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Episode Three

October 15th 2008 13:33
Link to Part 1

Link to Part 2

Wednesday Day 3.



I just can’t stop Friday. I tried to keep my eyes open but blackness claimed me.


I don’t remember falling asleep but I awoke, my wife was slumbering and I lay on the floor the scent of fresh flowers played upon my nostrils. I looked down in the dim morning light to find I was covered in a blanket of flower petals.

Wednesday the week was half over. Friday was closing in and the world was tilting like some mad freak show. I was hearing voices and strange giggling and now as I looked down to see my body hidden beneath a riot of color, purple, fiery orange and yellow.

I couldn’t understand what strange nightmare I found myself in. I closed my eyes for a moment trying to clear my head of sleep and comprehend what was happening to me when I felt a gentle touch on my face.

I slapped my face the force of the blow stinging my wound. I opened my eyes and leapt to my feet.

“Who’s there? I know that you are here I can feel you.”

I looked down watching a rain of flower petals cover the floor and noticed the drops of blood start to splash on the bright orange petals at my feet.

My wife woken from her slumber spoke drowsy words “Babe! I'm trying to sleep. Please.”


I touched the wound still stinging. I took my hand away and my fingers were stained with blood.

I rushed to the bathroom and saw in the mirror blood seeping from beneath the bandage.

I grabbed a fresh bandage from the draw and slowly and gingerly pulled the old one off.

When I looked at my now revealed wounded face I took a step back in horror. What had been a small cut the day before was now a weeping puckered wound at least twice the size it had been the day before.

I took a damp cloth and wiped the wound. It was then that I felt the lump.

Beneath the cloth as I gingerly washed it over the wound I felt a small lump with a hard edge.

I pulled the cloth down and looked closer at my face.

A small lump sat just below the gore of the wound hard to make out but clear and distinct.

With cautious fingers I touched the lump. That is when I heard the voice. In a sing song whisper.

On Wednesday he woke with Marigold for grief,
He didn’t understand what the colors meant,
The Monkshood was for danger that he could not understand,
And the Nasturtium for victory when we take his hand..

Friday comes and Friday goes,
On Friday he will scream and he will crawl,
He will wish Friday never came at all,

On Friday we will come out to play,
And he will shimmer then fade away.

Oh what fun to be had on Friday.


Then the giggling started.

I ran screaming from the bathroom. I left the house and sat in the garden till my voice was gone. I sat curled in a ball till minutes later my wife found me crying and screaming.

There was fear in her eyes as she tried to calm me down.

When she saw my face she grabbed me and held me in her arms rocking me back and forth.

As I sat there in her arms all I could hear was..

Friday comes and Friday goes,
On Friday he will scream and crawl,
He will wish Friday never came at all,


Two more days, all I have left is two more days.

Friday is coming. God help me Friday is coming!!!!!!!
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