Norma Jane
Bio
Instagram: @mayurwordsbearfruit
Stories (31/0)
- Top Story - August 2021
Candles
My grandmother told me a story that haunts me today. Not because of the nightmare that entailed the legend, but the reality of it. I was thirteen when she first told me the story. My parents were away for the night, probably loopy from the Pink Moscato they use to keep the marriage alive. They sent me to Grandma’s because it was the easiest option. Grandma was a strange woman, but she meant well. Her grey tresses were always pulled back in a neat bun. The green of her eyes lost youthful saturation. Instead of being as bold as peridot, the yellow hues morphed to the surface, creating a murky shade like the swamps. Her smiles were always bright, especially when she tucked me into bed, but it looked worn out from the years and counting. She talked at one point, knowing what she was saying. Then in the next instance, her words didn’t line up with reality. You were never for sure if she pulled away and forgot she was talking or if she knew and couldn’t control it like a trance.
By Norma Jane3 years ago in Fiction
The Calm Before the Storm
I sat in a place away from the city that lies 50 miles away. I sucked in the crisp air and traced my fingers along the prickly grass beneath me. The way it softly stroked my skin was comforting. It pulled me from why I had to escape. Photos of Flint and me littered the walls of my apartment. His bright, boyish face and the glint in his eyes etched in echoes of his laugh. Even the color of the sky hovering over my head reminded me of their color: soft, powder blue, and straightforward. Little did I know that when the sky looks that tranquil, it is always a sign of an oncoming storm. You are always told that grey skies and clouds molded together are all-telling, but no. It is when your muscles are loose, and you genuinely believe that the smile on your face could never be stolen. It is then that the rain creeps in and pours because you are open and defenseless. That's how I feel right now in the middle of this field, surrounded by lime green grass and marigold flowers. The picturesque beauty and serenity fed into the edge, eating away at me. I felt that way the day before the accident a year ago, when I was only 22, and he was 24, fresh out of college and creating a life of our own.
By Norma Jane3 years ago in Fiction