Disclaimer: By now, do you really think I own anything?
Author's Notes: Came up with this at work yesterday. It ended up a little different than I expected it, but it's still bizarre, I will admit. I'm still not sure what the whole meaning of it is. Maybe everyone has a theory :D Reviews, please, to let me know what you think. (also, this has not been beta-ed, so you're at your own risk in that department)
Give and Take
by LuLu
She hates the smell of blood.
It's thick and heavy, like something dead in the fog. She doesn't want to say death or fog, because both are trite, but from everything she knows, sometimes trite is the only way to describe things. Maybe it smells like rotting hay, like in the stables. He took her to Sheepshead Races once, so she remembers that smell.
He takes her to Irving Hall sometimes too, where Medda looks at her contemptuously and speaks condescendingly. She looks down at her feet, and smiles politely when she doesn't know what to say. The other boys are like that, too. He takes her along to Tibby's, to Sheepshead, to wherever they're going for the day sometimes, and she knows that they despise her presence, that thick, heavy smell. They blame her. She knows it without them ever having to say it. One day she asks him about it. He tells her that she's beautiful and that she loves her, and that Medda is just wary and bitter of losing her true love early on in life, and the boys are just jealous that they don't have girls like her for themselves. And she believes him.
She hates the blood that covers her hands, the thick red blood that never washes off, even with her mother's special handmade soap. It's opaque sometimes, thicker than it was before, taking a long time to drip off her fingertips and dot the ground, and a longer time still to dribble down the expanse of her arms to her elbows, to her shoulders, and down her body from there. From time to time she is Lady Macbeth, with everything turning wildly crimson around her. Sometimes she wonders if he notices. From the look on his face, he doesn't. She believes him. She does not tell him about it or offer trite explanations.
She knows that she lives in fear of losing him. She knows that girls sell papers too, girls that are more quick-witted and street-hardened than her. But she knows manners, history, and country names, how to do a double-stitch and thread a needle without her hand shaking. She knows she can give him a world that isn't what he has known for all of his life. She knows he likes to be with her. She knows that he likes this world. He comes over sometimes, in the evenings, with his shy, polite smiles, and she smiles too, not knowing what to say other than "I love you." He says hello to her parents and her brothers, and she is pleased, because her world, the one she has shown to him, is perfect enough.
Blood tastes like the pennies he carries in his pocket, and the aftertaste of his kisses. Flashing in front of her eyes, covering her body, invading her nose, filling her mouth is blood. Whose blood, she does not know. But the presence is still the same. She tries to expel it from her body, but it is never a success.
She walks into her home one day and finds him kissing her brother. He pulls away, alarmed, and gives a trite explanation. Maybe he can find this world anywhere. She doesn't know what to say, but she knows that he's just as afraid of being alone as she is. So she smiles and takes his word as her own personal gospel.
She hates the smell of blood, but fears her life will be meaningless without it.
Author's Notes: Came up with this at work yesterday. It ended up a little different than I expected it, but it's still bizarre, I will admit. I'm still not sure what the whole meaning of it is. Maybe everyone has a theory :D Reviews, please, to let me know what you think. (also, this has not been beta-ed, so you're at your own risk in that department)
Give and Take
by LuLu
She hates the smell of blood.
It's thick and heavy, like something dead in the fog. She doesn't want to say death or fog, because both are trite, but from everything she knows, sometimes trite is the only way to describe things. Maybe it smells like rotting hay, like in the stables. He took her to Sheepshead Races once, so she remembers that smell.
He takes her to Irving Hall sometimes too, where Medda looks at her contemptuously and speaks condescendingly. She looks down at her feet, and smiles politely when she doesn't know what to say. The other boys are like that, too. He takes her along to Tibby's, to Sheepshead, to wherever they're going for the day sometimes, and she knows that they despise her presence, that thick, heavy smell. They blame her. She knows it without them ever having to say it. One day she asks him about it. He tells her that she's beautiful and that she loves her, and that Medda is just wary and bitter of losing her true love early on in life, and the boys are just jealous that they don't have girls like her for themselves. And she believes him.
She hates the blood that covers her hands, the thick red blood that never washes off, even with her mother's special handmade soap. It's opaque sometimes, thicker than it was before, taking a long time to drip off her fingertips and dot the ground, and a longer time still to dribble down the expanse of her arms to her elbows, to her shoulders, and down her body from there. From time to time she is Lady Macbeth, with everything turning wildly crimson around her. Sometimes she wonders if he notices. From the look on his face, he doesn't. She believes him. She does not tell him about it or offer trite explanations.
She knows that she lives in fear of losing him. She knows that girls sell papers too, girls that are more quick-witted and street-hardened than her. But she knows manners, history, and country names, how to do a double-stitch and thread a needle without her hand shaking. She knows she can give him a world that isn't what he has known for all of his life. She knows he likes to be with her. She knows that he likes this world. He comes over sometimes, in the evenings, with his shy, polite smiles, and she smiles too, not knowing what to say other than "I love you." He says hello to her parents and her brothers, and she is pleased, because her world, the one she has shown to him, is perfect enough.
Blood tastes like the pennies he carries in his pocket, and the aftertaste of his kisses. Flashing in front of her eyes, covering her body, invading her nose, filling her mouth is blood. Whose blood, she does not know. But the presence is still the same. She tries to expel it from her body, but it is never a success.
She walks into her home one day and finds him kissing her brother. He pulls away, alarmed, and gives a trite explanation. Maybe he can find this world anywhere. She doesn't know what to say, but she knows that he's just as afraid of being alone as she is. So she smiles and takes his word as her own personal gospel.
She hates the smell of blood, but fears her life will be meaningless without it.