by Mav Skye
Mother’s words: useless, nothing, pain, bruise, fat junky rat…
Her men: Slut, whore, prostitute, good for nothing cunt…
The old man bends, placing the whistle on the ground. I stare at it. An electric hum encompasses it. A fiery halo hovers over the silver outline.
I am so entranced by the whistle that I don’t realize what the old man is doing. With his back to me, he removes his silver jacket. Leaving it on the porch steps. He then removes his colorful shirt, belt, and even pants.
He stands naked in the morning sun, strong as an ox, tired wrinkles in his warrior’s skin. Removing his clothes is not sexual, but a sign or a symbol.
He picks up the whistle once more, looking at it. He returns the string around his neck, pats it once, and turns.
I drop the blinds and press into the wall beside the sliding door. I listen to him walk up the steps and walk around the side of the apartment. His footfalls vanishing in the distance between us.
Despair fills me. It sinks to the very depths of my being. I don’t understand it, but I feel it, just as I felt the loss of Sasha’s presence.
Neverwas!
The word startles me and I leap out of the sliding glass door, away from mother’s voice. I pick up the man’s silver jacket. Breathing in his scent.
I glance around me, looking for him, but he is gone. And so is the mist.
I carry the silver jacket back inside, sit on the couch, the silver coat in my arms. I raise the blinds watching for the man, hoping he’ll come back to retrieve his clothes, or whistle for the… creature.
For me.
After awhile, my mother’s bed starts creaking in hard, methodical thumps. Her piece of meat groans and grunts. In that very second, I wish I can be the mist again. I wish it would turn me back to the four footed creature with passion in her heart and the wind on her feet. The creature’s words (or is the old man’s?): Freedom.
Their voices through the thin walls: “You should tell that fucking lazy daughter of yours to make us some breakfast.”
Hers: “How about a shower first.”
The sound of a shower turning on, then thumping against the walls.
I brush tears from my eyes. Standing, I slip on the silver jacket. It fits perfectly. I walk to the door, sliding into my flip-flops. I glance back at Sasha’s sleeping bag. My words: Goodbye, sister.
Her words: Goodbye, Neverwas.
I glide through the door gentle as a whisper. I step out into the sun.
A high-pitched musical note drifts in the breeze. It comes from the woods. I turn in that direction, at first, walking, listening. As it continues, I sprint. I run as fast as I can. Darkness veils the trees. Fog clouds the air. The sun is hidden. Perhaps hidden forever, but I don’t care. Tree branches scratch my legs. Flip-flops fall from my feet to the forest floor. Vines wrap in and around my hair.
I see a cave, midnight sits inside it. So does an old man. Darkness and mystery clutch him like a secret, a magician. The whistle kisses his lips. An axe sits across his knee.
Even still, I run and run towards the sweet music.
And never look back.
About the Author
Mav Skye lives in a hundred year old house on a misty harbor. She loves black and white movies, Stephen King, and Godzilla. She is Vice-Dictatrix of the mighty Pulp Metal Magazine, and author of The Undistilled Sky, Supergirls, and 3 Tales to Chill Your Bones series.
www.mavskye.com
Also by Mav Skye
Tales to Chill Your Bones series:
Scarecrows
Witches
ShapeShifters
BunnyMan
Abyss
Novellas
Supergirls ~ A Novella of Suspense
Short Stories
The Undistilled Sky
Coming Soon
Wanted: Single Rose
Night Without Stars : Supergirls 2
Bibliography
The Stories in this collection were first published in the following publications:
Lacerta, Howl: Tales of the Feral and Infernal, © Jodi MacArthur, 2010.
Best of Lame Goat Press Anthology, © Jodi MacArthur, 2010.
Cast Macabre, Audio form, ©Jodi MacArthur, 2010 (Click here to listen!)
Heart for a Heart, Three Crows Press, Jodi MacArthur, 2010
Heart for a Heart also placed in the Editors Unleashed Flash Contest, © Jodi MacArthur, 2009
