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    dots Submission Name: When the Music’s Over…dots

    Author: rws
    ASL Info:    58/m/ohio
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 2788/1297/258
    Words: 555
    Class/Type: Prose/Misc
    Total Views: 1127
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3241


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsWhen the Music’s Over…dots

    When the Music’s Over…

    When she waved the gun in my face, I was surprised but I wasn’t frightened. After all, we were in love and it wasn’t the first time.

    “Let me shift your schedule to meet my needs,” she said, shoving a piece of paper in my direction.

    “Like plankton swimming in electric currents, so are the days of our wives,” it read.

    “Why did you write that?” she said, turning the barrel slowly in the air like a chef deftly blending ingredients.

    “It was a prompt for a story in one of my classes,” I told her with all the sincerity an insincere man could muster.

    Her eyes narrowed and she slid another scrap of paper toward me as solemnly as if it were a cable bill.

    “Functional resumes are written to alter the silhouettes of the background experience and education of applicants. They emphasize accomplishments at the expense of continuity,” I read slowly, realizing that an itchy foot is the harbinger of death.

    “Baby,” I said, “let me explain…”

    “Is that how you describe our relationship? Functional, false and expensive?”

    It was actually a fair assessment of her jewelry, but the look in her eyes made my life suddenly seem both precarious and precious. I realized stoicism might rescue me from becoming a smear on the carpet that our realtor would have to explain. I tried not to perspire too heavily as she unfolded the last note and allowed her lips to dance to the words:

    “I was blissfully unaware of how wistful R&B singers were. ‘Cash in hand’ ladies hung on every word. How could they weep unless they’d forgotten pains that woke them daily from a cage of common cares? How could they smile without a scent of lavender to help them put on airs?”

    She read the loping prose with the same care it took to write it, letting every word embed itself behind her eyes. She glanced thoughtfully at our comatose alsatian and tucked the scrap of paper in her pocket. Suddenly I felt nervous. I hoped she’d shoot the dog instead of me.

    “Who does this belong to?” she asked.

    “It’s yours if you like,” I said as hopefully as my doomed soul would permit. The tension in her voice seemed to uncoil, briefly.

    “I’ll have to google it to make sure the sentiments are authentic,” she replied. “It is pretty, though.”

    “Okay,” I said, exhaling slowly. “Would you like some lunch?’

    “After we go to the hospital. Of course.”

    “Why do we need to go to the hospital?” I said, backing toward the door as she pointed the gun at me, smiling.

    She engaged the safety and put the 38 back in a box on the top shelf of the dining room cabinet.

    “Don’t worry, baby,” she said with same reassuring tone she always used after a major bout of jealous psychosis, “I never would have shot you. Promise.”

    “Then why do we…”

    Honey, I poisoned your Yoo Hoo because the ladies all adore you. You’re such a flirt. Now, let’s get to the ER and have your stomach pumped.”

    “What were we having for lunch, btw?”

    Submitted on 2010-01-11 21:56:46     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      a gun in hand is worth couple hundred words at the expense of ammunition in the armory of mind. what is it with guns- i am a god with a gun in my hand. i hold the life of 10 men in my hand, potentially that is. i am not a criminal... yet. i have a knife in my hand, im not a criminal yet. just a chef. i walk around with a pocket knife in shotgun town. and i painted concentric circles on my back with a cherry blot on the spine. i have a joint in my hand and i am not who i am if i am not in amsterdam and i am a criminal. i am who i am when i am in amsterdam. but of all these weapons three, which one is the most dangerous.
    | Posted on 2011-07-18 00:00:00 | by Pietro | [ Reply to This ]
      The utter madness laced throughout the words of this piece are both beautiful and dangerous. Like a cobra about to strike he knows she means to do him in eventually, so he is poised and waiting for that moment. I love the feeling of doom that it concludes with as she tells him she has poisoned him almost as if it is a game.
    | Posted on 2010-01-12 00:00:00 | by Maskannai | [ Reply to This ]
    Well, I certainly can relate to this. THIS is why I never show anyone I know what I write. I tried to hang with a 'fellow poet' once, and he did exactly this [censored]... or would DEMAND me to write/draw something specific for him, and stand there all expectantly like I was going to lay a golden egg and hand it to him. Oh hell yeah, he had to GO!

    I sure felt better when I approached 10,000 ft. and climbing over Vegas, enroute to AWAY FROM HIS STUPID ASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    There's nothing like running away from 'home' to make things a lot better sometimes.

    With all that said, might I say this was much like a Reality Show scene of THE WATCHED WRITER... and you know it's true, it's impossible to 'create' with that kind of distraction and ... theft. It's like being robbed of a piece of your soul every day, don't you think? (If it's real, if not, then humor me & speculate...)
    | Posted on 2010-01-12 00:00:00 | by Runes | [ Reply to This ]
      i havent been very active round here the last few months. i dont know when i last read anything by you and for that i apologize.

    this is the bill i remember and adore. the way you create stories like these and drag me right into them. the narrative is always so... crazy like.
    i read this and i thought of all the other pieces of yours i adored for the same kind of reason i adore this one...

    i like the instability of your characters. the way they seem completely on edge and ready to snap at any moment. though i like how theres always a resolution too...

    youre just incredible. thats basically what i got.

    i love the 'i would never shoot you' thing and then 'after we go to hospital... i poisoned your stuff' thing haha. its like both sides of the psychotic episodes mean him harm.
    that man better watch himself really... eloquent writer or not he's in trouble...
    | Posted on 2010-01-12 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]

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