52 Stories, 52 Weeks: February

    Another month down and here we are, February's down with all stories on time and intact! A cool

detail I'm noticing is that stories are slowly getting longer and longer. I started off in the 100 - 300

word range and now they're slowly creeping in the 500 - 1,000 word range. It's been quite nice

getting comfy back into writing prose again. It's a habit I always think I lose when I venture off to

do screenplays, poems, or other work. So it's a relief to know it's just a muscle that needs to be

reworked and not something that can be lost. Knock on wood, but it's been a great start! Thanks for clicking on my blog, thank you for reading. It means a lot.

#5: Perfect Blue Building

Again, I was waiting on the sidewalk near a blue building that she liked. A ‘perfect blue building’ she’d always call it. Anytime we’d go on our frequent walks, she’d point it out. I grew to like it too. 

Things changed not too long ago. I’d stand at our spot, waiting for her, but I’d usually leave by myself.

I’d chat with her to make sure everything was either alright or wrong. She’d ignore the question. So I

didn’t worry about it. Things come up, things change. Still I would stand by the perfect blue building in

case things changed for the better. 

Some days seemed better when we’d chat, but I noticed she would pass over questions I’d ask. She’d only point out observations of her day. Nothing more than that. Then she wouldn’t ask me any questions, passing over anything I had to say. Things do change. I just had to keep on walking, even if it was by myself. The view was nice at least. 

As I sat near the perfect blue building I took a deeper look at it. Vines grew on the side. The paint was chipping away off of it. Cracks in the exterior walls were apparent. It was abandoned on the inside as it was vacant for at least five years at that point. I think it’s been demolished since then. Far from perfect in a typical sense. She was a unique personality though, so perhaps it was actually perfect to her. 

I hope I didn’t do anything. Something that’d make her back away from me, our friendship. If I did, I’d apologize immediately. Would she say so if I asked about it, or would she ignore that question, too? 

Then it started to rain a bit. Just a gentle drizzle. It’d be easy to get angry and complain about the day, how things turned out. That never stopped the rain from pouring down, did it? No. Never does. So I just got up and walked while the rain kept me company. 

I always did wonder what she saw in that perfect blue building. 

#6: “Story”

Letter by letter 

Structure takes form in sentence, 

A full-fledged fable.

#7: “Pope Frigid III (2192 -2297)” 

Pope Frigid III, who was born John Paul Frigid II, has died at the age of 105. He passed away on December 25th, 2297 after an intense case of bullfighting. Born May 13th, 2192, in Somewhere, Brazil, was a servant to God and the church for nearly all of his life; served his mama 100% of life, who is still alive today. He is best known as the pope who didn’t really do much. He just kind of stayed put wherever he was, as if he was frozen or something. 

“Oh yeah, he stayed quiet, never said anything controversial. He’s the best Pope we’ve had in about 100 years. He’ll be missed,” says Cardinal Sangre. And controversial he was not. In a last ditch effort to really popularize him, Frigid III’s assistants recommended that he do something extreme in order to breathe some new life into his papacy. They had hit him with a ‘say nothing if you disagree to this bullfighting idea’, and being his frigidity self, obviously said nothing and shortly met his end when the bull came ramming down and shattered the 105 year old Pope into a million pieces as if he was frozen. Shit was insane. 

Though not known for controversy, he has been known for a couple conspiracies. One is that he was elected because they needed a safe bet to detract away from the Catholics horrible, horrible crimes with its constant sex abuse scandals. The other was that he’s actually been dead for quite some time and that they kept the Pope on an ice bath because they couldn’t be arsed to elect a new pope so quickly. Both of which sound about right. 

May God rest Pope Frigid III as we welcome his successor, Pope Himbo I. Pope Himbo was elected shortly after the death of Pope Frigid III.  “We need, like, a younger, hotter pope. Someone who can relate to the youths of the world. Hell yeah, with like a six pack or something. That’d be a sick ass pope,” quoted the Church after announcing the new papacy.

#8: “For A Moment, He Saw Me As The Boogeyman” 

I strive for peace. I hold onto it and hold it close to me. Certain people’s existences tend to interrupt that peace. There’s a particular man who’d get in the way of that. I felt sad about feeling the way I did, but it needed to be done. Then I remembered what he was all about and I didn’t feel too bad anymore. I needed him far away. Words didn’t work. Begging didn’t work. I was willing to inflict fear to maintain my peace.

Like I said, I felt bad. At first. Then I began to justify why I felt the way I did. That my empathy would get in the way of something that needed to be done. That feeling was gone now. 

He had done something. Something reprehensible, to someone who didn’t deserve what he inflicted on her. On them. And he would not let go of what he did to so many people. Something that I couldn’t let slide. Unforgivable. I knew the remedy. It had to be a simple act that’ll make him afraid. Something that let him know I knew what he did, and that I’d let that loom over him like a threat. 

So when the opportunity rose, I found him and scorn began to flow out of as easily as water in a leaking levee. Hate filled my words. It was a boil that finally let itself be known as steam venting through an open lid. I’m not sure what shocked him more, how I suddenly yelled at him when I’m quiet most of the day, or how I knew his transparent secrets. So he just stood there wide-eyed and still, for once. Then I left as soon as I snuck up on him.

I walked out and kept that incident to myself. Who was I to tell?

It was two hours later he saw me again. His eyes were wider the second time. For a moment, he saw me as a boogeyman. I almost relished that thought. For an inflictor of any form of suffering ought to know fear and that that fear is not distant. I knew how to make him more afraid than the image of me if given the opportunity.

I put much, much thought into it. I most definitely relished in that thought. I set the scenery and played it back, again and again when I needed to send a message to people similar to him. I would’ve found him later, give him that same dead-eyed stare. Then I would’ve given him an answer I knew he’s been asking himself since that encounter. 

“Yes, you should be. I want you to be afraid.”


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