Subversive Sandman’s Sad Story
A tautogram
Sunday. Subversive Sandman sits scathing; sips spiced Scotch. Smokes. Stands. Seeks scrapbook’s scrawls: souvenirs showing salacious sins.
Sallow skin, stooped, slumped stature: scarcely sapient. Scaly scarab-skin. Spindly, skeletal. Speckled. Spent. Somehow serpentine.
Slowly, Sandman searches several sheets. Seeks solace seeing sadist screenplay (sans scruples). Stories show scars; scandals, seismic scares. Sacrosanct. Special.
Sandman sighs sharply. Seal soon set. Smirched. Substituted. Sun setting. Seafarer stranded.
Sandy’s solitary shack sits somewhere secluded. Silver slate slivers, silent shadows shift. Shimmering stench: sandalwood, sage. Stinking, spoiling shelter: secluded; solitary. Some sinister site. Stained - sprinkled sand, scrapes, scratches, sickness, spittle, shit, stale syrupy semen.
Summoned snapshots show slumbering souls shiver – Sandman sprinkling, scratching, screeching.
She sees: shudders, screams.
“Shhhhhhhh,” Sandman says, “shhhhhhhhhhhhh-”
Soul stolen.
Scrapbook slowly satiated.
Sigh. Slam Scotch. Shrivel. Sob.
Some Sunday service! Sceptical Sabbath! Spew scalding shocks, sacrifice sanity. Sweltering shame. Sweat slips slowly.
Sacrilege!
Sadness. Sorrow.
About the Creator
Beth Sarah
We've been scribbled in the margins of a story that is patently absurd
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