Sunday Scribbling -- Feeding The Monster
This week's prompt at Sunday Scribblings is The Monster. When I started to write, I intended to go in one direction, but I think the monster took over. When I ended it, I was aware that I could keep writing and turn it around to where I meant it to go in the first place, but the monster took hold of my hand, and refused to let me change it. Here is my 5-minute burst on The MONSTER:
The monster that comes to my door is a clever monster. He does not shout and pound at the entrance to my house. He comes quietly, and appears docile, disguises his true nature, and makes me open my door to his pleading and whining. “I’m hungry” he says, “so hungry.” I am not inclined to feed a stranger who looks odd, who looks, somehow, like there are dark and hidden intentions, but I am also polite, well-schooled in proper behaviour, and when someone says they are hungry, it’s only good manners to feed them, especially if they then say. “Please, please… just a little food. If you feed me, then I will go away.”
Folly! I should have known. (I do know, in the marrow of my bone, I do know, but I do not always listen to my promptings). What my inner voice says is “If you feed him, he will get stronger. If you feed him, he will think he belongs here. If you feed him, you will never be rid of him.” But, I offer a little, because I am a polite and well-brought up person. I open my cupboard, and bring bread. The monster’s eye glitters. “Bread” he says. Ah… “would you perhaps have a little marmalade I could spread on it? Something bitter and with a scraping of peel within?” My turn to retrieve the jar is interrupted with his request for tea. Piping hot.
Feeding the monster takes all morning. His polite requests turn to less polite ones, then to demands and orders, and I rush to comply. He grows as I shrink. He becomes stronger as I find my limbs shaking and my eyes unable to focus. When he roars for turnips with brown sauce, I find my chin trembling, and suddenly my tears are coursing down my cheeks and I am pleading please, please, go away. I have no more to feed you. You have taken everything I have.
The monster regards me impassively. “Oh no", he says, "I have not begun to take what you have. ... But soon, soon, I will begin. Now that you are ready to offer. I will begin."
-----------------------------
There will be more Monstrous Tales HERE at Sunday Scribblings
Labels: Life., Sunday Scribbling.
posted by GreenishLady @ 1:36 pm
15 Comments:
Very interesting! And scary...
Nice job leaving it to the reader to imagine the monster!
Great post, very well written. Yes, I know this monster only to well myself and I love how you describe the slow decline into giving your powers over to it. My monster took up residence in my home a long time ago, we have become old friends who love hanging out together, feeding EACH OTHER. A tough one to say good-bye to but I know I must.
Thank you for this interesting take on the prompt.
Kerstin
Wow...I was waiting to see what this monster was. At first I thought it was a neighborhood cat, then it sounded like a Dennis the Menace kid, then it sounded like a teenager....now I'm not sure who it is! Bravo!
Well that is a monstrous tale! Spooky and alarming, but well told!
That was geniunely scary...very evocative writing.
That was a great ending, a very spooky story. I could visualise it all in my head. Loved it.
An interesting monster. In NYC, we have a lot of homeless people -- I know that is not your monster. But, they stay in the same neighborhoods and you get to know them. The tension between what you can give easily, with some difficulty and at your perile becomes overwhelming sometimes. Most of them know how to be easy about things and not to push, which is itself, sad. They know how to beg with politeness. Over the years, especially as my own and my friends' circumstances have gone up and down, I have had to steel myself because I know that I have charities at home to handle.
At the same time, I have had "friends" with absolutely no fear at all of what they ask me for. People who will always let me pay because they know I will. The kind of people who have no trouble at all sitting with you in a coffee shop and NOT ORDERING which means I have to buy them something. Anyway, your story did an excellent job of capturing that kind of feeling -- of being overwhelmed by having to give too much.
Good job, Imelda! Now kick that monster to the curb, before he eats you out of house and home ;)
This is sooo good - well written - well done. “Bread” he says. Ah… “would you perhaps have a little marmalade I could spread on it? Something bitter and with a scraping of peel within?” LOVE that especially!
I love this - so succinct and scary.
I think I've met this monster, or his brother. This gave me the creeps. Well done.
this is very well written and gives a feeling of sinking..and struggling..until you are to weak to struggle..and then....This monster is a smart little coward...huh??
I, too, liked the bit about the bitter marmalade - and the ending - but I am still wondering who or what the monster might be. I like it that way, it means readers can personalise it more, I think.
This was very good - a monster that most of us face at one time or another and so, so hard to defeat. Well done!
Oh, good job! This is like every bad habbit, every weakness, every moment spent rolling in depression, to me... They are all monsters. And when one lets them in, they can be hard to give 'enough' to, and hard to get rid of!
:)
Post a Comment
<< Home