Regina Saxony
on the topic of stale bread
Her loaf of bread was stale. She poked it with a dainty, perplexed finger as the other woman threw a log onto the fire. “Regina, I tried my best,” her light voice fills the small apartment.
“It’s alright, Pavla.”
“And I’m sorry about the newspapers but I just didn’t feel like using up all of the wood…”
“It’s alright, Pavla.” She repeats herself, picking up the chipped saucer and teacup from the nicked, stained, and worn-for-wear countertops. Regina even went as far as to call them grungy and loathed to run her fingers across the wood in any circumstance.
Pavla was a beautiful woman. Her pin straight hair was always twisted into something fashionable and her bodice was always a little too open for the times. The woolens she purchased were the finest, the makeup she applied was exquisite, but, Pavla was a whore.
Her dainty little fingers always ran along her strands and strands of pearls some rich, influential men showered her with. The tiny little nose in the center of her cream complected face simply added to her blonde perfection. With green, cat-like, emeralds for eyes and a charming laugh and demeanor, it was hard not to be enamored by the woman. “It’s a shame we can find jewels and gold more abundant than bread,” Pavla shakes her head as she tears up a newspaper and throws it onto the fire.
“Why do you stay with me?” Regina blurts in a typical bluntness she was forced to carry around these days. Regina stirs the tea with quick motions of the wrist as she leans her hungry body against the peeling paper of the wall.
Pavla smiles, it’s a beautiful smile unlike her own. It’s solid, without a gap, without a crooked tooth, without a single dull tooth. Painstakingly white. “You reek of innocence and honesty, ptichka.”
Regina grimaces, almost child-like in the way it resembled a pout. “But lately you’ve been hardened, ptichka, smile some.” It sounds more like an order than a friendly quip.
Regina ignores it, trying to focus on something, anything else. The streets are lined with a thick blanket of snow, the yellow canaries hop around in the white abundance, and the old men shovel the matter onto the sidewalks along with the young women left at home. “Have you received any letters today?” Pavla asks in a quiet unsureness.
She shakes her head, eyes focused on the leafy bottom of the robin egg’s blue teacup in all of its nearly shattered perfection. The warmth radiates through the ceramic onto her numb palms.
Everything is numb. Her feet on the concrete are numb from the cold. Her eyes are numb from the salinity. Her whole body is numb from the disparity of her painful indifference. “Have you left the apartment, ptichka?”
She shakes her head again as she brings the rim of the cup to her chapped, pink lips.
The tea is sweet.
“It’s alright, Pavla.”
“And I’m sorry about the newspapers but I just didn’t feel like using up all of the wood…”
“It’s alright, Pavla.” She repeats herself, picking up the chipped saucer and teacup from the nicked, stained, and worn-for-wear countertops. Regina even went as far as to call them grungy and loathed to run her fingers across the wood in any circumstance.
Pavla was a beautiful woman. Her pin straight hair was always twisted into something fashionable and her bodice was always a little too open for the times. The woolens she purchased were the finest, the makeup she applied was exquisite, but, Pavla was a whore.
Her dainty little fingers always ran along her strands and strands of pearls some rich, influential men showered her with. The tiny little nose in the center of her cream complected face simply added to her blonde perfection. With green, cat-like, emeralds for eyes and a charming laugh and demeanor, it was hard not to be enamored by the woman. “It’s a shame we can find jewels and gold more abundant than bread,” Pavla shakes her head as she tears up a newspaper and throws it onto the fire.
“Why do you stay with me?” Regina blurts in a typical bluntness she was forced to carry around these days. Regina stirs the tea with quick motions of the wrist as she leans her hungry body against the peeling paper of the wall.
Pavla smiles, it’s a beautiful smile unlike her own. It’s solid, without a gap, without a crooked tooth, without a single dull tooth. Painstakingly white. “You reek of innocence and honesty, ptichka.”
Regina grimaces, almost child-like in the way it resembled a pout. “But lately you’ve been hardened, ptichka, smile some.” It sounds more like an order than a friendly quip.
Regina ignores it, trying to focus on something, anything else. The streets are lined with a thick blanket of snow, the yellow canaries hop around in the white abundance, and the old men shovel the matter onto the sidewalks along with the young women left at home. “Have you received any letters today?” Pavla asks in a quiet unsureness.
She shakes her head, eyes focused on the leafy bottom of the robin egg’s blue teacup in all of its nearly shattered perfection. The warmth radiates through the ceramic onto her numb palms.
Everything is numb. Her feet on the concrete are numb from the cold. Her eyes are numb from the salinity. Her whole body is numb from the disparity of her painful indifference. “Have you left the apartment, ptichka?”
She shakes her head again as she brings the rim of the cup to her chapped, pink lips.
The tea is sweet.
♠ ♠ ♠
ptichka: phonetic Russian for "birdie", or so google says.