no beards
i'll take this opportunity
to share the thought that came to me
the other meaning for the word
i hope this doesn't sound absurd
because a beard can also be
a fake relationship, you see
the world's unkind to some of us
we must be careful who we trust
so the word beard, i declare
should be reserved for facial hair
they all look fine, to each their own
stubble, short, or overgrown
however, for the other kind
i've got a future set in mind
one where nobody has a beard
let all be out and proud and queer
#ithoughtoftheotherkindofbeard #oops #beard #lgbt #challenge
life and death
"But he's so young."
Life knew it was hopeless. Hopeless to beg Death not to take him, or anyone for that matter. And yet in a sad, dark hospital room just past 3 am, she clung onto hope that the boy would make it through the night one last time.
She had known this was coming, somewhere deep down. From the swelling in his abdomen, the doctors' visits, the surgeries, the chemotherapy. She had watched over him as he lost his energy, his perfect brown curls, his ability to live like a normal kid or even sleep in his own bed. And now, despite all her efforts, his life.
With a wave of Death's hand, the boy's breath left him, and the monitor indicating his heart rate went flat, letting out a loud and monotonous tone.
Life couldn't tear her eyes away from his small body, even as nurses and doctors rushed in in a futile attempt to revive him, paging for more and reaching for equipment. Like herself, this was their job, to keep people alive. But sometimes nothing more can be done.
"Come with me," said Death, looking back at the boy with his own kind of mourning reflected in his dark eyes. "Your job is done here."
"I failed," Life sobbed. "I failed him."
"No," said Death. "You helped him when he needed you. You watched him, protected him, made him happy. You did your part in the best way you could. I'm sorry it wasn't as long as you hoped for." Even Death felt for the people he had to take away. Especially children. Sometimes it was peaceful, when the person was old and prepared, knowing their life had been lived to the fullest. Death of old age had always been his favorite. But others--accidents, illness, suicides--they were difficult. But alas, all must be as the universe willed it, regardless of reason or justice.
"Now," continued Death. "There's someone you should meet."
He led Life through the halls of the hospital, past stretchers and waiting rooms, the quiet movement of the hospital night shift. An occasional emergency, but most patients asleep, most personnel at home.
Finally they made it to the maternity ward. Something in the air was different here, the weight of sickness and death lifted, replaced by energy and life.
Life allowed Death to lead her to a room at the end of the hall, where a woman's moaning could be heard from inside.
Death paused, and turned to Life with an expression that almost resembled a tender smile. "She's just in here."
They passed through the door, and just like that the moaning stopped, replaced with heavy breathing, and breathless laughter.
"It's a girl."
The midwife wrapped the baby in a towel, handing her up to the new parents. A woman who had probably never looked happier, or more exhausted, and the man who still clutched her hand, gazing at both of them with relief and adoration.
Life couldn't help but smile. She turned to Death, who was beginning to back away through the door.
He winked. "Take care of her, Life."
Life swallowed and stepped closer, hovering over the tiny baby girl wrapped in her parents' arms.
"I will," she whispered. "I promise."
#aks #challenge #prose #shortstory #lifeanddeath #life #death #birth #hospital #alittleinlovewiththisconcept
to the blue haired boy with the smiling eyes:
hi.
we've met before.
don't you remember? i hope you do.
in a room full of college kids and booze you laughed at something dumb i said
and i noticed you,
i noticed you.
i hope i'm not coming on too strong but
for one thing at least i would really like to know your name.
maybe more
but i won't get ahead of myself.
i have a bad habit of thinking too far ahead,
my mind a whirlwind of wild fantasies and missed opportunities,
like the blue haired boy with the smiling eyes
and the tacky orange shirt
and the laugh like soda bubbles.
if this sounds like it might be you
and you laughed at a joke that a short girl with glasses made,
then i hope you call
or text or write or meet me again,
cause i would really like to know your name.