Blueberry Deception

There’s something weird about the way scents permeate the air; the way they can tickle the senses and stimulate the memory banks of the brain. It’s weird, and some so utterly lovely.

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A Tune

There will come a time,

When daisy’s dance

and blades of wind

Will cut through the sky,

Singing a tune

Only you can hear.

Steam

I toss my gaze to the window, squinting the tired blear from my eyes. Old street lamps sit along the sidewalk, their lights stretching to enter this dark room. I curl my body forward, sitting up and removing the arm of my unknown night guest. My fingers curl around a large T-shirt; theirs or mine, I’ve not a clue.

My Keurig whirs to life in the kitchen and my senses awaken as my tired limbs carry me towards the machine. The scent of heavenly coffee drifts to my nose, wrapping around my fogged brain; I hold the filled mug close to my face, watching as the steam rises, telling the secrets of last night.

The Essay

Did you go to the party? I

Heard Brian was there. Mr. Marx is

Collecting the essays he assigned last

Week. Everyone

Was there. Even Sarah?

I’m so glad it’s almost break. Are you ready

For the game on Friday? The

Cheer team has to

Wear leg covers since it’s getting

So cold now. Mr. Marx is a joke.

Did you see the video? She’s

Actually showing her face. I

Just bought these sneakers.

Oh my God, look at her face! I

Didn’t know someone

Could drink that much. Dude,

I’m not ready for this Anatomy exam.

Gross!

Did you see the way she’s

Looking at

Him?

What a great night! That’s what

Brian said, too.

Hey Sarah, looking good.

I forgot about the Essay.

Power

Note: This features topics of sexual child abuse and rape that may be triggering.

It was the small things that set off the memories; the tick, tick, ticking of the clock in the living room as the wooden pendulum swung back and forth, back and forth; the smell of peppermint gum on my friend’s breath, or of the candy cane I ate at Christmas; even the taste of the air in my house had vomit burning the back of my throat.

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The Window

“You wife’s passed away.”

The cigarette that’d been dangling from my lips finally takes that final leap, falling until it hits the stone walkway. My brown-eyed gaze travels with it, taking in the black ashes speckling the light tan of the sidewalk cement. I’d been on my way home from the school, my last class having just let out.

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Another

Mama was quiet. She was always quiet when she was angry, but this was the longest time yet. Two days. It had been two days since I last heard her voice. Papa would try to talk to her. He made her dinner, carried the groceries in from the car, cleaned the house; he did all the things he usually never did, but it still wasn’t enough.

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