Flash Fiction Magic: March 24 "Bloom"

This flash fiction prompt came from Emily Barnett, on Instagram @embarnettauthor. This week's flash fiction piece uses characters from my fantasy WIP Glitter City.

The fire in the heating stove in the corner of Lily’s wide kitchen burned through a solitary fresh log, warming the room from the night’s humid chill, and Cecelia felt her own early morning stiffness dissipate as she tied an apron around her waist. With a snap that sent out a tiny spark, she lit the chubby candles lining the shelves above their heads while Kendra moved about the kitchen, preparing for their work.

Kendra set a bag of flour and a pitcher of water on the counter and explained the process of feeding the leavener.

“Here,” she peeled a beeswax coated towel from a large blue glass bowl and waved it under Cecelia’s nose. “Smell this one.”

A slimy, bubbling mass streaked with orange and pink secreted a sharp chemical scent that stung her eyes. Instantly, her mind was flooded with nightmarish memories of Kipp: of an exceptionally starless night during their journey from Oban when Kipp practically pickled himself with the soldiers’ favorite illicit head whiskey and passed out on top of her, making her nauseous from the odor.

Of the way his pungent, alcohol tainted breath punctuated his constant warnings that she’d be useless, helpless, nothing without him.

Of their wedding night, when he finally came to their marriage bed long after dawn, his braided beard and fine gold embroidered tunic damp and dank, splattered with spirits.

Cecelia’s hand flew to her nose and mouth in a weak attempt to block the smell - and the memories. She closed her eyes and placed her other hand on her belly, taking a deep breath the way Lily taught her, feeling proud that the movement felt natural and practiced now.

I am safe. I am free.

I am safe in this moment, in this place.

She let her breath fill up her lungs, put all of her effort into imagining it expanding like golden light out from her lungs to her skin.

Imagined it destroying the images of her constant spectral terrorist.

She felt Kendra’s gentle hand on her arm and let it sit there for another moment before opening her eyes.

“Sorry,” Kendra offered her a sympathetic grimace. “One batch always goes bad like this.” She searched Cecelia’s face with worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

Cecelia nodded and squeezed Kendra’s hand, letting out a sharp breath. “Yes, I’m… okay. The smell just… reminded me. Of him.”

Kendra nodded, understanding. She pointed to another bowl. “I do think you’ll enjoy this- bread making. I always feel calm afterwards.” She gestured to the bowl at Cecelia’s elbow. “Hand me that one. I’ll check it this time to make sure it won’t kill us.”

Cecelia snorted and handed over the second bowl, grateful for the distraction at hand. Despite her daily practice with Lily, she’d quickly realized that doing something - anything - helped her step out of the flashbacks and back into the safety of the moment at hand.

With a quick sniff, Kendra confirmed a successful batch and Cecelia watched as she pulled off a handful of the bubbling starter and placed it on the board in front of her. She worked quickly, adding fresh flour and water and mixing with strong, skillful fingers until a soft dough came together.

“I learned how to make this bread in Ilsebad when I first arrived,” she explained, “when Herr Ekkir took me in. He was a baker. It’s called Sauerbrot. I loved the smell of the starter, and the way his entire home smelled like bread. Bread making has taught me that simple things can come together to form something beautiful and nourishing.”

Kendra pulled the dough together into a ball and began to push it down, pull it up, turn it and push it down again. “Herr Ekkir told me it’s all about getting the right amount of yeast from the air.” She waved her hand above her head, at particles invisible to Cecelia. “Klarestadt is close to the sea, so our air is much different. I’m still trying to get it right, but this should be enough for our loaves.”

After a few minutes she was satisfied with her kneading. She placed the smooth ball of dough in a clean bowl and peeled another beeswax coated towel from the pile. She pressed it against the rim of the bowl and set it next to the stove. Then, she cleared a space for Cecelia and the two women repeated the process, working the ingredients in silence until six more bowls were filled.

When the last one was covered and placed in its warming spot, Kendra wiped flour from her cheek with her apron and smiled. “All done! This should be enough for the next few days. We’ll let these sit for an hour or so, fold them again, let them rise for another hour, and then we can shape them and bake them.”

“No wonder you wake up so early to make these,” Cecelia murmured, winded from the work, and glanced at the window above the sink where the first pale pinks of dawn were beginning to show in the sky.

Kendra bobbed her chin in agreement and took the spoiled starter outside, mentioning how helpful it would be in breaking down the garden compost.

Cecelia brushed flour and sticky dough from her own hands and sat in the sturdy wood chair at Lily’s kitchen table. Slowly, pale morning light replaced the glow of the candles, illuminating a straw broom leaning against the door, iron pots hanging from the ceiling, dried bundles of herbs lining the walls. Outside, birds started their sunrise songs and Cecelia felt calm for the first time in… years.

She knew Ysabel would wake soon and her excited chatter would fill the kitchen, and in a few hours Cecelia would be exerting herself in training with General Nurin. But at that moment, gazing across the stone floor of the kitchen, resting from the work of breadmaking, watching the sun rise from behind the mountains, she felt satisfied with the act of creating something with her friend. Felt as though she’d achieved something important, something that fulfilled her and would sustain the people she was growing to love.

She could almost forget the short episode of panic earlier.

At least enough that Cecelia felt like she was just like the blooming dawn, gaining color and beauty with the purpose and possibility of a brand new day.