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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| PROMPT: Write for us a Valentine massacre tale with your own artistic twist. It can be morbid or humorous... let the creativity flow. It was Valentine's day once again; without fail, it drew the lonely, the disenchanted, the miserable, in short, the sadly single. Every bar offered a night of boozing and karaoke; this watering hole was no exception. Most came to drown their sorrows and wallow with the like-minded. They seemed to find comfort in the dim lighting and the tattered upholstery. After a few fortifying shots, the belligerent would teeter and stumble to the miniscule, shadowed stage, and clutch the cold microphone. They'd clear their suddenly dry throats. They'd fidget. They'd hesitate. Some would miss the opening notes of their chosen ballad. It was excruciating torture for them and any patrons who chose to listen. One sad sack in a rumpled suit droned 'his' lyrics in a monotone; no inflection, no emotion, no emphasis; just a flat recitation. Where was the passion or the angst? His song choice, ' Don't Go Breaking My Heart", by Elton John. "Don't go bleeding my heart, I could so if I cried. Whoo-whoo, no baddy knows. Right from the starch, I gave Lou my hearth." Another contestant wrestled the clammy mike from his grasp and proceeded to butcher his ode to love, 'Love Is a Battlefield'. He squawked and screeched. "We are young, headache to headache we stun. No processes, no processes; love is a bastard feed." Sighing and shaking his pounding head, the bartender busied himself drying glasses. It wasn't as if he was paid a bonus to suffer through this massacre. It was going to be a long night. Hearing familiar strains, the barkeep hummed to himself. Now this was a classic. He tried, but the debacle before him drowned out all enjoyment. Some sorry sod swayed at the mike stand, sloshing his drink, and smacking his lips. "Love hers, love hers. Love woos and parks. To taste a lot of peas, taste a lot of peas.... love is licking 'cause a lot of, ummm, love hers. Yoouu...yoouuu.... love hers." Pickled patron after pickled patron, took up the broken heart banner. All the too sober server could do was rehash words for 'kill': slaughter, slay, butcher, mangle, massacre, bloodbath. One by one, love ballads slipped to the floor and expired. Just as his ears wished they could mute their assault, an apt tune blared through the bar's speakers. The pounding piece echoed and caused the bartender to chuckle. It reflected his own thoughts; 'Another One Bites the Dust'. ( Apologies to Elton John, Pat Benatar, Nazareth's Love Hurts , and Queen ) |
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