Bubble Bubble PT. 3

“I’m just gonna put that down for you, cause its freakin’ me out.” whispered April, she turned the t.v off without taking her eyes off Caia. Then grabbed her cell phone from her pocket.

Which seemed to shift Caias concern from her arm. “Wha…who are you calling?” she asked resting the offending arm on her lap.

“Tim, he’s a paramedic.” she said.

Caia took the phone from her hand ending the call with a swipe. “I don’t need a medic. It’s just stress! Alright?” she said, while rubbing the middle of her forehead. “I get headaches, and my arm shakes a little its no BIG deal.” She could see the concern unknot in April’s face.

“Alright. I’m gonna call your mom though, she  should know you’re all but fallin’ apart without her.” she reached for her phone back. Caia didn’t give it. “Look! You won’t even let me tell her, see tha’s messed up. Cause you know its more than just stress, and she’ll hear in your voice.”

Caia ran to the bathroom, with both phones in hand and locked the door. She stooped down to sit on the edge of the tub, noticed it was still pink from April’s dye,  and took a seat on the toilet lid instead–deciding  if she should make the call herself.

Bubble Bubble, pt.2

Caia went to pick up the stack of dishes, which only seemed to cluster when April dropped in for a night or two. This time she had brought everything in her possession,  which consisted of a laptop and a yellow duffle bag that looked like it had been in a fight. Caia looked at her friend, she knew the questions, but didn’t want the answers–so she gave an arms length pat on the back, and a deep sigh, to convey her acceptance of the situation before them. She was moving in.

Dribbles of pink pigment ran down Aprils white t-shirt. “Is my tub pink?” asked Caia.

” It won’t be after I clean it… seriously Caia, check this out!” she said not taking her eyes off the burning images. “This is real life. Shit fell from the sky last night!”

Caia stopped starng at the light pink strands stuck to Aprils face, and looked up at the t.v. It was playing on a loop, an grainy video of hundreds of small bits burning their way towards our little mud ball. Caia reached for the remote on the coffee table, and her arm began to tremble. The rest of her body froze as it continued to quake, like the tail of a rattler.

Caia had been so transfixed on the movement, that she didn’t notice Aprils hand gently lowering her extended arm, with a concerned expression crinkling  her pale face.

Bubble bubble. NEW FICTION.

There was a lovely little fire growing in her belly. Fed by the lies her mother told her, and the dreams her father tried to crush.

Old oak tree branches woke her this morning. Caia rubbed the middle of her forehead trying to will away an impending headache. She knew it would come, as it did whenever the wind blew the branches. She pulled on her robe that was balled up at the foot the bed. Caia never hung things she knew she’d use again sooner rather than later. The gnarly  smell wafting about her house hit her as she threw open the bedroom door–“the fuck is that?” she groaned.

Salmon croquettes, old ones, were slowly adhering to a plate in her kitchen. “Come on! April, what the?” she said mashing them into the garbage.

“Wha? I was gonna eat those! Then I saw this story on the news about a meteor shower and I completely forgot abou’ it. Sorry.” she mumbled.

Awful.

These awful moments don’t end, they drag on and inward.

Time should erase, and heal the distasteful mime of pain,

over and above us,

ringing out like a rag.

Though fighting makes us feel weak, and like century old dignity is being stolen from our wells.

There will be nothing left– and how can this breed such an anxiety, that  ratchets though our marrow?

Some say death is easy–and living, living is truly difficult. What about the in between?

Were we given air in our lungs,

just so we could know what it feels like to choke?

There comes a time to face consequence–finally being made to pay prices and dig our own ditches.

Being given baggage full of burden, just to be laced with dull destinations–

left to be just worthy and empty enough,

to live awful and confused.

East of Eden

“When a child first catches adults out—when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not always have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just—his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child’s world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing.”

– John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Queen pt.2

This is a race, not only for land and honor, but for the freedom that comes with the love of ones people.

Hope has always lived inside me, and one must see farther that the storm ahead to lead, but now that I am the storm– the public is trying to see past me.

They circle me like hounds with a taste for something they long missed, and now seek again.

How can I speak to them? When they fight my every word–even before my wishes leave lung for lip.

I can see repression coming to the surface…its so very clear now. The opposition doesn’t need to beat me to win,

they only need me to run, because they know its for my life.