Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction Challenge-"Dolls"

For those of you who don't know, Chuck is kind of brilliant and a big deal. His blog is excellent for those looking for honest writing advice, and occasionally he holds awesome contests. This week it's a flash fiction contest using a first line supplied by last week's contest winners and honorable mentions.

I chose the line: "When the last cherry blossom falls, so will my axe." by Delilah.

This spawned quite possibly the most Japanese thing I have ever written. Research may be required after reading, search for Butoh masks, Tatami mats, Hinamatsuri, and Fox Weddings, if you are unfamiliar with any of these terms or mythologies.

Thanks for reading,
Lauren

DOLLS

When the last cherry blossom falls, so will my axe.

Midori twirled in the fragrant flurries of pink and white blossoms. Her lithe figure clad in layers of fine silk pranced up and down the rows of cherry trees, a Hinamatsuri doll clutched in her hands. Our mother screamed from the house, “Where is the Emperor?”

Midori giggled back running into the forest, “He’s on an adventure.”

“Tetsuyo, get your sister! TETSUYO!”

“Yes, mother.” I called, disappearing into the forest.

Midori’s geta left clear impressions in the soft muddy spring ground. The snow melted two weeks ago, the canopy covered forest floor had not yet recovered from winter. If deer left tracks as obvious our family would eat like kings tonight.

Tiny equal signs ran through the trees, down to the spring our family gathered water from and fished in the summer. Midori sat on a rock beside the stream, the Emperor’s feet skimming the surface of the water. The sun shone on the pastoral beauty, tiny rings of water formed and dissipated in the stream, a million minnows searching for food. From the cloudless sky rain fell in sheets, soaking Midori’s silk kimono, the azure cornflowers turning a deep purple.

Drums sounded in the distance, the air filled with the metallic taste of rain and the scent of cherry blossoms, and wet dog.

Not wet dog, wet fox.

The drumming grew louder. Midori cheered, figures began to appear on the opposite bank, a royal wedding procession.

I ran to Midori, clutched her hand and dragged her from the bank. The emperor fell into the water. Midori screamed and broke from my grasp. Her white socks brown with mud, the geta pried from her feet stuck in the riverbank.

“Midori, we have to leave.”

“I want to watch the wedding.”

“No.”

I grabbed her hand and drug her to the tree line.

“My shoes?”

“Leave them.”

“The emperor?” Midori frowned.

“We have to go.”

I dragged her through the forest, her white socks torn, stained with mud and blood, as her tender feet cut on roots and rocks.

“Tetsuyo, up?”

Midori’s porcelain face marred with mud, the tears streaking the dirt away, reminded me of a Butoh mask I had seen in one of mother’s dance books. Her little body contorted, the binding of her kimono loosened as we fled. She looked so common. I threw her over my shoulder running from the forest, through the orchard, to our house.

Mother stood on the porch, refusing to let her soiled children ruin the Tatami mats that ran the entrance of the house. “And, where is the emperor?”

“Tetsuyo, made me leave him, and my shoes. Look what he did to my feet.”

My mother glared at me. The hard lines of her face, that perfected this stare, began to soften, a tear shaping at the corner of her right eye. On the wind came the sound of drumming and the stench of foxes, I knew it was too late.