Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Silver Spoon Smith

Prenote: So I decided I should probably start really using this blog instead of just letting it exist, here's some free writting I started while treeplanting. It began as just an outlet but it has grown into a fully formed idea in my mind for a short novel, it's basically about god if god wasn't aware he was god. But I call him Smith instead. It's title in progress is Silver Spoon Smith, enjoy!

His brown hair flowed like art nouveau and the sting of hot water fell down his back as he screamed she knew he loved it. The images in his mind only added to the intensity.

"This is what having a boner must feel like"

The dust on the walls and the grime on the their bare feet shivered in shock. real life has a way of imprinting itself on it's surroundings. For generations to come young children will be sent to fetch in the basement and scamper their way back upstairs from a sudden and unexplainable chill. The feeling of being followed, stalked, hunted. As adults we talk our way out of it, logic is the antidote to fear and all fear is irrational. As adults we are built by logic. logic and order, simple reasoning is what makes us human. Except when your body is slowly being stretched and torn and tested and you like it. Like Smith. Smith loved it. But he didn't like that he loved it. Most peolple dread physical pain but Smith loves it. It's the emotional confliction in the aftermath that always trys him. The disillusionment, the final curve in the downward spiral, the moment he thinks, fuck I've done it again. and I'm alone to blame for my own foolishness.

She was more then hired and less then clothed. He couldn't see her so he imagined her. The friendship had come as a surprise. But the more he got to know her the less he cared.

3 o'clock, time for the whippings, but the tray felt lighter today, she gave too much wrist. The corner hit a tupperware and silver spoons were scattered across the cold concrete floor. Big, little, decorated and plain, soup spoons, ladles, desert spoons and cavier spoons. Each representing a member of the familt tree, each individual and characterisitc of it's living or non-living counterpart. Each utensil had evolved with the corresponding entity, growing from a small insignificant slice of silver to a fully formed and functional, personalized spoon. Smith had one. HIs didn't grow atthe rate the others had and he had recently been increasingly concerned by this. There was no fairy of spoon knowledge to ask. No parents to enquire to, only remnants and artifacts. He was never told why the spoons existed, only that he would be king and he should be good. That's all he got.