Thursday January 9th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: tendrils.

While Kat and Max were busy at StrongStart this morning I did a bunch of driving around to pick up some things. First I went up to Oliver to grab some photos of Max we had developed for his first year album, then I went across the border to retrieve a couple packages we'd ordered online.

This afternoon I took Max to the barbershop to get the second haircut of his young life, as his hair had been getting in his eyes for a while. To pass time as we waited he spent a lot time pointing at the barber's dog and dancing to the music on the stereo.

I would share video of his dancing skills but every single time he sees me holding my camera or my phone he stops to inspect them. Every time.

Mine:

They cover the floor,
Climb the door,
Crawl across the ceiling,
Leave me feeling...
*Twitch*
Surrounded.

I worry they might,
In the night,
Attack one of these years.
Surely those fears...
*Scritch*
Unfounded?

2 Comments:

Greg said...

Oliver sounds like the name of a photographer rather than a town! And going across the border to retrieve a package definitely sounds dodgy :) It sounds like Max has got your plans to accumulate a collection of blackmail material sussed though. Wait until he's figured out to how to access your laptop....
Great little poem; fantastic rhythm and subject. Just enough to make the reader feel a little... itchy. I think it would be rather good as a live performance!

Tendrils
Johnson was digging. The tree, which was old and dead and had been struck by lightning at least twice this year, needed to come out. He plunged his spade back into the dark, loamy earth with a crunch. The roots of the tree seemed to be ridiculously well-established. He looked up, wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his red flannel shirt. Good grief! He was fifteen feet from the tree now, and still finding roots!
He looked down, and levered the spade up. Soil came out and away, and the root in the hole writhed.
Writhed?
As the tendrils of the thing that had been pretending to be an old dead tree started to curl their way up his leg and around his torso, he started screaming.

Marc said...

Greg - all on the up and up, I assure you :)

Yeah. I really need to figure out a hidden camera system, as he likes to turn to us for approval (or applause) when he's doing something cute, and that's when he spots the camera.

Thank you for your kind words on mine, though I'm not sure about performing this one :P

Ugh, so creepy. Very good! I love how the whole thing turns on a single word: writhed.