Ginger
by Marcus Speh
Above my head, the swallows flew. High up in the air they were picking their food out of the wind. Down here, I felt poetic in my chair. I spilled sounds, small sounds, to honor the swallows above my head, which was so full of stuff. I felt as if my mind was a prison and I was stuck in a cell with a bunch of faceless bad guys who were my own children but they didn't know it. Slowly, I wrote myself out of this cage. I saw what the birds were doing: they ignored everything around them except the breeze and the bugs. Their freedom came at the price of ignorance. That's all it was, being a bird, I thought. I made swallow sounds or what I thought would be the sounds I'd make if I were a swallow, when suddenly a red-headed woman appeared by the door, asking for a gentleman to accompany her to the gate. I got up and joined her. None of the other dickless dolts had even moved. They had no manners or breeding. The woman took my hand. I avoided looking at her. We walked for a bit since the gate was far off, and she asked me if I thought she was gorgeous and I said of course. She said I should come with her, leave this place, but I refused. “Are you a coward,” she asked. I said that I was a coward indeed, but an expert with the pen, which did not seem to impress her. I didn't tell her how deeply a terrible weakness for ginger haired people ran in our family, how fortunes had been lost only because of a red beard, a freckled shoulder of exquisite paleness, or a pink nipple. Instead I left her at the gatehouse and returned to my swallows, which were still circling high above us, looking down at the bald spot walking away from the red dot. I spat cherry pits, scarlet-colored pits, to honor the ginger woman inside my head. I sat down again and felt poetic in my chair. I put the pen on the paper and slowly wrote myself out of my cage.
|
32
favs |
2346 views
37 comments |
373 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
Published (with audio recording) alongside two other pieces in Mad Hatters Review issue 13.
This is one of 80 stories in my collection “Thank You for Your Sperm” (MadHat Press, 2013).
Debbie Harry by Andy Warhol (1980)
“Once in his life, every man is entitled to fall madly in love with a gorgeous redhead.”
— Lucille Ball
Other stories by Marcus Speh
Tags
This story has no tags.
Groups
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
A great ending. Wonderful wordscape here, Marcus.
"That's all it was, being a bird, I thought. I made swallow sounds or what I thought would be the sounds I'd make if I were a swallow, when suddenly a red-headed woman appeared by the door, asking for a gentleman to accompany her to the gate. I got up and joined her."
Big yes.
"Down here, I felt poetic in my chair. I spilled sounds, small sounds, to honor the swallows above my head, which was so full of stuff. I felt as if my mind was a prison and I was stuck in a cell with a bunch of faceless bad guys who were my own children but they didn't know it. Slowly, I wrote myself out of this cage."
The language in this piece is stunning *
I absolutely love this, Marcus. The entire paragraph is hypnotizing...the way it reads, the language used. Adore the topic too. The quote Bobbi posted is my fave as well. I keep shaking my head in awe. *
Mesmerizing. Who is this man?
Where is he? Does he exist on the earth plane?
*
This is great Marcus - love the whole idea of fortunes being lost because of ginger haired folks.. I spat cherry pits, scarlet-colored pits, to honor the ginger woman inside my head.
A story full of manners and breeding. It's a relief to know the writer wrote himself out of the cage, inspired by the redhead and the swallows.
This made me smile because it seemed to have been written with a wry smile:
"looking down at the bald spot walking away from the red dot."
Swallows are my bird and I love this piece.
Marcus, you don't post often, but when you do it's always a stunner. fave
Superwords *
I read the red haired woman as a metaphor for any new or different urge that might take one outside of one's comfort zone. There are so many places we should go, so many new tastes, sights, and smells we should experience, but we embrace the familiar, the safe, even as the swallows are calling overhead, inviting us to fly.*
"I put the pen on the paper and slowly wrote myself out of my cage."
For that line alone I'd give this piece a *.
But this is so much richer than that marvelous line!
The swallow's flight is a spiral to freedom: just so.
Others have said hypnotizing, mesmerizing, and I agree. Fave.
While I'm not exactly a dickless dolt, I often feel like that after reading one of the really good writers here. And you, Marcus, are one of the best. And this is masterfully written, while making it look so easy.
Your work is always unique, always bold, always fascinating.
A+
It's a great piece, Marcus.
This is beautiful.
So, I got sucked in by the picture of Debbie Harry .. a personal weakness, so it set the mood for understanding and ... as I understand it, no one ever wrote themselves out of a cage ... with the possible exception of Jack Henry Abbott and even he not for long ... but that's likely the point ... isn't it dotdotdot
fave
fave.
um, yes
Marcus, Always amazing!! "I didn't tell her how deeply a terrible weakness for ginger haired people ran in our family, how fortunes had been lost only because of a red beard, a freckled shoulder of exquisite paleness, or a pink nipple." Truly a piece of art! *****
I was sold on the first "Slowly, I wrote myself out of this cage." And then to get it again! This is wonderful. *
Meg Tuite picked the quote I'd have used - and I agree with her. Enjoyed the story arcing through the piece, and the closure of the end line. Cool.
I was transfixed by birds picking their food out of the wind, cruelly thrown back into the world with a cage being written away. I'm a better person for reading this.
Yes I am perhaps a little biased by being a [dyed] redhead myself! :)
I love how we come full circle with the idea of the narrator writing himself out of his cage. And that line: "I didn't tell her how deeply a terrible weakness for ginger haired people ran in our family"--fantastic. Perhaps the entire reason I was drawn to this story, but well-worth the read!
"I spat cherry pits, scarlet-colored pits, to honor the ginger woman inside my head. I sat down again and felt poetic in my chair. I put the pen on the paper and slowly wrote myself out of my cage."
What inspires us can ruin us - loved reading this.
Inspiring. Fave.
"she asked me if I thought she was gorgeous and I said of course."
"I said that I was a coward indeed, but an expert with the pen, which did not seem to impress her."
First I fell in love w/'Little People' & now 'Ginger'!!! :) Marcus, you are beyond awesome.***
I feel like I just spent time inside a Dali painting.
You were "feeling poetic" and you did write one of your best pieces to my knowledge. I admire your writing and I'm looking fwd to the day when I come out with sth almost as good as this piece of yours. Very, very well done!
A * in tribute to your poetic prose, and to redheads.
“Get yourself out of whatever cage you find yourself in.”
― John Cage
How did you know Christa of San Juan Capistrano? *
Idling through the back catalogue of the site and chanced upon this. A hugely thought-provoking piece and extremely well written. Thank you.
Reminds me of the ending of my story For Rent under Writing About Writing, though yours is so much better. I love the birds. You could post it there too. It's brilliant. Fave*.
gorgeous
Superb, simply superb... *s if they allowed.