Struggle (an acrostic poem)

So many children were screaming into the void

That the void got frustrated and threw the cacophony back

Resulting in an aural tsunami that came crashing over my consciousness

Undercutting the foundation of my sanity

Giving me a sonic lobotomy

Gone was any chance of getting anything done

Leaving nothingness

Existential emptiness

 

Image: baptistandreflector.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/screaming-children-silly.jpg

The Gamble (a 100 word story)

Nothing was left in the tank.  The car had screamed at Greg miles ago that it needed sustenance, but Greg drove on anyway.  Why should the car get what Greg could not?

It had been twenty days since she had left him.  Now Ginny was on the west coast with her new job and new friends, and here he was in Cleveland, no money, no gas, and no chance of undoing any of his mistakes. To think at one time Greg was her bad boy.  Now he was just being bad.

He left the keys inside the stolen car and began walking home.  Sometimes you needed a long walk to clear your mind, but all the way to Atlantic City?

After two miles his feet were screaming.  Okay, maybe this walk was a bit melodramatic, but it would be a great story to tell Ginny’s sister.  She was hotter anyway.

 

Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/19/Cleveland_Sign_at_Voinovich_Park_%2829488426860%29.jpg/800px-Cleveland_Sign_at_Voinovich_Park_%2829488426860%29.jpg

Bubbles (an acrostic poem)

Being the center of the party meant Jess set the heartbeat as she sipped her champaigne

Until hers skipped a beat as Chad entered the room

Breaking down the man with her million dollar smile

Backing him into a far wall

Licking her lips

Enticing him with her eyes

Screaming his name when the ball hit midnight

 

Image:  happyholidaysblog.com/wp-content/uploads/New-Year-Ball-Drop-13.jpg

Banshee Ain’t Got Nothing On That

Lifting her voice to near jet engine levels, my five month daughter lets me know with subtle nuance that she is currently unhappy.  To my fatigued brain I begin down my checklist.  Is it time for my wife to stick a breast in my daughter’s mouth?  While that would shut me up, my daughter only cares about when she is hungry, and she ate just an hour ago.  Let’s see if we can distract her with a toy.  Nope, that jet engine now has nothing on her.  Maybe it’s a wet diaper.  Off to change her.  Nope it’s dry.  What is next on the list?  My daughter shoves her pacifier in her mouth and the world begins to right itself on its axis.  Oops, that was just a temporary reprieve as the aural attack commences.  I roll my saving throw and fail, receiving 4d8 mental damage.  I walk around the house and share her boisterous malcontent with the neighbors in attempt to earn sympathy points for why my lawn isn’t mowed yet. As she reaches for yet another gear I try to remember the next item on the list?  Maybe she has gas.  I try to burp her while simultaneously giving her gas drops.  While the gas drops are a hit, the sound of my eardrum trying to cleave itself in two emanates from my daughter once again.  What can I do?  This screaming is turning what little brain I have left into a liquid mass threatening to pour through that split eardrum.  Suddenly a sonic boom burp tears through the air and the world is at peace.  I breathe a sigh of relief as I look into her angelic face.  She is such a perfect little baby.  At least until I try to put her down…