TAKING TURNS

A Story by Elise Anton

Stay tuned, you behind the devices and fingers tapping botched words. Grammar hurts however it is spelled. Tap and then tap - my life so tap so furiously - I feel the stabbing through the cold screen. Like a breeze of tiny needles each finding its own pore. Exquisite.

Words to my face, my agony, my grace - not one in evidence; instead, screens, so so many screens where warriors attack my happenstance and then, the thumbs down. Shucks.

Pariah-like in exile in extreme disinterest, I think: what is this world where I am two and really just the fake one, just the made one needs to function?

You won. This round. Now you lie in quiet wait, slathering and slobbering, gathering strength in fingers. Tap. Crack the damned knuckles.

Some never still until they kill and stand atop their prey - you new age warriors devoid of gender, color, creed, you tiny demons in tiny screens - word by spiteful word by sharing posts by being in the wagon party circling...

Lies bricks on bricks on lies cement, and sentences sentence some to stories not their own. Truth obsolete, disposed of hurriedly so you can once more join the firing squad. Bang Bang.

The day will come for you. The words botched and misspelled will hunt you down in turn. Tap.

Tap.

© 2016 Elise Anton

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Reviews

Rachid Amrani

A well-crafted piece of writing. It keeps me reading until the end which what good writing is supposed to accomplish. Having said that, for a piece of writing to be labeled as a story, it has to have characters and these characters have to be engaged in actions that in turn lead to conflicts.

Posted 2 Months Ago

Hyacinth

I-wow. I haven't read anything in a while this is the first time, again, in an age since I've been online. But this is pure talent. Honestly, you never fail to surprise me.

Posted 8 Years Ago

Davidgeo

Is the forum irrelevant or the content? Does the discourse matter more than the cocktail lounge? Sounds racist.... and extremely limiting.

My mom called me a c**t once, punched her in the stomach.... she recovered nicely... then she kicked me in the balls ten times in between punching me in the face. After that, things were mostly the same. I still take her out to lunch every few days.

Sounds vulgar. And I really don't give a f**k.

Posted 9 Years Ago

Davidgeo

This is less a story more a poem.

I love it whatever you call it.

I do love to crack my knuckles. You know, it doesn't really give you arthritis, that's an old wives' tale.