So many times Mel had fallen flat
He just couldn’t seem to rise to the occasion
All that changed during the prom though
Resplendent in his James Bond esq tuxedo
People around him hummed ZZ Top
Image: movieclothiers.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/007-Casino-Royale-Tuxedo.jpg
Clippy was my dearest friend
As I worked upon my book
He always had advice to send
As I wrote my gobbledygook
Every day I would see him look
As the words would begin to flow
He would always give his outlook
On how my formatting should go
But then one day he wanted to show
A way to format the entire thing
He had me select my manifesto
All with one gigantic swing
I blame my friend Clippy, and not the hard booze
For now there was nothing left of my dance with my muse
Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/db/Clippy-letter.PNG
Knees are not the only things left open to the wind
Iain strike a pose, daring the world to comment
Loving his Scottish roots
Tartan waving bravely in defiance
Image: scotweb-objects.com/images/landing/kilts/outfit_1w_1h.jpg
Then he realized his heart was missing
He looked around wildly, looking for who had stolen it
Ellen smiled, knowing the answer
Finally, he felt her hand in his and shook his head
That’s when he kissed her and tried to take her breath away
Image: bridestlouis.com/wp-content/uploads/Heart-with-Clear-Background.jpg
Everything had been poured out, there was nothing left
Meandering home purely by instinct and no coherent thought
Putting his hat on the coatrack he slumped into his easy chair and kicked up his feet
Turing on the television he let it wash over him mindlessly
Yearningly he absorbed it all in till he was full, not sated, but full
Image: oneforall.com/sites/default/files/2018-11/Remote_Optimal_design_Simplicity_1.jpg
Twisted thoughts tumbled from his lips
Outwardly he kept his face smooth and composed
Really on the inside, he was spinning in tight circles
Quitting the torrent of lies, he took a deep breath
Unsure his verbal torrent had convinced her of anything
Eventually, he decided to throw in the truth to see what that would do
Definitely hadn’t expected the truth to have such an impact
Image: slism.com/wpsystem/wp-content/uploads/how-to-keep-a-conversation-going-with-a-guy.jpg
The killing field surrounded her as if she was in the eye of the storm. Bodies strewn all over, stabbed, shot, burnt. Not another living soul was in sight. Fallen comrades in arms were strewn among the remains of their enemies. It was a miracle that she was alive considering how much of her own blood stained the ground beneath her feet.
Her unit had been sent out to stop the approaching horde. Their village had been decimated by the plague, so they could only send out farmers and those too old to serve anymore. She was amazed they had stopped the monsters from taking away what was left.
She was so tired, but there was still there was more to do. She lit her torch and began to burn those bodies closest to her. The stench of sizzling flesh stung her lungs and eyes, but she didn’t pause as she raced to set more of the fallen ablaze.
The battle had been fast, but not fast enough. She tried to cry, but the tears were too tired to come. As the moon rose, so did the fallen. She could only set herself on fire. One fewer for the enemy.
Image: i.pinimg.com/originals/d2/c0/61/d2c06151201d367589923c0bc0d96c22.jpg
Wet drops of salty water raced down her weathered face
Ending in a pitter pater at her feet
Every drop carried a little bit of her anguish
Purging her soul of its pain
Image: i2-prod.liverpoolecho.co.uk/incoming/article3007007.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/AP-DO-NOT-USE-pakistan-weeping-620-723986934.jpg
He picked up his beer bottle and cried. Today had been such a rollercoaster. He closed his eyes and relived their last conversation.
“I can’t believe you bought that,” she said.
He cradled his prize like a baby. “Why not?” he asked.
“Just put that beer back or I’m going to leave you.”
“But it’s not just a beer.”
“What is it then?”
“Look, it’s in a copper bottle. See?” He slightly shook it in front of her face.
“You really want to do this again after the last time?”
“You’re the one wanting to do it again. I am just getting my beer.”
“I can’t handle this. It’s become a ridiculous habit. Look, it’s either the beer or me.”
“Really?”
She placed her balled fists on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
He looked at the empty bottle of Sam Adam’s Utopia. She had left him, but now so did the beer. Life just wasn’t fair. He wondered if he could get her back. He opened his wallet to see if he had the $150 to buy another bottle. Nothing was there.
“Damn! Guess I’m back to Pabst Blue Ribbon.”
Image: moneyinc.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Sam-Adams-Utopia–750×563.jpg
Crunching greasy fried chicken
Reveling in the horribleness of it all
It was like the sound was a delectable spice
Satisfying something deep and primal
Pushing mere sustenance into something heaven sent
Yet also devil spawn for the grease stains on my shirt
Image: thespruceeats.com/thmb/35SXVVtZrx9zpOiLoSaFbRQJepc=/2048×1365/filters:fill(auto,1)/southern-oven-fried-chicken-3058647-5_preview-5b0ec6ecba61770036491ed7.jpeg
Stories and photos from Scotland
Abdi Mohammed
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
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