If’t Broughten Miled Death be a God

A story in 55 words

In witness harken not
Who wouldst proclaim “lesson taught”
For a away far strike to kill
Tis but in naught tenured skill;
For though blooded shred
Of tissue organ bone
A part by part in strewn lie
In gether hast they die
Whist faceless Grimms
Had their try
Left are none to bemoan in cry

For month upon month death, specifically my own mortality had been foremost upon my mind.  It could be the transposition of the realization that the blank canvas begetting creativity had for some time remained untinged and its taunting blight stung of nothingness.  The starkness mocked me; since childhood the convoluted images and words that splashed chaotically bounded to and fro maligning the uniform whiteness – providing a high percentage of comfort as if each smidgeon of idea or concept lashed at the mundaity of simply facing the days and nights burning a fiery tendril to my very core to spur me to wakefulness.  Perhaps it is the notion that in life’s progression that fanciful youth withers as reasoned perception engulfs and flourishes to the mature nature of settlement of expectation and acceptance of limitations.  Could it be that after decades of various external voices demanding that one should “grow up” that it had become internalized?  Perhaps the weariness that draped heavily upon my shoulders was my subconscious struggling to adjust to the onus of adult gravity that would, in time, like most things that become commonplace and accepted as being, take the impression of lightness in the drudges of civilized stammer. Could it be that in the intra-evolution of the Homo Saipan pupa is this unpained limbo that triggers the final form, the wingless butterfly to which its end days are spent writhing helpless upon the ground calculating the odds on whether at what precise moment would some creature or wind cast random piece of debris will crush it.

What has always irritated me is blinding accepting simply because to seek other alternatives or understanding that much in life there are no definitive answers; often there are primary considerations and secondary can minutely or greatly alter the nuances that guide one. The loathsome wretch in my stomach and acute tiredness had been a physical reaction to surrendering to pacifistic notion of “what will be will be”. Reflecting back, the emptiness of my mind began when I felt as if fighting for my beliefs was one step forward and three steps back, so why bother – “don’t sweat the small stuff and remember everything is small” became my mantra. I stopped questioning and simply went about doing what I did, just altering the courses of action to accommodate for what was going on around me. I tried to chuckle and mutter “well what can you do” when I encountered in the past would have made my blood boil, be it work, the boys’ school or items in the news. The result, the more introverted and exhausted I became I accepted this, the assumption being that over time it would pass.

A couple of weeks ago, our Canadian Prime Minister, had the opportunity to deal honestly with the massive poverty, starvation, addiction and poor living conditions of the majority of Canada’s First Nations peoples. Rather than look at solutions for the people he is supposed to be representing, he merely treated it as a photo opportunity, and later that day began to push for a “severe” (meaning armed) response to Iran, calling it an “oppressive regime”. I felt as if I had been crushed underneath a mountain of political rhetoric and hypocrisy. Then last week, American President, to show that he was a “BMOC” pushed for a similar action against Iran via a United Nations resolution giving permission to NATO to use similar tactics as it did in Libya, Afghanistan, Iraq.  Fortunately the British Prime Minister, to lull his public, chose to puff up his chest at Argentina rather than the same issue as his North American counterparts.

To be truthful, I have yet to determine whether this piece was written from an intrapersonal point of view or whether it is my response to the political externalization of internal denial of issues.  Nevertheless, it is what it is…whatever that may be.  The only certainty I have about this is that whatever had caused my mental coma has been eradicated from my body.  I feel awake once more – and why yes, I am pretty sure someone did pee in my cornflakes this morning, most likely me, but…yeah, I feel as if I have arisen once more….

This is part of a project by Bluebell books, I hope you check out the others who have submitted!



4 thoughts on “If’t Broughten Miled Death be a God

  1. You did wonderfully with the 55 word story prompt. I used to think a lot about my own mortality and that of others. After a while I realized all I could do was to take care of my self and help others the best I could. Death will come when it’s my time. As for politicians and how they show their concern for the people of the countries they’re supposed to be guiding and protecting, let’s just say that each of our countries need presidents that are really for the people and not presidents that use every opportunity as a photo op and to blow their own horns and to try to force their beliefs on the the country. Okay, I’m now getting off my soap box. LOL! Well done. Be blessed.



  2. WOW! Amazing…I think to write story that too with limited words (55) its indeed a challenge and you have a done a good job with it 🙂 Death…very few like to talk about it … but if we can see death as an entry to another world…probably it will be more fun 🙂
    Liked it… keep writing


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