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f l o r a

United States

lady madonna
children at your feet
I wonder how you manage to
make ends meet

Message to Readers

This piece is sort of a vent, I guess. And also kind of therapeutic, think of it as an inner monologue. This'll feature the other writers later.

The Woods And Us (2)

January 28, 2019

FREE WRITING

7
I vomited behind a tree. I couldn’t help that I was shaken. My stomach couldn’t take it, either.
The dreams that I had had the entire night were memories I had tried to repress-I guess I hadn’t tried hard enough.
I was in a hospital bed, my left leg was hardened in a cast. I was having muscle spasms,, but they weren’t normal, in the sense that they were some of the most intense pains I had ever encountered. It all faded-because I was sedated. Sedation, my innocence could only grasp a fragment of the concept. Sedation was for murderers, those who bore evil within. I don’t think that now, as a fifteen year old. I’ve managed to fit myself in the grooves and footholds of society; I was insignificant, but I had a grip on the world that I had been born in.
But still..after that surgery..things weren’t all magic and sunshine. My calf muscle had atrophied after being in a cast for a month and I walked with a gait similar to that of a newborn calf. The muscle would get stronger with time. But it didn’t. It stayed thin. I could walk, though. In fact, I was on the track team for some time before the winter began.
I moved..like a “normal” human. When I ran.
But when I walked, that leg swung out like an oar, it was clunky..that wasn’t the leg of a dancer, long and slender, coddled in the silk straps of a pointe shoe.
This was the leg of someone who didn’t deserve what they had ended up with. Someone who dragged the burden of life joylessly.
The dreams I had on the forest floor were of sterile rooms with whitewashed walls, being prodded and pushed with gloved hands, whispers of nurses hung heavily.
I ran my fingers along the trunk of the tree, worn with whorls and knots of time. I ran my long fingers along each and every one of those knots. Maybe this tree, had seen things, maybe it had seen heartbreak, and blossoming romances, all take place under its wilting canopy. Maybe it had seen loneliness. It had wisdom flowing through its roots. Maybe I thought, that maybe I could get it to speak. I needed guidance.
So I trailed my fingers along each and every whorl and knot, my eyes closed.
I made my body an insignificant being, my mind went blank.
So I waited.
And waited.
Nothing.
Nothing, not even a tree could take pity on a gimp-legged kid, and hell, I was dumb enough to believe in what Pocahontas had taught me.
“I know every rock and tree and creature, has a life, has a spirit, has a name.”
My fingers became knives, scratching at the bark as if I could peel it to the center. What was truly there. The tears bubbled over.
This is bullshit.
Rivulets of crimson showed in tanned crevasses, it stung. But it wasn’t like I cared.
Eli, what’re you doing?” A hand closed around my right hand. Nailbitten fingertips paired with smooth olive skin.
“Adam,” I turned around to see his face etched with dissapointment. He bit his bottom lip.
“What the heck are you doin’ out here?”
That’s when I burst into tears and buried my face in his shirt. He took my hands, wrapped them in clean white bandages, hiding the ugly beast that lay beneath.
The silence didn’t last.
He sat me down on a moss covered rock, and started to scream. His blue irises wavered and snapped frantically. “Why were you doing that, do you know what you doing, even?” He ran his hands through his loose black curls and spun around on his heel, digging it into the ground.
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know how.
He sighed and sat down next to me, cupping my cheeks in the rough palms of his hands.
“Eli, you’re hurting, I know that. But say something, please?”
So I did.
“I thought the tree would tell me things.” I started to cry again.
I lied, because what I had actually realized was faces, of any kind, dark and light, with ripe mango lips, and thick caterpillar mustaches, those with green eyes, or brown, it didn’t matter, ‘cause faces of any kind show what a person could hide in their hands.

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  • January 28, 2019 - 8:21am (Now Viewing)

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3 Comments
  • .audrey michelle.

    love this :D

    *comes in a bandwagon full of too late sandwiches*

    cant wait for more :D


    7 months ago
  • Serendipity

    Ooh mah my, this is super cool! Also, your way with words is incredible and I want more stories like this! :DDD


    7 months ago
  • AbigailSauble

    Superb imagery!
    Are you planning on turning this into a full-length book? Or simply having fun with this?
    You have my curiosity peaked. =D Keep up the good work!


    7 months ago