Serafina's Star by Sandra Arnold

Serafina slipping out the gate at playtime. Running home to show her mother the star. Her first star. Bright and shiny on the page at the bottom of her story. Right next to THE END in her wobbly writing. Not wanting to wait until home time. Wanting her mother to see the star and read the story. Wanting to see her mother’s smile spill over the bruised lips.

Running through the kitchen door. Someone lying on the floor. Someone staring at the ceiling with wide surprised eyes. Serafina lifting her hands from the red halo around her mother’s head. Wiping them on her pink gingham dress.

Footsteps in the passage. Someone standing in the doorway.

“What. The. Hell?”

“Why won’t she wake up?”

“Why are you here?”

Her dad dropping a black plastic bin bag on the table. Gripping Serafina’s shoulders.  “Wash your hands. Change your dress. Then back to school. And... ”

“What?”

“Keep. Your. Mouth. SHUT.”

Serafina wondering why he was talking in slow motion.

Coming back home at the proper time. The kitchen smelling of lavender disinfectant. Her dad in the back garden poking the rubbish bin with a stick. A freshly dug patch of earth where marigolds used to grow. Her mother’s dresses sprawled on the grass. Her coat, her shoes, her favourite bag. Bits of ash swirling. Slow spirals in the smoky air.

“Where’s ...?”

“I said SHUT it!”

“But why?”

“Because I SAID so.”

Standing on tiptoe in her nightie looking out her bedroom window. Blue shadows on the bare earth. The moon silvering the trees. Stars raining down on the burning bin.  The pencil in her hand. The paper on her desk.

*First published in Spelk August 2017

Sandra Arnold lives in New Zealand. Her work appears in numerous journals and anthologies, most recently in Bonsai: Best Small Stories from Aotearoa New Zealand (Canterbury University Press, NZ, 2018). Her third novel Ash (Mākaro Press, NZ)  and her first flash fiction collection Soul Etchings (Retreat West Books, UK) will be published in 2019.   www.sandraarnold.co.nz

The Scent of Lemons by Sandra Arnold

He said he was sure the house they’d stayed in had been halfway between a rock at the end of the beach and the Maori pa site. He remembered paddocks opposite where the owners kept their horse. And a garden full of lemon bushes and a path that led down to the beach. The librarian brought out maps and summoned a couple of locals to help. Perhaps the house had been demolished? Perhaps there’d been floods? Erosion? Perhaps he was mistaken about the area? Twenty three years was a long time. 

They walked on the beach. Pale blue silk covered the sand where the tide was retreating. The sea was polished glass. This was what she remembered, she said, when their daughter was young. She remembered their dog-at-the-time ignoring the seagulls so he could guard the little girl, making sure she didn’t swim out of her depth, pulling her back if she did, ignoring her protests. 

This can’t be the right place, he said. What he remembered was the scent of lemons. Lifting their daughter up to feed the horse. Watching her flying along the sand, arms outstretched, pretending to be a bird. The dog racing alongside, keeping close watch. 

“She’d have loved our present dog,” she said. 

They watched him swimming, unencumbered by responsibility, scattering seagulls, chasing their shadows on the sand, his young body quivering with the sheer joy of being alive. 

“I’ll try google maps,” he said. “Places don’t just disappear.”

* First Published Flash Frontier November 2016 

Sandra Arnold lives in New Zealand. Her flash fiction and short stories appear  in numerous journals including Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine and New Flash Fiction Reviewand the  anthologies, Sleep is a Beautiful Colour  (National Flash Fiction Day, UK, 2017),  Fresh Ink (Cloud Ink Press, NZ, 2017)  and is forthcoming in Bonsai: The Big Book of Small Stories (Canterbury University Press, NZ, 2018).  Her work has been nominated for the 2018 Pushcart Prize and 2018 Best Small Fictions.

www.sandraarnold.wordpress.com