10 August, 2018

A coffin. One which should bury all the horrible memories alongside the husk of my mother. Foul and bitter woman, with a heart foison with hatred: that was who she was.

No more.

My eyes pooled with bloated tears that carried every event that scarred my soul. A young soul that was forcibly twisted and mangled, until every piece that tried to regrow was violently tangled around itself. The child that swallowed lead-laced words, first with protest, then with silence. Also endured anger thrown unto, unexpurgated and like knives flung into a heart that shred and hardened to survive the onslaught.

No more.

Drops landed on her rigid cold face. When my emotions were at the height of turmoil and edging to the pinnacle of a complete unraveling, her flatulent body expelled gas with a loud roaring sound. Heralding the mourners and filling the hall, like a hunter harking his hounds to follow the feculent scent. She found a way to attack again, even after death.

Once more.
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***Yes, the fart one was the first one in the original publishing. Thought it was best to move it further down. Only edits were a colon [cymbals clash], spacing and a hyphen that was lacking in lead-laced. It's initially meant to sound deep and serious. It's also meant to end with a fart [metaphorically and, in this instance, literally]. Artsy-fartsy. That was a little bathos and toilet humour intermingled.

ba·thos
/ˈbāTHäs/
noun

(especially in a work of literature) an effect of anticlimax created by an unintentional lapse in mood from the sublime to the trivial or ridiculous.

Leaving the bottom section as it was. 'Now, you warn me?!?'***

The next stories will not be quite like this, they're all a bit different. Disclaimer: There might be topics or statements said in a flippant manner that might feel offensive to people. Please keep this in mind as you proceed.

And here's a little childish and silly Fart Form for you: