Anchor

I’ve not written in a while, because, well, you know…

But recently, I’ve been having so many thoughts. About you. About us. About our past. About the things that tie us together. And the things that drive us apart.

I remember as a young person with thoughts, wishing on every wishing stone that you would disappear. Not die, as such, but just cease to exist. You caused us so much pain.

As a child, things were different. You were different. The lines on your face shallower, the bark in your voice not quite there. The sting of your hand reached our bare behinds on occasion, but it was justified, you know. Well, of course you know, you were the dispenser of justice. Dad almighty.

But then the drink started getting into your head, into your eyes, into your voice, into your heart. Your hands were too shaky to lash out – thank fuck – but the words had knives sharper than the winter’s frost. And you broke us.

And then you broke our mother.

And then you broke yourself.

It had been years since we last spoke when you introduced us to the new woman in your life. We didn’t ask, but we knew where she came from. We heard the tales, we saw the evidence in our dwindling coffers.

I really don’t want to hate you, especially now that are frail and old. But some pain does not disappear. And maybe, the wishing stones have finally listened. And I am not sure I can ever forgive you for our mother. I still sometimes have flashes of your white knuckled hands around her throat, her face no more than a squelch of flesh and bone held together by blood-covered skin

There is a reason why the word for mother and the word for anchor is so similar in our tongue. She was all that kept us together. She was our reason for, well, everything.

Since that last night, when we found her body and you fled into the night, we have been untethered, floating above anything you could ever offer.

But it is over now. For you, at least. By the time this reaches you, you will be a shadow of a man, listening to these words of mine from the mouth of your whore.

As for me, I will find a new anchor, knowing that you are gone and can never again break me, or my little family.

 

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I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but will be trying a short writing every day, following the prompts from  https://www.patreon.com/thequietsun

Secret

Can you keep a secret? No, really, can you?

I need to tell someone, and you have such a warm lovely face. A trustworthy face.

So, will you keep my secret?

It happened a long time ago. I was just a bright young thing, naïve, maybe a little stupid. Eager. oh god, was I so eager. That’s probably why it happened. I was too eager.

And fuck me, so stupid.

Anyway. I had recently left my parent’s home for the big wide world for the first time. Look, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t lead a sheltered life, but the first time I lived by myself, I really embraced everything the world could offer. Different lovers every night, sometimes two at a time. I indulged in anything I could lay my hands on. You know, I think I was subconsciously trying to give each of the seven sins a taste.

And so it happened. I met these two lovely things at the market while pouring a gallon of mead down my throat.They wrapped their arms around me and danced me out of the village center and out into the woods. We want to play a game, they whispered and sang, spinning me around every few steps as we danced deeper and deeper into the dark wood. I was still chugging back the mead, staggering along with their dance, laughing like a fucking fool. We stopped in a clearing, the moon full above us hitting me in the eye as I drop down, laughing, onto the soft damp grass, causing me to flair my arm over my eyes, nearly hitting myself on the head with the mead jug. They lay down next to me, their heads lightly touching mine, so close I can smell the flowers from their shampoo.

Let’s play now, their voices drifted through the mead-induced haze.

“You sound so funny!,” I laughed. “Let’s rather find some mushrooms and visit the faeries,” I laughed.

No, we are going to play now.

They pulled me forcefully to my feet so quickly I felt dizzy. They dance me backwards to a fallen log and sit me down, pulling the jug from my hand and pulling my hands away from my body. A sudden sharp pain shot up both arms.

What the fuck man, I shouted, suddenly sober. They each have a long sharp nail dug into a wrist each, blood dripping down, leaving dark smudges on the ground. I try and pull my arms back, but they are much stronger than me.

Let me go, I struggle and shake, until I managed to free one arm, the creature, no longer so lovely, spins backwards and hits their head on the tree behind them. I lash out at the other, the thing clinging on hisses at me, lets go suddenly and disappears. The other thing is stuck passively to the tree.

I picked up the jug, took a swig, and then staggered over to investigate.

Fuck me, I must have been really drunk, I think looking at the thing in front of me. It was pale, long golden hair that glows in the moonlight, fine features, small sharp teeth visible between the slightly parted lips. There is a dark streak of blood running down the side of their face, and their beathing is ragged.

Fuck you, I screamed into its face, and then paced around a bit, repeating this a few times, until, suddenly, it opened its eyes.

I freaked out, man. This thing was fucking scary. And, my instinct was to fight, so I swiped at its head with the mead jug, and hit out again and again, landing blow after blow on its skull until it was no longer head shaped.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

I shook the mead jug, hoping for a bit more liquid courage.

I dragged the body back to the tree stump, and shoved it into the open side. I wished I had a knife, or an axe, or something.

But I shoved that motherfucker in as deep as I could, and stuffed leaves into every open space around it, making sure it is hidden.

I staggered back to the village and into my little cottage. I must have washed every inch of my body several times before I fell into a deep sleep.

It felt like minutes later when I woke up with a start, sat up, and saw them, both of them, standing at the foot end of my bed. I was paralysed. They smiled faintly, looking ever so much like the lovely creatures I met at the market, whispered We’ll play again one day, and disappeared.

I did go back to the woods, a few weeks later, and there was no sign that anything happened, other than these two scars on my arms.

So, can you keep a secret? And do you want to play a game?

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I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but will be trying a short writing every day, following the prompts from  https://www.patreon.com/thequietsun

Garden

I lie on my back, sun streaming through the cuts in the big leaves. A lizard is baking in the sun on the rocks next to my head, my cat stretched out next to me softly purring in her sleep. A dragonfly flits between the leaves, and over the water to my left. I can hear my grandmother in the shed beyond my feet. I stretch my toes, pretending I can touch the wall of the shed with the tips.

A large cloud, shaped like the big bearded man, drifts slowly across the sky casting long shadows as it moves across the sun. The air is thick with jasmine and honeysuckle, and it feels greasy, like there is a storm brewing. The low rumble of thunder in the distance confirms this. My eyes are heavy, and the warm sunshine is luring me into an afternoon nap.

“Ani!” my grandmother’s voice is loud and sudden, pulling out of my daze.

“Ani!” she calls again, more urgently now.

“I’m here, nana, “ I croak, shake my head and push myself up quickly, the sudden movement startling the cat. I dust off my tunic quickly and run to the shed. “I’m here,” I say, peeking into the shed around the door.

Nana has a squirming plant in each hand, and pot shards and soil on the floor at her feet. “These guys woke up too quickly and kicked over their pots. Won’t you be a dear, and grab me two of those” she nudges her head towards the self next to her. I nod, run over, and carefully grab a pot, put it down on the table and grab another.

Nana puts the two shivering plants into the pots, and wraps the blanket on the table around the pots.

She wipes the hair out of her face with the back of her hand, leaving a brown smudge just above her right eye.

 

 

 

 

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I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but will be trying a short writing every day, following the prompts from  https://www.patreon.com/thequietsun

Squid

Waving not drowning
they say of me
as the dark rises from below
and wraps its long arms around me.
Tighter now
until I can’t breathe
Around my neck
around my thoughts
around my soul
pulling me under
into the inky-black pool
I cannot see
I cannot breathe
Drowning not waving
my last thought fades.

 

 

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I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but will be trying a short writing every day, following the prompts from  https://www.patreon.com/thequietsun

Balance

I reach up high, all my weight on the tips of my toes, fingers feeling furtively for the ever elusive object hiding at the back of the shelf. I stretch up up up, fingertips brushing the cold metal surface, finally pinching it between two fingers, gripping as tight as i can before it slips away again, and drop down flat on my feet, pulling the shiny object close to my chest.

I grip it tight as I tip toe out of the room, carefully retracing my steps to avoid the trigger points on the floor and walls. I pause quickly when the door slides closed behind me to catch up my breath, pulling it even closer to my chest. I can feel it humming, vibrating through my chest bone. I dance across the cold flagstones down the narrow corridor, and slip out the open door at the end.

I pull my hands away from my chest to catch a quick glimpse. All I can see is my smiling distorted reflection in the smooth silver surface. Grip it tight again, step away from the building and unfurl my wings and fly straight up over the rooftop and mountains beyond.

It is done, I tell her quietly when I land on the narrow ledge outside her window. It is done.

 

 

 

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I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but will be trying a short writing every day, following the prompts from  https://www.patreon.com/thequietsun