March 27, 2012

The Dance - New Beginnings


 This piece is for the blogfest at Unicornbell.

"Dya*, hurry. They are coming." I panted through the half open door. My ribs ached with every short breath taken.
Had never run so fast, doing 5 miles without a pause. The silence from within caused strange sensations in my stomach. The hinges creaked in annoyance as I pushed the obstruction away. The room was in disarray, everything upturned. From the centre of the hall I could see that none of the adjoining areas had been spared. There were wet, muddy shoe and foot prints overlapping as though jostling for valuable space.Three clear sets led me to the bottom of the stairs, to the bedrooms above. I crept up slowly unsure of what lay in wait, the Swiss knife transferred from the back pocket to my trembling hands.
I wouldn't wish the scene before my eyes on even Stefanek, the village bully. I vomited my morning meal on the dirtied carpet under my feet. A low moan from the nearest figure brought to life my fleeting courage. Wiping away the hot, furious tears I stumbled forward. She was still breathing. The book was safely hidden for now. I covered the shredded remains of her dress with a blanket, lifted her in my arms as tenderly as I could and fled through the back door.
***
I have been standing for more than an hour in the abandoned house on the hillock, watching with tired eyes and limbs the devastation below. Half glad Aishe* wasn't with me, conjured a mental image of the agonised screams of the dying. Her kind heart would have never permitted this. The other half willing to give up the world to see her awake and smiling. The swirling, blackish grey waters mirrored the stain on my soul. Large carcasses of their livestock and pieces of wood, the remnants of their mighty houses and boats floated idly along. Pity, a couple of young trees had to give way. The flood waters would take a week or more to recede, competently destroying whatever stood in their way including the fresh harvest.
This has been the most exhilarating dance I have ever attempted. The river, my companion and slave mimicked my movements as she spread over the accursed village. I played the Kristora* sparing the villages that didn't harm us. The memories gushed back, uninvited. My father's pleas of innocence falling on deaf, hateful ears. His last words before they staked him, "Make them pay."
They stole our land, our home, murdered my mother, violated the elder sister beyond human endurance. She sleeps the sleep of the living dead. 
A tiny hand tugs at my shirt sleeve, whining,  "Let's go. It's cold here."
I pull him into the warmth of my arms reluctantly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins screaming 'Enemy'. Our clan control the elements, a gift passed from the mother to her first born. Grandma refused to let him die, so he lives to see the death of his unknown fathers with his eyes. My father had been the youngest of six, as powerless as the the ones who accused him of black magic.
I stood silently for a few minutes more before trudging back to the trees, the tall pines already casting their needles on the floor.
Harman* loves the rustling sounds around us. He turns back and forth in jerky movements causing my shoulders to ache some more.The clan believes that the winter winds are less harsh since his birth. We live deep in the forest. The ignorant folks in the valley below think it is enchanted and evil and refuse to enter. Sometimes, blind faith can be a blessing. We planted the stories for our survival.
The ancient book says that our ancestors came from the East, from the land of seven rivers. One day, we will journey back, beyond the narrow confines of our adopted homeland. Harman and me.
We live in tents now, easier to assemble and dismantle in times of danger. Grandma is waiting by ours with a scowling face. She knows, always does. 
"Where have you been wandering about at this hour?"
"Nowhere. Just attending to some unfinished business." as he jumps out of my hold and scampers off to the dinner fires.

Wc 703











*Dya - Mother, Kristora - the judges.
* The words used are Romani - the language of the Romas, the gypsies of Europe whose ancestors are said to have migrated  from northern and central India around 1000 years ago.
Linguistic and genetic studies prove with reasonable accuracy that they belong to existing Indian tribes of travelling musicians.
* I wanted to give the dancing aspect a magical touch.

14 comments:

Justin W. Parente said...

This was a great selection. The only bit of advice I have comes from the first paragraph. While it's very detailed, visceral, you might mention that people are laying about this chamber. It caught me off guard that it wasn't mentioned in the first sentences when they enter the chamber. Unless this woman is the only one there. Didn't take it that way, at least.

Thanks for sharing!

Bikram said...

well i liked the story , lot of misery i guess .. would be nice to go back tohe land of 7 rivers :)

Bikram's

Charity Bradford said...

I think this story has great potential. There are some wonderful images and deep emotions. At times I felt a bit confused though. You could easily expand this to fill in some gaps and make certain things clearer.

I'd actually like to learn more about this misunderstood family. That's good!

Angela Brown said...

A great deal of sadness flows through this piece. The words and images are strong. I think the one thing that would help to strengthen it even more would be a notice that there are/were bodies on the floor/ground.

M Pax said...

Wow, Rek. Powerful story. Great hook at the beginning. I loved a lot of this story. The imagery of the black waters staining your character was great. The violence experienced by her family made me teary. Great writing.

Unknown said...

Is this a part of something bigger, or a little piece of its own? There certainly seemed to be more in there than the mere number of words.

I hereby offer you the "Versatile Blog" award, for your lovely writing.
More information can be found in my blog: http://treelightswriting.blogspot.de/2012/03/versatile-blogger-award-resolution.html

Aldrea Alien said...

A good story with lots of potential to expand, though I feel the emotion was a bit stilted in places.

dolorah said...

Ah, I had expected you do write something using the downed space ship *pouts*

This was awesome Rek. I did wonder if this wasn't a continuation from your Ring story concept. Great use of imagery to pain the setting, characters, and emotions.

Great story. I'll be looking for her revenge in future writings.

........dhole

Tara Tyler said...

all the intensity then trot home and relieve the worry!
great job!

Cherie Reich said...

Awesome descriptions. Such a powerful story. :)

Tracy Jo said...

Interesting story and wonderful descriptions!

1000th.monkey said...

Very poetic, but the narrator felt so far away it was difficult for me to connect, emotionally, to your characters.

I enjoyed reading it though :)

Pat Tillett said...

Very good Rek! I liked the story and connected with the characters right away. Good job!

Shannon Lawrence said...

Wow! Powerfully written, and so vivid! "sleeps the sleep of the living dead."

Shannon at The Warrior Muse, co-host of the 2012 #atozchallenge! Twitter: @AprilA2Z

Post a Comment

Glad you made it this far...would love to hear your take on the words scribbled. A comment every now and then keeps the blues away. :D

Since, crazy Mr. Blogspot won't let me reply to the comments here (is upset with the water ladies ever since they refused to verify visitors)...will do the next best thing, drop in to your blog to say my Vanakkam/Namaste/Salaam/Hello.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...