Tuesday Telangiectasia
{To have a broken vein, the sort that colloquially could be just renamed "internal hemorrhaging" if sustained long enough. For a sufferer of telangiectasia is a person cursed to suffer as blood slowly seeps out from the veins and blood lets out throughout the entire body. It will require all the stitching in the World, medical corrections and artificial gear to reconstitute the body back to working shape long past the end of telangiectasia... Today's post is three-semi-connected entries for @jayna's Microfiction Contest with a 250-word, 100-word and 50-word tasker in that respective order for how they appear... No music-aide for today...}
My sketchy sketch, just fit the theme of stitches
- Nurse on duty -
Floating done the church halls, a vestige phases through the stone masonry. Materializing and lighting up the area around her, the spooky lass's eyes scan the room. Flusters of cold air quietly swim around, only hinted by the white puffs that form to later dissipate. The lass's arms clinging unto a handle, the container sings the roll outwards as it presents a stitched up cadaver.
"So this is where they kept McMaligan. Now what did it want, where's that letter?... Here it is! So I should do this, 'Spooky please unsow the stitches and steal the heart, later sowing back the stitches better than the moratorium had done it' and some other gibberish. Alright, now unto work!"
A needle, chinking loudly to only the cold air, forms inside of Spooky's hands. Each stitch cursing each press of the needle undoing its firm placement, yet the cadaver ever-accepting as it cannot resist. The body sighing out a decompression, the opened-up wound exposed to her eyes what her inquirer wished. The cadaver giving yelps despite the mouth firm shut and the voice-box long destroyed. The displaced heart sagged on her hands before screaming with the first-aid cooler of the hard slam into it. A smile cracking on her lips as her hands progressively sowed back the body, her first-aid cooler quirked as her body began floating away and phasing through the stone masonry.
"These cultists always rambling on about hearts, but why this... hmph, poor corpse's stitched but won't be buried whole."
- Hundred stitches -
"So here's the cadaver of McMaligan, what should we do o Father?"
"Well Deacon Barnolfi, appears that the moratorium had done their jobs; a fine job with those stitches. The best I've seen in a while for any ol' cadaver."
"Indeed Father, hundred was the count for this one."
"O Almighty, what had this poor yokel done to deserve a fate with this many stitches involved?"
"Victim of a TNT incident, peppering the miner in the mountain with gunpowder all about. I'm rather surprised the cadaver's still holding up, yet a hundred sounds a fair trade off for bodily integrity"
- Fifty holes -
The miner's ears caught wind of sacred treasure, the explosive rig stitched on site. Hands racing down to the earth, the plunger screamed yet the cave echoed not the expected. Legs scrambling, the eyes catching late the vestige ungrasping the wiring. Becoming fifty holes, the eyes wouldn’t see the treasure.
Two Things: Been thinking about making independent posts soon enough (other than the one I made for mój Ukochany) and need to get back to drawing. Hue, I really need to get back to the groove despite this being part of the vacation.
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This post was submitted for curation by: @theironfelix
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Intriguing pieces, @theironfelix! You have a way of creating a mood and a scene, even though I sometimes can't quite tell what is really going on.
These lines made me shiver:
Wow, that's some eye-popping writing!
I feel like that story could really be powerful if you decide to work on it some more. Do you belong to any writing groups? I could really see your writing taking off if you rub elbows with other writers to get feedback on what works well, and see where you might change words around, add clarity, and so on. For example, this line is super interesting, but not quite clear to me:
I've never seen writing quite like yours before. I think you have some very interesting potential to explore!
UwU ~ Thanks for reading, thanks for the highlights and thanks for the compliments! Surrealism is the game here, albeit it's done more in a cartoon-realistic (in every sense of the term you can think of right now) way. And nothing escapes the periphery of a drunken mood like mines when I feel like I need to amp up the Surreal factor to Horror levels.
(On that actually, my entire writing style has been, for a while, a mocking experiment to push the "Show and don't tell" rule to it's logical conclusion. And that method is by ridiculing it at its progresses on throughout the story. While to eventually reveal the hyprocrisy of showing in writing is just telling a story more eloquently. That and I was outright drunk typing that all up. One more preface: I suffered a stunted language learning process, had a speech impediment, and I had to learn English all pecking alone... Until I could speak it well enough and understood the unwritten rules... Even then I think I tend to make explicit the unwritten rules to much without giving the subtlety it deserves.)
But anyways, yah think I haven't. If you want a clear and precise way of thinking of what I am exploring right now: think about how someone would try to explain to a blind person what's happening in a 1930s animation skit featuring Mickey Mouse or Pop Eye the Sailor as the lead protagonists. As such: still exploring the many ways to mock such a rule and give literary reasons to respect the tell part and think it not Satan's armpits.