The core

Cleo ColeStarred Page By Cleo Cole, 6th Jul 2014 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/95gbwurd/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>General Fiction

Short story fusing memory and fiction around life and family...

The needle...


I swallowed a sewing needle today, no do not laugh, it really panicked me. Not quite as terrified as the time I swallowed an apple seed. In my defence I was only five at the time. Usually having my fruit sliced evenly on the plate. It had been that day that I decided to eat the apple like an adult, the adult I already thought I was. Only to be confronted with a universal truth, it contained a less than appealing core; a lesson I would repeatedly learn throughout my life. This particular core contained ugly dark brown seeds, one of which was making its journey to my stomach.

Big oak...

"Whoops!" Announced my disinterested sister, eyes appearing from above her book. "Best call a Gardener before the tree starts to grow." She continued sarcastically before re-disappearing behind her Judy Blume. An invasion of images had flooded my naive little mind, the huge oak from my local park. Now, branching throughout my veins, mapping out my body, a crown ending in the alveoli of my lungs. I checked my nose for twigs, my ears for leaves and my French plait for a nesting bird. "Its the roots you have to worry about, where do you think they will Be growing out of." My sister adds with a smirk without looking up from her page.

My Egg basket...

Thank fully, my mum had arrived back just in time to stop me from drinking a fresh glass of weed killer; I had just poured it myself stolen from the garden shed. My sisters smirk had been disciplined off her face, only to return a few years later when I began eating boiled eggs. "That's a dead baby chick." She had informed me before re-disappearing behind her teeny Magazine; thus began my year long vegetarian phase.

keeping an eye...

Now, older and less naive, my clumsy habit of swallowing objects has not improved, yet, my thought process takes a less terrified approach. Instead my thoughts flow in a much more romanticised fashion; my imagination flowing down with the weaving needle.

The needle firsts travels in search of my tired and stressed shoulders, slowly untying the knots that have grown as the years pass. Passing my twenties and accepting that I can no longer ignore the responsibilities expected of me. It took the world on my shoulders to finally respect the hard decisions and sacrifices of my mum.
It would roam for the pieces fractured over a life time of loves gained and lost, broken but still beating, fastening it all back together into a frankenstein heart; better than new because now it has story. Using wisdom for thread, it then attaches my memories into a patchwork quilt. One that tells a colourful story, as it wraps around me in a protective layer.

It would finally rest nesting stuck in my stomach lining, exhausted but proud of its work; now waiting perhaps to keep an eye on future swallowed objects. Luckily, I took up embroidery instead of knitting.

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Comments

author avatar C.D. Moore
7th Jul 2014 (#)

What a charming and beautifully told story!

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author avatar Cleo Cole
10th Jul 2014 (#)

Thank you CDmoore 😊

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