(better insist on de-caf, Henry–and for those helping with the countdown, this is 7 of the 24 to be posted before the finalists are announced. Gotta favorite? Bribe the judge, or stack the comments in favor of your pick. Invite all you friends to leave comments, too. Both of them!) Literati! I am not yet …
(better insist on de-caf, Henry–and for those helping with the countdown, this is 7 of the 24 to be posted before the finalists are announced. Gotta favorite? Bribe the judge, or stack the comments in favor of your pick. Invite all you friends to leave comments, too. Both of them!)
I am not yet out of oreos or the devil’s brew, so the marathon continues from the towers that are A Word with you Press in beautiful downtown Moscow. Here is another entry into The First Annual Peggy Dobbs Write-of-Passage Contest.
Devil’s Special Brew
by KYLE Katz.
She loved long enough to know, all reminders had to be discarded, burnt in a ceremony of goodbyes. The delicate poetry of compassion and kindness rushed through her veins like the smell of strong coffee, luring her to rise in the morning, craving… that first sip. Sarah experienced enough love to know, love’s fire would mount its horse and ride into darkness. Night’s merciful gust of wind would eventually…extinguish its bitter flame.
Reaching for the lamp. Life went dark. Love was gone. But she knew Henry would always be hers.
The sun rose, like it always did, settling on her fresh healed wounds. She caressed the bruise around her neck with the sweet tenderness of her fingertips.
Mornings burst of meaningless glares seeped through the torn sheer curtain awakening what little blood she salvaged to starve off her depression. She could not move, she could not breathe.
“Oh God please, not the nightmare again.” Sarah reached for her pills, staggered to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee.
Strips of antique silk curtain still draped over the side table rustled in the breeze. The curtains, she washed over and over again dissolving the stench of death. Sarah only managed to slightly iron away the devastation of pain he cast upon her. The rotting decay of flesh still ruminated like cheap perfume, through-out the apartment.
She could see the shoes– blue shoes with coffee stains, violently peeling from feet, slowly dropping to the floor, lay in anguish. The choking and gasping hanging from the ceiling beam, as toes twitched.
Sarah held back her wall of tears, as she sat quietly gulping down the fresh air in between her sips of coffee. She carefully poured his in a special cup. The strong smell of brew, wrestled with her feelings of recent memories they both shared sitting together at the breakfast table.
Her final conversation that mulled through Sarah’s head, choking her with his final goodbye. If only he would have listened.
“Henry my love, would you like a scone today. I made them fresh.”
“I’m leaving you Sarah. It’s too late. You must get help.”
“No Henry…I’ll change. I swear to you it’s not too late! Darling, let me get you a cup of coffee, we can discuss it?”
“No more discussion Sarah. I’ve done everything I could. I’ll be back to get my things.”
“Your things? Your things? Everything you have is because of me, including the curtains on the window, you bastard.” Sarah smiled.
“Now Henry…please have a seat. Let me get you a fresh cup.”
Henry broke his tortured silence. In a fury, he pulled, then ripped the curtains into shreds. “ You don’t remember? His knuckles tight with anger, Henry grasped the curtains in his hands and shook them.
“These were my mothers… her gift to US. But you have managed to rip and tear us apart for years. It’s done Sarah. Use these shreds for something useful.” Henry threw the slivers of regrets at her feet. “I’m telling you it’s over!”
Sarah pushed the pile aside, with the tip of her blue satin shoes, then grabbed Henry’s hand softly, leading him back to his seat.
“Oh Henry, you’re so full of drama. Too much coffee perhaps? Don’t leave in such a rage, you could get in an accident.” Sarah poured her last cup of hollow desperation as the steam rose passed her vacant eyes.
“Your antics won’t work this time Sarah. STOP pouring the coffee!”
“Oh god what am I doing. Henry ‘s gone.” Sarah looks down. “I’m pouring the coffee on my shoes. The nightmare again. PLEASE MAKE IT GO AWAY!
Henry, Henry where did you go? Henry don’t leave. Please.”
“The whisper fades but never stops, sir.” Said the bellman. “Sorry about your loss, Dr. Posten. Sarah was a lovely woman. Lock up on the way out, if you please, sir.”
“Johnston, Wait…did you hear that?”
“Yes, sir. Like I said it never stops. Last month the cleaning crew wouldn’t come near this unit. The staff had to clean it themselves. Good night, sir.”
Henry looked around one last time, two suitcases in tow.
Henry’s grip tightened, his eyes went toneless. Sarah’s favorite blue satin coffee stained shoes suddenly appeared, on the floor, the ones she was wearing when she was cremated. The lingering aroma of cheap perfume settled on his quivering mustache. A single fresh-baked scone, swirled upward in thin air.
Henry’s terror unraveled as his surveillance slowly followed his demise. Hanging from the ceiling, Sarah swinging peacefully– smiling– holding a scone. Ribbons of antique curtains tangled like a ball of tight yarn around her neck, strangled the cry for help.
“I told you not to leave. Double espresso darling?”
The smell of fresh brewed coffee locked the door! Henry was never heard from again.