April flash #9
prompts provided by:
Amygdala: like fat in bacon; quenched; tilt a whirl; an apple could be a rock; shadows on the wall of the cave; like a finger print
This place was primitive. You knew it from the feel of it, just by walking in. And here we were, unexpected, unannounced, barging in with the will of freedom like we owned the rights. No one could own rights to a place like this, it was all too ancient for such vague trivial things. We wandered in, high off the mountain air, head spinning, breath catching in our throats like we had swallowed a hook on the end of the line and we were gasping for breath with the high altitude. The cave seemed like a good place to rest, at the time. Empty. Vacant. No signs of life at all, really so we thought. The mouth yawned open wide like a prehistoric beast needing a nap. And as we built a fire near the opening to allow the smoke to vent our shadows on the wall of the cave danced like heathens, larger than life, like a primitive species war dancing and crying towards heaven. We left scorched earth in a fire pit like a finger print, marking where we once were and may return again. Turns out it wasnt so lifeless after all, bats swirling about our heads, disturbed by the smoke, their eyes glowing in the vague darkness. The smoke smelled like burning fat in bacon, a hearty, welcoming smell, as we roasted food over the fire, quenched our thirst with spring water and discussing how realities shift from one thing to another how an apple could be a rock if you were never taught what an apple was how we all saw things differently. And once our hunger was satiated, we lay on our backs in the dirt, staring up at the sky, watching the stars swim past like a tilt a whirl, as if we could feel the very earth swirling under our feet, the press of our skin to the ground, the connectivity of everything. You turned to me in those moments, face alive with fire glow and whispered words of meaning hidden behind vague inconsistencies. do you think its always meant to be like this? Your hand found mine in the darkness, seeking reassurance and residual warmth. Shelter. like it was a mistake to evolve, to grow to build palaces and have rulers like all along we were supposed to be cave people, painting scenes on the rock. Maybe we werent supposed to be remembered.
I turned to you and smiled as long as there is love like you, it will always be remembered. Legends were built of less than this. But I will be your cave-person whenever you wish, pretend to drag you by the hair, paint memorials to your beauty with finger paints and primal screams.
primal screams? Your grin turned wicked, shadows flickering across the glowing green of your eyes. I nodded, suddenly comprehending your meaning, and finding myself unable to speak. show me. It was not a request but an order, issued from the mouth of one whom kingdoms were created to revere.
I did. And you screamed for me in that stillness, swallowed by the black of night it was raw-er, ancient and primal, just as I promised. In those moments more than any other I felt the connection between us, far removed from what we had come to know as reality, but closer to what I believed was always meant to be. It was quenching a different kind of thirst, really one that, despite how much you drank, left you with a craving for more.
new prompts: Carousel ride; painted horses; handprints in the mud