Bones (an opening) - Writers Forum

Azmakna · 03-18-2008, 03:01 PM

Bones

Marmalade delighted at the feel of the stones beneath her bare toes as she walked the pathway home, the smell of the ocean in her nostrils. Her shoes – tied together with their laces and suspended from her neck – gently swung back and forth with the rhythm of an easy gait. Ginger curls bobbed like loose springs, stroking the edges of a smile as she turned slowly to enjoy the peace.

A flock of gulls sang to her as she gazed up at the warm, blue sky and grasshoppers thrummed their heart-beat accompaniment, as she waved the grass baton she had plucked from the verge. A butterfly whispered by, fluttering in syncopation as if it could hear the melody in Marmalades ears.

The thin legs that sprouted from beneath a pleated, green skirt bore the scars of many excursions to the beach and neighbouring woods. Once again she gazed at her closed hand thinking of the gift therein and said in a voice as soft as moss:

“Soon be home… soon be home… not long now.”

“Freak!” shouted a plump girl in pink, her frills an ugly irony. It was Susan who was leant on a gate with her gawky friend. A grin of intent sparked fire in her cheeks. Ilene concealed her frailties behind Susan’s shadow, but struggled to make an impression on the floral dress she wore.

On seeing the girls, Marmalade put her hands behind her back.

“Freaky, freaky, Marmalade… freaky, freaky, Marmalade.” Ilene giggled at her own tuneful mantra. She rested her head on Susan’s shoulder and spoke through a pout: “What you got there? Can’t you share it with a couple of your best friends?”

“It’s nothing much,” Marmalade said, still lost to the music, “just a piece of grass.” She revealed the baton and waved it in a figure eight. “See.”

“No, what’s in your other hand? Show me that,” Susan said, the smile ebbing.

“I don’t want to show you…”

“Ilene, she says she doesn’t want too.”

“That’s not very friendly of her, is it.” Ilene hopped over the gate and Susan clambered after. “You wouldn’t want to annoy Susan, would you?”

“Perhaps she does… perhaps she wants to fight.”

“No, I just want to go home.” She began to walk away, dropping the grass. “I’ll bring it to school tomorrow and show you it then, okay?” The words were well chosen but delivered nervously.

“You’re not frightened of us are you?” Susan said, creeping closer.

Looking as resolute as she could, Marmalade turned to face her tormentors. “I’ll show you tomorrow, now if you don’t mind I’ll be on my way…”

“Not until you show us what’s in your hand,” said Susan, who suddenly rushed forward and grabbed the back of marmalade’s white blouse. Ilene was soon upon her too

“Let go of me.”

Marmalade twisted her fist, holding it high, away from the girls as they clawed up her arm for the prize. A swift palm to the chest challenged Marmalade’s balance and she stumbled, pivoting on unstable heals and lurching shoulder first into the ground with a crunch. The impact winded her and loosed a tiny white object from her fingers.

“What is it?” asked Susan as Ilene bent to take a closer look…

“It looks like an egg, I think.”

“Leave it, please,” Marmalade said and made to snatch it back.

Ilene quickly plucked it from the ground before it could be reclaimed. At first she was puzzled, shifting her palm and viewing the object from all angles. It wasn’t until she turned it with the fingers of her other hand, that she realized exactly what it was. She yanked her hand away as if the object had scolded her and let it drop.

“You sick little freak,” she said, a quake in her voice.

“What is it?” Susan repeated impatiently.

“It’s a starling’s skull,” Marmalade said, her eyes tearful, “I was saving it.”

“Saving it? Saving it!” Susan strode forward and before Marmalade had a chance to negotiate, stomped her foot down on the skull. Once it had shattered, she ground it into the stones for good measure, all the while skewing her orange lips in disgust. “You should be playing with dollies like normal girls, not dead stuff.”

Ilene pointed down the pathway.

“Go on you twisted little girl. Clear off before we stamp on you.”

Without taking her eyes off the two girls, Marmalade struggled to her feet and backed away. When she thought there was a safe distance between her and Susan, she turned and ran, the laughter of the two girls fading with each stride. “Sorry,” she said as a brilliant day grew dark about her, the grass hissing, the sun burning, the gulls mocking. “Sorry.” Soon she could hear the growling of the tide, the rattling of tiny waves as they reached up the beach and then scrambled back into the ocean. Hope was there though. Sometimes the tides brought gifts.

Froth and brine sucked at the breaker that Marmalade sat upon. This was where she came to mend a broken day. The endless possibility of distance, the timeless lament of an ocean filled with memories, both deep and blue. Today the horizon was of little interest though, it was the ocean bed that she yearned for.

She thought of her father. He had run a hobbyist shop in the town square. His speciality was models, primarily planes, which he also had a personal interest in. The house had been filled with all manner of flying machines from zeppelins to biplanes, some mounted on plinths others suspended from the ceiling. She remembered sitting on his lap while he explained in great detail about the history of each one. At the age of eight, there was no way that she could have understood it all, but he had a soothing voice. As he spoke, she would cuddle into him, feel the rise and fall of his chest as each breath was taken and watch his lips form the words.

She recalled a day when she was playing with a spitfire in her bedroom, skimming the bed sheets, spiralling around her lamp shade and dropping Lego Bombs on her Wendy house. All was well until it slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. For a nervous ten minutes she held the broken wing to the plane as if it would fix itself somehow, but understood that eventually she would have to return to the living room and show her father.

Placing an ear to the bedroom door, she waited for the perfect opportunity to confess. On hearing her father and mother’s laughter, she opened the door and carried the broken plane in carefully, a furrowed brow conveying regret. However, there had been no reason to worry, her father simply ruffled her hair and took the plane gently from her hands.

“It’s alright, there’s nothing a drop of glue can’t save.”

A thick wave shlocked beside her, its spray dousing the memory.

Forgotten Abyss · 03-18-2008, 03:25 PM

I liked the story, it had many words that I had to look up, but they held the story, and explained it quite well.

Keep up the good work, and looking forward to more.

Azmakna · 03-19-2008, 12:39 PM

revised version with added scenes in the original post

Azmakna · 03-20-2008, 01:18 PM

Third revision in the opening post