The Ivory Woman - Beth Ashley (year 2)

She’d appeared as a flickering light above a hazy skyline, fluttering and distant. The air fell out of place upon her arrival, her silhouette filling the empty space in the garden. She was rooted into the concrete, porcelain and stiff. Her chapped skin held a long body, all limbs and little torso, booted in heels and draped in a feathered coat. It was floor length. Framed carelessly around her vacant expression, her ragged black hair, skimmed her waist while hiding her eyes. 

She held a gun in front of her. It didn’t look misplaced. It was part of her; a tumour. The barrel pointed to Sam, a dog who mindlessly wagged his tail and slurped on the end of it, excited for potential food. She peered at it the weapon, as discomforted by its presence as we were. 

I made myself known. 

“Excuse me, what are you-“ 

“How did she even get in here?” James was terrified, delivering lukewarm utterances. He fears almost everything. 

“Shut up,” I whispered.

“What are you doing?” I asked again. 

The woman, who was completely absent of any light absorption, replied. 

“I’m doing my job,” 

“No, this is not your job,” I explained. “It can’t be your job. You don’t have to do this.”

 

“Are you sure? I was told that-”

“No. Put the gun down. You can come inside… we can talk.” 

The ivory woman suddenly sprung into my arms; fluttering like a raven, crying like a child. James quietly removed the gun from the ground, still shaking. He patted Sam on the head, and quickly lured him inside. 

I ran my hands through the fur of her coat and stroked her hair. 

“What’s wrong? Tell me.” 

“I just want to live,” she replied, her voice straining, breaking into shatters in her throat. “I don’t want to keep doing this anymore. I want to live. I want to be life.” 

She dropped to her knees, cased in velvet and called Sam to her. She stroked his ears and he immediately ran his tongue along her face. “He’s cute. I’m sorry I tried to hurt him. I wasn’t even here for him,” she said. “What’s his name?” 

“Sam,” I replied. 

“Why are you giving her information,” James whispered in accusatory angst. I hit him in the stomach and turned back to her. 

“Sorry, what was your name again?”