10 March 2010

Short Story: The Spoon

Dear Internet -

Yes, I know. I owe you pictures from my trip to Scotland and Ireland last month as well as stories of the grand and not-so-grand adventures that have kept me too busy to write to you. For now, a peace offering in the form of a tiny story I wrote for a writing class last year.

***

The spoon belonged to a set of flatware called “True Rose”. Purchased from a JC Penny’s wedding registry, the spoon was tucked inside a velvet pouch before embarking on a life of transit between drawers, bowls and dishwashers. The stem was graceful and strong; embossed scrolls defined its edges. At the tip, a tiny rose.

To bend the handle, a bit of force had to be applied, for the spoon’s stem never intended to be shaped like a tear. Once the stem bowed and weakened at the center, the spoon could wrap itself around a finger. The spoon became more than a vessel for Cheerios and Fruit Loops.

The spoon was passed—from a girl with brown hair dyed shades of gold and honey to a boy called Tom. The shallow palm of the spoon held one tiny rock. A flame danced along the smooth curve of the spoon, and the rock began to bubble and hiss.
First came the smell of marshmallows roasting. Then, like a marshmallow left to rest over a campfire for too long, the caramel aroma burned. By the time the spoon held only liquid, the room filled with the acrid smells of ammonia and sulfur.

Oh sweet alchemy! Several drops of poison transformed despairs into moments of escape. In the darkest of night, time lost all power. A deep, soul-full horn signaled that somewhere, away from here, a train snaked through the thick Pentecostal pines toward the banks of a river.

The spoon sat on the coffee table, its warmth fogging up the glossy cherry finish. The belly of the spoon was now charred, bearing the color of grief.

2 comments:

Unknown said...

This is just amazing. What an excellent piece!

TheStoneBishop said...

I love this story!