(no subject)
Four
Food Memory
Danny never knew his own last name. He knew hers, though, for it was her name that he stole for himself.
He met her on the day that she fell from the tree, when he wondered at his mind, which he presumed had constructed a strange hallucination. You see, Danny was something of a stray and a scrounger, although he had a profound inability to acquire anything of use. As a result, Danny was hungry, and in his hunger, he presumed that he was imagining things.
He wasn’t.
The strange young woman stood up, apologised for startling him and introduced herself. Danny, struck mute by the inevitable shock of a girl falling out of the sky, stared at her. She took small paper bag from the pocket of her skirt and offered him a toffee. He took three and forced them all into his mouth at once - they stuck his teeth together.
He wondered whether he should ask her why she had been up a tree, but before he managed to separate his teeth she told him anyway. She said that she wanted to fly and then invited him to join her in re-climbing the tree.
He thought perhaps he ought to tell her that she had already fallen once and so this was possibly not the greatest idea, but his teeth were still stuck together. At a loss for what else to do, he followed her into the tree, trying hard not to look up her petticoats as they climbed.
They sat opposite one another, as close to the top of the tree as they were able to climb - she on her branch and he on his. He thought he could see the whole forest from here - an endless sea of treetops, undulating their way to the horizon.
He asked her if this is what it would feel like to fly.
She asked him if he had ever kissed a girl. He must have blushed, for she giggled, leaned forwards and, quite unexpectedly, kissed him. She tasted of toffee, which he supposed was rather nice. He told her so, and she giggled again. She had, he thought, the giggle of a little girl.
He asked her how old she was.
She told him that he should not ask a woman her age, but that one was never too old or too young to fly.
That was, in fact, the last thing she ever said. A moment later the branch upon which she sat gave way. The sound it made was not terrible or loud, or anything like the overdramatic descriptions that one might read in a book - it simply broke, with an understated crack. She did not wail or shriek as she fell, and by the time Danny had even registered what was happening, the young woman was already dead.
He learned later that she was twenty-two years old.
Her family were poor, and so she was interred in an unmarked grave. For a time Danny visited her with stories of the things he had seen in the treetops, and other ways he had learned how to fly. Each time he left, he placed a toffee on the earth under which she lay and promised to return the following day. It is a fact both melancholy and delightful, however, that life does not stand still for long. You know this, for you too have looked out of your window in the time that follows the receiving of bad news and wondered why the world hasn’t stopped to grapple with your grief. Thus it was that there came to Danny a tomorrow when he did not visit, and he did not fly. His life, such as it was, went on.
Sometimes, in later years, when no one else was there, Danny would stand in the silence and speak her name out loud, for in the power of a whispered name a person, and a kiss, may live forever. Even you, having never met that young woman, may close your eyes and whisper her name into the sky, and when you do you may taste the vague ghost of toffee on your tongue.
Say it slowly, but do not be afraid. The dead, after all, are only dead.
Her name was Charlotte Auster.
Read the rest of Cemetaria:
One | Two | Three
Food Memory
Danny never knew his own last name. He knew hers, though, for it was her name that he stole for himself.
He met her on the day that she fell from the tree, when he wondered at his mind, which he presumed had constructed a strange hallucination. You see, Danny was something of a stray and a scrounger, although he had a profound inability to acquire anything of use. As a result, Danny was hungry, and in his hunger, he presumed that he was imagining things.
He wasn’t.
The strange young woman stood up, apologised for startling him and introduced herself. Danny, struck mute by the inevitable shock of a girl falling out of the sky, stared at her. She took small paper bag from the pocket of her skirt and offered him a toffee. He took three and forced them all into his mouth at once - they stuck his teeth together.
He wondered whether he should ask her why she had been up a tree, but before he managed to separate his teeth she told him anyway. She said that she wanted to fly and then invited him to join her in re-climbing the tree.
He thought perhaps he ought to tell her that she had already fallen once and so this was possibly not the greatest idea, but his teeth were still stuck together. At a loss for what else to do, he followed her into the tree, trying hard not to look up her petticoats as they climbed.
They sat opposite one another, as close to the top of the tree as they were able to climb - she on her branch and he on his. He thought he could see the whole forest from here - an endless sea of treetops, undulating their way to the horizon.
He asked her if this is what it would feel like to fly.
She asked him if he had ever kissed a girl. He must have blushed, for she giggled, leaned forwards and, quite unexpectedly, kissed him. She tasted of toffee, which he supposed was rather nice. He told her so, and she giggled again. She had, he thought, the giggle of a little girl.
He asked her how old she was.
She told him that he should not ask a woman her age, but that one was never too old or too young to fly.
That was, in fact, the last thing she ever said. A moment later the branch upon which she sat gave way. The sound it made was not terrible or loud, or anything like the overdramatic descriptions that one might read in a book - it simply broke, with an understated crack. She did not wail or shriek as she fell, and by the time Danny had even registered what was happening, the young woman was already dead.
He learned later that she was twenty-two years old.
Her family were poor, and so she was interred in an unmarked grave. For a time Danny visited her with stories of the things he had seen in the treetops, and other ways he had learned how to fly. Each time he left, he placed a toffee on the earth under which she lay and promised to return the following day. It is a fact both melancholy and delightful, however, that life does not stand still for long. You know this, for you too have looked out of your window in the time that follows the receiving of bad news and wondered why the world hasn’t stopped to grapple with your grief. Thus it was that there came to Danny a tomorrow when he did not visit, and he did not fly. His life, such as it was, went on.
Sometimes, in later years, when no one else was there, Danny would stand in the silence and speak her name out loud, for in the power of a whispered name a person, and a kiss, may live forever. Even you, having never met that young woman, may close your eyes and whisper her name into the sky, and when you do you may taste the vague ghost of toffee on your tongue.
Say it slowly, but do not be afraid. The dead, after all, are only dead.
Her name was Charlotte Auster.
Read the rest of Cemetaria:
One | Two | Three