The Forbidden Fruit

Okay, so even I have to admit I am not sure what the inspiration for this was. Something of a deal with death going on here, took me a while to figure out where the pomegranates combined with that. Side note, surprisingly large amount of info on pomegranates on google, apparently there is speculations that they were eating pomegranates in Eden and not apples, hence the title.


selective color photography of pomegranate

The scent of pomegranates lay heavy on the air, and I knew that I was in trouble. That first bite all those years ago had brought me vigor, the taste of a life renewed, but this was different. There would be no salvation for me, from the moment the tangy juice exploded in my mouth my life was extended, but there was a price to pay, and it was time to pay it.


I pulled out my pen and stationery, the good stuff I had kept for years and never found an occasion for, and I wrote out my goodbyes. When my letters were complete, I placed them carefully on the kitchen table so that they would be found by those who would come looking for me, few as they were. I shed my clothes, the last vestiges of my old life with them, and donned the robes I had sworn to wear, and walked barefoot into the dark of night, never to be seen or heard from again.

The Little Death

If you are thinking La petitie mort, you barking up the wrong tree here. This one is a microfiction about someone hiding out in the washroom at a holiday party. I tried to stay bright and happy for a whole month, but oh well….Ironically this will come out the day after my own office holiday party, to which I am still so on edge about, I can’t quite decide if it is worth attending or not.


“Only I will remain”
“Only I will remain”

She didn’t think this was what her therapist had in mind when he recommended mantras, but it was a mantra against fear, and that was all anxiety was, right? Fear?

One thing she was certain of was that her body was NOT a temple. She did not want to surrender herself to a higher power, always sounded like an invitation to possession really. Abundance was not something she had to be accepting of. I have everything I need, true, but it always made her feel shitty for people who didn’t, so she stuck with her mantra coined from science fiction.

After all, if authors could make religion, then the mantras were legit, and it always made her giggle when she thought it, which cut the anxiety. She squared her shoulder, looked her self straight on in the mirror and said aloud “I can do this.”

With a last nod towards her reflection, she stepped out and back into the fray that was the office Christmas party with the one lingering thought: Her therapist was going to have a field day with this…

Destination Holiday

I made the prompt for this one on the Writer’s Mess. I was thinking happy destination christmas, Mele Kalikimaka, and instead got an unhappy woman freshly divorced and mourning the idea of her husband and the loss of the extended family. I wish I could say the next one would be happier, but apparently I am not a happy person.


She stared out at the beach and all she felt was loneliness. She should be happy, it was the trip of a lifetime, but spending the holidays alone…

It was better than being at home though, if she could call her studio apartment a home. This time last year she was in a house full of people, married, planning for kids. Then Tom decided that he was more interested in screwing his secretary than he was in a future with her.

She took him for everything, her lawyer was divine, but she was being practical, no huge decisions so soon after a loss like that. It was a loss, not Tom, because he was an ass. It was the idea of Tom, the family she had never has as a child. It was Tom’s sisters, and his parents, and his aunts and uncles. It was 27 people jammed in a 3 bedroom house, so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think, and she loved it.

She loved it so much that she ignored the affair at first. They had been married for 6 years, but if she was honest with herself, she saw the signs about year 2. She let it go though, pretended that she being paranoid, because she loved the life she had, even if she didn’t really love Tom that much.

She let it go on longer than she should have, and it was only when he came home, drunk, reeking of sex, his clothes mussed, that she finally reached that breaking point.

In the end they sold the house, she didn’t want it, and more importantly she didn’t want him to have it. Every time she walked around town though, all she could see was the life they had planned to live, and as the holidays approached it got worse.

So she entered a raffle, for a destination holiday, and won. It was a trip for 2, but none of her friends would leave home for the holidays, so she went alone. She sat on the beach watching the waves roll in and swore to herself: Next year would be better.

Oxygen

Okay, so this one was written in fit of pique about someone a little overwhelmed. It’s a composite of several different events that I put together, and gave the narrator a very frantic, very overwhelming schedule. Maybe written a little out of guilt for ignoring someone when I maybe shouldn’t have. And the idea that sometimes signs have far deeper implications than the obvious. This one being about my favorite airplane sign.


I don’t know how my life came to this point, but as I stared down at my overly tight schedule I realized that there was almost nothing on there for me. There were events to support my friends, events to support my community, work (which paid my bills, but really…), and a thousand little errands to help other people out.

I wasn’t a candle that was being burnt at both ends, I was a sparkler, lit at 6 points, and just expending my fuel 6 times faster. It all came to a head during a twenty minute break as I sat chilling for the first time all day, and I looked down and say 12 unread messages from the most needy person on my list.

None of it was actionable, it never was with him, and I had been expecting it really. I had agreed to help him with something when I wasn’t supposed to be available, wanting to be a good friend. I half suspectedthat he only asked me cause he expected me to say no, and then wanted to whine about it. It was who he was after all.

We were supposed to meet in 20 minutes, and this was the “unexpected” crisis that wouldn’t allow for him to show up. It involved stories of panic attacks spurned by last minute changes, and I wanted to feel sympathy, but all I felt was apathy.

It was my break, and now I felt guilty for ignoring what I suspect was a fake crisis to cancel plans, and I took a few breaths and remind myself of a simple sign become affirmation. You must first put your own oxygen mask before helping others with theirs!