Posted in Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Story a Day May Challenge, Writers' Resources, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

“Messed Up” Story A Day May: Day Two

Language Warning (Just once; but you’ve been warned).

“Messed Up”

Marilyn sinks into the couch. She used to think that was just a saying…but then, she’s never been on a trip like this before. She’s literally sinking into the couch. She thinks she might even be becoming a part of it, its plaid pattern flickering over her skin, shifting to match her coloring, then back…she is a couch-girl, and the couch is a girl-couch.

That makes her giggle little crystal gems that shatter into a million gentle singing shards when they hit coffee table or floor.

“Fuck, I’m messed up,” she says, but there’s no one here to hear her.

Was there ever?

Had there ever been?

Not that she can remember. It seems like it’s always been this way – all alone in this great big, beautiful house that’s almost a mansion everywhere but here in her apartment sized room crowded with tacky old furniture she bought at yard sales, thrift stores, or just found on the street.

Right now, she almost wishes they were here, because she’s messed up, and this trip is just starting, and maybe it’s stupid to be alone right now.

But there isn’t anyone here but the servants, and they don’t like her any more than she likes them.

So Marilyn takes another hit. Why not? She’s alone and messed up, but she can’t get into too much trouble as a couch, can she?

She flicks on the old-style, boxy TV. She had to pay someone to come set things up so it was tied into the new house system, but works like it used to, with the flickery, jerky pictures. She paid him with sex, and he said thanks with this trip, and enough Molly for two or three more. They’d taken it together, and thanked each other again, but now he’s gone, and she’s here alone. Messed up, with her new TV to try…

She rolls through channels with the clumsy old remote big enough to use for a weapon if she has to – if she’s ever not a couch again, that is. More giggling crystals –

And then she freezes, white-knuckling the remote.

She’s on the screen. She’s older, now. Maybe seventeen. Eighteen? Around there.

But it’s her. And she’s being hugged by another girl, with black-hole hair. Does that hair want to devour her? Does Marilyn want it to?

There’s a baby. Not moving. Mouth gaped open. It breaths funny; chest and stomach don’t move together.

She knows the baby is her baby. Her girl. Her little Lavender.

She’s seeing the future. No one else is here. No one else can see.

She’s seeing her dying daughter, and Marilyn knows she has to die, too.

Does Marilyn really see what she thinks she sees?

Will someone notice she’s in trouble?

Where are her parents?

Any guesses?

Come back tomorrow for another installment, and we can explore this new story seed together!

Author:

I am myself. I own my life, and live with three other people who own theirs. My intention is to do only those things that bring me joy, and to give myself wholly to those things I do. Writing has been my passion throughout my life, and this will become the home for my writing life...because it brings me great joy!

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