Prompt: Sad Pomeranian

“Write a sad story about a Pomeranian.”– P.L.

Note: This piece contains direct references to animal cruelty. Please read at your own discretion. Also, thank you to the prompter for giving me this chance to revive beloved characters from an old story, but apologies for the poor quality of this piece… alright, enough self-criticizing, time to just post it.

It’s a cruel game.

In the face of murder, the humans only laugh.

Silence is Golden

He remembered the little pompom from back home. He recognized that under-curl to the tail, that ruffled muff around its neck, those round and scared black eyes. What confirmed it was the crook to the ear, the birth defect that had the pup put up ‘free to a good home’ by show-mongering owners.

So what Miles couldn’t understand was why the Pomeranian was here.

Cemetery Seekers

(A part of a short story collection of mine titled Ambiance. This is simply one of many that I wanted to share with the growing views of this blog.)

gravescaper@launchpad.com

<19 September 2007>

aaaaah junior yeaaaaar – all the work’s going to cut into my cemetery-time for sure… ugh. but hey on the bright side you’re finally getting skype so i'll finally get to see that ugly face of yours (don’t deny it, that’s your only viable excuse for avoiding video chat for all this time).

god, who knows if i've been talking about graves to a serial killer for three years.

oh and btw i lost that email with your address. are you serious about this pen pal thing? it just sounds like a crapload of work to me.

tm_wake@vmail.org

<September 20, 2007>

First of all, I’ll say this now: if you complain about your workload while I’m working on my extended essay, I will hunt you down in that frozen wasteland you call a country just to punch you in the face.

Cemetery Seekers

December 22^nd, 2010

It’s gotten cold. Makes sense, since it’s winter and all, but it’s even colder here than it is back at home. Probably isn’t as cold as where you are, though. How you survive so far up north, I’ll never know. And before you start, I don’t want to know. I like my temperate climate just fine.

Still, I guess a change in environment isn’t too bad once in a while. Even though the winter here is so dry and frigid, even though they’re all wearing mantles of snow, the trees here are still green. That’s why they call them ‘evergreens’, I suppose. The forest is astoundingly dense, as if they’re all huddling together to brace against the wind like penguins. If you’re laughing, shut up and let me attempt to be poetic for just three damn minutes.

Here, it’s different from the cemetery back home.

The Color of Darkness

It isn't black.

The color of darkness, that is.

That nameless shade of darker grey that blankets our vision in the absence of light - it isn't nameless at after all. The German have a word for it: eigengrau

'Intrinsic Grey'.That's what it means. That's what it is. Simple as that.

Yet, nowadays, most people do not know the word, do not recognize the darkness as a color. They give the color other titles instead, unfeeling ones meant to offer a degree of explanation, such as 'visual noise' or 'background adaptation' or some other and scientists grasp for some proper explanation for why such a phenomenon exists.

Science is advancement. Something positive, but...

... isn't it nice to think that the color of nothing has a name as well?

Imagine it in a storybook, a word in a description of some person or a feeling.

"His eyes weren't black. It was a softer sort of darkness, the kind that seemed to fade into the shadows when you turn off the lights. Eigengrau - that was the word for it, for the softer, gentler sort of darkness that envelops you before you sleep. His eyes were that very shade.

Maybe that's how he made people feel so at ease."

It isn't bad, once in a while, to unplug everything that glows, draw the curtains, kill the lights, and just stare into that lightless expanse of grey.

Eigengrau

Once in a while

It isn’t bad

To just unplug the glows

Draw the drapes

Kill the lights

And stare into

That dark and endless

Nothingness

That vast expanse of grey