A Sunset

colorful-clouds-sunset-hdwplan.jpg

(Credit: hdwplan.com)

It should be red, she thought, and turned towards the sunset.

But the clouds were lilac with a rosy lining. The sky was light blue then yellow, which turned into a deep orange at the horizon. As a plane drew a pink line across the sky, the blinding sun brought her a surging symphony of fond memories.

Her heart swelling, close to bursting, she closed her eyes and saw on the back of her eyelids a burning circle and the face of someone, whom she would have shared all her sunsets with, if only things had been different.

When the sun was halfway below the horizon, it finally turned red, and in its bloody light she shovelled the last spadeful of dirt onto the grave.

Storm

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(Credit: wallpaperscraft.com)

White horses gallop at the tops of the waves. They surge up, tumble into each other and crash against the rocky shore.

Black branches claw the sky and the sky fights back with pelting hail.

The wind howls a cacophonous symphony with thunder at the bass drum.

Everything stands out clearly in the flashes of lightning:

The chaos

And the beauty.

Sun on the Mountaintops

Three days in a row, I climbed the nearest hill of the hut twice a day to admire the view: the sunrise splashing gold over snowcapped mountains and the sunset bathing them in blood.

On the third day, watching the light receding, I felt an ache in my breast.

If I could, I would stay right here forever.

I must have spoken the words aloud, for a woman said, ‘I could help you with that.’

She must have come up behind me while my attention was on the sunset, for I had not seen her on my way up, and I had not heard her. She wore a dress, which reminded me of a photograph I once saw, from 1910 of a woman and her husband on a mountainside. In her yellow curls were several large clumps of lichen, and I wondered whether she had taken a tumble father down because of her long skirt.

‘Really?’ I said, smiling at her strange attire.

‘If you want my help, that is,’ she smiled back and her flashing violet eyes made my heart flutter.

‘I would much appreciate your help.’ I thought she meant that she could give me a tour guide job, and I must admit I hoped she lived nearby as well.

‘Just stand still for a moment,’ she said and stroked my forehead with a finger. I hardly had time to be taken aback by her cold touch, before I felt my feet stiffen. I looked down and saw the transformation crawling past my midriff. Half a second later, I was completely paralysed.

She kneeled down in front of me and tutted, shaking her head.

‘What did you look down for?’ she asked, ‘now you won’t be able to watch the sunsets.’ She turned towards the mountaintops and sighed.

‘They really are beautiful from up here.’

Being Gorgeous

Wearing her self-satisfaction and golden locks, her “Goldielocks”, as an exoskeleton, there is no way, I will ever get through to her. I’ve tried telling her a thousand times that the salary of the employees cannot keep them fed, but

“Salary, schmalery,” she says, and “every one of them agreed to work for me under these conditions.”

“And every one of them had their face buried in that ample bosom of yours when they agreed,” I’d like to say, but she always says it with that special glint in her eyes which makes my thoughts fat and lazy, and she has that smile that sticks to my brain like syrup and I just nod, and maybe gurgle, I always have trouble remembering, and when my senses return, she’s off petting some poor employee’s head, and he looks happy of course, but his hollow cheeks remind me that no amount of petting will feed him.

Old Fashioned Beauty

(Credit: Topofart.com)

(Credit: Topofart.com)

He lived in loneliness for a long time before he succeeded in creating her. He gave her milky skin, rosy lips and cheeks and hair the colour of ripe wheat. He made her thighs and belly round and her breasts like small white apples. Caressing her weak chin, he turned on the power.

When she opened her blue eyes; pale to the point of seeming blind, his heart gave out, and she was left alone in a world that would have thought her Venus about 200 years earlier, but now thought she was lacking both exercise and sunlight.

Metamorphosis

When I emerge from my cocoon, I won’t be a butterfly, I’ll be something new and exciting and even more beautiful. And how hearts everywhere will sigh at the sight of me, but I will always be just above their heads. I will have favourites who will be allowed to come infinitesimally closer, who will be killed by their jealous peers or if they are not killed their eyes will dry out from staring at me and they will go blind.

And when the plans to catch me are well underway, I’ll fly into the sun and expire in a blaze of glory.

Apples at the Fair

(Credit: cullogo.com)

(Credit: cullogo.com)

I wear my bare feet to the fair and dodge first livestock then farmers to get close to the tumblers. They make me smile with their cartwheels and take my breath away with their great feats of balance, so I forget looking over my shoulder for the innkeeper. When they take a rest, I find a fiddler and then two singers with lutes singing a duet. The woman from the duet dies for the sake of her love and tears spring to my eyes when they sing their goodbyes. I hardly notice when my stomach begins to rumble. After the duet, I watch some actors perform the last half of their play, then I go back to the tumblers.

When the first booth is packed away, I wonder if the innkeeper will still let me sleep in the stable even though I did not take care of the horses today. I shake my head and find a musician playing a lullaby. When he reaches the last note, a few more coins are tossed into his hat and I wish I had some to give him. He puts his harp into his bag so gently; it is like he is putting a baby to sleep. When I look up again, he is gone and it seems most of the other people have gone home too. A woman with a basket of green apples stops beside me.

‘Are you crying, dear?’ she asks and I look up into brown eyes framed by long lashes and then I see rosy cheeks just as I imagine a heroine from a song or play would have.

‘Here,’ she hands me an apple and smiles with her small mouth and large eyes, ‘you can eat it on your way home.’ She continues on her way before my throat unsticks.

When I get back, the innkeeper shouts at me a lot, but he allows me to sleep in the stable for just one more night. As I curl up in the hay and the tart taste of the apple fills my mouth, I thank God and the whole world for letting me meet an angel.

A Goddess in the Making

Credit: "Glow-BM", glow-bm.deviantart.com

Credit: “Glow-BM”, glow-bm.deviantart.com

Her glow gives her a divine touch.

Admittedly, it makes her veins stand out against her pale skin and the green colour looks slightly poisonous, but it also makes her ethereal , unreachable, like her feet would never truly touch the ground. However, at the moment she is lying very still and it is perceptible that her back pins the seer white fabric of her dress to the examination table, so invisible strings might be needed to complete the picture.

Also, a voice should be found for her. It is unlikely she will ever speak again.

In a Coral Reef

 

English: A variety of corals form an outcrop o...

He sits in what looks like a red bush and stares as a school of orange fish swim past. The corals look like a forest of fungi folded and twisted into numerous shapes. Some look completely alien. Close by, there is a yellow coral shaped like a brain.

Behind the brain there is a very large fish tail attached to a woman’s torso. Her skin is milk white, her lips are blue, her hair floating around her body is a dark green, but he recognizes the delicate features of her face as beautiful. He does not know if she has seen him. She seems preoccupied with braiding a strand of her hair. As she moves her tail rhythmically and drifts off to his right, he opens his mouth to call out to her.

Then he remembers that he cannot breathe underwater.

 

 

Swans

English: A swan afloat

A swan afloat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Swans have been grotesquely overused as a symbol of elegance and beauty. It puzzles me. Although they are pretty at a distance their cries of alarm are very unpleasant and the swan that lies at my feet, its neck in the shape of a ‘Z’ as drawn by a young child, looks dishevelled at best.

English: Dead swan near Ballyskeagh A dead swa...

Dead swan. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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