| Snata Borah | April 2024 | Flash Fiction |
I ran so far and for so long, only to run into myself again. The weight of your gaze was too much for my joyless eyes to hold. I looked away to take a sip of the chilled IPA from a suspiciously small glass. I thought you said IPA was a beer? Why then, was it burning my lips? The load of my heart was too much for my knees to bear. Maybe you understood that, maybe you didn’t; but you held me tight, and that helped. A guttural moan escaped my throat. Or was that you? Too much too soon : I closed my eyes.
“Ma’am, you have a pre-booked meal. What beverage would you like?”
“What do you have?” I started, discovering that I was looking out of the plane window with my eyes closed again.
“We have orange juice, pomegranate juice, coconut water…”
“Coconut water, give me coconut water”, I smiled, imagining your lips too, break into a smile, at this private joke. The steward left, allowing me the space to slip back into my thoughts.
You showed me Blake’s sick rose, inked on your right arm. I shuddered. I’ve left, in my wake, tattoos on other arms. Eerily, a rose one too.
You did not let me pay the bills, I said I did not want to owe you. You said you wanted me to. What do I owe you? What _can_ I owe you?
A tattoo of a Brahminy kite? Or some other image you liked?
But you cannot ink scarred skin.
What then, can I owe you?
The heart?
It’s broken, bruised and stomped over.
So, can I owe you, me?
There’s no me – just a shadow of what I used to be.
I ran so far and for so long, only to run into myself again
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Snata likes the sensation of plucking green capsicum and smelling warm sun dried laundry. She lives in Pune.
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