Bluer Than the Sky

Fiction By Hannah W. // 8/11/2009

*Okay everybody, I have decided to just go ahead and make this fiction (which it kinda is anyway) even though it's in poem form. Life will be easier this way. Hope you enjoy!*

 

They sell fruit in the markets, and bread.
Fish, too, and all the usual things.
But then there are some corner booths in the shade.
And they have a lot in jars,
a lot in tightly shut pouches.
A penny for this, a nickel for that... I dig in my pockets every time,
my useless change suddenly full of worth.

They don't advertise loudly, don't call out their wares.
They don't have to.
I see the jars. Marbles in one, glassy and clouded, in a little cracked jar.
In another, grayness that is deep, shapeless, swirling.
Coats in all colors hang below the shelves of jars.
Yellow coat, green coat, cherry red coat. Purple as the twilight.
Bluer than the sky.
I tried that one on once.

I stand at the booth.
"What can I help you with?" The boy speaking must be my age.
His silent grandmother watches me with crow eyes.
My voice fails as my gaze meets hers and is trapped. Deep, deep crow eyes. 
She taps her grandson. He nods slowly and turns to me. 
"That one, then?" he says, pointing to a jar. It is the one holding the grayness.
I shake my head. The grandmother smirks knowingly; she knows what I really would like.
I don't myself, but I just swallow and think a minute,
biting my lip.
"This?" The boy asks again, pointing to the jar of marbles. No.
I shake my head.
"The coat?" His words are soft and whispery. He was there, that day, a long time ago. 
Bluer than the sky.
The crow eyes are full of laughter now, I can see it.
They flicker from my face, to his, and back.
Wordlessly she reaches behind her, pulls the coat off its hanger. 
I shrink back. Then forward. 
I want it. I am afraid. It is lovely. It is blue. 
My heart beats faster, but already I a captivated. 
The crow eyes shine as she beckons me. Turns me. Places it on my shoulders. 
Take it, the crow eyes say. Take it. It is yours. 
I nod. A smile spreads, like the shadow of a hawk, across my face. 
Bluer than the sky. 
"Three nickels," the boy says. I hand them over carefully. 
Then he smiles back. "She wouldn;t let anyone else try it on," he says softly. 
I look into the deep crow eyes. "I know."

Walking home, late afternoon.
It is very warm. Summer is in full bloom, is sunshine banner waving merrily,
surrounding me.
I've slipped my arms inside the coat's sleeves. Blue silk against my bare skin. 
Even today, it is not heavy. Not too hot. 
I am comfortable as I would be in my own skin. 
More so. 

My sister is cooking when I come in. 
Noodles, and the usual things. 
In the oven, chicken keeps warm. Its aroma is thick in the kitchen air.
Sister turns. "Look at you," she says. 
She sighs. "Why did you go there again?"
I stroke the coat's outer fabic, finger the blue buttons, round and smooth.
Sister's eyes look wet when I don't reply. 
I hug her. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm not." 
She brushes hard at one cheek, pink from the heat of the room. 
The color of the coat she once tried on. 
But she never went back.
"How much was it?"
"Three nickels." My fingertips dip into my empty pocket.
She sighs again and turns back to the noodles. 
"Why?" she asks softly.
I bite my lip. I don't know. 
But she is not asking me. She is asking those deep crow eyes that dance and shine. 
She is asking the fiery orange coat that hangs, musty and alone,
in the dark closet at the end of the hall. 
Why.
It will never tell. 
Mother.
She will never come back. 
"Maybe I should have got the mirror," I whisper. 
Sister's face darkens. "Never."
I press my lips together. I have looked in the mirror before. I saw that orange coat.
Blazing orange, a color on fire with life.
Dead now. The cloth has dulled, sitting in that closet.
"What if it happens again?"
"It wasn't the coat," I say softly, thinking of crow eyes. Her ever-silence.
Why?
I think I feel the coat twitch slightly. 
"Dinner will be ready soon," Sister says, and we speak of it no more.

The darkness falls soundlessly, smoothly, like silk
slipping over the world. 
Stars blink, bleary. 
I stand at the window, the coat still on. I don't want to take it off.
Bluer than the sky.
The fabric seems to sigh. 
I throw the window open. 
Startled, a crow flaps away from its perch on my sill. 
It eyes are laughing.

I wait. 
I am rewarded.
The coat rustles softly against me and then...
faint music. I smile. 
Music of a soul, beautiful, wordless, indescribable music. 
Simple notes flood the night, my senses, my heart. 
It thrills me, makes me feel as though I am soaring.
The crow is back. It clicks its beak and blinks. 
I sit on the foot of my bed, the window still open, so near. 
Leaning against the wall, the music slows and deepens...
Lullaby. 
I sleep.
My dreams are bluer than the sky.

Comments

That was.....creepy. Makes

That was.....creepy. Makes shivers crawl all over my skin.

I like the format. That was really cool and unique!

Heather | Tue, 08/11/2009

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
And now our hearts will beat in time/You say I am yours and you are mine...
Michelle Tumes, "There Goes My Love"

I love it. I don't pretend to

I love it. I don't pretend to fully understand it, but I love it.

Annabel | Tue, 08/11/2009

Wow. Chills. I don't totally

Wow. Chills. I don't totally understand it, but it's a good thing. I like it that way.

Erin | Tue, 08/11/2009

"You were not meant to fit into a shallow box built by someone else." -J. Raymond

............

I love it, it's so pretty, and somthing else.

Bernadette | Thu, 08/13/2009

Wow, that was really spooky

Wow, that was really spooky in a cool kind of way.

Sarah | Thu, 08/13/2009

"Sometimes even to live is courage."
-Seneca

Blogging away!
busyscribbler.wordpress.com

 That was ... strange. I'm

 That was ... strange. I'm with the rest of these guys - don't quite understand it, but I can feel the story inside of it ... somewhere.

Mary | Thu, 08/13/2009

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Brother: Your character should drive a motorcycle.
Me: He can't. He's in the wilderness.
Brother: Then make it a four-wheel-drive motorcycle!

thnx

thanks, everyone! yeah, I dunno if even I understand it completely, but probably more so than others. :) glad you liked it!

Hannah W. | Thu, 08/13/2009

.....

This was very interesting....... It was really creative.... The flow of the poem was lovely and the story of it was like a riddle..... Lovely work!!

Elizabeth | Thu, 08/13/2009

************

The Holy Spirit is the quiet guest of our soul." -St. Augustine

This is wonderful! What a

This is wonderful! What a great piece. You've got a wonderful way of looking at the world and describing it in a unique way that's interesting and captivating :)

Christa | Fri, 08/14/2009

Wow, that was creepy and

Wow, that was creepy and beautiful and amazing and haunting all in one package.  I love the creativity and uniqueness.  Wonderful job!!!!  :)

Clare Marie | Mon, 08/17/2009

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve." -Bilbo Baggins [The Lord of the Rings]

Beautiful

I like stories that are mysterious and uncertain and everything...very well written...kind of like a dream.

Julie | Mon, 08/17/2009

Formerly Kestrel

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