Writing Prompt | Rosaries, monkeys, and circuses

Anonymity. She coveted it more than anything.

Black beads, worn down by generations of thumbs, linked by century-old wire knots, prayed through the sorrowful and joyful mysteries, made their way through the long icy and elegant fingers of her right hand. A hand so well manicured and moisturized, the scars of her early years were not visible. She suppressed that life the moment he became a viable prospect, she hastily stuffed her past into a time capsule, she sealed her fate in purgatory the day she vowed to stand by him in sickness and health.


She stood like a ruler with punctuated curves. Perfect posture: Were a level placed parallel her legs, it would confirm such. Legs so long they could thrice wrap around his neck like a vice. Squeezing out his last breath. Heaven, she thought for a moment. She quickly released the thought. She chanted decade after decade of Hail Marys, in between which, she recited her daily mantra.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but his names will never hurt me.”

A Dick he most certainly was. She was hardly Jane. He was a stick without a soul, evidenced by the Pradas on her feet the diamond studs in her ears. Everything she ever imagined was here in this White House, in this un-united country, that she cleverly weaseled and bamboozled her way into, and who today calls her its “First Lady”.

He once called her a tall drink. Yes, he called her that and more. Back then he kissed her ring. He bowed to her. Back then, when he loved more than her ass. Back when he didn’t quantify people as liabilities. Or so she thought, anyway.

With her left hand, she gracefully picked up the glass, the vodka inside, a gift from Vladimir. She smiled longingly, the posture of the extra long stem of the crystal vessel stood perpendicular to the fingers that held it.

Perpendicular, posture, perfect. Yes, she was all that and more.

This balcony, more, opulent than the rooms of the homes on whose beds she once spread, that stood overlooking a luscious carpet, greener than the envy she had for those who live outside of the public eye, people who live on the other side of that fence.

Anonymity. She coveted it more than anything.

She knew better to think he would not be re-elected. What the Donald wants, the Donald gets. If she were to die before him, he’d likely ship her off to the taxidermist, who would stuff her bust and mount it to his wall. To him, she was just another trophy.

As much as she tried to believe this farce was “not her circus, and these were not her monkeys” they were. She was the complicit ring-mistress. She ensured his vanity and variety show would go on when the ultrasound confirmed a son and he canceled the scheduled abortion. She traded her womb for stilettos and vacuous sex. With taciturn and confidence she deftly performed her role. Her contempt for him so obvious. She, the loyal wife, cloaked in rosaries made by Italian artisans and soaked in vodka gifted by men, who too are gifted.


Note: Last week Dale at A Dalectable Life commented that on a saying we used as kids (and still do sometimes as adults): “I’m rubber and you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.”  An exchange followed and we lassoed Marc from Sorryless. Two prompts were born. The first being the rubber retort, the second “Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys”.  Dale opted for rubber and Marc for circus. We played loosey-goosey with rules, the prompts being the foundation. I wrote about a rubber reaction the other day. And slept on the circus, as I was intimidated by the dynamic duo’s posts. I got down to monkey business this morning. It was all around fun. It was certainly my pleasure and honor to be playing with the likes Marc and Dale, whose writing and words make this world the joyful circus it is.


13 comments on “Writing Prompt | Rosaries, monkeys, and circuses

  1. Are you kidding me? Intimidated? No, dear Lady. If anyone is intimidated, it is me. You and Marc write with such, such – I don’t even have the words. I’m hanging around you because they say to surround yourself with people who inspire you and from whom you can learn. So you guys are stuck with me.

    This was absolutely brilliant. The descriptions, the detail, the structure – and we’re talking about the writing per se. The story itself was beautifully composed and we cannot help but feel for Melania. Regardless of her choices, she definitely did not aspire to this.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, we all need to surround ourselves with light and you have it, Dale.
      This is what I imagine a deal a deal with the devil is. We often think the grass is greener and it’s not. Thanks for the circus monkeys, Dale.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Thank you, kind lady.
        I certainly agree with you. I don’t think she realised just what kind of devil she was making a deal with…
        And most welcome. Now I have to come up with something!!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Intimidated?
    Yeah, no.
    This is nothing short of amazing. Dare I say, fucking amazing . . which I just did. Because why not?
    And when I realized who SHE was? I laughed, and then I nodded my head and went “Yup” and then I thought to myself, wouldn’t it be really cool if Melania happened upon this post and secretly crushed on it? After which she invited you to the White House for dinner?
    Which, if this improbable (not impossible) hypothetical were to happen, you would HAVE to figure out a way to get me and Dale in there with ya. I mean, that’s a movie plot right there, actually.

    Karen, this is what the prompt post is all about!

    Nailed it!

    Liked by 2 people

    • Let’s skip the races then. We are off to the White House instead. Of course, I would have to bring my entourage!

      Wait, the phone is ringing!

      “Oh, yes, hello, Melania.
      Well, thank you. That’s so kind.
      Go on, now, you practically wrote it for me. Well, yes, I’d love to join you for dinner.
      This Friday?
      Will Vlad be there, too?
      One itsy, bitsy request, the dynamic duo of Dale and Marc will be accompanying me. You don’t mind? The more the merrier! Of course!
      Oh, yes, I’ll share that with them. I wholeheartedly agree.
      Yes, they are so very talented.
      All right then.
      No, go on, the pleasure is mine.
      Ok, see you Friday.
      What’s that? The President has a conflict?
      That’s awful. I’m sorely disappointed. What a loss!
      Well, we’ll manage to enjoy ourselves without him then.
      Ok, fantastic.
      Until Friday, then.
      Yes, fabulous.
      Thank you.
      Ok, take care, Melania.
      Thanks again.
      Ba, bye.”

      All right, we are in! See you, Friday!
      That was easy. To imagine any way!

      Liked by 2 people

      • Actually… the husband being unable to attend somehow makes the prospect of our evening that much more enjoyable!
        That was a great addition!

        Liked by 1 person

      • I think that was a conscious decision on my part!


      • I don’t doubt it!!

        Liked by 1 person

      • Bwahahahaha!
        I was just gifted a post in your reply! Muchas gracias KC! That was sublime, and HAlarious. And no Covfefe in Chief? I say we hang at the House until he returns then! You guys can scat when he returns, but Imma stick around and peddle myself as a speechwriter. I’ll write up speeches with quotes from flicks like Big Lebowski and shows like Game of Thrones. He won’t get that he is being satirized until Vlad lets him in on the joke.

        Liked by 2 people

      • The dude abides …

        Liked by 2 people

      • “Let me tell you folks. This aggression will not stand . . man!”

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: Ringmaster to Her Circus | A Dalectable Life

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