• Sreemanti Sengupta

Gulnare’s Marauding Blues

by Riham Adly

I sit on the wooden bench in the little patch of green right around the corner from where I live. The doctor says I have Vitamin D deficiency and must get more sun or my bones will go bad. It is dark and cold and a Man pulls up in a faded blue Buick. The Man is naked from the waist down and looks like he’s playing with the pipe-like thingy shooting up from his middle---I know what the thingy is called, but I have manners. There is something scary; bestial even about the thingy and its Man. Bestial is the new word I learned in class this week.

The Man looks like he’s done, and almost leaves, but he sees me and extends a flaring hand, just like that of a MacDonald's clown in birthday parties.

I didn’t tell you that sitting here, on this wooden bench, in this patch of green under the hiding sun is my “woods time”. I go alone or with someone I really love.

I really love Gulnare. Papa says she’s anti-social and reminds him a lot of me. She’s slick and shiny when I look at her in her little tank, just like those Calla lilies Mama loves to plant. Gulnare’s not into hugging. She just likes to sit there in a corner by herself. Mama calls her “our little kraken”. I named her after “Gulnare of the Sea” from the Arabian Nights. Papa runs tests on her in his mini-lab in the basement, says he’s given her a shot to make her less anti-social---less like me.

I walk up to the bestial Man. Gulnare might just like him. I pull her out of the large glass jar hidden in my bag and watch her socialize.

Riham Adly is a mother, ex-dentist and a full time writer/ blogger. Her short stories appeared in literary journals such Connotation Press, Spelk, Carpe Arte, Soft Cartel, Vestal Review and Page&Spine. Her story "The Darker Side of the Moon" won the MAKAN Award in 2013 and was published in an anthology with the same name.

89 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All