Written for Sammiβs Weekend Writing Prompt #385. The challenge is to write a poem or a piece of prose in exactly 85 words using the word “vertigo”. Hereβs mine.
What is this sudden disequilibrium? I feel like I could fall flat on my bum!
Tummyβs flipping and Iβm gonna be sick Somebody get me some Pepto quick!
Ears are ringing, Iβve got a headache Doctor, please! I need a break!
First a fever and now the chills Pass me some of those magic pills!
My heart is racing like an SST Give it to me straight, Doc. What’s wrong with me?
Whatβs that you say? Itβs love vertigo? Thereβs no cure? Well, whaddya know!
Alright, alright, alright! It’s time once again for a Six Sentence Story, this time incorporating the word ‘remote’. Here’s mine, with a few other prompts just for fun.
The reflection of my timeworn face in the bathroom mirror is harrowing, one I still canβt accept is me .β¦ someone who was always strikingly attractive, impeccably dressed with my designer labels neatly tucked away and out of sight; these days I see only one person on a regular basis and he doesnβt give a shit what I look like as long as I have the money to pay him.Β
My hands are shaking in equal amounts of excitement and desperation as I check out what my guy has delivered today β reds, blues and yellows β a difficult choice, to be sure, but the numerous voices in my head have made a unanimous decision: mellow yellow to match my jaundiced skintone and disposition; yes, Iβve read the headlinesand the fine print warnings β Iβm not an idiot, you know, and that makes me laugh out loud!
Letβs see whatβs in the magician’s box to fix this sallow complexion β¦. spackle-like primer to fill in the yawning crevices around my mouth, foundation with a bit of a dewy finish (or so the advertisements promise), creamy rosy blush for my cheeks, glossy brush-on plumper for luscious lips, pencil to fill in my threadbare brows, glittery highlighter to lessen the deep-set appearance of my eyes and layer upon layer of mascara on my straggly lashes.
Looking at my reflection once again, I see that Iβm now back .β¦ returned from the dead, if you will β¦. and I look sensational, provocative and sensual with just the right touch of promiscuousness, yet there are two burned-out, remote eyes blankly staring back at me.
I slip into my work clothes, ready for another night hitting the pavement, when I feel that familiar sensation and Iβm faced with the recurring stalemate β whether I should just take all the pretty candy, lie down and pray I never wake up or put myself back on the meat market to earn enough money for another bag of Skittles; βFuck it, Iβm already dressedβ I think as I pop a red and slam the door behind me.
The Elephant's Trunk 