Some things are best forgotten

He kissed her lips and slowly made his way down to her neck and planted soft pecks below her ear. She felt her cheeks flushing with read heat under the familiar smell of his skin. She let his safe warmth carry her breath to a faster pace, and enjoyed her body tingling with eagerness as his touches lost their softness and became more lustful. The blood their bodies pumped filtered all sounds, and only left the fast beat of their hearts echoing in their ears. One by one they forgot their surroundings, their pasts, their regrets, their sorrows…

Then he sighed, letting out a slight sound, reminiscent of a possum threatening an enemy in the darkness of the night and she remembered…

She remembered the rainy day when her friends were away on vacation and she had gathered her toys to play alone in the abandoned little house where neighborhood kids used to get together and pretend to be royalty holding dinners for lords and duchesses. She was surprised to see a man working on the soil right outside in the garden, but she continued to the house, thinking he was the uncle of one of her friends planting flowers for the kids to pick in summer.

She set up the tiny broken plates with the sticks the kids pretended to be valuable silver cutlery. She went on to prepare the delicious invisible food for her guests, who for the lack of her real friends that day, had to be invisible, too. Every one of her select invitees seated around the gold plated table, sipping the soup under the crystal chandelier, were baffled with the perfection she had attained in her cooking. She accepted the quiet praises of her guests, while keeping up with the talks about the dark enemy that lingered around the premises of the castle. She ascertained her dear friends that everyone was safe within the tall strong walls.

Carried away in her imaginary talks with her refined guests, she did not notice the dark figure watching her by the gate of her castle. She was startled when she saw the man working on the soil outside dripping wet in the same room as her.

He smiled, she smiled back. He approached her, walking through the unseeable gold plated table, dispersing the lords and duchesses dressed in tulle and taffeta into fumes and grabbed her by the arm, but his hands being wet, she managed to slip away. She felt an urge to get away from him and stand by the few guests he had not yet walked over. He was in the mood to play tag. She did not want to be rude but she wanted to go back to her game under the shiny crystal chandeliers with her dreamy friends.

He was faster though, and he caught her. He towered behind her, and hugged her small body, but tighter than her parents had ever done. He smelled her hair, but fiercer than anyone who had ever smelled her and squeezed her yet completely flat chest, and let out a deep sigh with a sound that made her think of angry possums at night.

She did not like this strange game she had never played before.

The rainy day helped her win the tag game. She slipped one last time from his wet and cold possum snare and ran out of the deserted house never to return there again.

She never had the heart to invite her tulle and taffeta clothed friends because the castle with the strong walls and shiny chandeliers no longer seemed plausible, no matter how hard she tried.

In the silence of the bedroom, she heard her neighbor play his nostalgic music, “look for the girl with the sun in her eyes”, and she realized that the last time she had the sun shining in her eyes was on that rainy day, just before the dark enemy made its way through the castle walls.

Her lover held her tightly in the bed, and slowly dozed off. In his affectionate embrace, she felt small, like she had on that day in the man’s grip, and she thought, “Some things can’t be forgotten…”

Thank you my dear friend Priscilla for your extremely helpful review.

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20 thoughts on “Some things are best forgotten”

  1. The way you describe her childhood imaginings is absolutely wonderful! And describing her attacker as the dark shadow of the enemy is perfect. Lovely work!

    Thank you for joining us at the Speakeasy this week!

  2. Oh! What a terrible memory to have. The descriptions were great and her confusion at what was happening shone through. Her realization and regression to that feeling at the end capped off a very powerful piece. Great work!

  3. That is something very wonderful ! I totally understood her feelings as if it all were happening to me….Only you can do that with your writing. Very impressive descriptions and details.

  4. oh my word. this nearly brought me to tears. all I kept seeing was my 4 year old girl, who’s so very imaginative with her play, as the narrator and … it just really made this kind of difficult to read. But that means you did it right.

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