Twittering Tales #102 – Broken Barbies – 18 September 2018

From Jan Malique, two familiar characters encounter a scene of horror.


barbie-dolls-blond-broken-1376771 Photo by Skitterphotos at

A fiendishly good writing prompt from Kat Myrman this week. Here’s my offering for her Twittering Tales.

Piglet, avert your eyes, what a terrible massacre.

Why Pooh, what’s happened?

Dr Frankenstein, that’s what happened. Wasn’t content with tampering with the laws of nature, now to sink this low.

Pooh, even he can’t revivify this relic. Where is he now?

In rehab, making little progress

(280 characters)


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Jan Malique – Things in the works.



I like a good walkabout, it stills the mind and refreshes the parts not reached by either hot or cold beverages.

Amazing what you can come across on these journeys. So far nothing unpleasant has surfaced, although there’s still time eh? Well, the dismembered crab could be classed as something strange. I don’t think so. This is an illustration of the transient nature of existence, and rather beautiful in its stark imagery.

Perhaps a more aesthetically pleasing image will propel me into a cheerful mood.

I feel a poem coming on:

Sun on blue water,

Reflecting clouds,

Pine tree bends in supplication.

IMG_20180908_115620291_HDR Inverewe Gardens, Poolewe, Wester Ross, Scotland, Jan Malique

I’ve been finding it difficult to write lately. Sure, an odd post here and there suffices while the mind ticks over, trying to plan its next strategy. Actual and virtual rambling have a purpose, what that is escapes me. Only…

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TheFeatheredSleep – How much exposed?




perturbed an aesthetic


your skin



i might

see if i can still back-flip


last time

i broke

my harpsichord

you remember the song


a much used


your poetry

sandwiched between?

i  couldn’t close the lid

it was too fat

what if

we were

born without


would everything

feel that much more?

perhaps what you see

isn’t thin

or pale

but what it looks like

when it has








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Hasty – Wanting to be …..


I want to be the fierce and fiery dragon

That chases away your enemies

To be the sun that shines and guides you

When you need to find your way

I want to be the orange and yellow sunset

When you need to find a bit of peace

To be the moon that shines ever so bright

Guiding you safely home each night

I would love to be your guardian angel

The one that sings your soul to sleep

And I would do anything to be your love

But if for some reason I can’t be

I’d like to be any or all of the above

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Hasty – What doesn’t make you disappear


My jaw clenches

My fingernails

Yearn to scratch

At layers of skin

My joints ache

Rigidity laced

Stand like a statue

Hold still, hold still

Breathe in slow

Hold… maybe

Forever if you can

Fix your stare

On a calmer future

Moments past this

Tick tick tick

Final loud tock


Open your eyes

Look in the mirror

It was just a dream

You’re still here

You’re still here

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Hasty – The wounds of the flesh heal. Mind and memory, that’s another matter.


**Even decades later it surfaces. Moments I’ve forgotten. Your body heals. Maybe even your heart. But the things trauma of “any” kind does to your brain… that lasts forever. You can learn to live a productive and happy life along side of it but it’s always there. Always.

The weight was so heavy

But the shock was heavier

Words of panic swollen

Under the movements

Please don’t…

I mean

I still used “please”

Oh my god please stop

What did I do wrong

Why are you doing this

Why aren’t you listening

You ended trust for me

My body bruised

My heart bloodied

Things that healed

But my mind… fuck you

My minds…. fucked up

You’re an asshole

And I hope the next girl

Had the courage

To nail you to the wall

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Hasty spins a haunting story.


There are many places I could hide. A small shadow cast in an already dark room. A clear piece of glass in the corner of an open window. I could sit in plain sight and remain invisible but what is the fun in that?

I scared a rabbit yesterday that came too close to the spot they found me. I think he felt me and was curious maybe. I watched him hop ever so slowly, nose all wiggly, eyes and ears alert. And just as he neared the flowerpot where my dead hand once laid I exhaled my energy so rapidly the dust swelled into a gale force that sent him hopping for his life.

I can’t remember if yesterday told me what to expect of today. There were so many yesterday’s that came before that I’ve lost count. You’d be likely to lose count as well I’d guess. But…

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