All These Onomatopoeias Are Trying To Write Their Own Story

BAM!

Whoa, whoa, whoa…what in the blue hell just happened here? That’s a sharp turn for a short story. Or is this an extended series? How many issues? Do you think they’ll make a movie about it one day?

SPLAT!

Ok, ok, ok…simmer down. There is surely some deflating explanation for such a brilliant catastrophe. Stars don’t just align that way, right? Stellar joke. But I’ll be damned if it isn’t cruel.

ZAP!

But hey, hey, hey…let’s face it, most fun we’ve had in a while. It wouldn’t have to be sensical if not for circumstance. Maybe that’s the point. Play the hand you’re dealt, right? Does everything really happen for a reason? If so, I promise I won’t get angry the next time I stub my toe. 

POW!

Well, well, well…isn’t this just grand? The most divine of comedies. Can’t lie, I’m immersed in this lead role. Who’s to say we don’t have the perfect picture? We could clean up come award season. America’s Sweethearts. Helpless method actors. Too perfect for the part.

BOOM. BANG. CRASH.

Wait, wait, wait…we still need an ending. Too bad we’re not the writers. I bet there’s a plot twist before it’s over.

Self-Made Prisoner

Loose-lipped in a tight spot.
Juggling words through the duress.
An embarrassment comparable to that of pissing yourself during the 4th grade talent show.

You fit like a glove in that coffin you were crafting.
Never thought your own dead weight would put you in it.
I bet you’d smack yourself if there was enough space in there.

But you’re boxed in.
A four-sided cell for your shortsighted brain.
Self-induced solitary confinement.

And to think, you already thought you were alone.