Summer died that night.
The audacity of the calendar saying otherwise meant nothing.
It had amused Felipe, greatly to hear the Marisela joyfully speak to their daughter.
Marisela loved the idea of being able to show her daughter the rooftop. Her grandfather, Mateo, had maintained the coop for the live pigeons. Her grandmother, Soledad, made the colorful clay ones which decorated first their roof, then eventually the neighboring ones as well. She said each original piece were reflections of her mood at the time. Some were lovely and sublime – she’d happily tell you what joys caused those occurrences if asked. Others were terrible deformed monstrosities – granted, no one ever wanted to probe into the mood that persuaded the creation of those and she never told.
Each year she received a special one for her birthday. Those were always beautiful. One was rose colored, it was her favorite. She named it Summer.
A child of fast times and the nightlife, her mother, Alejandrina, did not have the temperament for the pigeons live or clay. She never understood the big deal people made over them. Marisol remembered how her mother had scoffed when her grandmother claimed she had no control over her art. Marisela herself did not understand until the first time Soledad sat her in her lap at the pottery table, turned it on and placed her hands in clay, then whispered “Solo crear desde el corazón/Only create from the heart.” Marisela’s art is in containers and figures, not pigeons. Still, even after Soledad passed away, each year Marisela made one just for her grandmother on the woman’s birthday.
Marisela had spoken of this all to their daughter from the moment they knew they were expecting. Before they even knew they were having a daughter she was addressed as such, Marisela was so sure.
Rubbing her gravid belly, Marisela was holding Summer in her hands, talking to their daughter as always when the first pain hit.
Her psyche raw, Marisela now sits on the rooftop no longer aware of the pigeons, clay or real.
Any span of time passed was vitiated by of a soul that never came to term.
Felipe would give anything to hear Marisela’s joyful voice again.
Summer and their daughter died that night.
The Sunday Whirl : Wordle 366
idea, span, audacity, aware, probe, granted, spoken, deal, control, turn, terrible, term
Use at least 10of the words in a story or poem.
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: Wordle #208
rub, psyche, vitiate, rose, receive, occurrence, persuade, rooftop, nightlife, monstrosity, clay, pigeon
Use at least 10 of the words in a story or poem.
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: First Line Friday: August 31st, 2018
Summer died that night.
Use the given line as the opening to a story or poem.
There is a special sadness to losing a child before or even after birth…
Yes, there is.
nice plot of a story
Beautiful writing. Heartbreaking.