The Word Cloud

Toast AWOL

We have to be quite selfless. It’s OK. Nourishing someone is a worthy existence. But, sometimes, disintegration can be hilariously deferred.

Trevor usually grabs as we leap from the toaster. He’s fast! But, this time, Splodge barked. Trevor was distracted.
Frisbee athlete, Splodge, caught me instead. He tore out, buckling me through the back door dog flap.
I really don’t mind who eats me. However, the hated Postman was now at the gate. So, I was abandoned on the garden path to a furious fanfare of disappearing barking.
A watchful seagull swooped me airborne, only to be mobbed by a cacophony of crows.
My colour paled on being jettisoned earthward.
‘Not the road!’ I dreaded. ‘It’s so demeaning!’
No, a pushchair, being marched along the pavement, saved my crumbs. It careened for the corner, blindly colliding with the shopping trolley of a delivery lad. I slid off the pushchair, down, into a passing newspaper.
Several doors along I was posted back home, wrapped.

Later, Trevor, busy reading the paper with his lunch, unwittingly lifted me, a somewhat abused, morsel that had gone AWOL for a while, to his mouth.

Life flashed past and then . . . oblivion.

Alarm Clock

Why do you hate me? I sit patiently beside your bed waiting for your instructions. You set me before you sleep. Through the long hours of the night I watch over you. My quiet tick is the only sound in the room. But you aren’t listening are you? You sleep. Some nights I watch as you toss and turn in your tangled sheets. You raise bleary lids, reach out to grab me and sigh into my face. I feel the juddering impact as you slam me back onto the table.

I dream. I am Big Ben looking out over the Thames. Thousands of people pose before me eager to be photographed in my presence. I am the station clock - anxiously monitored every minute of the day.

Time for you to wake now. I call out to you, waking you from your dreams. Your hand smashes into my head. I wait a few more minutes then call out again. You groan and send me flying across the room.

I wait patiently on the floor.

Light fills the room. You move me to the bedside table where I sit and doze in the sunlight. I wait.

An apple in a blender

A Condom


I'm snug here, rolled in foil close to two mates. At least I think they're mates - that's what it says on the packet, along with 'Buy me and stop one'. Quite what I'm supposed to stop I'm not sure; there was talk in the factory of where we might end up - 'down the pan' and 'in a car park' were mentioned - but nobody told us our purpose. 'It'll come to you' they would say with a snigger. Well it hasn't yet.

At last! Action, the big, wide world. Klutz! Careful with those fingernails. Whoa! That's a bit tight. I know we should be stretched in our work, but this is ridiculous. Now where am I going? Oh! It's warm in here, and slippery, and dark. Now light, now dark, light, dark, light, dark. Come on, make up your mind, in or out. Finally - it's in. Yuk, what's that? No - it's out again. Now I'm losing my shape, sagging, wrinkling. Oy vey! Old age already. Cast off - I'm down the pan. It's cold in these pipes, cold, dark and smelly. I'd rather be in a car park. At least I'd have a view.

A Tiramisu
Sexy isn’t the word. I’m tantalising.
The moment I appear, bodies tremble in knowledge of their weakness and inability to resist, for everyone has a penchant for my rapturous refinement. Mouths water in my presence, lips quiver in anticipation and tongues dance with excitement at the imminence of debauchery. It’s only a question of time: minutes, seconds.
Attractive isn’t the word. I’m delectable.
Eyes cast innocent glances upon my body, whose sweetness continues to entice. My vision erases from their minds all morals and honourable conceptions. Minds lock within the snare and drift into thoughts of decadence. Once the eyes and minds have feverishly fest upon me, I hear moans of anticipated pleasure. Magnetically falling to the depths of desire, indulgence and dishonour, the lamentations grow stronger till cheeky fingers delve in without asking and lap up every part of me till I am no more.
In no time at all, it’s all over, and a breeze of satisfaction fills the air. But I feel a sensation of betrayal. I want to be appreciated for 'me' inside and not be taken, so to speak, so impulsively.
It’s not my fault; I was simply confectioned that way.

The Leaf

Hey man, feel those solar cells kicking in? That’s spring sunshine, man. Don’t you just want to roll out your edges and soak it up? Cra-zy. The old waterworks doin’ the biz, keeping us cool. This is the life, man. Roll on summer. I could get used to this.

Feel your capillaries buzzing? That’s energy, man. Green. Environment stuff. So you’re high on CO₂? Hey man, whatever turns you on, that’s cool. It’s still cleaning the air. Suckin’ up the acid rain and breathin’ in the gasses. Yeah man.

‘Summer time, and the breathin’ is easy…’ Crazy.

Your capillaries feel stiff, or is it just me? Sunshine ain’t so warm, neither. Need my chlorophyll fix, man. Come on, dudes, I need more than that. Look at me, all blotchy. I need sorted, man.

Veins brittle. I’m brown, not green. This ain’t no life for an environmentalist like me. I feel dry, man. Life all sucked out. I don’t think my stem cells can hold on much longer. They –

Oh man - I’m falling!

Floating… hey, I think I’m OK, man.

Stopped.

Settled. Just… lie here a bit. Can’t seem to… Maybe… Oh man, what’s…? Am I…? Is this…?

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…I’m re…cyc…ling

A bit late, but I am a newbie!

The Needle.

An orange cap covers the sharp syringe attached to a plastic tube, sterilized, pristine for the moment.

The same type of needle used by junkies the world over seeking solace; the high that helps them forget for a short time as they plunge the almost lethal drugs into their veins.

Without hesitation, I fill the needle with the required dose and press it into my body. I discard the needle by replacing the orange cap and then snap the sharp end from the tube. A container used to store the now far from sterile and useless syringe lies on my bathroom counter.

I have used needles such as this for thirty years, yet I appear normal to everyone around me. No dilation of my pupils, no haggard looks. In fact I appear like a typical healthy male of indeterminate age.

Withdrawal from the fluids entering my body will not be of use. I am ‘hooked’ for the rest of my life.

Do I care? The answer is yes and no. Yes, because without this injection I will be lifeless. No, because I know the hormones I use keeps my blood sugar close to normal.

Insulin is my key to life.

(An oldie - I didn't have time to do anything new)

A Park Bench

Sniggering teenagers, trying to be cool,
scrawl “U R gay” on one of my bare arms.
A scruffy terrier on a seemingly endless
extendable lead pisses up my leg.
Others laugh at me, safe in well-lit positions
while a guy fucks a girl, her head resting on my back.
A tramp who smells of old shit instead of Old Spice
lies prostrate on top of me, vomits on the floor by my feet.
Nobody wants my seclusion in the rain, walking by
huddled in overcoats. I sit naked but for a lick of paint.
Council employees forget to empty the bin by my side
and pigeon shit sticks to me, catching the weary unawares.
A woman sits and weeps, guzzling cheap vodka,
mascara tracks on her face as she swallows her pills.
I want to put my arms around her but I can’t reach,
I sit in silence, unable to offer anything but hard comfort.
The sound of sirens, paramedics lift her from my lap,
too late, and the newspaper headline tells the story.
OD woman found slumped on park bench
I was her final resting place.

Well, well, what a good comp this was. Really good standard of entries. Good enough to do again sometime, methinks.

Loads of quality here. If I were here to pick a favourite sentence, then I'd go for Nick's "I lived, I flew and we both died." But I'm not here to pick a sentence, and I'm going to go with my heart on this and choose RedSkyAtNight's The Ring. (#10 above). RedSky - it's flowers or fizz for you. Just let me know which you'd prefer and where it should go to.

I'd also strongly like to dispute any suggestion that there's any nepotism involved here. I'll admit that WellReadSkyatNight is like a sister to me, but plain old RedSky I barely know.

Well done all. Give yourselves all a pat on the back and say two nice things to yourself. Right now.