Hear the Wails

I focused on the black and yellow markings of a cricket, watched my pain merge its colors into a liquid blur. The Burmans made dinner—dandelion greens with garlic, by the smell and weediness of the screams.

They were good people, took me in and treated me humanely, after other foster families had used faith and fist to beat their demons out of me. But why can’t they hear the wails of the flowers?

I closed my mind to the hurt, but one flower broke through. “I see you,” she said. “I burn in the dark, peeking through your heart.”

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the wee notes…
– Linked to Friday Fictioneers. Visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog, to join the writing fun. Follow this LINK, to read what others have written out of the cricket.
– The markings of the cricket brought to mind a blackout poem I crafted some weeks back. The flower I drew on the blackout, plus the wee poem itself, reminded me of the young protagonist of “The Dark Place”, the last story in my Blooming Howls collection. I decided to write today’s tale from her point of view. It was nice—and devastating—to write her again.

photo by Shaktiki Sharma

I see you.
I am in the dark
peeking
through your heart.

You Can’t Help Grown People Who Won’t Help Themselves

Everybody has (or knows) one: a friend or family member who refuses to help himself, but who tries as hard as he can to make others feel guilty for his troubles. I’ve no patience for this kind of individual. And when his parasitic behavior starts negatively affecting the life of someone I care about, I just want to scream and scream and scream… until the shrieking force of my will drills some sense into his mind, or at least until his skull cracks a little and most of his teeth fall out.

I’m a championess at the art of denying people of this sort the opportunity to affect me directly. But sometimes, seeing what they do to others is nearly as infuriating. And all I can do is watch… as the leech sucks the life out of a decent human being who deserves much better.

This is my bit of venting for the day. I would like to say for the week, but lies and I don’t see eye to eye. I have to get ready for another hospital visit, but I think I’ll write something dark before I go… maybe something that contains a healthy dose of cracked skulls and gut-felt shrieking.

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Blooming Howlsdetail from “Blooming Howls”, by Gina Morley
inspired by my short story collection of the same name