fff#67
gosh, i clean forget how much fun this shit can be!
i know i cheat ever so slightly on the form of 1 of the [inclusion]trigger-words, and the piece might be a little strange for a non-trini reader who may not recognise "she", but i always willing to answer questions and you eh need a blogger account to comment/question here and i like the piece enough to leggo the 1word, so am totally chuffed to present my attempt@flash fiction friday #67; [inclusions]trigger: cold, bold, fold, hold, rolled.
she shiver. the place was like a desert these days, sweatiness of the days belying cold dark nights. but heat sooncome, she remind herself, smiling darkly against the black night. she almost bring something warm to wear outside, then laugh at how stupid+unnecessary the idea was. she make her way through the dark, the route back to herself familiar, easy…
she more bold with each movement, each crossing, exiting through the silence of suspicion shrouding her yard, pushing through the fog of rumour+fear lingering along her path, clearing the edge of the village and cutting into the other world of whispering trees and screaming spirits…
she reach. standing at the top of the rise looking up into the arms of the silk cotton she feel herself rising inside, growing out of herself, getting bigger than her self could contain, reaching, spreading, unfolding her branches to meet those above her. she couldn’t stop smiling now, feeling herself coming into and simultaneously bursting out of her self, and suddenly she was in the tree, delicately balancing in the midst of the magic of undressing her fire…
the silk cotton always stronger than its old age might suggest, always able to hold+protect, to hide+keep safe, secrets, skins, whole selves…
stripped now of skin and the form of her self, pure heat+light rolled up into the sky, all fire+laughter, finally free to feed…
walk good.
posted by sweet trini @ 11:06 am
2 comments
2 Comments:
now, as an old man, the crossing is the only thing he dreams. on cold nights, when his knees and fingers stab with a pain that traverses his body to then settle in his gut, sleep comes in bursts. he still only ever sleeps on planks of board to this day. so long since he has slept on anything else, not counting the times when he has spent days and nights hung up by the wrists, or the ankles, or both. it has been so many moons that the memory of a softer sleep is not bold enough to present itself to him. he does not dream of comforts.
he dreams of being in the hold of the ship. he dreams of being shackled and rolled, of his buttocks becoming more and more raw from sitting and rocking, his weight, all their weight, pushing down across the waves. he wakes. there is a new pain in his left knee that he rubs hoping that he is somehow soothing more than just a fold of skin. he has to use his palms for this lest his fingers lock up and turn his hands into claws.
It was a cold, rainy evening as her car drove up to the block to check her brother. It had become a weekly ritual between them. She never liked going there. She hated the way the men on the corner would look at her; like a group of perverted schoolboys. Nevertheless, she would make the trip. Her brother had been estranged from the rest of the family for years; only she maintained contact. She parked the car some distance from the corner parlour and hopped out. It wasn’t hard to see why the fellas on the corner regarded her so highly. She had a bold and fierce beauty.
She walked up the steps to her brother’s small bungalow and knocked on the door. About a minute later it flew open and her brother stood there smiling. They hugged and he stood aside motioning for her to enter. As she walked in, her nose caught the strong scent of freshly baked cake. She was not a huge cake lover but when he offered she obliged. A small slice was good enough for her. He brought it over and she thanked him kindly. In two bites she was done. She dusted the crumbs from her mouth onto the napkin before giving it a single fold over to prevent the crumbs from falling out.
She looked at him and gave him a gentle smile. “You’re getting much better.” she said.
“He didn’t bake it.” Came a voice from the bedroom. Two seconds later a tall and strikingly handsome man walked out into the living room.
“Hi, I’m Sheldon.”
Sheldon stretched out his hand to initiate a shake. She stood motionless for a split second before slowly putting out her hand to his.
Her shock was evident.
“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” She told her brother. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Girl,” replied her brother, “...this thing is so new. We met a couple months ago really. Come, let’s take a smoke on the porch and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He walked over to the table and cut three more slices of cake handing two off for his sister and Sheldon to hold. Out on the porch the ashtray was waiting with a cheap lighter and an already rolled joint.
As they sat down he began, “Remember that night I got robbed and called you to come get me after our mother refused? Well...”
FIN
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