The Ventriloquist

Cecil has been planning her dream wedding since whatever age little girls do. Now the days were leading up to weeks, weeks to months. She had a scanty 3 months left. What everyone wanted to know was what her theme would be, “you gotta have a theme, what’s a wedding without a theme?” they asked

She always answered. “Picturesque, serene and whimsical”. The last part seemed to have them guessing, but then they’d quickly laugh it off.

As the days dwindled down, Cecil had a lunch date with the one person who was for the majority of her life a phantom that has never been invited in. They had only started weaving their still fragile relationship, a year and half ago. She remembered him always being the funny guy. He could enchant even a funeral’s atmosphere and he dared to build on his talent, for which she admired him for, rather than become a pilot like the family wanted. He was a ventriloquist and the opening performance on her wedding reception.

Cecil sat in the crowded bar, munching her sacher torte and revelling on the memories of her half-brother that she didn’t notice him walk in till he draped his chest around her back like an armoured plate and planted a loving peck on her rosy cheek. He sat adjacent her and could immediately sense distress and a bluish aura so he tugs on a rope and Ed the dummy pops out. Ed proceeds to question Cecil, ” why the long face?”

“Thanks for coming Ed. it’s just whenever i think about this wedding, I want to rip my nose off

I understand schätzchen, Ed will take care of your guests for you”

Cecil couldn’t help but giggle. Her brother always had a way of exchanging her worries for cheers. This is just like when they were kids. She whispered, “Thank you”

Anything for the bride, nodded Ed.

The Shrine

Her hips sway to the beat of the banjo

Skylight filters through thatch roof

The flicker of light on a solemn night

A hue of blue shades her face

Her pelvis wines

In the center of the shrine.

 

 

The audience watch keenly

Such mastery,

Such art

From a beautifully dangerous woman

Like foreplay for their eyes.

Their unduly gander, in turn, solaced her.

 

 

She calms herself with each exhale

Invoking a fire

Attuned to her chakras.

This dance was passed down

Her grandmother to her mother,

Through generations

It was dubbed;

“the puppet and the serpent,”

For it reached into each heart

Those stubborn, frivolous hearts

Becharming them to her will.

 

 

 

Her body twists aggressively

as though strings attach to her

the one thing she excelled at,

it called to her

unlike the job she so dreaded

so society wouldn’t label her, a trollop

because people are threatened by anyone outside the box.

 

 

Each evening,

she polished her pearls

she donned her shawl

she’d burn the incent

and step barefoot into the shrine.

 

 

Night after night,

her lovelies would pour in

this was where she was meant to be

because even if the world passed away,

this was the one place she reigned as god.