My First Dare
Strawberry #5. Bucket with a CHERRY and MALT
Rating : PG (it's a little gross)
Cherry for - 1st person, present tense, and intentional use of fragments
A bucket. A battered hunk of metal anchored between my knees, while pale and trembling hands wind their way round its rim. Staring down the shallow well of tin, I swear I have memorized every dent and spot of rust the thing has.
A sigh from across the room. Eyes on me while I rock in my corner. How a person can show such deep concern and such utter revulsion, all at once and without so much as a word, is beyond my comprehension. But there it is, as sure as the floor that is rising beneath me at a most unbearable angle, or the wretched floral pattern of the quilt that assaults my tired eyes with half a dozen garish colors.
A lurch, a twist. Fingers tighten around the mouth of the bucket I close my eyes and pray to each and every god that this is the last time I find myself like this. Coughing, hacking, too loud to hear the footsteps. Gentle hands find my temples, pulling back my hair.
A groan, a splat. My whole body heaves until I am empty and shaking. Tears spill over my cheeks, as I struggle for breath and clutch the metal until the tremors cease. The bucket finds its way from my lap to the floor and I fall back into her arms.
And so begins another morning.
Rating : PG (it's a little gross)
Cherry for - 1st person, present tense, and intentional use of fragments
A bucket. A battered hunk of metal anchored between my knees, while pale and trembling hands wind their way round its rim. Staring down the shallow well of tin, I swear I have memorized every dent and spot of rust the thing has.
A sigh from across the room. Eyes on me while I rock in my corner. How a person can show such deep concern and such utter revulsion, all at once and without so much as a word, is beyond my comprehension. But there it is, as sure as the floor that is rising beneath me at a most unbearable angle, or the wretched floral pattern of the quilt that assaults my tired eyes with half a dozen garish colors.
A lurch, a twist. Fingers tighten around the mouth of the bucket I close my eyes and pray to each and every god that this is the last time I find myself like this. Coughing, hacking, too loud to hear the footsteps. Gentle hands find my temples, pulling back my hair.
A groan, a splat. My whole body heaves until I am empty and shaking. Tears spill over my cheeks, as I struggle for breath and clutch the metal until the tremors cease. The bucket finds its way from my lap to the floor and I fall back into her arms.
And so begins another morning.