18
ARTICHOKE
Seraphim BY MARVIN DARKWA
REFRAIN, FROM ESSENCE. Beyond the Solaris time flows. An embrace captured; for journeys unknown… Makala twisted; the rough ebony strands of her hair with white flower-dress in check. She did this as the teacher droned on-and-on. With an eternal-cool she stared at the figure next to her. There it was… That eternal crux, that forgotten truth, that euphoric gaze. “She” was all that this world promised its crazed youth (and more) … As the sands of time moved forward, she would be closer to that heavenly embrace. “Who are they to judge?” Makala stated. Her usual sweet demeanor being undercut by impulse; as if Goliath gave way to David. “Patience Kayla,” she always said that. Makala adored even more for saying it the way did just then. With an earnest-civility. They sat, hand in hand amidst the blanket of awkward gazes in the class.
Bathed in, omnipresent light from a supposed eternal-ruler they traded thoughts. “Think it’ll hurt,” Makala asked. The girl turned back; her milky skin seemed to flow beneath the stainedglass windows. “Doesn’t, matter either way… Passion, Pain, and Pleasure are just different words for each other. Whether it ‘hurts’ or not really shouldn’t be an issue.” She slid back into her seat; draped in the eternal glow of the heavens, the rustic carpentry of the church, and the students behind them preparing for communion. “Patience Kayla.” And because she said so Makala believed it. “Come on, let’s bounce,” stated an energized Makala, her white flowerdress lingering on the floor. They walked amidst the ever-so-coy stares and the mad-intrigue from the priesthood whose eyes darted at them as they sauntered out of the church. They walked. The curious students parting through them in the center of the hallway like Moses and the red sea. Their chatter continued. They dismissed them. Their words rang out. They dismissed them. They pelted insults. They dismissed them all. Once more Makala stated with a happy-apathy “who are they to judge?” “She” turned around almost-
