Still no keyboard at home, unfortunately, hence the lack of new posts coming out of my car park vantage point. I thought I’d try my hand at ‘flash fiction’ today.

Tanya was having a divine day. Chris had risen early and left her glowing in bed after a night of delicious closeness, mentholated cigarettes, kisses and more. As she rolled over in the muslin sheets Chris had brought back from a business trip abroad, she noticed with a slight shock that her hands were bleeding, not heavily, just a couple of little scratches on each palm. She reached onto her bedside table and pulled a couple of wet-wipes out of their plastic casing, and in doing so, accidentally smeared a streak of blood down her left side, just underneath her ribs. It only took a couple of seconds to clean herself up; she was a woman, not uncomfortable with the sight of her own blood, and far too sated to be particularly disturbed by such a small oddity.

Tanya knew her room perfectly. It was her sanctuary, her place of tranquility. From the Madonna posters on the walls to her collection of bonsai trees by the door, she loved this space, and loved the warmth of her bed which lately seemed to constantly have the shape of Chris’ head imprinted into the cushions next to her, his scent filling her senses like a nectar. She reached blindly to the makeup box sitting next to the mirror on her right, and picked out the pot of gold bronzing powder she had been using lately in what even she would admit was probably copious amounts. A few quick applications – her slender fingers sliding over her pale cheeks – and she was sparkling against the pure whiteness of her pillow. Every day, her overeagerness with the irridescent powder left a ring of gold around her dark hair on the pale fabric, and she lay still for a few more minutes, enjoying the sweet fragrance of jasmine cosmetics falling around her eyes.

She could hear Chris pottering around in the kitchen downstairs, preparing a breakfast of pitta bread and fruit, and Tanya lifted herself off of her mattress and sat up naked in bed. As soon as she heard footsteps on the stairs outside her door, she pulled her sheets around her, like a shroud, and took seven paces towards the bathroom where she would wait for Chris to join her in the shower. As she looked over her shoulder, she saw a flower bloom on the carpet for every step she had just taken, and felt petals pushing through the carpet underneath her bare soles. She heard Chris washing his hands in the sink down the hall, and as the radio alarm flicked on, the newsreader’s deadpan voice was talking about yet more floods. The rain certainly was starting to fall down hard. It wouldn’t be long before all of Tewkesbury would be underwater again, she thought.

Chris seemed to be taking ages; it always took him several hours to wake up properly in the mornings, hence why they liked to shower together, the cold air from the window on their wet skin shocking them into alertness. At least he didn’t have all that hair anymore; Tanya had literally begged him to get it cut, and she had delightedly noticed a change in him since he adopted his new look; a softer, even slightly more feminine persona.

Bending down to pick up the breakfast tray that Chris had left outside the door whilst he went about his ablutions, Tanya decided to start without him and so crawled back into bed as she began applying the honey she kept in an adorable lion shaped ceramin pot onto the unleavened, wholemeal bread. She wished, for a moment, that it was Chris’s body she was nibbling on, and then poured herself a cup of tea and happily listened to the rain outside.

About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

5 responses to “Sevakund

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