just writing words

A Drifting Day

2009-07-15T19:57:00.001-04:00

A soft caress rest on my thin shoulder. I turn my head a bit, only to see the wind scattering dried leaves on the ground. It gently subsides, letting the leaves to fall asleep. For a brief second, a strange warmth fills my head. Was that you? I thought. The empty street grows quiet as if waiting for a sign. A strong scent of lemon wrap around my nose. Your favorite, you used to say. The wind pick up again. Chilly air strokes my cheeks. I wrap my arms around my shoulders and wished I had brought my coat with me. But it sits at home on the big chair, untouched.

I slowly turn back to where I was heading. The calmness that I had is no longer present. A sulk drips across my skin. My feet lock in their position and unwilling to move. I look down at them, at their smallness encased in black slippers and silver strips over the ankles. They suddenly seem distant and not at all my own. I hear a quiet tremor descending from the sky but it went away with the wind. The day's sun seep through the clouds and fall behind a large tree.

A hypnotic tinkling ring pass my ears. Not a few inches away, a girl rides her pink bicycle. The gold bell hangs just so, unimportant until her tan fingers work their way to the button to release their jubilant sound. Her yellow helmet gleam in the dull daylight. She slip me a crinkled smile as she pass me. A wad of brown locks sits at the nape of her neck with a bright pink ribbon sticking out. The pink and white streamers on her bicycle handle twirl about in a joyous dance.

Suddenly I am moving again. I look up at the trees that crawled their way to the dim sky. Jade leaves and yellow-brown branches shift positions, eager to entwine each other. At the end of the block, I suddenly have this desire to stop. I turn around to see a faint shadow drifting across the pavement. My eyes follow its movement until it fades into the shadow of a tall building. Dried leaves of burnt orange settle at my feet. I hear the tremor again. The sky roar like a tired lion. Gray ribbons streak across the blues. I hear my name being call. An unexpected, familiar sensation of warmth travels through my body and release a stream of tears. The wind rush wildly around me, blowing my dress about. It was awhile before I realized I was wearing a light coat of rain.

3WW: Drip, Hypnotic, Sulk

The Sound of Night

2009-07-14T15:02:00.003-04:00

a looming gray has arrived
it blurred everything in its path
my words fled into their vast hollows
all that remained, all that I can hear
is the distant sound of night

Unbound

2009-07-11T19:22:00.003-04:00

unbound time
stretch across the rough surface of paper
drips of alien letters appear in blue ink
jumbled & chaotic
blots of jealous reflections race beyond the lines
blur by the falling rain
that tumble down burnt cheeks
without pause
without thought
he transfer his dreams
through his gentle pen
pressing down in heated strokes
these many days of relished defeats
drift like the wind
ever so slowly
down a dark drain

One Single Impression : Thinking (Jim's Little Photo and Poem Place)

Stephen

2009-07-09T21:26:00.001-04:00

A gloom settles in splinters, flying through the transparent air and rustling the dust that covered everything. Words kneel on the soft, green carpet caress by dull sunlight. The morning has lost its pleasantness. The wet sun sticks to the day trippers dressed in black as they wander through the old home. Silver gray chairs scatter all over the place laying bare.

Stephen moves gingerly through the crowd but could not get anyone's attention. Their sad faces never changes. They continue their movement, never ceding to stop. Stephen's dark curls fall into his eyes as he watch the people dressed all in black moving back and fourth. His feet cased in black loafers make small prints on the carpet, carrying sun dust underneath his soles. He calls to them but his voice falls and absorb by the thick carpet as if he had never spoken at all. His eyes linger on large hands that are holding plates of food. He shift here and there to get a better view. Voices mingle together in harmony with no one voice outranking the other.

Stephen shrugs his shoulders and turns his heels a 180 down the hall. His small fingers trace the rough texture of the gray wall. Turning the corner, he hears whispers going in and out. He continues to walk, ignoring the voices. A few more steps lands him in the brightly-lit kitchen. Unwashed dishes pile high in the sink. Bright lights bounce off the tip of the upside down white coffee mug that sits at the top of the pile. Stephen turns his eyes to the white fridge. He pulls the silver handle with all his strength. Inside, food of every kind conjugated together like twin siblings. He reach out to the bowl of maroon cherries but move his hand toward the green grapes. He finger a small one and pops it into his mouth. The sour-sweet taste surprised his tongue. But he liked it. He slowly close the fridge.

He leaps onto a charcoal gray chair and pull out a red crayon from jacket pocket. He starts to draw a tugboat on the white table top. It wobbles as he press down on it. A giggle slip pass his peach lips. He look under the table at the legs. One of them is bounced on a thin novel. He finish his drawing anyway. He place the crayon back into his pocket with a small smile on his face.

An itch on his head urge him to comb through his hair, crumpling it. Looking up he saw a large plant above the cabinet. Its yellow and green vines scattered about, almost covering half the cabinets that line the kitchen wall. He reach out and pull a leaf down to him and stare at the detail of the blade. A voice shouts his name. He let the leaf slip from his hand.

He turn around but saw no one. Unconsciously, he place his thumb into his mouth. He stands very still near the doorway as the shouting continue but he cannot see anyone. He hears things being shuffle behind him but no one comes into the kitchen. Finally the voices fade. Stephen tilt his head a bit to look out through the kitchen doorway. The halls are empty. Stephen let his thumb fall from his mouth. He wished he wasn't such a baby. So many things scares him.

Stephen slowly walk out of the kitchen as quietly as he possibly can. In the hallway, he collide into a soft wall. It's Amanda, his older sister. He looks up to her chubby cheeks and stern eyes which suddenly turns pleasant. "There you are, Stephen. Daddy's looking all over for you. Time to go home." She grabs his left hand and nearly drags him with her.

On the front porch, Amanda opens a large black umbrella that is twice as big as Stephen. She grabs Stephen's hand and walks him down the short flight of stairs. The light rain sprinkles down in crystal bits. Stephen turns around to see more black umbrellas being open.

In the car, Stephen stare at the golden retriever in the yellow dog house. Rain falls on his golden fur but he barely move. Slowly the dog closes his eyes and move inside, away from Stephen's eyes. Stephen wants to jump out of the car and run to the dog to give him a hug. Just when he turns the handle on the car door, it starts to move. Amanda chats casually with their father about the state of the house and how awful it was to be there. Stephen pays no attention. He continues to stare at the dog house until the yellow tip disappears behind a fence.

3WW: Gloom, Kneel, Transparent

Dreaming in French

2009-07-08T11:15:00.000-04:00

his body tangled in winter
slow innocence staggers out
the sun hides behind the shade
his mind unhinged
he continues
dreaming in french

Knocking on moonlit walls

2009-07-06T19:33:00.004-04:00

the night leans so slowly
knocking on moonlit walls
unwilling to let the day begin
I wonder out loud
"is there anybody there?"
my words decide to echo me
covering me like a twister
I hear the wind rushing to the ocean
blowing debris through my window
it leaves trickles of cool air on my skin
time shift as I wait for the sun

Carry On Tuesday - the opening lines of the poem The Listeners by Walter de la Mare
"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door

Softy She Leaves

2009-07-06T10:27:00.008-04:00

softly she leaves
pennies on the yellow dresser
daisies on the window sill

she hides
in a corner witnessing darkness
sunshine nipping at her toes

the sun kills her bruised heart
the day easily rip away by the passing wind

she remembers
the nights of keeping still
running down halls with half-shadows
her bare legs shaking underneath feathered cotton
moonlight taking in all her fears

she unlocks the door
quietly she takes a step
away from the ledge of broken street

she leaves
ever so softly

October Falling

2009-07-04T16:41:00.004-04:00

his eyes wrap rain around my shoulders
I yearn for something like a sweet disaster
a rushing pause or a slow delay
a splendor journey or a mundane end
the sky shifts in broken dawns
unused flamethrowers lays in cool water
strained kisses curl around my spine
did you ever think you were ever mine
the wind stirs the hair on your arms
bits of sunshine splatter over my bare toes
leaving too soon to catch the late storm
unseen fortress surrounds your breaths
another october falls without a sound

Friday 5: October, flamethrower, strained , toes, spine

Beachcombing on the Moon

2009-07-03T11:52:00.002-04:00

Jacky yearns to go back to the white sandy place. In his head, he can still picture himself jumping and rolling around, enjoying the light laughter from his best friend, George. The sweet motion of flying through the air as he catch a baseball is slowly leaving his daydream. He looks up at the dark clouds. Rain will be coming soon and his coat will not keep him dry. He will have to hide inside his little home for a while. He wish he have some idea of what to do.

The rain starts to pour as if cold hands are pounding him, keeping him down. Jacky lifts his head a bit and discover his neck is stiff and achy. He crawls farther inside but keep his head out so he can still see what's going on in George's house. Through the front windows, he can see grim bodies moving around like puppets. Their pitter-patter motions echo about.

After a while, people start to spill out of the front door. They casually open large black umbrellas. But the rain soak through their coats and hats nonetheless. A hug there, a kiss there and then the cars that lined the side of the house, all drive away taking the noise with them.

George''s wife, Estella, is the only one left on the porch. She stands awkwardly with her arms wrap around her chest, watching the rain as it beat against the hard wooden floor. Her sullen face lined with thick wrinkles. She turns to Jacky and smiles at him. Her gray hair wrapped in a bun turns silver in the downpour. For a moment, she stare at Jacky. Her thin lips quiver as she holds out a hand and then folds it back around her arm. She starts to take a step forward toward his direction but then suddenly stops. Her tear-soaked eyes blink in quick secessions. She turns away from him and step inside the house, closing the door slowly behind her. At the windows, she pause to take a look at Jacky before pulling the curtains close.

Jacky groan and withdraw inside deeper into his home. The rain pound against the roof. He welcomes the darkness as he collapse onto his worn-out bed and shuts his eyes. In his dream he is walking alongside George on the surface of the moon. Together they search for bits of sunshine. Their slow movements and hearty laughters are all that matters.

3WW: Collapse, Sweet, Yearn

A Lemon Evening

2009-07-01T22:09:00.003-04:00

the sun strokes the horizon in a delicate kiss
sweeps of yellow awakes the night
infatuation blinds the sky

Strawberry Sky

2009-06-29T21:59:00.003-04:00

Over his dried shoulder is a cloth of sandy tiles. The scent of mustard smears his senses. He lies on the edge of the beach lost in a night dream. The sun burns his spirit, ridding him of a smooth day. He pulls a large hat over his face and watch the world through a strawberry sky. It's her hat, the one she wore before she left him. The bright red has faded a bit but parts of her is still inside their stalks. He can see her face, a large white circle with a blush of pink on her apple cheeks. Her light grey eyes looks everywhere. Their long lashes flutter like butterfly wings. Rings of sunlight bounce off them, sliding all over her. Her shy smile hides underneath long thick lines which she occasionally flips away with a blow of her thin lips. The sound of the ocean echoes in the air. A coat of darkness appears, staining his vision. He sits up letting the hat fall off his head. The sky is now gray and cloudy. For a moment, he thought he saw her standing in the still water, waving to him. Her white dress blows in the wind with a half-smile pasted on her lips. She shouts to him but he cannot hear her. A large white boat glides pass her. He can't see her anymore. She has gone away like before.

Scars

2009-06-29T09:58:00.000-04:00

in your inked scars
spirits sheltered in dark rain
simple strokes of confabulation

Blueberry Summer

2009-06-27T22:03:00.008-04:00

I remember siblings of summer
switching tunes with one another
sleepy eyes and half-moon smiles
impetus kisses in the wind

sudden rift of many splinters
slowly tied your words
cluttering the spaces between our lips

warm days slithered away from us
stealing our breaths and our mornings
drowned us in dry oceans

cool nights fluttered by
with no stars and no light
only dark clouds and lost rain

I remember chasing blueberry skies
stumbling through sightless plights
and leftover daylights
always finding you were never there

One Single Impression: Blue Rain

Soup

2009-06-24T16:16:00.015-04:00

The small child wrinkle her fickle nose at the sight of the soup bowl that sparkle under the lights of the small chandelier. Her small hand grabs the silver spoon next to the bowl. She twirl the spoon around the bowl, bringing up bits of vegetables and chicken bits. Her eyes starts to purse into a stubborn squint. Her nose sniff the warm air. She humbly takes a small sip. The savory content sits in her mouth. After a moment of uncertainty, she swallows the soup. Then she smack her lips for a bit before turning to Utica, the chef, who is standing anxious to her right. He waits for the smile that will form on her peach lips. When he sees it, his eyes pop wide open with delight. At last the soup is ready for the queen.

Utica pulls out two small sacks from his pocket -- one with coins and the other with candy. The queen's maid's child is only seven years of age but she has the exact taste as the queen's. Her braids swing behind her as she walks out of the kitchen through the servant's back door. Utica opens the doors to the kitchen and nods at the two waiting servants to take the soup to the queen.

Utica is grateful once again to the child. After too many burnt tongues and excessive drinking, he no longer can taste food properly. Each day he allows the child to check his cooking knowing that he'll be beheaded if the queen ever finds out. He sits in the kitchen enjoying the calm.

But Utica's nerve suddenly erupts. The queen's head servant, Ms. Violet, is heading toward him. When she's close, she calmly states that the queen does not want the chicken soup that he has served. She prefer a different kind and would he please start cooking at once. Utica nods his head, unable to keep himself steady. The sound of Ms. Violet's footsteps echoes like thunder against the wooden floor board. Utica falls to the kitchen floor with anguish. The day has come, he thought. He wrap his arms around his head and starts to sob. But then he soon realize, it is not over. He still have time.

He calls for his assistant, Dean, who stumbles into the large kitchen. Utica instructs him to bring the child back at once. But the child is gone. She is already on a wagon to her grandmother's a few town away. Utica has no choice. He starts brewing a new soup knowing he might not get it right. He used to do this with even less time. The results were always right. This time he second guess himself with every piece of ingredient he throws into the cauldron. He can do this. Over and over, he told himself - he can do this. Utica takes a swipe of vinegar wine and wipe the sweat from his brow. Dean went back out to look for the child but Utica knew she will not get back in time.

Ms. Violet appears and demand to know when the soup will be ready. Her brushy eyebrows knit together. The chef is not the only one who's anxious. "Soon," he said, watching the black heels of Ms. Violet's shoes becoming a blur.

Finally the soup is ready but there is no one around to taste it. Utica reluctantly takes a spoonful of soup into his mouth. For a moment, there is nothing but then suddenly a burst of sweet sweeps over his tongue and then fades away. Utica could not trust himself but he has no choice. He has to serve the soup now. Two servants came and carry the soup to the queen.

After what seem like an eternity, Utica is summon to the queen. He walks gingerly down the long hallway toward the dinning room, unsure of what explanation he will have.

Her majesty is still sipping her soup when Utica appear at the doorway of the large dinning room. She gesture for him to come closer. Utica notice the guards surrounding almost the entire room. Their long spears and stony faces make him cringe. Utica watches his feet as he approach the queen. He wish he has clean his dusty boots.

Sweat lingers on his brows as he kneel near the queen. He dare not move too close. The queen lowers her spoon onto the table and turn to Utica after tapping her mouth with the napkin. She told Utica to stand up. He keeps his head to the ground for fear she might see his unease. The only sound in the room is her skirt sweeping the floor as she walks closer to him. Utica stare at the pink embroidery beads of the hem of her skirt. When she speak, her quiet voice seem so far away. As her words travel toward his ears, Utica ready himself to be taken away.

But the queen signals a guard to hand Utica a small chest. She wants to reward Utica with twenty pounds of gold for a delicious lunch. She hope he'll start on dinner very soon. She dismiss Utica and went back to her soup. Utica thank the queen and hurry out of the room with his arms around the chest. Utica did not need the child after all. His taste buds must have returned when he stopped drinking.

3WW: Fickle, Sparkle, Wrinkle

Dreamless Slumber

2009-06-23T11:42:00.012-04:00

Flowing shadows linger over the city and the dreamers in their restless beds. A sleeper opens his eyes to the sound of an old morning. He rubs dull dreams from his mind, blinking with exhausted breaths. Stretching his rigid body, he turns his head toward the dusty window beside him. Out there he can almost see the gentle gray of the horizon. A smile begs his lips as the sun raise immaturely, bursting out with tangled rays. For a moment, the sleeper watch himself flying freely through the luminous sky. But soon sleep pulls him into their worn-out cages. He reach for the cord and lowers the blinds. Lazily, he hugs his pillow and allow his eyes to fold back into their dreamless slumber.

Between the raindrops

2009-06-21T22:00:00.011-04:00

can you see clearly what's on my skin
everything that is you, covers this entire body
do you not see a life inside these thin walls

you would have understood me, had you waited
you would have seen through this broken facade
rough and delicate, my exterior reveal the reality
tattooed by life's stains, my colors easily bruise
causing everything to protrude out

your eyes refused again and again
never to see me in the mirror
refusing to accept even the tears
running between the raindrops

Carry on Tuesday: This week is the opening words of You Would Have Understood Me by Ernest Dowson (1867–1900): You would have understood me, had you waited;

"Running between the raindrops" - line from Frances at Blogjem

Transcendental Wreckage

2009-06-19T14:09:00.001-04:00

trapped in callous skin
I begin to shed scars
a liberal collapse

The Long Search, part 2

2009-06-17T21:58:00.004-04:00

Read the first part here.

...................................

In the second to last book, Marla found Clara. Her face, still youthful, was now lined with age and her light gray eyes glared out with hints of gloom. Marla didn't recognized Clara at first but then became giggly with delight as tears that she had been holding on began to spill in reckless abandonment. She found her at last -- her sister, her twin soul. The advertisment was for hair care products. Clara's strawberry blonde hair now cut bluntly halfway, shone immaculately. It was dated 1999, the year Clara turned eighty-one. Marla decided then she will not failed, not now.

...................................

In the dark corner of an uneven neighborhood, Marla paced patiently toward an abandon building. She was told it was where she'll found the old hair salon that sold the hair care products in Clara's ad. The building was in ruin and seemed to shift slightly to the right.

The clouds threaten rain with their thunderous roar. Cold wind drift here and there. But Marla did not go back. She will not leave until she find Clara. In the near darkness, Marla paused to inspect the surrounding. There was no one around, only one streetlight shining close enough to Marla for her to see the door.

The brick walls were covered in crumbled dust. Marla lingered at the door with a faded image of a woman blowing a kiss. Her hand went for the doorknob but there wasn't one, only a hole where it used to be. Marla bended down to peek through it. She couldn't see anything, only shadows and shapes. But as Marla shifted her focus, she saw a light, very fade but a light. Her gloved hands pushed against the door. It fell back easily, blowing debris off the ground. Marla took a few steps back and waited for the air to clear.

Her heavy boots clicked against the door as she stepped through the entrance. The light she saw was not far ahead. Above her, a strange bird-like cry came and went. Marla pulled her coat tighter and adjusted her gloves. The chilly cold rushed into her. She stared up at the dark sky and knew rain will be pouring soon.

Marla stepped over piles of trash following a long path that must has been cleared by someone. A terrible stench entered her nose and stung her eyes. She blinked away the tears and covered her nose with her hand while keeping a tight grip on her bag with the other. Loose fear gripped her mind but she pushed them aside. She kept going, allowing her feet to take her where she did not want to go.

The odor subsided as she near an entrance with a flowered pattern cloth handing over the opening. Above was a lit candle cradled inside a round hook. This was the light that she saw. She lifted the cloth and stepped inside. A breath of warm air suddenly clung to her body. As she walked farther, she saw candles lined in a circle, producing an orange glow that shone on a man and a woman near the doorway. Marla didn't recognized their sleeping faces and continued to move deeper into the room.

The tall shadows on the wall were moving but very slowly. Marla turned to see someone laying on the ground covered in a rosy shawl. Even covered in grime, Marla instantly recognized it as Clara's. She gave that to her on her twentieth birthday. Clara happily wore it every day.

Marla stood as close as she dare. As the figure moved, a face was caught by the orange flame. Marla lips let a giggle. She saw the familiar grey eyes, the thin lips with dried flakes, and the straight nose twitched in that odd way that usually meant she was either surprised or confused. She started to say something but Marla gathered her sister into her arms. The unbearable emotions that spilled from their eyes left them without words.

Marla knew Clara was surprised at Marla's twenty-year-old face. A face that she hasn't seen for almost 90 years. Marla let Clara ran her hand over her smooth cheeks. Looking at Clara, Marla wished she has been here sooner. Clara's smile erased some of her guilt.

...................................

In the small hotel room, Marla sat on the window sill while Clara was in the bathroom taking a bath. The rain was falling now, heavy and steadily. Marla stared at them as they splashed against the window panes. The heavy scent of mildew ran its way toward her from the bathroom. Marla pushed the window open a crack but stayed put as the rain beat against her skin. The cool liquid soothed her thoughts. The burden that was sitting inside was now releasing their last hold on her. There were too many sleepless, restless days but none of them mattered now. Now she needs to be with Clara.

Carry On Tuesday - this week is the opening words of the poem The Fear by Robert Frost:
A lantern light from deeper in the barn
Shone on a man and woman in the door

Orange Persuasion

2009-06-17T10:32:00.010-04:00

summer hides inside a wicked smog
lush dots of random oddity
spreads across the wild blue
arresting drips of persimmon sunshine
falls in rhythmic heatwaves
slowly blending into the gray asphalt
filling each breathe of space
with saturated smiles
rushing to leave our minds
they quietly settle
into an unbreakable infection

3WW: Arresting, Rhythmic, Wicked

Splendor

2009-06-16T13:22:00.004-04:00

the persistent rain
falls in duplicate splendor
keeps everything still

Star Child & Azure Moon

2009-06-16T10:32:00.002-04:00

under the crested sky
a memory lane
covered in millions
of honeydew stars

star child
chase the careless wind
follow fireflies and blue fairies
nothing to bear on your shoulders

softly under this lazy night
let these words gently lifts you

soon you'll glide through the clouds
dine with the sleeping sun
dream with feathered wings

wonder no more
wherever you lay
soft pillows catches your fall

for the azure moon
watches over you

the azure moon
twinkles just for you

Cafe Writing for May/June - the theme is: The Magic of Milne
Option Four: Pick Three - Pick at least three of the following words, and build a piece of writing around them. The form is up to you: bear, brain, faithful, going, muddling, perhaps, sadly, wherever, wondered

The Fall

2009-06-14T12:27:00.007-04:00

caged inside faded yellow walls
a bird with fractured wings
mended with crusted rubber bands
moved slowly as to be capture by faith
got swept away by the dust of a bitter wind
and fell inside the pocket of a dreamer

One Single Impression: Walls

Hiding in the Water

2009-06-12T19:03:00.004-04:00

Woman by The Seashore, by Hughie Lee-Smith, 1987

morning leaves in a hushed state
thoughts falls in random aches
scents of crispy break downs sprinkles the air
my mind strapped for images and words
shuffles memories and childhood rages
in an adopted conscious
I reach for the sunshine
hiding in the water

The Long Search

2009-06-10T22:28:00.033-04:00

The book was thick and black and covered with dust. Its boards were bowed and creaking with quiet whispers. Marla's fingers swept across each page, pressing down with moderated certainty. Dust debris exuded with every turn. Her lips pursed together in anticipation. The aroma of musk and dried roses spread through the air.

Marla kept her brown eyes wide opened, never letting them leave the page until she was certain there was nothing there. She examined each word and every photograph and even the small prints. Each time she thought she saw a familiar face, her heart jumped a thousand times but soon fell quickly when she realized it was nobody. Toward the last page, discontent fluttered through her body and mind. She closed the book with a heavy sigh. She's not there. Clara's not there. Not in this book.

Outside, the heavy snow piled high but did not hide the sun. Marla stared up at the hundreds of books surrounding the library walls. Each one sparkled with fading lights. She wished some magical force would pull out the right book for her. She had gone through half of them. So far, all she found was heartaches and a slight congestion in her lungs. It's been two weeks since she found the library and every spare time she has, she spent it here searching. Immortals are supposed to be patient but Marla began to find her will weakening with each book that she closed. In the past, Clara was always there to keep her from falling into hopelessness but now fifty years later, she dreaded facing the future alone without her sister.

Marla pulled out the only photograph of her sister. Clara was supposed to wear the pink dress but at the last moment, she declared that the shiny material did not suit her and that Marla should wear it. Clara, with her tilted head and lopsided smile, still looked ethereal. Her strawberry-blonde hair and milky skin can always shadow Marla's uneven complexion and dark hair. Yet Marla never felt she was in her sister's shadow. They always supported each other and there was never any soured exchange nor any type of jealousy between them.

Marla remembered Clara's eyes darting toward the handsome photographer who introduced himself only as Jonah. She heard them conversing behind the thin door of the changing room. Without even looking, Marla knew her sister had fallen in love.

Two weeks later, Clara disappeared with Jonah leaving a short note for Marla. They have eloped and will be moving to a house a couple of towns away. Clara sounded so happy that Marla felt she needed not worry about her sister.

A few months later, Marla received a letter from Clara. The usual refined cursive that only her sister can produced was replaced with scrawled letters and rushed, misspelled words. Some of them Marla couldn't even made out. She could tell her sister was not using her right hand by how the ink was smeared back and forth. There were statements that Marla knew Clara would never use and even her signature looked a bit uncharacteristic. When Clara mentioned her broken arm, Marla could not believed it. Clara never liked horses and would always refused to ride them. Even when they were little, Clara feared being around them. She felt their strong four legs might crush her if she ever fall off. Clara repeatedly wrote she was alright, just a minor fall. But Marla knew her sister was lying. She wrote back that she wanted to come for a visit but there was no reply.

Finally after a few uncertain months of waiting, Marla went to see Clara with the last few dollars that she had. At the tall gate of their house, Jonah, whose last name she never caught, came out and told her Clara was at his mother's and that Marla should come back in a few days. His smile seem sincere but his forceful arms pushed Marla toward the streets. He eagerly closed the gate and went back inside the house. As she stood looking up at the red-bricked walls, Marla saw Clara at one of the second level window. Her skin looked pale and drained of life. The curtain closed suddenly and Marla couldn't helped but wondered if Clara was alright. Marla was just two years younger than Clara but Marla felt she was the older one now, the one who needed to protect Clara.

Marla walked back to her hotel room which was really a small closet but with the little money that she has, it would have to do. In the early morning, Marla went back in hopes of seeing Clara but what she found was an empty house. The gates were locked but Marla climbed through the thin opening. On the front porch, she shouted for Clara but heard no reply. She peered through the dusty windows and she saw the empty walls and leftover debris. She shouted for Clara as she circled the house. She cursed herself for not coming sooner.

Through the years, Marla had taken odd jobs to support herself while following her sister from city to city through Clara's modeling work. She was certain Jonah forced Clara to do them. He was a photographer after all. Fifty years has not changed Clara one bit. Her beauty seeped out of the pages even when she was selling cheap tobacco. Marla could barely looked at her sister's overly make-up face with her forced smile. Night and day, doubts continued to haunt her but Marla never gave up. She knew Clara was somewhere waiting for her.

Marla grudgingly tucked the photograph back into her black coat and pulled down another thick book. She will find Clara. After all, they are sisters -- now and forever.

Read part 2 here

EasyStreet Prompt #560: The Other Sister

Carry on Tuesday: opening words of the 1990 novel by A.S.Byatt entitled Possession:
The book was thick and black and covered with dust. Its boards were bowed and creaking

Restless

2009-06-10T13:14:00.006-04:00

Your brittle words settle in quietly among my other dangerous keepsakes. Restless tears fall, slowly driven backward toward the other side of me. As my feet press the pavement, as the warm summer sun leans down on me, unwonted worries seep into my soles. Down the street, I search through the crowd for a solitary pause. Not a few feet away, pink petals dust the ground with borrowed sighs below a large sakura tree. There, I gather everything that is my sullen heart and scrutinize their significance.

3WW: Dangerous, Keepsake, Restless