Faded Houses Green

The light of wilted dawn sighed over the hills on the far edge of town. Rows of half-black houses opened their eyes to the cream of a new day, some sloughing off their crustaceous dreams for the sake of the heroic figments who inhabited that vigorous region.

She was the first to rise, although it took some time for her to shine, shining being forbidden in that careful land until thirty-seven minutes after breakfast–if one could pull it off at all.

She opened the fortunate blinds and, watching the empty street cast fantasies of solitude, she debated how moody she would be that day. How far could she push the short patience of those she loved. How long could she milk her slippery schadenfreude against those she merely admired–hate being buried too deeply in her doused vocabulary to do her any good on an average day like today.

The vapid lamp across the room ignited, and her anticipation swelled like a heaving toad in a disgruntled forest swamp. Would he or wouldn’t he?

He wouldn’t, but not for three more days.

She had prepared a soliloquy and was trying to decide if perhaps it was more a monologue, when his heavy hand clutched her vivid hip, scuttling her overladen frigate of words.

A car crept to a starving stop at the intersection down the block. She thought it was taking the YIELD sign too seriously.

“I have to prepare for work,” she said, lipidly.

His other arm entwined her like the trunk of an elephant whose tusk could no longer be ignored.

Too many pleasant years of loneliness, of security, of fidelity seeped out of her glistening pores, and she approached the eager intersection, but finding a cold cabbage truck looming, she yielded reluctantly.

In a moment, the road was clear–clear of traffic, clear of honor–and in that hour of late arrival, she yielded completely.

Originally published February 13, 2024