Stories

Madeline's ink-stained hand intuitively left the same thumbprints on the letter that Claire left while putting it there. Claire apologised in it. Apologised for the ink which was dripping onto the wooden boards even now. Seemingly written in a haste, it was still undoubtedly clear to Madeline that it was written by her dear friend. Perhaps even the ink for that very second also stopped falling as the realisation crept up Madeline's throat, her mouth open agape, trying to breathe, shaken to the core. Madeline couldn't even turn to anger at such a deep betrayal; the university's high class that Claire was a part of set up a bucket of Prussian blue ink to fall down on Madeline. A silk-woven dress, the finest, perhaps the only objectively fine thing she owned, now beyond repair.

Madeline was a shepherd's daughter from the countryside near Marseille. Claire had a similar background but was seemingly able to hide the scars of her Scottish Highlands upbringing. Perhaps 'Claire' wasn't even her real name, thought Madeline. Why bother not starting there? Regardless of how much they actually became fond of each other, something about Madeline had to be fundamentally different from Claire. Had to. Perhaps the pack of wolves misinterpreted Claire's manual labour-stricken body as the battle scars of a ferocious lioness. Madeline wasn't even granted safe passage anymore. Her only shot at a friend at the university was relinquished much like her fit of rage in the moment. She understood Claire. She had to do it. Madeline's way of life wasn't a way at all. Truly, maybe she would jump at the chance for a place at the blue blood's fountain herself.

Madline would go down to the river to try and wash away what she was able to. She would wash away the sins of her friend for certain. That was how she was brought up: with a belief. Her rural community's devotion to their belief pulled the seams together. Even now that they were bloated to knots it was only grazed. A gift for the first girl of their blood to pursue a higher education. A belief that sins were always washed away in the blood of a lamb.)

I don't think there was a way around it, yet I know I was very privileged in getting an apartment in a big city with a garden. I enjoy the hum of bees, the specks of fruit flies in the corner of my eyes, as well as when I'm simply having breakfast outside. But when I say I love wildlife, I mean grassroots, pollen, overgrown bushes, trees with branches twisting around like dead people's ankles. I never got enough of flowery imagery. I still have the duck with the forget-me-not shaped glasses I used to play with in the tub. Although it gets much too humid where I live, I never got rid of the swollen wallpaper with the orchids on them. It fits the blossoming imagery rather well. I think I started getting tattoos for the love of plants, really early, too. First, a sleeve on my right arm, down the left leg, then the other. Stacking on each other like hanging gardens. My whole body is scattered with them; even my eyes are now two sunflower buds rising with the sun itself. When I lie down for sunbathing, it must seem like a person evaporated. I love the taste, too. Nothing matches the earthly delight of freshly pulled out nettles. I stopped flossing. I stopped using spices. I never wanted children, but I could hear the seeds calling to me before I learned how to speak. I can taste the stems tickling against my skin. I water myself regularly. Too much, and my children curse me with headaches. It doesn't seem like a rabbit hole for me. It feels like arriving. A leaf has started sprouting out of my throat, oozing sticky juice because of the damage it suffered. I try to sooth it. Vinyl that has been warped by sunlight works the best. Their calling brings me to tears; Mother, help me, there's a head attached to my neck and I'm *in* it.

And crocodiles too

Get inside for a coffee

Lukewarm ivory pool

The kids play with lasers

Until the lions den's hush

We skip across trapdoors

Cameras trace every touch

We've seen the northpole

Car chases 'till clutch

We met playing tennis

I think we courted enough

Strange ways, can't reform 'em

No glitter, no glue

Every hero needs a villian

But lovers needed too

I've been uneasy seeing messages

From strange numbered contacts

But world domination

Is acquired taste I ain't object

So when your honour student son

Liked my chess princesses

I settled in these differences

Had a share of megalomaniacs

But you were the first brainiac

I served the papers to my majesty

In the middle of that covert op in the philippines

Where you destroyed that drug ring

The lack of narcotics in that line of work sure is something!

I felt safe

You let your mask down and lend it as a toy to my offspring

Any last words before we open up these cufflinks?

''I'm nervous''

Kissing down your stretch marks

Laying eyes on your savanna

You say you would love to open up these love handles like they were packages from santa

And there's a mole

I say it's a beauty spot

As you grab your robe

Red lights flashing

Goons rushing to the data centre