Rope Burn

Assignment: Your challenge in this exercise is to use the spoonerisms ‘I must send the mail’ and ‘I must med the sails’ as book ends to frame your piece, starting with one and ending with the other.

‘I must send the mail!’ She shrieked into his face, bits of spittle flying at his eyes and edging him to back off; he stood his ground however, meeting her head-on with rigid force.

He regarded her with a steady, slightly hostile gaze as she started to bumble about, shuffling with and rearranging the items on the tabletop, seemingly getting them into order. She gathered the envelopes together and held them in one hand while straightening the pens in the jar with the other.

‘Why yell? I just wanted an answer. Not to mention that you have had plenty of opportunity today to do so.’ His voice was quiet, livid and sent chills down her spine, enforcing the affirmation that she had really done it this time. But in reality, she justified, it was waiting to happen.

She turned to face him, her once steely, now sunless, blue eyes meeting his muddy puddle brown ones. ‘Because I can’t abide you needing to constantly keep tabs on me: where I am, what I’m doing, who I’m with. Would you not think that to be frustrating? Is that a good enough answer?’

‘You will do what I tell you to, not go off and flounce about. And don’t speak to me that way ever again. Understand?’ A deadly emphasis lined his words as if it was a law against such frolicking, stripping the essence of enjoyment out of such situations, and moving them into noxious routine.

She continued to meet his gaze, but slowly after several minutes her strength faltered and she was once again situated helpless as the man stood over her, fists upon his hips, glaring down at her potentially prone form. She had lived like this for years, constantly giving herself and destroying her dreams; strengths had failed, hopes had failed, happiness had failed– love had failed. And with so much giving way around her, she felt alone and exposed, one sole, kneeling figure in a field of dead thousands.

‘I can’t do this right now.’ She put the envelopes in her one hand down, and picked up her rough, woollen sweater with the other and began to head for the door.

‘Oh really? Because I think not. You will finish cleaning this place– all know you’re idle enough during the day.’

She could feel his eyes on her back as she turned her head. ‘Not this time. I’m going to do something for myself.’

‘Get back here Maggie. Right. Now.’

She stiffened at the iron in his voice, closed her eyes and refused to respond.

She must prepare for a new reality. She must prepare for new winds, new places, new freedoms. She must mend the sails.