prompt: envy, doll, gondola

  • envy doll gondola

The curve of her cheek reminded Sarah of a doll, plump and perfect. Even from high above, as she leaned against the stonewall of the bridge, Sarah could clearly see the dusting of freckles and the press of a dimple when the doll laughed. Her laugh chimed like bells along the canal; the surly gondola driver had even cracked a smile. All eyes were on her, and Sarah wanted to be her, even though she knew nothing about her, not even her name.

There was a young man in front of the doll-like beauty, and even Sarah knew his interest far outweighed the woman’s. He didn’t seem to mind. With each long pull of the gondola paddle, the world revolved around the woman, and her plump and perfect cheeks. 

Sarah pushed away from the stonewall of the bridge, just enough to brace her palms on the top of it and hoist herself over its edge. Into the air, it was like time suspended for a moment as Sarah hovered over the gondola. Then there was a thunk as her body hit wood and a series of splashes. The doll wasn’t perfect anymore. 

On the Top of the Hill

A hand shook Ann’s shoulder, pulling her from a deep sleep. “Mama?” she asked through a yawn. “What is it? It’s the middle of the night.”

Mama’s eyes were bright, a toothy grin spreading across her face. “Wake up, there’s something I want to show you.”

“I’m sleepy,” Ann whined. Didn’t Mama know tomorrow was a school day? Mama usually cared about those sorts of things…

“This is more important.” Mama clapped and Ann started to sit up, only to have a pile of clothes land on her head. “Get dressed.”

Ann followed her Mama’s orders right out the door of their tiny home. The darkness had waned a little, the pitch black transforming into a dark purple.

“I’m very excited for you, Ann,” Mama explained. She swayed on her heels as Ann pulled on a jacket while Mama got them flashlights. When we were both ready she snapped her fingers. “Come on, chase me!”

And then Mama was off and Ann remembered her bed, and wondered if this was still a dream. But still, she followed Mama and ran.

On the top of the hill, the dark purple had changed to a dusky blue, if not for the flashlights, Ann would not know where they were. “This is where we lost our relay race.”

Mama turned, face unreadable until Ann shined the flashlight in it. Even Mama’s squinting couldn’t detract from her smile. “Oh honey, this is where a lot of things happened.”

“Like what?” Ann asked, still unable to forget the sting of defeat.

“Well, for one,” Mama held up a finger. “This is where I first felt you kick in my belly.”

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

“What else?” Ann looked around the hillside, the first bits of sun rising over the horizon.

“It’s where you Papa first told me he loved me.”

“What else?” Excitement ran through Ann now, because Mama was looking towards the horizon, as if she was expecting something.

“Well, sweetheart. In just a few minutes the sun is going to rise, and you know what’s going to happen?”

Ann pulled at her sleeve until Mama wrapped her arms around her, rocking Ann against her body. “What?”

A car rumbled in the distance and Mama leaned low, pressing her lips against Ann’s ear. When she spoke her voice was barely a whisper. “We’re going on an adventure.”

—-
 Words: Sunrise/Elated/Lost
Mood: Hopeful

Nah Nah Naan

“What do you mean you’ve never had curry before?” Jane stirred the pot, in more ways than one. “Do you only eat fried food that’s the color of beige?”

 

Charles gaped. “That’s pretty limiting. I eat lots of things!”

 

“Name me something you’ve eaten in the past week that contained a spice other than salt or pepper.”

 

“Hey!” Charles crossed his arms and leaned against Jane’s kitchen counter. He spun at the spice rack instead of answering and Jane wondered if he knew how much any of them could add to a meal. “I don’t cook much.”

 

“Nay.” She pointed the cooking spoon at her friend. “You don’t cook at all.”

 

“Well…that’s true.”

 

Jane sighed, turning back to the curry and using her hand to waft its smell to her nose. “This may cause some irreparable damage to our friendship.”

 

“The fact that I haven’t had curry?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, you’re about to remedy that so…” Charles smiled, wide and contagious, and Jane had to look away or else she’d return it.

 

“It’s always up to me to better you.” The scent of coriander and cumin filled Jane’s small kitchen. “Grab the basket of naan. This is almost done.”

 

“Nah, nah?” Charles questioned, looking around the room. “What’s that?”

 

Jane switched off the stovetop and blew her bangs with an exasperated breath. “It’s literally the only thing in the room in a basket.”

 

Charles smirked. “I’m obviously kidding. I know what a basket is.”

 

“You’ve never had curry before! How am I supposed to know what you do and do not know? Just grab the basket you basket case. I’m about to open your culinary horizons.”

 

—-
Words: Curry/Basket/Irreparable

James and the Tiny Prince

The fabric caught on the callouses of his hand but James didn’t care, he just scrubbed harder. He wanted to look perfect, needed to look perfect; and he wouldn’t let the smell of bleach distract him. The prince was coming and James couldn’t help bouncing his feet as he stood by the sink.

When the white shirt was clean, or as clean as a farmer mid-season could make it, he pinned it to the line and rushed back inside. His wood cabin was small, but tidy, and he could offer the prince variety of cushions to sit upon. As he patted a gold and red one, a flush grew in his cheeks. He hoped they weren’t too big for his majesty.

The sun fell over the horizon, the colors of sunset shining into the cabin through the window. He was almost out of time.

James was panting by the time he made it back outside, the shirt damp as he slid it on. And then he was standing at attention by his front door, his farm on display and his house tidy. James knew there were better, more affluent subjects in the prince’s kingdom, but he chose James and who was James to question it?

The trumpets were the first thing he heard, followed by the rolling carriage wheels. The carriage was large, larger than James’ cushions, so some of the stress eased from his shoulders.

The carriage came to a stop. A man hopped from the front with another brass instrument. “Presenting!” He blew into the horn. “His royal highness.”

When the door opened, James fell to the ground. A sign of respect, to lower himself under the prince. Above he heard the sticky steps as the prince hopped down, made his way to James.

“Rise,” the prince said.

James did, grasping the princes hand to place a kiss on the slimy, suction cupped skin. “Ribbet,” James saluted.

“Ribbet.”