Prompted by words from Stormy Lady for one of her contests. |
Guess what! I won 'honorable mention' for this piece in
The ring of the telephone, heard muffled, under the covers of hopeful lovers. "Hello?" groggily answering, lump still in his throat, clogs his voice. "Hi! How are ya'? Gosh, it's a beautiful day, the blue of the sky, the shimmering shine of the sun!" Wanting: to hang up; bask in the sweet smell, silk and sweat mingling among long, flowing locks of her hair; yet... Curious: who is he? melodious voice of ambition on the other side of-- what? a dream? "I know. Still early, but I'm callin' 'bout the change." strange voice lingers in his ears... "What change?" crumpled sheets at the foot of the bed are at once changed, as they slide over long snake-like legs and come to rest right below her navel. Oh! Why this interruption?! this change in routine of two lovers under covers. "Yeah. The change. Still early, but it's comin' soon. I can feel it. Just look outside, open your eyes; it's comin', so fast it'll make yer head spin!" All he wants: to cradle her in his arms, the peach fuzz on her soft, round belly prickling up to hear the hum of his hopeful breath. Then: his eyes wide-- this feeling inside-- "Can't ya' see it changin'?" "Shut up! No! Don't make me! Stop it from happening! I don't want to remember!" frantically forming words he can barely say aloud. "Well, I can't help ya' there, but it's all in yer head anyway. Just take a peek!" At once: eyes open-- "Remember?" strange thoughts mingling in his mind-- Looking over: he reaches for the photo atop the rickety, old nightstand. It's feet rock as he lifts its heavy load. Tears: uncontrollable, flow from frowning eyes, like waterfalls, they rain upon the glass. She was so lovely: red and golden, shining, flowing locks, tumbling upon sunkissed shoulders; the rise and fall of bosom and belly, rhythmically dancing with the wind under the sundress on that beautiful Spring day. It's okay: she's in a better place now. The thoughts rumble low in his mind. He turns over: no more lover under cover. Just a big empty bed, all in his head. "I really gotta go," he stutters, desperately trying to form words, now clear in his mind, "There's a funeral, you know." "Oh. Alright. Just don't forget, keep lookin' out. The change. It's comin'!" |