The Real LJ Idol * 3 Strikes * Week 2: What Really Matters
The scent of clotted earth pressed around her. She gathered up her skirt and tied it higher, tucking the wet ends into her belt for better maneuverability. The bare undergrowth had thorns and sharp edges which kept catching at her, like a line of sentinels guarding her from the secret knowledge she sought. Her damp shoe slid unexpectedly on the path, her hand squelched into the flooded moss peaking through the dense slush. She stood still for a moment and listened intently. The wind pulled through the trees, rattling. It insistently tugged on the long plait of her hair. She wrapped her knit shawl more tightly and tied it around her back to keep the fabric in place.
The beat of her heart was loud in her ears, but the sound of her her breath was taken with the wailing of the wind buffeting against the front of her body, like it was hoping to hold her back. She kept moving onward, following a deep sense that there would be something spectacular to see. Suddenly the path opened up before her. There was a semi-circle of people gathered in the clearing, and their heads turned toward her in unison. The movement was unhurried, as if they were expecting her.
She suddenly felt clammy, her skin prickled as an itch broke out across her skin. She had a sinking feeling dropped into the pit of her stomach. A bitter taste rose at the back of her throat. The faces were solemn in the soft moonlight. The glow glinted off newly frozen drops of water on the surrounding trees. She blinked, and thought about how they looked like diamonds, as she breathed through her nose heavily. She noticed the scent of snow underlying the wet green smell of the soft crushed ground of the clearing. She hoped she wouldn’t be sick.
Someone began to hum, low and long. Then the next person joined, higher than the first, until the entire clearing was vibrating with the melody created by the chorus of voices. A soothing lilt swirled around her as a few of the Grandmothers moved in closer. The others stayed on the edges of the clearing. They slowly swayed as they closed the circle around her. She felt an awful stinging sensation pull across her skin. A whimper escaped her, surprising her. The Grandmothers shushed shushed and petted her hair. They undid the braid, untied her skirts and shawl, and pulled the damp cold fabric off of her. They began rubbing warmth back into her skin. Hands soft as down and petals anointed her with rose water. They kissed her forehead and crown, and firmly rubbed her back. Her breath was shallow and she felt sweat gather at her temples and slide down her face and trail down her neck. She thought of a horse she saw once, eyes rolling after seeing a snake. Then her eyes grew wide.
The swirling shadows coalesced into many thin oily ropes, pulsing. The cords reached across the clearing. She looked down and saw them connected across her skin, like leeches. She felt taut as a bowstring, and was sure she would snap. The Grandmothers held her close and breathed, so she breathed too. The breaths traveled deep into her belly, and up into her chest, expanding her ribs wider than she thought possible. The exhales were steady and slow, contraction to expansion into a fullness she hadn’t felt in a long time. She felt a stinging tearing sensation across her torso. A light coalesced around as if she were underwater. It swirled close to her, then it expanded farther with each collective inhale, and expanded even farther with each collective exhale. She watched the moon through the swirling breaths billowing up into the cooling air, but she felt warmer. Her eyes watered, but her skin was soothed, her heart slowed.
She slid her gaze from the sky and into the clearing, watching the edge of the protective shield of refracted light surrounding her and the Grandmothers. Her stomach flipped. The black cords were no longer touching her skin, but instead they were suctioned onto the dome of light. The spiraling rows of teeth munching hungrily as if they were trying to eat through glass. Their mouths seemed impossibly big in front of their thin necks. Their bodies bulged grotesquely beyond that, working like a pump. The Grandmothers patted her briskly and rhythmically, and her head stopped swimming. They smiled kindly and knowingly. Someone from the circle brought forth a long thin handle, and the grandmothers placed it reverently in her hands. The crescent blade of the scythe shone a brilliant white above her head as it caught the moonbeams in it’s shimmering blade. It felt light as a feather. She took a deep breath, knowing what she must do. She held the tool over her head and with an exhale, she swung it in a precise arc down onto the cluster of skinny necks attached to the slick cords. There was no sound. It was as silent as an owl’s wing, and deadly as an owl’s talons. The mouths dropped to the earth with a soft pattering sound.
The circle of people grew nearer as she pushed the handle of the scythe into the earth, and leaned heavily onto it, resting. She watched them make the fire methodically together. The warmth rushed in all at once, as the Grandmothers gathered the slain black mouths into a thin cloth. They tied it neatly and placed her triumph into her hands. She stepped forward intentionally and dropped the parcel into the cleansing flames. Each Grandmother tossed their own offering to the flames, a handful of herbs releasing a smoke that was fragrant and welcoming. Honeycomb and cheeses were passed around as the people gathered began speaking to each other in low and exalted tones. Their murmuring grew louder as a horn of red wine passed from hand to hand, mouth to mouth. Laughter bubbled through the clearing, and she laughed too. She felt loose, and light, swaying under the new freedom she did not know she was missing. Hammocks were strung between the trees. The Grandmothers wrapped her in soft fabrics, put her to bed, kissing her brow and patting her shoulder. She fell into a deep peaceful sleep. When she woke the next morning, the birds were singing enthusiastically, the sun slanting through the branches, sharp as a scythe, the sky a wild blue.
***
If you liked this story, please follow the link to the poll in order to vote for it and read the other entries by talented writers: https://therealljidol.livejournal.com/1177132.html
The beat of her heart was loud in her ears, but the sound of her her breath was taken with the wailing of the wind buffeting against the front of her body, like it was hoping to hold her back. She kept moving onward, following a deep sense that there would be something spectacular to see. Suddenly the path opened up before her. There was a semi-circle of people gathered in the clearing, and their heads turned toward her in unison. The movement was unhurried, as if they were expecting her.
She suddenly felt clammy, her skin prickled as an itch broke out across her skin. She had a sinking feeling dropped into the pit of her stomach. A bitter taste rose at the back of her throat. The faces were solemn in the soft moonlight. The glow glinted off newly frozen drops of water on the surrounding trees. She blinked, and thought about how they looked like diamonds, as she breathed through her nose heavily. She noticed the scent of snow underlying the wet green smell of the soft crushed ground of the clearing. She hoped she wouldn’t be sick.
Someone began to hum, low and long. Then the next person joined, higher than the first, until the entire clearing was vibrating with the melody created by the chorus of voices. A soothing lilt swirled around her as a few of the Grandmothers moved in closer. The others stayed on the edges of the clearing. They slowly swayed as they closed the circle around her. She felt an awful stinging sensation pull across her skin. A whimper escaped her, surprising her. The Grandmothers shushed shushed and petted her hair. They undid the braid, untied her skirts and shawl, and pulled the damp cold fabric off of her. They began rubbing warmth back into her skin. Hands soft as down and petals anointed her with rose water. They kissed her forehead and crown, and firmly rubbed her back. Her breath was shallow and she felt sweat gather at her temples and slide down her face and trail down her neck. She thought of a horse she saw once, eyes rolling after seeing a snake. Then her eyes grew wide.
The swirling shadows coalesced into many thin oily ropes, pulsing. The cords reached across the clearing. She looked down and saw them connected across her skin, like leeches. She felt taut as a bowstring, and was sure she would snap. The Grandmothers held her close and breathed, so she breathed too. The breaths traveled deep into her belly, and up into her chest, expanding her ribs wider than she thought possible. The exhales were steady and slow, contraction to expansion into a fullness she hadn’t felt in a long time. She felt a stinging tearing sensation across her torso. A light coalesced around as if she were underwater. It swirled close to her, then it expanded farther with each collective inhale, and expanded even farther with each collective exhale. She watched the moon through the swirling breaths billowing up into the cooling air, but she felt warmer. Her eyes watered, but her skin was soothed, her heart slowed.
She slid her gaze from the sky and into the clearing, watching the edge of the protective shield of refracted light surrounding her and the Grandmothers. Her stomach flipped. The black cords were no longer touching her skin, but instead they were suctioned onto the dome of light. The spiraling rows of teeth munching hungrily as if they were trying to eat through glass. Their mouths seemed impossibly big in front of their thin necks. Their bodies bulged grotesquely beyond that, working like a pump. The Grandmothers patted her briskly and rhythmically, and her head stopped swimming. They smiled kindly and knowingly. Someone from the circle brought forth a long thin handle, and the grandmothers placed it reverently in her hands. The crescent blade of the scythe shone a brilliant white above her head as it caught the moonbeams in it’s shimmering blade. It felt light as a feather. She took a deep breath, knowing what she must do. She held the tool over her head and with an exhale, she swung it in a precise arc down onto the cluster of skinny necks attached to the slick cords. There was no sound. It was as silent as an owl’s wing, and deadly as an owl’s talons. The mouths dropped to the earth with a soft pattering sound.
The circle of people grew nearer as she pushed the handle of the scythe into the earth, and leaned heavily onto it, resting. She watched them make the fire methodically together. The warmth rushed in all at once, as the Grandmothers gathered the slain black mouths into a thin cloth. They tied it neatly and placed her triumph into her hands. She stepped forward intentionally and dropped the parcel into the cleansing flames. Each Grandmother tossed their own offering to the flames, a handful of herbs releasing a smoke that was fragrant and welcoming. Honeycomb and cheeses were passed around as the people gathered began speaking to each other in low and exalted tones. Their murmuring grew louder as a horn of red wine passed from hand to hand, mouth to mouth. Laughter bubbled through the clearing, and she laughed too. She felt loose, and light, swaying under the new freedom she did not know she was missing. Hammocks were strung between the trees. The Grandmothers wrapped her in soft fabrics, put her to bed, kissing her brow and patting her shoulder. She fell into a deep peaceful sleep. When she woke the next morning, the birds were singing enthusiastically, the sun slanting through the branches, sharp as a scythe, the sky a wild blue.
***
If you liked this story, please follow the link to the poll in order to vote for it and read the other entries by talented writers: https://therealljidol.livejournal.com/1177132.html