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The vessel- a short story by Daisy Willows
“Every day innocent lives are been taken by war and still there are so many countries where it is illegal to have an Abortion. This does not stop Abortions. It just increases poor health risks to women who then have to have Illegal Abortions. Where is social justice?” DAISY
‘Miss Sainte!’ the travel consultant’s hands twitch like bee feelers, ‘let me get your tickets for London.’ and she is off. I’ve always found it amusing how people assume that your life is more exciting than theirs. My life had taken on the acrid taste of bourbon. Hard decisions require liquor. There I was bobbing up and down like a buoy in a sea of bitterness. Disconnected from all sources of life. Waves of nausea threatened to bury me, deep, in an unrefined grave. This was my existence until I sobered up.
The hairs on my arms prick up like ears on stalks, straining to confirm what they’ve heard. Shivers rush down my spine. Impulsively my hand goes to feel the smooth outline of the documents in my handbag, confirming that the surgery will go ahead. I look up from the tropical brochure and nearly fall head first into a pair of dung coloured eyes. She’s that close. I quickly murmur my thanks and bolt out the door, the wind slamming the door for me
My life tends to go from one oblivious moment to the next. One ginger bastard is all it takes for the state of my jagged ignorance to be shattered. Now all I can see is my former ignorance smirking everywhere. All of a sudden its: Ginger beer, Ginger bread, Ginger cats, Ginger biscuits, Ginger nuts, Ginger pubes, Ginger! Ginger! Everywhere! I’ve reasoned that it’s not too avaricious to want more than ‘current-girlfriend’ status. Why would a heathen (his -word) such as myself, all tits hanging loose, wild hair and barefoot, want certainty and commitment? Why indeed?! Every time it’s the same watery twaddle:
‘I’m a married man… A Catholic!’ –with a bellyful of 24 hour bargain booze. It’s all driftwood. I’m Odyssey’s ‘Scylla ‘or ‘Charybdis’. If he wants to treat me as a necessary evil then instinctively I will lure him to my grotto and devour him. Men have this habit of changing anything they see as mystifying into the female form
Yesterday his spinal support kicked in and he decides to call me. It went something like this:
‘Babe, things are … complicated. I’m here for you.’ he said.
Then, that familiar feeling, the tightening jerk on my voice chords, taut like a gymnast’s rope. Panic. The struggle to gulp in air. My throat is blitzed with grainy, arid sand. The beat. The beat in my heart starts clanging cacophonously and belches up into my throat. My instincts are shrill. Screeching: Caution! Do Not Proceed. This is what his voice does to me.
‘Babe, we’ve been through so much?’ Smelly feet. All I can smell is pongy feet; His feet! I’d rather go collecting cacti with my teeth than screw you. Yerr screw you: That’s what I should have said.
‘I’m on my way.’ C’mon you don’t wanna be loved? So instead he gets his way and I’m running like an Olympic sprinter to get to my car.
There I am sitting in the car about to gear it up. Panic. With my palms I start slamming the steering wheel. You stupid bitch. SLAM! Greedy stupid bitch. SLAM! Blasted tears form. I look into the rear-view mirror and with a fingernail, I press down hard, scraping my cheek- only satisfied when I see the offensive, black line of soggy mascara tarnishing it .Ugly Bitch! I pound the rear view mirror-over and over.
*
I can feel the gamut of my emotions and thoughts losing form. So fragile. One knock. One tiny crack is all it takes. When he opens the door all the innards of my mind start to scramble.
‘Neck this’, he says. He plays his part well. He picks me up like I’m a delicate fawn and gently lowers me onto his sofa. He waves a bag of coke in front of my face. My fucking dopamine receptors are giving you a standing ovation, mate! Trust an ex-army cadet to bring out the Bolivian marching powder. Several hours later, we’re both wading deep in over consumption. Billie Holliday is playing, her voice becomes the beat in my heart.
‘Love. Love her voice… so raw … .so pure…but damaged like… Know what I mean?’
He just sits there, shakes his head mindlessly, not even one cobweb is disturbed. Great bulging eyes leer out at me. I might as well have a pair of fucking rabbit ears and a hat on with electrodes attached to my head. One eye hanging precariously out of its socket. It is torture what he does to me. I want to scream: Why do you look at my pain? Consider it. Consider me! And then decide this bitch needs sterilising?
He’s suddenly up and real close. His odour arrests my breath, it’s like taking in a whiff of a Parisian fish market at the end of a hot rough day. The hairs stand up on my body betraying my true feelings. Then he demands that I laugh.
‘Laugh. ‘He roars. Followed by frenzied laughter – Shit what’s he gonna do? He’s just laughing. Standing over me and laughing at me. Kick him in the gonads, quick! He stops. Breathe. He moves up close again, our faces touching.
‘Boo! He whispers, slapping his hands together with glee, he grabs my arse –roughly. I’m smiling. My mind serves itself from my body. It too plays its part well. He then begins to undo his jeans.
*
A bloated smiling face. The receptionist takes my documents. The ballooned smiling face points us in the direction of the waiting area.
‘Whoa! They must have known we were arriving, all the chairs were set up, ready for a blessed sermon. Wanna do the honours?’ What am I saying? I watch his fat turnip- shaped face go red. Blood red. He is simmering away like a stew but someone forgot to put the meat in. Jesus why the hell did I agree to this? The walls expand and shrink like I’m sucking on a plastic bag. Panic. I’m in Plato’s allegorical cave. His shadow torments me, I’m convinced that Mother Nature has given him rights over oxygen.
‘Hope Sainte?’ a nurse’s voice booms. Jumped up like a leap frog. Crap joke but I got spooked. The nurse looks up at me, she raises her eyebrows which make her glasses slant downwards. He heaves his body upwards. I feel his skulking bristling my nerves. The Nurse ushers me into a cubicle.
‘Change into this then hop on a bed’ she gestures to a bed. I touch the blue gown and put my fingers to my nose. Tainted, I gag. How can I put it? It’s like I’m inhaling water. Panic has dropped her anchor.
Lying horizontally I turn my head to the left and I look up into a pair of nostrils. It’s the Surgeon. His lips are moving like that singing bass fish that was all the rage in the nineties. I can’t hear jack shit- the porter wheels me into the theatre.
*
I open my eyes. I exhale, the cubicle expands. He enters, drops his head. Doesn’t even bother to look at me. He stands in a corner and folds his arms. He just stands in that corner reminding me of a scarecrow. All stiff and glacial. Hours slither by, the silence hissing mercilessly. A hug. I want a hug. The silence is pierced. It’s me. I’m screaming. Little critters are scratching away at my insides. The attack is stabbing and sharp. The pain throbs with intent. Panic.
‘What the hell is happening?’ I look over and he’s fiddling with his fucking phone like he’s re-arranging his balls. Strap on cock-face! He turns around to face me. Did I say that out loud? He looks demonic enough.
‘Erm… well derr!’ He slaps my forehead, ‘you’re giving birth to our baby! Look at the state of ya!’ I follow his eyes. They settle on my well-formed bump.
‘You stupid murdering bitch!’ He then spits in my face and turns to leave.
‘Hey, where’re you going- we agreed on this?’ Panic. There’s more screaming.
‘Why? Why? Why?’ Each “why” grows in expectation and volume. Sobbing, through my tears I can just about make out a figure of the porter. Everything starts to slow down. No. Retardation is setting in, slowing me down. Panic. The surgeon appears again. It’s like I’m in a macabre pantomime
‘Now, please, count backward from ten, please.’ he smiles down at me.
‘I can hear you!’ I dribble out. The surgeon smiles and nods his head like one of those Chinese paw-waving cats.
What is this ban on abortion—it is a survival of the veiled face, of the barred window and the locked door, burning, branding, mutilation, stoning, of all the grip of ownership and superstition come down on woman, thousands of years ago.”
—Stella Brown
“Against abortion? Don’t have one.”
“Every day innocent lives are been taken by war and still there are so many countries where it is illegal to have an Abortion. This does not stop Abortions. It just increases poor health risks to women who then have to have Illegal Abortions. Where is the social justice?” DAISY
Shame boy.
My first attempt at Flash fiction.
No one knows just how much I see. I’m just the scare crow to keep the birds away and for the children to mock me. I am made of sticks. Where do sticks come from?
Trees!
Once upon a time I was a living breathing being. I helped sustain life and I even got hugs for it. People would marvel at my glorious lush head piece of green foliage. I was tall and grand and people sat by me, happy to take some shade.
Now ,I am just a bunch of twigs. Look at how they dress me. I am so ashamed. I can’t bear to look anyone in the eye. This is why as each day passes I die just that little bit more. Rigid – if only I could reach high enough to be a part of heaven’s deities again.
The indulgent wool gatherer
Let us sit here for a second , right here on top of this lush hill.
Pause, for a moment and think about life and what we want to do – explore how we feel.
Lie down ,sprawl out our arms and legs like star fish and gaze up into the sky.
Cloud gazing- can you see we reflect one of those red dwarf stars, we can see at nigh?
Let’s see what we can find in our future before the clouds pass along.
They move far too quickly, our imagination needs to be strong.
We don’t always have to live in the ghetto.
We could pack up our bags and travel the world , live hand to mouth with a more energetic flow.
Learn different languages, eat fine food, dive off cliffs into the ocean – wanting to live and win.
The reason very much different to how you wanted to end it on Hollin’s lane on the island of ‘Gyve inn’.
Second by second is passing us by.
We could get a move on – leave all this materialistic waste lying just here.
We just take ourselves and book a flight to anywhere -all we need is our combined heart and minds to see things more clear.
Bah!
Bah!
Bah!
Bah!
Bah!
What a great game. You do an excellent impression of a sheep, mon cherie.
Okay my turn ……
Arms prop up on elbows, Blonde curls and a mouth seemingly dipped in honey,
looks at the man and those bee sting lips are guarded by all seeing drones.
What is the matter, my little sparrow?
You look at me with such warrant arrest,like we have only just met – you look straight past me like I am not even here. Of course we can stay in touch with our loved ones and take our cellphones.
‘I have a game”, says she, eyes dark, exposing true twinkling stars.
The man forgets to breathe his head fully intoxicated like he has spent the day tumbling out of various bars.
“Walk over to those sheep – there! and I will tell you then what it is you next have to do.”
Slightly fazed but not wanting to show it – he heaves himself up and approaches the sheep with a hesitant brazenness-
“Erm well – hello to you and ewe.”
He turns around to listen to the next part of his task.
His little buttercup opens her mouth , urging him on to stroke the sheep.
Hesitatingly, he laughs when he starts to pet one and it lets out a great bleep.
Laughter emanates from the couple, meets in the air, merge -dancing cheek to cheek -finally a caress.
The lady starts to announce she has something she would like to address.
Obligingly, the man will hear anything she wishes to confess.
“It’s all very romantic this talk of living a better life.
‘I can see it happening -‘
‘Yes, I can see this happening. Me standing next to you – I would love to be your wife.”
The man continues to stroke the sheep ,looks at the tufts falling away in his hands , looks down in horror.
Lady continues –
“if you were as half as good at taking action than talking like you are the confirmed lead in every conceived theatre production of tomorrow…
I look around and see trees but alas, no money.
It’s all very well to sit and fantasise with you, when it is bright and sunny.
Well, I see a much truer future with you – you have such a skill,indulging on your feet.- even if you are slightly heady and staggering.
I foresee a better future for us -one with more purpose – by all means continue with these notions of yours- not in part but as a full time career in wool gathering.”
*TRYING TO INCREASE MY VOCABULARY*
WANT TO HAVE A GO?
Definitions forwoolgathering
indulgence in idle fancies and in daydreaming;absentmindedness: His woolgathering was ahandicap in school.
gathering of the tufts of wool shed by sheepand caught on bushes.
DICTIONARY.COM
SPECIAL THANKS TO LINDA G. HILL’S #soCS -always inspiring.
This, like all my work, is mostly free flow writing. I don’t really do much planning when I write.
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “second.” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun!
27 responses to “The indulgent wool gatherer”
And thank you for increasing your reader’s vocabulary as well 😉 😀 Really appreciate it xx
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Ha ha! I’m so glad I can be of some use 😉 have a wonderful day, Mithai -beautiful name x
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Wishing you a wonderful day too dear Daisy, and I too love your name 🙂
XOXO
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THANK YOU -YOU TOO 🙂 XXX LOL WHICH ONE?
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Beautiful story
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T Y ❤ XX
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You’re welcome sweetness blessings to you
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To you too. Catch up with you and everyone tomorrow xxx
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I don’t know what to say in comment to this, except I LOVE IT 🙂 xxx
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❤ xx
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🙂 xxx I am gonna do a post in response to your interesting blog comment, I’d like a debate on whether abusers are sick, evil or both as this fascinates me 🙂
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It fascinates me too! I was hoping you would think along the same lines as me and look at doing a post into it. We are far too like minded. The mind is a place I wish to explore. 🙂
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the harvest is plenty the laborers few enjoy~
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Ha ha! yes. Indeed.
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hmmmmmmmmm yes a great cut from those st louis jesuits. ta how ru?
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had to look that up . H ha! yes not too bad. Need a break from blogging and studying but other than that I’m good. Whats up with you? That poem was a bit harsh- Of course you are a bloody great poet – just saying…… 😀
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weeds burnt as goats to the left and sheep to the right
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Someone got your goat , for sure….. but nobody wants to be a sheep. Maybe a lamb .. but change is necessary. Left or Right? I’n heading South.. New Orleans style and I aint going all catholic- 😀 I’m going offline for a bit. Family demands my attention. You do speak in riddles…… I am intrigued to say the least.
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I do this a lot…glad to know the name now. I have to work on the action part too. Beautiful story.
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Ha ha! nothing wrong with being a dreamer but dreams can turn into goals. Thanks for reading Deb xx
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I enjoyed this Daisy and it put a smile on my face. Quite apt really given that we have a little Lamborghini in our house at the moment. 🙂
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Lovely positive wool gathering. I see better things in our future too. It’s quite achievable as we conceive it.
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It is easy to talk. Action is needed. Your post really inspired me this morning. Thank you for reading mine xx
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Always loved this word……first learnt from my late grandfather….. 😉 A most delightful way to illustrate its meaning – your post…..eloquent portrayal of ‘woolgathering’….. Hugs! ❤
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Aaaw thank you Babs. I never came across the term until this morning. It is a great word. ❤ Have a great weekend!
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Thanks Daisy…Yeah! My ‘Dad’ (Granddad) watching me, would remark to my Grandma… “He is woolgathering again.” 😉 Hugs!
Have a Super week-end. ❤
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Ha ha! Was that you I guess? 😉 xx
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