I’ve recently taken to Esther Newton … her Monday Motivations and her Weekly Writing Challenge…
My contributions are usually short, I’m only 1.75 m after all, and erring on the romantic, given the chance don’t we all.
One of Esther’s prompts this week, the ‘PAST’ caused me to recall a longer piece I wrote last year, a little dark, a little naughty, maybe even a little scary, needless to say I enjoyed writing it, a different side to me … or maybe this is more me … here it is:
“Turn left and continue to the end of the road”.
“Okay let’s hope you got it right, this lane looks like it’s going nowhere”.
He taps the screen, the satnav turns off. A second hand one, hanging by its twisted black cable from his rear view mirror. Appearance has never been his thing. He’s on a promise, of a sort. Something about her, the way she’d stood, so close, appealed beyond reason, the reason why he’s here.
That was an hour ago, car boot sale, mostly tat and crap as usual. He goes most Sunday mornings, not much else to do. Her goods laid out on a knee high wicker table part covered by a faded lace shawl. A bit odd amongst the functional folding tables straining under the weight of stuff no one ever wanted and likely never will.
Her curves he first noticed, fluidic, not an inch of her ever still. Let’s get real, it wasn’t going to be her smile or eyes, or anything remotely subtle that would work on him. Lust not his only weakness, two pairs of candle sticks, tarnished, caught his eye, his stare diverted from her to the silverware. He’d always had a thing about old silver, finger tips worn through endless rubbing, his prints almost unreadable.
“How much for a pair” he asked, “which pair do you like most” she almost moaned as she leaned forward. “I’ll take all you’ve got” he grinned, “That’ll be quite a handful for you to carry around, sure you can manage them”, her words hung as she appeared beside him, stroking the stick he was holding. “I’ve more to show you … if you’re interested that is?” He didn’t need to say a word, his body answered for him.
They got talking, beyond the obvious. She found his soft spot, her way in beneath the shallows of desire to subconscious memories of the only one he’d ever felt love from. Orphaned on his birthday, aged five, an open fire, a wicked lick of flame ignited, engulfed her. His mother, his father couldn’t reach to save, his heart failed, as he fell her screams all the louder, too much, their loss, he too young to take in.
Gran took care of him, well she tried too, unscathed, least that’s how he first seemed. Her house, old, terraced, of another era, toilet at the end of the tree hedged garden. A shadow walk of fear at nightfall, looking over shoulders, even now he never locks the toilet door, or even closed it then. He had to see the light beckoning, he had to see his way back to her.
In bright late noon sunlight, glinting off rows of disgorged cars, he told this young clinging nymph everything, more than he even knew. She asked no questions, sucked on his naivety, his need of complete release. His hand held as if cuffed, voluntarily arrested, she let her breathe be breathed in. Her green eyes never left his, pale blue, seen through, beyond colour, his soul exposed, restless. He gave a cough and shivered, as if not ready for the taking, she pressed, tight against him, her lips upon his ear and whispered, “we’re ready now, let’s go.”
He took direction, her postcode familiar, local, he keyed it in, looked up from the dangling satnav, to see a now vacant slot where her table stood, grass undisturbed. The field around flat from wheels and footfall, his mind on amber, unheeded, his desire on green. He turned the ignition key.
That lane, no more than a mile away, one he’d not seen before, no matter, he not one for rural bye ways, hemmed in by hedges, overcast by trees. He slowed, first bend blind, wound the window down, no sound, drove on, a long straight, accelerated, ditch either side, a smell, faintly sulphurous, he wound the window up. Another bend, much tighter, a slight incline dropped away to a stream, a ford, didn’t look too deep. He nosed the front wheels in, inched his way through.
Too late, beyond return, he saw her. Old and bent, a grubby lace shawl around her shoulders held by long fingered purple veined hands at a bleeding creped neck. Blood oozed from her face too, raked by circling crows, she shuffled closer. He stamped the pedal to the floor, wheels spun on mud, tarmac there no more. Engine cut, fuel vaporised and vented. Sudden darkness took its hold, he’d never felt so cold. Windows steamed up, condensation froze, metal groaned, lightening jolted to his core. Neurons fired uncontrolled, thunder rolled, tyres exploded one by one.
He rubbed the windscreen with his sleeve, mistake, as if it mattered. In that moment her ravaged face seeped in, needing sight of him, glass dissolving, she took his tongue. His scream an inner thing, resonating through bones, bowels voided. Adrenaline filled veins, throbbed, nowhere to run, arteries disconnecting, the ruin of her body permeating, corroding every cell of his. Eyes forced open, lids ripped away by curved nails, in agony to witness his passage through the gates of hell. Yellow light, candles, silver mounted dimmed. Her mortal form released, a green eyed beauty rose to find peace, youth restored, once cruelly cut, gutted in a past life, by an ever evil him, her soul reborn, his taken … final destination reached.