cringemantumble

[cringemantumble]

Stilted raindrops fell onto the soft,wooden porch, each drizzle bearing itself into the broken splits of the aged decay like the swelling of an old wound. The foreman stood with attentiveness, eyeing out through the sheer mesh of the mosquito nets onto the labor yard with its barren, soaking, tract-less mud. His hands cupped themselves behind him as he took one sniff with one nostril, not smelling anything in particular. “Geraldonso!” He barked, a yelp loud enough to call into the office behind him. A stringly little brown man appeared attentively, saluting the unmoving foreman.

“Sir!” Geraldonso announced his presence. “We’re not moving mud today, are we Geraldonso?” The foreman asked. “Of course not sir.” “And we don’t stop because of the rain, do we Geraldonso?” “Also a negative, Sir!” “Then can you answer me this, Geraldonso…” his voice fading with an intake of breath. “WHY IS THERE NO WORK BEING DONE?” The foreman’s voice called out into the rainy night, its echoes drained by the pouring rain.

Geraldonso let the moment fade, then answered “Because they’re on strike sir.” “On strike?” “Yes, on strike, they said we pushed them too hard.” “Who did?” “The workers sir.” “The workers? Why didn’t they tell me?” “They did sir, we had a meeting over what they called “strenuous work conditions” after an employee was hospitalized due to heat stroke, you told them they could take an extra 15 minute break as thanks for their hard work. Then they declared a strike.”

The foreman juts his chin into the air and wonders aloud “But I gave them an extra 15 minutes…” Geraldonso watches him tentatively. “Are you striking Geraldonso?” The sharp man opens with as much vulnerability as he could understand. “Of course not sir, I don’t work manual labor.” His assistant dutifully answers. The foreman waits for a while, then puts on his wisest expression and says “Always rid yourself of traitors before enemies Geraldonso”. His assistant gives a silent affirmation and they both watch as the rain patters onto the large tracts of unworked mud.

[cringemantumble]

“What do you mean?” She called out to the bandit, his teethy smile stretched over his burnt face like pearls shining out from a leather purse. He didn’t answer, walking down the spiral staircase in clomping steps, each reverberation shuttering against the rotten wood of the broken building. The lady snuck glimpses of him through the moonlit holes in the floor: she coiled to herself, froze, and then reanimated in swift pursuit.

“Are you insane!?” She questioned, high heeled stomping onto the rusted metal accentuated her disapproval. “Never saner!” Cilian answered with triumphant swinging of his arms as he reached the ground floor. She called out over the banister “You’ll be killed…” then swiftly vanishing and reappearing “or worse: tortured!”. “Can’t see how that’s worse if I’m still alive.” Cillian answered half inside a closet, with a tablecloth, wine glasses, and silver silverware.

The tablecloth flung into the air, spiraling down onto an out of place oaken table, creasing itself into a uniform pattern as a plate rolled and settled itself wobbling infront of a leather chair. A folded napkin plopped into formation on its right, as the heavens armed it with two sized forks and a knife threatening the now pacified saucer. Its twin mirrored it across the linen path, their emptiness broken by slices of bread and the space between them filled by a candelabra.

Soft champagne foamed over two tall thin glasses, their incontinent dripping falling away from the aerial placesetting onto the rotten floors. The Lady was offered, first her glass, then the chair. She gladly accepted both as the dexterity and gentlemanly behavior tore her thoughts of gruesome death only long enough for dinner to be set. Bruschetta, roast duck, garlic confit, and three-fourths of a warm baguette were available for her choosing. She spread the garlic confit over a toasted piece of bread, deeply bit into it, and as she opened her eyes from satisfaction she sputtered. “YCH CBNT DP THPT” she spat out with filled cheeks over the fine linen, crumbs spewing from her mouth.

[cringemantumble]

On the roof of a ramshackle building whose tiles clattered in the wind like the bones of the undead, a man delicately stood on the cusp of a window, holding his hand out to whoever was inside. Gentle finger interlinked to the man’s leather gloves, and he did not disturb it’s placement as he stepped out onto the veranda. As he lead her out to him, the board he stood on partly gave way, leading the woman to fall into his arms as he secured her.

She looked up to him to which he responded by wistfully staring off into the distance. She turned his chin with her finger and gave him a kiss, his body easing into it. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her there in the breeze of the night, her hair softly flowing as their outline was illuminated by the moon. When they finished, he turned away again. “I have no idea how you can stand it” the gentlemen said, when he turned back, the light shone on his badly burnt face. She cupped his cheek and gave him a gentle smile, “it’s not so bad, I’m sure it was worse getting them.”

Cillian pulled her to him and thanked her kindness. She sighed afterwards into his chest, her hand placed by his heart. “I want to show you something” Cillian said, lifting her up into a princess carry. The lady gave an “ooOwHOOP” but did not resist, even giggling at his sudden chivalry. He stepped onto the bannister, then carefully reached with his feet onto the roof below and slide along the shingles. Making a small leap of faith, he jumped onto a nearby streetlamp and propelled off to the adjacent building. He carried her inside and then finally set her down in an abandoned, open air apartment.

She looked around at all the nothing and said “I find it quite endearing but this is a bit too much work for me”. He grunted a laugh and walked over to a long tattered cloth that had covered one of the walls, lifted it enough to make a passageway, and gestured towards it with his other hand. She ducked under, walked through the layers of fabric, and stared out. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was a perfect view of the capitol palace, the lamps cast a dusk-orange hue over the marble steps and the guards stood at attention as if waiting for their portrait. She felt like she had stepped into a painting, and her breath eased in and out.

“This is…it’s gorgeous!” She turned to Cillian, who gracefully joined her. “Yeah, I think I’m going to rob it next.” She smiled as she turned back to the silent castle, the flame light dancing shadows on its walls. “Wait what?” She darted back to Cillian as he eyed his next heist with a dumb smile on his face.

[cringemantumble]

Stepping through the empty halls of the observatory, I came across glass in a room with no furniture and no windows. Where did you come from you pains? The moon-light suddenly filled a small circle of the room, and above me, a broken oculus. How strange, how very strange.

Did a child break you too? Did little Dandelion come by and toss rocks to see if they could reach? He still has scars on his arm, I wonder if they’re faded.

It’s a sunny-day now, the room is filled with smiling children, scurrying about. They are tracking mud everywhere, the trails of their chaos following behind them in footsteps of deep soil. A nun fusses at each one, mother henning them to the baths as they evade capture. I close my eyes and open back up to the observatory. The quiet of the night broken only once by the shards of glass under my feet as I continue onward

[cringemantumble]

Gilbert sat at the lunch table, holding his store-bought parfait in one hand and the disposable silverware packet in the other. Lost in his thoughts, he struggles with how he is going to open his mid-morning yogurt using one hand, finally deciding to hold the packet by his mouth. The parfait was your average plastic cup filled with yogurt and a separated dome cover holding the granola, like a small bowl of oats within a transparent cloche.

After removing the container, Gilbert struggled with the seemingly vacuum sealed lid. He bit down in frusturation into the plastic silverware, as he twisted and turned it like a puzzlebox holding secrets of an ancient civilization. He began pulling at a side, his thumb slipping between the crease of the two plastics, until he wedged it in. The lid popped off, flying to a corner of the store as a spray of granola trailed behind it. What’s worse was the PAH resonated through the entire store, carrying anyone’s attention who did not see it. Gilbert looked out to all the wide eyes staring back at him, the packet in his mouth still, and gave a small anxious wave before collecting some napkins to clean the mess he made.

[cringemantumble]

Look in the mirror. There you go. Monster. Ghoul. Demon. You look like you crawled out of hell. You look like what kids are told will come for them if they don’t eat their veggies. Even in this broken mirror, only half of your face is enough to know you’ll never be loved. Look at you, what are you even doing checking out your appearance. What are you thinking?

“Oh the burns look not-so-leathery today.” Don’t smile, don’t ever smile. Somehow smiling makes it worse, you can’t be happy, you shouldn’t be happy. Quit it.

She seems to think otherwise.

Don’t think about her. Not now, you’ve got a lot of good self-loathing going. You could even work yourself up enough to drink.

She’s expecting you though, the Garafand Gem is in town and she wants competition.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid woman. Stupid.

Fine.

I get ready, my outfit matches my burns in texture, I stare at the finishing piece: the balaclava. It always stings when I wear it. It’s not like I need to hide my identity, I’m a known criminal. I wear it because I don’t want to see myself.

I’d wear it everyday if I could.

But she’d be upset.

So I won’t.

Stupid.

[cringemantumble]

A stone-faced woman looked out to the still waters surrounding her island castle lazily. She watched with a face of half-anticipation, like a child who has five fireworks and three have been duds. The waves ebbed and flowed, near uniform in their washing upon the shores as the line of their reach was formed and reformed. She began drooping, her head slipping under her palm.

An upright circle formed in the water, half of it submerged with a mirrored twin forming not 10 feet from it. A large catfish crashed through, with a bunnyman riding atop, holding on by the fish’s whiskers like two long ropes. “Gettttttt the tra-“ said the bun, a reverberating voice gaining pitch within one circle and cutting him off as they closed around him. “The Tra-“ she hears again, the fish and man making a brief appearance as two new portals formed a distance from the original spot, closing and forming just as quickly. “Tra- Tra- Tra” the bunny tried to finish, having only half seconds between their portal travel, each time forming at random intervals and distances”.

Myfanwy stood at attention now, a smile curled with a light skipping in her heart. “Whatever could he want” she mused outloud, staring impishly at the Trapezoid that accompanied her hand on the railing. Her fingers inched towards it like a teenager at a ball. “THE TRAPEZOID” came all too closely and all too loudly, his appearance almost making landfall beside her. She unfurled from her surprise, took the shape, and clicked it open. The mirror within shone a light that captured a considerable space in front of it, forming four points in the sky that refracted and looked to cut the horizon.

The portal now only looped within the boundaries of the light’s formation. Jacques and the fish’s movements appeared like the single frames in an animation, each movement captured slowly, like the seconds were longer and frozen. He made his way forward along the fish, letting the whiskers drop back to their rightful place of dragging mud. He crouched, jumped into the air and spun, leaving the fish to perpetually chase itself, before landing right where he jumped with a hard downwards kick.

The catfish bounced hard down to the mud, floated back to the top, and rolled its tongue out of its mouth. Jacques sat on top of his prize, stared back to the castle’s maiden, and gave a sitting cheer. She coquettishly waved back as he dragged the fat catfish to the shore by its whiskers.

[cringemantumble]

Jacques sat atop a chair that ontop of a desk that was ontop of a palnquin that was hoisted by fourteen men. They were heaving it up and down in rhythmically, a deep-grunted “hoorah” on each apex. Jacques, the chair, the desk, and his the tea in his cup all took flight off of one another and landed back down with a worrying groan, followed by the splitting landing of the chair, Jacques bewildered form landing softly before quickly guiding his cup in a nimble rescue mission of earl grey.

The men started singing

“You chose the right drink to sit on the chair

You’re a wonderful man you blue and cream hare

You fly in our hearts like you fly in the air

For you chose the right drink at our pick-a-chair faire!”

Jacques stared at them with blank eyes, his right sleeve covered near fully in scalding tea but his lite burns didn’t deter him from a mindless drink. “I was merely looking for a place to sit” he said before being launched once more alongside his chair-table-teacup companions

[cringemantumble]

“So uncomfortable” the bunny man complains loudly, his long floppy ears folded back and tucked into his collar. His ears carry along his shoulders like the exaggerated pads on a powersuit. He wore suspenders, the straps tying down his floppy appendages from unruly exposure. As he made his way down the street, he peered in quiet jealous at his fellow pedestrians. In a sea of people, he felt not a one shared his secret. His long flowing hair covered up nicely, deceiving anyone curious about him into the illusion of normalcy.

[cringemantumble]

The harvest moonlight reflected off the water’s ripples, bleeding into the long-form of the Dorney River Bridge streetlamps. Its shape reaching an amoeba-like arm from one light to the other, breaking on the gentle waves of the passenger boats like an unruly child between two patient parents. The witness, Gilbert, watched them complacently, the quiet relationship of the moon and its fellow lights mixed with the warm dialogue of the restaurant. He was in no rush.

“Caprese y Chianti” the waiter announces, drawing the silver gentleman’s attention. “Grazi” in return, with a lazy lift of a few fingers and a weak smirk as thanks. Gilbert pours a small glass of wine, enough for tasting, and eyes the salad with a hint of greed. “Women should eat first” he thinks to himself, staring at the fur-coat adorned chair across from the table. A gondola passes by, its driver silent as the passengers huddle together under a blanket beside one another. Gilbert sips the red wine in salute.

The silence continues and the salad begins its temptation. The bright red tomato slices rested upon the fresh mozzarella like the folds of a silken red blouse upon a summers gown. The balsamic vinaigrette lightly ran down its figure like long, locks of dark hair, a single droplet forming a hazel eye piercing its gaze. Even the most pious man couldn’t resist such an adulteress, and he grabbed that beautiful woman’s hips between his thumb and index finger and brought her to his lips. Gilbert’s eyes closed in a deep satisfaction, a small “mmm” running over the juicy cheese and tomato.

“Couldn’t even wait five minutes?” Chided the indulgent man, whos eyes shot open as he was caught red-handed in his infidelity, the half-eaten salad still filling his cheeks. An exaggerated gulp and an “I can explain” was all the evidence she needed, but before he could even begin, she pressed her lips to a corner of hjs. “You had a bit of vinegar there” she states matter off factly as she pulls herself up to dine. As Gilbert clumsily finishes his salad, she watches. She turns to the river as he finishes and watches the moonlight, “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

[cringemantumble]