doris waits
Posted: April 10th, 2005, 2:40 am
doris waits
doris looks both ways before crossing the meadow. more rocky glade than grassy knoll. it is a pleasant open space with wildflowers, mosses and lichens and short scrub juniper. berries a chalky sapphire stand against evergreen.
the plants and wildflowers in the meadow could be any variety of medicinal teas. the roots of this one, the leaf of another and pollen from a third all mixed with honey will cure whatever ails ye. lest you don't have a drink to wash it down. which is the cure of cures.
doris picks a flower. echinacea actually and wanly considers love as she mutilates the petals.
there’s a gravely stream bed on the downhill side of the meadow. she aims her arrow there for a sip running fresh from a spring.
cold water from the earth. where the water table wells upward to break the surface of its own accord. pump free. unfathomable bedrock.
the spring emerges just above the streambed from a beautiful glacial stone outcropping formed by the most recent ice age. water trickles down a natural stone causeway, an alluvial aqueduct that fills her thirsty hands as she kneels beside the pool. moving water is the best to drink.
doris sips from the trickle in her hands in the form of a cup. the cold spring slakes her thirst and tempers reason and desire.
the hillside above her is occupied by wildlife, as all around. a white tail doe grazes acorns in dry leaves on the ground. squirrels chatter in the trees. a jay squawks and chases unsuspecting songbirds.
she sits on plush moss to wait. he’ll be along now soon. he said to meet him by the spring. he’d get what he was after. she hopes for a surprise. a token of his affection. something she can destroy when vexed and moon at when pining.
doris would accept a flower. even a twig or pebble or any notion of affection expressed.
doris leans back in the moss and looks up at trees, sky, clouds, birds. things up there. she relishes sight. all these things on the wind and she holds tight to earth so as not to be flung out from the orb til she’s free of gravity and a spacetraveling phantom. a superluminal princess of time. more than a traveler, a ruler in time.
the clouds move and change. floating malleable kingdoms and fantasies.
she forgets to wish he would hurry and remains engrossed in the sky. in the sky bodies become light.
doris wonders. is he lost in the wood? chasing girls? we all know how prolific elves and faeries are at romantic mischief.
here he comes holding his left shoulder and breathing heavy. she stands from her mossy bower. she sees blood. he reaches her. ties the wound on his shoulder with his handkerchief while he catches his breath.
-what happened to you?
-sometimes you run into somebody else’s problems and they’re so close to your own you take em on just to make life harder.
-what?
-she had a sword.
-the bear?
-no. she came at me from behind.
-i thought you liked that
-not with a sword involved
-is she coming?
-i don't know why she wouldn't be
-that’s just dandy
-do you have any weapons?
-only my charm and beauty
-just what we needed
the sword is a single-edged hot-folded steel katana. a woman spins the sword as she dances along through the forest. a scantily clad marauding samurai nymph. she wears arm jewelry. gold and platinum snake bracelets that possess unnerving realness. she wears a silver circlet over her dark locks. there are wildflowers in her hair. she is barefoot and wears fine anklet chains with little golden charms in the shape of wings.
the samurai wood nymph must have a little banshee in her judging by her wail. a ululant locomotive of razor-sharp womanhood streaks toward them as a lion roars toward the slaughter.
he figures to buy doris some time. he has a hardwood club handily acquired. he took at least two fencing lessons from a girl on the fencing team before he dropped out of college. the forty-five is usually enough to prevent hand to hand combat. let alone knives, swords and clubs. alas, the forty-five is in a tent which is not nearby, under his pillow. the swing of his club does deflect the katana hitting it on the flat of the blade rather than bear the brunt of its cut.
all parties regain their footing. she charges again and he surprises himself by parrying another blow.
-don't get cocky
-not with that pigsticker in play
she swings again and he parries. Doris, not to be out done hurls rocks. only one hit him. she clocks the nymph in the head with a small rock and hits her square in the back with another. others make no mark but the ground on the other side of the fray.
the nymph swings again. he swings to parry and the katana slices into his club his club and sticks there. the two combatants struggle and collide. her statuesque nudity rubs firmly, almost alluringly against his disheveled jeans and t-shirt. they pull apart as the sword slices through the last portion of club and it falls in two. he throws the end in his hand at her legs and barks her shins. he stumbles repositioning and the rock beneath him slips and he falls on his ass.
he does not clamber or scramble but tries to find solid footing as he lies and catches his breath.
he hopes to get a good kick in before she slices him up. he feels for a rock with his hands.
Doris sees he’s in a fateful predicament, yet again. Doris throws a rock that hits the nymph’s ribcage with a crack and a thud. she screeches in pain and gnashes her teeth at Doris.
Doris draws a deep breath. she drops the rocks in her hands and faces the sword-wielding temptress. she leaps at Doris in the air in one of those triple X anime flying beaver poses. she swings her razor-sharp blade.
Doris loosens her body, shrugs imperceptibly and claps her hands in the air. with the look of a dance or magical casting she catches the flat of the blade of the katana in her hands stopping it in midswing. the nymph stands hands in the air holding her sword.
Doris turns a pirouetickal doublekick. one foot connects with the nymph’s jaw. the other with her knees. Doris’s hands, prayerfully enveloping the katana blade, break it in half as she turns the kicks and accompanying twirl. Doris backs off and repositions. the nymph is askew. Doris throws the fragment of ancestral steel. it lodgers there in the nymph’s alabaster breast sneaking between the ribs to pierce her heart. she collapses. dead.
-where’d you pick that move up?
-playground
-is one of your alter-egos a spy?
-one of my alter-egos spends all its time saving your ass. i should’ve been a ninja.
-what are you anyway?
-a beautiful woman.
-i never would have guessed
-fuck you
they go over to the spring to see to cuts and bruises. the nymph’s arm bracelets slither away into the forest in retreat.
-what just happened?
-we were attacked
-by who?
-bitch with a sword
-and now?
-we smoke this joint and hope she don't come back to life
doris cups her hands together and gathers an overflowing cupful of spring water. as she dips she sees freshwater prawn trawl among the watercress.
she tastes the cold rich clarity of the water so recently burbled from within.
-i brought you something
she turns and looks at him. she smiles.
-what is it?
-a surprise.
he hands her a silver cylinder about an inch thick. three inches across. it is the size and shape of a can of chewing tobacco.
-kodiak?
-i always loved a woman what chews
she pulls to remove the lid and the silver cylinder telescopes to reveal it is a collapsible drinking cup.
-i thought you might get thirsty waiting here.
she smiles, removes the lid, fills the cup and shares it with him.
doris looks both ways before crossing the meadow. more rocky glade than grassy knoll. it is a pleasant open space with wildflowers, mosses and lichens and short scrub juniper. berries a chalky sapphire stand against evergreen.
the plants and wildflowers in the meadow could be any variety of medicinal teas. the roots of this one, the leaf of another and pollen from a third all mixed with honey will cure whatever ails ye. lest you don't have a drink to wash it down. which is the cure of cures.
doris picks a flower. echinacea actually and wanly considers love as she mutilates the petals.
there’s a gravely stream bed on the downhill side of the meadow. she aims her arrow there for a sip running fresh from a spring.
cold water from the earth. where the water table wells upward to break the surface of its own accord. pump free. unfathomable bedrock.
the spring emerges just above the streambed from a beautiful glacial stone outcropping formed by the most recent ice age. water trickles down a natural stone causeway, an alluvial aqueduct that fills her thirsty hands as she kneels beside the pool. moving water is the best to drink.
doris sips from the trickle in her hands in the form of a cup. the cold spring slakes her thirst and tempers reason and desire.
the hillside above her is occupied by wildlife, as all around. a white tail doe grazes acorns in dry leaves on the ground. squirrels chatter in the trees. a jay squawks and chases unsuspecting songbirds.
she sits on plush moss to wait. he’ll be along now soon. he said to meet him by the spring. he’d get what he was after. she hopes for a surprise. a token of his affection. something she can destroy when vexed and moon at when pining.
doris would accept a flower. even a twig or pebble or any notion of affection expressed.
doris leans back in the moss and looks up at trees, sky, clouds, birds. things up there. she relishes sight. all these things on the wind and she holds tight to earth so as not to be flung out from the orb til she’s free of gravity and a spacetraveling phantom. a superluminal princess of time. more than a traveler, a ruler in time.
the clouds move and change. floating malleable kingdoms and fantasies.
she forgets to wish he would hurry and remains engrossed in the sky. in the sky bodies become light.
doris wonders. is he lost in the wood? chasing girls? we all know how prolific elves and faeries are at romantic mischief.
here he comes holding his left shoulder and breathing heavy. she stands from her mossy bower. she sees blood. he reaches her. ties the wound on his shoulder with his handkerchief while he catches his breath.
-what happened to you?
-sometimes you run into somebody else’s problems and they’re so close to your own you take em on just to make life harder.
-what?
-she had a sword.
-the bear?
-no. she came at me from behind.
-i thought you liked that
-not with a sword involved
-is she coming?
-i don't know why she wouldn't be
-that’s just dandy
-do you have any weapons?
-only my charm and beauty
-just what we needed
the sword is a single-edged hot-folded steel katana. a woman spins the sword as she dances along through the forest. a scantily clad marauding samurai nymph. she wears arm jewelry. gold and platinum snake bracelets that possess unnerving realness. she wears a silver circlet over her dark locks. there are wildflowers in her hair. she is barefoot and wears fine anklet chains with little golden charms in the shape of wings.
the samurai wood nymph must have a little banshee in her judging by her wail. a ululant locomotive of razor-sharp womanhood streaks toward them as a lion roars toward the slaughter.
he figures to buy doris some time. he has a hardwood club handily acquired. he took at least two fencing lessons from a girl on the fencing team before he dropped out of college. the forty-five is usually enough to prevent hand to hand combat. let alone knives, swords and clubs. alas, the forty-five is in a tent which is not nearby, under his pillow. the swing of his club does deflect the katana hitting it on the flat of the blade rather than bear the brunt of its cut.
all parties regain their footing. she charges again and he surprises himself by parrying another blow.
-don't get cocky
-not with that pigsticker in play
she swings again and he parries. Doris, not to be out done hurls rocks. only one hit him. she clocks the nymph in the head with a small rock and hits her square in the back with another. others make no mark but the ground on the other side of the fray.
the nymph swings again. he swings to parry and the katana slices into his club his club and sticks there. the two combatants struggle and collide. her statuesque nudity rubs firmly, almost alluringly against his disheveled jeans and t-shirt. they pull apart as the sword slices through the last portion of club and it falls in two. he throws the end in his hand at her legs and barks her shins. he stumbles repositioning and the rock beneath him slips and he falls on his ass.
he does not clamber or scramble but tries to find solid footing as he lies and catches his breath.
he hopes to get a good kick in before she slices him up. he feels for a rock with his hands.
Doris sees he’s in a fateful predicament, yet again. Doris throws a rock that hits the nymph’s ribcage with a crack and a thud. she screeches in pain and gnashes her teeth at Doris.
Doris draws a deep breath. she drops the rocks in her hands and faces the sword-wielding temptress. she leaps at Doris in the air in one of those triple X anime flying beaver poses. she swings her razor-sharp blade.
Doris loosens her body, shrugs imperceptibly and claps her hands in the air. with the look of a dance or magical casting she catches the flat of the blade of the katana in her hands stopping it in midswing. the nymph stands hands in the air holding her sword.
Doris turns a pirouetickal doublekick. one foot connects with the nymph’s jaw. the other with her knees. Doris’s hands, prayerfully enveloping the katana blade, break it in half as she turns the kicks and accompanying twirl. Doris backs off and repositions. the nymph is askew. Doris throws the fragment of ancestral steel. it lodgers there in the nymph’s alabaster breast sneaking between the ribs to pierce her heart. she collapses. dead.
-where’d you pick that move up?
-playground
-is one of your alter-egos a spy?
-one of my alter-egos spends all its time saving your ass. i should’ve been a ninja.
-what are you anyway?
-a beautiful woman.
-i never would have guessed
-fuck you
they go over to the spring to see to cuts and bruises. the nymph’s arm bracelets slither away into the forest in retreat.
-what just happened?
-we were attacked
-by who?
-bitch with a sword
-and now?
-we smoke this joint and hope she don't come back to life
doris cups her hands together and gathers an overflowing cupful of spring water. as she dips she sees freshwater prawn trawl among the watercress.
she tastes the cold rich clarity of the water so recently burbled from within.
-i brought you something
she turns and looks at him. she smiles.
-what is it?
-a surprise.
he hands her a silver cylinder about an inch thick. three inches across. it is the size and shape of a can of chewing tobacco.
-kodiak?
-i always loved a woman what chews
she pulls to remove the lid and the silver cylinder telescopes to reveal it is a collapsible drinking cup.
-i thought you might get thirsty waiting here.
she smiles, removes the lid, fills the cup and shares it with him.
thank-you for sharing it.