Hair Like Fire and Stars

By -

   She had hair like fire and stars, and he was afraid of her.   

   She had hair like fire and stars, and her eyes were narrow as winter. 

   She was no regent, this girl with hair like fire and stars, no powerful queen. She didn't sit in a heavenly throne high above no matter how much his wishes wished she did. She was no regent, no queen encompassed by court and law; she was only alone and her hair like fire and stars, and as he went he would hear the restless sound of her footsteps behind him. Her mouth sat cold and still as steel in his eyes and fire and stars raged for her in the sky. 

    Her footsteps were relentless and never danced. Nothing about her danced, only her hair, and her hair was not her. Her hair flickered under streetlights and in the rim of bright between window shade and window frame seen in the middle of the night. It flashed in the black light of car windshields and neon signs from far away. It was hatred reflected and rattling, and it made his lip tremble. He hated that hatred and the eyes as narrow as winter, hated the hair like fire and stars. 

    She had hair like fire and stars and he never knew when it was not her. She had steps relentless and reckless and never dancing, and eyes as narrow as winter that flashed around every corner he turned. She stepped recklessly behind him and raged when he turned to face her. She stepped relentlessly and when he turned she was not there and it made him quake. His heart flinched at the flicker behind the light and the sound of his steps quickened and lengthened as hair like fire and stars flashed behind him. 

    He hated the hair like fire and stars that flashed up the doorstep and made the light in the kitchen lacking; hated the eyes as narrow as winter that haunted his home and made its shadows quiver. The light, the winter, the tap tap tap of coming quicker; he hated it all. Hated the smell of winter catching flame and  ozone high in the sky and the steps sounding just beyond his hearing and his shadow. Hated the hair like fire and stars, hated her haunting. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Hotel at the Top of the Mountain

By -
   Erraline sat at her balcony looking out at the pearly sky and snowy peaks that surrounded her. Dove-gray clouds softened the stark black and white mountains that ringed the hotel on all sides.    This was her favorite space in her rooms, out here alone with the open sky and cold mountains. Being with them made all her frustrations seem very temporary, they cleared her thoughts and made her feel like something would come, something might change.    "Erraline?"    A voice wafted out from inside, and Erraline sighed. She lifted her head and enjoyed the wind against her face a moment more, skirts ruffling against her legs, stray hairs wafting away from her neatly done hair.    The balcony door opened with a chuk  and Erraline turned away from the wind.    "Erraline? There you are, it's time to begin your lessons."    Erraline followed Madame Oyena into the little library that served as her schoolroom. ...
Read more

Dino Boy: Not Like the Cemetery

By -
  Rex could feel the death in the dirt.  It wasn’t cemetery death, cemetery death was neat and ordered. Bones that belonged to the same bodies were buried together in chosen plots, in their own special places, arranged the same way they’d been arranged in life.  The bones here weren’t like that, they hadn't been cared for. They 'd been jumbled up and mixed together and then rattled carelessly down into the ground like trash. And it wasn't just the bones here. He had always been able to feel the bones, to feel the last ruins of living bodies under the soil. He'd always been able to feel that. The blood was new. And dark.  There was anger in the blood, wrongness, a rage that made it cling. And it bubbled . He could feel it coming up from the earth, screaming through his veins, boiling through his blood and into his brain in a raging, roiling blackness roaring injustice- He gasped as his knees hit the dirt.  He breathed in in deep, heaving gulps and pushed himself ...
Read more

Spirit on a Wire

By -
     The city people say a spirit walks their wires.      The lonely people are the ones who know him the best. From a balcony, from the street, they see a pair of red and black sneakers pace the power lines, the figure above them hidden beneath baggy clothes and a deep hood. You can see his ankles, they say, confirmation that it is in fact the figure of a man walking the space between the telephone poles, only a single black line between him and falling. They never see his face. They only see his back, see his arm, see a collar and a deep shadow.     The lonely people love him like one of their own, and the other people love him as their protector.      He has an iron grip they say, and feet that walk the air like the steps on a fire escape. He needs no weapon for the men in the alleys.       There are stories, you see, stories of old women and young women, stories of beaten men who saw the gray shadow appear be...
Read more