Poem: Torture

torture

I hope it wasn’t torture reading that poem. I have a few similar pieces that I wrote many years ago–I had hoped to gather them all up, write a few new ones, and publish a book of whimsical and demented children’s poetry similar to Shel and Seuss. Hey, maybe one of these days.

Writing As a Remedy

This morning’s breakfast has been a cornucopia of cold remedies: B vitamins, Emergen-C, and green tea. Ugh. The scratchy throat still triumphs.

There was a moment of instant relief though, when I was working on my latest story. The itch in my throat seemed to dissolve, the aches in my body faded as all attentions were focused on the scene I was creating. Or, more accurately, the scene I watched unfold in mindscape.

I’m sure many writers can relate. It’s like tuning into your subconscious, which has been working feverishly on story details, readying them for the taking. I block out distractions, which includes my own life story: my worries, hopes, and wishes for a speedy recovery.  Then its like grabbing information and relating it in the best way possible. That’s when the writing flows, uninterrupted.

Anyway, I want to offer a quick update about what’s to come:

A new excerpt from my WIP titled Chicken.

More flash fiction and poetry.

And possibly updates about my other creative endeavors (music and YouTube-type stuff).

What Creeps in the Night

creeps

What Creeps in the Night

by C.L. Gordon

It wasn’t a chosen profession, the way she lived. It was a matter of survival. But she learned to accept the dangers of nightlife—even if it was just working for crumbs.

Alone in the big city. Living in some hole in the wall. It wasn’t enjoyable, especially being out this late. And when would this night end? Perhaps a peek could be had at the old woman’s watch, over there at the bus stop. She hurried over to the bench, weary of her surroundings.

Wait. Was the old woman pointing that timid, withered old finger in her direction? What was behind her? A mugger? A rapist? Some deranged fiend?

“Wha … what is it?”

The elderly woman’s eyes widened. “AHHHHHH!”

“What is it?!”

“AHHHHHH! WHY WON’T IT GO AWAY?!”

She looked up to see the old woman’s shoe hover briefly. The thick black heel came down fast.  SQUISH!

Everything went black. She couldn’t see the old woman shudder, but could hear her hoarse mumblings as life faded away:

“Can’t stand bugs, no I can’t … ‘specially cockroaches.”