Daily Drabble 30: Corpses

"It must be weird with all of the corpses."

"What?"

"For the trees."

"Still not followin' ya, hon."

"So what if all the statues were like actually corpses? And some other something uses them to do whatever."

"Is this what your fancy college classes, I paying for, teach you?"

"No dad! I thought of this on my own. Like electrical poles are the corpses of trees and they're all around the living trees. Isn't that sad?"

"Well... bodies, buried in the ground, once broken down, feed the trees. So they use our corpses too."

"Isn't the circle of life grand?"

Daily Drabble 27: Invasive Nature

Today I saw this quote:

"Yes, all of the ants die in the process, but given the ants’ invasive nature and the abundance of the species, it’s hardly worth losing any sleep over."

In a galaxy far beyond our own, another species looked down at us. As it poured molten lava from the sky, it said, “Yes, all of the humans die in the process, but given the humans' invasive nature and the abundance of the species, it's hardly worth losing any sleep over.”

The art that’s made from the dead human civilizations is beautiful.

“I call this one, Pompeii.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGJ2jMZ-gaI

Daily Drabble 26: Funeral Town

If you find yourself in a town beyond the cities, where nature ends and society is lost, you are in Funeral Town. Life in Funeral Town moves at a different pace. There are graveyards on every corner and the parades of the dead extend for miles. The carriages who are not part of the processionals, will wait patiently. As the hearses are pulled through the streets, the people waiting and watching will lower their heads. They are not lowered in respectful prayer, merely as a way to avoid seeing the newly dead. For in Funeral Town, the dead never leave.

Daily Drabble 21: Bevel Bottomed Bottle

The bevel bottomed bottle (say that fast five times) sitting in a cup was the last thing I saw. At least, it was the last thing I saw while I was still alive. For the very moment my eyes were lazily gazing at the bottle and wondering if I shouldn’t just toss it since it can’t stand on its own, I feel a crack that runs through me and my face pitches forward. It’s strange to feel the moment of your demise yet not know how or why it happened and to have your last thoughts be about a bottle.

Daily Drabble 12: Dead Bunny

Found in one of my journals from 2005

Even in death, this bunny looks active.

Why, when I look at this picture, does the word ‘cute’ pop into my mind? Is it a sociological predisposition that makes me feel that bunny equals cute? Or is it possible that I have a natural affinity for death, and therefore life, and cannot help but see the beauty? Decay is renewal beyond death. Life is sustained through death. Everything is cyclical in nature, life, history and spirituality. How can I not see the beauty that is in the cycle? In all cycles?

Or do I just think dead bunnies are cute?

Drabble Dream 12: Stingers

I was trapped in an old elevator with a door but no windows. It was locked in such a way that I could not get out. Inside the room was a swarm of wasp-like things that were very angry. They started stinging me all over. I held still, but they just kept stinging. After each sting, they'd drop dead. Soon the floor was littered with tiny corpses. I hurt and felt woozy and nauseous. I found some tweezers on the floor. The stingers were thick and as long as my longest finger. I kept pulling them out until I died.

Death Smells Of Magnolias

When I was a kid living just outside of Houston, we had a magnolia tree in our backyard. It bloomed in early summer then shed a blanket of petals. When the magnolia was in full bloom, I liked to sit under it and make up stories. I named my magnolia tree Maggie. She was my friend and a really good listener. On one hot Texas summer day I saw a bird under Maggie. It wasn't moving. I was all of five or six, but I didn't tell anyone. I dug a hole under my tree and buried the bird. 

In high school, after my family had move to Venezuela then back to the same house in Texas, I rediscovered my tree. I decided to make perfume out of the petals. Though I didn't really know what I was doing, I managed to get a concoction that smelled something like perfume. But every time I thought of using it, I refrained. Eventually, it went bad and I threw it out. It wasn't until years later when I saw a dead squirrel under a magnolia tree that I realized I associated the smell of magnolias with death.