Revenge…and a flight of fancy…

He left his house…and though it was raining like just before a tornado, and spikes of light particles were piercing the hearts of road ghost – his car found its way through the gloom and pale to the driveway of The Orchid Room. Alone in his car, he smoked another cigarette, and made a bet with the devil as to the precise time its ash would fall – it had extended itself like a precarious bit of gray flake at the edge of a quantum reason about love, and the reasons for loving – its falling was eminent – its precise time, unknown.

She was inside, and the light there was different – a different swallow of gray smoke, with personalities that were glowing and shimmering like halos, and her Ben was not her Ben anymore – he is not even a memory of the Ben she had known (to her now, there had never been a Ben..). Her smile – the natural one she wore for special occasions is radiate – as if she were a widow over the mourning of wool, and entitled to the white silk of an evening out, and the attentions she is getting.

…a produce truck leaves a warehouse on its way into the city…the drivers eyes peer over the dash, straining and looking for signs of a road that is familiar, one that has been driven daily or a thousand times or more – and sheets of water fall like walls of glass, and the spark drops of oncoming headlights roll from the bottom of the windshield trailing up and over the truck in a shower of sparkles, and then dissipate into the dark wet air.

Ben turns the heater up, his cold bones aching, and the line between what is right, and what is wrong blurs like the rained upon world around him. In his hand he fingers a trigger manufactured in Italy – a Barretta 9 mm, made to settle disputes with lead joined to brass like a lover – and then exploding. And though it is wet wet and dreary wet outside – inside he feels like a tinder box looking to be wood in a chimney.

She has already misplaced him- turned him like a case over to an attorney – forgotten him like a 25 year to life felon. Her shoes hold her feet lovely, and her nylons are intimate with her thrilled and wild womaness, and her dress reminds a prince at the bar of a princess lost in a poker game a long time ago; and she is scintillating like breathing and laughter and the rudeness of the man in the car will never be a dull ache in her underwear again.

…a produce truck closes in on the city, the driver wondering how he has managed to navigate through a wet world, the world of the submerged, on its roads through a deluge like a blind man on his way to a shelter. His cargo is dry and a swarm of gnats in the trailer are delirious trying to figure out which cantaloupe to eat next. He barely reads a sign almost past and exits up a ramp into the city – turning left towards Main.

And here is a mini movie: a climax without exhilaration.

Ben rubs away tears and then the tension of tears from his face, forming his hands into fist and rubbing his eyes until colors form kaleidoscopes at the back end of his head and he is reminded of a picture of himself as a child winning a race – crossing a finish line into the arms of his mother. This picture is back home on an upstairs mantle and near it is a letter written by her a long time ago, and he wonders, lips moving and now sounds coming out – “What was in that letter – what did she say?” His curiosity builds a dam in the puddle of his despair and he releases his finger from the trigger, starts his car and slowly drives out of the parking lot passing a produce truck making a delivery to The Orchid Rooms kitchen.

She clinks a glass with the prince at the bar, snuggles with a baron holding court in a corner, and dances with a drug lord, a musician and a comedienne all in rapid succession. And she does this like a movie star – everyone wanting to know her name and an address where flowers and gifts could be sent as adoration and affection.

Blood is in her body and it is circulating through the lithe strength lines of her legs and up and into her upper body as her respiration slowly returns to normal – she is hungry and sits down and orders a compote of fruit and smells the tables flower and winks at the candle there, like it was an old friend.

When the waiter brings the compote and lifts the steel dome of its fancy presentation a swarm of gnats spiral up from the bowl, hover around the flower like frenzied lovers and then they find the womans white dress irresistibly attractive and that is where each of them lands as if they had found a new home.

It is only irony and not an actual fact that Ben thinks he hears a scream as he inserts a key into the lock of his front door…

A produce truck laden with the labors of a farmers talent exits the parking lot, turning back towards the highway and the next town on its route. It is still raining outside, and fish are migrating back to the ocean hopping from puddle to pool sometimes alone and sometimes in schools. And the driver is certain that he has sent a clear message to The Orchid Room management – that he expects to be paid or next time he will bring spiders…

Poetman

Advertisements

9 Responses

  1. Gnats legs are designed to detach easily whilst still allowing the gnats to live… very resilient for such delicate looking creatures. A curious revenge related beautifully.

  2. Very poetman. The almost there but not quite narrative voice, almost omniscient narrator resolves at the end into a kind of veiled reality, very poetman. My only criticism from an Orchid Room perspective is that it could be compressed to about half its length with some carfeul editing, that is if we want people other than ourselves to take time out of their oh so busy blogging schedules to read it, oh may God is that the time……hahahahahahahahah, swish,

  3. i like spiders
    i like your writing too

  4. There are many lovely images here, and the mother hook is great (of course I’d think that)…….but unlike Ebby I don’t like the spiders, oh no.

  5. Narnie – I did not know that about gnat legs…Thanks for telling me…I think…oh, how long do they take to grow back, I mean they have such short life spans…Thanks

    Gingatao – I will get right on it…I could have written this piece in 2 lines but it was a slow day and I had nothing better to do than to…make people read for longer than a gnat lives… 🙂

    beeskiffle – Thank you…as for the spiders that you like, are they the kind whose legs grow back or are they the kind that once their legs are gone there gone ….I ask this for Narnie cuz she has got to know and OK I admit it, I am curious too…

    jo – Thank you…Now Jo, would you like spiders any more if they had a few less legs… 🙂

  6. Perhaps, they wouldn’t be as good at scuttling which is what really gets me.

  7. Marvelous story, beautiful too, and clever.

    My favorite part was the woman’s laugh, who reminded the prince at the bar of a princess he lost in a poker game.

    The fun, the color in that idea. I love that.

  8. amuirin – Thank You – How about the gnats, or the spiders…I mean they have feelings too… Isn’t just like the smile of a beautiful woman to make us all forget the small things just to stop and stare…for that you get a double smile 🙂 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: