STILL

Transgressive Flash Fiction: Eyes as dark as the devils and his smile as wicked too

CW: Great Loss

Image by Benjamin Balazs from Pixabay — adapted by author

It was nearly my time. People came. Hovered. Sat with a hanky to their faces, feigning tears, when really they were protecting their sense of smell and mortality. The odour of the dying is never sweet, but always recognisable.

I faded in and out of consciousness, while vignettes of my eighty-five years were on replay in my mind’s eye. One, searing my heart with a tragic memory.

It was 1956. I was only sixteen. I met him at the funfair. Eyes as dark as the devils and his smile as wicked too. When he laid me down on the grassy bank behind the gypsy caravans, my breath hitched for a moment until he covered my mouth with his.

I willingly opened my thighs… He snaked inside.

About six months later, I felt a little peculiar. In those days I worked in the haberdashery of a large department store. My boss said I was good for nothing and told me to go home to rest. But I didn’t make it that far.

I always walked back by the river. Just before I came out of the Clevern woodland path, I fell to the ground, doubled over in agony. Indeed, the pain was so extreme I swooned for a short while. Coming to, I immediately registered a tremendous pressure on my pelvis, accompanied by an involuntary urge for my lumbar region to push down to help relieve it.

The birth didn’t seem to take long, but the labour was so severe I can’t be sure of time. I delivered a perfect little girl in all ways, except she was dead.

Still.

I sat rocking her in my arms, singing a lullaby. My long, now dishevelled hair, shielding her from the afternoon, autumn sun. Then, I named her Lily and severed the cord using work scissors from my handbag.

Sobbing, I carried her into the middle of the forest and dug a deep hole in the moist dirt with my bare hands. I snatched the gold crucifix from around my neck and pressed it into her tiny palm, reciting the Lord’s prayer as I covered her… The trees were dense and provided a canopy. I hoped this meant her resting place would be safe… and still.

It won’t be long until I can hold her again, and with that vision filling my head I come back to the present and shout out into the room,

“I didn’t know.”

My niece and husband rush to my side.

“It’s OK Fleur. We’re here. What didn’t you know.” My husband, Dan, asks. Sitting by me, he takes hold of my bony hand.

“That it could happen, the first time.” I mutter earnestly.

Dan never knew about her. No one did.

After I had Lily, I felt compelled to live, laugh and love. Which I did, ardently.

I met my younger husband twenty years later. Neither of us wanted a child. He didn’t crave the responsibility and, I didn’t need the pain.

I can see a vivid white light pulling my eyes, and I begin to weep, tears of sorrow— blaming myself for the loss of Lily’s life. Mixed with tears of joy — I will soon be joining her.

I murmur to Dan, “Scatter my ashes in the heart of Clevern woods.”

He assures me all will be as it should.

Finally, I lay still, ready to follow the light.

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Published here for the Tantalizing Tales Prompt - LOSS.

The prompt was originally for March but because I know this theme takes much consideration it will remain open for April too. Newsletter coming on the Cocktail Club Publications Substack and Medium publication soon.

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