The Embroidered MindA Story by Einstein Noodle My first short story attempt. I started it for a class I took on-line. I hope you enjoy it. Chapter I (pretty much done) "It seems so much like a dream. Dejahvu if I had a word for that. Once again here I am in this place. This old place, my place." (Old Bulgaria, rich with history and cultures; but poor with substance. ) "I wish this were a dream." She was falling short of stature; enduring a certain quiet servitude. Her beauty, a close companion to her face, yet never reflected in her eyes nor step. Pulling on heavy boots that drag her thighs down; down to the core of her world. "I feels like rows upon rows of tiny, sharp, hooked teeth. Why can't I close my mouth?".... Words fail. They stuck like cotton and peanut butter on the roof of her mouth; on her dry tacky tongue .... on sharp hooked teeth. Fear and anxiety writing tracks across her eyes and in the corners of her mouth, she says ; "This has to be a dream," Her silent companion, unseen, is a wizened, long- tailed mouse; who sits quietly, nose twitching. "I love my teeth." he sighs and Nibbles morsels of a large, black, hard shelled beetle. The crunching resounds across his silence. Rigbey the Mouse is all knowing. Rigbey feels the cold quiet and tweeks his ears. Touches the ends of his moistened whiskers. They tell him things. Rigbey wears a glossy, full grey coat declaring fine health and abundance. He absorbs everything in the world as easily as slicing Gutta cheese. Everything but the tight, black, crack hidey hole in the wall. The entrance of which is foreboding. Shaking visibly, Rigbey quickly looks away. Like a mini-black hole it flashes dark warnings of danger larger than life. Perhaps larger even, than the mouse. Rigbey thinks that the wondering is the Black Hole's key ...... looking up Rigbey sees her ... glancing quickly away from that darkness. "I know her name", he says, "her name seems to me solid but she is not. Look how terrified she looks!" Ruth is kneeling on red callous knees, convinced, if she gets close, her very fiber will be pulled apart. Sucked into, and down, and lost forever where the very atoms of being are blown apart. Its the empty darkness that calls and repels her. There was a time, she remembers, painting herself in the colors of Gypsies and Celts ...of Romans and Slavs. Embroidered and dancing Spring colors woven on simple looms, solid farm fabric that hangs a comfort over her shoulders and tells of her mother's hands. Ruth pulls on thick leather shoes. She has no socks. Her hands are hard and worn; but there are daisies to dream of and so she dreams. An unusual tick in her right shoulder started when she was a girl and so, for her, it has always been there. Drawing the shoulder up and back so quickly it is hardly noticeable. Like the shutter of a camera ... she knows her imperfection.... Ruth thinks she was happy during those times; but It might have been imagined. "I wish it were so." she tells herself. "I wish it wasn't such a dream to have happiness in my life. .... at least in the memories" she sighs. All the time spent in her prison she is guarded by that mouse. He remembers everything. Ruth, peeling her hands from scrub brushes, the dark brown strands of hair, undone, swinging across her cheeks. She lifts her head to brush them back and suddenly remembers breathing. An amazing thing! It seems so long since she felt that breeze; the movement of cleansing .... of breathing. Dark and smoke smudged soot surround her. Suffocating cobble stones, damp; and smelling of old salamanders and the river. Rock colored floors and walls. She knows them intimately....by name almost. Her knees feel the cold rounded skin of them, as if she held hands with familiar friends and spirits while the mouse scurries across the room....... "I'm tired of paying attention!" he chortles to himself. A brief smile turning the corners of his mouse mouth to the corners of his mouse eyes. Ruth reflects on the foreboding that keeps her from probing the Black Hole. A ferocious spirit compels her to search it ... to uncover ... reveal the terrible fears. The mouse knows she never has ... and never will. "Ruth!" ........................"Ruth!" The gravel and animal behind his voice hits like vinegar on wounds. Without looking, she knows his stout stance. His dark features betray his greasy soul. His voice shouts of nothing gentle. His name is Brian. Wearing the clothes of a peasant, Brian lords over her with ill gotten ease. He sees her below like some kind of slop not worthy for pigs. He thinks he knows better, is better; better than anyone. Brian wears black boots that cover his thick shins. A full black beard is not a complement. It is reprehensible in some way one can't quite put a finger on. Perhaps it is his soul that shows in his beard. "Yesss?" She strangles through those hooked teeth. She doesn't look up but tries to make it sound nice. "Yes?" The mouse has felt this terror many times before; as well as the sadness. His long and graceful whiskers twitch. There are four on the right side; and five on the left. Not perfect, but working well. "I am Mouse. I have escaped all the traps and poisons. I have resisted all the temptations and this Man will not prevail. I know this as God only knows." he whispers. Ruth's coldness seeps, .... no .... concentrates the deep muscles. Her ballerina toes wrench inside her boots. Her shoulders grasp the cold and will not let go. She twitches; It forces her to move. Even a slight change of position will bring some relief. Reddish brown of the chains inhibit the sharpening of knives. She will kill him she consoles herself; and allows sleep to drop into her eyes. Through a distant somewhere light...... she will waken. Chapter II The Brooklyn is coming alive. Its 6 AM and street noises of all kinds have awakened. Janet tries hard to shake her sleep. The dreams have captured her zen and stopped any rem sleep for many months now. Its 7 am. She has slept fitfully for almost 6 hours. Not too bad for an insomniac. Robot-like, the coffee pot fills itself with Dunkin' Donut. Dark roast. Its aroma making the needed pry on her resistant lids. Into her small but adequate bathroom for the refreshing. Cold water helps draw her into the moment. Back into the kitchen, she reaches for the top shallow drawer containing silver and black plastic utensils. Her choice is the black knife. Using it, she smears her bagel with raspberry and Philadelphia. The cream cheese is a treat she refuses to give up. "I really don't look THAT bad do I?" she consoles her woman's guilt. Out side the air is tinted with fall to come. Dusty concrete, and industrial smoke try to rob the freshness; but she is focused on the crisp crunching of toasted bagel and a fog of memories. Her bus will be right on time. As she hurries out the door, she is thinking about Ruth, Brain and the mouse. Vivid waking dreams have been trained with medications but at night they continue to disturb her. "Good morning Janet!" ...every day the same grey words from the bus driver. In her mind's eye, Janet barely catches the flash of grey mouse and pink tail slipping between the steel grating and drops into a dark hole. "Good morning Brian." she sing songs back to him, fingering the sharp edged blade held in her pocket.
© 2018 Einstein NoodleAuthor's Note
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Einstein NoodlePork Rind, AKAboutThis morning as I began to log in to WC, it occurred to me what an inspiring and comfortable place this has become for me. There are so many talented people sharing, encouraging, teaching and learni.. more..Writing
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