Wednesday Addams’ Perfect Guy

Wednesday Addams stood in line outside the speed dating room, contemplating the sign taped to the door: We have a heart for you! She had been searching for so long, at least seventy-two hours. If she had only known about this place earlier.

 

The guy in front of her said, “Three minutes isn’t enough time to know if you want someone to stick around.”

 

Wednesday examined his jugular veins. “Do you enjoy exsanguination?” she said.

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“Do you have any contagious diseases?”

 

“No, what does—”

 

“No mononucleosis? No methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus? Not even COVID?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Then don’t stick around,” she told him.

 

After the fruitless exchange, Wednesday decided to allow the next guy more than mere seconds to express himself.

 

“Is this your first time?” the second guy said.

 

Wednesday nodded.

 

“It’s intimidating,” he said. “So many rules, so little time.”

 

“So many witnesses,” Wednesday said.

 

“I know,” he said, rolling his eyes at the sign on the door. “You had my bleeding heart at hello.”

 

Wednesday smiled at him, and he didn’t flinch. The hours she spent practicing in front of the mirror had paid off.

 

They walked down the block, smiling at each other. Wednesday stopped when they reached the Addams family hearse.

 

Covering his mouth, the guy whispered, “Maybe we shouldn’t be this cheery so close to the dead.”

 

“That’s just my brother, Pugsley,” Wednesday said. “He likes riding in the coffin, and Lurch spoils him. Besides, we enjoy doing things together.”

 

“You brought your brother on a date?” The guy shook his head at Wednesday, and began backing away. He bumped into Lurch.

 

Lurch grunted.

 

The guy yelped, wide eyes going back and forth between Lurch and Pugsley—who kept waving and grinning wildly from inside the coffin. “I’m into a lot of things, lady, but sharing my heart with other men isn’t one of them.”

 

“Don’t worry,” she said, “Pugsley only wants your brain. Granny Addams called dibs on your entrails and teeth. The rest is up for grabs. Except your heart. Your heart will bleed just for me.” She flashed him a real Wednesday Addams smile. And this time, he flinched and whimpered. 

 

He was perfect.

 

there is a chance that I might be enjoying Tim Burton’s Wednesday a bit too much *cough*

 - for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #55: Bleeding Hearts.

Wild Dandelion Dreams

I get lost in Pluto’s remaining eye; not the planet, but the red-eyed black cat a friend crafted out of a story by Poe. I stare until my pain blurs the feline’s smirk. Still, my mind can’t ignore what the Cecilios are cooking for dinner—wild dandelion greens with vinegar and garlic, by the sour smell and weediness of the flowers’ screams.

The Cecilios are good people. They took me in, and treat me well, after so many other foster families had used faith and fist to beat their demons out of me. I just wish they could sense the dandelions’ suffering.

I close my eyes, take deep breaths, and begin building a stone wall between my facial expressions and the flower’s hurt. I dislike dulling my perception of their feelings—if they have to endure the agony, the least I can do is acknowledge it—but if the Cecilios think me mad, they’ll throw me out before I can offer any help to anyone.

When my wall feels sturdy enough, I walk back to the Cecilio’s home, thinking, Rest in peace, little sisters, I promise I to find a way to reclaim your spirit. 

I stumble when I reach the Cecilio’s kitchen. My wall cracks under a wave of phantom heat, and the garden of terrifyingly hopeful voices that whispers through.

“We hear you, big sister,
dreams and blooms burned in their dark
will sprout in your light.”

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #46: Different Points of View (the prompt asks for one piece of poetry or prose written from two different points of view. I chose to combine the two in fictional haibun, the prose from the point of view of one character and the senryu from the point of view of other characters). 

So Many Ripples…

“And think of him as living
in the hearts of those he touched…
for nothing loved is ever lost
and he was loved so much.”
~ Ellen Brenneman

My little brother was born a month before my 9^th birthday; and since his arrival robbed me of all my “baby” privileges—the ripest mango, the first piece of coconut candy, my grandmamá’s lap—I was not the most gracious of big sisters. In fact, I was determined to make the little beast know who was boss. The second my mother got home from the hospital, everyone ran up to her to fuss over the usurper. There was a storm of “He’s so cute” and “Can I hold him?” and “You must be so proud”.

I just stood in a corner, in silence, glaring at the whole world.

After the room quieted some, my grandmamá said, “Come meet to your little brother.”

“No,” I told her, my glare growing darker.

She ignored my hostility, picked him up out of my mother’s arms, and walked towards me. “Look,” she said, holding his face very close to my face, “he is smiling at you.”

I had closed my eyes, refusing to look at him. Besides, newborns did not smile. And if they did, it was only gas—my mother always said that. My grandmamá didn’t move, so I shut my eyes tighter. Then I felt little fingers touch my chin. I opened my eyes, ready to tell the little monster to stop it, ready to shout that there was no space for him, ready to bare my teeth... But I found my little brother’s face, just inches from mine, the cutest of toothless grins aimed right at me. And without wanting it, I was grinning right back.

That was the first time my little brother smiled me into loving him. He just had a way about him, that brother of mine… a way to show his whole heart in a smile that made anyone seeing it want to join in the fun.

He was a bit reckless. He was more than a bit of a scoundrel. He loved (a lot) and smiled easily. And I thank the universe every day for that gift.

Gregory Guerrero
(Mar 10, 1986 – Feb 28, 2013)
“No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.” ~ Terry Pratchett

- linked to Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #16: An Exploration of Peace.