A fine WordPress.com site

The Curl, a Small Book & What They Made out of Life. by Dara דָרָה

1 Comment



I feel fine, which should be somewhat worrying, a smaller part of me takes note of, considering my relapse brought me back to hospital…What is that sound I can hear?

Beep. Beep. Deep, steady breaths are heard. BEEP. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! They quicken, and then start to slow. BEEP! BEEEEEEE-They stop.

Oh, I think that’s me…

Everything is swamped into the blackness, and I remember.

A little girl stands beside a woman who’s laying down on a bed of plush cushions and a quilt covered with patches- each a memory, she says. Stitched with patchwork memories, the girl dimly recalls. The image is hazy, no clear lines, with time. Everything looks soft. Especially with the pastel colours that dominate the bedroom they’re in.

She’s laughing [loudly], happy, trying to be quieter for the lady- but she’s listening, too (and the lady’s smiling).

Almost too quickly, the image shifts, the woman seems to fade, losing colour; skin, lips, even eyes. But not her hair, strangely. They’re in a [ hospital ] room [now], filled with tubes and tape, should-be-startling machines (that somehow add to the overall picture), an interlocking network, (like) a body- the inside of a body [ strange clear blood passes through plastic veins ]- into her [Mommy].

She sits quieter now, still happy, but more subdued; quietly happy. Both sets of eyes are shining, one faded, worn, paler [ losing sight], the other bright, darker, slightly gentle-er than you would expect of a child [ too young, too young]. But both are still full.

Her mind’s eye blinks, and the image [memory] has changed.

Older [ still too young- ].
The mechanic system is absent. A wheelchair sits next to an open window, empty. The image-memory gets suspiciously blurry now, as hands come into view, palms up. In them is a small delicate book- when opened, is contradictory to it’s outward appearance [ bright, coloured, vivid ], and in it, a lock [a curl, a ringlet] of bright, blonde-yellow hair.

Two damp marks appear on the paper. The image (frozen) fades.


“We’re losing her! We’re losing he- Give me 22cc’s STAT! Hurry! You, stabil-”
Everything white’s out. But not before one last thought:

Momma, I’m coming home…

(Name) was found holding a single lock of hair.
She hadn’t let go; later, they found the book on her hospital room’s only night stand.
In the other hand, her will, in elegant writing:
“My most treasured possession, for my beloved god child
– the book is for you, please take a look.”

What was inside? Well, generations of family (not always of blood) had placed but the most treasured of things, all from following the words -enameled- on the binding(and your answer):

You decide; look inside your heart and let precious things flood onto the pages.

What would you enter?


One thought on “The Curl, a Small Book & What They Made out of Life. by Dara דָרָה

  1. Hey, Dara here- I MAY post this somewhere else also, so don’t worry if you find it in ONE other place. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s