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sapphicoftheworld · 4 years ago

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Okay so I wrote a short story. It’s got some elements of Southern Gothic lit, but I wouldn’t necessarily call it that because that’s just not my writing style. It’s about 2k words so I’ll put just a few sentences above the cut :)

The vase of sunflowers that sat on the kitchen table were the center of attention. No mind should be paid to the anemic meat on the counter. Yes, it's fresh, but very insignificant. Even the honeycomb and two halves of a pomegranate, which are to be paired with the meat, are all the more intriguing. They are fresh from the backyard and cultivated to perfection, specifically for this occasion.

And do not at all worry about the bleeding skull in the back. If one were to look closely, it is possible one would find the skull with gold dripping down from the top, much like a vanilla ice cream cone dipped in chocolate, that was in dire need of jaw surgery. Of course its original owner had no use for it anymore, so I suppose it could go without the surgical procedure, but there is something undignified about a skull with a broken jaw, especially if that jaw were splattered with blood. Naturally that blood would match that of the painfully boring meat on the counter; for it would be silly for one to think there would be two different types of blood in the kitchen at the same time.

But nevermind those insanely boring details; the real star of the show, as I've said before, are the sunflowers. They lay beautifully in a glass vase in the center of the table, looking absolutely stunning. Almost in full bloom, perhaps this evening or the morrow’s morn will they peak, with the most dazzling, deep golden yellow hue. Strong luscious petals balanced gently but firmly with a sturdy center of deep brown. The seeds these flowers produced made the most wonderful yet distinguishable treat. They grew in a small field just a stone’s throw from the back porch. It was about twenty feet by twenty feet and when the conditions were just right, could rear about 100 plants if all survived. Growing no less than six feet tall, they tower over everyone, creating the most magical place to escape to. A place where one is untouchable; immune and separated from all outside unpleasantries. The world could go up in flames and I’d be none the wiser in the sunflower field. In here the air feels crisper and the sun warmer. It’s as if all of one’s problems and all that is unjust in the world has floated away to some other reality.

Today was just like every other day--nothing out of the ordinary and utterly pedestrian. The weather was pleasant enough so one could sit outside with a glass of lemonade (or a Bellini if one is feeling particularly cheeky) and not worry about blisters on one's skin. Inside, the kitchen fan mildly spun about, revolution after revolution, which was sufficient enough to keep flies off the meat and skull. There’s something uncanny about the flies here; they seem rather attracted to blood. This is strikingly peculiar because there are rather quite a few around here. And that is clearly rather mad, for why would any noticeable trace of blood be here?

Ah but nevermind the matter; the glory days of complete comprehension and understanding are long past. Furthermore, Mrs. Ignara was at the door now. I knew it was her before she knocked; she had a way of fixing herself up as to be presentable before interacting with anyone. Why, I’m perplexed myself, because she is the most put together woman I know; everything about her seems to exude this attitude of “I am a woman who is functioning at a level that is admirable yet unachievable; you wish and strive to be where I am but you know you could not handle a day in my life”. I think I may be in love with her, but then again most everyone who sees her falls in love with her; yet I do feel as if we share some sort of unspoken bond. Hmm. No matter what is true and what is real, I appreciate and covet her companionship.

As I walked over to the front door, there was a hint of unfamiliarity in the air. This would have struck me as odd, but one can never be prepared for everything life throws at oneself, and not knowing what lies ahead is exciting anyways. The thrill of being blind.

Blindness itself is not exhilarating, rather quite melancholy instead. Unable to experience the little joys of life: the joy on someone’s face as they’re given something mind and body numbing; the life leaving their eyes and draining from their body. The absolute power of being in control.

At the front door stood Mrs. Ignara, looking perfectly exquisite and holding a nice bottle of white wine with lobsters on the label, and next to her someone I had never met before. A man of perhaps ordinary height and firm but subtle build. He wore light brown slacks and a rosy button down shirt that had tiny crustaceans on it, only visible to those who looked closely. His right arm leaned on the frame of the door, very nonchalant but with a note of desperation, and his other hand rested gently on his side.

“Hey howdy hey there stranger,” Mrs. Ignara said. “Care for some company and wine?”

I smiled at the proposal. “Won’t say no to a good time.”

“This here handsome thing is Jude. You’ll like him. He’s,” she paused to glance over at him, “cool.”

“Hello,” Jude said. “I’m delighted to be joining you today.”

“Ah well the pleasure is all mine,” I say, leading them into the kitchen. “Have a seat while I grab some glasses.”

Mrs. Ignara and Jude sat down across from one another on the far end of the table opposite the kitchen sink. Grabbing the nice glasses from the corner cabinet, I turn to face my guests. The view was remarkable. A long, slender dining table of the finest maple trees fitted with three hideous floral chairs on each side and one at each head. They were upholstered with a wretched canvas fabric, a smothering of blue flowers of various shades and variety that exudes nausea and insanity, supported by shiny silver metal frames. Two guests sat at the end, one of whom I knew absolutely nothing and the other I desperately longed to know. And of course, for who could ever forget, the sunflowers in the vase on the table at the center of attention. My pride and joy. If I saw the view in front of me every day, forever, I would remember this time. I brought forth the glasses and easily poured the wine.

“I hope you don’t mind I made lunch. It’s impossible to know what everyone likes, but I’ve never failed with bass. They’re fresh from the lake in the back.” I left my company for a second and returned with two plates of fried fish.

“My, my, why aren’t you handy in the kitchen,” Mrs. Ignara said playfully.

“Oh, you charmer,” I said blushing.

“Won’t you join us?” Jude asked.

I waited for a moment, contemplating my response. He seems the right type.

“While I do apologize for not being the most courteous host, I am quite content from breakfast and have a most intensive dinner planned,” I gestured to the back counter where the dull, soulless meat lay. “I know it may not look like much, but I am talented with a knife and skillet.”

Jude looked behind me at the meat and honeycomb and pomegranates. For a moment there I thought I saw the slightest inclination of terror in his eyes, but it must have been the light because it was gone before I could be certain. This, whatever it was, lingered in the back of my mind, not my central point of focus but not so deep I couldn’t recall it. His eyes flicked back to my own and smiled at me knowingly.

“You have been nothing but delightful,” he said. “I can only imagine what wonders you can create.”

“That is awfully kind of you to say of me. Would the two of you care to join me in a stroll through the sunflower field? It really is rather quite magical and wondrous.”

“Oh! I would love nothing else!” said Mrs. Ignara.

“Fantastic. And you, Jude?”

“Thank you very much for the kind invitation, but I must decline; I’m not very fond of enclosed spaces and much prefer to be indoors.”

“You, my dear, will be missing out, but that is how life goes. Feel free to open any bottle of red wine up. Top shelf is the sweetest, middle the sharpest, and bottom the richest.”

With that, Mrs. Ignara and I left the kitchen and headed out to the backyard. We walked together in identical stride, passing the beehives on the left and the pomegranate trees on the right. Just before entering the sunflower field, Mrs. Ignara and I stopped for a moment. She looked to me for reassurance and I gave her a gentle nod of encouragement. Taking my hand, she and I stepped into the sunflowers. Immediately, I felt more relaxed. My lungs breathed clearer air and my skin felt warmer sun. The weight of whatever had haunted and plagued me was released from my shoulders. Mrs. Ignara squeezed my hand and I remembered where I was. The look on her face was pure ecstasy. She radiated elation and was the embodiment of joy. I have never seen such beauty. We laughed and spun about without fear of perception. Falling gently to the ground, we laid next to one another with a pleasant sigh. She looked over at me with an expression of bliss I had not seen in many moons. There was something about her that made me feel safe.

“What is it?” She asked, sensing something was wrong.

“What is what?”

“In your face, there is delight but in your eyes, there’s a note of hesitation.”

“You know me so well,” I said. “I love it in here. It’s a magical place with deep, strong, true feelings.”

“But?”

“But it doesn’t last forever. What is true is not always real.”

“Hey,” she whispered softly, bringing me in close. “We don’t get to decide what is true, but we have the power to choose what is real.” She touched her forehead to mine and we closed our eyes for a moment, then two.

When I opened my eyes on the third moment, Mrs. Ignara stood above me offering her hand. I graciously took it and we walked out of the sunflower field together, hand in hand. My knees felt like they had buckled when I took my first step out of the sunflower field. Evening had been birthed during the few minutes Mrs. Ignara and I spent with the sunflowers; the light of the world had almost dwindled away completely. We moved in identical stride to where we had previously been before, only to find something peculiar.

On the floor in front of the table where we sat not too long ago, laid an unfamiliar body. It had on a dark navy, long sleeve shirt and black slacks, both of which looked damp. Upon its head was a thick mound of matted brown hair. A thick pool of red had begun to seep from underneath the body, slowly spreading across the floor. I bent down and dipped my finger in the red. It was a warm, dark color. Slowly I brought my finger to my mouth, it tasted sharp and metallic, but was distracted by the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. As I stood up, the red dripped from my knees where I knelt down and had coated my hand. What I saw had brought a smile to my face and joy to my heart: Jude stood at the head of the table that was made of the finest maple trees. He held a plate in his hands, identical to those which had been placed on the table for Mrs. Ignara and myself opposite one another. They all had three rare cuts of newly inspired meat paired with a honey and pomegranate glaze. Next to each plate was a glass of red wine. The hideous floral chairs had become all the more pleasant, the supple canvas fabric had turned the loveliest shade of violet, and the multitude of flowers radiated euphoria.

I looked at Mrs. Ignara, then at Jude and melted. She and I walked to our designated seats on either side of him and sat down.

“Everything went alright?” I asked.

“Yes, very much so. Although, I do have to apologize for the mess; you see, as I was bringing a bottle of red from the middle shelf to the counter to pour a glass, it slipped right out of my hands and smashed to the floor.”

“Well isn’t this special,” Mrs. Ignara said, placing her napkin in her lap.

“Every meal deserves attention and devotion. Let’s have a toast,” said Jude lifting his wine glass. Mrs. Ignara and I followed suit. “To this meal, and all that contributed to it.”

We all gently clinked our glasses with one another and drank. As I went to set my rich red down, something in the kitchen caught my eye. What the back counter lacked in banal meat, honeycomb, and pomegranate seeds, it made up for with two skulls--one with gold dripping down the sides and a broken, blood spattered jaw; the other with a deep crimson stain, originating from the left superior temporal line and spreading outward. It was quite the satisfying sight.

In front of me, however, was much more impressive. Two guests sat with me, one of whom I had loved at first sight and the other I was learning to love. And of course, for how could they go unmentioned, were the elegant sunflowers in a case at the center of the table and the center of attention. At the peak of bloom, they set the mood for the rest of the night.

#okay so #i know i didn't need the indents at each para because tumblr breaks them with a space #but i put it anyways bc ~aesthetic~#lmao anyways #my writing #writing #ok to rb #pls rb #creative writing #txt

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