Opium 134

Reads: 228  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

CHILDHOOD.FAMILY. DRUGS. FANTASY. FLASH FICTION. FROM THE COLLECTION, " BORN UNDER INFLUENCE OF SHADOWS " NO 134.

Opium

 

  " Yes, " Auntie Mary told me, " I smoke some of Mr

Shadow's old opium in my bedroom now and remember

our electric dances in rainbow lands, when I wore a 

headress of coins, and bones, and colour. What quiet

yoga that is.

  This stillness, this contentment at the centre of the 

universe. At the centre of being. I smoke this old

opium and smell its ancient perfume, revolving and 

revolving around my bedroom, filled with furniture

and books, and candlelight delight. I can hear the trains

screaming at night through the tunnels, because the

original signalman is dead.

  Mr Shadow and I used to smoke opium once in the 

signalman's lovely sandstone cottage. Some would say 

we had an affair, though he was never faithful. He boasted 

he was an anarchist and didn't believe in love as a possession.

  Yes, he would scream with pleasure like the trains 

scream though the tunnels. And the flames, the flames

used to dance fantastic in his open fireplace, as we passed

the opium pipe, the sacred bamboo pipe with its engraved 

ivory mouthpiece to eachother. What warmth there was 

then. Warmth inside our bodies from the opium after we

made love, and the outer warmth of the open fire.


Submitted: July 03, 2019

© Copyright 2021 tom mcmullen. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:


Facebook Comments

More Flash Fiction Short Stories

Other Content by tom mcmullen