Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume One November-December 2024
Bad Seed, story by Doreen Duffy.
“Michael, Michael.”
Mom pulled her knees up under her. She had been lying stretched out on the grass, her breath going in and out and she never stays still. Not since Dad died. She never sat with me anymore to watch TV like she used to before my sister Carol Anne came along. She was always picking up, tidying things away, right up to the time I had to go to bed. She was always cleaning, into every tiny corner leaving no place for anyone to just keep stuff.
No, stuff wasn’t allowed in our house anymore.
“What do you want to keep that for Michael?”
She always used my full name when she was giving out to me.
“Why on earth would you want a jar of spiders under your bed?”
“You’re supposed to know better.”
Why, why am I supposed to know better?
“Broken glass is dangerous Michael, for God’s sake, if you’ve broken a glass just own up
and put it in the bin, you don’t keep it in the end of your wardrobe. Why does everything
have to be so sneaky with you now?”
The day she said that her hand flew to cover her mouth, but she didn’t take it back.
If Dad were still here things would be better. I didn’t like to think of him because when I did the picture that came into my mind wasn’t the Dad who used to bring me fishing, it was him lying in the wooden coffin. That day, I had tried so hard to keep my eyes on the shiny gold handle, but Mom leaned in to kiss him her sleeve caught it and the bang as it fell in the room made me jump, then I saw Dad’s face, stiff, yellowy, like his angry face frozen. My Aunt came over, put her arm around Mom, leaned in, I could barely hear, but I heard my name, I knew it was something those nosey neighbours had told her and then I heard her say something about the ladder being pushed. Mom shook her head quickly, her eyes squeezed shut. I moved a bit closer; she looked down at me, but she didn’t put her arm around me or anything.
“Michael,” Mom’s voice was getting louder.
Ignoring her, I chased a hard, black beetle through the grass keeping one eye on Carol Anne, stubbing my finger hard into the earth just behind it. There were loads of different beetles; fierce predators it said when I googled them, liked to eat other bugs; nice juicy slugs top of the list. I cupped my hand over the beetle and looked over at Carol Anne. It was a big one alright, shiny purple around the edges, its body the colour of a black eye. I could see long legs and big jaws, I put my head to the ground and squeezed one eye shut. I had an eagle eye view over its entire world, it couldn’t escape. I wished I’d brought one of my pieces of glass with me, I could have trapped the bug and watched him burn. Instead, I had to keep my eye on it all the time and I did, right up until she had to open her fat mouth and start singing.
“Jinny Joe, Jinny Joe…” bring me back an eggio
My bug escaped. Even Mom looked annoyed with Carol Anne.
Now we’d have to go home.
I got up and kicked the earth hard where I hoped the beetle had run to hide. I walked over to Carol Anne. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mom packing
up our stuff, brushing down her dress.
“Let’s see,” I reached down to take the Jinny Joe from her.
She held it up, a big stupid smile on her face.
“You can tell the time by how many goes it takes to set them free.”
There was still a white puff of fluff left attached to its centre. Close up, the centre looked like one of the spiders in my jar, hanging on for all its worth, while I pulled each leg off. I took a deep breath and blew the seeds as hard as I could, little bits of spit flew out on the air, one landed on Carol Anne’s face.
“It’s time,” I said slowly through gritted teeth, squashing the stem till thick goo oozed out.
“I wish you were dead,” I whispered, dropping the stem into her lap.
© Doreen Duffy
Doreen Duffy MA with 1st class honours in Creative Writing, Creative Writer and Tutor, studied at Dublin City University, National University of Ireland Maynooth, University College Dublin and Oxford University Online. Pushcart Nominated. Publications include Poetry Ireland Review 129 by Eavan Boland, Washing Windows Volumes Too & Three & Four, Arlen House, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, (Germany), The Storms Journals 1 & 3, The Galway Review, Flash Fiction (USA), Glisk & Glimmer by Sídhe Press, Black Bough Poetry Christmas/Winter 2022 & 2023, The Incubator Journal, The Woman’s Way and The Irish Times and she was delighted to have work published in several issues of Live Encounters (Indonesia), She won The Jonathan Swift Award and was presented with The Deirdre Purcell Cup at the Maria Edgeworth Literary Festival. Doreen was a featured poet on iambapoet wave 12, 2022. Shortlisted in the Francis MacManus Competition, her story ‘Tattoo’ was broadcast on RTE Radio One
https://doreenduffy.blogspot.com/
Bio (153 words)
Doreen Duffy MA with 1st class honours in Creative Writing, Creative Writer and Tutor, studied at Dublin City University, National University of Ireland Maynooth, University College Dublin and Oxford University Online. Pushcart Nominated. Publications include Poetry Ireland Review 129 by Eavan Boland, Washing Windows Volumes Too & Three & Four, Arlen House, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, (Germany), The Storms Journals 1 & 3, The Galway Review, Flash Fiction (USA), Glisk & Glimmer by Sídhe Press, Black Bough Poetry Christmas/Winter 2022 & 2023, The Incubator Journal, The Woman’s Way and The Irish Times and she was delighted to have work published in several issues of Live Encounters (Indonesia), She won The Jonathan Swift Award and was presented with The Deirdre Purcell Cup at the Maria Edgeworth Literary Festival. Doreen was a featured poet on iambapoet wave 12, 2022. Shortlisted in the Francis MacManus Competition, her story ‘Tattoo’ was broadcast on RTE Radio One https://www.rte.ie/radio/radio1/rte-short-story-competition/2017/1012/912166-francis-macmanus-short-story-thursday-12-october-2017/