Forum Magazine is proud to present to you our second installment of “Editors Write,” this time from our very own Virginia Carrillo, Assistant Managing Editor and Poetry Reader!
This piece was inspired by the prompt “craving.” Please take a look, and always feel free to post your own work in the comments section below, or send it to firstname.lastname@example.org, subject heading “Writing Prompt Wednesday.” Thanks, and enjoy!
You know, I can’t help it. When I see them, I say to myself, “Well, shit. Here’s another one.”
It’s sort of a burden, but not really. They’ll stroll on their merry way with a regal disposition. It’s no joke when people say they reign the household, but again, I can’t help it. A few will drift the streets like vagabonds, their bodies fragile and delicate.
You almost feel sorry for them, not almost, you do feel sorry for them. It’s a sympathy that you can’t wash away. You look them in the eyes and it’s a done deal. It’s like a contract, like bidding your soul to darkness and devils. But again, I can’t help it.
They’ll raise their chin to you, full exposure of that charming visage. Those eyes, how they reveal a world of vulnerability and need. It’s a spell, I’m bewitched, I’m spellbound, but again I can’t help it. You’ll assist them once and oops, they come back for more. Sometimes, they’ll even bring a second, a third!
It’s sort of a business, I guess. You provide your lodgings and oops, they spread around the word. It’s okay though, even if my paycheck goes down the drain for these vagrant souls, I’ll continue my work. No doubt, they’ll thank me. It’s sort of nice, this alternating relationship. They’ll say their thanks, and do a favor or two. It’s convenient at times.
Of course, there’s a price to pay. Money-wise, yes, however, once they feel comfortable it’s a done deal. They become regnant landlords. Isn’t this my home? Don’t I pay rent? Think again.
They gradually take parts of the household. First, it’s the bed. Yes, they’re vagrants, I gotta share what’s mine, but they’ll say hello and politely ask if we could share a bed. I only got one, so I gotta share what’s mine. We’ll sleep pleasantly, but then they’ll stretch and ram their palm into my face. Don’t you kick them out at this point? You can’t.
It’s a craving, it’s a hex—a curse, but I can’t help it when it comes to cats.