The Story Start Inspired by my Last Bit of Rambling

This is not how this begins.

There is not a group of fat, balding men smoking cigars over the infant’s corpse.  The infant, Samantha, was not just smothered with a gasoline-sodden rag.  The shadows in the corner do not twist and curl into an infinity of teeth and claw.  In the depths of the forest behind the home that Samantha did not grow up in, a woman, chalk-white with delicate silver blades folding out of her back into wings, does not wait.  The world did not just end.

This begins with a shock of purple flowers that spring surprisingly from Elizabeth’s grass-less lawn.  She has been meaning to plant seed for weeks now, but Samantha is teething, and she doesn’t sleep for more than a couple hours at a time, and Jacob . . . well, Jacob is still Jacob.

Phone balancing between shoulder and ear, Liz tries to scrape dried egg off last week’s dishes while explaining to Haddie why moving to Watertown wasn’t the worst decision she’s made in the last decade.

“Jesus, if you had to abandon us, you could have at least moved somewhere with some culture or history.  Why bumshit New York where there are more cows than people?”

Liz cuts the water off and drops the plate.  “It’s nice here.  There’s sky, and we have a yard, an actual yard that Samantha’s going to grow up playing in.  Besides, I like cows.”  Liz hears Haddie stifle a laugh.

“You did date that one fat guy who worked at Uncle Randy’s restaurant.”

Liz is about to turn the water back on and return to scraping when she sees them.  “Holy Crap.  Haddie.  I gotta go.  I’ll call later.  Love ya.”  She doesn’t wait for a response.  She drops the phone on the counter and stares out the window above the sink.

Her front lawn, which until this moment was brown and flat and stagnant, lit up with a forest of flowers.  Purple.  More shades of purple than Liz had ever seen or dreamt.  Sunset purple and jellyfish purple and pigeon feather purple all flowing over the ground in newly formed hills.  And the flowers themselves, some tiny, bursting just an inch or two from the earth; others, as tall as herself, shedding a slight amethyst light onto all that lives below.

She looks down to the soapy water in the sink then back to the yard, as if some washed grease and bubbles would cleanse her sight and show her a lawn of flat, barren dirt.  But no.  The purple still flourished.  Liz felt like she was seeing the world through the heated haze above a flame, distant and shifting.  Feels like she’s falling.  Her hands collapse onto the counter, stabilize her.  Fucking Jake.  Did he smoke some of that shit that the Lamen brothers sold him again?  There was a strange smell when I woke up, wasn’t there?

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply.  Then a cry from behind her.  From her little swing, Sam smiles.  Squeaks out a small giggle.  And those eyes, midnight-dark and deep.  Two endless beautiful holes that Liz loves falling through.

“How did I ever get along without you, huh?”  A little wobbly, Liz bends down to pick up Sam.  “Do you want to go see if Mommy’s losing her mind?”  Liz hefts Sam onto her hip and steps toward the front door.  Somehow, before she opens it, she knows exactly what she’s going to see: a dusty lawn, burnt and empty.

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One Response to “The Story Start Inspired by my Last Bit of Rambling”

  1. This story reminds me of how lost we get in our personal lives. When we see extraordinary beauty in front of our face we react with confusion or disbelief. When things are too far from our reality (work, home, relationships), we act as though it’s immposible or irrelivant to us. We need to learn to look into the stars at night and wonder. . . and not act as though they will still be the same tomorrow.

    I love it so far, can’t wait to hear more.

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