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pussymagicuniverse · 5 years

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Back From the Dead Red

The familiar salty sea air spread its beachy, fishy aroma across the shipping dock. The scent reminded Francesca of exhilarating days perched on top of Papa’s shoulders trying and barely touching the rigging that supported the foremast of Mourning Star. Staring from the steps of the boardwalk, Francesca watched with awe at a new arrival. She could hear the booming commands from the captain and first mate intermixed with the clattering voices that commonly joined in the pier side chorus. Young boys and girls in rags sold shellfish in their make-shift carts, wandering and curious visitors of pop-up shops that appear as frequently as they disappear, each baring trinkets and treasures from lands far from where the horizon lay.

“Oysters for sell!”

“Fresh oysters! Cuatro Reals,” bellowed a dark haired girl in an outfit composed of recycled fishing nets and loose fabrics.

She looked on with wonder at the large ship. The white sails glowed in the afternoon sun, the aged bronze of the figure of a siren at the bow matching the metal accenting the ship.

A loud horn signaled the end of the working day. Hopping down from her seat, Francesca fetched the young girl and placed a gold Real in her hands for one of her oysters.

“Gracias Senora,” the young girl cried with gratitude, fresh tears in her eyes.

Another horn sounded sending Francesca off in a hurry. She waved goodbye to the curious girl.

Her husband Lucio was to return home any minute and would expect the aroma of tonight’s dinner to seduce his freckled nose as he entered their villa on top of a hill. As she walked closer to the town center, Francesca looked out for the large, white clock tower with its winged gargoyles that pointed North, South, East, and West.

“Son las cinco y cuarto, perfect,” said Francesca when the out of place building came into her direct view. The sun’s amber light shone on the left face of the clock tower. Its very tip had already begun to disappear into the shadow. She always thought it quite peculiar and anachronous in the vibrant coastal town. For months after her arrival when she was a young bride, she tried to avoid the blank stares of the beaked guardians at all costs; but eventually daily life as the wife of a popular merchant required for her to inquire over her husband’s local business with the town elite and wealthy citizens. Not only did she dread the stares, she despised the lingering whispers after the golden doors closed shut. With a turn onto a steep hill with cobbled streets, 8-foot-tall wrought iron fences signal the entrance to a large, light blue house resting on the apex of the hill.

“Hola senorita Francesca. Staring at boats again?” said Eloisa, the family’s head of staff. A tiny woman of large personality who was once Francesca’s wet nurse. It was in her care Francesca was left in after a band of mutinous pirates raided Mourning Star midnight Christmas morning while Mama and Papa slept in a tranquil slumber. Francesca can remember the searing heat of the roaring flames flashing in honey, tangerine, and crimson. The fire crept along the sides of her sleeping chamber. The blooming obsidian smoke choked the air from her quarters. Her screams for help were answered by a soot covered man with a receding hairline and ugly intentions. Francesca blackened the proceeding moments from her memory for it nearly drove her mad during her years of eternal and penetrating grief. “I figured you wouldn’t return on time. So I began preparing for dinner for you and Señor Hierro,” Eloisa kissed Francesca’s cheeks twice and took her jacket from her hands. “But my duties are over, and I give you full reign of your house.” The elderly woman flashed a toothy grin at the younger woman. Francesca just rolled her eyes in jest and naïve deviance.

“Ah Ma, you have earned your keep for today. So dimelo what’s next for you?”

“I heard of a traveling actors group performing tonight in the city square. And I am late. Adios Señora”

Francesca swirled a wooden spoon into the simmering pot of creamy Alfredo sauce and little dumpling balls of potato dough the Italians called gnocchi. Bringing the spoon to her plump rose lips, she tasted for any absent flavors. Her nose crinkled.

“It’s definitely missing some spice.” She thought out loud and made her way into the walk in pantry Lucio built for her after striking a contract with a spice kingpin in South East Asia. Being the wife of a wealthy merchant had its perks, specifically in the grace of foreign spices that reached their pantry, insuring an explosion on their tongues. She rummaged through the different spices held within spherical vials.

“Ah, these will do.”

She made her way back to the stove holding vials of paprika, cumin, and ras el hanout.

Francesca yipped with joy when her micro experiment went as planned. The Alfredo gnocchi had a spicy kick that sent her nerves firing like a full moon celebration.

•

The entirety of the building appeared to be sculpted from the mountain side. The large central room held together by mosaic archways in the windows, doorways, and even above the heads of the wealthy crowds. An ingenious plan for skylights sent sunlight scattering and bounced off the crystals of purple and white onto the tan stone to give a light show of rainbow of colors. On Francesca’s pale grey gown glimmered hues of blue and pink and iridescent green like the shells of Egyptian beetles. Francesca found the twinkling lights more interesting than the company of airheads she sat with. It is quite inconvenient to wear corsets in place like this, she thought. She wiggled inside the wire cage. Her breathing shallow. Her adversaries, dressed in all the frills, poof, and glitter imaginable looked to the merchant’s wife with wonder, and some with envy, as she ordered for everyone in the language of the Arab servers. The young ladies loved to repeat to themselves the smooth words. “Teteria,” “Karak,” “Shukraan.” The words rolled from their lips and evaporated into the heavy air.

Francesca’s mind fleeted from her immediate surroundings to imagining how Lucio’s hunt for her ship was coming along. She was startled back into reality by the gentle touch of her elbow. Instinctively, she withdrew herself from the touch and looked at the man defense her fingers flexed into a tight fist.

“Perdon Señorita Heirro.”

“Oh no. No. Perdoname, I’ve been catching myself in the luls of daydreams more and more often than not.” Her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

“I should’ve proceeded with caution rather than start a beautiful woman like you.” The man, she knew that his last name was Reyes winked at her. “You almost gave me a black eye with that fist.”

Francesca watched him, waited for him to make his point. A quick awkward silence followed, and he cracked with a cough.

“So… I wanted to inquire about a shipment Senior Hierro has arranged to arrive tomorrow from far east of China.” He said carefully. She felt the tea surge back up and her face expressed the disgust she felt.

“That’s business you have with my husband.”

“Yes I am aware. I have mentioned business with him but he requested more than was fair.” He touched her elbow again looking intently into her golden honey eyes, “I was hoping you could pu—”

“Antonio! What are you doing?” In a swirl a petite brunette shouted and pulled Antonio Reyes away from Francesca, “Today is for small talk, gossip, and tea.” she quipped as she snuck herself underneath his arm. The brunette winked at an anxious Francesca. All she could do present a meek smile on her face.

“Dios mio, I’m sorry Francesca. My cousin fails at social life.” The small brunette whose name couldn’t surface in her memory giggled childishly. Antonio seemed offended and he huffed, “Goodbye ladies,” and with a flare of his coattail he scurried off. Less anxious, Francesca smiled back at the woman in a gown that looked like it was made of millions of dew drops tied together by spiderweb. She sat back on the large satin pillows she rested on.

“Tea?” She offered, reaching for the pot, “Um, Tatiana right?” she questioned carefully as she poured the amber liquid into a second golden cup and refilled hers for the third time.

“You remembered!”

Francesca chuckled in relief. What an embarrassment if I got it wrong, she thought. The warm liquid washed over her and she moaned quietly into her cup.

A thick layer of smoke spread across the ground and the skylights dimmed despite it being noon. Conversations faded as bells chimed with the entrance of six women, clad in colorful fabrics of silk and chiffon, little gold coins were tied to a scarf around their hips, bells at their ankles, and veils of chiffon allowed the party goers to only see their deep, dark almond eyes. A group of men in loose ivory clothes and black turbans sat on pillows and began to play instruments that looked as ancient as the room she sat in. The women swayed and moved their hips in a sensual way that aroused the crowd. Francesca excused herself from her new friend and fluttered towards the bathroom on the far western side of the tea house. She approached the narrow hallway, but stopped in her tracks when she heard hushed words. A thud against the wall sent a short wave of vibration to where she stood. She hid around the corner and carefully watched the transaction between Antonio and another mysterious man in a dirty jacket and torn pants.

The other man, taller than Antonio to that his nose reached his chest and he had to tilt his head in order to look at him, he had his long arm across Antonio’s chest teeth flashing in his face.

“I swear to Aegaeon… we gave you 2 hours.” He growled, spit flying onto Antonio’s petrified face.

“Please, I couldn’t get the bitch to speak and then my cou—” Antonio pleaded but was cut off by the back of a ring adorned hand, causing a minor gash to begin bleeding. “What was that for?”

“For being an idiot.” Mused the man. He pushed Antonio harder into the wall. “I need a way into la casa azul.”

Francesca slipped an audible gasp as she realized the tall man was speaking of her house. Her blue house on the hill. Her eyes widen with shock and she covered her mouth with her hands pressing her back into the wall.

“What was that?” The tall dirty man looked down the hallway squinting to see a figure in the hallway only illuminated by a single gas lamp.

Francesca closed her eyes willing herself to be as quiet as possible. The looming heavy steps beginning to walk towards her corner.

Please… God, she prayed inside her head. The clicks of his heel stopped right before the threshold of the hall and the darkened room in which Francesca hid and turned back around. A sigh from Francesca was covered by the grunt and thump of someone being kicked.

“You’ll regret crossing me and taking precious time.” He spat and made his exit.

Oh’s and Ah’s of admiration quickly turned into shouts and screeches of panic.

Krizia Isamar Bruno is an artist, editor, and writer born and raised in Brooklyn, who decided to unpack her bags in Pittsburgh, PA. Her creations feature a magical and diverse world where moms and daughters live for and against each other.

She is the founder of Ofrendas Press, an independent publishing press focused on creating handmade books and publications by women of Latinx, African, and/or Indigenous heritage. Her first self-published work, Dominicana Americana, is available for pre-order at the Ofrendas Shop.

More of Krizia’s work can be found on www.kri-zia.com.

#novel excerpt #graphic novel excerpt #writing #creative writing #women writers #krizia i bruno

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whimsical-bard · 7 years

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Venting.

Soft sounds of idle chatter echoed up the stairs, pulling her away from sleep's tight embrace; the sun outside had just risen, her entire room being bathed in a golden light. Her lace curtains swayed gently in the breeze, coming in from the window she forgot to shut the night before. Her piano was dusty, as it had been for the past few months; she never felt the urge to play anymore, let alone get up and clean it.

The cold, wooden floor beneath her feet sent a chill up her spine; no matter how long she'd lived here, she could never get used to it. As she slowly descended the stairs, she could smell her uncle cooking his usual breakfast: bacon and eggs, sunny side up. Her favorite, and he knew it. She flashed a smile at everyone sitting at the table, the sun shining through the floor length windows almost blinding. Rose still seemed half asleep, her messy bun moving ever so slightly with her deep breaths as she rested her chin on her hands. Her sister, Sam, bustled around the table, trying to get everything ready before Bakujio finished up his cooking.

"Morning, kiddo!" She said cheerfully, motioning for her to sit down. "Hungry?"

"Morning." She smiled, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hands as well. "Yeah, I am. I forgot to eat last night."

Sam huffed. "You really need to stop doing that. Am I gonna have to send Feareh in to remind you?"

"I know, I know... And, please, for the love of god, don't." She giggled.

Sam laughed as she gently patted her head before scurrying off to finish god knows what.

Wana flashed her a smile, moving chairs to sit next to her. Kat and Mio were absent; asleep, more likely than not, but that never really bothered anyone. After Bakujio and Achro came in from the kitchen, they all enjoyed a breakfast together; their cheerful voices and funny stories of the night before making whatever sadness she had disappear, at least for a little bit.

She donned her usual robe; a black and yellow one, hugging her curves just right. An expensive one, too - given to her as a gift from none other than Wana. She smiled softly as she fastened her belts, struggling still somewhat with the intricate chains that covered it.

The clicks of her heels echoed throughout the empty street. It was odd; this time of day was usually bustling with people, but despite the strangely-nice weather for February, the streets remained empty. The trees swayed gently with each breeze, and despite the sun shining relentlessly, she couldn't help but feel a little chill go down her spine.

She let out a soft sigh as she turned down the usual deserted street; concrete streets eventually turning to dirt as the woods around her closed in. It looked dead, as it always did this time of year; dead, brown leaves cluttered the forest floor, holding the soft smell of damp ground beneath them as she kicked them out of her way. Bare tree branches looked as though they could reach down and pluck her up at any second; like brown, bony fingers. They menacingly swayed in the breeze still coming through, setting her on edge - more than she usually was.

Finally, she reached it; the clearing she had been frequenting the past 7 months. The grass was dead, having been subjected to the harsh winter not even a month before. Leaves haphazardly blew in from the treeline surrounding it, making it look messier than she had expected. Footprints of hers from months before still lingered in the soft ground; it was as though multiple people came here at once, with the amount there was. It's like everyone came to visit him for once... Ha.

She sighed, slumping against the lone, cold stone that sat in the middle of the clearing. A grave, although unmarked, was the sole reason she came here; her best friend, her brother, was the one who rested just beside her. None of them could think of anything that would do him justice; nothing could describe the person he was for them. And, so, they left it blank.

As blank as his room after he was gone.

As blank as her life; the bright, blue sky that once filled her with energy was nothing more than a bright nuisance, keeping her from her from her one escape - sleep. Piano music that used to come almost endlessly from her room gradually faded away, as she instead opted to stay in bed rather than play. Slowly, but surely, she withdrew from her family; not that they didn't notice, they definitely did - they were frustrated, most of all. She couldn't keep them happy anymore. Never knowing what to say, not knowing what she could do; they got increasingly fed up with her. Their anger slowly turned to apathy; they didn't want to help, they wouldn't even try. They wanted her to be back to normal without any sort of effort whatsoever.

But that's impossible.

I can't go back to normal.

It hurt, more than anything. She wouldn't dare speak a word about him anymore; anything having to do with the "M-word" was avoided like the plague, as to not cause an outburst. She felt as though they wanted nothing more than to just forget him; forget the person he was, everything he had done for them, just his existence. His sweet voice, his contagious laughter, the way he lit up a room by just walking in. His soft hugs, his gentle encouragement, his funny one-liners. She couldn't understand; a person like that should be remembered, and celebrated for all that they had done. All that he had done. But instead, they swept it under the rug, not a single word about him uttered.

"Y'know, Mizu-" She began, resting her head against the stone. "I sometimes have to stop and wonder if they really do care. About either one of us."

"I feel so... Lonely. Isolated from them all. I feel like I was the one left behind, like I'm still back in the month you did it, while they've all moved on. It hurts, y'know? It hurts to breathe, to exist; like there's a hole in my chest as big as you were. No matter what I do, no matter how long I wait, it never seems to get smaller. The only semblance of reassurance I get now is "it'll get better", but that's bullshit. Each day has been getting worse, like something is draining the life out of me. I'm so stressed; I have like, 4 knots in my neck as I'm talking right now. It hurts to move, but I wanted to come talk to someone who will listen to me for a while."

"Mama has been gone almost 2 months. I can't help but feel like it's my fault, y'know? I could've helped her. I could've saved it all. But look at me, I'm the most sorry excuse for a "hero" you'll ever come across. I can't do shit; I can't help anyone, I can't do anything. All I am is a leech now; taking benefits from the things they've been doing while not contributing myself. And helping is how I contribute, y'know? I'm so goddamn useless I can't do anything else. But now, I don't even have that to cling to."

"It's so damn selfish of me, but every day I wish that I could have you back. I know you were suffering, and in pain, but goddammit. We need you. I need you. You made me into the person I am today; every good thing, everything that I am and will ever be, is because of you. I want you to see me grow up, I want you to see me get married, and watch me change as a person. I wanted you to be a part of that; but you can't be anymore."

"It's times like these where I really hope that you can hear me, because I have so many things I want and need to say to you. Like how I never said it enough, but that I love you. I love you so goddamn much. You were my first older brother, and god, I am so lucky that I had someone like you. You were the best thing I could have ever asked for. Thank you, for everything. I just wish I could've saved you like you saved me."

"Y'know, the only person who really pays me any mind anymore is Wana. He just sorta gets it, you feel? Like he can feel everything I'm feeling, or at least understand why I'm feeling it. He listens to me rant and rave and cry about the most pointless things, but he doesn't complain at all; he reassures me, and validates me... Like you always used to do. I think you'd really like him, he's the sweetest. I just wish you got a chance to meet him..."

"Well, I've been rambling on too much again, as usual... Thank you for listening. I really miss you, and I wonder what you'd say to me now... But, I'll be back tomorrow, hopefully it'll be nice again!"

"I love you always, Mizu. Have a great day."

And with that, she departed.

#My writing #m #foxmafia #vent story

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