Written by I.M.
Kids from the upper side where always laughing at me: ”Don’t pick flowers all the time! We’ll get you some when you die!” In fact I was stealing them. From their land. For years. They never told their parents, the lords of this place. The great landowners. The devoted landlubbers. I had worked for them consecutively when a was a child, but I always loved the lower side, the mild weather, the vast endless green with no frozen air breeze and warm, omnipresent sun rays all over my face, every time I gazed insatiably the infinite meadow. So, I ended up working in Chestra’s stable among dried stalks of grain, sheep, goats ducks and chickens of all kinds. On my first attempt to milk an ewe I saw her on the reflection of my spilt milk out of the churn. Failling over and over again. The shepherd’s daughter. My mind instantly flew to the old times when I was a child. I was running wild, free and shoeless on my father’s fields, before the landlubbers buy them.
The fresh moisture of the green grass among my infantile feet was the same with the sense that surrounded me when I heard her laughter over my failure. These pale white palms deserved all the flowers this place has ever grown, to hold, as she laid it upon my shoulder to assure me that I will get better with practice. I knew I wanted her the moment she left a blank spot on my sight, where her shadow was standing minutes ago. But she wanted the landlubbers. She didn’t care which one, as long as it was a wealthy, respected landowner to take her awy from her father’s filthy stable, her late mother’s painful memory and her stony, unheated house. I could tell, I would never be the one, as I grew my eyes into hers each time I was inside her.
We met at the stable at midnight, after everyone had fallen asleep. Her eyes were wide open the whole time I was penetrating in her body. She didn’t even blink to feel me deep inside. She didn’t even make a sound. But I couldn’t get enough. I felt intoxicated, like walking in the fog on a cold, misty day driven by a siren without much directions, like never satisfying my thirst during the hottest summer day. As our meetings started occuring during daytime when her father took his pasture out to eat, she got used to me. Or that is what I wanted to believe. Although, what I really wished was at least to thing of me a little, when we were not together.
That night she suddenly pulled her legs up and tangled them around me. I was beyond aroused, head over heels without a warning. Out of the blue she closed her eyes and prepared herself to climax. She put her palm on my face to touch me, but with my eyes open now, I was sure that under her eyelashes she was seeing the faces of all the others. Hogs, Penuar, Lorry, Jarow, Henry-John all mounting her one at a time as she was unable to choose who did her better. For a moment I felt I was paying for somebody else’s mistakes on her body as they would never feel for her what I did. She had confused their moaning on top of her with the better prices her father was getting for his milk and meat, their falling asleep after intercourse with acts of affection and care.
However, I didn’t stop for a moment, I was still slicking through her body. I could go on being inside her like that until the end of time. Until one day we are both found cold and naked lying on the floor and be put into grave with our bodies attached to one another. I would be still looking her face and she would most likely be staring through the little hole on the stable’s ceiling, seeking her lost moonbean soul, the one galloping across mountains and valleys into a mysterious realm of twilight. The one lost in rich men’s pants. That night, when she opened her eyes and kissed me for the first time on her own, I was once again on the painted green hillside grass of my childhood. I never grew up from that night. But she did. Her children are around my age.