Categories > Original > Drama
The Rituals and the Cure
3 ReviewsI wrote this for my event, the Poetry to Stories challenge. -Adnarim Smada
The Rituals and the Cure.
A Poetry to Stories entry
Poem #1
Written by Adnarim Smada
Author's Note: So as you all know this is based off my friend Cecilia's poem "Tramps Like Us". When I first read it, it put such a scene in my mind and what happened was I had to develop a plot around it. I know this is kind of abstract but I hope you guys can make sense of it. Please review and let me know how you like it. Thank you.
-Adnarim Smada
The smell of the soil rose fragrantly around her as her back hit the drying grass of the early fall that was still desperately trying to cling on to its last shade of green. A dark but graying beat down wooden frame of an old shack sat in the corner of her vision. The evergreens circled this clearing blocking her car, the wild flowers and what some might call the natural weeds dotted the land all around her in clusters.
She always came here without fail. Who knew what the argument was about this time? There were much too many to count. The bag in her pocket though was enough to forget them. Ah, having your mellow that harshed or whatever could never be a good thing.
Her relationship was toxic just like the stuff she had rolled up into the paper. The dandelion seeds? Not so much. They were mainly a thickener and a flavor thing alone. She never liked to inhale too much of the crap. Use but not abuse.
That was a disturbing concept. When does the line between simple use and out right abuse get crossed? She couldn't even figure that out with the boyfriend. He would never lay his hands on her no, but it wasn't her personality to be anything but submissive when the insults would fly during a particularly bad fight.
This chick wasn't all peaches and cream either mind you but artists don't tend to be. You better believe that she could hold her own and act just as nasty or more so. The issue was that side rarely came out, the one that forced her to stand up for herself and fight. Her mind would rather be on the creative side of life. Deep down, she was too afraid of losing him.
No matter. There was no need to ponder that at the current point in time. Her heart lightened as her blue eyes dilated. Everything was a thing of beauty. The world around her had become so vivid. What would be the fruit of this labor? Some kind of weaved, complicated story, a song perhaps, or maybe an exact match of this Van Gogh like swirling atmosphere on canvas.
Most importantly, this real life expressionist painting would sweeten the one who could be just as messed up as she is back into her favor. Her partner would be back. It was a vicious cycle. She never knew to where he disappeared but they both could always smell the tell tale smoke on each other.
It was their intoxication, I suppose it was the way they always made each other worried sick was how they stayed together. It was more likely than not having such bad insecurity complexes they would topple into oblivion without their succubuses. Guilt trips are a powerful thing and extremely influential. They are something that ever since the fall of man that people have tried to avoid.
This little ritual was barely enough anymore. It occurred to her as her mind slowing regained its speed that she'd need to try more drastic measures as she made her way back to him. They always tried to one up each other, it was how they functioned.
That evening, she got up her courage and broke it off. Her man was devastated or maybe he was acting? She could never be sure.
Oh, how she was bluffing. It nearly killed her inside doing it. There was no turning back though. He would have to come crawling back to her. It was the only way this could work and he knew he would. This couldn't be final. It was another one of his "lover's" dirty tricks. Couples had to keep up their spice in truth.
Life has a funny way of returning us to certain types of people over and over. It's always either the ones we need or the ones who poison us.
In exactly seven days, she was right back where she had started after another dispute no less. This was her cure, he was her doctor as she was the same for him and she didn't think they would ever stop writing each other the same, repetitive perscription.
A Poetry to Stories entry
Poem #1
Written by Adnarim Smada
Author's Note: So as you all know this is based off my friend Cecilia's poem "Tramps Like Us". When I first read it, it put such a scene in my mind and what happened was I had to develop a plot around it. I know this is kind of abstract but I hope you guys can make sense of it. Please review and let me know how you like it. Thank you.
-Adnarim Smada
The smell of the soil rose fragrantly around her as her back hit the drying grass of the early fall that was still desperately trying to cling on to its last shade of green. A dark but graying beat down wooden frame of an old shack sat in the corner of her vision. The evergreens circled this clearing blocking her car, the wild flowers and what some might call the natural weeds dotted the land all around her in clusters.
She always came here without fail. Who knew what the argument was about this time? There were much too many to count. The bag in her pocket though was enough to forget them. Ah, having your mellow that harshed or whatever could never be a good thing.
Her relationship was toxic just like the stuff she had rolled up into the paper. The dandelion seeds? Not so much. They were mainly a thickener and a flavor thing alone. She never liked to inhale too much of the crap. Use but not abuse.
That was a disturbing concept. When does the line between simple use and out right abuse get crossed? She couldn't even figure that out with the boyfriend. He would never lay his hands on her no, but it wasn't her personality to be anything but submissive when the insults would fly during a particularly bad fight.
This chick wasn't all peaches and cream either mind you but artists don't tend to be. You better believe that she could hold her own and act just as nasty or more so. The issue was that side rarely came out, the one that forced her to stand up for herself and fight. Her mind would rather be on the creative side of life. Deep down, she was too afraid of losing him.
No matter. There was no need to ponder that at the current point in time. Her heart lightened as her blue eyes dilated. Everything was a thing of beauty. The world around her had become so vivid. What would be the fruit of this labor? Some kind of weaved, complicated story, a song perhaps, or maybe an exact match of this Van Gogh like swirling atmosphere on canvas.
Most importantly, this real life expressionist painting would sweeten the one who could be just as messed up as she is back into her favor. Her partner would be back. It was a vicious cycle. She never knew to where he disappeared but they both could always smell the tell tale smoke on each other.
It was their intoxication, I suppose it was the way they always made each other worried sick was how they stayed together. It was more likely than not having such bad insecurity complexes they would topple into oblivion without their succubuses. Guilt trips are a powerful thing and extremely influential. They are something that ever since the fall of man that people have tried to avoid.
This little ritual was barely enough anymore. It occurred to her as her mind slowing regained its speed that she'd need to try more drastic measures as she made her way back to him. They always tried to one up each other, it was how they functioned.
That evening, she got up her courage and broke it off. Her man was devastated or maybe he was acting? She could never be sure.
Oh, how she was bluffing. It nearly killed her inside doing it. There was no turning back though. He would have to come crawling back to her. It was the only way this could work and he knew he would. This couldn't be final. It was another one of his "lover's" dirty tricks. Couples had to keep up their spice in truth.
Life has a funny way of returning us to certain types of people over and over. It's always either the ones we need or the ones who poison us.
In exactly seven days, she was right back where she had started after another dispute no less. This was her cure, he was her doctor as she was the same for him and she didn't think they would ever stop writing each other the same, repetitive perscription.
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