PROSE “You know why I never take baths?” Half of Lotte’s mauve hair peeped up above the water as she blew bubbles in the bath, soap suds spreading over the tattoos inked all along her body. “I certainly wish I did so that you’d do it more often,” a voice chided from the stairs, echoing its way into the extravagantly decorated bathroom. Lotte insisted on occupying the master bathroom for reasons nobody, or certainly Charlie, knew of. Lotte let out a soft laugh, knowing one day she’d certainly miss this roommate of hers. It turns out living alone for hundreds of years was not “good for the soul,” as her doctor had told her decades ago when she handed over an apple and a hefty medical bill. That doctor had long passed, as association with a witch meant you had a free pass to burn at the stake. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she glanced
at her elbow, where an apple seedling lay permanently etched onto her skin. “Maybe you’ll be on here too one day, Charlie.” Lotte brushed off droplets of water, revealing a blur of memories compressed into thousands of intricately-designed tattoos on her legs and torso, snaking up around her shoulders. Perhaps it was the fear that these memories would be washed away with time, that Lotte would someday forget the people that died for her, that the legacy of these people would die with her when she finally descended into madness. Just maybe one person she knew would be free from this fate. Just maybe. -------------------------------------A swarm of crows flew in a giant flock, narrowly missing the road sign as it soared over a quaint corner store flower shop. The bells jingled as Lotte stepped outside, -
briefly smiling at the woman who studied the green stand’s flower selection. “Need any help?” she called, heaving the hose to the flowers only to realize it wasn’t connected to the faucet. “You got any morning glories?” the short woman shot back. There were indeed no morning glories, as Charlie, her roommate, had taken them all home (with payment, of course). Thalia, disappointed with this revelation, paced back and forth, staring at the flowers for another 15 minutes before settling on a bouquet of purple hyacinths. She cheerily made her way to the cafe across the street, seating herself into the deep cushion of a chair with an iced coffee. She examined the flowers in detail and risked the possibility of looking like a deranged lunatic while she furiously sketched on her tablet in an attempt to replicate the hyacinths.
THE GIFT OF LIVING by isabel lai
3|The penchant||MAY 2021
