Praying Him into an Angel

“My own viewing and they have the cojones to glue my eyelids shut.”

I turned away from his casket. The voice behind me wasn’t familiar. But the ire infused mirth in the words told my heart’s ear that the body being viewed by friends, family (and by pretenders trying to pass for the former) was only soulless meat.

“Want a spin?” he said.

“These bones were made for dancing,” I answered, but cocked my head towards the black and white teary gathering. “You know anything lively will piss them off in the current situation.”

“Fuck ‘em,” he said, extending a hand and spinning me around and around, until I was clad in a blood-red dress with spaghetti straps and tiny polka dots sprinkled blackly around the hem.

Two young women, one in tight white leather and the other in very little of anything, began to argue over his casket.

“He loved me,” said one.

“In your heifer dreams,” said the other, snatching a handful of straight blonde wig.

He picked me up by the waist, and we leapt-danced into the middle of the fight.

“Tell her you loved me often,” said one.

“I did,” he told her with a grin.

“Tell her you love me best,” said the other.

“I did that, too.” He winked before gliding us out of reach of clawing shrieks.

“You are still a scoundrel,” I said.

“I died, but I’m still me. Always me; no one changes me without my permission. You should know that, brujita.

I’m a big one,I said, as I always did when he called me little Witch. Then I stopped laughing, and told him, “They’ve been trying to pray you into an angel.”

“Ha!” He twirled me closer to him. I grinned at his teeth made of light. “I would look ridiculous with wings. A flying Cadillac or no one’s getting miracles out of this baby.”

I was quiet for a while.

“Plotting, sister of mine?”

“Wondering about eyeballs and Universal Truth,” I said. “Someone said I might be able to find my answer, if I were to look into the empty fullness of your eyes. Would you—”

He opened his eyes before I finished asking. “Anything for you.” His eyes were full of books, frogs, and skulls surfing powerful wee waves made of letters.

“What does it mean?” I said.

“I know what it means to me.” He tapped the tip of a finger of light between my eyes; then pressed a hand over my heart. “But only you can see through your eye.”

“Will I remember this when I wake up?” I said.

“And who said you’re sleeping?”

I blinked until my brother’s casket came back into focus. The funeral home was still bursting with black and crying. A pretty woman in a white leather suit and gold stiletto shoes jabbed a finger at a mirror image of herself in a micro mini dress. I grinned (and perhaps cackled), letting the words dancing in my mind’s eye spin and spin until they morphed into this story.  


for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Trolling The Cosmos for Breadcrumbs…). Corey, thanks so much for the opportunity to write a bit of fiction. I tried the ancient Aboriginal stone carving idea, a poem, an incomplete sentence, even a billboard! But this tale sooo wanted to be prose.
Dancing with a Ghost, by Lucille “Rusty” Umali

51 comments:

  1. This really touched my heart Magaly.

    Death is not the end, our loved ones do live on in our dreams, in our hearts and in our memories.

    This is truly beautiful! ♥

    ReplyDelete
  2. My heart is singing, dancing, and aching all at one time. This was beautiful Magaly.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Such a feast of emotions. Eat it all up, my friend!

      Delete
  3. This made me grin. Certain souls will persist in perversely ignoring all the most pious supplications - and that's as it should be. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Even souls we've never met. Goodness knows I see your friend Mike every time I watch an Ice Bucket Challenge video, lol!

      Delete
    2. ...and I'm pretty sure I've had Faye encounters. ;-D

      Delete
  4. Now I'm scared.... What a great piece of writing. Heavy sigh, your genius is showing. I will man up even if it is a lousy cause. See you p.m. Thursday!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Every battle is a dance. Sometimes, when the dancers share all the yummy steps, the dancing alone tastes of victory.

      Delete
  5. .... On Thursday and lost cause... Yikes!

    ReplyDelete
  6. Perfect.. Nothing's better than a scary ghost-story weaved of dreams as the rain is whipping my window with its autumn curses :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. "... rain is whipping my window with its autumn curses." I LIKE that!

      Delete
  7. You are invited to dance at my wake! Bring that dress! xoxoDebi

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. And you to dance and sing at mine. Come naked. You knew I was going to say that, didn't you? *hehehe*

      Delete
  8. I loved the description of what you saw in his eyes! This story is so delightfully you!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I love closing my eyes and seeing it in my mind. Wicked!

      Delete
  9. Lovely! Delicious. (Hi, this is Francesca De Grandis. For some reason, my name is not showing in my google account.)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You and I will have to talk. I'll email you. Such beautiful name should not be hidden by the Google Goblins!

      Delete
  10. this is haunting and powerful! one of my favorites of read from you so far. love the vivid imagery here.

    stacy lynn mar
    http://warningthestars.blogspot.com/

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yay! So happy you like it. ;-D

      Delete
  11. Dream-like indeed...love the motion in this piece, Magaly...excellent!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I did enjoy the writing dance. ;-)

      Delete
  12. I only just got up and between this gorgeously poignant tale squeezing at my heart and finding out Holly won the Vincent Price/Poe contest... I'm a teary mess! ❤ Better make myself a coffee and pull myself together! :D

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I cry and laugh and turn into a complete emotional mess every time I write about my little brother. Hence I don't do it so often. I think he enjoys having the women folk fuss over him, lol.

      I'm sooo happy for Holly's winning!

      Delete
  13. "Only you can see through your eye"

    How very true. May no one pray us into angels ever. And may we all see clearly through our eyes. ❤

    ReplyDelete
  14. A unabashed, exuberant Spirit, so full of Life, even in death. How he loved you. <3

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. And he was loved right back. Maybe that's the reason why he refuses to go away, lol!

      Delete
  15. This is astounding. "Only you can see through your eye". The depth, the visit, the wisdom, then back to reality. A fantastic write.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm always marveled by how truth reads so well in fiction.

      Delete
  16. Oh, gosh, Magaly, this is wonderful. Such magic from a picture. I love the visual imagery and the sense of movement, lifting, flying, dancing. Your words dance.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. When I think about my little brother, my memories and feelings leap around madly. At first, I didn't notice it had translated so transparently into the tale. I reread it after reading your comment, and yes, it is a dance of words.

      Delete
  17. Lovely but sadly it tugs at the tear glands. Wonderful prose a change from the usual that one sees! Great word craft Magaly!

    Hank

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. A bit of tears is good for soul cleansing... every now and then.

      Delete
  18. Again, I enjoy your work so much. I look forward to these posts

    ReplyDelete
  19. Such sweetness :) The wicked don't die so long as they live immortal in the ether of eyes.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Nope, they do not. They just continue plotting and dancing and criticizing until the end of time, lol!

      Delete
  20. Love this, Magaly! "Praying him into an angel" -- what a perfect phrase! And I liked "in your heifer dreams" too, LOL!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The "heifer" bit made me laugh, too. I think I heard a girl said that to another while they argue in the train. It kind of stay with me.

      Delete
  21. "blood-red dress with spaghetti straps and tiny polka dots sprinkled blackly around the hem."

    This is a well constructed little snatch of descriptive prose. It includes all the details without becoming cumbersome or feeling out of place.

    Kudos!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Now, if I could only get the dress. ;-D

      Delete
  22. I LOVED this story! Wonderful, wonderful!

    ReplyDelete
  23. Oooooooow....so yummy :D XXX

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. *giggles and wild dance steps*

      Delete
  24. It is such an interesting thing when a loved one dies, the places our minds go. Are we really there, are we really in that room, or are we talking to their spirit hearing all sorts of strange and perplexing conversations. Such a surreal time you've captured in this piece.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. So many questions... and the way towards the answer is such a fun journey. ;-)

      Delete
  25. So touching Magaly! Loved this!! Hugs ;o)

    ReplyDelete