Day 93
I was born in Venice on the 4th of July—which means nothing to anyone in Venice. I was born with jet-black hair and very light blue eyes. Then all my hair fell out and grew in very light blonde. My eyes have remained light blue. I was left on a ferry boat when I was 3 months old—I don’t know if it was on purpose or not—but I was raised covertly by the Queen of England until I was 5, then she could not keep me under wraps anymore because I moved around too much and she felt I should be going to school. I was sent to stay with the Queen’s illegitimate sister who lived in France. She taught me how to play the guitar and wear makeup. I stayed there until I was 8 and then I worked in a coffee shop and slept there at night next to the picture window that had a toile cushion beneath it because no one minded. I ate small sugary biscuits with tea or coffee every day for breakfast and wrote sad love songs until I kissed a boy. I got a tattoo of his initial on the underside of my middle finger and never told him. I left the lyrics to a song on a table outside the coffee shop one afternoon and could not find them later that afternoon. I heard a song on the radio a year later that used my lyrics. I never told anyone. I took a train to Germany and died my hair jet-black again. I had 5 children in 5 years and gave them all away to charity. I worked in a guitar shop and met Jimmy Page and we spent the night together. I got a tattoo of his initials on the underside of my middle finger of my other hand and swore my love to him eternally. He said he would love me forever too. I stayed awake once for 3 days because I was sad. I moved to Spain because I needed to be warm and painted my front door a different color every day. My skin loved the sun and the black faded from my hair. I wore jewelry with diamonds and flowers in my hair. When I looked at the sky at night I could see the face of my true love who I knew I would never meet. Sometimes I see children with light blue eyes and jet-black or light blonde hair and I know they are mine. I never say anything.
100 Unfortunate Days------------->
I had to read this after your recent post about being a lunatic. Granted, this is only a sample, but I'd say you're a poet. There's a very prose/poetic feel to this particular "day." It has the essence of a flash piece, so much said in so few words. Definitely enjoyed it.
ReplyDeletePaul D. Dail
www.pauldail.com- A horror writer's not necessarily horrific blog
Thank you thank you Paul. You made my cry a little...:)
ReplyDeletePenelope