The Invocation

[kdke]

In my last topic, I shared a poem I had written a few years ago. I wanted to share one more piece of writing I did around that time, too.

I'm really into flash fiction and enjoy using that form for my creative writing. This piece is a bit of flash fiction I wrote after my mother's death.

This isn't about EFs or triggers. Instead, this story is about the grief and strange, conflicting emotions of being severed from the abuser that I was so enmeshed with that I didn't know who I was without them, and then facing a world I wasn't prepared for.

*****

She called me to the forest. It was gray and damp, and as I stepped on the dried twigs and bark my nose stung from the smell of burning wicker. The red wicker from elsewhere she said she'd burn for me that day -- the day I missed you most.

I could never move on, so I brought salt from the sea to the West. The West is strongest in this season, she said, it's the West that will hear our invocation. The Invocation of Wicker and Salt.

There were no beasts to hear us nor the crackling of the pit. No one wanted to witness this gathering. I left my fear behind at the hedge. Grief was my lover darkly, holding me tightly among the smoke. I hadn't noticed the sweat from my hand made the salt burn into my flesh until I handed the woman the pouch.

We whispered, prayed something without an echo. It cannot be repeated again what was prayed. The salt sparked and turned black. She cooled the offering and dropped it in my hand. A bitter, primal sacrifice.

You wouldn't have wanted this, I know. My tongue blisters and the pit turns to ash. Grief crushes me in its terrifying affection. She left me here. And you never returned.

[Kalmer]