Anonymous Encounter

Conversation with a Disparaging Heart
By: Thea LeFevre

The sun shot rays the color of ash across the purple sky as it descended behind the vibrant green hill in my forward vision. I lay with my legs crossed on the soft vegetation staring wistfully at the setting of another macabre waist of hours. The air was humid and warm though the fire in the sky was setting. My raven black hair was spread across the ground, contrasting the luminous colors in a sickening perverseness. My black cotton sundress lay gently on my knees and the butcher knife tinted red from my own blood rested in the grass beside me. I looked down at the crude hole I had cut into my own chest. My blood still slithered from the wound onto my pale, glowing skin. I could see the veins that had once connected to my heart wriggling as they spit my life’s essence onto the grass and my face. I licked my lower lip and tasted the cinnamon iron of my regret.
The purple sky was tinted dark by the rays cast by the sun in its descent and beads of sweat glittered across my body’s flesh. My hands cradled my still thumping heart in my palms between my hips. It was a darker red than my blood, pumping in my hands. I saw the face of my mother in my heart, the veins and blood twisting into her mouth, sharp nose, and disparaging eyes.
The mouth tested its lips silently before whispering to me in a strange tongue I somehow understood. “Why did you cut out your heart?” her tone was cautious. Slowly I raised my head in order to see her properly. My hair slid like silk against my back and shoulders.
“I don’t know mother, why did you do this?” I asked. Her bloody eyes revealed confusion.
“I did nothing to you daughter, I did not guide your steady hand as you wielded the knife. Why would you do a thing like this?” I thought for a moment, my thumb smeared more blood as I caressed the side of my heart.
“Mother I do not want to feel. My heart was nothing but a mass of pain and loss. I felt if I cut out my heart I could keep your memory and not the feeling it brings.”
“My dear,” my mothers face paused as my wound continued to pump and blood mixed with the sweat on my chest, stomach and neck. “, no matter what you do in this world there is always emotion. You must make yourself stronger by using your heart to not only guide you but protect you. You may be hurt but removing your heart from your chest is not the way. Learn from your mistakes and your pain child, do not run from it.” I nodded, soaking the words into my mind and placing them in a secure space. I would not forget these words, and this sunset.
“Place your heart back in your chest and live for me. Live for us.” I slowly sat up, gingerly cradling my heart with her face in my palms. I leaned forward and kissed the twist of veins that was her mouth, tasting my blood once more. The veins did their best to return the sentimental touch. When I pulled away her face was gone, and I held only my heart once more.
“I will do as you wish mother, just give me time.” I whispered.
I sat for a moment, smelling the humidity in the air and absentmindedly stroking my heart. After a moment I lay back down, the grass cushioning my peaceful mind. I gently placed my pulsing heart in the grass beside my head and looked toward the vibrant green hill in front of me. The white stars were beginning to show as the sky darkened into night. “Just give me time.”

butchiesmom

I remember reading this story, several times, and thinking I'd commented on it. It's a shame I haven't because it's a dark story with a profound message...

I was going to add much more, describing what I'd read and how it filled my heart with hope, but reading the above says it all. Kind of like Liz Taylor when a streaker ran on stage just before she was to walk on and present something. How do you follow an act like that?

Great job, Thea
Gail