Don’t Ever be the Same

184453_10151151718177051_610849167_n       Abstemious use of plastics forgot. Buying up what lot is needed. Oceans of synthetic cities float in the midday sun, choking out natural life. As if permeating above, with the smell of salt, dead fish, dry air, and recently used exhaust. Their expedition was over; bags from the mall were full with one of one and ten millionth of a trend, an idea at a demographic committee’s heaven. A people of individuals trying to be unique, walking with the same goals, same aspiration, same thoughts, and same beliefs; how novel. One should write a book.

Asking of wickedness, speaking in tongues, she may know not what is morbid, and/or what was. Labels were useful in less intelligent climes, less meaningful times. As defined: wrong. –A simple guess. Remaining grotesquely huge when fully consumed, this elephant in the room won’t move. She is the stepmother metaphor who takes heritage of name while trying to save face- while thinking of score. One could hardly count. White, pink, and overgrown, mannerisms in the depths, stinking- putrid, of some dead rodent’s flesh; stepped on, stamped out, forgotten days ago, lying in the sun, in the abnormal heat of autumn’s warmth. So it was.

She still stands, and moves. Coming forth, stepping, reeking, turning, twisting, pulling, dragging, though with nothing much to say, but “I want”, “I need”, and “I take” from thee. Hands pulled at the terraform; like a rug the grass and the trees are uprooted into a massive yellow-teethed mouth. In one gulp decades are reduced to sediments of large intestine; though, whole lives were made of merely dust, it’s been tested.
Shutting the book never to read it again, he does. The reading of words had caused an event. He lay it down. Realizing now, those could be anyone’s. They could be from anyone, you name ‘em; apostles. “The Bible”, this book, “Slaughterhouse-Five”, this book; we can believe in one, but not both. We can believe in what we see, or what we don’t.


Then later:

Slowly the tide went away and came back. White Bubbles in the front, at first. Men and women and kids were chasing them down, in the heat of the sun, for no reason at all. Salt water had broken the hands of their watches, precipitation inside, stuck forever, so time was of no matter. Blue crabs had carried away their wallets and purses and clothes; these essentials were non-essential. Pinchers cut at the leather, snapping it into pieces, and dragging it into holes. The people on the beach watched the sky, they ran and jumped; they laughed and yelled: play. A ship came up in the distance. They could see the lights. Then a small boat came, off afar, then closer. It ran ashore at sunset. Men in funny hats, feathers and fine fabrics, carrying paper and rods spoke in strange and indecipherable tongues. Then a light-bulb flashed on. An explosion rang out inside a crowded head, and nothing was the same ever again.


About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks:
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One Response to Don’t Ever be the Same

  1. laurastir says:

    two thumbs up, Liebchen 😉

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