“The Plagiarist” by @sensualstories   4 comments

The very tongue in his head was stolen. The Plagiarist. She’d felt it for months, imagined at one point that he’d caught the dew at the corner of her lips, the nearly unnoticeable dribble at her tongue and fed it back to her. Cannibalism nearly, to eat the words she’d birthed for him. Excruciating for a writer. Stolen tongue, painful excision, mutedness, death.

That was how the writer’s block had started. At least, that’s what folks had thought she’d had, but blocked was a lying word, a misdirect. Closer to the truth would be to say she had run interference. Some folks had a self-destructive streak by nature. Hers was learned–he took me to school, she almost whispered and laughed now.

Deconstructing her tongue rather than destroying her heart. Words clamoring at every wrinkle of her brain to get out, to bounce on her tongue’s soft tissue, speech, to flow whitehot energy through her arms to her fingertips, fingers weaving at the keyboard loom, story, but she fought back. Bit the tip of her tongue to stymie words. Popped her knuckles, painful crackle, to divert tales. They’d collect and bulge there. Calcites and tales rheumating. Arthritis.

She would lose her ability to write completely if she let him have this from her. First the words dancing off her nimble tongue, then the stories brewing in passage, borrowed from the blessed giver of talents.

God, she wanted more than anything to shed this fear that she’d speak beauty only to find he’d absconded it again, given it away to nameless faces, avatars stolen, too, from some visual artist’s heart, eyes, but every impulse was mutedness. She was dying without release.

Slowly, she brought the lancet pen to her wrist. Imagine dying for your art. Laughed one moment at the sheer cliche of the thought. Plunged the point deep into an artery to make her mark. Well of soul, she could write this in her own redflow ink, but he’d never know the difference. Every word she wrote so easily dark magician-ed away, she was Cixous’s woman writing in white ink with every tap of his fingers in dms and chats to other women. What a fool to hand the poetry over without cause.

And, now, red Bic to stark scream white out paper, Belle wrote, “Stolen tongue dries up. Everyone hates the Plagiarist.”

I am @sensualstories @sensualstories, and my voice is my own. If you recognize my words on the tongue or fingers of another, please bite hard. Thank you:).

Posted August 17, 2010 by thejournalinggame

4 responses to ““The Plagiarist” by @sensualstories

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  1. Your words inhabit every colour of the spectrum and paint their own never thought of before. A pleasure as always letting them paint their picture upon our canvas.

  2. Beautiful & eloquent. Thank you

  3. Exquisite concept (and I can’t help but wonder if it’s autobiographical). I have always loved how your stories flow with a poetic pulse. Still do.

  4. Biting passionate anguish…

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