Spit in my Left Eye

My ears pricked as the shrill pierced my 2 year old innocence. "You're a chop off the old block"! Carina Reynecke was the master of wrangling. Her husband Ferdinand - a rooibos tea grower - was too princely. “Come Brown” he gently prompted, a reminder of how much he adored my eyes. I walked beside him along the Cypress lane as he relived past moments – The demon slugs hung about in villainous fervour. Mr "Old Brown Sherry" Reynecke had pissed and pooped his pants again; mumbling into his alcohol infused puke. 20 year old Ferdinand slung his father before the onlookers then footslogged. The old man’s expletives echoed through the cypress trees and raised its aggression to  beat the ground, where the armadillo sat in silence Ferdi doubled over at the torturous memory.Shame glazed his hot skin. Even now, 10 years later his tears are like freshly squeezed lemon; Fleshy splayed bits like Jackson Pollock’s No 5 -a gradient artistic creation articu

He who defies fear, awakens love. Common sense and fear moaned its objection. But it was no challenge for the brilliant light that shone from the charcoal eyes laughing up at him. Blake's heart creaked, its hinges rusty and misused. Her laughter drew him in and caused his soul to dance like an avalanche. Sounds of thunder in his ears.  His fingers toyed the softness of her cheek as he bent to kiss her cleopatra styled hair. Its that look he found remarkably attractive about her. His own little Cleopatra.  He couldnt understand how he had not noticed her   much sooner.  She appeared in his life as if sent.  He needed this.  She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. The moon sketched their shadowy silhouette like silks that fluttered and floated upon a cloud of long awaited fulfilment. Their lips clung in whispered promises of sundrenched storms. This time Blake dared to embrace this promise; this laughter, this passion, Love. Francesca Hunter felt his heart