The Tale of Aurore and the Careless Ones
How many times have you snuggled back into your pillows with a complacent sigh as the book closed with a satisfying thwock of pages?
“And they lived happily ever after….”
It’s the stuff dreams are made of.
Every cloud has a silver lining.
Every sunset has a blissful couple riding into it.
Every story should have a happy ending…….
This is not that kind of story.
How her heart was turned and her will became all she needed to both rend and weave the fabric of her reality is for a different kind of telling,
in a different
But the tale of the dark day she discovered that lies can taste sweet,
even when brimful with poison,
is the one we will tell today.
with a handful of salt ready for tossing.
Aurore was a soft and gentle girl
with a delicate flower face.
Quiet eyed and quiet voiced and wrapped in a coat of twilight
she moved with slow and silent grace.
It would be difficult to tell as you watched her tranquil steps,
her compact movements,
that inside her heart was burning…
Not a warm and welcome smolder like a campfire on a crisp evening,
a large, fiercesome,
One that scourges,
one that leaves nothing alive behind.
There was a man,
a man like a pond of glimmering waves and flashing sundrops,
even the shallowest water can drown the unwary.
He tossed his careless grin at her and she caught it and swallowed it whole
and thus the flame was ignited…
and each smile or glance thereafter
was another twig or twist of dry grass
to feed the blaze.
She sat patient and mousestill through many long nights of watching,
biding her time
counting her beads
and the stars in the sky.
that careless grin oiled by songs and aged honey wine,
aided by a tongue no stranger to the steps of that ancient dance
tossed a silken web taut around her
half crushed under his weight,
she then counted the stars once more,
as the uncaring sky hung silent above.
The exact exchange of words a tumbleful of days later is unknown and unimportant.
But careless hands fumble and careless hearts
take no care for the fragile treasures laid freely,
at their feet.
And careless grins
fold into a smirk.
Or a shrug.
And in that one long and ponderous moment
like an oil slick on her ears,
her artfully hidden burning heart
There is no man
that can stand before the unrestrained,
the unfettered rage of a woman.
And the very earth rippled in the aftershocks of her fury,
and the veiled parts of her mind awoke
to a cataclysm felt too deep inside to be charted.
She seized it
used this fracturing
as a double edged sword and with both blades bloodied
she dug down
and raised her arms in release and allowed the power to run wild through her,
and through her,
and back in,
molten silver scored paths made in an instant and sealed with lead and broken oaths.
Nothing could be heard through the howling,
nothing could be seen for she had blackened the eye of the sun.
Of the careless grinning one not even a single foolish fingernail was left,
merely a smudge,
a skullshaped ash mark in the grass
soon blown away by the maddened stampede of the winds….
Since then her feet have never slowed,
her eyes have never closed,
and there is nothing in heaven or hell that can cool the blood that pounds in her neck and wrists, like lava in her veins.
Still quiet eyed and quiet voiced,
wrapped in a coat the color of bruising,
she moves as a shade
a barest rustle in the hedgerow.
Of her past she gives no hint,
even her name burned away with her humankindness.
There is only,
a slight slant to her lips,
sparse evidence of the bitter taste still left in the mouth of one who has bitten hard…
Of the careless and shallow ones who cross her path not much can be told,
they are removed from the skin of the world by her limitless,
And their ashes sometimes float like vagrant snowflakes
resting briefly on her shoulders
as the sun rises warily.
And her shadow draws thinly out,