Princess of Nothing

There once was a Princess of a glorious land
Determined to determine someone to ask for her hand
And so she put out the call for suitors far and wide
To earn her hand and share in her pride

Many a man did come, intrigued
And many a man did leave, quite piqued
As the Princess of her quite glorious land
Was gloriously brash in making demands

Then there came a poorly-dressed man
And the Princess frowned as only a princess can
And wanted to know how the Princess of such a glorious land
Could have a suitor so very far from grand.

The man bowed, and said, “I’ll explain;
But first, you must agree to a game.
You’ll give an answer and I’ll ask a riddle;
And you’ll find what you seek somewhere in the middle.”

Some further explanation ensued
Until the Princess understood what she was to do
And then with a final clearing of her throat
She at last declared, “I am a moat.”

“Around stones and bridges that men hath sent,”
The man, with a smile, began after a moment,
“I circle and circle but never shall strike
There’s nothing I hate and little I like

And yet still I reflect and still might I kill
But I stir only at man or wind’s will
I fill with laughter when the heavens do cry
Now can you guess, what am I?”

“Not bad, not bad! Though I see a few flaws,”
Cried a Princess loathe to give her applause
“Yet the riddle is over and I still don’t know
What’s the thing in the middle that I’m meant to know?”

“If you were listening closely, you would have heard
Between answer and riddle was never a word
Therein lies your kingdom, the greatest of all
And Prince of Nothing is where I belong.

Asylum Visit

“Visitor for you, Abigail.” Called in a female voice — one of a blur of now-familiar voices — as a man, far less familiar, dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, stepped into the room.

Abigail shifted in her seat to give him a quick scan, then turned back towards the window that was opposite the door. “Fuck off,” she said.

“Oh lovely, her first words today. Sorry detective, I did tell you this was one of her off days,” the familiar woman said, still standing just outside the door.

“You can fuck off too, lady,” was the biting remark from the young woman in the room.

“That’s alright,” said the man, ignoring Abigail for the moment. “Do you think I could have a few minutes alone with her?”

“Go ahead, she’s usually tame enough — that nasty bit of business that got her put in here notwithstanding. Do watch yourself though. I’ll be right outside.” And the woman shut the door.

It was a square room — or at least, square enough, by Abigail’s estimation — with the door near one corner, a bed in the opposite one, and in the middle was a small table with two chairs, one on either side, facing towards the window in the middle of the wall.

Abigail was in the seat closer to the door. The newcomer set himself down in the other one.

He sat quietly for a moment. Finally, he asked her, “Do you know why I’m here?”

“Dude, I have no earthly idea,” she said with a wave of her hand and some irritation. “Do you know they won’t even let reporters in to see me now? It’s so boring. But then, the reporters were probably getting bored too, anyway,” she reflected.

“True; these days, there’s hardly any mention of you. Newer and more exciting crimes to write about, and all that. But tell me something, Abigail: What does it feel like to kill?”

She scoffed. “Why, making any plans?”

“No,” he said somberly. “That’s not why I’m asking. See, I’ve had to take life in the past. I know the feeling. I want to know if you do.”

She gave him a long look in the eye. Then she shrugged and sighed, her gaze drifting back towards the window.

“It was kind of cool, you know?” She began after a moment, growing animated. “Like, here was a person, with all these years, and all these lives they’d touched, and then in a moment, it was gone. All those years, and then in one second, you ended it. Watching that light suddenly flicker out in their eyes, it makes you feel kind of powerful. But then…” here Abigail became contemplative. “Then, it was kind of like standing in an ocean. Like, you had your feet in the sand, you were getting used to the rhythm of the waves, everything is fine. But then this big one comes, and it pulls you in, and suddenly, your feet are out from under you. You don’t even know which way is up, and there’s this… feeling. This sinking feeling, where you realize, you’re drowning.”

“An interesting description… But, there’s a problem with that, Abigail.”

“Oh, really?” She snapped, coming out of her musing. “And what’s that?”

“Well, you see, I’m not really a detective,” he said, leaning towards her. “And I know you’ve never killed.”

She began to mouth the words in confusion, until the realization dawned across her face. “Oh…” She whispered. “Shit.”

The Adventurers

Open the door and let us in!
We’ll crack the kegs and make a din
And then we’re heading out again,
To save the girl and slash the villain.

We’re the best to have when you need a hand;
The finest adventurers in the land!
Sure, things don’t always go as planned…
But it always goes, in the end.

Between us, it’s a four-way share:
There’s me, and then there’s Javier;
And Silvertongue — there’s none more fair —
And of course there’s Reichenbach the Were.

So pray open up and let us in!
We’ll be leaving when it’s morn again;
Off to save the girl and slay the villain —
But first, some ale in this fine inn!

The #1 Most Inconvenient Thing In the World

Shall I call down Death from on his throne,
An abdication to declare?
For his lordship over worst of woes
Has a challenger!
Often it’s been whispered
That there’s a thing that’s worse than Death;
And it’s this very thing that’s snickered
As I’ve cursed under my breath!
It’s a nuisance I can scarce compare…
(Do tell if you’ve a metaphor to lend!)
And I call myself a poetry connoisseur —
But no, meter is not my friend!

***

Sorry for being absent these last few days. Had some things on my mind… Still do. But let’s see if we can work poetry into it, eh? Just don’t expect perfect meter. I’ve never been able to fully wrap my mind around that…

Dish; Or, Marital Bliss

She was preparing dinner in the kitchen, humming some tune he didn’t recognize. It reminded him of when they first met: He’d thought he had stumbled upon a Disney princess. And a princess she still was, in so many ways. Just give it a few moments.

“Hey, hon. I’m back.” He said, setting groceries on the counter.

“Oh, hey. Did you get the milk?”

Silence. He took a breath. He had realized once he was halfway home. Maybe he should have turned back. Well, it was too late now.

“No,” he answered.

She stopped what she was doing. He probably should have waited until she wasn’t chopping vegetables. She tossed the knife back down to the counter with a clatter, and this time it was she who took a breath.

“Really?” She put her hands on her hips, exhaling exasperation up towards the ceiling. “One thing. Just one little thing, Daniel: go to the store, get the things on the list, and come back. Is that so much to ask? Is milk really that hard of a thing to remember?”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just milk. I don’t see why you have to make a big deal out of every little–”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You know what? I was actually having a really good day. But you just don’t care, do you? You can’t put an effort into anything — certainly not for your wife. The sink is still dripping, by the way. You can’t even be bothered to fix that.”

“I’ll get around to it. Why does it have to be fixed right now? You only asked me like a day or two ago!”

“I asked you two weeks ago! And no, you won’t ‘get around to it’, because you never do anything I ask you to!”

“Oh, really? And what exactly did I just do? You think I want to drop everything just to run your stupid errands? Grow up!”

She barked a laugh. “Me? Now that’s rich. You’re telling me to grow up? Look in the mirror, husband. Those ‘stupid errands’ happen to be your home, your well-being, and your dinner. And without milk, tonight I guess I’ll just have to figure out something else to make, instead of your favorite.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Look, there’s no reason for us to fight about this. I can just go back, pick some up.” He grabbed his keys off the counter and went towards the door. “Bitch,” he muttered, as he unlocked it again.

The plate whizzed by his head, and broke against the wall. Another long night.

Nonsense

Well, you’ve got my head a-scratching–
(You’ve got my head a-scratched?
“You’ve got my head a-scratching…”
We’ll just go with that.)

You’ve got my head a-scratching;
He’s a-scratching at the door.
He’s a-scratching for a-something,
But can’t find what he’s a-scratching for.

Yep, you got him all a-looking
But he’s all a-lost as to what for.
Perhaps it’s how to go a-cooking
Without a-losing all the flour to the floor.

And now he’s really all a-scratching
Because a-baking’s what he’s searching for;
Must’ve been a-deviled to say “cooking”!
Er… but that’s not what he’s a-scratching for.

He was a-scratching for ideas;
Must’ve a-scratched right through his core,
‘Cause when you’re a-thinking for some reasons,
You don’t go a-bulling through the China store!


Disclaimer: I have absolutely no idea what this is. Truly, I’ve no a-knowing where it came from at all! I was just a-going about my day, trying maybe not to slay anyone who even looks at me the wrong way (anyone and everyone!! Basically), and I decided I’d a-try and lift my mood by a-letting go a little. Don’t you be a-judging! I’m mostly just a-kidding. But… I’m still a-going. Yeah, okay, I’ll be a-stopping now. Don’t want to get stuck like that…