Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.


Add comment   Close
Allen Clarke Allen Clarke
Recommendations: 18

Fading Fast


Share this writing


Link to this writing



Start Writing

More from Allen Clarke

Stay Awhile
Hodge-Podge of Nursery
The Legend of Little Tree
``I``
Down Through the Years

More Short Stories

Rebekah King Rebekah King
Recommendations: 21
Darkness
Jason Dookeran Jason Dookeran
Recommendations: 12
Nell
Elizabeth Tan Elizabeth Tan
Recommendations: 29
I Cannot Resist
Stephen Stribbell Stephen Stribbell
Recommendations: 10
Four Fundamentals of Making Acquaintances
Kaitlyne Beaudin Kaitlyne Beaudin
Recommendations: 25
She had a friend.

Again, I digress from the norm.The truth is, I`m just trying to jump-start my shit-bag of creative juice.Yeah, like a pair of Bag-pipes under my shoulders.I must apologize to no one in particular and everyone in general.The title of this raw piece of honesty is fading Fast, but, in reality, it could be that I am emerging out of my shell like one of those horrible, ugly, little birds.Let`s just say, I`m trying my wings on quite a different flight plan.


Was it just yesterday that I saw an old friend on the street, and the years just simply slipped


away down into the swift stream of days gone by? I sing the Blooz, over memories that will


someday shut out the bittersweet reality that now I must bid thee adieu! Who is that man in the


mirror? It seems that I hardly know him. No, you prick, I speak not of memory fade due to Old


-Timer`s Disease. It`s just the onset of turning that last river`s bend to the time of misty


memory.


Those old class re-unions will never buy me back. Cause I`m stuck in some Archaic Pawnshop where


True Love comes to visit , now and again. Curious gaze of people stop by and see my wooden Indian


pose, and I watch out of the corner of my eye to see Randolph Scott riding off into the Sunset.


For this is truly the last hurrah. my golden aged friends. Or to those who would dare to try and


comprehend my secret prose, that can be so deadly sweet. Nah, it may be I was just kidding, cause


I was only trying to catch you in my finely spun brand of melancholy musings.


Some may say that I spew shit of Bull. Or that I wax lunacy by the light of yon flickerish, neon sign. I`ve been told by those who love to hate me, that I need professional help. I beg, I beg, I beg with cup of beggar`s tin, in cupped hand, to the songs of Harry Chapin. Dost thou not see it, my Leige? Tis, but a stone`s throw to going over the Fall of Niagra! Or should, I say....Viagra? Others say I`ve cracked beyond repair of shamanic benevolence. My other name that goes by Me is Simplicitude. I quite agree that it`s got a ring to it.


Some say, I`ve seen better days, and I am high mileage. I`m damaged goods, BABY! My mirror`s cracked, for, lo, these seven years,and I await for the spell to be broken. I must someday awake out of my beauty sleep. At, least, long enough to face the day!!  You think me quite mad, don`t you,Bates??? Some say, I`m trying to rival the scribblings of Hitchcock!  But, nay, I say, for he is a dead Englishman, and a fat bag of shit, who was much too talented for his own good.


Link to this writing

Share this writing


Next: Alone in the Dark