Family
Chocolate Covered
My hand rises slowly to make shadows over my eyes, the blue of the sky matched the blue rim of the white plate, as it framed the slice of chocolate cake perfectly. The soft pink of the thin candle lightened by the tiny yellow and orange flame atop a small white wick. It glowed from the side of a rosette dancing swooping up and down beckoning me closer and closer bewitching me to ignore all the signs, it seems Icarus, and I native sons. She began singing the words softly, happy birthday to me, to baby, to beloved, to you, to everyone. I tried not to listen I knew that I could not let her words become tones; those tones hitting my ears, traveling through the canals into my veins. That tainting my life’s blood traveling from the atrium into my heart, to the ventricle, out to my arteries, those tones coursing through my body to warm me, soften me from the inside out. Melting my memory of what has happened and yet in that moment I can’t stop it from reaching the filled underground anthill of my soul. I could feel them racing towards their true queen leaving the blind naked king behind. I knew it was the hunger they needed to be fed that drew them nearer, closer to the chance of being something to someone. Running over each other to get to the surface only to be burned and twisted under the magnified truth. It is the siren song of chocolate covered lies that called to them. Called them to get in a line and follow one after the other blindly towards the sweet to only find brown covered dust to choke on. The blue rim covered as the plate’s edge now alive with the army seeking pieces to feed the youngest and the wisest. Them marching to the slice five layers of dark chocolate cake with milk chocolate frosting with tiny rosettes piped on the top, I can see them in my mind all in a circle so that every slice would get at least one rosette. I know just how long it took to bake, frost, and cut. I know how many sticks of butter, eggs, teaspoons of vanilla, cups of sugar, flour, ounces of chocolate. How long to bake, mix, melt and whip. I knew how many bites it would take to eat a slice that size, three thousand four hundred and eighty-seven, it isn’t a big slice, but I learned to savor it take small bites to ingest the meaning let it congeal into a ball that made my belly button it’s point of attachment. I knew all of this at the age of ten. Having once said it was my favorite then it became part of her vernacular to me, being southern she now the teacher she taught me that food had meaning. That food will speak when the human was silent. And while pie and cobbler spoke briefly and sparingly, that chocolate cake spoke the most, and said the most: sorry, the black eye will heal, the burn marks will fade, don’t tell them at school, stay here with me, be nice to the man I chose over you. But sometimes only sometimes it said the thing that brought me to kneel, you mean something, but I always missed the… right now, at the end. Truth is I could make my own by twelve and I was selling them by the age of fifteen to cover the rent, yet here I am staring at the cake now covered in ants as my body is empty.
By Jae Hamilton 5 years ago in Confessions
The designer bag that was not as it seemed...
Before I tell you what happened, you need to know my sister. She is 2 and a half years older than me and obsessed with all things fashion. She has the latest and the greatest. The more expensive the better! And her favourite part? The big shindy badge with the brand name! I always borrow her clothes under strict instruction to "Bring it back clean and in one piece!" I must admit she is extremely generous.. just sometimes a little bit scary! (Don't tell her I said that!) Anyway...
By sarah mcternan5 years ago in Confessions
It's All In The Cake
I took a deep breath and looked at the clock. It was almost 6 a.m. To most, this would be the start of a new day. To me, it was an ending of the last. I was standing at the kitchen sink, loading in the last of the dishes my daughter had finally brought out from her room. It would have been nice to have them several hours ago, but that was okay. I wasn’t mad. In fact, it even made me smile a bit. I was just happy to see she got them there and that she was comfortable doing it on her own accord. There was a time when even this seemingly simple task was much more than just taking dishes from room to sink. I am proud of her. She has come so far. But my heart still hurts.
By Elisabeth Healy5 years ago in Confessions
Home for the Holidays
The last time I saw my dad was July 2007 . He was walking away . Came from California for a visit . We didn't have a close relationship and the reason for his visit was not a good one. I'll give you a hint. We’d just been out to eat dinner together and he called the waitress back and said “ Honey, this liver looks worse than mine, can I have a piece that looks appetizing ?” Yes, he had cirrhosis. And it was so bad he had to have fluid removed and drink down lactulose just to use the restroom. Slow death is never pleasant for the person slowly dying or the person slowly watching. Though he was sick and yellow, he still dressed as if he were a Miami Vice extra. He somehow made it to the 80s and stayed there.
By Layla Nelson5 years ago in Confessions
Runaway Bull
My uncle Ray sent me out to feed his feisty bull Hoss. I arrived at Hoss's pasture and he was missing again. It took us three hours to find hind him, he was six miles up the road visiting the Johnsons. The Johnsons had grown rather fond of Hoss and it seemed the feeling was mutual. Uncle Ray decided that it was time to kill the old bull. The next morning we all got up and attached the trailer to the truck, then lowered the ramp for Hoss to walk into the trailer. My Uncle had everyone pulling Hoss into the trailer except his nephew who was larger than all of us and he was pushing from behind. I thought I had the easy job which was to pull by the horn, I didn't I was pulling Hoss and he gave his big head a shake, and I was flung about two hundred yards from the trailer , landing on my arm and shoulder causing me to start crying.
By Lawrence Edward Hinchee5 years ago in Confessions
A gentle melancholy
Raindrops gingerly caress the old wooden walls, a cold kiss against the decaying monument. I sit inside motionless, listening to the barn creak and whine as the weather gently seeps into the cracks and warps it for what seems like the millionth time. With any luck, there’d be a million more.
By William Amir5 years ago in Confessions
The Sea and The Moon
--- Life is not kind. We are born into it innocent and naïve. If we are lucky, we can stay that way for longer than most. Sometimes, I think about how few lucky ones are out there. I know I'm not. Today, I stand on a cold, bitter winter beach in the north of Scotland. It is February, and my world is broken.
By J.B. Miller5 years ago in Confessions
Trying a hand
My world came crashing down when I heard what the doctor said to my husband Jan.The exact words were”Jan, you will drop dead any moment from now as your heart can stop beating any moment,hence you need a device fitted to shock your heart when it stops”.We we’re both stunned and could barely speak.
By Kiran Joseph5 years ago in Confessions
