Thursday's 3 Word Wednesday

The 3WW prompt words are bridge, disturbed and still; this bloomed from a conversation I had with a artist friend who confessed she sometimes had thoughts of death. I told her it was pretty natural - just don't follow through. Because that's just foolish.

Tortured Artist in Repose
She sat motionless and disgusted, naked prickly-heat thighs stuck to a plastic lawn chair on a bland high-rise balcony that overlooked delivery truck dispatch yard.
At least the concrete cubicle she called an apartment was near the bridge; there were days when a breeze would come up just right and she could (imagine) the smell of something wet and alive.
Was it late or was it early? Certainly not dawn, the night stretched like crushed velvet that had been oiled, all crinkly and slick; the air was still and its hot molecules – even at this hour – clung to her skin like being sprawled across baked bricks.
The urge came over her again, that curl of stomach muscles just before the moment you vomit, and beads of sweat appeared at her temples. She gripped the green plastic chair arms with a ferocity of fingernails bent into talons; an anchor to keep herself planted in the chair.
Another wave, the desire to fling herself from the balcony, sail quietly through the air and reach terminal velocity with the grimy street below.
“You’re disturbed,” she whispered.
But that’s what tortured artists on the verge of fame do, right?

12 comments:

susan said...

And we artists are so dramatic! I was thinking the molecule line is over-the-top but given her behavior and internal dialog maybe it works.

ThomG said...

Funny, I posted, looked that the molecule line - and nearly re-edited it. I'm not sure it works.

TC said...

naked prickly-heat thighs stuck to a plastic lawn chair

My thighs are having sympathy pains right now as I think of her pulling them off that chair, lol.

Jason said...

I got kind of hung up on the molecule line too. Who or what is "...being sprawled across baked bricks..."? It is quite dramatic, but I likes it.

Pia Savage said...

I hope it's not what tortured artists on the verge of fame do, but hey what would I know?

Noah The Great said...

Ugh, I can totally relate the the stomach churning right before ralphing. I get that taste in my mouth, and I know it's over.

tumblewords said...

Ah, so good! I know that 'fling me over the edge' flutter. Well done!

Queen Of The Valkyries said...

I'm partial to crushed velvet. Wait. I take that back. Well, you know what I mean. I'm actually repulsed by it. But love that you found a way to use it.
And speaking of stomach churning...

Urp.

Uncle E said...

As Rob Reiner's mom said after witnessing Meg Ryan's "Sally" faking an orgasm, 'I'll have what she's having."
In this case, Thom, you're the "she".
Didn't your mother ever tell you to share? It's good for the soul, man!
Yet another fascinating post, dude!

(and, by the way, I understand that quoting lines from 'When Harry Met Sally' ain't too macho, but cut me some slack Jack, I'm sick!)

LittleWing said...

...it was the hot baked bricks that called out to me... was it hot... nope... just appeared in my head that way...

Bone said...

I think it's sometimes those tortured thoughts and moments that give inspiration for the painting or the song or the poem or the story.

Very descriptive and well-written.

gautami tripathy said...

In times like this, I resort to writing.

You kept me on the edge with this post.

Introducing myself