|Repose Remembers (reposeremembers) wrote in repose,|
@ 2020-04-19 23:58:00
|Entry tags:||fable white, ~plot: memories|
Will characters be viewing the memory or experiencing it?: Experiencing
Warning, this memory contains: Death/murder.
Her skirts smell like lemongrass and sage where you press your face against the bulk of her thigh. She's talking above you, her voice calm like always, to the new man who's voice is angry and isn't comforting at all. Her hand is on your hair, soothing as they talk about things you don't understand. There are two other men in the room, one that you know and one you don't. The one you don't is crying and you don't understand why, but you also know better than to ask.
You must never ask, you can hear your mama telling you. Her voice is busy with him now, until it isn't. You peek up at her, her warm thumb stroking down your cheek before it goes to the table top. He calls for the cards, and that you understand, those you know. They move easy in your mama's hands, like liquid from palm to palm. She breathes on them, and they snap as they arch into the bridge of her hands and fold together like jigsaw pieces. They flow like air through the flowers outside and you watch with the awe of a child.
She pulls one card off the deck and turns it over for him. She sighs. "Close your eyes, baby," she whispers to you before her hand covers your ear, and presses the opposite one into her thigh. Your eyes slam shut. It's a single gunshot, muffled by her skin, and you do not scream. You do not look either, or ask questions when she carries you out of the room, but you huddle close to her body as the shield you know her to be.