Your dark is my poetry. Elven creatures scream in rhymes. They bleed in colors I cannot see. I think red. I see white. I am where you are.
Your poetry is my dark. It binds like chains. There is no escape. Trapped like a mummy, pounding against mirrors to the rhythm of a heartbeat. It’s yours.
In your dark, amongst the screams of the elven creatures, there are shards of mirrors. They do not reflect my image. I forget who I am. They reflect your scars. Your hopelessness. Your fears. Nightmares. Anger. They echo an eternity.
Paranoia is in the alley. In the large eyes of the boy riding his bike to the mailbox, dropping his key. The man approaching with the greasy, blond hair. Shifty eyes. The elven creatures surround the man with the greasy blond hair, screaming. The boy stabs with a pocket knife and blood drips. Softly. Softly. The elven creatures scream. Blood drips like jewels. The mail key drops. Paranoia is in the alley. Sanity breaks like a mirror.
My dark is your poetry. I forget who I am. Shards of mirrors, they echo. They tell stories.
I listen.
The elven creatures scream of their torture. Spikes thrust through their skulls, locking their jaws in place. They scream with their mouths closed. Worms have eaten their eyes. The elven creatures are blind, but still they cry. They bleed in colors I cannot see. I don’t question what they are or why they are there. They represent your pain. Your soul is pure.
I draw fear from your nightmares and weave it into spider webs. Blood drops fall like rain. I catch them with cupped hands and hang them on spider webs like jewels, rubies. Your sanity shatters into mirror shards. I scoop these up like diamonds and string them next to the rubies. Pretty. So pretty like a dreamcatcher.
Safe. You are safe now.
In your dark, I’ve created Jacob’s Ladder with dreamcatchers– dozens, hundreds of them. The jewels, they sparkle, stars in your night leading, lighting the path up the stairway if you choose. At the top of the stairway, there is a door.
Your dark is my poetry. I create out of madness what you will.
__________________________
©2011 Jodi MacArthur
Jodi MacArthur believes there are untold universes and worlds begging to be released from each of us in form of breath, dream or voice. This is dedicated to a young person struggling within their worlds. You know who you are. Stay strong.
Tags: Jodi MacArthur
May 20th, 2011 at 4:18 am
Excellent imagery in this great piece of writing, Jodi! Well done!
May 20th, 2011 at 4:57 am
So many sharp images but my favorite is “pounding against mirrors to the rhythm of a heartbeat.”
Always a pleasure, Jodi.
May 20th, 2011 at 5:04 am
Very nicely done!
May 20th, 2011 at 6:12 am
This is some of your most eloquent prose to date. I think it falls into narrative poetry moreso than flash, but with exceptional language like this there’s no reason not to be swept away by its rhythmic flow.
May 20th, 2011 at 7:23 am
“Your poetry is my dark” - I love, love, love this theme Jodi.
You can really see the weaving of the tale, with the recurrent shattered mirrors and the building of the web at the end.
Hats off.
May 20th, 2011 at 8:36 am
Thanks David & Paul!
Ang~ You’re probably right. I’m still unsure of the form. This splatted out about 3am a couple weeks ago. When I’m tired I fall into old exercises that I’ve learned without thinking about it. The closest I could figure with this one was a (muddy) absurdist prose. They focus on specific rhythm, imagery, and word placement sometimes with breaks in between. Thank you for your thoughts!
Chris~ Thanks, bud. I was hoping that what you mentioned is what held it together as a complete story. It is fragmented, but one also gets the idea of what has happened and what the narrator is doing. Its almost a science, despite the poetry of it.
May 20th, 2011 at 9:27 am
Jodi you have poetry in your prose borne of the strange juxtapositions of dislocation found in the wilderness. This is pure horror and great writing.
May 20th, 2011 at 10:42 am
In the repetitions of this piece I find the darkness; it is like a surreal place that keeps twisting around and around and all you can do is watch it unfold. The shards of mirror, the creepy observers and elven creatures…you’ve created an atmosphere that is both tense and profound in the foreshadows of this poetic nightmare.
I miss your writing.
May 20th, 2011 at 11:19 am
Jodi, I adore the soft flow of the sharp words; the fluid dreamworld delivered in staccato. Strange, beautiful and ethereal - as are you. I’m with Erin. I miss your writing too.
May 20th, 2011 at 11:25 am
This is one of those pieces that breaks all the rules of form and boundary but still maintains itself as horror at its core. So many bits and pieces of mystery are included, like a living puzzle.
Jodi, this is why people love your work.
May 20th, 2011 at 12:54 pm
Demonstrating, yet again, there is no writer quite like Jodi MacArthur. The images in this piece were fantastic.
May 20th, 2011 at 2:24 pm
Jodi, that was superb. Surreal, poetic and yet horrifying and disturbing. Probably the piece of your work that has creeped me out the most. Nice one!
May 20th, 2011 at 2:47 pm
Richard~ juxtaposition seems the perfect balance of word to describe this kind of horror. Thank you for your insight.
Erin ~ You both put that so beautifully, Erin. Reminds me of the SpinTop image I had in mind when I was thinking of a title. The horror genre seems to come in seasons, and its really gripped lately. Definitely more to come. Thank you!
Lily ~ Thank you, girl. I’m so glad it worked for you as we both tend to enjoy the ethereal realms. I haven’t read your novella yet, as I’m finishing up other works & beta reads, but very much looking forward to it.
Lori ~ I think that is one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. It’s precious. Thank you. And thank you for publishing this story. <3
Graeme ~ Hey you! It’s been awhile. And to creep you out? Yes! Finally got you back for those were-chickens.
Thanks for the props.
May 21st, 2011 at 12:10 am
Jodi, the moderator of this site refused to post my original comments. Anyway, I liked the story. I posted a link to it on No Moral Center.
(Moderator, please don’t censor me anymore!)
May 21st, 2011 at 7:11 am
Jodi! I miss you!
‘nough mushiness now…. this is absolutely superb! So many great lines, but my favorite has to be: “I draw fear from your nightmares and weave it into spider webs.” Such lush imagery throughout, a gem of a tale (pun intended).
May 21st, 2011 at 5:34 pm
This is amazing, Jodi. I can see how deep it came from. I’m with Angel, this is as much prose as it’s poetry. Impossible not to love it!
May 21st, 2011 at 10:01 pm
Deanna~ I miss you too! It’s been a super long time. Thank you so much for swinging by and reading. So glad you enjoyed!
Mari~ I know horror isn’t your genre, so it always tickles me that you enjoy mine. Thank you, hon.
May 22nd, 2011 at 12:15 am
@Alec,
We don’t censor, but Wordpress waits for me to “approve” comments for people that have never posted on the site before. But now that you have, your comments will go up automatically.
Welcome to Flashes in the Dark.
May 22nd, 2011 at 8:20 am
Well, now that I’ve made a donkey out of myself, I have to apologize.
May 22nd, 2011 at 8:24 am
Don’t be afraid, Jodi. Let it all out.
I love this wicked prose poetry. You continue to invent yourself.
May 22nd, 2011 at 10:06 am
Lori~ Thanks for explaining the comment moderating/ approving spam thing. I’ve wondered that about other sites with wordpress. Makes sense.
Alec~ Thank you, sir! That’s a wonderful compliment, especially coming from such a dark, meticulous writer as yourself. Loved your story at BtaP this weekend.
Jeanette ~ You still refuse to play hide and seek with me at my pajama parties!
Thank you Goddess of all writerly goodness, I appreciate it.
May 23rd, 2011 at 9:39 am
Oh, my dear Jodi, how dark is your dark? As dark as a moonless night on the high desert. As dark as the bottom of the deepest cave. As dark as my sordid past.
Like Deanna, my favorite line is “I draw fear from your nightmares and weave it into spider webs.” And then those spiderwebs are decorated with mirror shards and drops of blood. I would gladly wear that necklace.
But then, on a bright, sunny day, when you and I are both feeling better, we can decorate our spiderweb necklaces with sunbeams and lollipops, and share a pot of chamomile tea by a bubbling brook next to a rose garden. You could try to explain to me how you became such a superb writer. Reading your prose, no matter how dark, always brightens my day.
May 23rd, 2011 at 9:43 am
I read this last night but wasn’t ready to comment yet. It took me to places. You took me to places. It’s passionate and raw. Funny, enough, as I read it I had The Black Keys playing in my little pop-up player, so, imagine what ‘Ohio’ sounds like when you read:
“My dark is your poetry. I forget who I am. Shards of mirrors, they echo. They tell stories.”
Greetings from London.
May 24th, 2011 at 2:46 pm
Madame Z ~ As you’ve pointed out there is equal joy and light to the darkness. It’s being able to find the balance so we don’t fall into the oubliette. I’ll remember the Spiderweb necklace for your Christmas present. A pot of chamomile tea sounds lovely. Tuesday at 3? <3 (Thanks, Z. Appreciate you.)
ICIL ~ How odd you’d been listening to that song when you clicked onto this story. Eerie similarities. I appreciate your keen observations; you’ve hit the nail on the head. Thank you for swinging by and reading. Always appreciate your thoughts.
May 25th, 2011 at 1:03 pm
How original and ridiculously good. The images and evocative language make this truly memorable. Bravo, Jodi.
May 26th, 2011 at 1:18 pm
This is intense. Great gripping read.