Hosting (Part 6) by Hazar Worth
Encoded into each fragment, encoded into each part, encoded into every system, encoded into every act, lies a fire waiting to be known.
The sun floated above her like a kind and benevolent, bright and warm balloon. The past week had been a seige betwen the long hours spent at work, and the unraveling dynamics between two individuals caught in that crossfire of opening scars long past the statue of limitations.
Every night after work for the past two weeks, she has spent time with her Mother. Conditions with her Step-father had reached a very critical point. He couldn’t be trusted as the tensions between the two of them had escalated tremendously. Somewhere under the refrigerator was the large knife that rested lethal but now hidden and removed.
But the house where holidays seemed endless, but the house where her first kiss also led to her first orgasm, felt dangerous and filled with the invisible scavengers of contempt. Her Mother would never leave the house, despite the strife of tensions. Her memories refused to give her such an easy out.
The bus to the beach was unusually quiet on such a day like this. The aisle was empty of sweaty people of all shapes and different faces attempting to maintain composure with each sharp bend in the road, with each short stops and shorter starts (rumor was the bus driver was a recovering drug addict but found driving a bus through traffic and weather of all type a most suitable replacement for his formerly expensive habit). On a day like this, half of the seats occupied no one seeking relief and distraction at the beach.
Back at her apartment, the dishes had been soaking in dead waters for the last eight days. Eating her Mother’s cooking was a chore when she would visit, but since spending the last two weeks with her and the long work hours, she was eating less amounts and found the experience oddly rewarding. Her thighs had gone down noticeably, and the rings from her fingers were placed somewhere in her over-sized purse that sat between her and underneath the bus’ window that she stared through without paying any particular attention.
In front of her, several older ladies laughed and exchanged their tales.
‘I couldn’t believe that she would go out like that…. I mean he was such a younger man, very handsome and very charming. You can’t teach that to many people regardless of age, but he really liked what he did for her in bed. And to go out like that, riding in his saddle…. let me tell you, I don’t think I could want another way to go out than like that girls….’
Their laughter sounded larger than the half filled bus; almost out of place if it wasn’t for the speed that the bus had now gained moving along the highway.
She turned herself slightly against the bus’ window that felt warm and comforting to her bare back. The halter top she hadn’t worn in quite a while. Her arms had taken on subtle qualities. Her fingertips skated across the back of her arm, lulling her senses.
In front of her, the several older ladies continued to talk and laugh as the bus sped along the highway.
Her eyes watched his hand and fingers move alongside his leg. Over his lap was a large, over-sized beach towel that he was sharing with a girl. Her young body felt full and with pride underneath her bathing suit. Her eyes held a straightaway focus while his hand and fingers made small, irregular shapes against the side of the large, over-sized towel of thick blue strips and many white thin strips.
‘She once told me how he could keep himself going for three straight hours. I couldn’t imagine how she was able to walk as well as she did….’
Their laughter had become the bus’ background music.
She watched the abrupt movements underneath the oversize towel. She watched his slender long fingers creating more irregular, more undefined shapes and signals against the side of the towel. Her eyes remains focused straightaway as the abrupt movements underneath the over sized towel found a rhythm that felt larger now than the laughter, than the bus’ speed, than the highway, than the knife underneath her Mother’s refrigerator, than the benevolent yellow balloon well overhead at this time.
A small, smaller hole had appeared inside of her. The edges of this hole was optimistic, and allowed her only the treat of feeling her fingertips stroking the back of her arm slowly. She had stopped taking the medication for the last three months now. She was thinking about her first kiss in her bedroom when her Mother was working two jobs after her Father was killed. She had flirted with him often enough to trust his judgment, and his hands always made her curious about how he would feel kissing her.
The smaller hole inside of her was vibrating. Her eyes had closed remembering his voice spilling inside of her, directing her to put her hand into her panties so he could watch her….
‘And we are all….standing upon the Shores
And we are all…. standing by the Love
And we are all…. standing close to the Soul
That will always be here …inside of Us all…’
Her singing made her eyes opened as the smaller hole kept calm, and serene inside of her.
Across the aisle, where the two young lovers had sat underneath the large, over-sized beach towel a girl no more than 12 sat still in her off-white dress that covered her legs to her ankles and her arms to her slender wrists. Her bare feet sat above the floor of a bus that had no other people and was moving along a road she would not have been familiar with.
‘When you taste these waters at first, they feel unusually sweet for the tongue. But then when you swallow these waters whole, the sweetness can turn to bitterness because too much can become not enough, and this destroys the the wise temperance of the blood…’.
Watching the girl of no more than 12 speak, she felt a rusty moan that was moving in the background as if the bus was attempting to contain this moment as best as possible. Her fingers continued to stroke the back of her arm.
‘If you set fire to the wings of the bird, flight becomes destroyed. The bird must learn to trust more than ‘hope’ , the bird must learn how to trust pure understanding. When the bird learns to trust pure understanding then flight becomes necessary for all to witness…’
As she took breath, she felt the smaller hole growing impatient. The breath of the girl no more than 12 was at her ear:
‘The knife with the sharp edge cuts more than one way. The Fires of Five protects the Hosting.’
His voice was a firm ghost inside of her. His face was sternly handsome, and his eyes made her feel his trust was absolute and unfailing. Her mouth was opened as her finger touched and rubbed in an ancient science made difficult to locks and degrees. Her head felt larger and smaller, her head felt deeper and further, her head was pushed aside by his voice that whispered and flashed like fires that could only touch everything hidden inside of her, everything she kept hidden inside of her, everything that she kept small and insignificant about her….
As she placed her damp hand upon his swollen, overripe penis she saw the girl dressed in that off-white long-sleeved dress standing near the doorway of her bedroom with dark full eyes that was everywhere, and waiting.
© 2009 – 2010, Metazen. All rights reserved.
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