While out and and about you see a yard sale happening. You've never really been a fan of buying other people's crap but something compels you to stop and look. There are tables and tables of overpriced stuff that you doubt anyone could possibly want. You are drawn however to a antique trunk. You try to open it but it won't budge. You call over the homeowner who says he's never been able to open it. There is something about it, you want it so you haggle the price down to 50 bucks and load it into your car. Once you get it home, you go at it with a bunch of tools to no avail. Then you remember the saw your now ex-wife got you as a gift. After almost losing a finger the antique chest opens. Inside is an old doll. You want to go back to the yard sale and punch the man who sold you a box with a doll in it.
"I thought I'd never get out of there." The doll says. You scream, now write the rest of the scene.
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This month's poetic spotlight goes to Oskarfor his piece:
Hidden memories, a picture or a phrase floats up from the depth of my consciousness, before I can grab a pen they sink back; how much I seek I shall never find, what it was
A pre- birth memory before words and meaning was invented glued to the soft membrane of the unborn, trying to articulate the unspoken.
Veiled memories must be sensed if I want know anything about a world beyond the world that cannot be understood by logic.
I must feel the forgotten, see the beauty of a rose hidden in the woods where only the bravest dare tread.