the book of blood and snow

Author: bellmusker
Word Count: 622
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the book of blood and snow

What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

the book of blood and snow belongs to the following groups:

Lesbian and Bi-Women's Art, Melbourne & Victoria, Short stories - Spherical Scriptings, The Red Writing Room and WMG

She dotted her i’s with little circles.

I fucking hate that.

I bet she covered her mouth when she laughed, and drank cocktails with coconut milk.

Her writing lilted to the left so steeply the words seemed about to topple over and fall sprawling from the page, with only the lassoes of the i’s to keep them tethered. No backbone at all. The colour of her ink curled my lip; pink, in a god damned Dostoyevsky book.

There was no writing elsewhere, no passages underlined that connected, that inspired, or troubled. Just her inscription inside, loping across the page in thin strokes like delicate strands of fairy floss.

I tried not to frown as I read it, but it was a cold day on Brunswick Street. It might have been the wind that made me scowl.

My S.

I understand why you have to do this….I do. And I want you to know that part of me will going with you to Russia, to walk alongside you on this amazing journey.

But in truth I’ll be back here in Melbourne, longing for your emails, your postcards, your stories….and always, always, longing for you to be back by my side. Just as I know why you have to do this, I know in my heart that we’ll be ok.

I’ll see you in six months, baby.

I love you,

Veronika

Fool.

I almost said the word aloud, and surprised myself with the sourness that flooded my mouth. I could picture her, this girl with one foot planted hopefully in the future, and her heart so clearly in the past. She had her hair cut into a bob that she thought accentuated her neck, and smoked menthol cigarettes. Like a girl. I wondered if she changed the spelling of her name to the Russian K when she knew her man was headed there, in an attempt to connect to him even as she was forced to let him go.

He might have sent the emails, and I’m sure that postcards of the snow capped domes of the Church of Spilled Blood would have fallen into her letterbox. They would have traded phone calls, of course, but they’d have tapered off as winter set in, and closer Dushkas with spikier vowels sat at his table and clinked glasses.

I could see her waiting. Longing, and hurting, and telling herself it would work out.

But it never does; and I despised her for not knowing that. A woman in tune enough with the world to appreciate Dostoyevsky should know by now that they never return, we never understand, we’re all broken and snow covered and clinking vodka glasses and trying, just for one moment, to connect.

And we’ll never be ok.

There was no sign of life in the book. The spine was barely cracked, no pages turned down. The fucker had never read it, had thrown it in his backpack and flown. And then a woman like me unearths it in a secondhand bookshop in Brunswick Street, shed like old skin and priced at $7. And she holds it, and imagines, and hates the fairy floss girl for her hope, for her trust, for her need. She should know better by now.

We all should.

The sky was ash grey and my coat was thin. I already had a copy of ‘The Idiot’, and I could use the seven dollars for a coffee and tram ride home. I threw the book onto the table, drew on my gloves. But before I turned my back my fingers reached for the book again, and tucked it gently at the bottom of the box.

Out of the wind.

jcmontgomery

God how I want to leave some great, pithy comment to tell you how good this is, how good you are. I am just not feeling eloquent enough to say exactly what I mean or how this piece makes me feel. So I will leave it at that…that I do love this, and you, for making me feel so lucky to be able to read your amazing work.
bellmusker replied

That comment is beyond great to me, my girl! Thank you so much….
though I have to say that the thought of you being less than eloquent makes me shake my head. I can never see that happening :-) x
Enivea

I timidly enter this esteemed company, just to say thank you. Truly. Thank you for helping me to feel for other than myself.
bellmusker replied

I’m not quite sure what to say….thank you for your kind comments; I always, always appreciate them. Reading work on RB often allows me moments of clarity and compassion when I connect with others and see the world through new eyes. I’m so pleased if my words strike this chord in you.
Damian

Wonderful :)
I sort’ve laughed and agreed with the disection of the fairy floss girl, but also felt for her shiner-than-truth take on the world. I liked that the book was tucked away :)
bellmusker replied

Ah, don’t they say that we hit out at qualities in others we despise in ourselves? Perhaps we all have some of the fairy floss girl in us, even though we should know better. I’m still sure she drank pina coladas though :-)
bearpaw

i, like Jcmontgomery and Enivea can not find the right words to express how much your writing has affected me…. i will say this though- you have the ability to draw a line to a persons’ heart through your words and take the reader on a journey that otherwise they wouldn’t be on….
much respect to you Belle.
Damian

Yep, exactly why the gesture at the end was so perfect :)
Haha, but the pina colada is a bit fluffy though! ;)
Jessica Tremp

breaks my heart completely…and the ending…breaks it again all over with tenderness
Naomi Downie

thanks for putting her out of the wind…that tenderness sent ripples through my universe
warmsugarcube

yes, the tenderness overruling the bitterness and cynicism. a beautiful story. once again sisterly affection triumphs :)
bellmusker replied

I didn’t intend to add that last part – my cynicism was meant to slam the door shut. Seeing my fingers write those lines was a surprise… guess I’m not quite as hardcore as I’d like to think ;-)
butchart

you pull me in everytime….. in your thoughts.. your emotions…. even into your tenderness…....... thank you for doing that…......... xox…......b
bellmusker replied

Ah sweet b, remind me never to read Dostoyevsky on a cold winter’s day when my lover has taken off to the other side of the world. Thank you for your thoughts x x
Holly Ringland

Bell, I could hear the tinny music of snow globe music boxes as I read these words, laced with cold winds, snowy caps and frosty glasses of icy vodka… your writing takes my breath away. I treasure your work as though each piece is a page from the magical book I search for in secondhand bookstores… that I want to lock myself in an attic with and devour like something out of a childhood fable. This is heart-achingly beautiful in its articulation… what a spellbinder you are.
PJ Ryan

outstanding

xx
Luckyvegetable

yes, I know this story….I think we all do, although we wish we didn’t… I felt the chill and the tragedy of this, when I read the title, and the rest just continued a wonderful heart wrenching fable…
bellmusker replied

When the title falls from my pen I know that all is well in the world. And yes, I think we all know this story….and yet we still never learn, do we?
Laurie McClave

oh so achy! oh so sad! love is hard and it hurts so bad…......
bellmusker replied

love is hard and it hurts so bad……...
And yet what the hell would we write about if we all walked off into the sunset hand in hand? ;-) Ah babe, sometimes it works out, but sometimes we just sit there broken til the snow completely covers us.
friartuck

Very much enjoyed this Bell – quite beautiful – in fact I read it, reflected for a while, and wrote this

I’m glad that, as hard as you tried, you couldn’t be too cruel to the girl. She was naive, hopeful and just a touch desperate to do something other than feel helpless – but to be cruel to her would have been like kicking a puppy…
yt sumner

Darling, your touch is so sublime. Your words always give me such an exquisite sense of contentment….so cleverly layered, without seeming ‘clever’ at all, one of my favourite things is how thoughtful your pieces are. Nothing is ever fluked or half-assed with you. You give every word the weight it deserves and they always seem so bloody honest. No matter how dark the place, it gives me a lovely feeling of right, reading you. xx
markgb

I’m in complete and utter awe. This broke my heart. You’re amazing.
bellmusker replied

This broke my heart
It kinda broke mine too, Mark. Thanks for your comment, I always love to read your opinions.
anya

I love your writing bellmusker. there are so few I admire, I’m glad I’ve stumbled across yours.
bellmusker replied

Thanks so much Anya, I appreciate those words. There are so many amazing writers on RB, I hope you find more you enjoy!
markgb

Thank you so much my dear and I will be sending you a pic tonight (to your Klokken page) of one of my kits. I apologize for the fact that it has taken so long to send it. : )
nnimus3

excellent
bellmusker replied

Thank you!
TheWanderingBoo

absolutely brilliant…flows wonderfully…loved it…your writing is beautiful
bellmusker replied

Thanks so much! And cheers for the favouriting; glad you enjoyed this :-)
MissKristy

Mmm delicious. Just real and delicious. I will read this again and again, no doubt.
Fucking pink scrawled in Dostoyevsky. Shudders. Don’t know if I love or hate that.
I am sick as sick can be at the moment. It is bloody frustrating!! But nice to catch up on everything :) Behaaaaave …heheheheee
bellmusker replied

As soon as you’re healed and well, I will take you out on the town in damn fine style…the cackles will be heard in Sydney! Much love to you, my girl x x x x
Alex Brown

awesome, i am constantly amazed, not the right word but in my current frame of mind its the only one thats working by your amazing i told you creativity and the way in which you string normal words in to a fantastically poetic piece that stirs emotions.
Benjamin Ruskin

O Belle thank you for taking me on a few different journeys tonight with your fabulous writing, I just love the way your mind works. I think I know that bookstore on Brunswick Rd, there’s a gelato shop next door…! ‘smoking menthol cigarettes. Like a girl…’ Something tells me the fairy floss girl should have met you years ago.
bellmusker replied

I think I know that bookstore on Brunswick St, there’s a gelato shop next door
That’s the one! I often have to choose between their lime and caramel sorbet, or a collection of Durer sketches…what a choice.

Something tells me the fairy floss girl should have met you years ago
Actually, I have a confession for everyone who’s left a comment: there was no Dostoyevsky book, no inscription, no little circles above the i. There was just me, missing my lover who’d gone home to Switzerland, never to return. I didn’t want to become the fairy floss girl, didn’t want to hope, and email, and pine for something that was so clearly over. So I wrote this to pour my contempt onto her, and so bury that need for intimacy in the dirt where it belongs.

That’s why I was so scathing of her. She’s the part of me I despise.

But my fingers aren’t as aloof as my heart and damn them, wrote the ending without my permission! She was meant to be thrown on top of the pile and left with pages ruffling in the icy wind…...tucking her gently in the warmest corner of the box amazed me – I intended to be cold and ruthless – but I decided to leave it in.

You never really know what’ll come out of your pen, do you? :-)
fleece

beautiful idea, beautifully executed
Benjamin Ruskin

You managed superbly to hide yourself within the fairy floss girl because I had no idea that you were writing about yourself when i read this the first time. I love the way your fingers finished the poem and finish, in an instant, by protecting herself warm in the box. A fabulous image of duality, spitting vitriole on her soft centre while at the same time instinctively protecting that which she will need one day out of the windy chaos, whether she knows it or not.
sydculture

i’ve been the fairy floss girl.
bellmusker replied

I think we all have, Sara…..this seems to speak to many people, and I’m assuming that’s why. No matter how much I try to be scathing, I keep protecting her at the bottom of the box. Ah, a heart, hey? Who needs it? ;-)
Gurung

nice…. you can almost taste it… a vivid read…
lloydwakeling

You are like a big sister…..secretly protective….openly scathing…..proudly loving….deeply…beautiful…
bellmusker replied

Such a lovely comment to leave; thank you so much! The fairy floss girl is whispers actually me, and I’m only openly scathing of the part of me that still needs intimacy. What can we do if we don’t write it out, hey?
lloydwakeling

ah yes…..who needs that crap lying around…...wouldn’t be seen in the same room with it…..::))
fullcirclemand...

for all of us whose lovers have fled to distant lands or places in their heads we are no longer welcome – beautifully poignantly written – feel it in my heart
bellmusker replied

Thank you so much…or places in their heads we are no longer welcome..... you do understand :-)
Heather Dawn

this tragic story has been so eloquently written. it needed to be written. a bit of that fool that lives in Veronika lives in me too. thank you for writing this.
bellmusker replied

Thank you, Heather…..a touch of the fairy floss girl lives in me too, as this was written when my beautiful lover went home to Switzerland and I tried to write an ending to us. I meant to be harsh, to bury my desire for intimacy, but the last line wrote itself and surprised even me. Love it when that happens! Thanks again for your comment, I appreciate it.
nadine henley

lovely, again, and I want to defend her, in spite of those damn little circles. Maybe she wasn’t so stupid. Maybe she hid this message in the book as a test, thinking that he only deserved to find it if he actually opened to book to read it! And maybe he did, and came back, bringing it with him (how else did it get back to Brusnwick St?), looking for her, and found her gone perhaps, looking for a different fantasy with more fairy floss than this one. In other words I want a seqel and dammit of course there was a bookstore on Brunswick Street and a book and all the rest. Of course, there was! more please!
bellmusker replied

Nadine, I love your comment! You’ve really got me thinking…...how did the book get back to Brunswick Street? And maybe she was testing whether he actually opened it…hmmm… maybe the fairy floss girl is more cunning than I gave her credit for. I knew there was a reason I hid her at the bottom of the box, out of the wind! And yes, there is a certain bookstore next to the tram stop, and they do have boxes of books on the footpath….much of what I write is drawn from my life.

But how much is me, and how much is creation? If you read through the comments above, you’ll see whether the book actually existed. How I love weaving the strands of my life around my imagination! :-)
Susan Trigg

Ah, I love you incisive writing, although this one cut me like a knife. And I particularly loved the wistful ending, gorgeous touch. You remind us that we all have a little of the pink-ink girl inside, even if it’s covered by a blood-red coat ;)

Haha, just read the comments preceding, but will post as is, anyway.
bellmusker replied

Ah, and here I was thinking that my blood red coat hid all manner of sins! Thanks for this comment, and the favouriting. Cheers!
skinnyman

exceptional story telling. The shifting context keep me reading to the end. A rare event.
bellmusker replied

I’m so pleased to have kept you reading….that’s all I ask for, really :-)
Shoaib .

wow … this was quite an amazing journey…. could feel the longing and uncertainty ....
great story telling
bellmusker replied

Thanks! I just can’t trust someone who uses pink ink :-)
Matt Penfold 24 days ago

Wow Bell, this just blows me away, I so love the way you grew this piece from the inscription to the cynicism to the touch of sentimentality or hope? You truly are an inspired writer, this stirred my emotions :-)
bellmusker replied 24 days ago

Thanks so much, Matt :-)

The motivation for this piece is detailed in comments above; saying goodbye to a beautiful Swiss lover. I did intend for this to be cynical – I’m uncomfortable with romance, for several reasons – so the tenderness was a huge surprise for me. The words that flow out of my pen sometimes make my eyes widen….now, where did THAT come from?! :-)