Corner Of My Eye

SFC Adventure Calander Day One-PORTALS

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Is the portal that I am looking a scarred oak door with leather hinges  in a haunted house?

Is it a coffin lid, soft and eaten away with wood rot and mold shrouded in dust in a crypt made of rough stones and broken marble?

Is the portal a broken window? The attic stairs in my Nan’s empty house?  That dark corner, in my Aunt’s sewing room that smells like vanilla when it gets cold outside?

Is the portal I need to find, to make the words for my stories come alive  truly a door, or could  it be a candle in a dark window that a lonely lost soul like me can see from miles and years away?

Is the portal a door or is it a shadow that I think I see for moments at a time from the corner of my eye?

Not Quite Alice

Inspired By SFC ” Monday Madness

This is a clown fish at home.

The Clown Fish lives with Sea Anemones where it is protected by the Sea Anemones’s stinging tentacles. The Sea Anemone also provides the Clown Fish with food.  In turn the Clown fish protects The Sea Anemone from it’s parasites and predators and it feeds the Anemone too- and the only thing I can compare that  feeding too is when my dog used to eat my cat’s poo from the litter box.

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This is the Amanita Muscaria- it’s a relative of the Destroying Angel.  The Destroying Angel will kill you. End of Story. Full stop. If you know what you’re doing Amanita Muscaria you won’t kill you, but it will make you very sick.

Photographer Unknown

This is a dress that I think was inspired by Amanita Muscaria- I thought when I saw it  thought that I would  like like a Princess from a Fairy Tale preserved in one of those old volumes you see under lock and key at an antique shop.

What would the caption under my picture say of me in my dress-? Would I be standing or dancing? Would I be on the arm of a Prince or would I be entering The Great Hall with a sly smile on my lips?

Anita Moscoso- the caption under the picture of me in my dress might say- she won’t kill you but if you don’t know what you’re doing she could make you really, really sick.

Photographer Unknown

Photographer Unknown

She Could Be Pretty, If She Tried.

Inspired By The Bancroft Prompt: Will You Visit The House of Usher?

Photo by Emma Bauso on Pexels.com

Every morning

I try to make myself look pleasant, I try to make myself pretty and acceptable  and most of all approachable.

” Look Good, Feel Good, Do Good ” I saw that on my Facebook news feed. So I try to do what Facebook says because maybe I’ll fit in, from what I have seen, if you can speak Facebook and follow it’s teachings  you are halfway to being invited into the human race.

As I have in the past, I hope that today is the day I get it right and maybe today is the day I don’t feel like that one piece of rotten fruit in the overflowing fancy antique crystal fruit bowl of life.

I wash my face, I brush my hair, and I softly chant those magic words, ” Look Good. Feel Good. Do Good.”

As I apply my eyeliner I whisper those words, as I put on my lipstick and dust blush onto my cheeks I raise my voice and sing it to the Universe.

I lift my chin make sure I’ve properly blended my powders and creams and colors that are guaranteed to make me look sun kissed and vibrant and alive and approachable and God help me…loveable.

I want to be loveable most of all.

Will it work?

I don’t know, it hasn’t yet.

I must be missing something, some small detail  that makes people not take the seat next to me on the train even though all of the other seats are full, or the way they try not brush up against me when I’m walking down a busy sidewalk.

Can it be fixed with the right scarf? The right color of lip gloss? If I can find it, I know I can correct it.

I look into my mirror and I start to cry because I’m beginning to think that that memes from social media or expensive cosmetics are going to help me and I don’t know why.

I cover my ears with my hands so I won’t hear myself sobbing and then I think-maybe if I put my hair up and twist it into a knot and hold it in place with a pen or clips. That might do the  trick I desperately hope as I run into my bedroom and grab a pen and some hairclips.

I run back into my bathroom, I stand up straight I smile confidently  into my mirror and I lift my hair up into a ponytail and that’s when I see the incision and the thread near my collarbone  that the Mortician used to sew me back up after she embalmed me.

I poke at it a little and think maybe I should do something about that too.

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At The Top Of The Stairs

Inspired By The Bancroft Manor Prompt: Will You Visit The House of Usher?

Photo by Yoss Cinematic on Pexels.com

My Aunt has a room

at the top of the stairs

where she does all of her writing

and all of her dreaming

and most of her plotting.

 

The  door, at the top of the stairs with the not very rusted hinges is never locked.

No  matter what the weather is like her windows are  never shuttered.

The  unbleached muslin curtains are always tied away from the windows with ribbon she saved from a Christmas present she got from my Grandmother when she was a girl.

The present was a doll that disappeared a few days after Christmas and my Father says my Grandfather asked about it a few days later and my Aunt looked out the window towards the lake and shrugged.

And then she laughed.

 

In my Aunt’s room

at the top of the stairs  she always has a fan running in the corner, it sounds like someone sharpening knives we have decided.

The fan ( an old fashioned one we presumed ) relentlessly whispers,

when you are trying to sleep or decide what to wear or when you are trying to watch TV or fall asleep,  in it’s a smooth metallic voice  interrupted by a clink and a thunk and then silence for a mere second before it started up again.

 

My Aunt has a room at the top of the stairs.

and there is a

welcome signed nailed to the door.

 

The sign is made from pressed tin and has tiny bluebirds stamped around the edges.

But something about that fan whirling relentlessly in the corner,

makes  the friendly, delicate sign seem less inviting.

It is hung on the door with a nail that was far to big

for such a small sign and it had been driven in so deep the sign was slightly folded and it looked like the Blue Birds were going to fly into each other.

 

My Aunt has a room at the top of the stairs

where she does all of her writing, all of her plotting and some of her dreaming.

and we admire her as much as we fear her

because to do what she does, takes  talent and dedication and I must say,  frightening amounts of supernatural focus and drive

when you consider

she is buried a good ten miles away from our house.

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