On The Eve
Ron Morelli

Flash Fiction Winner

My Darling Oz,

On the eve they overthrew Francisco Mandero, Lilly fell in the garden.

We could not wake her, despite all our attempts, and as such we carried her off to mama's bed where she has lain in her dream like trance since. I am not worried though, for the faith healer, you know the one, the old woman from the city, has come to lay hands on our Lilly, and as papa has said of her powers: "That is first-rate. She heals all she touches!"

She came baring her oils and dried flower petals. I am suspicious, not because I lack faith in her abilities, but rather I lack faith in Lilly desiring to wake from the slumber she has fallen into. If you could see how peaceful she looks now, compared to the distress prior to the slumber, it would be a sin against mankind to allow our Lilly to waken.

At night the old woman fashions a crown of peppermint leaves, coupled with sprigs of lavender, and impregnated with rose petals from Lilly's garden. Every night she lays the wreath on Lilly's brow, and when all are in slumber I sneak into the bedroom and remove the wreath.

Do you think me evil for doing this, Oz? She is, after all, your wife and my sister, but I cannot help but desire her continual slumber. She is at such peace, my dearest Oz, perhaps at a greater peace than you and I shall ever know.


First published: August 2002
comments: knobs@iceflow.com