#Writober Day 28: Courageous Screaming

Sound of a Scream by Maria L. Berg 2022

Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge

Today’s prompt is Scream. This morning I’m thinking of “The Scream” by Edvard Munch. How will I visualize a piercing, shrill sound? Is the scream the sound outside the body, or the gut-wrenching terror vibrating inside before it escapes through the vocal cords? And how would I visualize that?

Scream by Maria L. Berg 2022
Screaming by Maria L. Berg


Today’s prompt is “Courageous & Daring.” What do I fear and avoid in my poetry? Is there something that I haven’t had the courage to attempt in a poem? It’s hard to know. If I’m avoiding it, I’m probably not aware of it.

In a State of Constant Courage

a misnomer of the very worst order for
a system so nervous it discerns all things as danger.
How does hypertension and an irritable bowel prepare me
for fight or flight when stuck on the porcelain bowl?
And how does a hand tremor fight human judgement?
Or loss of breath, sweating and racing pulse escape embarrassment?
There is no agreement in emotions between this system and me,
for I either fight or flee its hyperactive insistency constantly
and my intestines
show no sympathy.

Writober Flash Fiction

Today’s inspirational image is “Night Terrors” by Urchina.

“Quit screaming, Sasha. Oh baby. Can you even hear me. Wake up. Wake up. Please, wake up.”
Sasha’s eyes finally fluttered open. “Mommy?”
“No, sweetie. Mom’s not home yet. Its me. Sissy. Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” But tears rolled down her cheeks and she was shaking.
My baby sister had had night terrors for a year now. I couldn’t believe someone so young could have such terrible tortures already. And she said she didn’t even know what the dreams were about. All she ever said was “Don’t you see him? ” while pointing at the corner of her wall by her head. Once we tried moving the bed thinking it was a shadow that scared her, but it didn’t change anything. She said she liked where her bed was before, so I moved it back.
When Mom got home from her second, “night meeting” this week, threw her purse on the counter, plopped down on the couch, flipped on the TV and said, “so how’s your sister”, I was frustrated.
“She’s been screaming and flailing. Almost threw herself on the floor, and almost punched me when I woke her up. How was your night?”
She snapped her head around staring ice-daggers, “You’re not supposed to wake her up. You know that. The doctor said it can do psychological damage.”
I shook my head, but she was already staring at the TV. Some wanna-be celebrity was reporting about some reality TV personality doing something horrible.
“Mom. Aren’t you more worried that if she dies in a dream, she’ll die in real life.” I think I said it just to give Mom whiplash.

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