scribblings, june 2

brought to you by clocks striking midnight & obligations you can’t ignore, lest they come looking for you.

the writing

Midnight found her outside, under a full moon, gripping a pair of silver scissors. Waiting. The promises she’d made were ashes in her mouth. The house wasn’t properly on fire, yet. But she could smell smoke.
By morning, there was a blackened husk, and blood on the lawn. Her father always told her there was no one coming to save her.

~

winter finds her 
sweltering in her rage 
oh so quietly…

~

“Wait, what day is it?” 
“It’s…Tuesday?” 
“No, no—” Jack scrambled for his phone, panicked, and sprinted from the room, announcing that he was taking the car. 
Rhea followed him, shouting, “Where are you going?”
“Fiddler’s Peak. Gotta go gamble with Death—we do it every hundred years, and if I’m late—”

the reading

Poem: “Going to Africa” by Melvin Dixon

“ ‘I am not the prodigal son,’ I said
to my mother who had come
to take me back. ‘I’m going to Africa,’

to see if my face colors her ground,
if my sadness thickens Sahara dust and famine,
if my wet season rains anything more than sweat. […]”

Short Story: “Chad, You’re in a Cult” by Tina Crossgrove

“ All I wanted was coffee and a bagel. That was it. A simple plan, achievable, normal, activity that definitely—and most importantly—did not include Chad joining a cult and making eye contact with some cosmic entity.
But of course he did. Because Chad is a motherfucker.”