Posts Tagged ‘Fiction’


Written by Orchid on June 4th, 2014. Posted in Blog

I’m in a suspended state of utter, euphoric bliss until suddenly I realize the birds have stopped singing.  The once safe feeling of the surrounding untamed arboretum now feels like a prison.  Nature is so fickle isn’t she?  It’s as if she knows when one is in love and thus plays ones heartstrings like a violin until one feels firmly secure in ones happiness.  She then waits for the perfect, crystallizing moment to strike one with lightning as she cackles and rides away on the wind.

Laying on the forest floor, now naked and alone where I was once safely clothed in the limbs and lips of my lover, tears fall rapidly from my burning eyes as if to imitate a rainstorm on a most miniature scale.  The earth has hardened beneath my bruised limbs.  On any other day, at any other moment, I would have predicted the coming storm and would have therefore sought shelter until it had passed.  And yet for some reason unknown entirely to me, I managed to miss all the fleeting indicators of discord ahead.

I am bewildered, the contents of my skull feel muddled and disoriented.  I am acutely aware of wrongdoing.  I am most certain I am at fault and yet, I am at a loss as to what it is I have done wrong.

It is most fortunate no appetite stirs within me, for in this unfamiliar territory I fear mistakenly ingesting nature’s poisons more than I fear starvation.

An Exercise in Futility

Written by Orchid on May 1st, 2014. Posted in Blog

Your switch has been flipped and despite my best intentions, I am helpless in the face of this despair.

Folding in on myself as I fall to my knees, I scramble to scoop all the pieces up.  I look each one over and dust them off carefully but just as soon as I think I’ve salvaged everything it all turns to ash in my hands.  The delicate flakes slip through my fingers until all that remains are dirty palms.

During those times when you find yourself underneath the thumb of your sadness, I am there with you.  I cannot help it.  Your pain is my pain.


Written by Orchid on August 30th, 2013. Posted in Blog

We stood barefoot on his headstone, looking into each others eyes as the priest spoke. We were wed upon my father’s grave.  Some might consider such behavior to be excessively macabre.  Unfortunately for those individuals I have never cared much for the opinions of others.  Frost covered blades of grass clicked against one another in approval.  The fog had yet to lift, making it seem as though we were somewhere between the planes of existence.  The black lace of my dress rustled gently with the rise and fall of my breasts.  Our feet were absolutely numb against the hard finality of the marble but it was of little consequence considering the circumstances.

Almost as if the priest understood our intentions, he had not asked where our witness was.  He knew, as did we, my father would be present.  I felt him there beside me, a faint hint of warmth against my left arm.  The urge to turn and look over my shoulder was quite nearly impossible to fight against.  I could picture his smile, perhaps even a few tears making their way down the soft lines in his cheeks before burrowing into his beard.  But I knew if I tried to look he would not be visible.

Upon the closing of our private ceremony, my love and I embraced with a modest passion as the priest made his way back up the hill and out of sight.  When our lips parted once again I saw a large stag just beyond the tree line.  He craned his neck ever so slightly to one side and stared directly back into my eyes.  Salty tears escaped furiously and silently over the line of my lashes as I watched the stag slowly turn and disappear into the woods.

“Goodbye” I whispered.  “I love you.”

Give It Up

Written by Orchid on August 20th, 2013. Posted in Blog

The lonesome, hollow guitar riffs snake in and out of my eardrums.  I see nothing but a completely dark room illuminated by a single spotlight.  The brightness rests on two nude bodies.  Their gender is inconsequential.  All I see is their passion.  Glistening skin writhes, rises and falls in an undulating rhythm.  Tears roll down my flushed cheeks, but I am not sad.  I weep at the beauty of such a spectacle.  I am not the only person in the room in a literal sense but emotionally nobody else exists.  Even the hot breath of the stranger behind me goes unnoticed.

I see a head fall back as the sharp line of a jawbone becomes visible under the spotlight.  The jaw is agape, a silent cry of pleasure hangs in the air.  Obstinate nipples harden and reach for the sky.  My mouth waters.

Suddenly the mood snaps from intimate and private to desperate and indiscreet as the music lurches toward something more primal.  The writhing bodies become more aggressive, more furious.  For a moment I look away.  My heart aches for the tender moment that has passed like a whisper through the crowd and out the doors.  The rest of the audience has become noticeably excited but I can no longer stand the sight before my eyes.  I try to cover my angry eyes as I push past the onlookers and out into the unforgiving dampness of the night.

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