Saturday, March 1, 2014

Prompt: I hate to cry

I sat outside in the carriage until Hoover whined, restless in his rig. I shook my head and climbed down, unclipped the three clasps that held the harness in place along his long spine, and let it fall to the ground. He ran into the darkness without a second glance, and I walked away. It would all have to wait.

Inside, Jackson coo’d and rubbed against my calves as I made tea in the kitchen. I said nothing, choosing to leave the house quiet while I did everything myself. I even washed out the strainer and set it on the ledge to dry. Carrying the tea into the den, I almost spoke out of habit, but bit my tongue and started the fire with a flick of my finger rather than a waking spell. I sank down on the cushions, balancing my tea as I sipped the fragrant brew. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the scent of Earth teas. I called them by name, but none of the flavors remained in my memory.

I began to cry, racking sobs that pushed against my chest and tightened my forehead in a vise. Jackson pressed up against me, cooing concern. I couldn’t even stroke him for comfort. I gripped the tea mug so tightly I thought I might crush it between my palms. “I hate crying,” I ground out, gasping for breath and trying to relax and bring myself under control. I couldn’t spell this way, that was for sure. Who knew what I might do, trying for the simplest boiling water or bedside lamp?

It didn’t last long. Years of control slipped back in place, deep breathing calming my rapid heart and loosening the grip around my head. I gestured with my left pinkie and drew tissues out of the aether, blowing my nose and grimacing as my sinuses drained. I hated crying.

“Now,” I said to the room, when I was breathing calmly, with no trace of hiccups. “Let’s fix this…”

Dogs in House

Time writing
20 minutes

February word count

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