In the cabbage patch, she stains the earth

I’ve always been a morbid thinker.

As a child, it was my task to wash the dinner dishes; I earned three dollars a week. Mom and Dad didn’t allow me to handle anything sharper than a butter knife, but when no one was looking, I’d take hold of paring knife, or a steak knife and press the point lightly into my belly button. What would it feel like? Then I’d dare myself, you could do it if you wanted to. Go on, they’re not paying attention.

Now that I’ve had a dagger thrust keenly into my belly, I can absolutely say it’s a fucking awful sensation—pain impressively brutal. So brutal in fact, it keeps me from crying out. I feel the need to howl, but maybe I won’t have the chance.

I sensed the steel was hot with hatred; my skin prickled upon the piercing. And all of my guts began to itch and burn the deeper the blade was plunged; it’s this barbed sort of burning that keeps me hushed. I can only talk silently to myself. No one will ever know my thoughts about today. Fuck…

I didn’t scream or start when I caught him walking up the cobblestone this morning; I was kneeling in my vegetable garden, stunned by the thrilling and sour sight of him. Ten years are a long time, but not long enough. He was on me before I could stand; his skin smelled French, and his breath Irish. He forced me onto my feet by the nape of my neck. He used to love my neck. I asked him why he couldn’t have just remained by his darling grey seaside to brood forever, and then he stuck me. I dropped my trowel.

I felt the hilt press against me, and I looked up into his eyes. He’s going to totally eviscerate me now, I thought. I wanted him to, but he didn’t. That’s how much he hates me now. So here I am, bleeding to death in the motherfucking cabbages.

Above me the bleached clouds drift high across the blue, and the summer sun shines brightly upon my killer and me. My killer—he’s lying beside me, running his sticky fingers through my hair. If not for my life leaking out of me, staining me, staining the grass all around me, I’d think it quite a romantic scene…

 

 

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21 thoughts on “In the cabbage patch, she stains the earth

  1. Oh!! Once, not so long ago, when I was boiling water in a pan, I had a compulsion to thrust my hand into it. I stood watching the water rolling madly and thought that if I did it quickly, in and out in a flash, I could douse it in cold water immediately and it’d be ok, wouldn’t even have time to blister.

    I knew this was irrational, yet I still think of that day every time I’m boiling a pan full of water. WHAT was I thinking though? It was a slight moment of madness I think.

    Sorry for the personal blogdick. I enjoyed this immensely. I read it 3 times.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Love the imagery, and visceral description. I thought this was a true story at first, I was like, “What, what, whhaatttt?”

    Awesome work…I smell a short story compilation in the works.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I have always wished I were good at short story writing. In writing classes, it was always the short story that did me in–I have always been so long winded. Perhaps it’s the poetry I compose that has helped to teach me the craft of short story writing? I don’t know…my poems are just…what they are. I am blown away on the daily, reading the poetry on WordPress. I will never reach the caliber of my favorite bloggers, and that’s okay with me. We are all who we are, with different and beautiful gifts.

      Liked by 1 person

      • My short attention span, at times, demands short stories. I also love the idea of reading the complete story in a sitting (without by butt going numb). But you are right, writing short stories can be a pain. Honestly though, writing classes be damned, it seems you have tapped into some potential when it comes to short story writing.

        I agree with you about seeing other posts, stories, books, or whatever, and wishing I had the skills to pay the bills like they do. Truth is, I write for me mostly. Even my blog is really for me. It’s a place to store writing information I am learning and refer back to later (saves me the trouble of thumbing through all those blasted books again). If people enjoy the posts/stories, it’s just icing on the cake. If they contribute in some way – even better. I enjoy the journaling aspect as well as the collaboration. It also free’s me from perceived pressure, which in turn improves creativity.

        I think you write beautifully, so don’t stop, and don’t worry about other people. Like you said, we all have our own gifts to give.

        Liked by 1 person

        • I love your blog so much! Yours had has really added fuel to my creative fire, and I’m not just blowing sunshine up your arse! I think you’re an excellent writer. And I believe that when a writer writes for themselves above all else, it makes the quality of their work that much greater. I think a person can tell when a writer is in love with writing, and when they have integrity–unwilling to bend to the will of the mainstream.

          Liked by 1 person

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