Discussion in 'The Whiners' started by MoonjavaSeed, Jan 16, 2005.

  1. MoonjavaSeed

    MoonjavaSeed Yeah, Toast!

    Helen. Daughter of a truck drivin' man, Hank. When his only daughter was just four years old, Hank took her on a trip with him to Arizona. The first stop was in Phoenix, where Hank delivered his commodities, and jumped back quickly into the cab and drove on. Hank and Helen drove down the highway, like a

    pathway through the sandy desert. Helen had slept for an eternity on the trip. Then she lifted her head. Her eyes grew wide, looking as

    though she was a deer caught in the headlights. "Daddeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" she screamed. The small hairs on Hank's neck sharply stood up like razors, he stopped the truck, and slowly he turned to her. Expecting to see a crimson face, covered in blood, or something like that, he was shocked to see she was perfectly fine. Her face was glowing, as the desert sun that was rapidly fading, shone down on her angelic face. "Let me out," she said sweetly, and grinned at him helplessly. Hank leaned over, confused, and lifted the handle on the door, and watched as her tiny body slid out of the massive truck.

    Hank said nothing, while he watched his little girl start to walk. Her feet were moving faster, and within seconds she was running. Then she came to a complete halt. Greeted by an abnormally small Saguaro, standing just about four feet, she went to shake it's hand. Hank opened his mouth and began to

    yell "Honey, Honey, don't touch tha-" but his words arrived a second too late. She pulled her torn hand away, each delicate finger at a time. She curiously stared into her hand, and carefully plucked out each needle. Helen then returned each spine to the miniature cactus, and watched as the blood spilled out from each hole in her hand. Hank stood in awe. His small daughter did not shed a single tear, and he wondered why. She painted a long thing line, uneven, down each of the Saguaro's grooves. She turned away to walk

    back to the large truck, and waved goodbye to the cactus. The blood disappeared.

    Hank followed her to the transport, and sat down in his seat, which was covered with a beaded backrest. Helen played with the dreamcatcher that hung from the rear view mirror. Hank began to start the engine and the girl said "Daddy! Buckle up!" So he did. "Helen, Sweety, tell Daddy why you ran to that cactus, and why didn't cry when the cactus hurt you?" he said. She began to laugh enormously. Then she stopped. "Silly Daddy, didn't you hear him call me?" she asked. Hank was more confused than ever, and

    he shook his head. "Baby, tell Daddy why you didn't cry," he asked again. She informed him that she was a cactus, and they keep all their water inside. He shook his head again, passing it off as a joke, still amazed she knew so much. Hank wasn't about to question why the blood on her hand disappeared. They went home.

    Helen. Still the daughter of a truck drivin' man. She was thirty-four years old. She still lived with her father, Hank, and he still drove a transport truck. Only this time she had kids of her own. Their house in New Hampshire was a small bungalow, that the four of them shared a life together, Hank, Helen, and her

    two small children. Once upon a time, Helen had a husband, owned a plant nursery, and two babies. Then her husband died. She didn't cry once. She just closed her business, and moved herself and two sons in with old Hank. She moved her plants in too, mostly cacti.

    Getting bored with her life, she decided to dedicate herself to being the perfect housewidow. Everyday, she packed those boys a perfect lunch in a crisp, new paper bag, scooted them out the door, cleaned the small bungalow, watered all the plants, and usually scraped herself on the cacti here and there. Then when the boys got home, she began to make a perfect dinner, each night. After dinner and the boys were in bed, she'd occasionally pour herself a small glass of tequila. She sipped it slowly and savoured

    each fiery drop as it slipped down her throat. She drank as she sat with her left hand holding her chin, and her elbow in the windowsill, adorned with small knick knacks and stained glass in the window. She found herself sipping that tequila by the window more and more as time progressed.

    It was early Sunday morning. Helen was laying on her mattress on the floor, staring at the ceiling, painted a soft, pale green. She was going to be expected by her two boys and her father to be in the kitchen soon, cooking up a big breakfast before they walked to church. She decided not to. So there she lay, staring at the ceiling. She was picking the old, cracking, floral wallpaper off the walls. It hadn't been changed since she was a little child, and she was very familiar with each petal on each flower, each stem and how they all flowed together. She was feeling too familiar with it.

    An hour passed, then two, then three. Her boys and Hank had been in her room a few times, asking her to get out of bed. Eventually, they went to the kitchen and poured themselves a bowl of cold cereal and walked to church on their own. Helen arose from her bed, stared at the wall for a few seconds, and walked into the kitchen. She poured herself a very small glass of tequila, and took the shot, instead of sipping slowly. She glanced at the window and shut the drapes, and jetted to the front door, scraping herself on a small cactus she had, and the blood didn't come. She put on a pair of red high heels, and walked out to Hank's old truck, almost prancing, wearing her white nightgown and heels. Helen hopped into the cab, and put her pointy red toe onto the gas pedal and drove.

    She drove for miles, passing through state, through state, through state. The truck stopped running. Helen dragged her tired body out of the Mac, and kicked off her red shoes. Her toes touched the hot sand, and she felt alive. She looked up, and her eyes grew wide, once more. Before her, she saw tall, tall green plants, as far as she could see. Helen overlooked her surroundings, and picked up her feet. Her body flew off into the night, she heard the sounds of the desert, calling to her in mysterious tunes. Her arms reached out to the giant Saguaros, not a drop of blood escaped her. She stopped. In front of her stood a small cactus, a mere four feet high, maybe. At it's trunk lay many needles, turned to a rich brown colour. Up and down the grooves were markings of a burnt red, sienna, in uneven lines. Thirty years ago, she offered her hand to this small Saguaro. This time it accepted. The blood began to flow out of her, and Helen's head began to spin.
  2. MoonjavaSeed

    MoonjavaSeed Yeah, Toast!

    haha sorry the spacing got realled fucked up
  3. Orsino2

    Orsino2 Hip Forums Supporter HipForums Supporter

    I can't stand format(ting) sometimes. :p
  4. loveflower

    loveflower Senior Member

    what was that story about :eek:
  5. MoonjavaSeed

    MoonjavaSeed Yeah, Toast!

  6. PeaceBabe

    PeaceBabe Senior Member

    wow, me likey
  7. rhasta.penguin

    rhasta.penguin No more hippy...ugh

    kind of creepy, but i liked it. I knew the cacti would get her sooner or later :D
  8. MoonjavaSeed

    MoonjavaSeed Yeah, Toast!

    muahhaa cacti.. will they ever learn...
  9. Orsino2

    Orsino2 Hip Forums Supporter HipForums Supporter

    I almost bought another cactus today while I was in williamsburg... They had them to about 3 to 4 feet in height... I was in a greenhouse. They had banana trees and palms... ooh, and pomes... :eek:
  10. MoonjavaSeed

    MoonjavaSeed Yeah, Toast!

    Hala Kahiki

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