A Poe Woman’s Reflection

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

Photo by Immortal shots on Pexels.com

Be a new kind of Demon, be a unique Werewolf, have you thought about the endless

possibilities that joining  the ranks of Vampires, Zombies and Witches hold?

Have you even wondered if you have the talent for casting curses,  the stomach for cannibalism or the upper body strength required for grave robbing?

I wonder about it all of the time

because I never sleep.

Lucky for me,  that doesn’t stop me from dreaming.

 

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.

Photo by Emma Bauso on Pexels.com

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.

Photo by Francesco Paggiaro on Pexels.com

 

Horace Says

According to my clock, it’s time to wake up

according to my calendar there are places I should be

according to the note I left myself, there are books I’m supposed to read

according to Universe and all of the planet therein

if I drop one or the other

the Heavens will continue to spin.

DAILY ADDICTIONS: DAY

Percival

RDP Tuesday: SCRAP

 

Bits and pieces from my life

before it was mine to live

hanging from a branch on a dying tree

spit here the commercial says

and

you can watch it come back to life and live!

 

I guess you could say I’m haunted by the past

by those names and dates and faces

but to be fair I have become aware

that maybe

I haunted Percival’s future.

Percival Godfrey

 

 

 

The Best Day Ever

 

The roaring in her ears finally stopped

and now

 she could hear music, her favorite

she heard Mozart.

 

The constant jostling and pulling and stretching stopped too

she didn’t have to run she could rest right where she was

at last she could take a deep breath and savor it.

Now she could smell the flowers, she could close her eyes

she could smile

because now

she was and will always be

The Beautiful Cadaver.

 

RDP Monday: SERENE