creative writing – Page 8

The Curse of the Hedgehog

After he had got bitten to death by the once seemingly sane hedge-hog, the yellow squirrel returned from the underworld only to receive an interesting call.

“Hello, my name is Mr. Hedge-hog. I am calling on behalf of Zerrazen. Am I speaking to Mr. Yellow Squirrel?”

“Yes you are,” replied Mr. Yellow Squirrel.

“Well sir, I am contacting you in regards to a past due balance on your account.”

“Yes, I know, but I could not pay my bills on time because at that time I was M.I.A.”

“Oh yes sir, it says on your bill, that you are currently in transition to becoming a fully fledged zombie, and we at Zerrazen take that seriously.”

“Well, if you or Zerrazen really understood my situation, you all should also know that getting a job in my current state is practically impossible. I mean everyone keeps running away from me, it’s like I’m cursed.”

“Well sir, you are a zombie in transition, I mean you’re practically not alive.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? I am freaking dead walking yellow squirrel.”

“I understand your situation Sir, if I was bitten by a zombie Hedge-hog, I too would be fuming.”

“Argh argh argh argh argh rah argh rah rah awrrrrrrr rahhhhhhhhhhh”

“Sir, are you there?”

“Arghhh rah argh rah arghhh rah rah rah awrrrr rahhhhhh”

“Sir, oh my, what a pity, there goes another Zerrazen customer. He didn’t even get to pay his past due bill.”

The hedge-hog quietly dropped the phone and sighed. “Typical of a yellow squirrel”

Kaleidoscopic Dreams

If you may, allow me to let you in on a little secret. Where may I begin? Right here, I guess. You see, I have these several, several dreams, many of which I almost never seem to wake up from. In between these episodes, I reach far deep into where I want to be in life. And, every time I try to wake up into my dream, the path becomes nothing more than a scene of an empty room stinking with the smell of vintage books. Sometimes, I try to trick the Queen in my dreams, but her knowledge knows no bound. She told me to break, to break, I must amend, and to amend, I must seek the red bird.

So I tell her “Where do I find this bird?”

“In freedom,” she said, “A place lacking mannered discontent.”

So back there, I went.

Back here, there is nothing, but the empty smiles I receive; faces loosely cringed and plastered together with false hope. Yet again, I am filled with great disappointment.

“These faces have no answers!” I shout.

Faces after faces, I tear away and amend the missing scraps, hoping to find that one bird. The days go brighter and longer; refusing to give into the darker times.

Like a perfect time, I fall right into the sands of time. With rain falling, and the moon shining, I found her. The red bird looking down on me welcomed me with a tune. To my utter astonishment the red bird cried these words to me.

“You fool! All you needed was to fall. All along, I waited by the Iroko tree, night after night.”

After all had been resolved, I and the red bird fly back there without much haste. In my state of equanimity, I quietly hoped I had found my cure because, I badly wanted rid myself of melancholy.

So back there, we went.

Back there, where leeway was abundant, and the bird played her tune with much ease.

Sour Orange

I still wonder why you like the room lit so dim. I can hardly see you when you cry. If you let go of my grip, the scene of misery will last on forever. Hold on tighter. Drag my rags closer to your shattered chest. Pierce deep into my skin; pain always tasted so bittersweet. Our time lasted only till the sound of the bird.

A mockingbird, indeed

Too soon enough to begin, I guess?

With my taste buds gone sour, I shut off those twisted tunes and threw them deep into the skies; far away, where those spacemen could only dream of. A secret place you might know of. I never ever forgot about those long delusional days filled with gifted silence and much red.

Will I ever taste sweet again?

Too much sourness

Stop this or I might bleed out

Drowning in my own feelings

Looking up at the river-like sky

Oh great blue monster, cry down your own worries

So that I may drink and sink.

So they say you speak no more of me. I strived hard to wait for another word from your big egotistical book. I hoped to dream into the realization that it was never ever to begin.

Bombs I left untouched

Scattered there and here

Some by your place

Falling down

Your hair ever so bright

So they say you speak no more of me.

I strived and strived to begin at the beginning.

Always seeking, and never asking

So they say you speak no more of me

I say you talk shit

The Legend of the Hedge-Hog

He was born in the land of tall grass; a land filled with much green and much more poo. His story was born out of haste and running. His parents were die-hard adventurers who traveled through different farms lands. Their various trips always ended up with them running for their dare lives. The hedge-hog grew up brave and afraid at the same time. At night he was batman, and during the day he was superman only without the powers. And unlike this title he was not anywhere close to being called a legend. The only famous hedge-hog he knew was dead; he had been killed by those filthy humans. So, how in the world is this title related to this current living hedge-hog? Well, all this hedge-hog knew was that all the hedge-hogs who were considered legends always managed to end up dead; either by road, by those degenerate humans, or by the fearsome Mr.Snakey.

Oh Mr.Snakey, with his beautiful eyes, and magnificently carved sets of teeth.

“Oh those eyes could fool any hedge-hog” and it actually did fool hedge-hogs.

He understood why Mr. Snakey was always angry; most hedge-hogs always found new and exciting ways to always trash Mr. Snakey’s home.

What this powerless hedge-hog could not comprehend was why Mr. Snakey always gulped up any hedge-hog in plain sight.

What the hell happened to the free world?

This world was now rotten and badly needed saving.

This world needed a hero and this hedge-hog was not anywhere close to being called a legend.

Shea like that

Carved to a delicacy beyond perfection
From a place past the Nile
The lasting beauty came
Sumptuous
Longing for a mouth full
Hoping for a hard bite
Bracing for heat
Sweat never dripped so slowly
Tender and tense
Muscles stretch amidst the motion
Forbidden, yet ever so tempting