RDP Friday – Viral

Violet didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the end of the world; it was  imagining what happened after it was all over that would keep Violet awake at nights.

She’d would be laying there in the dark picturing a dead and lifeless world with a small yellow sun rising in front of a blood red moon while all around her room on tables and in the windows and on their own special tables were dead and dying plants in overpriced planters.

There were no starter plants with tiny little roots floating around in plastic fast food drinking cups in this room. Violet figured it was the least she could do for some poor plant that was bound to die once she got her hands on it.

What she did to plants was nothing compared to what she did to those colorful fish you kept in wine glasses with the half marbles scattered at the bottom glass.

Violet had come in from work one day and found all that was left of her fish were blue and red scales and brown goo sloshing around in the inside of the little glasses.
It was on that day she saw those little corpses floating in the cloudy water she decided it would probably be better if she avoided the live animal route all together.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know any better.

There was the puppy got when she was eight

Santa had brought the puppy in the basket with the red bow tied to the handle and left it by Violet’s bed.

Violet had dragged the cold ‘sleeping puppy’ out to the living room stuck it in front of the Christmas Tree bright and early on Christmas morning and said to her parents, ” It coughed all night, I don’t think it feels well. Can we exchange it? ”

There was the kitten four years later that started to bleed from it’s ears and not to long  after that there was her  baby brother that turned from pink to dark red right in front of Violet’s eyes.

Then she grew up and moved out and started with the plants.

It was like having a bad tooth…your tongue just wants to go to it and poke around. That’s the way Violet was with plants; she just kept buying them or planting seeds and they just kept dying on her.

And Violet kept watching.

So it’s not really a shock that she couldn’t sleep at nights.

And then it got be too much.

One evening Violet’s dying and decomposing plants couldn’t keep her mind off of the little things that nibbled away at her mind during the day so she reached for her TV remote control and when she pushed the ‘on’ button the little black and silver box hummed in her hand and she knew the battery was dead.

She reached over and turned her bedroom light on and then she popped the back panel off of the remote.

Along with plant murders she had rotten luck with batteries too. She had guessed that if she bought batteries from someplace other than ” Dollar Bonanza” (where all the stock was a dollar or less) they might last a bit longer.

She reached into her nightstand drawer for some new batteries when she saw that the battery in the remote control had split at the seam and the acid had started to ooze out and then before it ran off the side of the battery it had hardened and turned to dust.

She dropped the remote on the floor and reached for the little ivy plant that was dying in the planter shaped liked an elephant. She touched one of the leaves and felt it turn to power between her fingers.

Now that was a new one.

Violet reached over and turned off her lamp but she didn’t sleep.

It wasn’t soon after that she stopped sleeping all together.

So instead of sleeping Violet did a lot of thinking; she thought about her dead and dying plants, her puppy and kitten and little brother. She thought about the way no one ever sat next to her on the bus.

Even if her seat was the last open seat and they had to stand.

She remembered the way her own Mother would wipe her hand against her hip after helping Violet brush her hair and the way her Father would hold his hands out to stop Violet from rushing into his arms the way all little kids do.

It was strange, those little gestures that people used to keep Violet away. They were the same gestures Violet saw when someone had a coughing or sneezing fit and the person standing next to them would turn their head or pull in a long deep breath and try not to exhale until they were safely away.

That’s exactly the way people acted when they got to close to Violet.

One morning Violet brushed her teeth and combed her hair and put on a bright yellow t-shirt. Yellow was her favorite color and today she wanted to do something nice for herself.

She walked down to the Lake and watched birds fall from the sky and bees drop from flowers. The trees put up more of a fight. She could hear them creak and groan and she could hear the leaves whither and then curl and crumble right on the branches.

When she got to the lake she put her hand into the water and she watched it thicken and could smell it go bad and then the fish all rose to the surface and tried to jump to land and before they were airborne for more then a second they fell dead back into the water.

Violet got up and walked to a little hill and when she got to the top she sat on a bench and she could see the route she had walked because it was a dead route now and unless you were looking you probably wouldn’t notice the narrow trail of death; but Violet did.

That was it for Violet, this was all she would ever do-she would infect anything unlucky enough to get to close to her and then it would die.

Violet looked at the trail she had walked and saw the dead trees and plants she had passed could see the trees and grass and plants further away start to turn brown and curl and she could smell them turn to dust.

Violet Delaflote was spreading.

Violet walked to the lookout spot next to the Lake she had infected (there was no other way for her to think of it) and she figured she could just walk out and keep walking until the water covered her head.

She couldn’t swim, she had never learned how…not after watching her swimming instructor drown all those years ago. ” She had some kind of Virus, ” her Dad told her ” and when she dove into the water she got sick and couldn’t breathe and she drowned.”
Violet passed the picnic table and walked into the water and she was surprised at how easy this was turning out to be…but what was the alternative?

She was a serial plant killer and she lived alone.

That was Violet’s life.

She kept walking and by the time the water was up to her chest she realized what she was doing…she spun around went under and fought her way back to shore.
When she turned around and looked back at the lake…she covered her face with her hands and screamed until her throat felt raw.

Then she ran.

She ran and ran until she came to the Shopping Mall and she collapsed on a bench outside of the food court.

People were eating and laughing and scowling and living…and when it came down to it Violet decided she wanted to live too. She wanted to eat soft pretzels and drink strawberry lemonade and she wanted to shop and be rude to salespeople…just like everybody else.

That was what Violet wanted, she covered her face with her hands and she cried for the life she would never have.

When it came right down to it Violet decided she might only be a Virus that had somehow disguised itself as a short woman with okay skin and dry hair but she still wanted to live just like anyone else.

She knew though she couldn’t do that like everyone else and Violet knew that was alright.

So she took her hand away from her mouth and nose….
And she sneezed.

Peinture Il noir

I’m participating in Bee’s fun music challenge and each day  in February we have been challenged to find a song with love as part of the theme.

Now, I know that “Paint It Black ” isn’t a love song per se, but it is about obsession which does play a part in love- for some of the population it plays WAY bigger part then for the rest of us.

So I’m going to say it counts.

Ha! How’s that for some mental gymnastics?

Besides, if you hear it in French it’s easy to ignore the fact that this song is about a psycho with a black heart and a love who died under mysterious circumstances.  It sounds pretty and light.

Scary train of thought I know, but that’s me.

PS… the door in this post is mine it was red and then it was painted black.

( cue evil laugh )


Photo A.M. Moscoso

Mr Gale’s Funeral

Fandango’s Friday Flashback-Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of you earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember?

From my achieves- I actually wrote this in February of 2018 but didn’t post it until Halloween of 2018 I named one of the characters after my Aunt Irene. She would have approved.


We met to plan the final details for Mr. Gale’s Funeral in a spot behind the Gale Family home where Mrs. Gale had planted an extensive and lovely garden.

It was the beginning of fall and the leaves had just started to drop from the trees.

” Just treat it like any other traditional  Funeral, ” his wife told me  as we strolled slowly along the garden path. ” Flowers, candles maybe someone can read poem and can you recommend a Minster? I suppose we need one of those.”

I assured her I could see to all of these details.

” I am so glad to hear that Irene, this is such a trying time you know.”

” I do and I’m very glad I could help.”

Mrs. Gale leaned over and whispered into my ear. ” I am curious dear, how it came that you decided to become-” she was at a loss for the word which is not unusual in times like this.

I patted her arm. ” It’s the family business.”

Mrs. Gale  smoothed her hair which had been tussled by the light breeze and then walked over to her husband’s casket and put her gloved hand on it, somewhat cautiously. ” Oh Dear, I almost forgot. Music. Can we have music-”

The thudding and screaming resumed from inside the sealed casket.

” In case he starts up with that again ” sighed the soon to be widow.

Falling Leaves


Love Is In Da Blog 2020 Day 27: Find a song about love in autumn & Prompt for Day 28

Before he passed away my friend Ron and I were talking about music ( we were at a Mardri Gras Party  and music and food were the main topics of conversation )

He asked me who a few of my favorite bands were and I mentioned Glenn Miller- hands down. I was also a fan of the Andrew Sisters.

Ron’s face lit up- ” You know Glenn Miller’s music? ”

Absolutely I said, I grew up with Swing Music because of my Grandparents.

They not only played it on the radio and they played the albums, they also taught me to sing a bunch of cool songs from the 1920’s  and 1940’s and to this day I use sayings like  ‘ the Cat’s Pajama’s, Bee’s Knees, Moxy and Snap your cap in everyday conversation.

Back to me and Ron.

Ron was a young man in the 1940’s and I wasn’t born until 1964- but in that moment when we started to talk about music we were on the same page and it was the Cat’s Pajamas.

It’s a good memory, a fun one.

So here’s my pick  for Love Is In Da Blog 2020 Day 27-

Glenn Miller’s Falling Leaves.

Miss you Ron O.


Your friend,


The Caller

Fandango’s February Expressions #26:
Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t

If he knocks, does she have to open the door?

Does she have to let him in, offer him tea and a seat near the living room window

next to the fireplace?

That’s her favorite place to sit, there are Jade plants in the window and the radio is in the corner. The radio has an eye on the center of it’s face. It closes when the radio signal is weak.

It hasn’t worked for ages, she wasn’t even sure people used radios anymore.

Focus she told herself. Focus!

She needed to decide and she needed to decide now because she was sure he was

going to knock on her door and that he was going to ask to come in and of course the

polite thing to do would be to offer him something warm to drink, it was so cold outside.

She went to the door, she flicked the light switch and the pale warm lights from the ceiling winked off and her wall papered walls ( faded gold birds flying towards the ceiling, sad they would never make it she thought when she looked at it )  and her furniture and paintings of lakes and flowers painted by long gone hands winked out too.

Of course she didn’t have to let him in, she doesn’t have to offer him something to drink

to take the chill out of his bones. She isn’t responsible for his comfort, for what he wants or feels.

She put her hand on the door, it was cool to the touch- or maybe it was just her. She was always cold. She was always worried about not doing the right thing. Her hand slid to the door knob and she turned it just as she heard the beginning of the knock that she dreaded would come.

Thump. Thu-

She turned the knob, she pulled open the door and the empty Night stood at her door politely, waiting to be invited in and offered tea and a seat next to the window with her Jade plants and the radio with the eye in the center of it’s face.

” Why do you always come here, why do  you always come to me? ” Death asked the night.

The Night didn’t answer- it never did but she let it in like she always does and probably always will because sometimes when you are faced with darkness or you are darkness itself it’s better to choose to face it with someone you know then to face it with someone you don’t know at all.

Eternity is such a long time.



Never Really Were

Fandango’s Provocative Question #58-What is something you’ve long believed to be true, but you now realize is not true?

Soul Mates



I believed in these things with all of my heart


I realized

that some of the people who believed this

were the most



and lost pieces of human wreckage to be washed up on the shores of life.

I don’t want to be like them, think like them, I never want those words to pass my lips again- unless of course snark is involved.

Now I believe when I go home at night

 my dog will be glad to see me every single time I walk in the door

and  there is no such thing as a  bad tasting

Marshmallow Peep.

Some Peeps are dipped in Crème Fudge.

Life isn’t always fair and some of the people in it are a bust, but it’s usually amusing.

One Liner Wednesday- In Dog I Trust

One-Liner Wednesday – Written Off

Hamish Macbeth 2014
by: A.M. Moscoso

“If I have any beliefs about immortality, it is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven, and very, very few persons.” — James Thurber

I’m hoping that Hamish Macbeth puts in a few good words for me.

 I think he will.


Hamish Macbeth 2020
Photo A.M. Moscoso