The Smallest Show. (A 20 minute flash fiction, unedited)

The Smallest Show

 

Bonny and Midge sat looking down upon it.  They loved to sit up high, the higher the better so that they could look down upon it all.  Sometimes when it was a rush and they had wasted time; chatting to boys or bitching with girls, they only had time to go to the middle levels.  But today they had made time and reached the top of the hill. 

It felt special, they hadn’t been there for a long while, they had been making do with second or third place, the lower or lower still ridges, tiers in the grass covered hill.  The girls lay back, side by side.  The blue universe over head, monumental clouds to their right reached up up and beyond.   The girls, one aged 14 and one 13 lay back, shoulder to shoulder, hands by their sides, fingers entwined. 

Below them the lower hills, the town, the streets, the alley ways, the houses, the people, the fights, the making up and the breaking up.  Down there- people were coming to terms with what had happened, learning the truth and making their own minds up.  The Police were looking for them, asking their friends and searching phone records.  But up here there was no phone signal, no roads,  no people –  just them.   Just them… and the birds high up above them; circling looking for bugs that the hot summer air had carried high into the sky.

When they had found them, they were all burnt; the girls had seen to that.  They didn’t want anyone else to see them or have to remember them as they did.  They didn’t know  – that it all should have been preserved for evidence or to be used in court; or rather sniggered at in court.  So they burnt them, and stood on them, crushing them under foot, really rubbing them with their trainers like rubbing dog poo off your shoe.  But, this wasn’t dog poo they were rubbing off, obliterating; this was their love, poured out onto paper for “your eyes only”.   

The tape cordoned off the road, yet one part gave access to the residents as someone’s errant toddler had pulled on the plastic strip too hard and torn it.  Taken away now in shame, the toddler could still be heard screaming at the top of the road.  No-one crossed the invisible barrier even though they could have made a run for it, as no-one wanted to actually get that close.  Get too close and you may catch it, breath in their fumes and it will be inside you, in your lungs, circulating  in your body as it was theirs.    Their evil thoughts, mapped out by their evil words, written down for all to see, mixed in with the ashes of the victims. Their evil words, their victims bodies now entering you as all you do is innocently breathe and watch it all go up in smoke.  People started to turn away from  the spectacle and trudge off to their homes to go to.

Bonny sat up, her legs still straight.  Pulling on her friend’s arm she gestured for her to lay her head in her lap.  Midge obliged, silently repositioning herself to please her friend.  Both girls looked down to the town below.  A beautiful Sunday summer evening, the town was sprouting smoke.  Bar-b-ques and bonfires all marked happy Sundays in the garden culminating with nice food or a nice tidy up.  However, the biggest pyre was to out towards to edge of town and was beautified with the intermittent flashing of blue and red.   The girls watched as the fire burnt long into the evening, the intense orange of the burning buildings a bright nucleus to  a semi circle of  beautiful sublime sunset.  The kind of eternal sunset that marks that day as a perfect day  in which  to kill yourself.  Especially, if your family, friends and town hated you for being different, for being yourself, for being a murderer.     The sky turning from orange to green to purple to blue to darker blue.  Blue velvet pin pricked with spots of light.  Places far off that the girls could travel to be free, to live with the other aliens and outcasts.  That would have to wait as now their peace was broken by a man.

They fought to save them, the paramedics were ready to administer life saving first aid as soon as the people were brought out.  They still were people but soon transformed into bodies.  The Fireman shook their heads and mopped their brows.  The heat had been amazing, astonishing and would go down in folk lore for folk to discuss and fathom about their motives.  Already the Fire Investigation team had talked of accelerants, piles and piles of paper stacked up in a room.  How a little fire had taken hold and turned into a big fire.  The party walls of the houses had cracked under the heat in the attics as peoples stored stuff had caught light and perished with the memories they encased.  The spreading fire through attic to attic to attic, down into dust filled cavity walls.  A fire box cooked them alive.  The girls would have to be found and brought to justice.  They wouldn’t get away with it. 

The man in his blue black suit was barely noticeable against the darkening shy but his pale face and hard breathing gave away his position.  He sat down beside the girls, his legs bent he too looked down at the spectacle.  The smallest show for them, as they sat up in the Gods.  This was a performance that the best seats were the farthest away. Up here the impact of what had happened was put into perspective just one miserable episode in amongst a long line of miserable episodes.  The Policeman looked down upon the town and mentally plotted crime scene rubbed up against another tragic occurrence rubbed up against another sad encounter.   He could see why the girls did it, see why they sat up here, see what they saw.  Bonny patted Midge on the top of her head and bent down to kiss her, a peck on the lips.  The kiss was the full stop in their adventure.  They stood up and waited for the Policeman.   He was slow to stand as he knew what they didn’t know.  He wanted to keep them innocent and young girls in love for a few minutes longer not the infamous murderers they had accidently become.

words and images between a man and a woman

 

a little moment between a man and a woman

——————————————–

 her-

If you really were dead I would not know – I would not know where to look for your body. Maybe I would find it in a wood.A dark wood.

I would be there, playing with fear, looking to goad the bogie-man, the mass murderers, the rapists. I, excited by the shadows, excited at the thought of being lost, aroused at the thought of being taken.

Running through the trees, practising being chased, rehearsing my silent scream – I fall over, tripped by a solid frozen entity. I sit, my skin hurt, cut and bleeding. I weep.

On the floor you lay, on your back naked, a bruise appearing on your rib cage where my foot kicked you. Seaweed in your hair – you had found a little boat on the shore and decided to go out into the Ocean and leave me on the beach.

 

him –

I pleasured you on the beach, exactly as you wished, as you demanded. Satisfied your attention turned to other things. Collecting seashells and flirting with the young and handsome men. The Ocean always was a place of forgetfulness and rejuvenation, but this time it would not have me and spit me out. Fate appointed me to be your stumbling stone, to slow you down, your stepping stone, to a sacred place.

her-

The young men on the shore, fishermen, with broad shoulders, sun kissed warm skin, wide clear backs, unmarked and a blank canvas.

They laugh and are jolly; bodies satisfied after manual toil. The sleep of a labourer is sweet. Their hands knarled, hard and strong; old hands that do not match their young bodies. I tease them and say “Your hands are so big…you could fit one hand around my neck!?” They giggle and put a hand up, taking it in turns whose hand fits best around under my chin. I am in raptures and swoon but remain playful and girl-like so not to scare.

They show me how to gut a fish, adept and quick with their knives. Innards and blood spills. The knife – changed their role, their purpose, their meaning – what was once alive, is now dead, what once was a fish is now just food. I watch the quickness of the blade and the discarding of the mer-corpses into the bucket with their peers. A man says “What’s his problem?” pointing to the pale naked man laying on the shingle, un-moving, unresponsive. “Oh Him………he is special”.

doors open, mouth shut

it was a lovely day

hot and sunny

The balcony doors open, breeze blowing the voile, the gardener and house keeper milling about outside whilst they were like teenagers upstairs playing.

She liked to keep quiet and discrete – his arousal heightened by the exhibitionism of people knowing/thinking they know what they were up to.

She is training him now to absorb the feelings rather than let them escape. A thwack is now not followed up by a cry out…rather a low animal moan. The rhythm of being fucked and taken, not followed up by panting and loud positive exclaimations for God. Rather a near silent outpouring of built up pleasure, pain and power. She prefered it like that – it wouldn’t burst their bubble, it kept it all for themselves, their secret, their history been made, the eternal she and he, the universal us.

Them together, safe in a teeny tiny tent

she realised something about herself; she did like restriction, enclosure, bondage.

When she was with him, it was like they were both in a beautiful velvet and fur lined tent. A teeny tiny tent.

They breathed each other’s air. Warming themselves with each other’s passions. Invisible chains bound them together for eternity.

In that tent they learnt the language of each others moods & bodies. Decipher the clues & cues of their yearnings.  They transposed signs & signals to become drunk on their heady “D/s, S/m and IloveU”.