{"id":52483,"date":"2021-06-03T22:28:48","date_gmt":"2021-06-03T22:28:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/?page_id=52483"},"modified":"2021-06-11T04:23:51","modified_gmt":"2021-06-11T04:23:51","slug":"sa-writers-college-2021-short-story-competition-third-place","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/sa-writers-college-2021-short-story-competition-third-place\/","title":{"rendered":"SA Writers College 2021 Short Story Competition Third Place"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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\u2018Wild Ponies & Pink Flamingos\u2019 <\/h1>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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by Kea Isaacs<\/h1>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
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\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\tThird Place\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t\t\t\t2021 SHORT STORY WRITING COMPETITION\t\t\t\t\t<\/p>\n\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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Him<\/em><\/p>

When I look at her, my mind is immediately filled with an image of two horses on opposite ends of an open field. They charge with all their might towards each other, hooves striking the ground beneath them with a thud so powerful it announces their savagery. Dust flailing in the air like their restless souls free from their shackles. Their manes dance with the wind and capture the very essence of a wild pony: freedom. But the dust blinds the view in front of them, and all of a sudden, they collide like a train wreck. But all I hear are violins. Two restless souls whose pace does not match that of the steady world around them, now run side by side. Their freedom forever binds them. We were fools in thinking we could live extraordinarily in an ordinary world, turned to mere mortals by our very environment. We could not foresee that once tamed, a wild pony can never be released back into the wild.<\/p>

Her<\/em><\/p>

He sat opposite me at the dining room table, dishevelled, with his spiky hair in the air as if he\u2019d experienced an electrical shock and his face all crinkled up from being pressed into a pillow. I watch the man I once loved light a cigarette and puff its smoke so nonchalantly, you\u2019d think I had entered the multiverse: an astral projection of me with an invisibility cloak watching him; his eyes fixed on the morning paper as smoke hovers above him. We existed in a place where time and space were objects bound to the limits of our imagination. Unfortunately, my imagination happened to be as minute as the ash falling from the tube and onto the glass surface. We floated through eternity in seconds; somehow five years had shrunk to minutes and travelled to this very moment. Who am I? Who are we? What have we done to each other?<\/em><\/p>

The lashes from my weakened eyes, as I blink the morning into a clearer vision, send a force so strong across the room; it burns a hole in his face. The inferno lifts him from his trance and our eyes meet. He\u2019d sensed I\u2019d been watching him. He always had a talent for sensing the smallest things about me, just as I had always had a talent for observing him. It\u2019s what we do.<\/p>

\u2018What?\u2019 he asks, ash tumbling on the table.<\/p>

Silence fills the empty room as I study him: Cinnamon skin, piercing hazel eyes and a brunette beard wrapped around his chin. What an incredibly gorgeous man<\/em>. A cup of Italian coffee hovers in front of my face, shielding me from the embarrassment of being discovered. The aroma of the Robusta bean, rich and earthy with a certain purity to it, punches my nostrils and travels through to tug at the strings of my memory. I recall the summer we sailed the South of France on the Santa Armena \u2013 his anniversary gift to me. He had suggested a getaway to re-visit the place from which our love blossomed. I would consider those the happy days because we cared enough to allow ourselves to love each other and be loved in return. A vivid image plays in my mind of the sunshine\u2019s kiss on the clear Mediterranean water. The Alps in the distance towered over each other \u2013 not even God himself would dare creep up from behind them \u2013 and offered the sort of seclusion only abandonment could. And although I was surrounded by many staff on the vessel, for reasons unknown to me, I recall the sheer loneliness I had felt.\u00a0<\/p>

Pist. Pist. <\/em>The particles dance in the air and land light as a feather on my skin; the cool shielding me from the sun\u2019s blaze. I close my eyes for a sense of peace as I lay back on the zebra striped beach chair on the lower deck. Still, I could feel a strong pair of eyes on me, their gaze sending powerful waves of judgment and overall discontentment. The Chanel shades rest on my nostrils as I observe him standing above me on the second deck: A cloud of smoke puffs from his mouth at the speed of a turtle\u2019s crawl, masking his face from my view and mocking me in the process. Finally, the smoke begins to clear and I see his mouth: \u2018O\u2019 shaped as it empties out more smoke. His hazel brown eyes catch the ocean\u2019s light from the sun\u2019s shine and illuminate his soul to me. Blink. Blink<\/em>. I remain paralyzed by his gaze as our eyes play a cat-and-mouse game. What are you thinking? Blink. Blink. What are you playing at? Blink. <\/em>My teeth sink into my crimson painted lower lip as I lust at the sight of him. His hand moves to his mouth and cups the cigarette, igniting the tip marigold. Another cloud follows, this time hollow, imitating the expression on his face as I watch him turn his back and leave. In the distance somewhere, muffled gaggling sounds of some sort fill the quiet of the Mediterranean. Resting my arms on the metal railing and my chin onto them, I steady my vision in the direction of the violent nasal honking. A flamboyance of flamingos prance across a field painted a pink and red hue by my imagination. They move with the precision of a surgeon\u2019s hands: one foot in front of the other, not skipping a beat. Their erect bodies strutted as if the whole world were watching, with their heads in the air attempting to avert the world\u2019s eyes. I nearly wept at the sight or maybe at the realization that they imitated us. We pranced around in our bubble of a world with the flamingos\u2019 precision, one foot in front of the other, never missing a beat because what would they think of us if we did? We kept our noses in the air, showing off our nice things and concealing our faces from the watchful eyes, too afraid they might catch a glimmer of the truth hidden behind the fa\u00e7ade. A truth we ourselves did not know existed, and that was far worse than admitting unhappiness: not knowing that you\u2019re unhappy. I found myself standing over the railing with knuckles white as snow, considering being one with the sea creatures.\u00a0<\/p>

\u2018Go for it!\u2019 a voice yells from the second deck.<\/p>

I look up to face him, the sun blinding me with its shine and pronouncing his silhouette. His arms dangle over the railing and the glare from his silver Rolex \u2013 my gift to him \u2013 glistening like the ocean, blinding me further.\u00a0<\/p>

\u2018You only live once. Go for it!\u2019<\/p>

My attention shifts to the diamond sea water in front of me, and think nothing of it as I let go of my grip. Free-falling into serenity, the ocean\u2019s tranquil arms wrap themselves over my floating body and muffle the outside. For once, I feel at peace. Gosh, I wish I had stayed there<\/em>.\u00a0<\/p>

\u2018Hello?\u2019 My husband, in the present, yells for my attention.<\/p>

Awakened from my nostalgia, my eyes creep up from the pale coffee mug hiding my face and plant themselves onto him. I can tell that he can tell that I\u2019m still somewhat lost in the waters of the Mediterranean.\u00a0<\/p>

\u2018You know what I was thinking about?\u2019 I return the mug to its saucer.<\/p>

\u2018What?\u2019<\/p>

\u2018Wild ponies and pink flamingos.\u2019<\/p>

Startled at the sheer randomness of my statement, he returns to his scorching cigarette; taking a long drag from it and releasing a slow dance of grey smoke. This time I was not clouded by it; everything was crystal with his deafening silence.<\/p>

\u2018You used to call us wild ponies. Born to run. Restless and free. What have we become?\u2019 I ask.<\/p>

\u2018What the hell is that supposed to mean?\u2019 he asks, offence swimming in his voice.<\/p>

\u2018We\u2019ve just turned into flamingos. Prancing for the world. And for each other.\u2019<\/p>

\u2018Well we\u2019re not children anymore. We had to grow up eventually,\u2019 he says.<\/p>

\u2018Do you remember the summer we sailed Europe?\u2019<\/p>

\u2018Hmm\u2026not really.\u2019<\/p>

\u2018I do. I remember seeing flamingos in the distance and thinking, \u201cwow, they\u2019re so\u2026<\/em>\u2019\u2019,\u2019 I pause, taking note of his disinterest.<\/p>

\u2018\u2026yes?\u2019<\/p>

\u2018Beautiful. I remember thinking they\u2019re so beautiful.\u2019 I force a painful smile on my face as silence hovers between us.<\/p>

\u2018Five years. Some would consider that a success. Do you?\u2019 I ask.<\/p>

\u2018Yeah sure.\u2019<\/p>

I continue to watch him as he puts out the cigarette bud and takes a Jurassic Park-sized bite from his croissant.\u00a0<\/p>

\u2018Do you remember what you said to me just before I jumped into the ocean?\u2019<\/p>

\u2018I don\u2019t know. Yolo? Sounds like something I\u2019d say.\u2019 His words muffled with the mixture in his mouth.<\/p>

A sad grin forms on my face as I look down at the silver Cartier band on my left hand. Forever.<\/em> That\u2019s what it said. Forever a fool. Though last night\u2019s celebration had been a blast \u2013 black-tie evening wear, champagne flown in from Paris and fireworks in the back yard to complete the spectacle that was our marriage – I was ready to retire my tap shoes and cue the curtain call. Or so I thought.<\/p>

\u2018You\u2019re right. You only live once. We only get this life to be happy. No other.\u2019<\/p>

\u2018What are you trying to say?\u2019 he asks.<\/p>

\u2018Do it before it\u2019s too late.\u2019<\/p>

\u2018Wait.\u2019 He slams the sandwich on the table. \u2018Are you leaving me?!\u2019<\/p>

I take a deep breath in and allow my eyes to wander outside where the pool is filled with balloons from the celebration. Floating in a festival, uninterrupted, they reminded me of the flamingos: steady.<\/p>

\u2018Do you love me?\u2019 I manage, barely a whisper.<\/p>

\u2018What kind of a question is that?\u2019<\/p>

\u2018If this is the mess we\u2019ve gotten ourselves into, then we cannot lie to each other. That much we owe ourselves.\u2019<\/p>

\u2018Do. You. Love. Me?\u2019 I stress each word.<\/p>

And as if we were on Santa Armena and we once again allowed ourselves to love and be loved, my husband whispers:<\/p>

\u2018No.\u2019<\/p>

I turn my head to face the balloon party in the pool as the paintbrush of my imagination bathes the sky with an eerie orange and pink hue. The trees and forest as the backsplash of our home are coloured grey, resembling a classic film.<\/p>

\u2018Do you<\/u> love me?\u2019\u00a0<\/p>

My mind and eyes still fixed on the fairytopia image in front of me, I manage to whisper:<\/p>

\u2018No.\u2019<\/p>

Him<\/em><\/p>

My wife\u2019s words do not wound me as I watch her look out to the world to which we once belonged. A leaver\u2019s lullaby once said, \u2018There\u2019d be no such thing as leaving, if just loving somebody was enough.\u2019 Why do we remain? Perhaps we\u2019re too scared to face the unknown, for once tamed, you cannot release a wild pony back into the wild. The vulnerable animal would be met by the same scars that prompted its gallop, and I\u2019m afraid that would be far worse than the soul\u2019s demise in the mundane.<\/p>

As if it were a symbol of release or perhaps a mockery of the people we\u2019d become, we watch as a pink balloon lift itself onto its sisters and be carried by the wings of the wind. Inch by inch, drawn out, it moves further away from our reach, its dance tugging at the shackles that bind our hearts.<\/p>

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Author Bio<\/h2>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t
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Author bio<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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\u2018Wild Ponies & Pink Flamingos\u2019 by Kea Isaacs Third Place 2021 SHORT STORY WRITING COMPETITION Him When I look at her, my mind is immediately filled with an image of two horses on opposite ends of an open field. They charge with all their might towards each other, hooves striking the ground beneath them with […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"wf_page_folders":[618],"class_list":["post-52483","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/52483","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=52483"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/52483\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=52483"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"wf_page_folders","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sawriterscollege.co.za\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/wf_page_folders?post=52483"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}