Exploding Words for #StoryADay May; Day Fourteen

The Prompt:

  • I had a nightmare last night. I woke up and started writing….

Exploding Words:

Nightmare fades into wakefulness. Marilyn tears at the head of the ragdoll she named Mrs. Fixit, finds the pipe and the lighter. She thanks herself for having the foresight to have made a stash – even when things were tight, she’s always tucked some away from every score, so she’ll never run out – at least, not so long as no one suspects about her little rag friends.

Which means she needs to fix up Mrs. Fixit. But not just yet – there’s Ophelia, sound asleep on the floor. She won’t see anything or know. Marilyn will be all done, everything put away, secrets hidden, before her sister wakes up.

She lights, inhales. And again. And again.

Then once more.

She should take care of the evidence right now, before she forgets. But there are words in her – that was the dream, wasn’t it? She was full of words, exploding words that were held under too much pressure….

And now she feels them again. Filling her up, crushing each other. Crushing her internal organs and her brain and her breath. She has to get them out, or they’ll crush and suffocate and drown her, all at once.

She needs a pen. She scootches around Ophelia, goes to her study. Yes. There’s a brand new pack of colored markers, just right. She can give the words colors, beauty, power.

She starts with her arms and legs. She strips off all her clothes, writes everywhere she can reach. The words come and come – they’re breeding faster than rabbits inside her; she can’t write fast enough. She goes back to the pipe, twice more, and that helps.

Now she’s out of skin, so she starts with the white bodies of the dolls. But even that’s not enough….too many words, too few dolls. So she goes to the sheet, the quilt, and the walls. But even that’s not right.

She needs to put the words with their friends, give them a real home. She remembers the fat volume of Shakespeare. There couldn’t be a better place, could there?

She’s humming, feeling loose and light and free as she decorates the book, gives the words inside her back to it.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Ophelia is standing there, arms on narrow hips, staring at her.

“I had a nightmare last night. When I woke up, I started writing.”

What is Marilyn writing?

Has she given away her secrets?

Will Ophelia see Mrs. Fixit?

Any guesses?

Come back tomorrow for another installment, and we can explore this new story seed together!

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