Prose – A2voicedlife

Neptune’s Bed

November 14, 2025

Her neptunian bed did it again. "Would it be alright if I took a small nap, 20 minutes maybe?" her friend asks, just moments after sitting on that cloud of scrambled sheets, and the original heap of clothes to one side (nobody but her knows for sure if they're dirty or clean). "Something about your bed, it's got some strange power going on..." Immense gravity pulls them to surrender, insomniacs will be absorbed into the vortex inevitably, she's a piscean...

Neo and Classic

November 5, 2025

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| Family History, Prose

She's turning classic, giving her own meaning to the term; narrowing down the choice, detailed somewhat scant, precision stripped to it's bareness, it's natural sequence, towards her neo-persona. Her attire mimics her stride, the now subsided curves of her limbs hide in asexual elegance, they dissolve in the comings and goings of morning coffee, the routines of cats, the crowded city street at noon. She's polishing the silver, but only the pieces she intends to keep; arranges the china, but...

Piro and Roses

October 30, 2025

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| Family History, Prose

I'm going to light a match and throw it your way, I'll be perverse, bring it all back for you, at least for a moment, a reverie to before you strayed, when your need to please took the path that looked well on paper, defaulting to the logic of Boomers, and the fluff of money. Gonna stir it up again, just for fun, at least I'll know I tried, that I never lost faith in the fire, my secret belief...

Ancient Stag

September 22, 2025

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| Prose

Hades in my throat, be ware. A splendid stag stands frozen in my chest, if he doesn't summon his devil. He can see you before arrival, you shouldn't bother him with pettiness, what your constant boredom comes up with. It's not our fault you can't fill in the void, not our making that you're mental machines like to stir up the waters, scared to death you might find yourself accountable. My horned animal stands behind me, it doesn't appreciates strangers...

Omens on the AM

July 20, 2025

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| Prose

¿A flying red demon? Oh no, the scorpion fly, a real insect. He hovers huge and intimidating in the lamps potent glare, showing himself with intention, but for the moment I can only make out the blur of those chopper like, winged layers, and their high pitch rattle. Meanwhile, at the base of the barn, a toad sits unimpressed, shaded in the the damp ground. The week after my odd encounter, a small, greyish, scorpion, landed right at my feet,...

Stripping Down

June 26, 2025

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| Family History, Prose

Let's get bare, all out, leaving what's true and told, nothing to add or fix. The story ends here, a chapter played to the best of its capacity, nothing better or new will come from it. Cords severed gently, no fuss, loosened knots, we're closing up the tent. Built, used, and spent, we have several humidity stains, a few cracks, and some peeled walls. We're weathered and salted by all of it, and aware: we must complete the other half...

Disillusion

April 9, 2025

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| Family, Family History, Prose

We are not the illusion. Hidden from view, deep in childhood, the night comes with crickets, picnics are set nearby the river, a brick home stands proud in the countryside. When I utter brother, mother, father, I expect to feel them even in the distance, able to pull them closer with a simple wish. But what I got is the awkward, the alien in its own country, many a contradiction of terms. I used to believe, but had to stop....

Vulture

March 28, 2025

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| Homage, Prose

When it began they were scouting the sky, back in late august, when the summer light glared fierce. The span of their wings was the extent of a premonition. Drought and desert had come to the city to stay. Dead things lay fresh, but soon to be gone; lives run out and reclaimed back to earth. On my daily commutes they signaled from above, when doubt and dread circled my mind, like scavengers. It got better when I looked up....

Slither

March 22, 2025

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| Prose

Slipping through the cracks, an ethereal presence, a phantom being, slithers in deep silence, at the bottom of darkness, in the abyss. There's more beyond the cracks: new intuition, a world still without words, unseen, barely heard, more felt. Old laws don't work anymore, only the desire for birthing something new and free. Energy build up is what's needed to fatten up the slithering smokey ghost. I hear steady crumbling as the last degrees of march skid by. Degradation of...

Rite of Passage

January 22, 2025

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| Prose

"Shush" instructed the winter wind, on a very cold morning. The Sun's familiar hug now weak, his usual toasty shawl much too light over my shoulders, and the steep cool-down made me shudder. I walked faster, as if it were possible to to flee the chill, cutting through every nook and cranny of my attire. My feet soon built up some friction, the promise of a little heat from the brisk movement. My mind wandered off with the same hurry....

Category: Prose

Neptune’s Bed

Neo and Classic

Piro and Roses

Ancient Stag

Omens on the AM

Stripping Down

Disillusion

Vulture

Slither

Rite of Passage

A 2 Voiced Life

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