The Strangeling Part X - (Freewrite 138 - syrup)

Greetings fellow Steemians! Here is my 12th "5" minute* freewrite. The prompt is "syrup".

*Not 5 minute this time, 90 minute ;)

This piece is a continuation of yesterday's freewrite, and the ninth installment in an ongoing story. Let's see how long I can keep this up, using the prompts provided!

Part I: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@bennettitalia/freewrite-129-fingernail

Part II: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@bennettitalia/the-strangeling-part-ii-freewrite-130-wasps

Part III: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@bennettitalia/the-strangeling-part-iii-freewrite-131-solitude

Part IV: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@bennettitalia/the-strangeling-part-iv-freewrite-132-gardening

Part V: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@bennettitalia/the-strangeling-part-v-freewrite-132-the-attic

Part VI: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@bennettitalia/the-strangeling-part-vi-freewrite-132-plaid

Part VII: https://steemit.com/weekendfreewrite/@bennettitalia/the-strangeling-part-vii-weekend-freewrite-3-3-2018

Part VIII: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@bennettitalia/the-strangeling-part-viii-weekend-freewrite-3-3-2018-apricot

Part IX: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@bennettitalia/the-strangeling-part-ix-freewrite-137-witches

Freewriting is a daily practice for most poets and fiction writers, designed to loosen up and get things flowing, like stretching before exercise. Visual artists, especially those who draw or paint from life (figures, landscapes, still lives, etc) do something similar in "gesture drawings". After reading several of @poetrybyjeremy's freewrite posts, I got excited to try these again. Many thanks to @mariannewest for hosting this daily freewrite! https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-138-5-minute-freewrite-tuesday-prompt-syrup

https://pixabay.com/en/medium-psychic-female-fantasy-woman-goth-1726601/

We were probably only walking for 5 minutes or so, but it seemed like much longer. Although my mods and training wouldn't allow me to fully relax until I knew we were safe - which in practice meant never - I could feel exhaustion spreading through me like paralytic poison. My body needed sleep, even if I had to do it with one eye open.

We came to a section where the tunnels were narrower, the ceilings lower. The stone of the walls seemed different, older. The air seemed cooler. The tunnels became a maze, one that it might be easy to get lost in. I tracked it and stored it in my enhanced memory for future reference, and knew I was doing a competent job of it, but I also knew that I was beginning to feel delirious.

Eventually we came to an ancient looking door, lacquered deep red, with an old fashioned fishbowl viewfinder set approximately at eye level, an ornate handle, and a knocker in the shape of a bare breasted mermaid. There were sconces on either side, and (inexplicably in this deserted place), fresh candles were burning in them.

Apricot sighed. "Here we are", she announced with satisfation. She looked at Mia affectionately. "You know the way back, little songbird." It wasn't a question. Mia nodded, bit her lip. I felt a tidal wave of gratitude toward her: Mia's, not mine. My own feelings toward them: desire for Mia, guarded respect and appreciation for Apricot, surged forward all at once, with something like a lurch. The air around me glimmered. Mia was beginning to let her guard down.

Apricot raised an eyebrow. "Ok, well you're set then. The solitude is stocked with provisions. Caspian, there's another solitude just back the way we came, and first left, in case you need it. Shiny black lacquered door, with a swan shaped knocker. Not that you will. But if you do, make sure you go to the right one: many of the others are occupied. I've got to get some work done before bed. See you in the morning."

She reached out to touch Mia's hand, and Mia drew her close and hugged her tight. A tear ran down her cheek. Then another. "Thank you mama," she whispered. When they separated, there were tears on Apricot's face as well. Her almond eyes glistened in the candlelight. She smiled. "Sweet dreams", she said. And then she was gone, back down the passage.

"What kind of work does she do?" I asked.

"She's a camgirl" Mia answered, still gazing into the space where Apricot had been standing. I was silent. I had been modded and trained to foresee every possibility and plan accordingly, but I kept swinging and missing. It might have been worrisome, if I hadn't been so deliriously tired.

Mia turned to look at me, mischief in her eye, but also a trace of melancholy. "Pays the bills, I guess", she said. She turned to the door, took out a little key, an antique, tarnished brass thing that looked like it might open a pirate's treasure chest, or the wardrobe that led to Narnia, and slid it into the lock. After some fiddling, she got it to turn, and the door swung open. the inside was lit with more candles, again looking brand new. The dim light back at the church must have been by design: to keep a low profile, rather than for want of candles. There were a full size bed, a small fireplace built into the wall, an armchair, several side tables, and an Indian rug. There were also small doors set into the wall, which turned out to be cupboards stocked with food, along with several plates, bowls, a couple of mugs, one drinking glass, and a spoon. One of the doors was insulated, and a small vent behind it led away into the tunnels somewhere. This one was cooler, stocked with perishables: some fruit, vegetables, milk, a hard cheese, and two boxes of frozen waffles that were clearly no longer frozen. Mia smiled. "She knows I love waffles."

There were sticks and logs already stacked in the fireplace, so we lit them, skewered the waffles on a barbecue fork we found lying behind the plates, and ate a meal of waffles with butter, fresh blackberries, and maple syrup, in contented, ravenous silence. We demolished both boxes. Mia's hunger, like everything else, was contagious, a delicious infection. I had never enjoyed a meal so much.

Before we had licked the last of the syrup from our fingers, she was walking to the bed. She turned to look at me. "I'll sleep on the rug" I said flatly.

"No", she said.

"What no? Just no?" I asked, laughing.

"No. Come sleep with me," she answered.

"I won't sleep well," I warned her.

She threw back the covers, fell to the mattress, and rolled to look at me again.

"Come sleep with me", she repeated, simple and sleepy and adorable. I walked over and collapsed onto the bed, facing her. She raised her hand to stroke my cheek.

"It's ok", she whispered. "We're safe".

©2018 Bennett Italia