‘But if you push it off a cliff, it stays in the air, doesn’t it?’.
I didn’t know what I was doing at this workshop, of all I could have chosen to go to. I’d signed up for mushroom foraging, which was cancelled because the old women who had promised to host the event had taken poorly with poisoning, and the last anyone saw of her, she was climbing the thousand year old oak that no one liked to climb because of where it might lead to. Around these parts we all had an agreement that the elders could do what they please, and so no one tried to bring her down, which made me feel awfully happy.
Image from Unsplash
I watched Angela touch it with her fingertips. It gave a little, like the way a sponge cake does when it is fresh from the oven, and then twisted away from her. I knew how it felt. One did not like to be poked by Angela, even on a good day, when one was in the mood to be touched.
The clever thing shimmered slightly and then promptly turned the colour of her nail varnish, bright red, with spots. Like a flyagaric fungi, or the umbrella that Reginald sheltered me under the year it rained so much that everyone’s hands turned prune like and they had to call off the Rain Making classes because the apprentices could not master turning off the clouds.
‘Which cliff?’ I asked Angela, but it was too late, because the orb had entered me, and much to my surprise, it was me that was falling off the cliff. Stay in the air, my ass. They had not warned us of this in the flyers, I thought, as I went a-tumblin’.
When I came to, there I was, sunk into the floral sofa and awkwardly nestled between Reg's rotund aunt, who guffawed unnecessary at his banal jokes, and his mother, who looked at him as murderously as I must have, back then. Of all the memories I could have tumbled into, this was the worst. It’s funny that the people you try to forget the most are the ones that you cannot help but remember.
‘Speaking with these inspiring ladies reminds me of one of my favourite quotes’. He paused, sucking on that darn awful pipe he inherited from his great uncle and his right elbow pressing against the mantlepiece. The ladies were the three sisters who lived o'er the way, over which he relentlessly swooned over, despite being married to me for nigh on a decade. They smiled at him politely, sister one's eyelashes impossibly long and the youngest with her impossible waist. I knew what his favourite quote was. It involved an Indian boy and a goat, and was attributed to a scholar who was chased out of the university some years before for a terrible incident with the headmistresses daughter. Please don’t say it, I implored him silently. I might just scream.
I moved my gaze from his face, which I wanted to glass, to the frayed edges of his sweater. Perhaps, I thought, I could reach out and unravel the thread, untying the knots that held him together so that he would cease to exist. It would not be the first husband I unravelled, and the horror of that was something I tried best to forget. But a girl does have her powers, which are hard to rein even with both hands on the ropes and heels dug firm.
It was then the earth began to rumble, so much so that the sofa moved fast toward the windows, and whiskey edged liked madness toward the edge of the sill, and the burning logs rolled out of the fireplace onto the carpet, and in my mind, I was crowing: ‘at last, at last, at last’.
On my hands and knees as the floor shook, I moved toward the kitchen, ignoring him as he screamed beneath the bricks of the fire place which had toppled upon him as the quake continued. I could feel the thing inside me threatening to toss me off the second cliff, the one cliff you want to avoid if you’re falling into the memories you’ve been trying to repress your whole life. I felt like an egg, wobbly inside, gelatinous. My skin was white, covered in ash and crumbled mortar.
Here I go, I thought, toppling off the second cliff. Here I go.
Image from Unsplash
The egg broke on the floor. I was aware the egg was me, that I had been trying to hatch for some time, and I had finally done so. My insides were spilling out over the linoleum. I looked toward the window, and the tree, where the old woman there, waving at me from the branches.
But she could do nought to help me. I had things to remember that I didn't want to remember. Damn you, Angela, I thought.
That's the last time you talk me into one of these things.
Oh my goodness, that was a hilarious freewrite, @marianneswest! I haven't done one in ages but I happened across @owasco's post, realised it was a freewrite, rushed to write it before I read hers and was at all influenced, and ended up in a very Alice in Wonderland world whilst I waited for my bath to run. I'm strangely reminded of Jonathon Strange and Mr Norrell, a magical book that tells an alternate history of England and transports you into quite a heady tale. I love the places a freewrite takes you, the clean up edit to make it flow a little more cohesively afterwards, and the wonderment when you read it over to realise that came out of your brain, somehow, in less than half an hour. As usual with these freewrites, I'm inspired to extend it into a fuller story. As usual with these free writes, I won't.
With Love,
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Now that's a freewrite! I can see those images, as they appeared in your brain, while I'm reading it. A story is born.
I have this experience too - as I'm writing I'm often thinking "This can't be any good." I go back just to clean up typos trying not to read it, and finally I read it through. I'm usually shocked at how cohesive the dang things are, and the mental places I effortlessly went to for the images.
This piece is especially interesting, to me, for its theme of memories. Memories are unconsciously dredged up as I write, and enter the stories without my knowing. Sometimes it takes me a couple days to recognize them.
You're a fantastic writer! Right off the bat with the comparison between sponge cakes and mushrooms, I was hooked.
And this
What a lovely story. Thank you for tagging me so that I didn't miss it.
Thanks @owasco - I love reading yours too but it's so easy to miss in pace of day and I thought you'd appreciate tag..
It's when you in book your brain from thinking over much that the magic happens it seems! I have no idea where this came from but it makes me want to know more about what she did with that first husband and I quite imagine a longer piece with it. Thanks so much for your lovely comment, I appreciate you so much and am always inspired by you!
It does not suck to hear that. I'm honored.
Magical it truly is. Is that the passive voice? I'm not sure, but I do feel a poem coming on.
magical it is
a stepping out of time
into connection
OHHHH I love that!!!!
Actually I sounded a bit like Yoda.
Magic it is.
I absolutely loved reading this, even though I need to do research. It was a surreal read for sure, or from my perspective. I am having a little coffee high, and it was just an awesome read.
This line hit real hard! Your use and mastery of words are impressive. I also enjoyed the other one you shared on my post. This surely makes my hands itch to write as well.
Thanks so much!!! It's been a while since I wrote creatively but HIVE always inspires me, and the Freewrite topics can get the juices going.
I have an audiobook/book for you to read if you fancy.. I will write about it soon!!
Damn, aren't you fancy! I'd love to. That is quite the achievement?! I have published in my home language, two poetry anthologies, and in some local anthologies, and it is hard work. I have written a manuscript, but never had the guts to send it to the publishers. I sent it in for a creative writing course master's program at uni, but the main professor said she didn't like it so I never really tried again. And HIVE is an awesome inspiration for being creative right!
Oh that sucks - isn't it silly how one bit of bad feedback can ruin us. HIVE definitely gave me my mojo back!
True haha. But we should not listen to those who have no right in belittling us! Glad that Hive got you writing, now I need to find mine again!
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STOPGood one
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