100 Words #7

April 1, 2002
Your love is like English Ivy. It's absolutely beautiful yet oh so foreign to my soil. Your thoughts and beliefs have entwined themselves in my life and I can feel my roots tremble as your roots consume what should be mine. Your leaves and berries are poison to anything not native to you so I find myself abandoned by all I ever knew before. I stand, alone in an Ivy desert. How long can it be before I fall?

I still think your love is beautiful. But it's invasive. And I was never meant to be part of a whole.

April 2, 2002
They stared at the blood as it dripped from her hands and formed a single puddle on the floor in front of her. She had startled him when she had thrown the mirror to the floor, but not as much as when she had grabbed handfuls of the broken shards.

Now she stared at him, confusion and defiance warring in her eyes. He, who had felt empty for so long now felt the stirrings of terror. Fear that she would leave him.

Trying not to shudder, he held his hands out to her. But she only turned and walked away.

April 3, 2002
It was you, me, and a bottle of moonshine down in the hollow. We swigged that shine until the jug was dry, laughing at the illicitness of it all. And then we touched. Your mouth was sweet, your hands heavy as they fondled my breasts, tweaking my nipples almost like they were knobs on an old radio.

‘The only way your going to get the station you want is if you get your damn antenna up.’ I mumbled around a mouth full of tongue while tugging at the zipper on your pants.

Then we were animals, grunting, rutting, sweating animals.

April 4, 2002
'You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.' He raised an eyebrow as he filed already razor sharp nails. I stared down at my very short, ragged nails. Looked back at him. Smiling, he held his hand out for me to take but his smile was cold and I looked away.

'I... um, I don't know how to play that game.' I turned to walk away but felt his hands on my shoulders. His nails dug in, not yet piercing skin. I shivered as he spoke, his breath hot on my neck.

'Who said anything about it being a game, love?'

April 5, 2002
'You put one hand on the forehead, two fingers under the chin and tilt the head back to clear the air passages.'

She does this.

'If they are not breathing, you pinch the nostrils closed and seal their mouth with yours and give them two breaths of air.'

She does this.

'Then you check for a pulse. If you do not find a pulse, you will need to start CPR."

She does this.

'Chances are, especially if the person is elderly, you may crack their ribs. Or if you should breath too hard into them, they will vomit on you...'

April 6, 2002
‘You have to live in the now. Not the then.’ He said to her back as she stood at the mirror brushing her hair. ‘Here it is, barely spring, and you’re already planning on autumn. That’s no way to live.’

She took her eyes off the brush for a second and let her gaze slide to him. He was still watching the brush and didn’t notice her stare, and didn’t see the slight twist of her lips. She laid the brush down then turned and slipped past him. She wondered when he would realize she’d already gotten rid of him.

April 7, 2002
You do realize I know there are no dragons, don’t you? That I know the difference between fact and fiction, right? I don’t think you know the difference. Otherwise you would realize how much truth my words hold. Oh, I’ll lie to you, sure enough, and I won’t blink an eye in doing so, but my words were always meant to deceive and deception is a strange sort of truth in its own way. So to some extent all I ever tell you is the truth.

Again you come looking for answers and all I give you are more riddles.

April 8, 2002
We climbed higher and higher, until we reached a plateau. While you walked to the edge to look out over the world, I held back and clung to the rocks instead. I wanted to go to the edge, but I was afraid I wouldn’t make it back. I found a rock flat enough to lie down on and rested there, holding on as tight as I could. Your voice drifted back, calling me closer to the rim. I closed my eyes and held on tighter. If longing had any real strength, my hands would have left imprints on that stone.

April 9, 2002
‘Where are you?’ He stepped in front of her. ‘Where are you hiding this time?’

‘I… I don’t know what you mean.’ She lied as she backed up, stopping only when she felt the wall behind her.

‘Oh, you know.’ He stepped even closer and cupped her face in his hands. ‘Why won’t you let me reach you?’

‘Why would…’ She started, her eyes widening as she looked around for some sort of an escape. ‘I don’t…’

‘Let me in.’ He lowered his face closer to hers. ‘Let me reach you.’

‘Oh…’ She swallowed hard. ‘Why would you want to?’

April 10, 2002
They thought it was appropriate for the youngest grandchild to stand right next to his bedside and hold his hand that night during visitors hour. I stared at his wizened hand held lightly in mine, my concept of age skewered as only a fourteen-year-olds could be. The only movement on his cancer-ridden body was the fall and rise of his chest.

As I waited for him to open his eyes and see me the heart monitor beeped, beeped, then stopped. I stared in horror at the dead hand clutched in my own. I wasn't prepared for death. Is anyone ever?

April 11, 2002
‘There used to be a tree here. A big Oak, with branches like you’ve never seen before.’ She trailed off as she stared at the barren spot.

‘What happened to it?’ Normally, a story like this would’ve bored him, but something in her voice caught his interest.

‘There was a storm one night, about fifty years ago. One flash of lightening, and that mighty giant was gone.’ Turning away from the spot, she grabbed her grandson’s hand and led him home. In her mind she still saw the bones, those bleached and grinning skulls, the torn up roots had exposed.

April 12, 2002
See her? See how she walks? A long, loping stride, chin up, shoulders back, gaze direct. Every movement carefully choreographed. Confident. Controlled. Vulnerable. That's right, vulnerable. When she's walking so fiercely, so surely, inside she's feeling friable. Frightened. Insecure. And lost. And she falls back on the only thing she knows.

'The trick is to move like you have a purpose. If you move like you have a purpose, then people believe you have a purpose and they leave you alone.' She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. 'It's all about appearances, you know. People always believe in what they see.'

April 13, 2002
Is there anything more evil than a fanatic? Fanaticism baffles me more than faith does, though there is often a thin line between them. I can’t understand how anyone could believe in something so much they would die for it. Or kill for it. And fanaticism always deteriorates into violence. There’s no other way for it to go. I think people are incited to violence to justify their cause, mainly because their cause is weak. And it frightens them that their cause is weak. Our society frowns and sticks its tongue out at weakness. And aren’t we such social creatures?

April 14, 2002
Agoraphobia. She has a fear of crowds. One or two people, and she's okay. Three and her skin starts to crawl. Most days, she doesn't let her phobia rule her. She girds herself and deals with whatever comes up. But then there are bad days. Days when she begs a coworker to go and pick something up for her at the deli because she’s 'feeling poorly'. And she's not lying. The thought of going into a busy deli filled with a sweaty lunchtime crowd sickens her to her core. She knows she's deteriorating. That the bad days are taking over...

April 15, 2002
I've banished you from my waking life, your face just a faded memory. But sometimes late at night, you come creeping into my dreams. In the recess of my mind, you fill me. Whispering words sweetly tainted, you consume me, uttering a low laugh as I twist and turn under your onslaught. Your name escapes me disguised as a whimper but it is enough to shatter the dream and bring me up out of your darkness. With the illusion of your callused fingers tracing lightly down my spine, I lie there trembling and once again try to forget about you.

April 16, 2002
He doesn't worry about bridges too much. Burns them down behind him just as quick as he can light a match. Sometimes even uses gasoline to fuel the flames. And the joy he shows while the bridges are burning... As ashes fall around him, he laughs, opens up his arms and spins around. Sometimes you can see him with his mouth open catching ashes on his tongue.

'Never go back.' He says with a mouth full of soot, staring at the smoldering ruins of yet another bridge. He rubs at his smoke-tired eyes. 'Nope, you should never, ever go back.'

April 17, 2002
Does she think about it still? Does the scene run through her mind late at night when she should be sleeping? And does she change the outcome? Instead of freezing up when the woman runs into the office hollering for anyone who knows CPR, does she stand and say ‘I’m trained, I can help!’ There’s no guarantee he would have survived, even if she had been there to deliver rescue breaths and chest compressions. She’ll never know.

They say true bravery is being afraid but going ahead despite your fear. I hope I’m brave when and if the time comes.

April 18, 2002
'I'll see your ten, and I'll raise you fifty...' I looked at my cards again, allowed myself a small smile. He narrowed his eyes.

'Done. And to make this interesting, I'll throw in what you really want.’ His nostrils flared as he laid a tattered parchment on the table.

'Winner take all.' I said and pushed everything I owned into the middle. His eyes widened as he looked from the pot to his stash and back again.

'I fold.'

And my soul was mine again. I laughed. You would think the King of Darkness would have known I was bluffing.

April 19, 2002
Sometimes I hate my plants. It only takes two minutes every three days to water them, and yet I still find myself resenting their dependency on me. I'll go a week without watering them. And their leaves will start to droop and turn brown. And I'll feel guilty. Or a flash of love will tear through me and I'll rush over with the watering can and stroke their leaves fondly as I offer apologies and another chance at survival. Is this cruel? I don't think plants have emotions, but what if I'm wrong? Have you ever heard a fern cry?

April 20, 2002
'If you don't tell me to stop, I'm going to hurt you.' He stared down at her, intrigued by her lack of fear.

'That's all your kind knows.' She touched his cheek lightly before closing her eyes and bracing herself. He thrust himself forward, looking away from the tears that seeped from the corners of her eyes, from the smear of blood appearing where she bit her lip.

And when he finished and collapsed on top of her, his dark wings enveloping them both, it was she who comforted him, murmuring soft words as she stroked his strange, midnight wings.

April 21, 2002
It’s not his smile, though it could bring a weak girl to her knees. Nor is it his hands, rough and callused, covered with various nicks and cuts. Nor his eyes, his intense stare that demands all, yet promises nothing in return. It’s his words. Words spoken not to her, but to others, yet stealing right through her all the same. She always suspected that if anyone were truly going to capture her, the trap would have to be baited with words. And she was right.

‘His words consume me, unlike yours. You have never understood my love of words.’

April 22, 2002
'Stop the car!' The demand was so unexpected that he obeyed without thinking and pulled the car over to the side of the road. She was out of the car before it even stopped. Leaving the door wide open, she walked into the field.

'What? What is it?' He caught up to her as she knelt. The field, covered with dandelions, revealed nothing.

'Oh... the wishes. A field full of wishes...' She pulled one out and gently blew, scattering the white puffs upwards. She looked at him and smiled. 'Surely with all these wishes, one of them will come true.'

April 23, 2002
You thought I wanted a hero? Why? I never asked you to be one. Did I give you the impression that I was weak and needy? Helpless? Desperate? Distressed? Maybe your dream of heroism is just another way for you to try to control me. Let me remind you again, the only control you have over me is what I allow you, and can be revoked on my merest whim. And I think we both know how that goes.

So take your fancy steed and shiny armor and ride off into the sunset alone. This girl is not for rescue.

April 24, 2002
I’ve never been a gambler. At least not when it’s for something I can’t afford to lose. I’ve been known to mutter ‘Better safe than sorry’ as I walk away from another unsure thing. I’ve protected myself well this way. But now I need to know if there’s a time when it’s better not to be safe than sorry. Would I ever be able to be the fool who, eyes closed, constantly steps out into the unknown? Or will I always be the type who not only looks before they leap but also makes sure there’s a safety net underneath?

April 25, 2002
‘I used to be a fish, you know.’ She shook her head as she watched the children play in the pool. ‘You couldn’t catch me in the water, I was so fast. But then this happened.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This!’ She waved her hands up and down. ‘My body happened. Curves. Bumps in places where no bumps had ever been. I became no longer streamlined. My design was all wrong.’

‘I like your design just fine.’ He smiled appreciatively.

‘But I’m no longer a fish.’ She looked longingly at the pool. ‘I’m just a human who can swim well.’

April 26, 2002
Sometimes I think all stories should start ‘Once upon a time…’ and end ‘happily ever after.’ Good should win out. Evil should be vanquished, or at least forced to mend its wicked ways. But then I think about my evil side and how it is, by far, more interesting than my good side. Does good always have to be boring? Fairy tales are just that, fairy tales. Fantasy and daydreams. Illusion and delusion. I’m in favor of it all, as long as you can always tell your make believe from your reality. You mix those two up and your screwed.

April 27, 2002
‘You shouldn’t have been so mean to me.’ She shook her head. ‘You treated me like dirt!’

‘It was just a dream! It didn’t really happen!’ He threw up his hands. ‘Besides, you cheated on me. You wrapped your lips around his…’

‘No! I did not! I can’t help it your dreams are perverted.’ She slapped at his hands. ‘And I’m sure if I cheated, I had good reason too. Probably because you were so mean to me…’

‘I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.’

‘Well, I’ll forgive you this time, but don’t go treating me like that again.’

April 28, 2002
What a way to be greeted at bedtime. There you were, stretched out across my pillow, looking at me and slowly rotating your antennas in what you hoped was a seductive manner. Stupid palmetto bug! But I taught you a lesson, didn’t I? Before you knew it, you were inside a cup and dumped over the side of the balcony. Now don’t you go thinking I was cruel, you could’ve easily found yourself flushed down the toilet, or ground under my shoe into the thinly weaved carpet. So count yourself lucky for my moment of compassion you foolish bug you.

April 29, 2002
If you watch her long enough, you’ll almost believe she was once a cat. Startle her and her eyes will widen as the rest of her body goes completely still, yet poises for flight. Catch her interest, and with narrowed eyes she’ll wait patiently, pretending she’s not interested until she sees her chance to pounce. When you show an interest in her she’ll step towards you, almost begging to be touched, then move away a second before your hand can reach her. And you’ll get the idea that, though her face is neutral, she’s laughing at you all the same.

April 30, 2002
She watched the dust clouds rise on the horizon and knew the horses were on the move. Dropping to her hands and knees, she pressed her ear to the ground, the dry dirt stirring with her breath. Nothing at first, but then, very faintly, the steady drumming of the horse hooves reached her. Sitting up, she wiped her forehead, leaving behind red streaks. Closing her eyes, she imagined the horses streaming around her, one stallion, as red as the cliffs surrounding them, would rear up, then crash his hooves inches from her head before running off once again towards freedom.