Each Day
Hybrid by Amy Marques
"This piece was born in thinking of how musicality and lyricism – in poetry and music – contribute to both our joy and our ability to butterfly ourselves into beautiful growth."
Amy Marques calls books friends and is on a first name basis with fictional characters. She’s been nominated for awards and has visual art, poetry, and prose in many journals, including Raw Lit. She’s editor and artist for Duets and has a poetry book coming in 2024.
X: @amybookwhisper1
IG: @amyiscold
https://amybookwhisperer.wordpress.com
X: @amybookwhisper1
IG: @amyiscold
https://amybookwhisperer.wordpress.com
The Music of Rain
Fiction by JP Relph
CW: Abuse & Religious Homophobia
I fell in love with Melody Fortune during a summer of rainstorms. The squeaky scent of rain on cut grass and roses. The squeaky scent of blueberry soap on wet skin. We’d shelter at the back of the library where huge books strained shelves, everything fluffy with dust. Everything muted by the thrumming on the roof. The thrumming in me. Our hair dripped onto pictures of old paintings and formal gardens. Her hand on my thigh, my fingers at the base of her neck. The taste of rainwater spiked with cherry chewing gum. The small window steaming up. Her eyes spoke of blue skies to come, but I wanted the storm to last forever. We were lost in it, holding onto each other and the last days of unfettered youth.
I fell in love with Melody Fortune and it didn’t break my Father’s heart so much as armour it. Shield it in barbed wire. He made me kneel on uncooked pudding rice before Jesus in oils, the shine of blood on the cross almost black. I had to recite all the Bible verses that speak of sin. Fervently. Over a hundred; my voice gave in before my knees. Mother stood on the threshold between the yellow kitchen smeary with caramel-cream and roasting lamb, and Father’s brass-chilled study, twisting a towel in her red-white-red-white hands. I looked to her, my voice faltering, saw her grey eyes clot like a storm sky; thundering between mother and wife. She snapped the towel smooth, went back to the stove.
I fell in love with Melody Fortune and she washed away my torment like her kiss was a downpour. Warm and intoxicating. Her tongue a salve on the wounds in my knees, flicking over the words trapped in my throat. Her taut thigh between my legs, cracking me open like a rain cloud. We’d sneak into her bedroom, bright and light and full of gingham joy, cocoon ourselves in all the feather pillows. Look up at plastic stars, fingers and legs entwined, whispering of a future we both knew could never be. Where we’d kiss in the stiff beauty of a fancy garden, freer than the trimmed box trees, free as wild flowers sneaking into the hedges.
I fell in love with Melody Fortune and it lasted four months, two weeks and three days, as well as the rest of my life. It lasted into autumn, when rain gave way to late sun, then it fell away like russet leaves. I went to college, met a sweet boy who kept his Bible by the bed, had unscarred knees. He was a calm sky. I loved him, in a way. Still, when it rained, properly rained, like God was sluicing sin from the world, I’d smell squeaky cut grass and blueberry, hear that dangerous thrumming, and be lost in it.
I fell in love with Melody Fortune during a summer of rainstorms. The squeaky scent of rain on cut grass and roses. The squeaky scent of blueberry soap on wet skin. We’d shelter at the back of the library where huge books strained shelves, everything fluffy with dust. Everything muted by the thrumming on the roof. The thrumming in me. Our hair dripped onto pictures of old paintings and formal gardens. Her hand on my thigh, my fingers at the base of her neck. The taste of rainwater spiked with cherry chewing gum. The small window steaming up. Her eyes spoke of blue skies to come, but I wanted the storm to last forever. We were lost in it, holding onto each other and the last days of unfettered youth.
I fell in love with Melody Fortune and it didn’t break my Father’s heart so much as armour it. Shield it in barbed wire. He made me kneel on uncooked pudding rice before Jesus in oils, the shine of blood on the cross almost black. I had to recite all the Bible verses that speak of sin. Fervently. Over a hundred; my voice gave in before my knees. Mother stood on the threshold between the yellow kitchen smeary with caramel-cream and roasting lamb, and Father’s brass-chilled study, twisting a towel in her red-white-red-white hands. I looked to her, my voice faltering, saw her grey eyes clot like a storm sky; thundering between mother and wife. She snapped the towel smooth, went back to the stove.
I fell in love with Melody Fortune and she washed away my torment like her kiss was a downpour. Warm and intoxicating. Her tongue a salve on the wounds in my knees, flicking over the words trapped in my throat. Her taut thigh between my legs, cracking me open like a rain cloud. We’d sneak into her bedroom, bright and light and full of gingham joy, cocoon ourselves in all the feather pillows. Look up at plastic stars, fingers and legs entwined, whispering of a future we both knew could never be. Where we’d kiss in the stiff beauty of a fancy garden, freer than the trimmed box trees, free as wild flowers sneaking into the hedges.
I fell in love with Melody Fortune and it lasted four months, two weeks and three days, as well as the rest of my life. It lasted into autumn, when rain gave way to late sun, then it fell away like russet leaves. I went to college, met a sweet boy who kept his Bible by the bed, had unscarred knees. He was a calm sky. I loved him, in a way. Still, when it rained, properly rained, like God was sluicing sin from the world, I’d smell squeaky cut grass and blueberry, hear that dangerous thrumming, and be lost in it.
Cumbrian writer JP Relph is mostly hindered by four cats, aided by tea. She sources haunted objects in charity shops. A forensic science degree and passion for microbes, insects and botany often motivate her words. JP’s post-apoc collection was published in June 2023.
Twitter/X: @RelphJp
[email protected]
Twitter/X: @RelphJp
[email protected]
