Lawless Letters

It was the right time to leave. The poison allowed no reprieve. The cockroaches fled From under the bed. "Good riddance!" yelled Linda and Steve. Writing Prompts: (1) Must begin with "It was the right time to leave" (2) Narrator's point of view: the monster under the bed Poets: Write a poem using the opening line somewhere in the poem

Garrett wasn’t what Susan expected. Obviously. Humans are hilarious if you ask me. They think they’re so in control of themselves, but their faces show everything. It’s one of my greatest sources of entertainment. That, and the way they behave on boats after a few Coronas. Ninety meters below us, the Mystic River glittered. Susan clung to my railing and looked Garrett up and down. She’d expected Death. Her face said it all: Since when does Death wear jeans and work boots? Well, I got news for ya, sweetheart. Death doesn’t come unless you actually jump off. Believe me, I know. Garrett knew her, though. I’d heard him talking to the other guys from the MDOT crew. They were all standing around, looking up, when Garrett arrived. Even McCarthy. If Slave Driver McCarthy was standing around, you knew something was wrong. Garrett squinted into the sunlight. “Shit,” he said. “SHIT.” “Garry? Whaddya know her or something?” His buddy, Rick. “Yeah, man.” Garrett exhaled, wiped a han...

She wasn’t surprised the pencils were missing. And the fine paper that she used for writing. And the makeup brushes, and the jeweled combs, and the pot of pale powder. Her Majesty sighed. Priscilla had been at this dressing table moments before, and Priscilla never did have any scruples about taking what wasn’t hers. As if she were the queen. Ugh… Priscilla was so common . No amount of cosmetics or costume could cover that up. Her Majesty beheld herself in the looking glass, applying blusher. Just under the cheekbones, never over. She could hear the announcements being made. (“Ladies and Gentlemen… The Duchess Miranda!”) Music. Applause from the assembled multitudes. Corseted, she sat straight as an elm, fixing her hairpiece. Two hundred years ago, she would have had servants for this. And if any servant had dared to remove the Queen’s belongings… Well. Fools like that got what was coming to them. But one had to suffer fools, didn’t one? Not everyone could be royal...

Because, at 2 days shy of 42, it's about time I did this.