#spudlinwrites

[buyospudlin]

Them. Them. We are not too keen of them. They see us wrong. “It is no good,” they say, “Banish it,” they say. But it, like us, is beautiful. Them. They cannot see it.

The majesty it portrays, but they will not see. They shun and scream, oh, how they scream. Loud and bright and full of emotion. Why they scream at it, we will never know.

It is nothing wrong, yet they see it wrong, they cannot see, they scream. If only they could see it the way we do. The beauty of the natural. The usefulness.

—

They followed. Came to our doorstep and banged, screamed, but this time did not shun. This was different, not good. The door unlocked, we heard the hinges creak, we saw their faces. Oh, their faces, how horrid they were. If only we could remember what they looked like.

Footsteps, heavy and jarring. Creaking of wooden flooring, shouts and grunts. They come in to our house. Our house. Not theirs. They come into our house and stomp and shout and grunt. They are not beautiful, they seek out it's destruction. They seek out it's exposure. They seek to ruin it.

—

We sit. We are sitting. We have sat. The time is gone, so is the sun. Darkness, comfortable in silence, in which we sit. Stinging throbs of pain, our body aches. They came and they went, but what they did still remains. This is not beautiful.

Foul. That is what they are, that is what this is. Foul and horrid, never beautiful. Our body writhes with the acts, the remnants. We wish they would only respect it. We wish they would see the beautiful. See it and be beautiful too.

—

It brings me joy. It brings me awe. It brings me sorrow. It brings me disappointment. It is beautiful, like me, like we. It and we, me and them. They speak, we silence ourself. I speak, we listen. I would like to show them it again. They will not scream today. We are sure of it.

—

Candles. Useful. We use them to tell stories. In the dark of our room, we would light candles. The candles would sit in front of us and flicker. Beautiful, much like it is now.

We would tell stories. Grand stories. Each candle a story to tell, each story end a candle blown out. We had four candles. Four stories. Four nightmares.

Mouths on walls with stretchy tongues. Bathrooms on street intersections. Beating hearts in hampster balls. Talking box fans and wall paintings. Tonight we have one candle. Tonight we will tell a story to it.

—

Them. They returned. Their screams and grunts and footsteps louder. It is not safe.

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Where did it go? We have been searching. It's gone. It's gone. It's gone. It's gone. We love it. It is beautiful. So where did it go?

—

They came back again. They were quiet. They stared and stood. What did they do to it?

—

—

We are scared, we cannot see, we cannot understand. They all just stand and stare. They do nothing, say nothing, they don't blink, they don't eat, they do nothing. We want them gone. They took away it and now they sit and stare and dont blink. This foul, foul feeling we despise. We hate it.

—

We found it. It is back. It is safe in our arms. But. Them. Them. They are still silent. We try to talk, we are not there. They do not scream, they do not stomp, they do not grunt, but. We do not know if they are shunning or not.

We talk and talk and talk. Our talks turn into yells. Our yells and yells and yells turn into shouts. Our shouts shouts shouts screams. Screaming, we scream, they are silent.

Lip quivering, we backpetal. They gave it back to us, why have they not gone back too?

Did it do something?

Did we do something?

—

Little glittery black cats and purple witch's hats and orange construction paper. Glue and safety scissors. Many stacks of decorative cardstock sheets. An origami book and marble pets and paper bowls and gliding dragons. Little window stickers and mini dinosaur figures and little toy cars.

Books. Thick books and thin books and big books and small books. Books with lots of tiny words. Books with big and colorful words.

Our favorite books were ones of dragons and cats and dinosaurs. The ones with many sequels and complex plots and amazing world building.

—

It is here. It sits. We love it. It is still very beautiful. But now, it's different. Just a little. They must have changed it. It must have changed them.

—

Gone. Not it this time. No, everything else. The books. The bed. The wooden trunk. The only things left; us, it, the Bible, and the collegiate dictionary.

We have read the collegiate dictionary and the Bible many many many many times. Every time everything disappears.

We know the stories and the words. The Ten Comandments are scratched and scratched and scratched on our wall. We can recite definitions of words on a whim and flip to a page to point at a word.

We want more.

- 🕯Wick, Writing Prompt Day 1