torsdag 29 juli 2010

Grand Dessert

Trying out "Three Word Wednesday" =)

The words: abuse, cramp, hatred.

Grand Dessert

The first sign was dull. A familiar cramp in her lower abdomen and she stiffened, ever so slightly, a frown marring her delicate features.

Calmly she finished whisking the lemon cream she was preparing for her grand dessert, rinsed the whisk and put it in the sink. She put cling film over the bowl and placed it in the fridge, second shelf. The frown deepened.

As she hung her apron on its hook on the door, she felt the cramps intensify. She closed her eyes and took a moment to longingly sniff her beautifully starched apron, its lavender scent soothing her.

But there was no turning back now. The corners of her mouth twitched uncontrollably as she walked towards the bathroom.

She undressed. No clothes would be soiled by the toilet. She tied her hair in a firm bun in the back of her neck. From a cupboard she took out a blue bath sponge, a bottle of transparent nail polish and a roll of paper tape. Carefully she opened the bottle of nail polish and painted a small amount on the rough side of the sponge. She left the bottle open on the washbasin, the strong scent emerging from it seemed purifying. She pressed the soft side of the sponge to her face, covering her mouth and nose with it, then she wrapped the paper tape around her head, securing the sponge with it. The smell of nail polish was overwhelming, dizzying, and evoked her intense gratitude.

The cramps were becoming impossible to resist and with a profound feeling of hatred she filled the clean toilet bowl with paper, its shiny surface would not be touched by… it. She sat down, closed her eyes, pressed her hands against her stomach and inhaled her chemical relief. Then she let the enema do its job.

She shivered with disgust as she wiped herself, flushed and cleaned. Scrubbed, cleaned, scrubbed.

Abuse, she thought, this is abuse. Why? Why these repulsive needs? To be nothing more than a slave under the filth of this despised flesh.

Back in the kitchen she continued with the preparations for the dessert, the red skin on her hands burning from the scrubbing. She forced herself to breathe slowly, composed herself and pushed back the memories of her previous actions to some obscure place in her brain. At least, she thought, there´s now a whole week until I´ll have to go through it again.

She smiled.

torsdag 15 juli 2010

Barren Land

I never expected to end my days in a barren land. I, who always took pride in keeping a flourishing garden. I came here looking for something, I´ll admit, and in a way, it seems I found it.

On the third day I stumbled upon it, the grave I mean. It´s a sad story; simple wooden cross, once painted in cheap colour, now withered and worn down by the endless wind that roams these lands. Some sort of inscription I believe, but of course it can´t be deciphered now; fairy letters on milky mist.

I touch the cross. Run my fingers along the creases and crevasses of the dry, dead wood, and it seems to communicate with me, someone´s story pouring into me, eager to be heard.

She came here with expectations, promised a life improved. A man I assume, dazzling her with the prospect of a house, a family, a life. She must have been a daft creature to settle for that, to agree to come here to these impossible outlands in search of nothing more. And then something went wrong. An argument. A quarrel. A brutal and shocking ending. Some digging and here she lies.

But why the cross? Why bother with that kind of civilized detail? He must have had regrets, I imagine. Maybe he was seduced by their dreamed-up prospects too, maybe more than her life ended in this godforsaken grave?

And here I lie. On barren land, my hands on the cross. She had such lovely, glossy curls, all covered in sand now. I wish I´d have had one of the roses from my childhood summers to put on her grave, but they´re all long since gone. No one will rise a cross for me but hers will suffice for both of us. In a way it´s a comforting thought.

The sun is very present here, the sun and the wind, with me. Always.

fredag 9 juli 2010

Me Being Nice

Wait! Did I mention I´d wait for you?

If you wanted to find yourself first, that would be fine. I´d wait.

Dream. I´d dream of you too, I´m sure.

And I´d be prepared for your return. I´d make everything very easy for you.

Serve. You know I´d serve you, don´t you?

Lie? Sure, I´d lie for you.

Steal? Hurt? Kill for you? I believe so, yes.

Die for you?


But I´d kill you. For an amount of reasons.