The Iridescence of Our Sins | Published in Lost Balloon on March 1, 2017
The children appear from the edges. Their faces set. Their bodies are covered in iridescent powders that shimmer in hues that could only be seen in dreams. We have been gathered in the square to wait. Our kin have been gathered to watch. The children walk around us in a pack, sniffing, running towards us and back again to their circle. Worn, brown leather pouches hang around their necks, swaying with their movement.
The children stop. The drums start in sync with our heartbeats. The children move again. They reach into their pouches and pull out handfuls of the same beautiful powder that is on their bodies. They swipe furiously at our skin, and the powder blends into our arms, exposed bellies, legs, and cracked feet. We are amethyst, crimson, sapphire, and gold. We are but poor imitations of them.
The rain starts slowly, blending and bleeding us into the ground. We are marked with the sins of our people, and we carry those sins with us. We follow the children; the rest follow us. This place has come to an end. The square is empty.
Ashley Perez lives, writes, and causes trouble in Los Angeles. She has a strong affinity for tattoos, otters, cat mystery books, and actual cats, but has mixed feelings about pants. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University Los Angeles. She runs the literary site Arts Collide and does work of all varieties for Women Who Submit, Entropy, Jaded Ibis Press, Midnight Breakfast, and Why There Are Words. Her work can be found at The Rumpus, The Nervous Breakdown, The Weeklings, Red Light Lit, and others. You can find her on Twitter at @ArtsCollide.
Some were surprised that the show, which never captured more than a one percent viewer share, lasted as long as it did. The Haworth twins looked nothing alike; then there was Joan Didion’s Esquire piece ravaging Carol Haworth’s parenting style and the Connecticut student who noticed the window in McKelvey’s (19th century) stable, home of Wesley McKelvey’s mare Firecloud, revealed the top of a Burger King sign.
We ate and made useless chat. The Best was bland that day. All I could taste was the vinegar. Katie had cut her hair short. Truthfully, she looked beautiful. I made the conscious decision not to look at her socks. After the sandwiches were eaten things got quiet.
Then Dad started to miss birthdays and funerals and anniversaries. When our cat, Sasha, and our turtle, Jamba Juice, died, Mom dug up the graves. My brother and I prayed for Sasha and Jamba Juice. Dad was still inside, playing video games.
My Aunt Sharon gave me a whole shelf-worth of conduct guides when I turned ten. She didn’t call them that, of course. And unlike Victorian conduct guides, none of them said my ovaries would shrivel if I read too much (although, my ovaries did eventually shrivel, or more accurately, they exploded, but that was years down the road yet. At 13 my ovaries were still intact, as far as I knew).
“I’d like to take a look at that book.” He wraps his hand around the nape of her neck, and they lock unblinking eyes like children in a staring contest. When she is the first to look away, Ted says, “Why don’t I give you a ride home.”
Emily acted as guide, her arm around Nathan’s, until they sat opposite each other. Her eyes scanned the menu lazily, already knowing she would get the flauta plate and as many free margaritas as they’d serve her. Nathan’s eyes flickered up to her face then back down to his phone, fingers never ceasing the algorithm-perpetuated doom scroll.
In addition to being a lovely person, my sister also possesses a great memory, meaning the slightest hint of something you might drop in discussion can turn up in a lovely gift at any time. Staring down at the gleaming rendition of Abe Lincoln I remembered how the last time we spoke I told her about how I was getting into coin collecting after reading an article about this one particular printing of penny that had just sold at an auction for an exorbitant price. This one didn’t have the defect that made that one so valuable, but it was rare nonetheless.
I put my pants on like everyone else: throwing my pants in the air mid-handstand the pastor preached to his congregation. Edward Fortyhands with the monkey’s paw the congregation preached back.
Sarah enters the castle. Carmen takes over and helps her get acclimated. Come to find out, she’s missing from the Center for Wayward Girls. Family died in a fire. A troubled kid bounced around in foster care homes.
What should I do? I know she met the judge. I mentioned him. She couldn’t stop shaking.
I arrive 15 minutes early because that is what the flier says to do. The address has brought me down an alleyway between a church and a nail salon. It’s dark and wet. A car pulls up and a man gets out. He is tall and has pecs that push through his t-shirt. He asks me if I’m here for the fitness class. I hold up the flier. He says his name is Derek and tells me to follow him.