Once
Inspired by the myth of Daphne and Apollo, Once is a lyrical flash fiction piece about pursuit, transformation, and survival, published in Crack the Spine Literary Magazine.
Type – flash fiction
Publication / Venue – Crack the Spine Literary Magazine
Publisher – Crack the Spine Literary Magazine
Publication date – 2017
Format(s) – online
Available at – Crack the Spine Literary Magazine
About this work – Inspired by the myth of Daphne and Apollo, this lyrical flash fiction reimagines transformation as both escape and survival. Blending sensual detail with mythic imagery, the story explores pursuit, violation, rootedness, and the lingering possibility of tenderness.
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I was a girl not a nymph just a girl; a chapped-hands-pinning-sheets-in-the-breeze kind of girl with a secret love of soaring. Some girls, beloved of painters, gaze coy to the right, blue vein pulse at the temple and a single pearl. No, I was of the bouncing ones, cracked at the heel, pulling fish bones from my teeth, guzzling wine in the afternoon—intact, but not untouched. I soared, but I did not glide, and
I never should have soared within sight of that bow-legged demigod with his bulging groin, and bulbous nose. He was not as artists draw him—smooth, clean, and symmetrical. No, he was randy as a porcupine with lead chains and that sibilant claim of affection. He found me charming in disorder, said he could see through my dress.
Of course, I ran. Anyone would have, but no one was fast as I. I am a god! He screamed in my wake. He moaned, pled, and finally gave chase. My hair tangled and streaming, and no one fast as I, but he drew close and his fingers grazed my scattering hem. I called out to mother for rescue
and my rescue began in the loamy space beneath my fingernails. Insidious tendrils lodged there, plunged into my skin, and sent fresh leaves out to reach for the glimmering sun. I sense their fanning still, in the ghosts of my fingertips. Rough tubers burst from my heels. Like blood hounds, they sought the most fragrant earth. Dragging my splintered body (twigs in my hair), they dove down to anchor my bleeding soles to the ground. Bark encased my breasts. The chords in my neck swelled and stiffened 'til my head bent back, eyes wide to sun and rain. Â My teeth clattered while the blood cooled in my veins. He stood clinging to my trunk.
No one else noticed. It was so quick, or it was so slow. No one human could see.
He's gone long ago. The spring sap flows and my leaves tremble. Tiny feet stream down the path below. My roots throb to their beat. The wind carries hints of skin and scented hair, as their warm sighs drift to the canopy.
One comes close to pluck at an arrow someone whittled in my winter bark. Small, sturdy, with a rosemary essence, she leans on my trunk and kicks the ground. Echoes wave through the field. Then she pushes off and slips down the path, leaving a warm patch on my trunk.
I groan, sway, and toss a leaf to light her way.
