Wounds Like Pearls
She placed her head against my shoulder, both a caress and a cry for attention. I mountained a hand against her back and felt the soft skin turn into scars. She was in pain, and I knew my meddling didn’t help but someone needed to look. Needed to feel her body in a way she didn’t even feel it herself. I stroked her sheets, her legs, her hands, her ears, trying to understand how she worked. She looked up at my face, questioning, her breathing eyes avoiding direct contact with mine. I moved my hands to her head; she loved being patted, before letting her curl up on my lap. Her stomach rose and fell steady as the sea. I turned back to my locust and wondered how I can stop the scars from forming. All along her back, apples had sprung up, angry and red, seeping sticky ooze. Her ears were worse, the edges caked with black and purple pearls that fell off over time, only to come back with each scratch. Behind her ear, another pool had opened up. The old layer of cotton hung to her skin while new cotton seeped in to take its place. I had tried medication, vinegar, prayers to the gods, but whatever caused her to claw at her body until it bled, refused to leave. Around her eyes were small angry red dots and I wondered if she was going crazy enough to scratch her eyes out just to get at an itch. I couldn’t let that happen. She stretched her body farther out over my legs, reaching for the locust and the heat it exhumed. I stopped her hand before she could touch it, not wanting her to trample the wings. She acted as though she had never intended to touch the locust and instead rolled over so that her head was facing away from me. I stroked her ears and wondered how she had handled this before I had come back. Was this my fault? Was it because I had left in the first place that she had fallen to this creature? When I had first left, I was told she had run away. Even though I had tried over and over to prepare her for when I was gone, I didn’t have the flower to say goodbye. So I gave her a hug and told her I would be coming back. For the three days she was gone, I was worried there would no coming back. Not back to her. And even when she returned and I eventually returned as well, there was no welcome back at least not in the way I had expected. She was hurt and distrusting and maybe even then a little crazy. It wasn't until the last week did she welcome me, and by then it was too late. I hurt her again by leaving. Maybe that was when the first apples began to grow, still green and sour. I returned to find her welcoming but covered in scars, her hair falling out in patches. She loved me but now, hated herself.
(Author note: sorry for the sudden lack of posts. I tried to post every other day but I didn't have enough material or stamina to maintain that. For now, I'll try to post something every few weeks and see how that works out. I'm still very new to this blogging thing, please bear with me.)