Voiced // SHORT SERIES: O Quentin!: Part I by Thomas Rivet

O Quentin!

Quentin examined the faucet,

four drops would hit the sink every minute;

Quentin counts. A tall, skinny boy

with pupils so deep, one could sail a boat in them.

His long brown streaks would hang like curtains across his face,

like bamboo, or seaweed dangling in the ocean currents.

Quentin sweat, but would swipe his forehead with a dish towel

before the drops could mix with the faucet’s drool.

He was an odd fella, Quentin was.

I would leave the house for hours, and days, sometimes,

and Quentin would always be counting drops.

I had to get the faucet fixed, why hadn’t I earlier.

Friday morning, briefly after lunch, the plumber came with his wrench,

I left him to quibble the rusty tubes.

Catastrophe.

Upon my return, broken glass and porcelain everywhere,

I didn’t order a painter, nor did I order a tint of red;

the plumber wasn’t a plumber,

his wrench wasn’t a tool,

but a weapon,

to kill my

odd friend

dead.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella V by Thomas Rivet [END OF SERIES]

I was slain.  It's simple, see -
the pain was very real, 
though the slayer mustn't have been, probably.
As I dragged my elbows across the castle yard, 
towards that who pierced me,
I discerned a silhouette,
it couldn't be my lady of the sunshine, could it?
Her stiff lips told more than it should.

She had debt, and then none,
as I was that which was to be let.
I and she had made few mistakes
in the last ten, maybe twenty years.
They were typically 'taken care' by me.
Then I weaved out of being wanted and unwanted;
by her, and our fortressed city.
Months and a dull decade until I was once more seen as city hero,
or even sober man. I wanted to leave it all behind, and start anew.
Isabella wanted to remain close to her Kingdom ... so do so, we did.

I owned a castle in the hills.  These hills were northerly, and 
farther than four by fourteen horizons, approximatively. 
It is 'yonder abode', see.

Regretfully, Isabella couldn't live with such an
unflattering man.
The sky was cloudy,
only the most determined beams of sunlight
made it through the wooden stables.
I tended to my steed, 
at which point, 
she must have seized my royal blade
in the armoury,
wandering and searching
for my head or knee, with killer prospects, 
she saw me, swung it self-indulgently
before my half-expecting eyes,
into my unprotected chest, 
inflicting a stream of red splatter
on the yellow hay bales nearest.

Isabella then traversed the varying landscapes
to mine fort; repressing her anger and anguish to detrimental extents,
provoking psychotic behaviour and a spiral of grief and denial. She regretted
doing the dirty deed. I nonchalantly noticed her transformation, 
typically twisting my see-through spirited self 
by path of gusts and gales
through the walls of 
my marvellous château.

An assassin
she has unintentionally become
and long denied to be ...
now I take fancy
in irregularly reminding her
what she did to me.

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella IV by Thomas Rivet

One evening, under a crimson skyline, Isabella ceased

her usual stroll from the muddy marshes.  Her movement
paused as she gawked at the two fungi-ridden towers

that stood at the entrance of our medieval-esque dwelling.
Isabella suddenly

felt disorientated - letting out a scream of agony,
as she pressed her fingertips

on her temples to alleviate the overwhelming pain.
She took the matter in her own hands; 

hurrying to our kitchenette -

stumbling and knocking herself against
the matured wooden stools and tables
that stood in her way.  Isabella fearfully
searched for any item or ingredient to
provide healing.
Isabella thought a ground-vegetable broth would resolve

the excruciating aching.  Despite her effort, it was of no avail.
She was overcome by her weakness ... and fell unconscious.

Days, weeks passed ...

Isabella rested - soon recovering from her
macabre fall, she then crawled to our bedroom after awakening, 
spending many fortnights under the bed sheets ...
thankfully, that is all it took to have her emerge, 
almost transcendently.

Particular events preceding our way to our yonder abode
were now carefully being pieced together, and
there were some discrepancies.

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella III by Thomas Rivet

My lady of the sunshine, Isabella, soon began to wander

the rustic whereabouts surrounding our empty abode. 
Silence crept through the unsettled lands;

waters ceased to flow, birdsong felt banished, only the winds 
breathed down our spines.

There was a presence - au contraire - an absence.

Isabella said nothing.  She would only murmur to me; 
invariably ending her utterances with an adorable giggle.  
Her cheeks would refine, 
turning red - matching her palpable ruby lips.

She seemed detached; Isabella stopped bathing, but would return 

drenched from the nearby marshland; mumbling profanity. 
Isabella was swirling into severe psychosis.

"Gods! Gods! Forsake not - forsake me not,"

Isabella, in impulse, exclaimed from our stone balcony,

with no one to hear her despair.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella II by Thomas Rivet

Isabella spoke in soft tongue; 
she could lullaby the fiercest of predators.
Her words, however, could poison the last man's blood to fatal lengths.
Without her callous charm, her and I would have never been royal lovers.

"Cursed you - you wretched warrior - to the depths; to the abyss with you,"
she would reiterate to herself, as she stood in the shady corner of our bedroom.

I witnessed a glimmering tear, as she strenuously heaved her pride apart.
Isabella fell to her knees, incomplete.

What was I to do? Seek help, or let time heal all wounds?

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella by Thomas Rivet

"Take me yonder,

and I shall call it home"

Isabella cried in desperation.

Isabella now despises me;
have I become a tame man?
It cannot be yonder,
although tempted to wonder ...
what other reason 
for this irrational treason? 

THOMAS RIVET