Since I have to feed him, you can see where this could cause problems with my posting schedule.
Megan is such a wonderful, talented writer...I love her Fiction Fridays. Oh hell, I love her EVERY DAY.
Now, read on... (and be jealous of her talent, as I am)
The room is small, populated by mismatched furnishings discarded by his
parents. They are all he has now. In the cramped bathroom hangs a new
shower curtain, lovingly chosen by her, just for him. The twin bed is
too small for two, but just right for the one they have become. Its
sheets wear the imprints of their bodies, pulled close, skin to skin.
This room is the center of their universe.
The white walls bear silent witness to their joys and sorrows, their
dreams and fears. The I Love Yous whispered, cried and silently drawn
on naked backs in the dark of night. Tears and soothing sounds, the
rhythm of their breaths in sleep. The hushed merging of their bodies
and the sweet release they share. The delicious surprise of the
alphabet traced on her tender parts with his tongue. Their touches,
their looks, their sighs.
The tiny balcony where she sits and smokes, contemplating her life. And
once, in the small hours of a cold black morning, watched doomed
snowflakes fall from the sky.
The pictures collected from fairs and carnivals: her with a lion cub,
the two of them together in a photo booth, captured forever in stark
black and white.
In time, the one became two. They are now seven, and many miles and
many years apart. Only the room remains, sheltering many other
occupants, nurturing many other stories. But their spirits resonate
soundlessly within these walls, watching over the slow parade of lives
just begun and independence newly minted that passes through to join
them in memory.
Beautiful, as always. Thank you, Megan.