Friday, March 11, 2011

Magpie Tales: Pearls before swine

Thumbing the fag, slow burning between his fingers, he watches the ashes fall into the small empire he has created along the window sill. Soon enough a breeze will snake its way through and destroy his creation. Life is fleeting like that, but he pays it no mind, flicking his gaze the line between sun and shadow creep down the cobblestones lane below.

His chin rests in the palm of his other hand, fingertips playing in the curls of a week of beard absently. He likes the texture and the sensation of touch on his face. The little finger slips along his lip where his tongue pokes out to meet it, the tip tracing the hard edge of the nail. While he is cognizant of these things happening, if you asked him later he would not remember.

The opposing side of the street is now brilliant, blinding in the sunlight. Pink flowers drape among their emerald vines round a window box directly across from him, mouthing arias to their life giver. Through the glass behind them, the room is empty and he feels more at home there than the beauty that adorns them.

Bringing the tapered fag to his lips, he draws the warmth into him. Holding it, he lets it swirl within his inmost parts then releases it to dance as it slowly rises, disappearing. Bird's dark forms cut through the light, vanishing, those that cast them never seen, somewhere above the roof line.

The soft putter and whine of a scooter turns his eyes south, passed the flags and coloured awnings of back street shops, seldom visited by anyone that was not local or had a particular need. He waits, listening to the sound grow, rewarded as a lone rider rounds the corner on a blue grey scooter. He follows their progress with his gaze until they draw to a stop by three stairs leading to a wooden door just down from his.

His body whispers in his ear the desire to be warm, his hand responds pushing the fag into his mouth, inhaling, releasing, but he barely notices, keeping his eyes on the dismounting rider. Blue jeans, snug at the hips, hugging legs to the knees then flaring around well scuffed black boots. She peals the leather coat from her form, revealing a white shirt, bronze skin contrast around the low neck line.

He inhales as she removes her helmet, loosing the hair within to drape tenderly around her neck. Her back remains to him as she mounts the steps, lock rattling as she deftly inserts the key, twisting then releasing. She disappears within, closing the door. His fingers tremor as he takes one last pull on the nub between them, then tamps it against the wood sill.

Never seeing her face, he dreams her in the evenings. Each night it changes, leaving him unsatisfied and hungry on waking. Where does she go at night that she returns so early? Does that soft spot behind her ear smell of last nights musk? Do her lips pout as she chews whatever she eats at lunch? Does she know he watches each morning? Does she smile at the game of enticing him?

Chair legs stutter against the floor as he turns to the desk.  Retrieving a forgotten porcelain cup, bitter cold coffee floods his mouth. He winces, placing it once more by the side of his computer. Both hands now push into his face, then back along his forehead into the nest of unkempt hair, the pent angst expelling from his mouth in a haggard breath.

Mountains of paper lay siege to any open space on the desk around the computer. He breathes, a heartbeat. On the wall hangs a picture of a family he once knew. He breathes, a heartbeat. A plate, congealing remnants of last nights reheated spaghetti clinging to its edges, hangs precariously balanced at a paper cliff's edge, perfuming the stale air with its garlic aftertaste. He breathes, a heartbeat.

Feverishly his eyes widen, fingers strike keys and a thin smile slowly creases his face, as he ejaculates, across the screen, the story of the life he wished to live if he had not married his words. Tack-tack-tack-tacktacktacktacktacktack...

this is a magpie tale.

it's been a while since i posted a longer piece of fiction. hope you enjoyed. have a great weekend everyone. ~Brian

59 comments:

David Allen Waters said...

wow, dude, you should post more of these fiction pieces. amazing, your words have a way of drawing us in, like standing in the corner of the room watching the scene unfold...great write my friend.

deb colarossi said...

oh, I love what I started to read...
I'm going to return when I can give the attention it warrants..

Tara Miller said...

This story was a nice switch up tonight though my heart felt heavy for this man as I read. And then your last sentence "as he ejaculates, across the screen, the story of the life he wished to live if he had not married his words. Tack-tack-tack-tacktacktacktacktacktack..." So sad...

who said...

I enjoyed it B, you can definitely tell a story. You do it with such vivid detail it's as if it were non-fiction.

Maybe to give it an fringe fiction feel you have it take place in the dark, in the night. Having shadow-like faint beams of light, barely noticeable rain down from the roof line from angels of unseen origin in the night.

secret agent woman said...

I like the longer fiction.

But what a sad guy.

Magpie said...

Hmmm...this one was dark around the edges. I'm glad not all writers get this caught up in their words. :)

Baino said...

At last . . a piece of prose. Nice work although I liked him until he ejaculated on his screen . .really! Get a tissue man. Ha . .not so sad. Everybody does it!

Me said...

I've missed your longer pieces. This was a great finale to my blog-wandering this evening. :)

Brian Miller said...

thanks david...its fun...and honestly i struggle with the time because these take quite a bit longer but the payoff is great...will be working these back in over the next little bit...i lightened this one up quite a bit as it was much darker in the first write...

Rhymetime(aka Pat) said...

I'm getting closer to being the first, to give you a big burst.
But wow, what to say now.
That was the longest one I've read from you and it was very good too.
You keep mixing it up each time and I just have to come back and rhyme.
And I'll keep coming back when there is something new or when I just want to annoy you.

She Writes said...

I did not see where you were going! Bravo to longer, edgier pieces, Brian!

Katherine said...

Wow Brian ... fantastic! You are a master story teller, that is for sure! How sorry I feel for this poor lost soul.. sometimes people with a creative bone (no pun intended) immerse themselves so deeply in their art that it isolates them from reality!

Eva Gallant said...

You weave magic with your words. They hold us mesmerized, much like the audience at a David Copperfield performance.

budh.aaah said...

He breathes, a heartbeat..
And the touch of that finger on the face, tracing a path along the length to the lips..flicker of the tongue..oh so sensuous

Helen said...

By the time I finished reading your 'pearl' ... every bit of the week's tension had drained from my body. Great!!!!

Zuzana said...

You have a way of setting a scenario with words, so easily, that I can picture it so effortlessly in my mind - the atmosphere, the light, the scents, the sounds and the characters.
Have a lovely weekend dear Brian,
xoxo

Who Is Afraid of Alfred Hitchcock? said...

Hi! Brian...
This short-story Of fiction is very descriptive, well-written and have an air Of longing and missed opportunities.

Unfortunately, I'am "fighting" flu-like symptoms, but that didn't stop me from coming here on your blog to comment. Nice job!

DeeDee ;-D

adeeyoyo said...

You have a great way of building up atmosphere and the little mannerisms that you notice all have a part to play. I love your writing, Brian.

Kavita said...

Good God man... this is friggin' awesome!!! The attention to details was like impeccable!!
"He breathes, a heartbeat." - I can swear that I actually heard my heart pound when I saw that line being repeated...Wheeww!!

You are an AMAZING writer, Brian!!
(holy bow)

This was a MAGPIE-MASTERPIECE!! whheww (wiping sweat off her brow)

Olivia said...

May I say- highly org*smic?

Brian, you write just too well. I know- you know that, don't ya?

The detailed sketch of each n every scene (I would say) made me watch this movie on my system screen. The curtains of that house being a nice shade n tint of emerald green!

You should do some more of these- I am already waiting for the next one.. :)

Smiles xx

the walking man said...

This oddly gave me the sensation of Charles Bukowski at work, the only thing that would be different would be would have had cheap liquor in the cup. He described his watching the street ore than a few times while listening to classical music and mysterious women who came and went from his view that he would then write about.

Valerie said...

Great reading, Brian. I welcome the return of the Magpie tales.

5thsister said...

I was mesmerized from the very first line. You painted, with words, the scene perfectly as I watched it play out in my mind.

Lydia said...

...hope you enjoyed. Hope I enjoyed? You kidding! This is so fantastic it is a play unto itself.
I was spellbound from beginning to end, but stopped at this sentence to read it several times, knowing in my heart that I would never forget it:
Pink flowers drape among their emerald vines round a window box directly across from him, mouthing arias to their life giver.

ladyfi said...

A longer piece - hurray! And edgy too!

ladynimue said...

Amazing !!! looking forward to more such posts :)


I passed the versatile blogger award to you here :
http://ladynimue.wordpress.com/2011/03/12/versatile-blogger/

Hope you accept it [ no compulsions ;) ]

Daniel said...

Sad and strange and dark. Loved it. Great way to start my day today. Thanks for the post.

Heather said...

AWESOME!!! I love it....definitely sensual....perfect for a saturday morning read! have a great weekend.

Ruthiey said...

I like it a lot. I liked how it was just a snippet yet you immersed us in the moment and made everything so vivid.

Do you have any novel-length works of fiction? Just curious.

happygirl said...

I LOVED this, well, not the last bit, 'cause, ewww. I loved the WORDS the descriptive WORDS. What you do with words, oh, oh my. Thanks

lorely said...

Interesting choice of title...is he the pearl or swine? Or are his words the pearls before himself the swine? Excellent read...great climax!

DJan said...

I love your prose, too, Brian. This is the first long one I think you have written since I started following you. It's amazing to me how you paint with words.

Thanks for showing me how it's done so brilliantly.

earlybird said...

I like the little numerous details - and the ending. Good story.

Lolamouse said...

Awesome piece of fiction, Brian! It has a certain eroticism to it but then leaves you feeling kind of dirty for feeling that way. Your title adds to that mixed emotional message. Excellent! I can hear the sad jazz music in the background...

trisha said...

you are a marvelous story teller. love the way you create the scenes.

trisha

Sue said...

I love this ending, which spoke volumes.

{so to speak}

=)

tony said...

Great Writing Brian.I can sense all That still pent-up energy That Guy Has......... Although (*blushes*)...... The chick on the bike does sound hot !

Natasha said...

It wasn't just a scooter, it was a blue grey scooter, and you even caught the boot-cut jeans. Detail, upon detail, but not too much, inviting us into the world, allowing us to be, but for a moment, a fly on the wall...by the computer, and within his mind. I think I see now, where your passion for words really lives and I want to hear/read more.

meerasrajan said...

I was just surfing through the net when I stumbled on to this.. But WOW what a lovely story. But so sad... What happens next?
Meera

TechnoBabe said...

This was fun to read, Brian. Sounds like you were writing about a writer. One that made a choice to put the writing first place in his life. I know this isn't you, but your writing seems like it.

Claudia said...

such loneliness in this. first i thought he was going to rape her - glad he didn't.
very powerful ending which adds a good deal of desperation to all the sadness and loneliness - and yet - something in him seems to be happy with where he is. all our choices have two sides i guess

rosaria said...

Like the fag between the man's fingers, like the empire he has created along the window sill, our eyes watch his fantasies go up in smoke, only word detritus left behind.

Brilliant, B!

Ben said...

Very cool fiction. You tell a great story. Hopefully that sort of fate doesn't strike all us writer types :)

Joybird said...

I like your prose as much as your poetry. Love how the piece was put in perspective with the title. The main character was a little unsavory and I found myself concerned for his pearl. Maybe it's my own sense of self preservation after spending years as a single girl living alone.

ds said...

Brilliant in its details, cunning in its ending. "The life he wished to live if he had not married his words..."
Love the little pile of ashes on the windowsill; the larger pile of papers filling the room.

California Girl said...

I like the read...not so sure about the climax. hahahahaha!

Myrna R. said...

A sad tale, but in spite of its darkness I wish the story continued. That's because your words are so enticing.

Tracy said...

Great. American. Writer. You...

lori said...

Wow, I wasn't sure where this was going. I was kind of scared, not sure if he was sane, not sure if the girl would be safe. Great job, and I enjoyed the change of pace. Huge fan of your poems, but your fiction is always compelling, too. Nicely done :)

jabblog said...

I thought I had guessed the ending but was surprised by it. Sad, indeed, this lonely obsessed man.

Scott said...

Never read any of your fiction before. I liked it. It was sexy...accidentally sexy in a way. Good share.

The Empress said...

Oh, my gosh.

I saw a STORY from you and I practically jumped out of my seat like someone who hasn't had a donut in way too long.

Yes, that was good. Wonderful fiction.

All the better b/c it's been SUCH A LONG time since we've been treated to length of your words.

My fave part about most of yoru writing is how you never tell us what will happen, or what just happened.

It's us watching: then the element of surprise, and then we say to ourselves, "I didn't see that coming."

It's like watching a show...not always a sad ending, or a neat, tidy ending: but just the way things worked out.

Never predictable, what's funny..is that humor works that way, too.

You like what is not neat and clean before you.

Thanks for the treat. I feel better , a bit, anyway, about losing an hour of daylight today.

Rebecca S. said...

You could also, perhaps, call this The Muse.
I like the line about the flowers singing arias to their maker, but then the writer preferring the empty room beyond. I found that poignant. But I'd like to know more about the family in the picture on the wall...there's a mystery there.

Pranavam Ravikumar a.k.a. Kochuravi said...

Wow..! Its nice. I liked the way you explain each. Yeah.. You done well. My wishes.

Tess Kincaid said...

Dark, with a touch of garlic. Nice one, Brian.

Pastor Sharon said...

Brian, this was well written. I had no idea where you were going with it. And, what a way to draw us into read your story. Very well done.

mama-face said...

I could see the end coming. ew. What a sad man with a sad life.

Love the title and your words that tell the story. Loathe the swine.

Marla said...

I'm with T on this one. So sad.

Syd said...

What a life. Only wishing for what might be instead of finding what is.