Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Wind Chips

In the garden where I played in the early days, an abandoned well sat in the corner with an empty spring. When we moved into the house, my father had promised my mother that he would cover it. Soon after the move his fate fell ill and we were forced to say goodbye to him. My mother abandoned us for the sitting room on the second floor on the east wing. At his wake, in the traditional way inside of our home, I held my sister's hand, beeswax melting our pain, we watched our mother place her heart onto his chest, pulverizing, particles of light bleeding into his pith.

My sister and I tended to the garden where seeds were sown. A wild brush of ivy began to cover the well. We played there everyday, but I was the only one to hear the ring. I clipped away at the corners of the ivy every time the chime rang. By morning, a new cluster crept and covered the hole.

I hurried out to the garden at twilight, watching the columbine drink the rain. I waited to hear the ring. It slid into my ears, taunting, tickling my drum. After supper for endless nights, I set the dishes and spent the last hour sitting on the benches in the garden. Flipping pages of Frances Burnett, I tried not to listen. Hampered by wonder, I watched pebbled stones fall into the hole.

The silhouette at the bottom spoke in a cold whisper. She said that she wished to touch my hair. She said that she had a bell, one that was heard only by the most fortunate ear. I told her that I had listened for weeks. She said that she knew and that she could not be without my tangled hair. She asked that I lean in, for her voice was too harsh to do more than whisper. I leaned my head in and my lungs filled with myrrh and spearmint and pepper.  She reached out a hand. The tips of her fingers were purple and pale. I didn't hesitate. I felt a loss of wind as I entered the tunnel. My head hollowed and her face nestled into my hair as she pulled me, still and swift, underneath the water.

TWW: hamper, pulverize, taunt

31 comments:

  1. Great story can't hardly wait for more.

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    1. I wrote it as something complete, but it does have a number of moments to explore. :) Thank you Sheilagh and I hope you have a wonderful holiday.

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  2. Wow! Wonderful tale. It stands alone, or could be part of a serial. Strange how we have both written about seeds, and a tangled garden - rather eerie I feel.

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    1. Hi! Thank you, I don't know if I am brave enough to carry a series. I'm on my way to see about these seeds!

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  3. Re-birth..baptism..loss..love..there is always so much to be found in your words..i can smell..feel..but not quite know..and that is the most special part..because you hand the story to us..even though it is yours to tell..Jae

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    1. Thank you Jae. From your eyes everything feels so fresh. You have a gentle way of being. Thank you for offering so much support, I treasure you for that.

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  4. Beautifully written and a delight to read.

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  5. He left her a way back to him and she took it. Sad and haunting.

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    1. Nara, thanks. I like this perception. Perhaps, he knew that he would go, leaving the well uncovered, hoping that she would find him...but the ivy forcing itself over and the need for her hair, that makes me think otherwise...Thanks so much for reading deeply. :)

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  6. oh dang...this is one of those you just can not look away from...def haunting ending...but i like it much...smiles...

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    1. smiles...I know, it's like the last thing you really want right, her willfully falling in, but I really hated for her to be so alone, regarding her hopes.

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  7. Oooo... She sounds like a siren. Taunting, enticing. Sad ending if she drowned.
    Great story telling :)

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    1. Thanks Bren! I've always imagined a well as some sort of portal, hopefully, not always into such dark places. :)

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  8. It would be nice to think that her father's intended closure or the well was misplaced as it was necessary for the little girl to have contact with the spirit of the spring to fulfill her destiny. Perhaps to be a writer of such poetry as to make the reader sing with joy.

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    1. Yes, I hope there was a need for song and joy here. Whether it be intention or not, the "spirit of the spring" is her destiny now. Thank you for that name, I love it!!

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  9. The Secret Garden sprang to mind instantly, so I was glad to see you reference Frances Hodgson Burnett *smile* The end made me think of one of those American remakes of Japanese films... was it the Grudge or the Ring, with the girl in the well? The whole tale was spooky and yet beautiful. Bravo!

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    1. I had the pleasure of doing a literature lesson with one of my little ones involving Burnett's "The Secret Garden" recently.

      It was the Ring, I'm still seeing the distorted faces, but the creepy me likes the girl from the well. I wrote this because I love Guillermo Del Toro.

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  10. A haunting story at once a short poetic story, but some with the feel of a haiku. Thanks

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  11. amazing as a myth, haunting. you drew me in and i was
    so sorry to leave this prose.

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    1. Hey you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. Happy that you stopped in. :)

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  12. Whoa!
    As soon it was known the well was left uncovered, I read with breath held. And well-told tale in so few words!!

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    1. Hi Paula, thanks for coming by and sharing your thoughts with me!

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  13. 'we watched our mother place her heart onto his chest, pulverizing, particles of light bleeding into his pith.'
    You've described the process of degeneration after death so beautifully in such few words. Beautiful, haunting piece.

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