It's Still Life

At an Intersection Named After an English King and a Saint
Six Sentence Story: Part 38

La Pêche Melba

(Note: to maintain continuity, the events in this post precede Nick The Gatekeeper’s dream.) 

He says it’s like the first ever day of winter; Pierre loves winter, and he’s rejuvenated wearing a white apron and working over the harmonic sound of gas rushing through the Wolf cooker, “Pêche Melba to follow the insanity of her fish finger sandwich,” he pips his words short and quick, “c’est beaucoup plus sophistiqué,” … (fish fingers pffft, c’est risible, mutters Pierre as he drops 4 peaches into a simmer of sugar water … timer set: 3 minutes). 

I’m side-lined, pressing warm raspberries through a sieve over bowls of sliced poached peaches snuggled up against scoops of vanilla ice cream, but my attention is fixed on Nick’s unswerving, sharp clarity for Hanzō’s every word.

“Fear transfers power,” Hanzō says, “swords, spikes, knives and tripwires are feeble against fear, and we truly terrified our enemy; they thought demonic apparitions were cutting their water supplies; pissing in their sake barrels; pounding hands and feet on tunnel walls so that we seemed a thousand times more than our number – and the enemy ran towards our noise, leaving the castle’s main gate unguarded, and,” … (I slip to the left of Nick and place a bowl of Pierre’s Peach Melba in front of him – and the other before Hanzō; they eagerly pick up their spoons) … “and that’s when I ran for the castle’s portcullis, unbolted it, and lifted it open.

Our number was to benefit our strength as we overwhelmed the enemy, and Kaminogō castle returned to my lord Tokugawa Ieyasu … and Hanzō smiles, “They claim I am a demon,” … (he plunges his spoon through the peach, into the ice cream, and withdraws it through the raspberry sauce) … “but this dessert is demonic; I am possessed!” Hanzō throws back his head and laughs, and Nick’s silent grin at his spoon says all he’s going to.

It is 3am – Hunga is restless on the floor next to Nick, only occasionally opening one eye to survey the mood of the room and its occupants, while my imagination does capnomancy on the swirling cigar smoke, “…need for speed,” I say under my breath, and Nick glances up from his spoon, our eyes lock, “…No, for equilibrium,” he says.

With the dishes done, the kitchen quite, I step outside – the air sings with the retreating roar of Nick’s Pitch Black Dodge Demon burning as much petrol as rubber from its tires – I grin; it’s that sound, and I walk down the steps, turn sharp right, and open the double garage doors, “Hello, you timeless basalt black beauty,” this car fills me with mischief and delight – this car that belonged to Connor.

Part 2 and 3 continue …. HERE (click)

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Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “Benefit”.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.