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The Picaresque of Imagine Purple

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Beth Fine

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“-Queria te levar no baile amanhã. Marfiza, que partia a laranja ao meio, ficou ser reação aparente. A lâmina em movimento terminava de atravessar os últimos milímetros do bagaço da laranja e continuou o corte até a primeira camada da pele e seguiu em frente, epiderme-derme-hipoderme abaixo. Atônita depois do convite, cortando-se a si e nenhum pio. Até o susto com o sangue em jorro denso. Chafariz pintando o rosto dela e o dele também. Um gritinho baixo, miado e cataploft. Ele desmaiou por entre as pernas dela esguichadas de sangue. Ela atônita pra mim, olhos maiores que a cara: morto? Adelmino estava vivo. Tão vivo que alguns anos depois se casaria comigo. Pai dos meus quatro filhos. Pamonha ali estatelado.”

ShockBlood OrangeAccidental InjuriesCutting Your Self
Book:Cara Marfiza,
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“Then he strode forward; as I flinched back, he dropped to his knees before me in a deep obeisance. He kissed my foot and laid his hands against my knees: the ancient posture of supplication. Then he looked up at me, his blue eyes wide and desperate. Once, as a child, I had sat with my ear pressed against the grandfather clock in the sitting room as it tolled noon. The peals didn't ring through my head; they rang through my entire body, from the bones in my arms to the air in my lungs, until I was nothing but a helpless vibration alongside them. It felt the same way now. For a short, trackless time I couldn't move or breathe; I could only stare down at his pale face, his half-parted lips, and echo the thought over and over. He is begging me.”

BeggingIntimate Act
Book:Cruel Beauty
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“Bennett reached for the fork first and scooped up a perfect bite of everything, which was a relief. A relief that turned into panic when he held the fork out toward me. Not for me to take---for me to take a bite. "For you, sweetheart." His eyes sparkled behind his glasses. I squared my shoulders. I could not believe this was happening. "Thank you, darling," I forced out, and let him feed me. My lips closed over the fork, Bennett watching the entire time. My face warmed again at the intentness of his stare on my mouth, but surely he was just watching to see when he could remove the utensil. The babka beignet was spectacular, light and fluffy and buttery, the chocolate filling dark and sweet against the tart brightness of the cherry. I parted my lips so that he could pull the fork back. His face was red again. Fortunately, he didn't make me feed him, just took a bite himself. Sadie asked, "So? What do you think?" "Delicious," he said, but he wasn't even looking at the dessert. He was looking at me. I couldn't even bring myself to answer. I could still feel the insistent push of his fork against my lips.”

FeedingDessertIntimate Act
Book:Best Served Hot
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