Paralysis by Nicolette Wong

They say she is the wild card but the playground is empty. In the starlight I cannot see, cannot hear the voices coming from the sanctuary, a riot searing the night’s veil, ashes falling into her veins where she is turning into a statue, all grey and stone.

Her grief is green and mine is blue.

The playground stays empty every night.

Since she went missing I have burnt my world down: clothes, records, books and all documentary proof to my existence. Today I peel bank notes off my wallet and leave them all over the streets. If her flesh is gone, what else do I have to hold onto?

She is a young thing. So am I. Only I lost my soul early and saw it in time.


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11 responses to “Paralysis by Nicolette Wong

  1. randalhoule

    There is a word, more like an emotion, sticking in the back of my mind, but I can’t get it up front where my fingers are for this. All I can say is, read it several times and like it very much. Maybe evocative, but that word seems cliche. best I can do for now.

  2. This reads more like poetry, has that vagueness and subtle imagery to it that sticks in the mind.

  3. oh, this is a really haunting piece; I agree with susan, reads like poetry – is poetry. It is so powerful it turns the reader into the haunted persona it describes. I love it!

  4. Such an amazing piece, Nicolette.

  5. Haunting, beautiful, elusive like fog. Peace…

  6. Michael

    Wow! I just read “Stones” and this is a perfect sequel to it! Oh, there is gorgeous images in this. So many comments already speak to this, but it is true, your prose is poetic and moves so fluidly. And I think this is why this piece is even that much more disturbing and haunting, because the beautiful phrases make the harsh reality behind them cut into us deeper and leave the wounds more open and harder to close. Loved this.

  7. this is so poetic. i love it. your best piece yet. heartbreaking and real.

  8. Kelly

    like a poetic parable of sorts, elusive and yet as others have pointed out, with images that stay in the mind; unfinished, in the writerly sense in which not everything needs to be, and one then leaves something up to the reader

  9. Heart-wrenching and vivid. LOVE this!

  10. Pingback: Week #40 – The money’s gone | 52|250 A Year of Flash

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