A Mother’s Blood

Kill me.

Do it,now.

Hush, little one, you know it’s for your good. You don’t need me. Papa will take care of you just fine.

Quick. Before he wakes up.

There’s the knife. On the lace covered bedside table. Pick it up. Grip it firm.

Hasten, child. We don’t have much time. Next to my heart. Higher. Blade to my skin. Press down hard and slice.

There. You must drink.

To keep your strength. Fetch a pail for my blood. Collect that which spills in a pail. Store it in the basement. Where the sun never visits. And once that’s done, retrieve the diary from under the bed.

Do as the book says. Chop me up. Bury me out back. Behind the plum carcasses ,under 4 feet of snow. Dig up 3 pieces each week. One for you. Two for him.

And if he ever asks, tell him you found a dead bird.That should keep you fed. Until the famine passes our shed.

Come,now.

Hasten, child.

Before your father wakes up. He never did have a taste for human blood .

Advertisements

Vows – Dear Best Friend

Dear Best friend

I’m writing this letter to you at 9.37 am. Right after sending you a dozen memes. If you’re wondering why I haven’t wished you yet,it’s because I forgot.

Here are my vows- spelled out to remind you of everything we already do on a pretty regular basis:

1. I solemnly swear to take a million pictures of you. Good, bad, dorky or even the “ughh delete that, right now” kind.

2. I vow to climb trees, crouch next to puddles, or just halt traffic so we can get “the million dollar” picture on a night out.

3. I promise to store all your drunk texts

And

4. Send you unintelligible texts that only you can decipher when I’m sloshed at 3 in the morning.

5. They say love isn’t love without sacrifice, without compromise. So, I’m gonna try to be an understanding person,” You are allowed to have other friends, but you must always love me best.”

6.I’ll always cover for you when you need to skip the family luncheon. After all dick appointments are not easily rescheduled.

7. I promise to show up at your doorstep and whisk you out for a nail appointment every once in a while.

8. I vow to never ask if you want a glass of water when you come over. You know where the glasses are kept and whoever treats family like guests?

9. I shall take in all earnestness my responsibility to point out all the hot guys at the mall. After all, a good agent always compares notes.

10. Finally, Imma smack your booty from time to time to remind you of what a catch you are.

Other Girls

I’m a lot like other girls.
Yep, you read that right.
Treat this as a confession if you will : but I like pink boots and I can not lie.
Remember when you were 12 and traded in your sparkly converse for dark boots?
Gone are those days. Ladies, bring out that unicorn hugsy stuffed in the bottom shelf and embrace your feminity.

I’m a lot like other girls.
I like obsessing over guys and cute clothes,fangirling over the bikinis that may never fit.But most of all I’m tired.

I’m tired.

Of pretending that I’m not like “other girls”. Why do men get to decide what are praiseworthy hobbies?
When men call you emotional, don’t try to fight it. What’s wrong with feeling anyway? Love, happiness, positivity, breathe it in. The success of your workplace? It’s not always about who’s the smartest or the fastest. Sometimes getting a product launched on time is more about coordinating the egos of the people producing it. So go ahead and manage people’s emotions for peace and if they call you manipulative, well if that’s what works,managerial it is.

Don’t shy away from wearing that floral top to meetings. If it makes you happy ,there is honestly no reason to let it age in a rusted attic untouched by sunshine. Professional doesn’t have to be boring. Carry a lil bit of spring into the boardroom.Heaven knows how much corporates need it.

Also,if no one has told you this before – it’s beyond okay to like chick flicks or a romances over movies toxic patriarchy decides to like -you know those super aggressive ones with mindless violence.Why would you watch X and Y plot to kill Z when you could watch two souls find a kinship that transcends time and space binding them in their sweet little eternity?

Embrace your curves, the soft edges and that optimistic voice you sometimes try to suppress,because soft isn’t always weak and a knife with a suede lined handle cuts just as deep as one with a metal handle.

Why Obsess?

She : What’s the show about?
He: “It’s a murder/thriller/mystery”
She : Cool,
And here’s what she doesn’t say :
” What do I do with that info?
Wow. Such Thrills.
Much spooked.
Very addicted?
I need you to tell me what the plot is. Who loves whom? Would they take a bullet for them?
If the exams were rescheduled to a week earlier who would be the first one to lose their shit and blow up the school bathroom?Who is the friend who brings brownies to doomsday and who spiked the batter with vodka?
Don’t tell me what world it’s based in but show me what they wear. When you tell me of their lives, paint a picture that lets me sniff the garlic on their toast . Tell me why you think Elena is better off with Damon and not Stefan, let’s argue about whether Ross and Rachel were on a break (they were!) or why Barney is an actual arse no woman would build a family with. I don’t just watch, I obsess and if a show doesn’t consume you then why are you even watching it in the first place?”
#obsess #murder #mystery #thriller
****
What shows do you watch and what’s it about?

Why Obsess?

She : What’s the show about?
He: “It’s a murder/thriller/mystery”
She : Cool,
And here’s what she doesn’t say :
” What do I do with that info?
Wow. Such Thrills.
Much spooked.
Very addicted?
I need you to tell me what the plot is. Who loves whom? Would they take a bullet for them?
If the exams were rescheduled to a week earlier who would be the first one to lose their shit and blow up the school bathroom?Who is the friend who brings brownies to doomsday and who spiked the batter with vodka?
Don’t tell me what world it’s based in but show me what they wear. When you tell me of their lives, paint a picture that lets me sniff the garlic on their toast . Tell me why you think Elena is better off with Damon and not Stefan, let’s argue about whether Ross and Rachel were on a break (they were!) or why Barney is an actual arse no woman would build a family with. I don’t just watch, I obsess and if a show doesn’t consume you then why are you even watching it in the first place?”
#obsess #murder #mystery #thriller
****
What shows do you watch and what’s it about?

Why Obsess?

She : What’s the show about?
He: “It’s a murder/thriller/mystery”
She : Cool,
And here’s what she doesn’t say :
” What do I do with that info?
Wow. Such Thrills.
Much spooked.
Very addicted?
I need you to tell me what the plot is. Who loves whom? Would they take a bullet for them?
If the exams were rescheduled to a week earlier who would be the first one to lose their shit and blow up the school bathroom?Who is the friend who brings brownies to doomsday and who spiked the batter with vodka?
Don’t tell me what world it’s based in but show me what they wear. When you tell me of their lives, paint a picture that lets me sniff the garlic on their toast . Tell me why you think Elena is better off with Damon and not Stefan, let’s argue about whether Ross and Rachel were on a break (they were!) or why Barney is an actual arse no woman would build a family with. I don’t just watch, I obsess and if a show doesn’t consume you then why are you even watching it in the first place?”
#obsess #murder #mystery #thriller
****
What shows do you watch and what’s it about?

First Kiss – She thinks.

That night as I lay in bed ,I knew with a certainty previously alien to me that I was an absolute, incorrigible idiot.

I mean, I’ve always known that I’m an idiot- I trip over my heels and I fumble over words. I don’t always have the right ones to say. Some days I can’t even get my winged eyeliner right but I’d always thought that I was just the right amount of adorable to balance my level of “idiot”.

These past two days I’ve outdone myself. I kissed the CEO’s son and as if that wasn’t enough , I also sent him a desperate “Goodnight” snap in my cute PJ’s -the lavender,knee length night dress with a v-neck and ruffles along the edges. I did not spend an hour straightening my hair,for the snap.(Who am I kidding?)Just a lil hint of cleavage showing. To remind him of how (hopefully?) good my girls felt against his firm chest. Cuz if I can’t stop thinking about that brief second when my boobs were on his chest, why should he?

His chest.

God his chest.

I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to have my hands on him. Or his lips covering mine, sucking, nipping as we melded into one. Moaning at the memory, I bite down hard on my lower lip and pull the blanket over my head. Lights dimmed , it’s hard to not think of his thumb on my waist ,on that tiny sliver of skin between my top and skinny jeans when he caught me earlier today.

I picture him pulling me closer. Hands

To that one friend who kept yelling, “Get a room,you two!”. We need help and I’m counting on you

First Kiss #Car

We start out soft .

And slow.

Surprising ourselves at the intensity with which we respond the second time round.

Your lips on mine, nipping at it with a quiet urgency I haven’t felt before. I taste longing , cautiousness and a little flutter that sings of hope.

We pull apart. Our breath mingling in small puffs on the foggy dashboard.The wiper blades failing to clear the window.Blushing,I turn in my seat to gaze at the rain beat down on the tress a the other end of the road. The signal switches to green and we are off. We sneak glances at each other. Quick, fleeting ones.

I bite my lower lip, fiddling nervously with my seat belt.The car lurches over a speedbump as a crazy driver hollers past us. Was I too fast? Too sloppy? I can feel him looking at me, concerned and I want to tell him that I’m okay but I don’t. Because you see ,I couldn’t stand to see rejection in those soulful brown eyes.

The GPS instructs us to go left. So that’s what he does,pulling into a seemingly deserted road with just the restaurant where we’re meeting our friends. Ever the gentleman, he helps undo my seatbelt. Our knuckles brush, an involuntary grin threatening to bolt across my face. I tilt my forehead forward, lashes lowered and tuck my hair behind my ear.

The downpour has slowed to a drizzle and I attempt to dash across the road to the cosy looking cafe.Clumsy as I am my heels twist , my butt quickly approaching the slippery road when I feel strong arms wrapped around me. My hands clutching at his chest, the cashmere of his cardigan soft against my palm,his hands on my back ,pulling me in. He looks good up close. The stubble brings out the specks of brown in his eyes, a quickening pulse and a hint of green apple/ginger lemon tea.

His lips twitch,”I…”

I never get to hear the rest of the sentence as our friends pull up behind us, horns blaring and the moment is lost..

****

/*You’re an amazing driver. Better than I’d care to admit. And if you hadn’t give me so much crap for my clumsy driving abilities, you might even have heard me say it someday.*/

Metro Mornings, Every Morning

It’s the synchronised clack of heels- pencil, pump, ballet flats on the metal escalator. Like an army marching to the beat of an unheard song that has been passed down through generations, the lyrics forgotten in translation. Almost like a primeval battle cry with sleeping soldiers like bots waiting for the switch to be pulled for them to spring into action.

The lines. It’s the conundrum of choosing the best line to get into an overcrowded box of metal with electrical temperature control.Drcisionakong abilities tested? Check.

Then, there are the stories. So many of them. From the tanned man with hair the colour of chewed sugarcane fibers. Old. And sturdy. Sometimes, I see compassion. A boy my age may get up to offer his seat to the old man.

We take care of each other on the metro. Someone with a seat may offer to hold the bag of someone who couldn’t secure one. Empathy lives among us.

And so does joy. In the raucuous laughter of the school aged boys. They have the best stories to tell. Innocent mischief, Tales of candour shared, with a Twinkle in their eyes.

I see steely ambition in the girl who flips through her botany notes even as the crowd jostles her.

The thing about the metro? It’s not just a commute. It’s all the liminal spaces rolled into one. It’s everything I’ve ever been and ever will be. Past, present and the future at crossroads.

Coffee Stains : Not a laundry tale

trigger: self-harm

screech of drawers. Rattling, clanging closets. Creaking doors. The soft embrace of of skin around sterling silver.a faded red pocket knife.

wade to the hall. plush sofa. sit down.soft purple lights. cool metal against waxed hands. point the end at the base of your palm. glide it back. softly.stiffen your thumb on the handle. push. pull hand back. drawing the knife along.
drip.

drip.

drip.

three drops of velvet crimson- onyx on porcelain skin. they fall to the ground. barely visible on the marsh green carpet. Christmas gift. by the Ericsons.
I should mop it up. probably would. If I could bring myself to care. but if I could, I’d probably get me a band aid . to staunch the bleeding. fist on my cheek. clammy, yet warm. salty smell. like,when I dispose of a sanitary pad. and fail. to get the blood off.
blood. it doesn’t squirt out of my open forearm. its a steady trickle. from where my hand ,no limp, rests on the sofa’s arm. it flows. unlike words from my tongue when they ask me what my strengths are. weaknesses I could tell them of.

from the curve of this thigh. to the paleness of the skin that stretches from forehead to toe. white. bland. it absorbs color. red in the sun. flaky in strong winds. green with envy. like it doesn’t know what it wants to be yet. like it wants to be a lil but of everything but me?

me.

plain Jane Anna. the hand holding the knife slackens. dropping the blade. lidded eyes gawk at chipped nail paint. strength fails me. half hearted attempt to peel off the flaky nail varnish. hands thuds against a narrow neck. then there is darkness.no. red. only red. seeping across the ivory couch.

So those coffee stains on the sofa?

They’re not really coffee stains.