Flat Land

The land is flat, stretching on and on for miles and miles.  Going to places I cannot imagine. The earth is pale brown. Parched. It has settled on a hue where yellow, white and brown converge into a shade so lacking in green it can only produce dust. For as far as I can see, the earth is bare and mute, lacking trees, shrubs, blades of grass.
No houses, cars, buildings of any sort.  It is pure flat dusty earth.  The only signs of human life are the two lane highway and an old bus stop.
The wind is continuous, blowing gusts of super fine, dry earth up in pale sandy curtains that at times become so furious they momentarily fade the glare of the sun. 
The road is just in front of me.  A narrow strip of tar once bright black, but now dulled by creeping sandy earth, coming in not just from erosion on the sides, but also by the wind.  As it blows over the highway, a slightly darker canvas than the earth itself, I can see where the wind turns in spirals.  Mini cyclones, small dances. 
I am standing next to a bus stop.  A narrow structure made of clear plastic.  A curved roof, three walls designed to protect against rain and wind.  Its brightness has worn from the sun, a force shining down without clouds to buffer its bright light.  Pure brutal heat. 
Behind the bus stop are four dozen flower pots of various sizes.  There are some short stacks, but most of them sit on the ground.  They are empty vessels, worn and awaiting soil and water.  Some are deep and made of terracotta, others are so shallow, if it were not for the small drainage hole at the bottom they could be mistaken for salad bowls.  There are tiny pots made of blue and white porcelain, the shallow ones are glass, looking like cheap crystal candy dishes.
I am moving them one by one, taking them from the area several feet behind the bus stop and moving them closer to the road.  I am stacking them one on top of the other, creating three piles. 
The wind continues to blow, swooshing in my ears, sounding like a roaring ocean.
I am alone here.  Moving my pots into piles, waiting for a car to pass.

Gallery

The double glass doors sit closed on the front left corner of the building, they face a deserted sidewalk and a few tall pines. On the left wall, just beyond the door, is a long piece of rectangular black fabric hanging from the place where wall and ceiling meet. The fabric is four feet wide and hangs without a wrinkle, attempting to cover the dirty white walls underneath. The left wall is over fifty feet long and besides the one piece of fabric, it is streaked with light brown fingerprints, tiny dots of paint and grease that shine at certain angles. Like the pock-marked traces from a gopher, the walls are covered with black holes from nails used long ago. Surrounding them like tiny moons are the smaller pin pricks from plastic push pins. The ceiling above towers in a plain of darkness, without lamps or dangling bulbs. It is just the long rows of track lights that shine on each wall, pointing to them like spotlights on 2 dimensional actors.
On the back wall, just beside the right corner, is another long rectangular piece of black fabric. It is slightly wrinkled and has accumulated dust at the hem. To the left of it, tacked to a dirty wall, are a series of paper plates that have been taped together, forming a row three feet long. On the center circle of each white plate are colorful drawings in children’s colors: bright green, yellow and red, all etched in long thick strokes with crayons and colored pencil.
The centermost paper plate holds the image of an abstract woman. She sits on the ground, reclining back slightly, the weight of her torso supported by her arms and hands. Her large legs and thick thighs are spread, revealing her femininity in bright color. In black block letters, on the right side of her head, is the word: “PUSSY.”
Besides the fabric, the paper plates are the only things on the long, dirty walls. Along the right side of the room, there is a huge wall of black velvet curtains that hang from the ceiling, cutting the room in two. There is the gentle murmuring of voices coming from just beyond the curtain. A female’s voice punctuates the murmur, using the words: “oil”, “naked”, and “clothes.” The deep bass of a man responds, using the words: “trust” and “issues.”

Open and Exposed

My legs are spread wide open as I lay naked on a table.
I am docile, unsure how i got there or when i may leave.
There are two people crouching, kneeling close to my legs, they are peering inside. I recognize the dark haired woman, but the man at her side is a stranger to me.
A handful of small white stones that resemble pearls have just fallen out of my vagina. They bounce slighty and roll away. The couple have noticed the stones and are curious. With their eyes and body language, they communicate with each other: What were those little white things? Will she produce any more? They move even closer to my vagina and look, stopping just short of touching me.

Exposed Sensuality

I am in a small square pool in an Arabian courtyard. The robe I have used so often to cover myself is all wet.
I notice an old man with a white beard look at me. He is in the pool, and he looks with both disapproval and lust when my robe accidentally drifts above my ankle.
The garden walls and grass around us have melted and only a blanket of water exists, I see dozens of women in the distance. They are all wet, bathing in their robes. Most of the women are sitting upon a large stone, close to the surface of the water, all of them have their robes pulled over their ankles, almost covering their toes.
But there is another woman, up to her knees in the water and surrounded by bright golden light. She is youthful and her blond hair has been tied in two braids. She is unconcerned with her veil, although two of her friends are trying to adjust her headscarf and cover her exposed arms and neck before she is punished for her sensuality and sexuality. She smiles slightly, loving the sensual pleasure of water and sun.

Explosion

Everything in the room is beginning to darken and glow around the edges.
The edges jiggle jump and ooze. My heart is racing.
Everything inside seems to slow down and my flesh ripples and crawls so quickly that it must be undetectable by the human eye.
I am sinking fast. The darkness deepens, penetrates everything.
My companion holds me so that our faces are close. I kiss him and my cracked heart explodes, everything hot and black spills out of me.
First from my open mouth and melting tongue, then from every pore.
As I slip into oblivion I know I have been exposed. Everyone can see the contents of my heart in this shattered condition.
The secrets it held bleed into the view of the cruel masses.
Just before my mind and being fold into a tiny pin point and dissolve I am vaguely aware of a girl, sobbing like an animal in the distance.