The exercise:
Write about: the devil's noose.
This afternoon I was asked to clean a room at Destination Osoyoos that I'd not previously had access to. After I was done they wanted me to close the blinds, which didn't seem like much of a request.
By the time I'd finished fighting with the cord I thought otherwise.
I usually have a shower after I get home from work, which gives me some quiet time to process my day. Tonight while I was in there I started thinking about those blinds and how much I hated the person who tied up the cord, whose tie job I casually referred to as 'the devil's noose'. I liked it so much that I had to make a prompt out of it.
So here we are.
Three days to go!
Mine:
The rope around my neck is impossibly hot. It should be on fire, the way it's burning me. I can almost hear the skin crackling like a steak on a frying pan doused with too much oil. The smell is... I don't want to think about the smell.
I twist this way and that, use my fingers to try to force a gap that can be used to loosen its grip on me. But there is no relief. There is no escape.
The devil's noose has a hold on me and it isn't letting go.
"Are you... comfortable?" a deep, rumbling voice asks. I can feel the echoes reverberating in my chest.
"No!" My voice is hoarse, rasping. My mouth is drier than grains of sand on a midday beach. The pain is... exquisite.
"Exquisite?" His laughter is a monstrous thing. "You flatter me."
"Get out of my head."
"Make me."
The challenge forces my eyes open for the first time. My regret is immediate and immense. Everything is on fire. I try not to look at anything too closely but I still see tormented faces and blackened bones.
I am surrounded by misery.
"Surrounded," he says. "And very much a part of it as well."
The noose tightens and I fall to my knees, clutching at the burning rope with both hands. I can feel the skin on my palms blistering and peeling away. Escape is hopeless but I will not stop fighting. I cannot stop. I must not.
"Oh, you will," he says with that terrible laugh. "You will."
5 comments:
Down here in red rock country
Everywhere you turn are eerie arches and twisted holes,
Very strange, but the weirdest
Incidence of all is the
Leering face in the hangman's noose.
@Morganna: another nice acrostic from you, which you make seem effortless :) The first couple of lines are just fantastic for me, leading in to the rest of the poem and setting the scene; the last line is almost a jump-scare. Very nicely done!
@Marc: being asked to clean a room you were never given access to before in your last week is a red flag! Everyone knows that in the movies and computer games that means you're about to fed to the Lovecraftian monster that the town council summoned to ensure that the Canucks will win this season.... Still, you survived (this time) and you got a story prompt out of the window blinds, which is pretty good going by anyone's standards!
This is a delightfully grim piece from you today, and the devil's noose certainly lives up to its name. I like the gradual reveal of the predicament and the sense of futility that pervades the piece. The devil (I imagine) speaking in the wearer's head is a very nice touch, and the dialogue is restrained and gains power from that. Great work!
Sorry for the double post; it turns out that telling the story took more words than I realised.
The devil's noose
The gardens of the nunnery were quiet: as Sister Belial led Susan along the narrow paved paths through rose bushes, herb borders and fruit trees Susan noticed that the nuns at work out here were the youngest cohort. Sister Belial caught her wandering eyes, and her wrinkled hands came together in a gentle gesture of prayer.
"The Monsignor will be here shortly," said Sister Belial. "And while he will profess an interest in seeing all aspects of our work here he is made less in the image of the Lord and more in the image of a pig. He will not want to walk aimlessly in the gardens, or review the husbandry of the land. He will prefer to stay within the confines of the walls, and so the... more experienced of us will be there to see to his needs." There was a touch of sharpness on the final word, but Susan understood that. The Monsignor was corpulent and ruddy and sweated a lot and seemed to need a startling amount of attention for a man of the cloth.
"This is Bay Laurel," said Sister Belial stopping at a tree whose branches rustled in a soft breeze. She plucked a couple of yellowish-green leaves. "It adds flavour to food, but it is not spicy. We will use it for egg custard to serve as a savoury dish for the Monsignor tonight."
"Will the Monsignor stay the night?"
"He always does." Sister Belial tucked the leaves into a pocket of her habit and led the way to the edges of a fish-pond, large enough that there were two swans living in it. "Here we have mint," said the Sister. "It cleanses the palate but it is a strong, dominant flavour. We pair it with lamb where the sharpness can cut through fattiness." She plucked several bright green leaves from the plant, and a pungent smell rose up from it.
"Isn't that rather a lot?" asked Susan. They walked along the banks of the pond keeping a weather eye on the swans who were preening themselves in the water and enjoying the afternoon sunshine.
"This is lovage," said Sister Belial. "This has a milder flavour but the Monsignor likes it. We will add this and rosemary to the potatoes to be served with the lamb. Sister Amelia will make a gravy with a hint of red wine and the Monsignor will carve the bird. As he always does."
"Lamb isn't a bird," said Susan.
"Exactly."
They walked a little further still, to where the ground squelched underfoot and the mud squeezed out from under the soles of their clogs.
"The Monsignor always takes a room on the same floor as the youngest nuns," said Sister Belial bending over a dark green plant with rosemary-like spears of leaves and holly-like berries. "He wants to show how much he cares for us all by nearest those who are most vulnerable." Her hands pulled a single stem free from the plant.
"This is Devil's noose," she said, looking at it as though puzzled about it being in her hands. She tucked it into her pocket with the other herbs. "It constricts the throat and burns, and without help a man can choke to death in under five minutes from it. It is a dangerous plant to have, but like many dangerous plants it can be a medicine in the right quantity. I am showing it to you so you understand not to pick it when preparing food. It has a moderately strong flavour, a little like mint though perhaps a touch icier."
Susan looked around them, and smiled at the swans. Then she turned back to Sister Belial. "I am sorry, Sister," she said sincerely. "I was distracted and didn't hear a word you said."
Marc: I loved the internal struggle with this. I could clearly see our protagonist flailing haplessly from the noose, panic and defiance in equal measure.
Morganna: I can't really say anything that Greg didn't. I'm jealous of your ability, and this is a very tight acrostic.
Greg: I want to read more of these two. I want to watch the Monsignor die. It was very compelling.
I wanted to try this one as a poem. I don't often dabble in poetry; I've been awkward at it since I was a kid. So, I'm sorry in advance.
---
The Devil’s Noose
Bitter lack of foresight,
Thus evil wrought its seeds.
Anger bathed in torchlight;
He would pay for his deeds.
“Satan! Dark Messiah!”
They roared, bloodlust swelling.
“Death to the pariah!”
Rage is quite compelling.
They broke into his shack,
But their target slipped loose.
He fled, no turning back;
Air-dancing from a noose.
Their fury can’t abate,
Since evil dodged its fate.
Morganna - that's fantastic, and it's an acrostic as well! Impressed, as usual.
Greg - hah, it is, isn't it? I'm glad I wasn't in your frame of mind going in there :P
Thanks for the kind words on mine.
Really enjoyed the progression of this. I do hope the Monsignor will enjoy his meal as much as he deserves to.
Kyle - thanks!
And we're all here to practice, so I'm glad you took the opportunity to do so with this one :)
It's hard to pick a favorite line, so I think I shall declare a tie between 'Rage is quite compelling.' and 'Air-dancing from a noose.'
I hope you are inspired to share more of your poetry with us!
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