Hope’s Sparkle

Swept away by the night breeze,

ragged breaths,

steeped in suffering,

are all that remain of

Hope’s thoughts of

life.

Her mind floats

amid essences of honeysuckles

above arms bent and tucked,

distant of Crazy Bill’s hurt

and pain

and abuse.

All around her

the night is warm

and alive

and full of sounds,

but she feels no caress when a coldness

slides beneath her length.

One good eye flutters

open and caked lashes part

onto a fretting woman

as destitute as she.

“Dear child,

who did this to you?”

The words are emotional,

loving,

words Hope has not heard since the day

Crazy Bill stole her away.

She coughs,

mumbles his name,

then is lost in the woman’s smile.

The kiss is quick.

Incisive.

Invasive.

The lips smooth,

the breath old and fetid.

It is not her mother’s kiss,

yet in the fleeting moment

between life and death,

when life flees and time stops,

Hope understands

and welcomes her birth.

* * * *

Haughty and arrogant,

with words sharper than her teeth,

The woman speaks silently

to Hope again,

“Show me this…

Crazy Bill, you speak of.”

Hand in hand upon the

warm night currents,

they rise

like ghostly

apparitions of doom.

Hope’s thoughts swirl.

She is moving,

soaring,

flying with the night birds

that flee before them.

They settle on the dark side of the road,

beneath a starry summer night,

near the park where Crazy Bill claimed her.

Hope’s eyes fix on Crazy Bill’s house.

“Is that him?”

The woman’s question is not a question,

but a confirmation

of not who,

but what he is.

Hope nods.

Inside the cloistered hell hole,

beyond the dull glow of lights

framing shadeless windows,

his shadow moves,

striding,

malignant.

Hope licks her lips.

and then spits,

expelling a sizzling plume of hatred

that evaporates before it hits ground.

Memories stir,

tortuous moments of when

Crazy Bill kept her hidden,

a thing he played with,

a toy he owned.

She bends to a scratchy noise

lost in the desiccated palms behind her.

A rat scurries into view.

Its nose twitches nervously.

Its ears perk,

but do not detect Hope

or the woman standing beside her.

Hope reaches for it,

but stops when Crazy Bill lurches

onto the porch,

his fat belly soured and stained.

She focuses.

Wicker creaks

and rockers moan.

Light flairs and a raspy sigh

dispels a streamer of blue

white smoke into the darkness,

soiling her night.

She breaths deep,

inhaling his pungent essence.

An unquenchable thirst fills her

when the woman takes her hand.

“Want to meet him again?”

Hope nods again,

and together,

they drift across the road

towards Crazy Bill.