The dishes stacked in the sink

April 13, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write about offering to help someone. What’s their situation? What’s yours? Do they think they need help? How is it received? Could you be misinterpreted?

Respond by April 19, 2016 to be included in the weekly compilation. Rules are here. All writers are welcome!

***Zalcos throws askew feelings within guilt; for getting stiffed with an entire siding job; when, after the first draw, Crunk snagged a cab leaving the dishes piled in the sink –“Wee always been like a small town. Everyone wants to leave this shit city….”—“not your fault trusting a guy you always stick your neck out for, but some folks refuse help so they don’t have to help.”—“He done so many, but to me? Time he never come back.”-“Only seen a turkey dart across the road ahead once, that is driving around here. Hes a squirrel.” –

Black Market Mercurio (part 5)

#imagettin round, waiting to launch pure work in progress that streams in that untouchable quicksilver circulation. aint that life?. Sure i wanna edit perfect madness, yes im covering my asset, but this is a fiction; any resembles to actual folks in this is merely coincidence. Awright.

Nothing is sacred anymore. So, to truly redefine the ever-present reason i started we flying across pavement, typing while striving.. staring, starving, cuz i want to break through the dead souls, outside, rising,….   The green veil and the smoke stacks exude in live squinted presence of being that shines as if upon the murky brown lake and fishtails of boats at all times, a trees spiderweb window panes bent in abysmal  #itsaaallllgreentome

Dream dream Stream finally bringing Mercurio into here ‘wuddup rude”-“gentleman…” was to get everyone into this. Rudy, Bowen, Garrison, Dulante…Murray Webster. And to capture the truth before it completely vanishes into that veil and the electronic phases converted from physical to mental illnesses believing and waiting for the Easter Bunny or some new miracle drug to kick in…Before my veins turn to foam.  Its just a guy sitting here dreaming writing erupting the 4th wall before its… wussup. My names Elliott but they call me Link… In a story in mighty as ever has been, feels blinking forever through to you my dear reader, thinking god i hope you are…. what did they do to me? Flash! Back to the moment i typed that and they beginning to come find me finding them. we still here though…..? Did the world save me? Did it my dear reader? Nah, I’m bout to save it.  ….Now that’s some golden coin worth of a switch whatasweetrevenge ._. On inverted guesses, that I didn’t read the labels until I had to… And no one notices..right. I can’t stand by and see u destroyed (world.). before my circulation eats itself away and can’t see straight to my thinking; let alone yours behind the unevenly mirrored refractions; lets say – no lets blast! -these fucking disorders. -%%USomataform- fascinations. Let us open the alien museums. The bad thoughts of course sleepless weeks, all ack yuck gagging on candida and negatively brain clot squeeze down the neck when rising and lifting off and out of the way to the _ yea _ tip toeing ley lines to not disturb any or anyone…and to get my point across the imaginary bridges..That physical happening out there. oh blood pressing forward. oh images tubed in thick blots dissipating ways, flush face. burn. sunk into the neck. m’oh boy. Now this switch moons over the break through the sensation in all the silence here…with a great imagining of things while it happening. Saying, if it not on the other side happening/irritating r u trying to figure out why its happening?….It’s all not going to happen like well…._ that’s riht. ok. The longer I go the longer delve thru various mm x Rays/scopes/needling of blood drawn lines bigger in formation than….wait. why hav I had to…if “there’s nothing there.” ——- cuz sometimes ..I swear this drip-rot burn, gurgles upon on the inextricable knot, or hardening sides keep swallowing inside and as days go by….ugh – tired of explaining. Fighting the possibilities. Cuz I said “sometimes”.. and know the fact they are going to say, “well your endoscopy” anxiously choking on ..”.shows me..nothing.”…??. NO. damnit. no. ok guess let’s fucking start from the beginning again today. damn. in time well I assume/know that it was the colored lady, Elsie Maxwell, just so tired she says. “Unable to finish college,” shes 23 and we can see the lethargy emaciated on her face. And instantly i believe shes my soul mate. Shes the first person we meeting face to face, “its such bullshit folks like so sick sad wasted and feeling every day we are dying or overwhelmed with this drag and hollow shouts no one hears and every day is an eternity walking no trudging through the ocean floor.” Oh Radio. “So i had to quit school and forget dreams and finally admit the destiny of my undying undiagnosing god knows what destroting my lives before I ever realized I had one… Turning to D and the ever present black market for relief and something to lift us through our days, “whats truly sad is this generation rage is just emerging and ready to be sculpted into beings more magnificent than roman or greek paintings and stone staues.  But whats most sad is how we are viewed to be whiny and like little agonies, kids… we seem to cry about everything; pains, cramps, aches..” and as she washes her hands in the sink i can see for the first ever what it looks like to watch someone exactly like me and realize i cannot tell the ripping screams of perfect water washing over skin. It sweeps over her palms like screams. She looks fine to me. Holy shit what awful rage in her veins in this fiery moment she had either tamed and or it truly cannot be seen on the outside. “Why do we have to suffer? This America.” The levels of little stuffing, slight studders I hear, her craggly voice I swear she sounds 8o! So u might wonder how i am writing this if I am so damn weak. A heart that had any other mind… Because Radio. Speakers hit the Fan, wicked substances coursing my veins. Mercurio Murray Webster, more the stereotypical mexican Dulante, and me, he sways in, “went right back to Elsie. Glad you guys came back around.”


In response to April 6 Flash Fiction Challenge @

“April 6, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a response to an agoraphobic moment. Does your character see the shadows or the light filtering through? This can be used as a character trait or as a moment that causes an anxious reaction. Explore the character’s discomfort — embarrassment, indecision, feeling trapped. The scene can be direct or overheard. Is there a solution when fears are faced?”

Respond by April 12, 2016 to be included in the weekly compilation. Rules are here. All writers are welcome!


Just by Elliott Lyngreen

No. He cannot imagine music. Roger flustered hands, “open your ears Spence. It’s just in your head.”


(Whatever happened to ‘the body sends pain signals to the brain identifying that something is wrong’?)


Roger’s intentions were not to humiliate the husky Spencer. Tense, disheveled speech, along with signing, Roger despairing, “you just think your ears won’t hear,” nervously and repetitively engaging with a song – #canyoukeepuhhh_secret – as if Roger’s song that he just wanted to be heard.


“Don’t over-think. Psyche yourself out. Let open your ears, and listen,” fingers decoded. “Gotta face this man… no IdeA what you’re missing!”

Black Market Mercurio (part 4)

“I-‘ont wanna hide. I have to yo. U think i want to ..” like an artist or writer, Dulante explains further, “Don’t want to censor myself or conform to the story, nah everyone wants they diary streamin on the page. Well mine asks how would u like to die? Not go home. Not wake tomorrow?” And I spend every day with the feelings of withdrawal, thinking as the exchange exhales of gas fumes and the inexorable exhaust atmosphere sweep us back in and around the unappealing East inside; compacted sidestreet holes, tiny front yards along that network of roads, backdoors emanate stretches from dirty alleys and potholes and like bricks in-between the pavement. This subcity begins so much before us; and quite often these folks will run through the perpetually ancient vapor. Lightly underneath things hide the gaps of teeth, glinting obstacles merge like shortcuts in and around the dirt railroads…squeezing in beaten scraping looks upon me…the drums of hearts getting ahead of me, all vibrating some high pitched accumulation so quick and instant i’m swaying feelings for #icantstandbyyyy_seeyoudestroyed —drum-double pounds like tribal bongs reflecting her thoughts or something— the subcity daylight extracting that no no #weeesodown –but the black lull then come back a second inevitably building again of the magnificent story carrying you through the stained windows into into her resonantly ignited ineffable city edges, upon grassy edges, the driveless ride through sidestreets that catch the (bring it (help me out here Radio)) #seeeeizethetiiihiiiime —right there, “heard the Power Strung Out?” In culminating echoes and high pitched waverings and fuzz, in distortions perfectly loud, mix nothingness of noise that continually lingers on purely strange within, that/this voice endearingly #cuziknoooooooooooooooo  —rolling out things faster and faster as I start thinking all overcome with insignificance and fantasies that never happen of what the means. Yet, as if that needled chills through me, went incredibly within those wonders looking at me, now, as if for the first time; building and drum beat like shot of some sniper; there, in the wiry sagging universe #cuzitsnoworneverbabayeah just let loose at first anticipating as it all sponge, began…And trying to keep up with words and actual writing of the anxious soft glare in this dark dudes eyes, D that I don’t know how but it says perfectly the kingdom tied to meaning and purpose of eww rushing through the initial quiet connection of white and brown men; in the settled earth expecting utopia or the future of whatever was supposed to be a better world for us. As the automatic switch changed the mood, “Ok..?”–“You know. How would you like if there’s no cure? but there is relief, and you cannot have it..?” Everyone wants me to suffer, “can u imagine how that makes ME feel???” Ha! ho. damnit. no. no “don’t get me hung up on the headache. But go intense with me into these spots with a camera…..right?” Cobweb brains mush into thee world and find next to nothing. Leaving me lingering so far behind u world. Always got ur back. Slam! So up we roar to this little elixir and where we should be and where we connect/agree//relate. Doves – pounding Cedar Room. Now this switch moons over D and break through the sensation in all the silence here between him and me…as I cannot believe as I hear with a great imagining of things while it happening, myself saying, “if it not happening/irritating r u trying to figure out why its happening?….it’s all not going to happen like well…._ shoot..bang. just like that; though, when nothing gets rid of ..moreover, though, but not instantly; how much time you gonna spend thinking on it? yea and what I mean is: when u don’t hav one…don’t really even think about it.  right?”–“You dont have to justify to me we doing the right thing, Linkage.” There’s a headaches of sentences Dulante catches within mine drifting, “that if its easy enough to take an aspirin to get rid of an old headache; then for, lets say somataform disorder it could be the same; or fibermyalgia, or bipolars and depressed, or cancer- maybe! hail yea cuz a headache is in the brain..just think it away.. its not in the visions within… its not in the vision so…ok stop. cuz we about to reach the moon.” And I take another cure to elongate the cure… #youcouldbesittingnexttome_andiwouldntknowit