10 words: Tulip of Destiny and Mirror, Mirror

birth, frighten, sugar, blinis, cold, riverfront, cage, swinging, yew, Hermes.




TULIP of DESTINY

 

The shape of a hand pushes against the film of a shower curtain, grabs hold of it and pulls it aside with a theatrical flourish. Tonight’s dress rehearsal had already created quite a buzz in creative circles for its swinging new style. Hermes (the owner of the shower curtain hand) came late to ballet. He was twenty one before he took his first lesson. Being chosen from the dozens of others who auditioned for the show was a testament to his determination and tireless training, as well as his natural ability. He must have had it since birth. He has no idea where it came from as his parents lacked the rhythm to clap their hands in unison, let alone the inclination to dance.

Hermes was the type of child who was always fidgeting and getting in trouble for it. He found it impossible to sit still and was labelled as a trouble maker for his constant twitching and wiggling. His behaviour frightened the teachers. Naturally, they assumed he was high on sugar. They locked him in a cage and implored him to choose a respectable career, like flipping blinis at the local diner or weaving baskets out of yew. The trouble was, although these jobs were extremely well paid, they left him feeling cold. Hermes knew this wasn’t the type of work he was destined for.  

After school he took a job as a Postman. He enjoyed the physical aspects of his job: walking a route, running up and down stairs in blocks of flats, carrying the heavy sacks and packages. But Hermes knew being a Postie was not his calling. It was a temporary stop gap between that and his real career. One morning while walking his favourite route along the riverfront, he saw a ballerina poised on a rock just a little ways out from the shore. She stood balanced on the tip of one toe with her back leg extended high behind her and her arms reaching up to the sky. He thought she looked like a tulip with it's petals bent towards the sun.


Kelli B.

*  *  *

MIRROR, MIRROR

The water is swinging as he stares at his own reflection, shifting from flat to concave as if it had a pulse. It's just his heart pumping his blood so fast in excitement affecting his eye sight; but he doesn't know that. He's so beautiful. He stands by the riverfront, naked, overpowering himself. He's captured by the gaze of this familiar stranger in the water. Nobody has looked at him like that before. It frightens him a bit; he feels challenged, it turns him on. And, to him, it turns the stranger on too. He's never wanted to touch a body more than that stranger's body. It seems that every moves he thinks, the other man does, as if he could read his mind. He tries to think of a move without doing it: the man stays still and keeps staring him in the eye.

He stands back and looks around him. Stones, yew, trees. He licks his lips and tastes the tangible sugar of honey. 

He's drawn back to the man. He is as aroused as he is. He runs his hand to his groin, hoping  the stranger would do the same, and, as expected, he does. He touches himself the way he would want to touch the man. The feeling of communion is overwhelming. Complicity and rapture draw a smile so pure on their faces. They trip as they peak, and fall towards each other, becoming one for ever in a cold christening. The sun sets in mourning, then rises in remembrance, gilding the delicate petals of a flower born out of ecstatic dew. 

The woman closes her notebook and cages it in her Hermes bag. She looks at the plate of untouched blinis, and feels thankful for the inspiration they provided.

Hélène L.