Naked.

I followed you,
your trail of blazing fire
that flared up in the sky,
that plunged the world in red,
red.

You stilled my heart with red fingers,
brushed my ebony hair with a soft whisper,
shhh, shhh–
and smiled,
like the last rays of the setting sun.

Advertisements

Ghostly.

Her wrinkled hands tightened around the black rubber handle of her walking stick. Blue purple veins ran from her knuckles to her wrists. She took one trembling step, and another.

Short silver curls framed her heart-shaped face. The silver was like moonlight and her once smooth skin was etched with years of worrying and hard work. A scarf wrapped itself tightly around her neck, its ends tucked away safely under her cardigan.

She had an arched back from years spent in the fields. She and her lover, Mike, would often joke about how she was, really, the hunchback of notre dame.

She lowered herself into her favourite bench, the one that faced a wide open field and had a playground on its left. She would often spend her days watching the children, listening to their laughter and sounds of play.

More often, however, were wailing screams of unfairness.

She would watch the seasons change as trees went stark naked and yet became full again. In the summer there were flowers everywhere, children everywhere. In the winter, it was generally quieter, a time when the town became a serene paradise.

She had one daughter, Sara. The night before Sara was born, she and Mike had been arguing about Sara’s name. Mike wanted Anna and she had wanted Serena.

And then came the gruelling labours and she spent hours panting with tubes stuck in her arms. So they’d both decided to take 2 letters–she chose S and R and Mike of course, had to choose double As–and ended up with Sara.

Sara was beautiful. She had Mike’s auburn hair and her hazel green eyes, his determination and her feisty stubbornness.

She would often watch Sara play in the playground and her bubbly laughter was always the loudest. They had both loved swings.

Her daughter grew and changed, just like the seasons. Soon, she and Mike were alone again, in a house that now seemed empty and enormous.

Then, Mike was gone. They said it was cancer.

Wrinkled leaves were by her feet and she stared at them, lost in thought.

When are you coming to take me, Mike?

Silently;

You had gone in the middle of the night. The blankets on your side of the bed laid crumpled on the floor like the shedding of a snake. Your big camper bag was gone from the shoulders of the wooden chair.

The once feisty room now seemed empty and cold.

Ah, you had left a note on the bed. Your handwriting was so horrible it looks as if

“A flamingo tried to write, right?”

A laugh escaped from my chest and I remembered the way you covered your face with your palm in a pretense of embarrassment.

Thank you, the note said.

Were you truly thankful to have left me in this mess? With no direction, no map, this hollow emptiness and this pain… this, this heart-wrenching ache.

I ripped the note into pieces and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

Milquetoast

Your deep brown orbs bore into me and I fidget under your stare. Somehow, today feels a little different, special even.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Your baritone rings in my ears.

The awkward silence is broken with a simple question, but the nervousness still spreads like a wildfire.

“Y-yes, please.”

A moment later, with coffee before us, we began our discussion.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years, Ms. Abigail?”

I gulped and regurgitated the answer I had written down when I had thought about the potential questions. “Possibly married, with one or two kids.” A nervous laugh escaped from my lips.

“Really?”

Was this what I wanted? To be a passive housewife, to be used as a child-birthing and keep-the-house-tidy machine? What happened to your dreams, your aspirations?

I nodded timidly like one of those solar-powered nodding toys.

Your eyes clouded, your expression unreadable. Then, your thick straight eyebrows relaxed and your face morphed into a charming, smiling angel.

“That’s nice, I can envision you being there.”

With that, you stood and planted a fifty-dollar bill upon the table. I looked up with questioning eyes.

“I always thought you were more…” you paused, searching for the right word. “aggressive, or rather, passionate about life.” A sigh escaped your lips as you extended a hand. I stood and extended mine, shocked by the quick turn of events.

“It was nice meeting you, and best of luck for your next blind date.”

Long ago;

I dreamt of old leaves and these huge, towering trees. The smell of rotting wood, sap and fertile soil mixed with the cool winds from the west.

A raven soared in the overhead canopy. Its wings were jet black with a sheen of silver. The cool air brushed against my skin, its touch chilly, and I took in the rich greenery of an everlasting haven.

“I’ll show you something.”

A mischievous glimmer shone in your amber orbs. Grinning, you ran from the base of one tree to the top of a moss-covered rock. It jutted out from the earth like the invasion of a wisdom tooth.

And there you were.

You flipped through the air like an elegant elf, twirling and flipping as the air carried you in its embrace. Your brown, short-cropped hair formed gentle, silk-like waves, your angled features serene in movement.

My breath hitched, caught like a hiccup.

There, was beauty in its entirety.

Then you were gone and I was alone, trapped in the emerald paradise.

Haunted.

Oh little one,
why didn’t you flee?
Why didn’t you let your legs
carry you far and free?

Oh little one,
keep running, don’t look back–
Remember my golden curls in all its glory,
not this bloodied, lifeless wreck.

Oh little one,
’tis is a rough and gravelled road.
“Take the road less traveled,” they said
Ha! It has stolen precious empathy,
a cursed, beloved abode.

Oh little one,
in the years to come,
will you come to loathe and
loathe,
holding love

for none?