Posted by: picca on: March 9, 2009
The breeze was fresh and clean through her window. She sighed. There was nothing she could do now, she told herself. The deed was done.
Maria stood, allowing herself one more long glance out to the slowly awakening world, then turned and made her way to the kitchen. No use worrying about it anymore, right? She put her ladybug kettle on the stove for tea, turning the heat on low. Natalie would be home soon. She’d have the tea ready and surprise her with it. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so bad.
She probably shouldn’t have written it. She probably should have kept her thoughts to herself. But it had gotten excruciatingly painful lately, and when there’s no one to take charge but yourself, then you have to do something. So that’s what she did. She took charge. It’s reasonable, right?
She didn’t know how Natalie would respond. Of course, if she had known, then the whole thing wouldn’t be a problem. She wouldn’t have to question and wonder and have her brain run around in circles trying to figure it all out. It would just be simple. Yes or no.
Maria grabbed the pan of monkey bread that she had made sometime around three am and started cutting pieces out. Maybe Natalie would be hungry. She always loved the monkey bread. Maybe that would help. The tea bubbled innocently as she slowly laid out the small slices in a circular pattern. Natalie didn’t care much for presentation, but Maria’s habits were strong. Any decoration or cleanliness in their tiny little apartment was all thanks to Maria.
A light whistle snapped Maria out of her daydreaming. She made her way over to the teapot, turning off the heat in a swift, practiced motion, then brought it over to the little island counter where the monkey bread sat. She let the pot rest on a cute little pink ceramic trivet while she grabbed their matching teacups down from the cupboard – one was gold, the other a yellow-green, both engraved with intricate designs of the other’s color. They had picked them up at some antique fair years ago. Natalie had feigned disinterest, but Maria knew she was fond of them; she purchased them despite their outrageous price and her meager salary.
Remembering that little fact made Maria smile. Natalie always treated her cup with such tenderness, like she did with all the things that Maria gave her. And they had lived together for such a long time that Natalie had amassed quite a few gifts. Not that Maria didn’t treasure her own presents. She just could see that there was something special about the way Natalie handled the things she loved.
Maria’s heart clenched a little as her thoughts returned to the letter. Was it the right decision? Or would everything change after this? No, can’t think about that. Don’t let yourself think about it, Maria. It’ll only be harder. You’ll have your answer soon, and then…
She felt the breeze rustle her hair slightly, and a soft, melodic jingle rang through the air. The chimes – they only rang when someone opened the door, there was never a strong enough breeze coming through that window –
Maria stood and walked around the short corner to see Natalie standing in the doorway. Her face was red and splotchy, her cheeks covered in tears. A piece of paper was clenched tightly in her hand.
“Welcome home,” Maria said.
Posted by: picca on: January 14, 2009
It was a hot summer night, with stifling, thick air and nothing but the sound of traffic below her.
If she closed her eyes, she could pretend that the cars were cicadas, like back in Alabama. The cicadas never stopped there. Back in Alabama, where there were long summer days and wide-open spaces that stretched on forever. Her home.
Sometimes, she would sit with her brother on the rough, mangled wood of their front porch, laughing and screaming at every card game that she lost. Her dad would rock gently in his chair, silent and calm, and her mom would hum a little tune as she washed the dishes, watching them through the kitchen window. It was what she thought of when she heard the word ‘home’.
But the city that sprawled out below her was a bright, busy contrast to her memories. Burning lights blinded her at every turn, buildings crawled up so high that even the sky was covered, and the stars were hidden by the smoke and the smog. Even on a clear night like this one, though, only one or two of the lights managed to sparkle enough to be seen.
That’s why she kept her eyes closed. Better to imagine a pretty lie than to look upon an ugly truth. Mary taught her that.
Mary was the one that brought her here. Her best friend, her love, her life – Mary was infallible. She never once doubted anything Mary told her. Maybe that’s why she had ended up like this, so close to the edge, so dangerously close.
Beautiful Mary. So sweet, so languid, so amazing. She had never seen anyone like her before. It was summer then, too, when they met. An old friend that had moved to the city brought Mary along for a visit, and from that moment she knew that it was love. She wanted to see Mary, she wanted to be with her. She couldn’t get enough, she had to see Mary all the time. She needed Mary.
So when she learned that Mary couldn’t visit that often, she decided she would just move to wherever Mary was. It didn’t matter the place, she would go. She would spend all her money and have nothing but the clothes on her back, but if Mary was there, it would be alright. Because nothing ever compared to the way Mary made her feel. Her presence was calming and peaceful. When she was with Mary, she felt like she could fly.
Others had been scared away over the years, but Mary never left. Mary didn’t care. Mary would always be by her side, when everything else had disappeared. In fact, she liked it better that way. She liked it when it was just her and Mary. There used to be a time when others would be around, but over time she decided that she didn’t want to share Mary with anyone. Beautiful, pale Mary. So sweet. So deliciously sweet.
And tonight, in the heat of the summer air, she would dance with Mary one last time. She held Mary gently in her hands, crooning, smiling, laughing. Mary was her one and only. Mary kept her going in life. And now, Mary would help her soar among the clouds, as her wings. Standing on the balcony edge, she held on to the roof above her and stared up at the sky. A star winked at her and she smiled back, thinking that it would be funny if she could go visit him. If Mary was with her, it was possible.
“Mary Jane,” she murmured. “Mary Jane, hold me… hold me…”
She jumped.
Posted by: picca on: January 14, 2009
Sophie hiccupped and wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth.
“Do you like this?” she drawled, stepping closer to the man. He was hunched over on the ground, eyes clinched in pain.
Sophie squatted down and bounced on the balls of her feet, leaning in close to him. The smell of alcohol was heavy on her breath. “How does it feel?” she murmured. “The taste of your own medicine…” Tracing her fingers along his jaw-line, she lifted his face up slowly so she could get a better look at him.
“Oh, precious little Blake…” she cooed. His eyes shot open at the sound of his name.
“Wh-what did you say?” he sputtered angrily, not noticing the thick stream of hot red blood that was running down the side of his cheek. Sophie rubbed her thumb against it as she smiled gently at him.
“I called you by your real name. Yes, I know who you are. I’ve known for quite some time.” She chuckled as she smeared the blood across his pale skin. “We’re here together, every day, in the same places every time… don’t tell me you thought I couldn’t figure it out?” Sophie dug her nails into his chin, her smile widening.
Blake clenched his teeth to keep from crying out, loath to give her any sort of sick satisfaction. His eye throbbed from the solid punch it had received earlier, and he could feel it swelling tremendously with every second. The cut on his forehead was no better – deep as it was, it began to grow numb, despite the steady flow of blood still coming out of it. Stupid bitch, he thought ruthlessly. Caught me when I least expected it.
Sophie tightened her grip on his chin as if she knew what he was thinking.
“Don’t worry, Blake. This is only the start.”
With a sudden force, she slammed his head onto the black pavement, relishing in the horrifyingly sick crack that echoed out into the night. Blake gasped from the intense pain, nearly passing out from it, but he managed to stay conscious from the sheer fear of what might come if he didn’t.
He felt a yank on his head as Sophie pulled him up by a fistful of his thick black hair. “We’ll keep this going all night, baby,” she hissed. “And then when your girlfriends show up and all they find is your battered and bloodied body lying on the ground, I’ll get them too.”
Blake mustered up what strength he had left and used it to spit directly into her face. The woman growled viciously at him and stood, kicking him straight in the gut as his head fell to the ground again. He choked at the sudden rush of air leaving his lungs, gasping for breath frantically.
“Don’t fuck with me, Blake!” she screeched. “You have no idea about what’s really going on!” She kicked him again, hard enough to send another resounding crack out from his body. This time, Blake couldn’t hold it in.
He cried out sharply, the broken rib sending a new wave of pain throughout his body. “What the hell—” he managed to choke out. “You crazy bi—”
Sophie cut him off with a swift jerk, pulling him up by the shirt. He wasn’t much bigger than her, and as for strength he was at a complete disadvantage when she was like this. He was like a rag doll in her hands.
“You think this is hard, Blake? You think this is painful?” Her voice was low and dangerous, and the stench of alcohol was stronger than ever. “I’ve been going through this for months. You and your little friends have beaten me countless times, all for no good reason. I can’t remember the last time I slept. If I ever got a break from you pricks, it’s pointless to even try because I just have nightmares about how you nearly kill me every night.” Her bright green eyes shone with an angry insanity. “Don’t you think I have a life? Don’t you think I’m just like you? I’m normal. I have roommates that I go home to every morning. They see my bruises and my cuts and my gashes, and they wonder and they ask but I can never tell them what really happens because they’ll never believe me.”
She threw him to the ground abruptly, disgusted with him for a lack of response, and with herself for revealing so much.
“Fuck this…” she muttered. Blake lay still on the ground. Sophie stared at him for a long while, silent and brooding. And without another word, she turned and left, ignoring the conflicting feelings that churned within her chest.
Posted by: picca on: January 14, 2009
New year, new theme… and hopefully, new posts.
I’m in an advanced writing of fiction class this semester, so hopefully that will spurn me to post some stuff. Until then, I’ll just add in stuff I wrote from last semester’s writing class.
2009 writing goal :: starting on a novel.
Posted by: picca on: August 29, 2008
[author note: this could use a lot of work. but I'm posting it now anyway.]
In my ballet troupe, I was always cast as the black swan, as Odile. I hated it. I thought it was because of my skin, because I was different from the rest of them. No matter how much I longed to be the beautifully pristine Odette, I was always doomed to be the one fated to steal away the Prince, to die alone.
And then, one day, she came.
Her dancing was so elegant, so pure, so very Odette… there was no question. She had the part instantly. We didn’t even finish tryouts.
When we danced together at rehearsals, I could hardly keep my eyes off her. My heart was lost in a mix of jealousy and admiration. She was the same as me, so how? How could she dance with such innocence, such heavenly whiteness? I didn’t understand.
My dancing grew more and more powerful with every step I shared with her.The pain seeped out from every leap, every pirouette, every pas de deux and every en pointe. Why was it not I?
But I knew the answer. She had a light about her. Something I couldn’t touch. Her ability, her gifts, they far exceeded my own. Next to her, I would always be an Odile.
On the eve of our final show, my angel came up to me before the curtain call.
“Rose,” she spoke. “I wanted to thank you. You’ve been such an inspiration to me. Your portrayal of Odile has always been so perfect. You capture her pain with such skill!” She sighed aloud. “I confess!”
Ah, even her speech was perfect. “The very reason I aimed to join this troupe was that I might be like you one day! To present my character in such perfect beauty, such light. To be able to even dance on the same stage as you had was joy; to in fact dance with you was ecstacy itself!” Tears brimmed beneath her eyes, and I wiped away my own that had begun long ago. “Thank you, my Rose, for your dancing was more beautiful than ever when I stood next to you. Thank you!”
