Broken Vessel

Abandoned on the kitchen counter with a long stick penetrating its stitch, her heart hammering a gas pump, taps with rage for being brusquely woken. Towering without permission, desecrating and feeling like an angry beast, she throws herself at the deep hole frolicking her frenzy hair to shelter her angst. Pricked by a nail and boosted by a cylinder, there came the jaded neon light rocket propelled grenade jetting through the falling meteorite. White flag on hand, she thunderly hails to the Android screaming peteously but snubbed by the passerby and succumbed to fainted hair-raising winks, she squelched gently into a crawl, conceding to the shattered trek.
©️Angela Aguiar



She woke to the sound of the timber, loud and clear as if trumpted by the clock calculating the dear departed. It ran in obscurity, obsessively slow, solicitously mutating, taking a life of its own. She thought it was the town snake, snoozing its way through the mud; perhaps, the eerie dwarf across the street spreading a cheaper version of the salad dressing recipe to the residents but it wasn’t. Legend is, it wasn’t even a story but as clear as mama’s homemade grits: the old weasel, the security guard, drunk as skunk, snoring his hearts content as he slept.
©️Angela Aguiar


Rekindling the fire in her heart, she searched for the mystical bridge taken in by the fog, hoping to catch the miracle wagon going by. Humid and drizzling, the journey was still raw. Images of a dejected melancholic carriage left stranded in a dark alley, featured on the quarterly review. Conversation abound, negotiations on hand, doctor’s office was put on notice. The clock was ticking at the tip of the hour, unhurridly, one pointer at the time and as the fog began to fade miserably, the flock silenced the clumsy nightfall rescued by a peppermint light bulb moment.

©️Angela Aguiar