Comedie MacabreA Story by Harlotte CrowMy special brand of twisted and dark humor with a dash of nonsense.Death sat
glum at his desk. Upon his bum he did rest as he lifted his pen to spin a tale.
Pause, the man forgot his ale. From horrid
massacres to bloody wars, bludgeoned bodies on the floor. Death was an able and
agile man. Efforts to thwart him? He gave barely a damn. Death loved
all. In both sickness and health. His heart and scythe beat in suspicious
stealth. He would casually slay his objects of affection. Death was
deemed both a sad man and a madman and no one nayed. Some just settled on the
premise he was crazed. Although he’s seen things that made his bite equal to
bark, Death had witnessed sights to make him happy as a lark. Age defying
c**k and bull made the skeleton pick at his sküll. Although he paid it no serious
mind, he thought humans lost something of the kind. Alone in his
ballroom Death did exist. Occasionally angry, occasionally pissed. He needed a
change of pace to remove the mug from his face. Option one was the grand piano
and only one way that could go. “Comedy!
Comedy!” the bag of bones did shout.
“Tragedy and comedy the perfect balance to my madness!” the skeleton danced
around in a sudden fit of gladness. This narrator isn’t the least bit
convinced. Again, no study. Not two pence. From proud
piano to pen and paper Death’s enthusiasm did not taper. In fact, with every
step it seemed to increase a spot. Sweat from his forehead he eventually did
blot. His moving
finger writ, wrote, and hence moved on. He began quiet night, ended early dawn.
What Death penned was his proudest creation besides the bubonic plague. The trippy art of language where the French vague is the English vague. The trick is the “a” it’s all in the gauge. Death was never savvy with a pen. Now the audience wonders what state his comedy is in. “I think it’s
funny! I wrote it with love!” “Read it to the people! I’m proud of my work!”
“When all is won and the day is done,
the groom has met his bride. In comes the rain and joy again. It was at
that point I, the narrator broke rhyme and exited the story stage left. I quit. © 2017 Harlotte CrowAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorHarlotte CrowElkridge, MDAboutDon't mind me. I'm just your friendly neighbourhood libertine posting rather licentious reading material ;) more..Writing
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