New life

From beneath the charred black soil, green shoots had begun to burst through. The fire had not broken them, it had given them life, a new start. Tom recognised the snow peas flowering and small tomato bushes taking over what used to be his garden patch. He smiled, knowing the birds would have a field day. It would be good to hear their chatter in the still valley again. What everyone forgot, he mused, was that the animals suffered too. Apart from that koala survivor on the news, there had been so few of them survive.

The day was as vivid in his mind as if it had been yesterday and not two years on. One eye had been warily watching the valley since morning as the horizons darkened with distant smoke. A simple phone call to a local SES member had given him the final drive to move along. The car had been already packed, wife and baby strapped in, before he took off. Everywhere they turned, roads were blocked. They were about to return down the same roads when the radio announced their valley had gone up. White faced, his wife was thin lipped and trembling beside him, and he had no words or time to comfort her.

They came across a pub, filled with other escapees. There was nowhere to go. Tacitly, the two of them agreed to stay. They parked near enough to protect the car, but far enough to avoid injury if it exploded. His wife settled in with the baby, and had her giggling playing with an old abacus. Tom joined able bodied men on the roof, wetting down the walls and roof until it was sodden. Old shirts became masks as they fought to breathe through the ash. The roaring intensified and the heat seared the flesh like an oven. It started to cross the oval at a nearby school, and the men scurried down under the showering embers. Inside, they gathered under the strongest part of the roof. Men were armed with water, aiming to wet the walls for as long as the pump lasted. His baby cried hard, coughing, spluttering, as his wife tried to stop her crying and protect her from the poisonous inhalations. The walls began steaming, and many cried out. The undercurrent of hurried prayers could almost be heard thrilling beneath the angry hissing of the walls.

It began to quieten, and looks of hope had begun appearing in the group. A shrill scream sounded, and Tom turned away from wetting the walls to see his wife wailing. Their baby lay limp in her arms. A school nurse rushed to her side and began CPR. There was someone radioing the emergency services, and all Tom could see was the little jerks made in his daughter as the nurse did compressions. She was so pale, and so still. Shock had him rooted to the spot. Tears were running down his face, and he turned to his wife, to see the exact expression mirrored in her face.

Their daughter had been buried 3 days later, because his wife had refused cremation. Her words, ‘Hasn’t the fire already taken enough?’, haunted his waking moments. Together, they had limped on for a time. In therapy, she’d said he’d never understood her and that he didn’t understand, marvelling at how he survived without their little girl, venom in every word. He knew then that they’d never get past it – he would always be to blame. And he could only take on all his own guilt, not anyone else’s. So he sat with her, and told her he was leaving, because there was no way out of this darkness together, and he was not here to light her way out. Quietly, she had understood, and known it was too late to fix. They parted, each hoping that one day there could be forgiveness and redemption for them both. And not having to be strong any more, he sobbed for weeks.

He broke down to his humblest parts. He ran away. Parts of his world he’d wanted to show her, the world he’d always wanted to see, he went to. And at the end of that time, he wanted to come home, to be close to her memory. So he did.

One day, in a city park in the middle of autumn, with all the leaves raining about like embers, a girl with kind eyes asked him why his eyes were full of echoes and grief. Without meaning to, he spilled his soul out to her. Every hurt was aired, every tear re-shed. It happened the time after, and the time after that. One night in their friendship, she took him to her arms and suddenly he felt light again. The goodness that girl turned upon him healed him inside out.

He knew he had found the woman that was his new life. And he knew he’d had to send off the old, before the new would be free. So on the anniversary of the fire, with her had on his arm, he had called his ex-wife, and asked her to come out and let it go. She accepted. And here he stood, waiting for redemption. Waiting to be free.

A frosty reception

Beneath the glass, her face was soft and sad. Even with preservation, she had aged slightly. It was a mask – hiding the animation and light she had possessed.

He had been travelling the world for centuries searching. Every isle had housed him for a time, as he scoured it for the signs of magic. Since his recovery, he’d known what he had been missing all along. And he knew that she had been protected by the very women who sent her his way. 

Here, he’d stumbled upon the quiet glade as he had walked through the forest. Something about the slanting light had enchanted him. 

This place had not been disturbed for a long time. A hint of the priestesses was there, in the carved steps into a gentle waterfall, the discarded pitcher by the water. Even the turtle regarding him from a rock had been placed for effect.

He’d heard the stories of Snow White and knew it had been a message to him. The poisoned apple, the description of his fair love, the magical dwarves who would have had to carry her here. He heard the message that she was ready to be saved. A directive. 

Beneath the glass, she waited for him. Her fair cheeks still blushing, lips red, dark hair in curly tangles. Unbidden, the memory of their softness and scent against his cheek made him shiver. 

His time walking had made him forget a love that was not without problems. Her indiscretion, he now knew, had been in part his error too. Leaving his wife alone to pace the turrets would destroy even the strongest of loves. His drive to be the best king, to possess that damned chalice. He only hoped that in her dreaming sleep that she would remember him fondly, with the love they once shared. He was sure he looked the brute now, with deep lines around his eyes and mouth, salt and pepper locks unkempt. He knew she would remember, regardless.

Trembling, his hands lay on the glass covering. He slowly removed her sarcophagus, taking care that it did not strike her. With great effort, he placed it on the ground. 

Hoping he had understood the messages of the priestesses, he bent slowly to her, hesitating a moment. His lips pressed hers with love, praying to all that was holy that he was the one meant to awaken her with a kiss. 

Beneath his mouth, he felt her lips moved. He stood up, watching her stretch languidly as a cat, smiling sleepily up at him. 

A second later her eyes unclouded and the rich emerald eyes pierced him with her stare. He could not distinguish which emotion reigned – hurt, distrust, aching love or confusion. 

“Arthur,” she said softy. “You came.”

Darkness falls my friend

Little dart of red
Streaming behind you
Run little red
Yellow eyes shine
This is how I remember
My faithful little friend
Hairy head on my foot
Snoring softly beside my bed
Beneath the tree
Dusk is ever here
Softly you rest
Sleeping in the twilight
Wrapped in softest cloth
Dear eyes that open no more
Little friend, let’s sit
Quietly beneath the leaves
Together, companions
I will weep quietly
And we will sit here
Quietly as darkness falls

Wanderer

I had left to wander the world, as I had always said that I would. Each footstep over tranquil water, sliding beneath beautiful old bridges reminded me of you. Every moment with you was peace, you held me up and kept me safe.

For a while, I had hidden myself, tucked into my hardened shell, carrying the weight of my world. My world and the heaviest heart. I lazed on tropical beaches, basking in soothing sunlight and all I could feel was you by my side.

As I threw myself off a cliff, parachuting into the steamy, aromatic jungle, I saw your wide eyes filling with tears. It ripped the air from my lungs. In the silence over the leafy stillness, I can still hear your voice, it’s sad quietude, asking me to wait for you. But to do so would have destroyed us both. Time will heal it all.

I gave up the exotic, the strange, for places steeped in history. I climbed mountains to temples, prayed, but what I always prayed for was you. This was not what I intended.

Glumly, I reached Venice. I had planned to drink in the romance, but the buildings were dank, lacklustre, needing tenderness and care. Absorbed, I looked at the carnival masks, but their colours had leeched of brilliance.

I hiked to the Fountain di Trevi, to marvel in its brilliance. From this distance, there appeared a supplicant at its foot. Covered in a summer dress, their hair even looked like yours, twisting in a breeze.

You looked up, smiled and the sunshine came out.

You were here.

The End of a Tail

Here is my contribution to #WeekendWriter…

When you have a child in your house that is autistic, everything revolves around them. Forget the other children, they can manage on their own. I was 16 and I had been bitter about it, but what can you do?

Apparently what you can do is almost cause a meltdown of seismic proportions.

Today, this afternoon, I killed my sister Amy’s fish. It was an accident, but it doesn’t matter. Feeding her fish is part of her routine, the thing she does when she comes home from the specialist on Saturday afternoon. What would happen is Amy, who by the way is 10 but acts a lot younger, would open her eyes wide and have a tantrum. Apparently she doesn’t care what devastation it causes. Still, someone has to hold her and sing her that stupid rubber tree song, High Hopes or whatever it’s called. Wish no one had ever sung her that song. But its words will be burnt into my brain forever. But the damage will be done. She’ll be practically catatonic for a month.

So I was having a dialogue with my mother, as it was my dad taking Amy to the doctor this week. It was my best friend Jo’s birthday party and there were going to be boys there. And for once in my frigging life, Mum took an interest. And by interest I mean stand. And by stand I mean delivered an ultimatum. I couldn’t go if there were boys. End of story. Because her parents were going to be in the house. I mean seriously. I wasn’t 14. We’d all been pashing boys for years. As for anything else, that was way too huge a step to take with all your friends listening.

I argued of course. And Mum refused to budge, then went to hang out the washing. I threw the flashlight I had been twirling in my hands at the bench, where it bounced… Right into the fish tank. CRAP!

There was a short fizzing sound and then there was the fish, belly-up. DOUBLE CRAP! I quickly removed the evidence. I yelled out to my Mum that I was cleaning the tank, to which she told me sucking up was not going to help. I barely contained my eyeroll. Tyrant.

Rushing up to my room, I picked up the learner plates we’d just bought so I could go driving. I contemplated “borrowing” the car, but knew if I got caught, I would be grounded from now through to all of eternity. I looked at my watch. I had to get to the petshop, find an identical fish, then get back in 45 minutes? Do-able, right?

I was down and out the door, savings in pocket, before Mum could notice. I practically squealed the tires on my bike in my haste. All I can say is, given some very near misses and some loud swear words, I barely made it to the petshop.

And the guy behind the counter was Max, my crush from school. Seriously. FML. I was going to be a laughing stock. Some sacrifices need to be made but.

I flopped the fish on the counter, saying, “I need a fish identical to this one.”

Max raised an eyebrow at me and took a look at the fish. “The same? Why not another one?”

“Because my sister is a freak and will lose it if this fish is not back in his bowl by the time I get home?”

Max was silent. He moved over to the siamese fighting fish display tanks. Together we looked hard, looked at them all. He turned over the lifeless fish in his hand.

“I don’t know if we have one the same.”

I just about cried. I was going to be the bad guy, all over a stupid thing I did. I hung my head, tears blurring my eyes when I saw him. A little black and blue guy in the back.

I jumped on the spot. “That one, that one!”

Matt got him into a little container for me and told me the price. 20 bucks. That was pretty much all I had. For the next 2 weeks. Ah well, small price to pay for a little peace. He even helped me tie him to the back of my bike. I hugged him, and then regretted it, because he looked stunned. I rode off, my face burning with shame.

I was back in the door with 5 minutes to spare. At least, I thought I was. I could hear the abacus Amy always played with clacking upstairs. I ran out to the laundry, where I’d left the tank. Quickly, I poured the new little guy in, topped up his water and returned him to hollow in our wall when Amy and Mum came down the stairs.

“What did I tell you?” Mum said, leaning down to Amy. “Your big sister was looking after him for you.”

Amy smiled widely and clapped her hands. I wasn’t expecting a hug, though it would have been nice. It wasn’t like that. She got the food and fed him at her appointed time.

My Mum was in the kitchen. I grabbed a glass of water and flopped on the bench. I heard my Mum’s voice in my ear.

“I know what you did Sare-bear. I know you spent all your pocket money to make sure your sister was happy. I’m proud of you- for solving a problem on your own, and caring enough to fix it. You’re growing up so fast and I’m just missing it.”

She hugged me tight, like she often forgot to do nowdays. But what she whispered in my ear was the best.

“My big girl can go to Jo’s party.”

Before the storm

It is silent and quiet
I can feel it building here
Around my heart
Behind my ribs
In my head
There is a calm
But I can feel it
Nothing is wrong
No event heralds
But the storm is coming
And I know not how
To turn it away
I do not want to be
Engulfed in it
Swirling and dark
Deep and dangerous
Scared and alone
Unable to reach out
And then afterwards
There will be clean-up
The lack of hope
The tiring rebuild
And the anger
Why do I need it?
I don’t but
I can feel the storm

Sunday Short – Where they fear to tread

She lay across from him on the ivory sheets, her skin glowing with the soft sheen of perspiration. A wide, happy smile lit up her face.

“Sera,” he murmured, his fingers tangling in her short auburn curls.

“Michael,” she replied cheekily, as her lips dipped to his mouth.

He could taste the salt on her lips, from the seaside visit they’d made in the afternoon. It had been a perfect day, frolicing in the water, eating fresh fish and seasoned chips in the cool breeze of afternoon. Later, he’d enjoyed exploring, tasting the salt on her skin.

For a moment, she lay, contented in the crook of his arm, as he gazed down on her, the colour of his green eyes shifting unconsciously. Her brown eyes raised to his, the warmth and happiness seasoning them a rich chocolate.

She rolled away from him, and his fingers skimmed over the delightful curves. Warm fingers intertwined with his.

“Let’s wander under the stars,” she implored, her entire body beseeching him. “It is too beautiful a night to waste.”

Michael humoured her. After all, these last weeks with her in his life had been some of the happiest, the most content he could remember. The fun was infectious. It was in her laugh, her smile. But what most intrigued him were her eyes, so full of emotion, flickering and flitting there to the gentle features.

When dressed, they ventured into the cool night air, their skin dewy in the half darkness. Above their heads, the stars sparkled, romantic lights for their path. Giggling, Sera led Michael on. They came to a cliff top, the soft sounds of the waves at rocks at its base lulling.

She pulled him to the grass, and lay her head on his stomach. Enchanting pools of darkness, they glimmered up at him.

“Tell me about your life Michael.”

Such an open-ended question. He laughed down at her, smoothing the wild hair that blew softly into her face.

“I was a country boy. Grew up on a small farm not to far from here. Did ok at school, I suppose. Got me to my job as an engineer, so I can’t complain.”

“What is it you like about engineering?”

He smiled. “Pieces that fit together, that work to create something greater; a dream, a plan, a vision.”

“A bit like us?” she smiled.

“A bit like us,” he replied, ruffling her hair.

“Who did you first love?”

“My mum!” he joked. “In all seriousness, a girl named Tash. She had blonde hair and was a laugh. But she wasn’t the one for me. We didn’t have enough to talk about. But we loved each other, until it ended bitterly.”

Sera noticed the pain, creasing his face inwards, and moved on. “What’s your Mum like?”

“What is this? 20 questions? The Spanish Inquisition?”

She climbed up and straddled him. “I might have a little Spanish in me…”

He opened his mouth to retort, but a finger was placed firmly on his lips. “None of that. Tell me about your Mum.”

“She was a single mother, my dad died in a car accident when I was two. She raised me alone, teaching at the local school, tutoring neighbour’s children in music after school. She was a thin, tall woman, with big expressive eyes and long brown hair. Always with a hug, and some little piece of knowledge.”

“Do you miss her?”

He looked at her strangely. “How did you know she was gone?”

“I’m not who you think I am Michael. Do you believe that adage that there is a reason or a season for which people come into your life?”

Raising an eyebrow at her, he gently shook his head. She smiled, not a trace of judgement or dismissal of his view.

“I didn’t think you would,” she sighed. “But it’s going to make this bit harder for you to take…”

“I was assigned you. To watch over you, to guide you to the next path,” she gently explained.

“The next path?” Michael asked confused, before he cottoned on and started to scramble backwards. “Nuh… no…. I don’t want to go over that cliff, I’m not interested in your cult…”

Sera smiled and stood up, allowing him to move backward. He stood, facing her, heart hammering in his chest, frightened. She walked slowly towards him, and wrapped her arms around him.

“Don’t be afraid Michael. I won’t hurt you. You believe that don’t you?”

With her hand slipping up his shirt to rest over his heart, he looked at her, this girl who he’d been falling in love with. It seemed a little mad right now, but she had never hurt him. He relaxed in her arms. She took his hand, moved it to her waist, took his other hand and started dancing with him.

Above them, the stars drifted as she explained, “I am what the afterlife calls a guide. I lead people to where they’re meant to be.”

“But I am not the one who decides. I just work here.”

A gentle smile, and she cupped his face in her hand. “But the one who decides knows that your time is up.”

“It will be quick and painless. Your heart will speed up, into what doctors call a fibrillation. But I will be here, and I will be here to hold your hand.”

Sera looked into the eyes of her beloved. The tears shining in them tore her heart open.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I fell for you. And I don’t want this to happen either. But there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

A tear ran down his cheek. “When?”

“Almost now,” she said. “It will hurt, for a second. But then it will be over, as if it never happened.”

“I’m not ready,” he replied, his green eyes wide.

She smiled so sadly, his heart hurt for her for a moment. “No one ever is.”

“Let me hold you,” she ventured softly, her mouth against the nape of his neck. “Let me be here.”

He nodded, drawing closer into her, imprinting the smell of her on his memory. Then, through him came a surge like electricity, tingling painfully throughout his entire body. Tightly, she held him, to protect him. With one last cry, the pain fled as quickly as it began.

He could not move. Gently, Sera lay him to ground and stood above him. She glowed golden, in colour the like he’d never experienced before. Beside her, the stars paled against her shimmer.

That big smile he adored, the one she’d saved for him, flashed onto her face.

“So, the new way begins Michael,” she said cheekily, reaching down her hand. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

He reached out his hand, and took hers, surprisingly warm, in his own.

A shooting star streaked across the sky, for the briefest moment, showing up the prone body of a young man on a lonely clifftop.

Nutmeg

Just the hint
Of scent, flavour
Reminds me of
Custard delights
Coolly slipping down
Soft, sweet tones
A waft of nutty
A thousand memories
Cherished in time
But not remembered
A spice of enjoyment
I would not think to choose
Nor realised I needed
Surprising me with enjoyment
It brings me back
To a time of warmth
Of laughter
Of nutmeg and you
How did I never know
What my world lacked
Before there was you

Hands of clay

Someone with soft hands
Gentle as morning sun
Made you
Turned that sweet face
Lay your cheek on their palm
Saw you
Sculpted your body
Care taken with each plane
For you
Planted specks of fire
Gave you bright eyes
See clear
Whatever or whoever did
Gave such a gift
To the world
For such heart barely
Deserves to be touched
By these hands of clay

Slow dance

IMG_ 192

Notes drop from the piano
To our waiting ears
Your hand supports mine
My arm draped around your neck
Slowly we shuffle
Your body directing mine
I relax into the sway
Of your hips leading
Head rests upon your lapel
Eyes closed
Only the gentle rhythm
Of our footsteps
My foot touching yours
As we slow dance
My heart already stolen
With those first notes
And I know those tears
Creeping into the corners
Of eyes filled with you
And I could dance away
A lifetime
Only loving you
The way it feels tonight