Drinking the Fairy Tale Ale

Briar my Body (II)

It was tarnished. No surprise, really. It looked heavily ornate, with swirling patterns of metal additions. The twisted lines and heavy strokes reminded me of the briar; it really had been taking up all thoughts.

Reaching down to grab it, I kneeled in the soft earth. My knees hung off the edge of the hole I dug, cooled from the damp air of clammy ground beneath. The sun was already starting to set, a bright red bullseye in the distance. I was invisible, the landscape around me overshadowing. I could take what I wanted, and scurry back into the confines of my house like a miserable rat.

My fingers numb and unsteady from clutching the shovel all day, I reached inside with the grace of a newborn foal. Splayed at unnatural angles, it was a rigged showdown. My body formed an artificial claw-machine, and the locket stayed hidden, cowering, in the corner. A whimper left my throat, unsure and barely audible. Grasping the wrist of my dominant hand, I slowly eased this new configuration of flesh down into the coffin.

Smoke it out. Let overpowering presence expel from your fingertips.

It felt primal, and no one, in that moment, could tell me it was strange to feel like you were hunting down an inanimate object. It was mine. I eased it from its corner bed and brought it to face the last sunrays of the day. It was judgment. How would the sun react to this fugitive, this little piece of jewelry that escaped to the confines of mother earth's bosom?

The sun was still red, still a bullseye, now shining on my back.

I swear it opened itself. I was too busy being awaiting the sun's verdict to pay attention to the silent defendant.

I heard a faint voice. It started out with a forced whisper, the type you morph your voice into when the world is sleeping and you're expected to keep the quiet places quiet (even when all you want to do is scream). Or maybe more like the whispers sickness produced. A dry desert of a mouth producing cacti words, a thousand needled syllables hitting at different times; the full force of thought delayed.

It started out with a forced whisper, yes, but either it said damn the expectations or damn the sickness, for it grew louder.

I could make out single words, yet they were like folded blankets. They didn't cover the expanse of body, didn't keep out all the cold. They were missing something, presenting edges where the middle parts should have been.

Yours now, yours now, yours now

Had the sun deemed me the rightful owner? Was I to take care of this misfit of a locket, keep it out of trouble until I, myself, became trouble?

Yours now

I unclasp the back. It feels like unweaving a tapestry. Thread by thread undoing Archane's work. Saving her from her own defiance.

Her...yours now

Yes, her thanks is mine now. I lay the chain around my neck. The locket hits just above the top of my breasts.

Her curse...yours now

Yes, I could easily bear that burden. I am unraveling. There is nothing to fear.

Her curse is yours now

I will walk off a savior, today. Fall asleep one tomorrow and for the rest of my days.

Her curse is yours now

I reclasped the necklace. It is a crown, lengthed and shaped to fit around my neck.

Her curse is yours now

I was separated from my sun lover.

I awoke in darkness. A solid ceiling above me. It's stained with cherry splotches, but I keep picking the pits to bite down on. I've come to believe there is no fruit, just the waste from another's feast.

I was, and am, separated from my sun lover. I feel my body start to unravel, that fleshy tapestry converting to invisible strands.

My plan is to will the briar to grow. I keep encouraging it to spread, and spread, and spread.