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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Family
- Published: 08/18/2015
My youngest brother, Sohindra and I survived on ragged dirty hares that did not so happen to resemble that cuddly Bugs Bunny character. The wind stroked both our faces and kissed us goodnight. Mother abandoned us for substance and soon became a slave to heroine; I could do nothing about her choice and carried a weight of guilt that aged me beyond years.
Sohindra asked me one day with tears that welled in his glassy eyes, “Deb, you look so old, like granny.”
I had grown old with wisdom and sorrow. Sorrow lurked like a disease within the depth of my heart like a slow poison eating at my soul; a sorrow that originated from my selfish mother who could not be bothered with her children. We were running away from everything and everyone with fate as our compass.
Over the months, Sohindra and I became best friends. He was no longer my annoying minuscule toy soldier brother. We fed on roasted rat and pig which made a fine pork stew with wild vegetables displayed upon our palm plates as decoration. We picked potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots and olives from God’s garden. Some would say we lived like savages but I hardly saw it that way. Instead we lived like warriors, searching for a purpose and a deep-rooted yearning to connect to God or some higher being on a spiritual level.
We both meditated like Buddha under weeping willows and prayed to bring mother back. Not that heroine-filled mother but our mama who took care of us when we were trapped in our powerless infantile state with our minds as easily malleable as clay.
We dug into the earth and constructed miniature mud huts with Sohindra forming an earthly family consisting of a mother, sister and younger brother to inhabit our construction. Showers of rain dissipated our mud family just as our microscopic family dissipated. Thunder drum-rolled in the background with flashes of lightening that decorated the gloomy sky. Our feet pattered on the slimy slugged ground to shelter in a mud hut with only feral animals as company.
“It will eventually stop,” I reassured my tearful brother.
I grinned like a Cheshire cat to reassure my confidence in our survival. He glared at me with that familiar look of desire.
“Deb, it would be nice to get our hands on cinnamon buns, would it not?” he suggested.
Our bodies ran out of sugar and stood like cups of unsweetened bottomless black tea.
“How about we visit the local diner and steal some cinnamon buns, what do you say little man?” I asked with a delinquent smile splashed across my face.
He returned my lunatic smile and responded with glee, “Sounds like a plan little lady.” We slept like animals in the mud cave.
The next morning we trudged to the local diner covered in stolen clothing which had been left to dry on a clothesline. We walked in someone else’s shoes. A porcelain doll, “Trudy” served us; she smiled with smeared pink champagne lipstick and took our order of sweet, sugar and cinnamon powdered buns. We sat and waited like thieves to devour our early morning breakfast.
A perfect platter of cinnamon buns were placed before our hungry eyes. Sohindra saved some in napkins and meticulously placed them in his pocket. I smiled my familiar lunatic smile which he returned with a sly fox grin. We dashed out the red retro doors of the diner with dainty Trudy screeching after us.
II
Two perfect years passed by with the blink of an eye and Sohindra’s body transitioned from a mannequin to a man with fur in certain places. He constantly picked at his main member which throbbed at most times. He was becoming a man; I am undecided as to whether it was a blessing or a curse.
My breasts grew to the size of mountainous mangoes, some day it would harbor sweet juice. My nipples sprouted to resemble shriveled raisins. I grew black silk fur on parts of my body. I was becoming a woman, blessed with beautiful scarlet lips to seduce men with sweet words of false promise.
We both gazed at one another as if we were the only two people in the world.
He whispered words that traveled slowly in the wind, “Deb, I’ve never realized how magnificently gorgeous you are.”
I returned his lustrous look with an equally sultry one; a look that could melt a snowman.
We made passionate love under a mango tree with its fingertips providing shade for our fiery embrace. A Blue Jay whistled in amazement, providing music to the love we shared. It felt natural yet it was so wrong. Our love was primal and filled with frustration; frustration rooted from our mother’s absence.
He caressed my bare breasts and sucked at my wrinkled nipples. His tongue slowly descended from my mango breasts to my navel and finally to my pink rosy womanhood. He took out his throbbing meat and thrust into me slowly; I let out a pleasurable yet painful scream. I became a woman and he, a man.
We kissed and thrust a few times under the mango tree with only a cluster of stars as witness to our sin. Crickets played their usual song in the background and the Blue Jay sang as we embraced in an everlasting kiss with pain and passion as guests to our bodily communion.
III
We awoke from under our mango tree where droplets of sunrise stood on our faces as the feeling of shame stained the air. Sohindra did not utter a word since we had performed the dirty deed. We had trodden on dusty earth in dreaded silence with the African heat that pounded at our heads and burned our dark, crisp ebony flesh. I decided to break the cruel silence with a kiss on his rough, bearded cheek. He pushed me away timidly, almost as if he did not want to.
He pleaded in his singsong voice, “Deb, it is so wrong on so many levels. Let us pretend that it did not happen.”
I agreed, although I did not want to. I wanted to make love under mango trees for an eternity and to be loved in return. Sohindra could no longer be my brother; he had become my lover.
IV
The night granted us more lovemaking. My brother could no longer deny his body the pleasures it craved. We made love under a weeping willow with sorrow still lurking in our souls. Our bodies embraced the pain in our heart and both our manhood and womanhood erupted in untidy pleasure.
Tears welled in my aged glassy eyes and exploded in a river of tears. He held me close, kissed my forehead and whispered, “Goodnight.”
We were the only guests at the dinner party with no host in sight.
Sustenance(Sasheera)
My youngest brother, Sohindra and I survived on ragged dirty hares that did not so happen to resemble that cuddly Bugs Bunny character. The wind stroked both our faces and kissed us goodnight. Mother abandoned us for substance and soon became a slave to heroine; I could do nothing about her choice and carried a weight of guilt that aged me beyond years.
Sohindra asked me one day with tears that welled in his glassy eyes, “Deb, you look so old, like granny.”
I had grown old with wisdom and sorrow. Sorrow lurked like a disease within the depth of my heart like a slow poison eating at my soul; a sorrow that originated from my selfish mother who could not be bothered with her children. We were running away from everything and everyone with fate as our compass.
Over the months, Sohindra and I became best friends. He was no longer my annoying minuscule toy soldier brother. We fed on roasted rat and pig which made a fine pork stew with wild vegetables displayed upon our palm plates as decoration. We picked potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots and olives from God’s garden. Some would say we lived like savages but I hardly saw it that way. Instead we lived like warriors, searching for a purpose and a deep-rooted yearning to connect to God or some higher being on a spiritual level.
We both meditated like Buddha under weeping willows and prayed to bring mother back. Not that heroine-filled mother but our mama who took care of us when we were trapped in our powerless infantile state with our minds as easily malleable as clay.
We dug into the earth and constructed miniature mud huts with Sohindra forming an earthly family consisting of a mother, sister and younger brother to inhabit our construction. Showers of rain dissipated our mud family just as our microscopic family dissipated. Thunder drum-rolled in the background with flashes of lightening that decorated the gloomy sky. Our feet pattered on the slimy slugged ground to shelter in a mud hut with only feral animals as company.
“It will eventually stop,” I reassured my tearful brother.
I grinned like a Cheshire cat to reassure my confidence in our survival. He glared at me with that familiar look of desire.
“Deb, it would be nice to get our hands on cinnamon buns, would it not?” he suggested.
Our bodies ran out of sugar and stood like cups of unsweetened bottomless black tea.
“How about we visit the local diner and steal some cinnamon buns, what do you say little man?” I asked with a delinquent smile splashed across my face.
He returned my lunatic smile and responded with glee, “Sounds like a plan little lady.” We slept like animals in the mud cave.
The next morning we trudged to the local diner covered in stolen clothing which had been left to dry on a clothesline. We walked in someone else’s shoes. A porcelain doll, “Trudy” served us; she smiled with smeared pink champagne lipstick and took our order of sweet, sugar and cinnamon powdered buns. We sat and waited like thieves to devour our early morning breakfast.
A perfect platter of cinnamon buns were placed before our hungry eyes. Sohindra saved some in napkins and meticulously placed them in his pocket. I smiled my familiar lunatic smile which he returned with a sly fox grin. We dashed out the red retro doors of the diner with dainty Trudy screeching after us.
II
Two perfect years passed by with the blink of an eye and Sohindra’s body transitioned from a mannequin to a man with fur in certain places. He constantly picked at his main member which throbbed at most times. He was becoming a man; I am undecided as to whether it was a blessing or a curse.
My breasts grew to the size of mountainous mangoes, some day it would harbor sweet juice. My nipples sprouted to resemble shriveled raisins. I grew black silk fur on parts of my body. I was becoming a woman, blessed with beautiful scarlet lips to seduce men with sweet words of false promise.
We both gazed at one another as if we were the only two people in the world.
He whispered words that traveled slowly in the wind, “Deb, I’ve never realized how magnificently gorgeous you are.”
I returned his lustrous look with an equally sultry one; a look that could melt a snowman.
We made passionate love under a mango tree with its fingertips providing shade for our fiery embrace. A Blue Jay whistled in amazement, providing music to the love we shared. It felt natural yet it was so wrong. Our love was primal and filled with frustration; frustration rooted from our mother’s absence.
He caressed my bare breasts and sucked at my wrinkled nipples. His tongue slowly descended from my mango breasts to my navel and finally to my pink rosy womanhood. He took out his throbbing meat and thrust into me slowly; I let out a pleasurable yet painful scream. I became a woman and he, a man.
We kissed and thrust a few times under the mango tree with only a cluster of stars as witness to our sin. Crickets played their usual song in the background and the Blue Jay sang as we embraced in an everlasting kiss with pain and passion as guests to our bodily communion.
III
We awoke from under our mango tree where droplets of sunrise stood on our faces as the feeling of shame stained the air. Sohindra did not utter a word since we had performed the dirty deed. We had trodden on dusty earth in dreaded silence with the African heat that pounded at our heads and burned our dark, crisp ebony flesh. I decided to break the cruel silence with a kiss on his rough, bearded cheek. He pushed me away timidly, almost as if he did not want to.
He pleaded in his singsong voice, “Deb, it is so wrong on so many levels. Let us pretend that it did not happen.”
I agreed, although I did not want to. I wanted to make love under mango trees for an eternity and to be loved in return. Sohindra could no longer be my brother; he had become my lover.
IV
The night granted us more lovemaking. My brother could no longer deny his body the pleasures it craved. We made love under a weeping willow with sorrow still lurking in our souls. Our bodies embraced the pain in our heart and both our manhood and womanhood erupted in untidy pleasure.
Tears welled in my aged glassy eyes and exploded in a river of tears. He held me close, kissed my forehead and whispered, “Goodnight.”
We were the only guests at the dinner party with no host in sight.
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