This is a class assignment that i recently just finished, it surrounds around the five senses, so please understand this is not my best writings i have made, but it surrounds a story that i once made, it was called yorly, and i thought that with a sensory assignment yorly would be the best thing to ride this assignment out with, no with no further a do, here is a bundle of short stories surrounding the story Yorly. Enjoy!
Yorly
A Series Of Sense Driven Short Stories
“Hell is right around the corner my sweet love, i will meet you there when you’re ready, for i’ve been there for years.”
Love
Yorly-
Welcome to Yorly island, beauty of name isn’t she? Here take this, please go on take it, it’s nothing more than coconut. Go on now drink up, there you go… I see the surprise on your face, speechlessness, inability to talk? Well son that isn’t because of the milkiness, no, that’s because you just drank the nectar of love, i know i know crazy right? Well each fruit, each vegetable on this mere island is invested with the toxin of love, it’s quite appetizing isn’t it? Well you can’t drink it all day so give it back. Plus i want more.
My son do you hear these sounds, yes of course you do, that is the famous Rocket Blaster Bird, not the best name i know, with a name like rocket blaster, and well the noise it makes, you would think this bird would be the spawn of satan, quite opposite my fond boy, it actually speaks a language, it is of course dialect but still. Do you speak in that language? Not a speaker Huh? Well from your expressions i assume no, you see i am a fluent speaker of this bird, and if you could fully understand its sweet screech, you would hear the purest form of love, yes i am well aware it is a auditory destruction, but that is what love is, it is beautiful to the sight, but to the ears, it is like a screech from a siren.
Why the strange face, oh, oh my, i see my friend bertie took a liking to you, can you hear his words? Strange being isn’t he? Tends to be very annoying but i love the little bug. Oh he’s growing closer to your face isn’t he, he is very fond of you. It’s easy to see, no don’t be afraid, he merely done his mating dance, he will probably go near your nose, he wants you to smell his fragrance, that’s how he gathers his lovers, and you won’t believe it but he’s got forty five, monogamy isn’t applied apparently to beetles. Oh i see you smelled it, smells much like a rose, or the breeze coming from the sunset? I know it’s intoxicating, but don’t forget you’re a human, and well he’s a beetle my friend.
Stop now mister bertie, leave our resident alone. Sir don’t fear he’s harmless, just a bit to flirty, actually we gather near his nest. I know there’s a nest of his kind so i would take these. There earplugs, you don’t want to bleed from annoyance do you? Good my son, it’s right up this hill….. Good we made it, now you see they nest in a strange fashion, there a creature built off love, and you see they quite literally built a heart. I will take you here at night as well, you can’t miss them when they light up. You’re probably wondering why they build so close to a cliff, predators right? They have none, so they decided to show their love as best as they could to the whole island. It’s too bright for my liking, but honestly i think they built here to build a symbolization, you know? This sight his beautiful, much like how love is seen, a fresh beach, with a cliff to sit over, the made it much like a consent sunset, and that’s how love looks to us, they did a fantastic job. “NICE JOB OTHER PARTIES.” “WHY THANK—” Okay thats enough of them.
We reach near your cabin, grab the door, go on now grab it. “What…. Oh my god.” He speaks, thought i could get him to, what do you feel my friend? “It’s her.” It’s who? “It’s my wife.” Oh, very smart island, i would of bet on him liking the feel of fruit, he seems like that type of strange person. “But…”
But what sir, the island tends to hit you like this, this is merely just the touch of your loved one, which is what the touch of love feels like. Go ahead take your time, touch the sweet delicate rose of love. I will see you another time Sir.
Hate
Sergeant Terrance-
A cigar hangs from my mouth, barely latching on for life, a bullet wound surrounds my upper torso, ten of my man lay like inanimate objects near to be dead to be corpse. The militia patrols, and beings to find alive soldiers, that’s when they found me. My mouth started to nearly foam, these men were gunning down each of my soldiers in cold blood, no prisoners were taken, my mouth felt vapid, dry, and overwhelming taste overcame me, a taste so bitter, it only could be compared to when a recruit burnt your cup of joe.
The smell of death overcomes the air, i grab upon the chest on my comrade, he had the picture of my child, he held it close to his chest so i wouldn’t lose it, he was more tidy than i. Now the picture is filled with the stain of blood, and the memory is wiped, they approach closer and closer, those damned men took my army and turned them to cowards, they turned me from a man, to a child once again, my hate emits into the air, a smell so familiar, one with the fragrance of iron, the common fragrance of blood.
I hear there tribal screams, as i bleed through my army camps, they approach at a dashing pace, i can hear the pure amount of hatred in their voices, it is something frightening to me, i never wanted to kill someone, i was forced to, these men? They live for it. They hate my presence in this life, so my eration is merely god’s work to them, they scream once more, there hate sounds like the great ogres of yore, the sounds of zeus striking his great thunder.
My eyes begin to haze, the soldiers are in my depth of field, the foreground is filled with foreign creatures that are nothing but red, i assume my adderaline has begun, or this is my hate growing stronger, it is like a broken blood vessel has popped in my eye, as if my eye is filling with blood as we speak, but it is nothing more than pure hatred.
The men approach my body, they begin to speak in a different tongue than i, i don’t care to be taken hostage by these fools, they began to grab my sleeves, and pick me up, i then headbutted the carrier, leaving his nose broken. “Ahahah thats all you got, my legs aren’t broken” They then shoot both of my legs out, leaving me completely paralyzed, my hatred grows stronger for these men, that headbutt felt like hitting iron, no satisfaction came from it, it just hurt myself more, the touch of him was hot, like my anger, i then preceded to pull out my pistol and take off the head of the soldier to my right, it didn’t feel right, no relief was being had, it was killing me, they then slammed my head to the ground, and pointed the pistol to my head, and well this isn’t a happy ending i’m guessing. “*Bam*”
Pride
John Fredricks-
I gave a glance to myself this morning by accident, and my god was i impressed, not by my stunning looks nor the poor facial hair i was growing under my chin. No i was impressed by the way i stood tall in the morning, as if all that has happened in my life is of no effect, no negative that is. It reminds of the time i went to a little steak house down in birmingham, the steak there wasn’t to great, but it was right after i came home from the war. The first bite of that prime rib tasted like heaven, the blood streamed its way through my teeth, and each piece of meat melted in my mouth, that is what pride felt like to me, eating this moderate steak, right after avoiding death.
But my life now has a different type of pride, not in my dashing looks, but in my children i have bared, this world wasn’t ready for such beauty, i feel a certain pride in them, like all my selfishness has been focused on them, a weird sanction to discuss but they smell like the pride i try so hard to emit, and what does it smell like? Well not good because they smell horrible, but the odor goes past them, they smell like a fruit, something so sweet and innocent, something filled with joy.
I hear them cry at night, and for the first time in a long time i am responsible for someone’s life, since well, there mother left our lives, a life i couldn’t save, nor do i want to at this point, these children though? They hold my pride, that i once felt during the war, the joy i felt from seeing a hand reach towards another, to save a life, to be a hero again. This pride has a certain sound to me now at this point, there laughter to me is something of pride to me, like the old sounds of war.
I see them every morning wake up with a huge stretch, i find it sad to this day that i wake up earlier then both of my children, this is truly a representation of what war can do to someone, they wake up to my big body standing not three feet in front of them, i do this to get my morning fill of my pridefulness, to see my children wake up each morning? Nothing gives me more confidence or pride in myself.
A day doesn’t pass in which i don’t hold my kids higher than the ceiling, i show them off to the world every day, and each and every time i pick up my child, i feel the pride of kings overcome me.
Shame
Torb-
I miss the days of pillage, the days of glory, the day i was banished from it, was the day i lost my soul, valhalla was forever a dream, and life was a pure joke. None more is a example than the most shameful moment of my history, A great feast was had. I was of course left to the wolves, it had been days since i had touch any meat, i was dying from the inside, when the celebration was over, i charged in. I ate the fat of their scraps, nothing is more shameful than eating fat off another man’s bone, each bite was bitter, sour, and disgusting, my tongue felt rotten, each bite hit my taste buds with overwhelming shame. Tis the life of the poor.
I shall die a poor soul, i smell the mead the men drink, i sense each bite, i feel each bite of grizzle go in between her huge teeth, i hear christopher make jokes about my short height, my shortcoming, and other shortcomings of mine i rather not discuss. I smell the grizzle in my teeth, when i eat the scraps, and it smells like mixture of the open sea, and dead seals, after a day of clubbing.
I hear every word they say about me, why do they speak so harshly about there once fellow brother? Do they have no soul? Or is the code broken in our hearts, a small cult of sorts that has no need for outsiders anymore, there words bring me to my knees, the amount of embarrassment i feel with each word, is…. Is as if they are killing my children right in front me, and i can’t do anything about it.
They won’t accept me back at home, they see me as a weak person, a viking kicked out of the order, is a dead viking, my shackles hold no worth, no loyalty will be served to the me, even if i’m one of the very few left, seeing the men dance every night without me. It’s like staring at your wife cheating on you, a lust taken advantage by, by everyone but you.
I touch this cloak i wear, and tear it off in a harsh fashion, i shall fear no longer of their laughter, my fears are far overstayed, its time to leave this broken life behind, Its touch is quite gross to me anyways, one of shame, one with the mud i spilled while wasting my life here.
Trust
Zander-
I have heard about the foreign front being broken much like the back of weak swan, a image i care to not imagine, as the taste of trust has been taken out of each particle of tongue that each man has, while me? My tongue feel as if it’s been dipped within the cold mask of water, it is a taste i have not known to be without, trusts taste is numbing, and can lead to a mindless mindset.
The war is forever on the foreign front, it’s been years since a gun has been fired from my hands, a formulaic approach i do take, since the battle hasn’t touched me in years. The trust i have received from the soldiers across the way is something of a vacant feel, the sense i have is something surreal. I gain a smell in my left nostril, something so strange, smells like the flowers near normandy beach, a sweet smell, but one that doesnt last long.
I heard not to long after plans had been set, that the battalion i was once apart of, has been…. Gone for some time, i assume they have been found. Fond memories come to my aid, ones of old trust with fellow mates, i remember the time Georgey saved my life, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of some wreckage, a true hero to me. The words he spoke were like a angel to me, god bless his soul.
After the news of my battalion, i was out of my ways, i didn’t care for battle, my eyes they didn’t see right, until sergeant entered my quarters. He spoke to me of the western front going nearly down, that the fight we had isn’t doing very well, he handed me a cup of joe, and he moved on with his day, before he left he told me something very profond though. They were heading into battle, and the a private disobeyed my plans, and the sergeant took him and send him back to france. I told them to send him back, it was fine what he did, i didn’t care. But the fact that they cared so much about my words was something to be seen, a flashing light hit my eyes, like i saw god for the first time.
My wife came by not to long ago, when the news broke of the battalion i had, the western front, and our boy. Everything in my life seemed to be failing, and relationships weren’t even close to my mind, i neglected any fact of love as i saw it as being unfair to the soldiers at war. But after these days i was done fighting this feeling, she came by and i broke down. We talked for hours, until the day was over. The touch of her hand finally made me sober. It made me drunk, which was a problem, she distracted my view on the war. It’s not her fault, it is mine, the war has destroyed the trust, the war made me drunk to love, the trust i felt was something so good, but short lived as the war was far to near to my eyes.
Suspicion
Carey-
Five months, five months of bad taste within my mouth, five months of my love lost upon sea, maybe he left me? Because i talk too much? I think i’m going to vomit, i can’t live without my dearly loved yorly, eck, this taste it is like sour apple, each of my gums feel laced with the skin of the apple, and my tongue feels as if it’s the core, this taste its new. I don’t like it much.
Why darling oh why did you have to go? Months have passed and no word has cometh my way? This is purely wrong my love, purely wrong! Did the jester play some horrid joke upon my mere soul? I smell the faint smell of betrayal, it’s rotten, remember the apples we once had? The experiments we used to have with them? You always wanted to see which would last longer, apple with the reds of scotland, or the greens of new zealand. In the end they both gave the smell i so easily smell in this very moment.
I hear children run around our house every night, am i going mad? I don’t know what is happening to me, they scream horrible things, they tell me you’re not coming back, did you send these children? Who are they, why do they scream such horrible suspicious lies to my face?
A year has passed and not a single word from you, my words tend to crumble when i think of you, the very mention of you brings those horrid children back to my mind, horribly damaged children of suspicion, to help my ears, and my eyes, i try to think less and less of you.
Five years, and your eyes have begun to fade in my eyes, i have no words to describe my feelings, yorly i hope you’re happy, wherever you are, i just hope your happy, i felt your coat a few days ago, and the touch was ugly, it felt like mud water, i burned it. Burning all of my suspicions with it.
Pain
Corly The Beetle-
Each person they stare at me so strange, there looks of hate, are so deranged. It is quite a fright, to be as small as i, it leaves a taste in my mouth, one that is very dry, vapid, much like beetles before, i thought people like rhyming, but nevermore. The pain i feel, its unmatched, a burnt taste within my mouth, like a burnt match. So here i sit, shell and all, with taste so foul, that most would fall.
My whole life has been a ray, a happy beetle who doesn’t have a way, A euroma expelled from my back side, a smells so delightful most would cry. But what i smell is far to different, a smell so jailing, that i feel acquitted. I feel so cold with each sniff i do, the smell of copper, the smell of winter blues.
They say i’m annoying, the say im a shame, im horrid creation, my pain is acid rain. I hear the world around me react to my words, the words the speak are so absurd. They hate corley, they hate me so, but the words they say are much more cold. A screeching sound, blood rush to my ears, the sounds i hear, i far to near.
A man walks close, truly i am afraid, today could be end, today could be the day. The man he approaches, like death himself, he wears denim leather, with a celtic belt, i’m truly afraid i see his pain, he approaches me with a cut in his vain. He looks like anger, a vain shall pop, he looks like blood, he’s fallen off the top.
He grabs me, his hands so cold, the pain he inflicted shivers me so, he grabs me i prepare for the squeeze, he grabs my body and tears me in three. The pain i feel, is numb and cold, the way i feel never gets old. The blood it rushes to my veins, the pain i feel as no restraint, goodbye this sweet world, it was nice to be known, it’s corley singing off, from this world so cold.
Pleasure
Eros-Aka Cupid
Two lovers, two souls, interacted, to become whole. A path i have never taken, even though its my love, to give others the passion i so seek, is the best love of all. The sweet taste of pleasure is something i’ve never tasted, but couples before me told me stories of this event, the taste they described is something more than words, it’s like red wine, so sweet yet so delicate, i hope to taste this some day.
For i am eros, god of love but feels no love for himself, the sweet delicate smells i do for take, the smell of a fresh rose, the smell of a freshly squeezed peach, the smell of happiness and joy.
As i begin to hear the sweet sounds of angel as they bare a child, as they connect lips for the first time, i hear the sounds of pleasure come from every soul my arrow i touch, the sweet sounds of bodies touching, the sound of love, the sound of pleasure, so quiet to a soul who already hears it everyday, but a loud sound to folks like i.
I see a child be born everyday, the parents feel the pleasure of seeing their first child, i see the first kisses, i see the first time they make love, i see there whole life, made of pleasure, and what do i see in my mirror? The complete opposite.
As i am eros the god of love, but none comes my way, so close to my touch, a lady i love, but a god can’t experience this feeling, a god can experience the pleasure of feeling your loves skin, the pleasure of being touched by your lover. That is what true pleasure is in this life, and this i will never feel.
Mercy
Adam-
Heavenly father, please take pity upon my sinful soul, i have sinned for too long, and i fear you have lost faith within me, the world is so bitter without the light of god, i made mistake of heavenly father, shall we all be punished for it? Whats this? What’s this taste, is that beets? Oh father, i uh, don’t know what to say is this your messaged to me, his this your humble way? Oh my, this is not a delightful taste, but my hatred for beets, i guess it’s okay.
Thank you lord, i smell the sweet smells of? Oh lord those are onions aren’t they? My word those are pungent, i guess you aren’t so happy with me still are you father? I understand, i did— my goodness those smell like death *dry heave* don’t worry father i am fine, this mercy truly smells fine to me.
Oh what’s this i hear, oh god, i mean oh my. Is that those screeching creatures from yorly island, oh my, my ears they bleed, father are you sure these are the sounds of mercy, these sound like the sounds you shall send to eve, not me father, you may of…. Oh it’s getting louder, no father you got it right, i love this sound.
Ewww, what is that? Is that a dead corpse of a pig? Oh god it’s the pig me and eve found isn’t it? Jesus Christ, i mean Saint Nicholas, sorry lord. Did you have to kill Hammy Hamington? Oh my hes bubbling more, if this is what mercy looks like father than, i’m glad Hammy died, is that what you want me to say? Oh god Hammy NO!!!*Hammy explodes*
Oh my lord, his guts they spill all over my body, is this fish? My god it’s rotten and still alive, oh god! Okay father i’m sorry, please stop, this mercy is truly awful, oh god no! Its changing, is that the snake??? OH GOD!
Vengeance
What’s His Name Again?(Mystery Man)-
My name is Calvin.
Oh his name is Calvin-
Anyways, my name is calvin and my whole life as you can see has been thrown to the side by, scoundrels, but now? Now? Now i get my payback, yorly, your first my friend. Remember the army?Remember? I will make you and the whole battalion suffer for what they did *ahahahahah* *cough cough* do you know what it’s like yorly? To taste the sweet taste of revenge? It doesn’t taste that good honestly, taste like the mild mead they give to the vikings, but filled with vengeance *muahahahah*
*Cough* I will make you smell the fragrance of pain yorly, you made me out to be a fool, but i am no squire, i am king compared to you yorly, i— i am a king. My nostrils they peak at the thought of your cold lifeless body lying dormant in front of my eyes, want to know what it smells like? A bit of blood, a bit of rust, and a lot of whiskey.
You never listened to me, my voice was of a babies, my voice was peasant like compared to your king like provato, but now the tables have turned my old friend. With new found abilities i have, well…. I will gain ultimate power over you, i will hear you scream for your life, i will hear you plead with me. Yorly all i hear now is the sweet sounds of the devil, and what does he sound like? Gruffles, and anger, you made me this way, and this way you shall feel.
I will see you blood pour over my body, i will watch each pencil of your being drain from your body, as your warm blood becomes cold, i will bath in your pleas, i will see your eyes go dark then black. This is all i see in my eyes now, this is all this vengeance allows me to see.
The touch is something i have only felt once, but it wasn’t of much speciality, it wasn’t someone i truly hated, just a careless murder, but you, i guarantee this will feel like ecstasy, the vengeance will complete my life, and feeling your blood will be my destiny. See you soon yorly.
Innocense
Roland-
Children circle around me, i am in dire need to tell you something. These women they tell you tales of talking bunnies, and adventures at yorly island, but those stories are all fiction. Truthly children, this is only one story you are in need to know of, that being the story of me. Now i know boring correct? But it has to deal with when i was a child young ones, i tend to assume you all like vanilla ice cream correct? Of course you do, well when you become older, that is how we adults feel about you, we start with a overwhelming taste of vanilla when your first born.
We can smell the love you emit from each pore off your little bodies, our sons, our daughters, your our children, so please children give your father, your mother the time to be strange freaks, because we smell things different, when you smell vanilla, we smell the fresh roses coming off you, that’s what it is like to have you children, like a constant trip to the lilac fields.
I know i tend to get off track children but what i say has some volume, what i’m trying to convey is that we parents are not the wrong ones in your life, we are the love, the joy, and i know this isn’t a tale you shall enjoy, but a life lesson this is, a less to show that we hear differently, we speak differently, all just for you, we change when we have you children, we hear music as a danger, we hear everything as a danger to your innocence, we hear childs songs and think instantly of you.
A world so different is when you are all present, protection? A number one of this world, and you are only sight, and your innocence emits like a glowing light in heaven.
So children when you hear a tale, try to think of why your parents don’t take them, they aren’t real to us, as there is only one real thing to us, and that’s you, we don’t tell tales as we are living in one. And when pick up your children, it’s like becoming a child once again.
Experience
Mister Werey(Baker)-
The way i chop the butter, the bread, and the cheese, reminds me of my times back when i was less experienced, as a child the taste of vanilla was the topic of my tongue, and now in my older age, with my experience as chef. I have found experience to much more of a bold taste, much like a strong feta cheese. So strong but so smooth going down, the accomplishment is part of the best taste of it, and as a baker, the taste only is amplified, my god is the taste so good once it is brought to your taste buds.
Each slice of cheese, each slice of bread feels like a master piece of my expertise, each corner feels like water during a hot day.
Each time i cook, it as if all my experience becomes a smell of from heaven.
Each time i hear someone eat my product, it is like a year of work in one day. And they love your hard work.
I see each piece of hard work and to me? It’s like seeing the love of my life for the first time.
Cleanliness
Pots-
Every pot, every pan, it’s, it’s clean. My god the beauty, i can feel the bitterness leave the building with each cleaned pan, with each piece of grizzle left, my god it’s perfect, i can taste each pot as if i’m licking them, there cleanliness, it tastes as if they were dipped in a peppermint, the taste is so strong but so delightful, what a rush these pots haven given to me.
Another day has passed and my pots have need more cleaning once again, no bother to me, hello terrance, hello clariance, hello my beauties, let me get a quick smell of you beauties, *Whiff* My god you all smell like the fresh morning air, like a beach has rolled in with a fresh tide.
The tide has no resided for my sweet dishes and pots, and my reading hour is now over. I wait upon my love to come back, to see… these clean pots, he will be so proud, im sure of it. He will walk in and hear the sweet cheers of the pots and pans, he will hear what i hear everyday. I hope he hear the sweet words, the words of being clean, i’m sure he must be dirty after years at war. He probably hear the sweet bells of cleanliness as he enters our door.
Maybe he won’t come home, maybe he will be like the rest of the town, maybe he won’t hear the sweet words, the sweet smells. Maybe he won’t love me anymore. He will think i’m crazy, will he see what i see? The pungent white colors, will he see the sparkle of being clean, or will he see through all of this. Do these pots even matter? *Crash*
I HATE ALL OF YOU, you’re all disappointments to me, i don’t care if you all rot in hell, i’m tired of cleaning you every single day. There’s nothing left, you’re all useless *crash* I WASTED MY LIFE ON YOU, on the so called touch of grace, the smoothness of being clean isn’t worth the time i wasted on pots. *Heavy breathing* he’s not coming home.. *A pot flies through the window full of dirt*
Squalor-
Mud Pie-
Hehehehe, last night i did something so mischievous, that Misses Pot fellow? I ruined her pots and dishes, hehehe, i bathed them in my squalor, the sweet evil tasted much like…. The squalor i taste every day. It touches me in so many ways and i love it, the dirt, the mud, the squalor it all tastes like water out of a year old sock, tastes like a rotten fruit, taste like dirt on my feet, and i love it so.
What a rush? Oh sweet god, i rather not dig deep into that weird statement, crazy old hag, always speaking tongues to her intimate pots and pans, but terrance? The smell? Does she not smell the sweetness of our squalor, the smell of day old rain, the smell of mud in your shoes, does she not embrace our sweet mistakes of squalor, what is wrong with this woman? And wait terrance, why didn’t i investigate more into this statement instead of speaking my truth, terrance. Terrance? Oh my, her… husband? Does she not know?
She keeps speaking about her love, Mister Terrance, i haven’t seen him since the papers, what i was wrong for playing so heavily with her pots, the only thing left in her life? I guess i was so attracted to the sweet sounds of squalor, the screech of a boot stuck in my mud, oddly specific i know. But it’s sweet noise to me was to intoxicating, and it made me lose my sight, it made me not see the truth. I shall never touch another pot of hers again.
My god did she just throw her pan? Is she finally embracing the pain of dirt? No… she can’t embrace this, she’s the angel against the dirt, and i’m supposed to be her opposite, she can’t join my side, that would break everything. What would i be without the sweet sight of dirty dishes? The sight that blinds me, much like a muddy lamp. I would be nothing without her.
My god i need to do something, she’s losing her control her will to be clean, and i can’t have that. Because we need each other, and maybe my bad deed will take her mind off her husband, even for a moment. *Mud pie grabs a pot and throws it over* My god did that touch feel good, it felt like the first time i laid my hands into a fresh pile of mud, and for once my bad deed was for the better of good. Godspeed misses pots, i will see you tomorrow.
Peppermint Trees Short Story
The sweet scent, the odor so delightful
None touches the senses, none brings together more of a consensus, than the peppermint tree.
Oh how it be, the peppermint tree, stand six foot tall, nothing but peppermints from here until the eye can see.
Its presence in this life is something of mystery, but its smell concludes that it was born majesty.
Peppermints so fruitful, so plump, that a single touch would leave a bump.
Crash, slam, GLAM!!! The noises of the falling peppermint trees.
They fall so fast, there’s no time for plee.
They leave this summer with a graceful delight, the burrow in the ground, like a mole from the night.
We stand upon waiting, praying, for the trees to bless our lives once more, its pungent smell, yet so delightful to each nostril of each person in this valley.
We stand upon this vacant hill, waiting to hear the siren like calls that come from the peppermint trees.
The pure whistle the tree makes when the wind collides at a breaking pattern, the tree barely budges even a millimeter, but….
Gives off the sound of music, the sound of joy, the sound that many can’t describe.
We valley folk yell to the skies
“Oh dear peppermint tree, come to the. We are in time of need, and we need you to be, where we can see.”
No response, not even a sign, children of yore, begin to cry.
“Shush up now child, there’s no need for tears, there’s no need to cry, the trees will come, the trees will be by our side.”
“But father oh why, why do i have to cry? Why do the trees have to go, why the trees leave our side?”
“This i don’t know good son, but do not front, the trees will come, the trees will stump.”
We all gain a laugh, the tears do go away, the smells, the touch, it fades away.
A year passes, no sight, nor seen, the peppermint tree is not near, townsfolk like thee.
“Father, what was it like? To touch a peppermint just hatched, a peppermint so..”
“A peppermint so alike to winter’s first snow?”
“Yes father what is it like?”
“Well do not worry, grab my hand and you see will see tonight.”
I brought my son, to the place i hid my lovelies.
“Dad are these.”
“Yes son, these are peppermint patties.”
“But father we weren’t supposed to take.”
“Son its far too late for this little ole town, it’s been too hard to fake.”
“May i father?”
“Go right ahead, feel the last, feel the valuable, feel the life we will never see.”
That’s when my son laid his hands on the last peppermint pattie.
PepperMint Trees Part Two- End.
I remember the peppermint trees, i mostly remember when they still took root in the ground we once played upon, before father made the grave mistake of being one with himself, one without the care of the community surrounding him, before. Before the end, i know he thought nothing of sin would come from his mistake, but the end of towns would come as result, a characterization of our beloved name, a ruining of one’s well being. A foot outside can be made by any of us family member as of today, we find it more of a bother to people if they see our presence. We find it hard to make friends at school, when we are allowed to go. We are headed for a good reason, but this was our father mistake, not ours. Why shall we suffer so harshly for his mistake when we nothing of the sort was a foot. Why do we hurt so badly for a man? We didn’t cut down the trees, we didn’t pick the fruits, we didn’t do anything, but be kids. And who gets the bulk of the blame? Well us.
I remember the first dry season, the first year of no tourists to our little shop, the first year of the sand overcoming the land. The first year of reckoning. I remember the years to follow without a sight of any visitors, we became extremely poor, after we tried selling our remaining peppermint fruit in a black market like deal. We made mistake after mistake in our little shop of sins, can you blame the souls like us though? We had no choice, we were turned away at every corner of this life, we never had any chance to be a good civilian in this life, so we had to choose a different way.
But most of all i remember my father’s passing, should i say passing? Or murder? It wasn’t two days after the events when my father disappeared, it wasn’t something of business either as my father refused to leave the place he loved most, he was taken. Not three days after his kidnapping he was found alongside the view side pier, beaten to death by clubs and fisticuffs. His face was almost unrecognizable, he looked like a different man, all he did as well was steal, did he mean to do these things out of malice? No, he made a mistake,and for that mistake his life was taken, and so was ours.He had blood in every corner of his body, stab marks filled his broken pores, and mostly his body was destroyed. I remember most of all the end of our lives.
