Two Prose Pieces

A DREAM

They lie in bed, sometimes staring at the ceiling, sometimes at each other. The fan above rotates gently, it’s raining outside and the flimsy curtains can barely contain the wind that blows inside the room, undulating on their bodies. He spots the goose flesh rising on her naked skin, her nipples pucker. It makes him want to reach out and crush them hard with his long, warm fingers. But he waits. Watches her quietly. He knows that is what she wants and tonight he will keep her waiting.

She stares at the curtains and back at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling evenly, almost in sync with the wind outside. Slowly she turns to him, her eyes glittering dark embers, her hands reach out to where he lies and her nails trace a path through his skin. It wakes something in him. He knows she’s in love with him, he doesn’t know what to do with her, but these are not the thoughts he wants now. He just wants to see her squirm tonight.

He flips her suddenly; her breath catches and fills him with a strange thrill. Taking a curved knife from the bedside table he puts it in front of her in bed. She looks at it and smiles. Two can play this game. She raises her chin in a question, drawing him closer. He slides the knife slowly across her soft skin leaving red welts across her chest and stomach. Her breath quickening, she moans that she wants him. His dark surma-clad eyes look different today, almost savage, and she wants to understand them. She draws him closer; he throws the knife on the floor, grabs her hand and slaps her across the face. Once. Twice. She looks at him. Smiles triumphantly. She is not perplexed. Two can play this game. She starts laughing and as soon as she does that he fills her with himself, ramming himself inside her, to hurt her, punish her, pleasure her. Her feet interlace on his wide back, caging him to her. Their breaths mingle, as do their hoarse cries, that sound akin to the storm outside that remains unformed, however much it rages.

POCKET PEPSI

Black cola swirls around a thin stick of ice inside a narrow packet. It costs but two rupees, saved from the bus fare. She looks at it in wonder outside her school gate. A forbidden pleasure, her mother tells her the water from the gutter gives it that colour. She doesn’t believe it. She grabs the pocket Pepsi from the vendor and walks to the tram line. She can’t wait till she crosses the road. She sinks her teeth into the luscious plastic and sucks voraciously, missing the tram inching noisily. When the tram hits her small body, the rod scraping her forehead, she looks happily at her limp body held by teachers, satiated.