and sticky ooze… muck, mire, and mucilage… green gunk, grime, glop and pellucid crud… with great effort she raised another sand paper rough tissue to her nose and wished for a hollow head. Whump.. her wish granted, the viral effluvium dropped into her lungs. Oh, *cough* perfect.
Haunted by the memories of her voice in his head, he called again: The sexual intensity was perfect, and she knew what he wanted. His climax was quick, and drained his balls until they were hollow, listening to her words, “At the sound of the tone the time will be…”
Hip Babydyke Writes What she Thinks is Cryptic Poetry, Part I
She
loves him the big-trucked
not me lost biodiesel grrrrl
hollow head
haunted head
head of exploding ghosts
Dashboard Jesus please ease
my heart rent with love and desire
and
fill it with starlight or
whatever magic thing you do
or else i
will make you play
with Fighting Nun.
PS…What happened to the bonus points for Jesus? (Good band name, eh?)
Concerned Friend of Hip Dyke Teen Blogs About Her
Monday, Carmen plucked her eyebrows and refused to wear makeup.
Tuesday, the dashboard Jesus bobbed along to her sobs.
Wednesday, she cradled her haunted head in two mournful hands.
Thursday, she celebrated Cinco de Mayo over chicken with mole sauce, nopalitos, and a six-pack of Zima.
Friday? Still in love.
He felt at ease telling her all about his life, and the haunted head, that plagued him. She was different than the rest, and listened, intently, with a genuine look of understanding, in her eyes. Little did he know, she was writing a report, suggesting that he be hospitalized, permanently.
this is all i can come up with. maybe something better later. although this kind of is later…
Jimmy had taken a lot of crap in his life but enough was enough.
“Whaddya mean my balls look like Mr. Ed?!” he yelled at his girlfriend.
“I said,” Claire enunciated slowly “this doll’s got a hollow head.”
“Oh.”
Jimmy remained sheepishly quiet while Claire continued shopping for craft supplies.
I walk gently across the hallowed ground. Quietly I sit on the bench, listening to the wind whistling over the hollow head impaled on the staff to my right. I look deeply into it’s eyes searching for answers to the historical death. A black raven caws on the haunted tombstone.
I had dinner with my ex. It was pleasant. Talked turned to the old times, perhaps it was the warmth of the drink, or the nostalgia of the moment, but I mentioned that I was still quite fond of her. She found this to be rather fantastic. She demanded proof, evidence she called it, and always willing to be taken to task, I took her home.
Once in side I took no time showing her the collection of pornographic material I had found on the Internet with models that looked familiar to her. In fact they all looked just like her. She was not impressed however, and prompt left. All in reviewing this sitituation, I still find the picture involving the dog to be my favorite.