A Visitor in April

Three knocks on the door. The evening rain started to chill the area. She walked to the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. Don’t you remember?”
The familiar voice answered. She knew who it was. The devil. Her old companion.

She opened the door. He came in dragging his large shadow behind him like a big black curtain used for the curtain call in theater. When the last strand of the shadow rolled up to its master, she closed the door and looked at him. Broad shoulders, thick round body, and blurred face. And that smell of Sulphur. The scent from the underground.

She frowned for a moment but changed her face as bright as she could pretend. She knew that the devil wanted to be welcomed. He wouldn’t forgive any hint of the unpleasant feeling coming out of her.
“You became skinny.”
The devil said looking up and down at her.
“I don’t like it,” he added.
Avoiding his gaze, she asked. “Do you want something? Drink?”
He nodded. She brought a bottle of whiskey and a glass with some ice cubes. The devil poured to the top of the glass and drank straight. And he poured another shot. His red eyes emitted a strange glare. Then, his dark skin became darker. His face distorted as if he were tortured.
“What have you done!” The devil said.
“What?”
“What have you done!” He repeated in an annoyed voice.
“I didn’t do anything.”
The devil lifted his face and stared at her. She shuddered from the top of her head to her feet. She froze. The devil lifted his hand and motioned with his fingers to come to him. She slowly stepped toward him. Then, he grabbed her by the neck with his right hand. His fingernails cut through her skin. She couldn’t breathe.
“What have you done to me. What have you done!”
She couldn’t answer. She felt the breath escaped from her body with her spirit. Her limbs dangled. Then he let go of her neck. She collapsed on the floor. She knew this would happen. This is April. The cruelest month of the year. The month which took her unknown brother’s life even before she was born.  The damned month of her calendar.

The devil covered his face with his hands. Still murmuring the same words. She gathered her courage to ask.
“What did I do?”
“Don’t you know?”
She shook her head.
“You made me jealous.”
The blood depleted from her face. He must have known. She thought. Even though I didn’t tell anything to anyone, he must have known. The air got tight. Her heart raced. She squeezed the words out.
“Why did you become jealous?”
“Because I love you.”
“What happens when the devil becomes jealous?”
He gasped. He looked at her one more time with the pitiful eyes.
“The devil destroys the very thing he loves by jealousy. Then, he destroys himself by the pain of the loss,” he said with a long sigh.
She looked at the devil and said.
“Is there any way that we can be saved?”
The devil nodded. “There is one way.”
“What is it?”
“If you make a pact that you will love me. Only me.”
She stood up and looked down on the devil sitting with whiskey in his hand.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because you are the devil to me. I can’t love my own devil.”
A confident sneer arose on her lips. She added.
“And I don’t like the visitor in April.”

The devil glanced at her and dropped his head. His body sank on the chair for a moment. Then, he straightened his massive torso and drank up the whisky. His eyes were redder than ever. His skin became darker than ever. His shadow grew larger than ever. She kneeled down. She felt that all power in her drained out. He stretched his hand again to her neck and strangled until her body slacked to lifeless. Then he bellowed a big cry, pulled chunks of his hair, and pounded his chest. The rain outside became a storm. The mad lightening hit the ground. The thunder roared wild. The devil lifted her body as gently as he could and put her in bed. The blood streaked from her mouth and dripped to the white pillow. The cuts on her neck from the devil’s nails were vivid. He looked at her one last time. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
“My blossom is gone.”
His eyes teared up with blue water and fell on the bedsheet. He turned around and walked to the door. His figure shrank bit by bit trailing his shadow heavily. The door slammed shut behind him.

She fell into the sleep from which she would never wake. The silence wrapped her house. And she dreamed about the very person she loved in her lifetime, forever, undisturbed. The rain stopped. The stars shed their tears bright in the night sky. Soon the morning would come. But not to everyone. Not to everyone.

<May 30th, 2017>

A Daisy of A Girl in You

Life gives us many things.
At the same time, it robs us of many things.
We can’t take those back. We just miss them.

As J’s aunt, we will find our dying bed at the corner of the earth somewhere.
What will we carry then? What will we chew on when the death won’t come easily? Remorse will be the one word I will hate then.

I just miss the little girl of me.  As you miss a Daisy of a girl in you so much.

Addie Bundren

“and seeing and hearing in themselves blind and deaf; fury in itself quiet with stagnation. Squatting, Dewey Dell’s wet dress shapes for the dead eyes of three blind men those mammalian ludicrosities which are the horizons and the valleys of the earth.”
– William Faulkner, in “As I Lay Dying”  –

Mother is the tie of family whether she welcomes her motherhood or not.

Can people be ready for anything in life in real? The suddenness of the expected things (marriage, children, sickness and dying) shakes us up deep inside even we mask our faces with calm readiness.

Jewel.
Her beautiful Jewel, my sad Darl.

A Storm

Everyone is variable. I thought I was the only variable of the equation of my life. I was wrong. Very wrong. People around me move forward, hit the ground, grow, deteriorate, love me, hate me, estrange from me, get close to me, levitate, frustrate, get drunk, become holy, love the devil, and never stop.

In the beginning of this year, I wrote a spontaneous sentence starting with “It could happen…” And one of them seems really happening now. My life can be shifted in the way that I have never projected due to the variable that I mistook as a constant. Ironically, this is the way that I secretly anticipated. Somehow my mind got frozen, vibrating like a large bronze bell hit by an ambitious blow.

Rain, wind, the gloomy sky. Grey, wind, the darkening sky. The blue jay. The geese couple stands so confidently on the road as if they can defeat any foes even the vehicles dashing towards them without slowing. The color of grey blue forming with many layers calls forth a storm. I feel the wind on my face and my body. Standing still. What is it? What is coming? Did I call it as the clouds in the sky call the rain? Is it coming to me without any notice? The gushing wind warns me. Go inside, go inside. I should. But I stand on the same spot and dare to watch the frowning wind. The deep furrows among the angry clouds. Did I want to be someone? Or something? The big raindrops hit my face. What is coming? What will soak me? What will soak me inside out? Where do all the animals go in this merciless weather? How can they survive when they don’t have any inside to go to?

Life. Moves and Stops. It usually stops when it isn’t expected to stop. Sometimes, it pushes me forward. Or pulls down. Or snaps my hair in the back with a sudden motion. Levity. Give me wings, so I can fly. Make me tumble, make me suffer, make me cry, make me anguish, make me scream with pain, make me pull my hair in the darkest night, make me deceive, make me be deceived, make me fall on my knees, make me lay my head in the cold pit, cover me with giant waves. But don’t take my wings. I brush them every night before I sleep. Maybe someday I can fly in my dream. But I only remember the falling after waking up. Then even my dream gets heavy. Heavy. Rain. Wind. Gray sky. Darker nights. Where did the small white butterfly go? My helpless wings.

<May 3rd, 2017>