Blues Buster: Long Black Curl

Daphne bholua ‘Jacqueline Postill’ (Thymelaeaceae) flower – Magnus Manske

Narrow, dark green leaves coupled with deep pink flowers, rustled in the breeze above his head and Isaac’s chest softly rose and fell. Heavy, rheumy eyes, tinged pink with fatigue, fluttered open and through a glassy haze he gazed.  Orange sunlight flooded the bower, as scattered evening sunbeams danced upon the flora, and a whisper lightly waltzed through the expectant crowd.

Isaac stroked the silken coverlet overdressed with gossamer lace, with gnarled, freckled hands and felt his heart whimper beneath his ribs. Time was running out.

Deep beneath the trees that surrounded his bower, whispers made it to his ears and he chuckled, a coughing and half choking sound that alarmed his family and made him want to laugh all the more. His muscles ached, a fever left him barely the right side of conscious, and his heart fluttered like the butterfly that settled on the clusters of pink flowers above his pillow. He closed his eyes and courted the sigh that rippled in response.

He felt a hand, a strong hand, grip his. The warmth of the hand pumped life into his cold fingers and his heart raced, leaping and bounding within the cage of ribs. His other hand was grasped with the same vigour, as his other son lifted his father’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Not to be outdone the first son placed a kiss on his father’s hand too and gently plumped the duckling down pillow behind his head.

As the two sons fought to outshine each other the sun slipped below the horizon and took its gold light with it. The moon’s silver touched the trees and sent glittering rays through the canopy. As Isaac opened his eyes again, he shook away his sons and painfully lifted his hands to his face. He rubbed his eyes and gazed across the glade.

Despite the warring clans, the neighbouring fae had sent an honourable representative and he stood beneath the sweet oleander and holly trees. He stood tall and unwavering and accompanied by his young wife. Isaac smiled, and nodded in recognition and then gazed at his sons.

Two golden-haired boys sat either side of him, both tight-lipped and taut, and instead of watching him they watched each other with glares of righteous arrogance.

Isaac sighed and both sons turned to stare, breath bated, hands again gripping his tight. Their expectant gaze vexed the fairy-king and he decided the choice would not be made.

He cleared his throat and watched the greed and hunger pool in their eyes, before averting his and speaking softly. He spoke so softly the boys had to lean in close to hear. They both sprang away in disbelief dropping their father’s hands like hot coals.

Isaac lifted his heavy head and touched his beard. His fingers ran through the thick grey hair, and he let out a laugh. He beckoned across the dell and the young fae knight dressed in embroidered silver frowned and stepped forward.

“Not you…” croaked the king, “your wife…”

His wife, not yet out of her teens, started like a deer and fingered her long ebony locks in nervous unease. Isaac nodded and she stepped lightly across the grass to his mossy bed.

She held out her hand as the king again ran his through his beard. “Your hair,” he murmured, “black as the night, ebony like the raven, as dark as mine once was.”

She nodded, anxiety clouding her face.

“You’re as beautiful as your mother, and not a product of your unseeded father…” He chuckled coarsely. “My sons can fight, can gouge each other’s eyes out, but neither are worthy of my crown. You, my dear, are married to an honest man, a man who can bring peace to the vale. And as my crown once sat upon my head of curls, it will spend its days upon your long black curls… It is fitting, young Daphne, that, along with my crown, the fragrant clusters above my head are yours, sweet daughter…”

(669 Words)

A fairy tale for Blues Buster this week…prompt song is from the ethereal, fae-kissed music of neo-pagan band Tuatha Dae – “Long Black Curl”.

Blues Buster: Heavy in your Arms

So after a hiatus for us to write for NaNo…Jeff’s Blues Buster is back over at The Tsuruoka Files. The tune we’re writing to is ‘Heavy in your Arms’ Florence and The Machine…and I’m keen to get back in to some flash fiction!

Water Crown by Lisa Shambrook (please do not use without permission)

Heavy in your Arms

The day I drowned, I gazed at his hands and I grasped his arms, strong and veined, and covered with dark, downy hair. His hands were smooth, soft and firm. I gazed into his eyes, ice blue and deep, and I drowned in their depth.

I gazed at his lips. He drew me close, devouring my mouth with words, whispered words of love, of adoration and lust. I drowned as he pressed his mouth to mine and inched his tongue past my teeth. Fire burned, smouldering in my belly, and rising with every prickle on my pale skin.

His breath murmured in my hair, his zephyr of longing entwining every lock, and my fingers touched the crown on my head, a circlet of threaded silver and diamond dewdrops.

His hands, those strong hands, rested on my back, and his lips nibbled my neck, and I succumbed.

* * *

The sun shone down in rays of gold, tickling my burning skin, and he chuckled at my naivety. He stood and beckoned down by the water’s edge, and blushing in my exposure I stepped into the river. Cool water lapped at my feet and my legs, and I smiled, nervously, as he took my hand. My fingers shot to my head, as the circlet slipped, insecure in my tangled, golden tresses.

I gazed at him, stood before me, a man in every way, and laughed as the sun glistened against the jewelled crown atop his unruly mop of curls. His laughter matched the gurgling brook, and he took me in his arms, water breaking gently at our waists.

I didn’t expect his sudden move, his firm grip and the icy fear that enveloped me beneath the water. My eyes were lost in the murky depths of swirling river, weed entwining my feet, and hands, those strong hands, holding me beneath the surface. I opened my mouth in pain as the crown entangled in my hair was divorced from my head. I gripped his arms, my hands moving up and down his flexing muscles, until my hands fell loose and I drowned for the second time that day.

I watched as he waded from the river with tears decorating his face, and my circlet in his fingers.

* * *

Now I watch as he sits upon my throne, as he courts wanton women, and as he rules in my stead. I watch, and I wait.

My translucent arms, watery and heavy, rest upon his shoulders. His expression betrays him as he raises his hand, to wipe a stray raindrop, but no rain has fallen.  Fear grips as he travels the castle corridors and beholds puddles on the floor. His smooth hands touch the crown upon his head, and the gold feels like iron, cold and heavy, like the ice that decorates his bedroom, bringing impotence and dread.

He slips silently into madness in his sun drenched palace.

I chill his soul with every step, binding him to my heavy heart, until his crown is frozen, his hands are soaked with my pain, and his feet are burdened with dread.

Then when fear grips in the dead of night, when darkness abounds and seizes his mind, I drown him…I drown him in his own nightmares…

* * *

Now he floats to me, on a river of heavenly light, and I beckon. He moves on my zephyr of breath, and he smiles as I gaze, and I blush. Relief and arrogance bloom on his cheeks as he dances forward, free of his watery incubus. I promise much, but I never deliver, and I thrust him away, down, back down into his heavy body, on a cold, wet bed.  His arms flail and his hands, those strong hands, beg…

And I drown him, every night…

(632 Words)