UKI-E: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 21: UKI-E

            “I wish I knew where Vincent is, but I do not,” Faye repeated as a mantra, fighting to remain composed. Her face wan, eyes bleary, the lawyer wanted to crawl into a bottle of single malt. She shook her head, looking down at her notepad filled with legalese gibberish as if the answers were there.

What could she say without finding herself locked in a BBHPC room for observation?

Oh, Vincent grew feathers, and he and his shrink flew away.

Right.

As it was, Faye had been questioned ad nauseam by hospital security. After that, the police detective. Lawyer Fayed knew how to concoct a story out of the shock of the situation. She pled the fifth without invoking it.

Vincent was more, and she knew that, but not in this reality. Her experience with him when he portalled; glorious and terrifying. Where Vincent took her, what they did, and what he did. Blood rushed to her cheeks but washed them down with the memory of what had occurred in the room. Watching him shifting in confinement, seeing Maria toss herself on him, and then…poof!

Maria. Fuck.

They could not detain her. A single text waited for her when they finished with her. Faye gathered her things. Before she left the hospital, she found her way to a visitors’ women’s room. Locking the bathroom stall, she sat and finally allowed herself to shake.

Settled, she unlocked the door, went to the sink, and splashed cold water on her face. Looking at herself in the mirror, she grimaced before fixing her face. She was summoned.

“I wish I knew where Vincent is, but I do not.”

“Ms. Smythe, that is not going to cut it. Where the hell is my son?”

Sitting across the carved oak desk at Vincent’s father, Fayed shook her head.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I. Do. Not. Know.”

“Bullshit.” He leaned closer, his hands in a tight grasp of air above his desktop. “Bullshit. You don’t have many tells, lawyer, but even you can’t control your micro-expressions.”

Faye straightened her already straightened back.

“Last time before I fire you: where is my son?”

The threat.

“Fuck you,” and then she told him. Everything.

He did not interrupt her. No nodding of understanding, no shaking his head in disbelief. His tell? Vincent’s father sat back in his chair and listened.

When she went over every last detail, Ms. Faye Smythe stood, wanting to push her chair back so it would topple. Instead, she pulled down her suit jacket, picked up her briefcase, and turned her back on Vincent’s father.

Out of the corner of her eye, Faye looked at the shelf of snow globes, the last vestiges of Vincent’s mother. A space was vacant. Dust motes swirled under the LED lights.

The door slammed in her wake.

“Vincent!” Maria screamed to him as the rain turned from freezing rain to deep, heavy snow.

“Vincent!”

Her voice, useless, drowned out. The birds. The battle, the destruction, the death of the Condor. Its body smashed those who had remained on the ground. The screams cut off. The inner circle tried to take wing but found the icy storm tucked around them, weighing them in place. Those on the outskirts of the vortex scattered as best they could.

Maria paid them no attention. She was freezing, drenched from her swim through the soupy mud. Teeth chattering, body shaking, she wished for arctic-strength clothing.

Vincent! His gaze shifted to Maria. She was dry and warm in an instant, encased in proper gear.

Then the wind howled between Her Lavender Grace and The Grackle Lord. Her Grace lumbered large, buffeted by the driving icy sleet. Her ebon wings gained a brief coat of white, sloughing off each time she shook herself. The drippings turned to icicles at her pinions. They hung with growing weight.

Her Lavender Grace’s determined eyes never left her Grackle Lord until

Vincent!

Neck twisting, Her Lavender Grace searched for the nuisance. To her left. She honed in on the tree line, eyesight still razor sharp. As she turned her attention back to The Grackle Lord, she thrashed her left wing, snapping the needle-like icicles off and sending them hurtling toward Maria.

Maria!

Triturate: Vincent’s Descent -atoz blog challenge

**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 20: Triturate

Her Lavender Grace breathed in deeply, her expansive chest filling with the deathly air. The taste of blood carried on the winds, and they began to whip around with the fall of the rain. She exhaled with a squawk, a call that further stirred the murder lust around her. She reeked of power and death. The washing rain did not rinse her of cravings.

And the rain began to fall in sheets, shimmering from her wings, running down her dense hide. Pools formed around and under Her Lavender Grace. Her flocks sputtered in the growing density. The rain was brutal, beating down with a rat-tat-tat beat that only gained in speed and force. Her Lavender Grace reveled in the stinging pain that came to her from members of her horde.

Still, her gaze locked on the deadly struggle between her Condor and her Grackle Lord. She lost all interest in Maria.  

The brackish water surrounding Maria got in her eyes and mouth. Maria spit out one mouthful only to have a deluge wash over her from above. She slipped, her hands going deep into the mud. Her struggling to escape the monster’s claws took on a higher energy. The immense shape above her was ever so slowly sinking.

I wished, the thought his Maria, and she wished again. A lightning storm tore the sky open with a force that stopped all action, turning attention away from her. Maria frantically dug into the mud, the pools of water enveloping her in sloshing waves. Forcing her head above the water, Maria took deep breaths. Then down, down, and forward.

Down and forward as the skies broke in streaks of deadly white. The rainstorm blew over the light-rooted birds, trees, and bushes. It softened the land, and Maria took full advantage of this.

Vincent-Inside, momentarily startled by the fierceness of the gale, went full Birdserkr.  

The Condor had let its guard down.

The Grackle Lord’s maw clamped down onto the Condor’s left wing. It snapped it in half, dark-drenched feathers slamming the mob below. Before it could react, Vincent-Inside fed off of all the abuse he carried. Digging his nails into the midsection of the Condor, The Grackle Lord ripped it open. With a whip-shot, Vincent-Inside sent his bloodied beak through the Condor’s neck, the tip breaking through and through.

The Condor choked on its blood.

The Grackle Lord pulled away, claws still inserted in the Condor’s abdomen. Their eyes met. Vincent-Inside held on as he watched the Condor’s black eyes lose their color, their power, grinding to a dusty death pallor.

There was no shudder, no rasp. The Condor had been alive. Now, not.

The Grackle Lord retracted his talons. The Condor fell.

Turning, Vincent-Inside faced Her Lavender Grace. His jet-black eyes went to the claw where Maria had been, but there was only muddy water.

The Grackle Lord, in full fury, scattered the multitudes of lesser birds. Its feathers slicked back, wings tossed wide and beating the air, The Grackle Lord challenged.

Her Lavender Grace faced it, eyes narrowing, wings akimbo. Neck lengthening, beak glistering from the rain, she waited for the attack.

Maria had crawled out of the soupy earth inches from the prison of bone and flesh. Unnoticed, she crawled along the muddy ground, finding a semblance of shelter among the upturned roots of a giant denuded tree.

Along the way, some blackbirds saw her. Grabbing rocks, she smashed a few skulls that got too close to her. The last one that came at her avoided the rocks, scoring a bite through her sodden pants leg. Dropping the rocks in pain, Maria caught its wings and slammed the bird against the tree trunk she was leaning against. And again, until it was a stain on the bark.

Dropping the dead thing, she watched the battle. It was brutal, and her stomach churned, but she knew. And it was done.

Then Vincent turned to face Her Lavender Grace, and Maria inwardly cried, noooooo

And then said: “I wish….”

And the rain began to turn to snow.

Oneiric Truth: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 15: Oneiric Truth (then and now)

            “Cat-gran…” the Grackle Prince began before a heavy wing beat his beak shut.

            The giant blackbird squatted closer, placing a talon over Once-Vincent’s chest, pinning him to the ground.  

            “Do not ever call me by that insipid title again. Do you understand? Well?”

            The princeling stared, nodding slightly.

            “Your fucking waste of a mother. Thought it was necessary to differentiate me from the other one.” The Condor shook itself, feathers bristling as it righted itself. “I am Condor. I am Elite.” It bent its head to look down upon the prince. “Do you understand?”

            “Yes,” he croaked, taken aback that the word had formed.

            “About time. Now,” the Elite removed its claw, stepping back. The crowded rows of blackbirds all hopped back to open the space. “Now, get up.”

            Nothing in his body moved the way he was used to. Struggling, the Grackle Prince fell over, rolled, winding up with his beak against the loam. The color had settled for the preferred Vincent golden-yellow. A sign? He was not sure, but it was enough of a temporal foundation.

            “Get. Up.”

            A kick sent the prince rolling, his back thrust against a wall of blackbirds. They gawked at him in silence.

            There was a light pressure against his back wing, folded tight against his side. It pulsed two times, rocking Once-Vincent. Then another, stronger, and again, until he again was prone but along the stomach.

            His wings, freed, spread wide. The legion in front flapped its wings, and those behind followed suit. The generated airflow fed the Grackle Prince. Without thought, he lifted off the earth, hovered, twitched, then began to beat, and Once-Vincent was airborne.

            Group after another took off to follow. None were considered prey during this journey. Never a hive mind, they yet shared the joy of the day. They flew without question, trading leads, gliding on drafts crafted by their own and those near. As long as the Grackle Prince would fly, so would they.

            All flew after except for the Condor Elite. He watched the sky grow clear of black as the miles swallowed one after one. He squealed, turned in the other direction, and went to give the news to his Lavender Grace.

Now

            Dr. Maria went still.

            “Vincent, no. You don’t have to…I don’t think that you ‘have’ to die.”

            He shrugged. His face was ragged, drained of color. She could see the struggle he was placing on himself. Vincent noticed that and turned his head away from her pleading eyes.

            “Please, Vincent. I’m here.”

            Pause times infinity, but Maria was patient. He finally nodded.

            “Good. There has to be something….”

            A knocking cut her off, and then the door opened.

            “Dr. Maria,” Ms. Faye Smythe entered the room. Shutting the door, she stood by it.

            “Vincent.”

            He closed his eyes.

            “I know you’re awake. That was feeble.” She took a few steps closer into the room, setting her briefcase on the rolling meal table pushed off to the side. Faye clicked it open, removed a folder, and shut the case.

            She turned and stared at Vincent.

            “You’re in a shit load of trouble. First, your family members, and now the guard.”

“I did not kill my mother,” Vincent muttered. “I did not kill the guard.”

“Oh? Really. What about the man you called your ‘Cat-grandpa….”

            Dr. Maria saw Vincent’s body tense at that.

            Silence from Vincent.

            Ms. Smythe walked around the infirmary bed, staying out of reach.

            “I said…”

            “Yes, Faye. Yes. I killed it.”

            She shook her head.

            “It?”

            Vincent pushed his head deeper into the bed pillow.

            “It. You were there with me, Faye.”

Notan (then): Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 14: Notan (then)

            The first sharp pointed tip of an ebon feather burst through Vincent’s right forearm during that sleep. Vincent screamed himself awake, sweat-drenched, prone on his back, and surrounded by a host of black shapes. Head shifting, his eyes went to the pain.

Vincent gagged at the sight. His soft white skin, ripped open, weeping red-black. His focus shifted beyond the emerging quill, taking in the army of blackbirds. He froze. Their beady eyes were on his arm, beaks slightly ajar. A fluid dribble left a giant bird’s beak inside his peripheral eyesight. He heard a sizzle as it hit the ground near the bird’s talons.

Trembling, Vincent attempted to rise, but the pain sent him sprawling back down. He was gasping for breath when again he screamed, his neck arching back, his body seizing.

The assemblage hooted their approval. The multi-level noise thwacked his eardrums.

            Vincent’s eyelids shot open, his eyes bulging as he ground his teeth together. His lips pulled back, a grimace stretched. With watering eyes, Vincent took in flashes of distorted chromatics. The black of the birds, the reds of their tongues were offset by the white of his skin, the blood pouring out, the emergence of more black-blue pinions. His world was in a color schematic wobble, the skyscape palette constantly swishing.

            Pain erupted now from his left arm, then his legs. Vincent’s clothing faded to nothing as the ever-materializing feathers replaced them. He felt his body shrink into itself, bones rearranging. He cried out with each shift, each noise sounding less like Vincent and more birdlike.

            Stomach churning, Vincent turned his head, vomiting what little remained in his system of PB&J. His throat was on fire as his inner organs revolted around the change he was undergoing. He felt his legs crack and bend, his arms extend, his chest cavity grow round.

            Then his head. His head, as his face, was the last to go through metamorphosis. It narrowed and grew outwards. The feathers burst through what skin was left, the meat falling and lost. A grand beak formed from Vincent’s Romanesque nose and tight-lipped mouth. The slight distance in the bridge between Vincent’s eyes grew less as the eyes went round and full black.

            An “I’m tired” scream started in English and ended in Caw.

            A shadow passed overhead, momentarily blocking magenta sun rays. Once-Vincent’s head followed the massive form. An exceptionally long wingspan jutted from the bulky form. With its next passings, the landscape went orange, then blue, finally settling on golden again as the bird touched the ground next to Once-Vincent.

            It looked down at him, a bare black-red hue to its head, its long primary feathers appearing as sharp, fingered look. Grey-white feathers mixed in with the deepest blacks, all shining with the changing luster from the overhead suns.

            Suns, Once-Vincent noticed, and felt his chest tighten.

            “Finally.”

            Once-Vincent’s attention focused on the danger looming over him.

            “Tandem Advenit!” It screeched, raising its caruncle-laden beak high.

            “Gratis Princeps,” the multitude sang out.

            The condor lowered its head to speak to Once-Vincent. The voice was now familiar.

            “Welcome, Grackle Prince.

            Once-Vincent, the now Grackle Lord, felt his breath catch.

“It took you fucking long enough.”

Dandelion Passage: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent Descent

Chapter 4: Dandelion Passage

The hallways of BBHPC (Brooks Behavioral Health Psychiatric Center) sound with the shuffling of feet on white tile floors, the shooshing of opening and closing doors, files being flipped, papers rustling, and muffled screams.

Conversations occurred behind closed doors or were taken outside of the concrete and faux marble building. Faye needed unsterilized air and another smoke. Maria joined her, upwind, so they could talk. Well, so she could mainly listen.

Faye knew the outward details. As a lawyer who would be asked to defend Vincent, she had to. They both had their own version of confidentiality. Maria knew that Faye’s bouts of snippiness with her were frustrations that Maria could not, would not, share more.  

Under swirling, overcast clouds, they walked along the patient garden path. Guards, nurses, and aides moved along, keeping tabs on their charges. Eighteen feet high security-welded metal fence surrounded the BBHPC grounds. Open air, but Maria felt it gave off enough of a claustrophobic air.

Flakes of snowflakes began to drift down. Faye cursed, took her last puff, and threw the butt down to grind it out. A guard “humphed,” and Faye bent over to pick it up to dispose of it properly. If he saw her give him the finger, he gave no indication. Maria noticed.

Fixing their ID lanyards, the two made their way back toward Vincent. Maria turned her head before disappearing inside. The snow had already gained strength. Remembering a snippet of a conversation with Vincent months before the incidents, way before BBHPC, she smiled.

He kept looking outside the window of her office. It had been snowing during the day, and the wind had been whipping up during their session.

“Vincent.”

“Hm.”

“You keep drifting.”

He chuckled, a rare honest one.

“What?” Pause. “Oh. Drifting. Snow drifting?”

Vincent nodded.

He turned to her.

“We’re in a snow globe right now,” he half-smiled. “All shooken up, end over end, everything whirling around.”

Vincent looked back out the window again.

“We’re in a snow globe.”

“What?” Faye said, her annoyance rebuilding as she draped Lawyer Ms. Faye Smythe back on.  

Dr. Maria shrugged it off and smiled.

“We’re in a snow globe,” she murmured as she walked through the door, the guard desk check-in, and into the center.

The walls of the hallway in Vincent’s ward were a soft yellow. It was designed to have a calming effect, as was the ever-constant playing of green noise. It droned in the lowest levels of consciousness, volume raised enough to create a baffle for the HVAC sounds.

It didn’t always have the effect the designers intended.

Vincent, though, fell into the sound. He slowed his breathing and closed his eyelids after Dr. Maria left the room. He was quiet for a long time. The guard thought Vincent had fallen asleep. He leaned against the wall, relaxing.

Arms still on the table, Vincent mentally was tapping away, as dead old Cat-grandpa dug into him, reminding himself that his mind was the way to his portal journey.

The tapping was consistent until it flew away into wings beating.

“You’re back,” the Blackbird yelped.

If beaks could smile.

*****************************************************

Ooops. Only the fourth post and I ran into a brick wall.

I will catch up later this evening, so there will be two posts today.

My apologies.

BTW, for those who may only have found Vincent’s Descent today, this is a continuous story. If you are interested, please go back to April 1st’s “Azure Dreams” and read on. Hopefully it will begin to make sense for one and all by the time we get to Z.

Stuart

Crimson: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 3: Crimson

             oh. blood. yes. 

            Cat-grandpa’s index fingernail was always sharp and jagged. All of the nails were in that shape. He bit instead of cut. He used his hands to talk for him, his fingers acting as punctuations, his palms as rests or, too often, harsh beats. Vincent would zero in when Cat-grandpa’s hands morphed into fists. When the knuckles went white, Vincent’s eyes would tear up.

            “The best portal stories are.” Tap. “Right.” Tap. “Up.” Tap. “Here.”

            Vincent winced. He felt the nail slice into his skin. A light dribble followed. It would leave a scar on top of a scar. His mother never noticed; if she did, she refrained from saying anything. Vincent often looked to see if she had an imperfection in the same place.

            She always wore her hair down.

He held himself still. It stung. Vincent’s mouth went dry. He knew not to say anything, not to make any sound. He felt himself lose focus, his eyes darting for any escape. There were birds in the distance.

            He wished he was a bird.

            They had been sitting on the balcony, Cat-grandpa reading with seven-year-old Vincent. They had finished “A Princess of Mars.” Instead of continuing to the next book, “The Gods of Mars,” Cat-grandpa had Vincent go inside to fetch a different book.

            “But…,” Vincent began, eyeing the cover of the unread paperback. The silence that followed got Vincent moving.

“The second one from the top of the pile,” Cat-grandpa yelled through the screen door as it slammed shut. Vincent walked through the small kitchen, hurrying past the overflowing garbage bin. Flying bugs of all sizes chased him into the living room.  

The worn wooden side table had a tilt to it. Vincent found two books had tumbled onto the convertible couch, face down. The author’s faces stared up at him, the titles hugging the sofa. The scratchy faded orange fabric was shiny with bald patches. He thought it looked like Cat-grandpa. Vincent bit his inner cheek not to laugh.

A pile of books was next to the one teetering to join its brethren. He ignored that pile, unsure if the wanted book was on the couch. Vincent studied the two book towers and made a decision. He was reaching for the second book when he noticed the top one.

“Not the first book?” Vincent yelled, turning back toward the screen door. “It has the number one in the corner.”  

He heard a faint “idiot kid” before, “What did I say? The second book.”

Vincent returned outside, plopping down on his side of the two-person seater. It rat squeaked, the coils underneath hard and sharp.

Cat-grandpa was having Vincent read aloud, prodding him over words he stumbled over. When Lucy pushed past all the clothing and found herself somewhere else, Vincent stopped.

“Like John Carter? Is she somewhere else? Is she on Mars?”

“Narnia,” Cat-grandpa sighed. “Narnia. Different place. Different world, if you like. Not Mars.

The lecture on Portal stories began, ending with the digging into Vincent’s scalp.

The couch had been turned out, another rusted accessory. The mattress was thin, the pillows were essentially pillowcases, and the sheet was a series of threads holding onto each other, so it all didn’t disappear.

Like he wished he could.

The best portal stories as he closed his eyes and went elsewhere.

The lawyer and the therapist stood in the narrow hallway. Vincent sat in the room behind them, alone. The guard inside watched him like a hawk.

“Maria, you’ve got to get him to talk with me.”

She nodded, tucking her lips in slightly. Her gaze flitted over Faye’s crossed arms, the grey suit jacket, the tips of the white blouse, the minute showing of olive-hued skin, and the sharp yellow lacquered nails. There was a chip at the top of the ring finger. Maria wasn’t going to mention it.

“Look, Faye,” she stopped, seeing the other woman tense. “OK. No excuses. Why do you think he won’t?”

“Fuck, Maria. Don’t therapist me. Answer the fucking question.”

It was a non-staring starting contest.

“He thinks you are afraid of him.”

Faye blinked quickly.

“What?”

“Sigh. Afraid. You of him. Vincent holds his tongue if he feels someone is afraid of him.”

“Afraid? No. Unsettled? Very much so.  He’s a creepy fuck.  But yes, afraid. Unsettled.  If I wasn’t the family lawyer, after what he did?”

“Really? Isn’t it supposed to be ‘allegedly?’”

The lawyer sighed.

“Fuck this. Fine. Yes. I have to take the stance ‘allegedly.'” She leaned in close to Maria, never sure. “The damn photos, Maria. The photos.”

Ms. Faye Smythe turned her head away from Maria.

“All that blood.”

Azure Dreams: Vincent’s Descent -AtoZ Blog Challenge

“Speak now.”

Vincent stared at the back of the caerulean blue cell phone on the tripod. He did not blink. The video picked up the slight tic from the corner of his green right eye. There was a crust of dried blood on his bottom lip. His lips were tightly closed now, giving a droop to the otherwise vacant expression most were accustomed to. The single drop of sweat that meandered from the forehead down the nose, a bead forming at the tip, until it dropped into the three-day growth of his ginger beard.

The lawyer sighed. The veins of her left hand were bulging from the fist she hid under the table.

“Look, I don’t have all day. Speak. Now.”

Vincent heard the exclamation point. It came into focus in front of him, a dark royal red. He felt its disdain. It shimmered over his lawyer’s head, fuzzing with golden tufts that faded away in a glowing haze. A breeze entered the sealed windowed room, a soft hum that buzzed into a howl. Vincent felt a chill from his sopped chin, moving inch by inch along his jawline.

He heard blackbirds calling from behind her, off in the distance. They took off as one, flying just past her shoulder. The three landed on a dead tree, perching on the same branch. They cawed intermittently, a basso screeching that pounded inside Vincent’s head.

“Spppeeee,” cawed one.

“eeekkkk,” another.

“Nooooooooowwwwwwwwwww,” came the third.

Vincent looked up and out of the ceiling; the sky was swirling. His eyes were blistered by the refracted light of the dying sun as night came to claim everything.

Vincent did not move. He felt his hands merge into the arms of the chair, his back becoming an extension of the wood and fabric he sat on. He was able to move his eyes but wished he hadn’t.

The biggest of the blackbirds, beak extended, leaned in. Its breath was hot, smelling of the dead flesh it fed upon. Black eyes. Vincent felt the eyes eating him.

“I give up,” the lawyer said, turning to guard. “I’m going for a smoke.”

She looked up at the camera in the corner. “He’s not to be spoken to until I return.”

Turning off the camera, she got up from the table, pushing the chair back under. It screeched like the birds to Vincent. The chair was another carrion.

The door buzzed to let her out. She stopped part of her wanting to return to Vincent, put her hand on his shoulder, shake him, pat him, slap him. The urge to punch him propelled her to the locked door.

A buzz. The lawyer was able to open the door. She turned, her instinct to go back, get him to talk. Her feet chose a different path. The door slammed behind her.

She left him staring up at the ceiling of the room.

Blogging from A to Z Challenge: April 2023

Please check out the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge
#AtoZChallenge
a-to-zchallenge.com

The annual Blogging from A to Z Challenge begins tomorrow, April 1st, 2023. For those of you unfamiliar with it, those joining in are asked to create 26 posts during the month. The title of each day follows the alphabet, with April 1st using the letter A, the next post starting with B, and so on, with Z falling on April 30th.

All those in the challenge are asked to post a reflection on May 1st.

I started this blog in 2011, joining my first A to Z that year. I’ve been intermittent with my commitment to the challenge since then. It has been a couple of years since my last foray. This is also a very last-minute entry into the challenge. We were supposed to do this much earlier in March.

Procrastinators unite tomorrow?

What To Do?

For those of you who have followed me, you know I am partial to a serialized story as opposed to one-and-done. This year will be no exception. I will do my editing best for brevity, but we also know that that promise can easily go out the window depending on the day’s writing.

So, Rum Ball, please…or Black and White Cookie (preferred):

Vincent

Theme: psychological horror/thriller.

Make of that what you will.

See you tomorrow?

Comments are always welcome.

TRIENNIUM ♾: Liquid Time A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

A to Z Blogging Challenge 2021

TRIENNIUM ♾

LIQUID TIME

“Whatever begins, also ends.” Seneca

Janiculum-elsEwhen-Forever

(ZV) interrupted the passage of Time.

Broke through the constraints of Time.

(ZV) crunched, borrowed, were on, lost in, and held Time on/in/between their hands.

They shattered the barriers of Time

Which mended itself, begin anew, restored the orderliness of Time

Only to be reduced to states of constant flux

To begin again

Yet

The disruptions of Time were judged as provocations of the rule of Time

Khronos noticed

Khronos was all the time Time needed.

Khronos was the cosmogony with Ananke

Consort, Equal, Progenitor

Creating the seeds of the universes

Overseen by Time

A roiling blast of primal anger fell

At every interference of Time

Which spanned all beginnings, all ends

via (ZV)

Who did not/will not/won’t back down

At any Time

(ZV) was expansive

For every fall, obliteration, discarnate state of nothing

(ZV) held

Reincarnated, reborn

The ultimate Samsara

The realization of this

Was/is/will be

Spontaneous

Time stood/stands/will become

Still

Just joining in? This is the final Arc/Act/Part of LIQUID TIME, a tale told in 26 posts. Maybe one or two more. Click the link above to take you back to April 1st, 2021, the first “official” posting for the A to Z Blogging Challenge.

COMMENTS AND FEEDBACK ARE ALWAYS WELCOME

ON – Ω – OFF: Liquid Time A to Z Blog Challenge 2021

A to Z Blog Challenge 2021

ON – Ω – OFF

LIQUID TIME

“Time isn’t the main thing. It’s the only thing.” ~ ~ Miles Davis

TRANSITION

Karen will think/thinks/have thought OH SHIT!

Dr. Karen Capri envisages/verbalizes those words in the seven languages she speaks/thinks fluently.

Dr Capri has/had/will have the connective process to acknowledge what is before her endlessly

She is clinically absorbing an infinite vocabulary of experience across layers

That have layers intersecting mirrored rows of layers

Karen feels the emotional spectrum pour out of her

Her thinking process goes limp

(ZV) is floating there

Now Valentina

Then Zehara

Z

Karen has hated them

Individually

Especially together

If she could, Karen would clench her teeth, growling

They had gotten in her way way too many times

They are in her way now

Sensations go misty

She tries to fight the violation

Karen fails in every single way, across every possibility

Z knows/knew what was done to her

V now knows what was done to Z

Not even a blink: Dr. Capri is peeled away

TRANSITION

LAB

FLOAT POD CONNE

Interred 
The leaded pod
Door sealed into one piece
Lies a howling, a wail, a shriek
A keening lament
A fragile cord

One not heard, never to be
Plight of one's destiny
Or not

GRB 080916C burst
K is undone

The scream continues

Ω

Hmmm…an interesting Saturday post.

Oh, it is Sunday, you say

Hmmm…oh, yes,

My apologies

Monday Comes with a P

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