COVID-19 Distraction No. 1
Updated: May 21, 2020
I don’t know about you, but I am getting bored, the virus is winning. There is no money in it, yet for the politicians, so they have given up and keep confirming that they are idiots by the nonsense they come out with. Almost as if they feel the COVID, just like some of us, will also take their drivel seriously.
I am a writer, and I cannot seem to find the inspiration from the creative pool to find words to tell you of great imagined things, to take you and your spirit to better thoughts and places.
I think the virus must have dried the pool up, because every time I go there, all I have are words and ideas that have already been said and used. Well if you cannot beat them, might as well join them, I say.
I have been writing a collection of small stories, working title “Images.” The picture above is the current picture from the collection, but it may change.
I would like to share some of them with you over the next week or so, if I may.
One every two days.
I would really appreciate some feedback, basically what you think and if possible, how they could be improved.
They are all 500 words or less “Flash Fictions”, and the first one is called:
The Bad Smell
He walked into the room from the rose garden and was hit by the odour of old, tired socks eluding the washing machine because they are suffering from the fear of water and soap.
The smell hangs around like an old ashtray or even a mildew rich concoction whose voice grows louder as it tries in vain to escape from itself.
Its colour is a dark brown, reminiscent of tar oozing itself away from the cigarette and hurryingly seeking refuge in your lungs.
Its pungency reminds me of days running through the dying ash of a forest floor as the embers become laden with the newest downpour of rain and sink further into oblivion.
Energy transposing to another plain.
The smell hangs there, changing the feel of and the energy in, the room. It makes you just want to escape, to smell the fresh air, to find clean oxygen so that your lungs can breathe well once more.
It is a shapeless entity, whose essence is dark, brooding and ephemeral. It comes, it settles, it destroys. It thinks it is entitled to roam where ever it wants.
It has no idea how destructive it is, and frankly, it does not care.
Copyright: Roy Merchant 2020