Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: rhythm and rhyme

  • Story: Super Slug – 07/09/19

    Story: Super Slug – 07/09/19

    One fine day, when the sun shone my way, I woke feeling completely whole again. Nothing could or would deter me from my exploration of the garden, my winding path, my set stage. Inside this bustling ecosystem were many specimens of flora and fauna, not least my favourite, Mister Wily Old Toad. He loved to croak at me while blinking incredibly slowly; his wrinkles determined his age as very wizened and old. Mister Toad had been living in the garden for many years. He lived off a diet of snails mainly, a family of them which never seemed to be diminish despite his fantastical sense of hunger that was present always.  It was not unheard of that he could consume two or three of these creatures a day. The poor snail family always lamented their losses, but there was nothing much they could do or say.

    There was, however, one snail, who seemed to always be able to dodge the bullet. This snail had been around for many years, despite the fact that snails were meant to survive for only a short length of time. I would see this creature in the mornings, and after Mister Old Toad had lazily captured some of the snail’s family, I’d see him rest down for the night. Then so on and so forth, I’d spot him, and safe in the evenings, he had avoided any strife. How could this possibly occur, when a snail could not travel very fast nor far? How could he evade the sharp tongue of Mister Old Toad? For years he had survived, and I knew not how. I decided today to take a closer look, and follow this snail around until I could view what was happening, until I understood how he remained alive and whole.

    So, this morning, when I had awakened whole myself, the broken pieces of me fixed back into place, I searched out this target snail, I shall call him Snail, myself. He was easy to find because he had certain markings upon his shell that made him appear as if he had a saddened donkey painted on his outside. On second thoughts, I could have called him Donkey, but it was a little late for changing the facts and details.

    This snail was very peculiar indeed! As I watched him, it was as though my eyes were malfunctioning with the greatest of ease. From one corner of the garden he would suddenly zoom to another, essentially materialising from one space to another area. I couldn’t understand! Weren’t snails meant to be laboured and slow? Their movements barely aided by excessive slime and impeded by the unnecessary lack of desire for any speedy know-how? I shook my head, rubbed my eyes, and once more, the snail was moving in a laboured manner that was more fitting for his species. This I was now relieved to view. I felt satisfied that this was the behaviour that I was meant to find.

    The more I stared, the slower the snail became. It was as if he knew I was watching him carefully, and he had slowed down his measures to a speed that caused me to feel incredibly pained. It was excruciating to watch a creature move so bloody slowly, how could he perform this task purposefully and knowingly? I swore that I had seen him move in a zig-zagging rushing pace, but maybe that was a trick of my eye or a trick of my mind; perhaps I had dreamed it. I almost fell asleep while observing him, there was nothing interesting to view, aside from the trail of sticky slime that he left for me to view.

    Then all of a sudden, I heard him. Mister Old Toad had made his appearance. It seemed high time that this toad should now wish to manage Snail, in a manner that only he knew best. With a loud and slow opening of his mouth he flicked out his tongue. It wrapped around Snail’s shell in a most delicious and smacking sound heard by all in the garden, not only some. I half expected some shrieking from the snail, some wailing, some yells, but then out of his shell he did pop! And now revealed was a vibrant slug with a red cape, invisible ink upon it carrying his secret name! “Super Slug”, was etched on the fabric, and how the cape flowed as he flew along the ground and away. Mister Toad didn’t seem astonished, perhaps he had seen Super Slug on many days.

    And how the slug flew around and around, alerting his other snail and slug beings and gathering them away from the area of Mister Toad, forming their own safety, an impermanent town. He brought all of them to a safe area, where they could avoid being devoured. Mister Old Toad lazily blinked his eyes. He wasn’t impressed by Super Slug’s flamboyance sense of rescue style. After all, he had seen it again and again. It was only impressive to me, for I had never seen it before. Super Slug, formerly known as Snail’s shell lay discarded on the garden path. I carefully picked it up to save it for him, when he decided to return to his disguise at last.

    Suddenly, everything in the garden seemed calmer, it was like it had breathed a sigh of relief, for Mister Toad had not bothered any of them further, and he’d decided to go to sleep. So, I waited and waited for Super Slug, but it seemed he would never return, perhaps the fact that I’d viewed his transformation meant that he had to live elsewhere, for his secret had come undone.

    No matter that the other creatures already knew of his alteration, I was different, because I was a human, and with other members of my species, I could talk with them. To reveal his ability, and this would not be good for the snail and slug family, not at all for them. I wanted to reassure him that I would not reveal, I would not talk, but the truth is, I may, out of excitement have slipped, and this was what Super Slug surely wanted to avoid, his identity was to be kept safe: that was of the greatest import.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Story: Technology Invaders: When They Decide To Go Bump In The Night – 06/08/19

    Story: Technology Invaders: When They Decide To Go Bump In The Night – 06/08/19

    She was frustrated at every step; there were nasty, faceless individuals attempting to hold her back. They used their wily tactics to sneak into her system unknowingly, taking pride in themselves for being overly cunning. How cruel could some people be? Why did they wish to target little old she? She had not performed them any wrongdoings, nor ill. They simply wished to show off with their unwarranted intrusions and programs and smoking set of computer skills that would, hopefully they wished, cause her to run. But she would not give up, she would not allow them to alter her intent. She was here and now, and her time with her work and her passions was what she felt was well spent.

    Although some might wish to aim for her, take her down for whatever reason, she hoped that with her fervent attitude, she would deter and evade the lot of them. Because some people wanted to hurt others for unknown reasons, and she greatly disliked individuals of this kind, they were certainly not looked upon favourably by those up in heaven, not at all, oh my. They wanted to create a hell for her on earth, but she wouldn’t allow it. She would continue creating and making, her creations birthed from her artistic mind and hands, from them they would flow through them.

    How brave does one need to be to be a faceless enemy? To want to take down another when their vulnerabilities seem a-plenty? How courageous those individuals must be when it came to causing her duress, her distress was ongoing, and they must have loved to hear of her frustrated moans. Because she herself was learning, she needed to learn very quickly, how to rectify the processes which were coming thick and fast. She would hopefully not have to deal with these attacks as activities that were ongoing. But the question of that day was, was she being targeted for who she was? For what she did, for what she made? Was there a problem with the people or persons that she closely knew, or was she simply a random pick, like a braying sheep plucked from a field?

    Was she simply anonymous to them, nothing more than a plaything to amuse themselves with, and once having stolen or self-gratified, they would move onto the next victim they could see? This was the problem with online things, certain people mixed in negative circles and their abilities were highly skilled, and they did not wish to be seen. They would sneak around the networks, with stealth and utter command, taking over computers and networks without any sense of giving a damn. In fact, it would probably be glorious for them to take someone down, and she didn’t quite understand why she was the pick, or even if she was a personal victim, of someone with a purposeful malicious hacking crown.

    There may be people in the world who looked down their noses at her, for the things she wrote or talked about, but surely this was not worthy of herself being taken down. How was it fair that she was being punished for expressing her creativity, her art, her thoughts? Why couldn’t she be left alone to create, to be the person who she was? Besides, who were the real cowards, the ones with their faces hidden, or her, with her face on display, open for the world to know, she was not going to hide away. Why on earth would she allow these others to alter her life and set tasks, just because of the threats that splashed on her display, which once caused a fluttering heart?

    She would not be deterred. She would not be taken down. She would fight onward, and be herself. No more fear would there be, she would take the lessons as they came. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore, because everything would be completely and securely saved. She would be the strongest in the face of these adversaries and she wished to pass a message on: Don’t bother to creep inside, when you dare not even show your faces.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Story: A Resplendent Stag At His Own Stag Do – 04/09/19

    Story: A Resplendent Stag At His Own Stag Do – 04/09/19

    There was a lucky stag, who was marrying the most wonderful deer in the world, tonight was his stag do, tonight would be when he celebrated at the same time but a different place to the girls. Usually the night would be filled with heavy drinking, antler fighting, wide eyed ogling, but this wasn’t what he wanted for himself, he didn’t want to sin. Besides, this stag wasn’t interested in drinking excessively, waking up feeling horrid, pains a-plenty, what he was interested in was projecting a special sense of beauty. He had always held a fond feeling, a soft spot, for the sublime and the visually appealing, and his stag friends knew that this was how he wished to celebrate, to project an aesthetically pleasing viewing.

    Now, in a quiet corner of the forest they approached him, sombre, with a cascading wreath and male veil all of his own, placing the creation from Nature upon his antlers, his face, around his head, his crown. Upon their tippy toes they adorned him, made him shine resplendent from afar, the flowers, the buds, the leaves, brightening this special stag-star. One friend walked slowly with a full-length elaborately decorated mirror, presenting his stag friend with the visual version of who he presently was. With great delight and a widened smile, he threw his head back and grinned, admiring himself from left to right, all for a while did he.

    “What a beauty I have become,” he breathed, so astonished. “Who made this crown for me, my veil, the maker I wish to know them!” Never before had he seen such an intricate crown made for anyone else, let alone him, and he was the King of collecting nature made crowns and other such things. In fact, at home he had stowed in the closet secretly from his future wife the amount of three times twelve, and she would never discover his collection because it was hidden incredibly well. But this crown veil took the cake, it was weaved so specially for him, the flowers and buds so dainty as they’d been plucked, preserved, tamed, and strangely he felt like what a goddess must feel like, a beautiful version of a nature queen. Because this veil was not manly, it appealed to the feminine inside, and this was the part of himself that he liked to be in touch with, it was a gentler part of his insides. He could be a manly stag, making noises to draw attention, fighting with other antlers of strong stag men, but when it came to general life, this stag preferred to be gentle and loving, and not so over protective and wild.

    “It was Mrs. Simbalina!” one of his stag friends announced. “She was the one who created this for you, she must have known of your character quite well?”

    “Bring her forth to me!” he roared in a manner quite proudly, as he preened and viewed himself again in the mirror, my, it was a glorious scene to behold. He became lost in absorbing the beauty that he usually only felt within, now it was as though Mrs. Simbalina’s creation had drawn out his beautiful inner truth and sense of visual beauty which was now available to be seen. It wasn’t as if he classed himself as unattractive usually, but this crown and veil made him feel quite chuffed, so pleased. Soon, the maker mouse was brought to him.

    “Mrs. Simbalina! May I please pay my dues, you have brought the beauty out from within me, look at this wondrous view!” And with a flourish he turned his head this way and that, and groomed the flowing buds of premature roses, until, unfortunately, he accidentally pruned them from their holds, and that was that. Oh, how his heart ached, he threw his head back and produced a guttural wail, what had he done, he had planned to use this veil at the altar, with his lover before him, her eyes captured upon his face, surrounded by this magic veil before her unveiling.

    “What have I done?” he cried, tears wept from each inner corner of his eyes.

    “Do not fret, Brett,” she said to the stag. “I can make you another instead.” Instantly his eyes dried up as though a puddle would were it placed within a parched desert. He thanked her profusely, and allowed her to leave, of her craft to get on with it. And within two hours she had returned with the most resplendent veil and crown you could ever hope to see, amazing at her life’s work was Mrs. Simbalina, so talented was she.

    When Brett and his love’s special day came, they were both wearing their own version of veils, and surprisingly they were made by a craftswoman one and the same. Each one brought out a particular characteristic from the other; the feminine from Brett, brought out the stronger part in his other. As though the veils reflected the way that they were already intertwined in life, they held hands, joined their lives, and their truth was there to be witnessed, held together with love and affection that was wholly meant. And Mrs. Simbalina was secretly taken on by the Stag and his staff as a craftswoman of immense talent and secretive means to alter another’s life course, though her skills would never be openly spoken of, only held within careful silence from east to west, from south to north. Why? It was safer that way, because Mrs. Simbalina had to be carefully guarded due to her ability to exceptionally alter and cause.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Story: Love Without Self Punishment – 03/09/19

    Story: Love Without Self Punishment – 03/09/19

    With her eyes closed, she felt serene and free. Acceptance swirled within her like a welcoming mist, a self-love that had taken many years to grow, for herself to believe. Standing there with her curvaceous figure clad only in a bikini, she knew that years prior she wouldn’t have been comfortable in this size of clothing, wouldn’t dare to be seen. Now she felt a sense of quiet confidence. An accepting of who she was, what her image had become, so different from who she had once been. Unlike the yesterdays where she would shy away, embarrassed by a single stomach roll popping through her clothes, she had learned over time to simply appreciate and love herself. She had not always been so kind to herself, so many precious years had been wasted, pure happiness missed, completely wasted in the process.

    She’d lived through years of feeling pressured to conform to society’s norms, to be toned and thin, wear revealing, tight clothes, they were not only the pressures of society but a decision she had also thrown upon herself. She’d control and obsessively count her calories, exercise excessively, measure the deficits, plan out every meal to each macro and calorie, all for the need to be beautiful to herself and all, because she knew of the attention she’d draw, and she essentially wanted to be seen. She had been invisible for too long in her life up until now, a quiet girl, a wallflower of a woman, barely noticed by the world.

    But there came a time when she couldn’t control her world any longer, everything became far too difficult, she felt her mentality being somewhat snowed under. Her disordered thoughts and life became too tiring and too physically exhausting to keep up the effort and the pretenses, thus she allowed herself, reluctantly, to slip, and this did cause her much distress. But she couldn’t continue without risking breaking herself, in this life she had been abusing herself, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before her body broke internally, for the doctors with their worried expressions to shake their heads sadly.

    Then came the slow weight gains, then faster as she binged to subconsciously make up for the restrictions, and faster still her body would grow until she had regained to her original size, original weight, and then some more as well. She was dismayed, heartbroken because of all her prior control and hard work, there was nothing anymore to show for it, her memories she might as well throw unwanted, useless into the welcoming dirt. Her photos which she’d taken of herself over time were like a collage, a catalogue of attractive to not, in her eyes, she couldn’t accept herself, because this shape, this new form, was something she wished to be rid of. She couldn’t muster the energy to recommence with the tactics of shrinking again though, her secrets, her techniques, it was as though they were meant to be leaving her, this was the correct thing to do, it must be so.

    So, she carefully learned to love food again, she learned to enjoy every single bite. Not hating herself for wanting more, and reaching for the second serve, her body needed the vitamins, the sustenance, the help, to be healthy and alive. And no matter how many kilograms she was gaining and would gain, she understood that this was simply the course of Nature, and to not fixate upon the negatives, but the positives, such as improved health and happiness, this she would again and again. Sure, she was now classed as medically overweight but aside from a health factor what did this matter? As long as she had learned to be happy within herself, that was the feeling that mattered the most. It was a welcoming interior picture.

    Because for the first time in years she could enjoy a glass of regular Coca Cola, not fearing that one sip that may lead to another and another, and she could eat a slice of pizza without concern or care, and she could dress herself in a bikini and parade around the shop where she was trying it on there. There was no sign of her wanting to hide within the change room, calling over her friend to view her while she was still enclosed in it, a closet view, she was able to stand outside, look in the communal mirror from which she used to, when previously gaining, shy away from and hide, and now she closed her eyes again, breathed in and out, a deep sighing. How far she’d come from those years of great starvation.

    Never again would she punish her body, she would feed it whatever it so desired, she would provide it anything she wanted, without a single shred of guilt to be had. There was nothing to be self-conscious of, no matter whether her curved, bulging stomach was on show, in fact, this was a form of wondrous beauty in itself. In this bikini, her thick thighs and curvaceous hips were displayed, rather than hidden within a one-piece instead. And she somehow liked it this way, understanding in her heart that she must accept this was her body’s way of making her love what it had become, and to not alter herself again with any sense of unhealthy methods or desires or needs or wants. She didn’t care that her arms were now thicker, that her thighs rubbed against each other when she walked, pressing firmly together, that her chins were more prominent, because inner beauty was what she should prize the most.

    And appreciate herself for her interior that she did, no more worrying about what others would think of her, how she’d be viewed, judged or seen. She loved every part of herself, even her two wonky side teeth, and that was the end of the tale for this little former wallflower who had finally bloomed so delightfully.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

     


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  • Story: The Secret Mozzie Healer – 02/09/19

    Story: The Secret Mozzie Healer – 02/09/19

    “She slurped blood here, she sourced blood from there, she took advantage of healing their injuries with great concern and care.”

    McBuzzy McBuzz’s role in life was as a brave fighter pilot, she would attack the enemy with rapidity and due diligence. When she was not reigning bullets and bombs down upon the deserving rouge nations, she was honoured to transport her fellow servicemen and women. However, she was addicted to the metallic taste of blood, the iron platelets slipping down her throat, it made her want to gleefully rub her stomach, and find others to drain from. When she was in mid-air, she’d often place the jet on autopilot, so she could visit and speak with the injured soldiers, to see if she could benefit. Some would be asleep, some would be moaning with great pain, their injuries were healing, not quickly enough though, they needed more love and attention. McBuzzy McBuzz was able to feel their pain, empathise with them, and understand what they wanted and in return what she could gain, and in a transfer so very easy, she sucked the pain dry from their blood, a secret tactic that she had learned when she was just a little wee insect bub.

    When she performed this action, often the soldiers’ eyes would widen, upright, stiffen, they would sit, their wings now glimmering and golden. “By goodness, what have you done?” they would asked, astounded, looking around with great numbness. “I feel perfectly fine now, and you only drained me of blood as I know it!” McBuzzy felt utterly pleased, a smile coming to her face, a crafty expression that, if it were to be witnessed, would not have gone to waste, because her actions allowed her to gain and the others to lose, and wasn’t this a perfect thing for them to experience and for others to view? It just so happened that McBuzzy would then return to the cockpit, to guide the jet down towards the runway, to deliver the cured servicemen to be used again in the trenches and pits.

    Because this was the real reason why she had been raised to have this talent, her wartime family knew that it would come in handy, to have her cure men and women who might otherwise be of no further use to the military, during dangerous world events. If one could make right the injuries sustained, over and over, why, it was as though these soldiers and their skills were being healed again to be used in the battlefield seemingly forever. Then the country would never run out of its manpower, for there would always be McBuzzy the fighter pilot and secret healer to make certain that their soldiers were in tip top shape to continue fighting for the country’s rights, but what would happen if McBuzzy was in trouble, who would heal or save her?

    There was no use in accommodating or entertaining such a thought, because this mozzie was able to look after herself. She could remove blood from any being, and never receive a negative transmission or a disease, not a thing. She also had the skill of purifying all received blood, it was like if one were given a murky solution, and they could separate the water from the mud. McBuzzy was such a top secret government individual that she needed to be on the lookout often, to protect herself the most, because she knew that due to her skill set, if others found out they might make use of her, take her away, suddenly kidnap: and put her to ill use.

    However, aside from the government officials and herself, no one knew of her skill at all, let alone little, let alone the most. Even the soldiers who she cured couldn’t remember the procedure, for as soon as she left the interior of the jet, she emitted a natural gas that wiped the memories from their minds, no longer would they be saved. But there were beginning to be whispers, rumblings, of a certain talented mosquito, who resided in the war-torn countries as a pilot, and soon the bounty hunters were beginning their tracking, their know-hows.

    The soldiers in the plane today didn’t look like the usual characters. Some had keen looks in their eyes, some were nervously darting around, some highly fidgeting. They didn’t have the war-torn expressions paining in their eyeballs, the way that the other, front line soldiers did, this group of soldiers seemed odd, as though they hadn’t experienced any negative war activity. They simply appeared either eager or nervous, for someone, or something. McBuzzy couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she knew something was amiss.

    She approached the most nervous looking soldier and asked if he wanted to feel calm.

    “Yes… y…yes, of course,” he stammered, barely able to look her in her eyes,  let alone being comfortable with her touching his shaking arm.

    “Allow me to rid yourself of your illness, of it I will suck you dry,” she whispered, and she plunged her feeder into his jugular vein, where there would be the most blood flow. He suddenly snapped to, he felt overwhelmingly awake, so refreshed he was amazed! Her talent, her skill, were something certainly to be captured and saved.

    “How, what, why?” he asked, needing to understand what had just occurred.

    “Never you mind,” she said with a smile, and moved onto the other male mosquitoes in the herd. She cured all five members, they were dutifully pleased, at how clever she was with blood-letting, and her ability to allow them to be free, of the minutia, of the delicateness of illnesses that they didn’t even believe they’d had, and now that they had received her treatment, they didn’t feel like taking her away for their rogue nations, to be analysed, stripped of her talent, and cast away without a care. Besides, she presently emitted her signature gassy scent, and there went their memories of the moments, that was that.

    The plane full of bounty hunters presently forgot all about their mission.

    McBuzzy slowly gained a huge following, online and in real life, because gradually, slowly but surely, she had allowed the healed others to continue on without having their memories wiped. She felt it was somehow important that they knew that she would be taking credit for the procedures she had performed and how she’d made their lives better as they would soon understand and know it. Because if she healed everyone the world over and they didn’t know who was behind it, wasn’t that slightly pointless, too selflessly altruistic? She also wanted to share her techniques with others, so she started a healing school, where she went through the biology of what her body was capable of, what it had been taught to do. There she taught adaptable techniques of how other mosquitoes could source blood while saving ill fated members of the world, it was incredibly holistic yet medical too.

    Soon, there were mosquitoes everywhere, sucking the world dry all over, yet the point of this, the wisdom of the matter, was that they were saving others, not simply satiating their thirst for blood, they worked together. And with the cure being made obvious now, there was no need for warring, for fighting, for capturing other countries for their resources or wealth, no more need to fight for world power, domination, and such, when everyone could coexist peacefully together. It was amazing how from one little mozzie that peace could begin, occur in a special manner, a wondrous style, for her as a great being, and of McBuzzy McBuzz she would be known of as the world’s greatest healer, of her name they would all righteously sing.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.     


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