ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I like to write when I can, usually late at night or very early in the morning, alone in silence.
James Joyce, D.H Lawrence, Joseph Conrad, C. Bukowski, Jack Kerouac are some of the writers I admire, not necessarily for their accomplishments but for their sharp, brutal and honest work. And that, to me is truly special.
[December 2006]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (2) A Staged Disappearance (Short Stories) A Staged Disappearance by Kate Alexander. This story is based on a real person and their true past. This includes, memories, experiences, desires, upsides, downsides, the nature of their condition a... [2,277 words] [Literary Fiction] Ethel (Short Stories) Ethel by Kate Alexander. A man's struggle with his emotional demons finally ends in death of his much beloved woman. [1,407 words]
Anticipation Ekaterina Alexandrova
One day, when you're finally gone and are not around to torture me, I'll lay your lifeless body on a banquet table and watch as bone-white streamers decorate the house that we once shared. The dishes from the cabinet will dance onto the tablecloth and arrange themselves around your corpse; the grass will grow green in celebration; dandelion stems will float above the yard, announcing invitations to this, a special wake for you.
As I wait in silence and you lie stiff on the board, I'll contemplate the man that I've become. My cheeks-flushed with anticipation-and your cold pallor remind me of the inextricable marriage between love and hate.
The bell rings, snapping me from my reverie. Our guests arrive....
I will invite the gnats, not for their pleasant conversation, but because they bothered you so much. They will crown your head one last time, crawl into your nose and get stuck in the wax of your unprotected ears. This time you will not be able to run away from them like your ran from me. You will only lay in posthumous annoyance and wait for the mosquitoes to serve the drinks.
Slender cups of honeysuckle flowers (whose nectar you loved so much in summer) will serve as cups for the remnants of your body's blood. We'll laugh and toast and make jokes. "Her blood was red?" A mosquito will exclaim. "Her temperament suggested a color more sour." Green for envy, yellow for fear. Perhaps blue to suggest your frigid heart, or brown for the dead wood of your emotions. "On second thought," I'll say, winking to the ticks and water-bugs who-unlike you-appreciate my jokes, "red is appropriate. Red for hatred and anger. The blood of one so thoroughly spiteful could be no other color than red."
We'll laugh and the beetles will arrive, followed closely by the grasshoppers. Dismal chords of music will echo to symbolize the entrance of insects so closely associated with curses and plagues. I'll greet the new arrivals and the stairway will unfold to reveal the upper terrace. My guests are hungry, but patient with the knowledge that everyone will eat their fill before the night is done.
Upstairs we'll gather to appreciate an orchestra of stars. A gentle breeze, not strong enough to disperse a cloud of insects, will cool us as we quench our thirst with cupfuls of your spiteful red blood. The void of space reminds us that we all must make choices to fill the void of emptiness in our lives. I've made my choice for you, my love, and hope that you appreciate the effort I've taken on your behalf. Like a signal from the heavens, three dragonflies arrive to bind your mouth and we descend to the table. The feast is about to begin....
And there you lie still. "She looks so peaceful," an earwig laments. A larval mite will cry, punished by his mother for trying to sneak a bite before the other guests are seated. We arrange ourselves around the table in cinder chairs; our feet rest on a colony of ants content to serve as footstools and wait for scraps to fall under the table. I will stand at the head and observe my friends, the fleas, roaches, flies, and caterpillars. A band of outcasts, we, assembled for the common purpose of remembrance and gluttony. If only in life you'd enjoyed enough of a sense of irony to appreciate this picture, you may not have had to suffer this fate.
I raise my glass. My speech, you'll see, is carefully prepared and well rehearsed.
"A toast to the dead," I'll cry, and the assembled bugs will explode in clattering applause. I wait for quiet. "The carrion of life, those with the souls of butchers and compassion of a pack of hungry wolves, can expect no less than this." We drink with wild abandon, and red splatters appear on the white table cloth. My guests glance hungrily at your limbs.
"A toast," I say again. My glass, as if by magic, is refilled. "To the precious cycle of nature, which gives vermin to vermin, and remands the dirt and grime back into the darkness of the Earth." We drink again, and tentacles, feelers, and claws reach for your decaying flesh. I stop them one last time.
"A toast to you, my darling. Without your education I may have lived my whole life as an innocent, pure, untarnished soul. I wish for you in death the gift you've given me in life: never a moment without doubt; never a moment without fear; never a moment without pain; never a moment of peace."
I drain my glass a third time and the feast begins.
READER'S REVIEWS (5) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Remarkable imagery (I especially like the "bone white streamers"). But remind me that I shouldn't get you mad at me." -- Glenn DeWeese, Tulsa, OK, USA.
""[A]n orchestra of stars" - beautiful line from a beautifully dark story and a beautifully dark mind, remarkable and unique writing technique - full marks." -- Matt Good, Sydney/London, NSW, Australia/UK.
"Bravo ! Poetry in motion ! The vivid imagery of the scene and the dark ambience of the macarbre "feast" is a tour-de-force of creative genius. I look forward to future submissions with baited breath. I read so much in to this, that I could extol it's brilliance for hours, yet time is an old enemy, so all I can say is "Magnifico !"" -- Harvey Kennett, Chelmsford, Essex, United Kingdom.
"strong imagery and the flow of a poet. This is as visual as it is wondeful. Excellenct!" -- e. rocco caldwell.
"Wonderfully flowing and descriptive. I loved it. Please keep writing, and I will keep reading!!" -- Bernay, Cooranbong, NSW, Cooranbong.
TO DELETE UNWANTED REVIEWS CLICK HERE! (SELECT "MANAGE TITLE REVIEWS" ACTION)
Submit Your Review for Anticipation
Required fields are marked with (*). Your e-mail address will not be displayed.