Everblossom: A Short Story and Poetry Anthology

by Larissa Hinton

  He looks around and met so close face to face with Georgia. He debates a response while she sits down right in front of him with a teacher right behind her giving her a filthy stare.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Georgia Thurman, that you have to stick to the assigned seating?!”

  Georgia looks up at the teacher with a puppy dog look. “I’m so sorry for forgetting.”

  Ms. Johnson’s face softens just enough to crack the ice of a semi-smile. “Well dear, strive harder to remember next time.”

  Georgia nods as the teacher walks briskly away.

  He looks up. “You’re not planning on staying here, are you?”

  “And miss out on the wonders of your life?” Georgia smiles her famous 100-watt smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  He looks down into his lunch box and seals it close with a sigh when something catches his eye. Right under her shirt, just barely scratching the surface, a piece of gauze teases out an opening. Georgia frowns at him then follows where his eyesight leads to cover it up with such nonchalance that it seems like he imagined it all.

  He smiles. “Doesn’t seem like my life is the only one that’s interesting.”

  Georgia huffs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Please continue with that meat you’re eating. You looked starved.”

  He grits his teeth. “I’m hungry, is that a crime?”

  “No but carrying around a knapsack full of tan spray cans is.” Georgia digs through her purse until she finds it; a lollipop! She begins to lick it with such relish it made him want to lick it too.

  “And having no meat for lunch is . . . ?”

  “My way of saying no meat please. Do you know what they feed those animals?” Georgia shivers.

  “And that thing under your shirt?” he asks.

  Georgia paused but only for a second. “That’s called a bra. Look it up.” Then she takes another slow lick. “I bet you’ve never seen one.”

  “Have too,” he mumbles as he shoves the lunchbox back into his knapsack. “How did you know about the spray cans?”

  She shrugs. “You’re no tagger, so it had to be something else.”

  “And you’ve been a vegan since . . . ?” he asks.

  Georgia gives him a direct stare then blinks. “What is this twenty questions?”

  He rubs the back of his neck, willing the blush to go away. “No. Just curious.”

  “We already know what happens to curious cats. I wonder what will happen to curious boys.” Georgia’s voice has such ice in it this time, he shivers.

  “You’ve got something to hide?”

  Georgia bites off the lollipop and throws the stick over her shoulder. “We‟ve all got something to hide.”

  They stare at each other, willing to let the secret pop out of their mouths until the bell rings, breaking the spell.

  “And here I thought there would be no entertainment around here.” Georgia smiles. “See ya later, Tan Boy.” She strolls out of the cafeteria and into the restroom. She dashes into one of the stalls then throws off her shirt.

  A tight tan gauze wraps around her midsection and her budding breasts but not for long as she unravels every single layer of tight bandage hiding her deep secrets.

  * * *

  Even though he enjoyed watching her saunter away, he flees into one of the bathrooms. After checking to make sure the coast was clear, he slams his knapsack onto the counter. He then takes a deep breath and searches his bag for his needle.

  Meanwhile, Georgia struggles to stretch out in the tight compact bathroom stall. She bends over and checks to make sure nobody is there. Then she tip-toes out of the stall and continues to undo the fine work that she just finished this morning. She needs to fix it since if Tan Boy could see the gauze, then everyone could.

  * * *

  Where is his needle?

  He fights the urge to dump over his entire bag on the floor; instead, he reaches into all of the pockets and turns them inside out. That way he would . . . Huzzah!

  He holds up the thick old graying needle, the thread and the mirror laying right beside it. Now to find the spot!

  * * *

  She could almost feel it freeing as the last part of the gauze falls off. She stretches her back again, then she sees it. It still takes her breath away.

  The butterfly wings bat back in forth. The rainbow of colors reflect in the dull and cheap lights in the bathroom but still they shine. God, it felt good to be free if only for a moment.

  She lays her head against the cool glass and holds it there just for a beat. Georgia hopes and prays nobody would come in. She just needed one minute.

  * * *

  One more second of searching.

  He can’t see the damn spot where he hit the locker. Dammit! He just needed shift a little bit over to the right and . . . and . . . There it is! The infamous spot!

  The needle dances in his hands as his nerves get the best of him. Shit, he can’t keep his eyes open. Focus. Breath. He takes the needle, puts a piece of thread in it, and inches towards right below his right ear, in that ultra tricky spot. Next time he’ll just use glue to keep his skin together. God knows, it’s already falling apart as it is. Maybe he should get some new skin.

  The thought alone sends him pure images of terror of digging around in the cemetery to find some fresh skin to match his own. Not exactly ideal but maybe there was a loophole. Maybe . . .

  He ties off the loose end of the skin and shoves his needle back into his bag. What does it matter anyway? He’s . . . well, he’s different. Might as well accept it. Why is it so hard to accept then? Is it because of all the normal happy people around him?

  He stares at his face in the mirror, which luckily hasn’t sagged or shifted. Instead it is practically weighed down with spray tan lotion. It was a model’s dream, yet not his. All he ever wanted was to be human.

  * * *

  To be free.

  Georgia thinks starring into the mirror. She bites her lips then starts to rewraps and tuck the little beautiful delicate butterfly wings away. She has to appear normal for everybody’s sake. God only knew what would happen if people found out she was a faerie.

  * * *

  A monster more like it.

  Tan Boy threw the knapsack over his shoulder and kicked the bathroom door open. Another experiment in another world where he didn’t belong. Where the fuck was his happy ending?

  WSV #8

  grab

  snatch

  claw

  spray

  ecth

  sketch

  draw

  let the rebellion begin

  dig

  fight

  tooth

  nail

  scratch

  scream

  no

  no

  control

  lost

  gone

  want

  more

  no more

  out

  night

  shade

  shake

  hard

  spray

  tag, ur it!

  run

  adrenaline

  flash

  light

  siren

  hide

  must

  go away

  free

  sprint

  home

  locked

  frown

  midnight

  curfew

  sigh

  thought

  sneak

  window

  break

  alarm

  bat

  hand

  dad

  relaxes

  mom

  shakes

  head

  no more

  lock

  tight

  scream

  restlessness

  window

  locked

  door

  locked

  spray

  morning

  scream

 
; “what have u done?”

  smile

  everything

  done

  words speak volumes.

  Family Reunion

  Penelope reached up and grabbed the heavy red cloak, Vathory sketched in gold letters on its back. She peeked through the door and saw the rest of her clan chanting in the sacred circle. Joining them would be a pleasure, but they would not be pleased with her progress at the school. Penelope knew she would definitely hear it from her mother’s side of the family. It’s a good thing that it was only her mother’s side present. Father’s side could be such a bunch of vampires. Living and breathing and sucking the life out of each . . .

  The door opened interrupting her thought process. Her steps faltered, but the resolve won. The chanting suddenly stopped. One of the family members flipped their hoods back and stood up.

  “Oh Mom!” Penelope gripped her tightly.

  Her mother patted her back awkwardly. “So, you’ve come back.”

  “I guess the ideal mother-daughter hug won’t be working today.” Penelope stepped back and folded her arms.

  “Enough with idealism. Come chant with us the secrets to a successful life.”

  “Or have you forgotten?” Victorie giggled.

  Penelope looked at Victorie, saw her pale pasty face and her wild eyes, then looked back to her mother, who was beauty in its entirety. She sighed. “Fine, I’ll join the chanting. Why do we have to do it anyway?”

  “It’s family tradition, you know that. Now come, chant with us.”

  Penelope sat in the circle, closed her eyes, then mouthed the words. Someone elbowed her in the gut. “Hey!”

  Victorie flipped her hood back, her eyes glazed over but still held that unique twinkle that was all her own. “I can’t hear you.”

  Penelope mumbled the nonsense words then someone struck the drum.

  “All have come to join us to celebrate family, tradition, honor, sacrifice—”

  Victorie laughed along with some select family members.

  “And most importantly immortality. Now let’s eat.”

  All of them stood up, the lights turned up in the small dank room and the fire in the middle of the circle turned to a vibrant hue of blue. Penelope looked at it, still not sure after all of these family gatherings how that fire turned colors.

  “Still trying to figure out the laws of nature?” her mother whispered.

  Penelope swiftly turned around. “No, I’m still trying to figure this family out.”

  “Your family. You’re one of us,” Victorie said, then gripped her wrists tightly while looking into her plain-jane brown eyes. “If you weren’t, you would be dead.”

  Penelope yanked her arm away. “Don’t you mean sacrificed?”

  “Yes, of course. The pretty ones are the best. I love how they scream for mercy as I tie their ankles to the back of my car.”

  “Darling, what did we tell you about playing with your food?” her father scolded.

  “Always do,” Victorie said, then pulled a zombie-looking hand out from under her coat and started nibbling on it.

  Revulsion made Penelope’s whole body shake. “You know there are better ways to cook humans.”

  Victorie smirked. “Your ways are always so . . .”

  “Human? Ethical? Logical?” her mother offered.

  “From the twenty-first century,” Penelope finished.

  “Yes, but from what I hear, your whole school is about to shut down.”

  Everybody around them froze but pretended not to have heard the conversation.

  “Where ever did you get such an outlandish idea from?” Penelope asked, rubbing her cloak between her fingers.

  “From your best friend, Harmony or Melody . . .” Victorie replied.

  “Trixsy,” Penelope corrected. “She stole my idea of blowing up the school.”

  “You didn’t need that idea anyway. It’s unoriginal and a bit cliché. Why not kill every cheerleader then use their bodies as fuel to burn the high school down?”

  “Well that’s just it; she was caught right in the act, so the school didn’t even burn down,” Penelope said.

  Aunt Claudia gave a high pitched laugh and slapped her husband on the arm. “Stupid dolt stole an idea and didn’t even carry it out. What an epic failure.”

  “You’re embarrassing us coming up with such a half cocked idea!” her mother hissed to Penelope. “Don’t come back here unless you have a better idea that doesn’t get stolen or has been done countless times in teen movies.”

  Penelope nodded, but as soon as she was out of the door, a smirk curled her lips. She left the basement and hiked up the stairs to her bedroom. Once she turned the knob, a retinal scanner popped out, and Penelope let it scan her eye. The door opened and the master plan laid out before her on the huge television screen. A nuclear bomb. It would be epic. Not to mention lethal. Just what her family deserves after so much torture to her psyche.

  A Good Girl

  A good girl remains quiet

  A good girl stands aside

  A good girl obeys

  A good girl never argues

  They decide to be the

  one to let the arguments

  just slide off their back

  A good girl hasn’t got an attitude

  A good girl ignores reality

  A good girl becomes a wall flower

  A good girl never yells

  Because what’s the point of raising your voice

  when you have none?

  A good girl doesn’t fit a category

  A good girl gets straight A’s

  A good girl always obeys

  A good girl stays in school

  and never questions the

  authority of elders.

  A good girl has no voice

  but a good girl stands aside

  and lets other take her shine

  A good girl has no mind

  but the good girl doesn’t mind

  since everybody knows her to

  be the good girl.

  Why can’t things be different for a good girl?

  Why can’t they be bad?

  Bad girls curse

  Bad girls yell

  Bad girls always

  get the boy.

  Since the good girl

  always stands aside

  Why can’t they have

  a voice?

  A strong voice

  Listen to me

  all of your good girls

  Here me loud and clear.

  Raise your voice

  Raise your head

  Be proud of who you are.

  Because a good girl

  is nothing more then

  a fancy fairy tale.

  Blossom

  Wither

  from petal swishing to

  its dismal end

  hanging onto the bitter

  withery end

  it still blooms

  but now it crinkles

  sags

  needs support to

  continue on but

  now there is no

  need to support

  the agony

  it’s all up to nature

  now.

  College Life

  The lights were not back on; instead, darkness greeted me as I opened my eyes. I tried to flicker the images away. I tried to make the knowing pain disappear, but it never did. I gripped my stomach, the slice so deep that blood dribbled onto my fingers. Desperately trying to get a move on, I put one foot in front of the other and soon a rhythm developed.

  The ancient rhythm of fear and regret echoed through my staggered footsteps as I crossed the threshold of the Student Center. The splash of a deep winter night hit me across the face as my breath came in fogs. Inhale. Exhale. The breath came out ragged, and the inhale just burned a deep hole in my throat.

  Get a move on.

  Denying the impulse to look behind me, I took a sharp turn left and paused. Waiting. Always waiting f
or the next split-second delay, tell- tale sign of . . . I took a break and paused. There. Right there.

  Right beyond my reach was a panther strolling down the cracked over used sidewalks. The strut of this particular panther seemed to just glide right out of a book and right into reality. The muscles in his face tensed as he lifted his head and took a scent.

  Hunting. Always hunting.

  I slid a little bit closer towards the building, hoping to mask the detection of fear emanating from my body.

  The panther jerked his head towards me, noting the oh-so-hard-to-hear ripping sounds of my clothes against the brick building. I debated running or staying still. The logic in constant tango with my instincts. Then it happened.

  I envisioned that I became the panther.

  I didn’t feel the change, not at first. The growl from my throat surprised me, and then my hands changed, covered with luscious black fur. My eyes shrunk, my nose elongated then . . . well, you know the rest. I stood there, soaking in the hard fact that my body completely transformed from a human into a black panther.

  Then I ran.

  I ran long lean leaps, my paws softly touching the floor each time with a soft clicking sound. When I finally stopped at the Memorial Chapel, I peeked between the high arches and saw that the other panther had disappeared. I suppressed the snarl that threatened to rip my throat as footsteps—one sniff designated it as human—came closer. I tried to imagine myself as a human once again, instead I felt my fur rising, ready for the attack.

  A man stepped out into the streetlight looking strangely out of place. For one, he was white at an HBCU (Historically Black College or University)—that stood out immediately. Not only that, but his walk was somewhere out of a model’s catalogue. His walk was smooth until it halted right at the other side of the chapel entrance. His all white suit dimmed in the shadows as he sniffed the air, then his gorgeous rum-colored eyes connected to mine.

  Right then I knew I was toast.

  He trapped me with his gaze which never left mine as he took one step by one graceful step closer. I snarled as he dared to step up to me with no fear in his eyes. Then he had the audacity to give me a grin.

  “Caught you.” he whispered.

  Before I had enough time to process his response, I changed back. My paws turned back to hands which were deep black in the shadow, as dark as midnight itself, but the fur was gone. My back stood ruler straight at exactly six feet. My onyx black hair swished behind me and hid some of my unmentionable parts and shaded my copper-colored almond eyes and luscious lips I had, fortunately, inherited from my father.