Three Word Thursday # 17

RISIBLE INVIGILATE STAGNICOLOUS

It was their own fault.
They let me go.

All it took was one error in judgement.

They couldn't INVIGILATE as the requirements demanded, with staff shortages and this mistake cost them.

They gasped to see me stand and walk

I stared them down as I always did, with a cold blank expression,

and made my way towards the Exit sign.

Their second mistake was when they touched me.

Years of STAGNICOLOUS living had its rewards.

I was immune..... and they were not.

The outer core of my blue body glistened from the wet acidic mucous covering it.

Touching it burnt the skin of a normal man and the fumes....once inhaled....well,

lets just say it wasn't a pleasant way to die.

Once outside the lab door, it was easy.

It was April 1st . My RISIBLE consternation affected every one differently.

By the time they could comprehend what was going on, my gay innocent affront, got me past the front door and outside, into the fresh open air.

I was free.

Three Word Thursday # 16

The song was sung.

The deed was done.

and now??????? What shall become of me?


I hated being a NIDDERING cry baby.

Always being seen as needy, is never flattering but what was I to do?


My life consisted of being an AMANUENSIS to some one elses's fantasy.

How much more could I take?


I tired of being a TYRO, always learning and relearning the same things over and over, tested over and over, never passing go, never advancing to the next level.

There were no exciting DIVIGATIONS.


It was always the same. I wanted to cry but it wasn't in the program.


They kept taking blood and injecting me causing RUBEFACIENT itchiness and SENTICOUS numbness throughout my body.


It was PERSPICACIOUS of them, except they didn't know.

They had no idea.

I did advance.
I was not a QUONDAM from the past.



I.....was the future.

The Flower - Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Flower

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.
To and fro they went
Thro’ my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.
Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o’er the wall
Stole the seed by night;
Sow’d it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
‘Splendid is the flower.’
Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now
For all have got the seed.
And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.