Paralyzed by Fear of Paralysis

These are my responses to the Writober prompt post Fear of Paralysis.

OctPoWriMo

Paralysis

She wears a tangy-sweet perfume
the orange blossom tree in spring
her voice a nightingale—
unanimously accepted to be
the sweetest birdsong—
sings a funeral dirge
chanting: if only, if only
a flutter, flutter, flutter

If I could speak
I would tell her
I’m here and I’m trying
I’m telling my eyes
to move, Move, MOVE

Her silk blouse brushes
my lifeless arm hairs
fabric stained from wiping
tears from her cheeks
streaming, streaming, streaming
streaming, but I don’t feel it
She cries: If only, If only
a twitch, a twitch, a twitch

I focus on my right
pointer finger, the finger
she used to hold as we walked
so neither of us would ever
get lost and I’m telling
that finger to move
move, damn it, move
move, move, move, Move, MOVE

Writober Flash Fiction

Self Preservation

Dizzy, lungs burning, before taking what could be her last breath, Cora realized her mistake.

Ever since she fell out of the tree and broke her arm when she was three, she had been extra-careful, anxious of breaking her neck. Her parents loved extreme sports and believed that kids need to take risks, learn from their mistakes. They died chasing a tornado when she was five, or that’s what her grandma told her. Their truck was never found. Cora liked to believe they were in Oz.

When her favorite ski-jumper had a horrible accident, and was paralyzed from the neck down, Cora’s only solace was her memories of canning with her grandmother, preserving fruits and vegetables for the winter. She loved those sealed jars all lined up on the shelves in the basement. The textured glass holding those green beans, golden apricots, pickles, and jams safe from age and decay. She wanted that kind of safety.

It became an obsession; the only thing she wanted and needed. Finally, she befriended a glass blower, and convinced him that a human-sized canning jar would make the type of statement he was working toward. She volunteered for a collaboration, a piece of performance art, explaining how a live human inside his glass jar was social commentary. It would push people to see that they were never safe, no matter what they did. Cora demanded that the canning jar be exactly like the ones her grandmother had used. She climbed in, curled up, holding her knees, and when she heard the lid screw on, all her anxiety disappeared. She felt so safe. But like all preserves, it was only safe if there was no air in the jar.

Halloween Photography Challenge

For fear of paralysis I thought of not being able to move, which led me to mummification, a mummy awake but trapped in a sarcophagus. For today’s image, I cut a mummy filter and took photos in the mirrorworld.

Happy Writober!

See you tomorrow!