Mōrena e te whānau, bringing you a lovely short edition of the Kindling this week.

My nanna died last weekend, has truly gone to heaven, and I found it difficult to think of anything much to write a story about. Gramps and she have a greyhound that I adore, and Omer requested a wholesome story – thus the below flash fiction piece.

I was lucky enough to be able to spend some time with Nanna before she died, she was always very proud of her grandchildren. This will be the first issue that she won’t get to read.

This one is for Nanna x

There’s an autumn in me
An amber cool spreading—

I fall beautifully apart
most mornings
to stare at sunrises hoping
they mean something more than
just refraction—

I’m a brittle girl with bitter thoughts
Gulping at drinks that
promise warmth

That run down my chin
in rivulets and
fall into places
I won’t look at in mirrors

I stare at other women like
they’re autumn leaves
waiting for a gust of air
to turn them against each other

like I’m not one too

We’re rigid—
Got this way about us
Like we have to pretend to like the cold
and bad jokes
the way lace feels on bare skin

They say I’m an autumn
soft, burnt umber
inviting
like a beautiful decaying—

hard to look away from

All I knew was agility. The adrenaline of the race, the way it made me feel – the pain, like my life depended on it. But the cage always followed. The whines down the line as I passed, the bowl of kibble they pushed through the door.

I dreamt of white rabbits. Of that one dastardly quick rabbit, just out of reach. I’d chase it down; put its neck in between my jaws; I’d win.

One morning we turned left instead of right when we left the cage – I was limping. I could hear the other racers, feel the agitation, practically smelt the white rabbit waiting to be chased but never caught. I tried to bark but a muzzle kept me quiet – I wanted one more chance with the rabbit.

A door opened, another shut. A million things passed in front of me; I kept checking that I wasn’t running.

There were no races after that. The first time they took me outside, I braced to see the rabbit, convinced that I would have to run like before – as fast as I could. Nothing. Meals were placed in metal bowls before me, and I had all day to eat them. They made a spot for me by the fireplace and I put my feet as close as I dared.

They held hands out to me, beckoned me over just to scratch behind my ears with hands so soft. I didn’t bite; I never bit them. Sometimes I’d rest my head on their lap to feel the warmth of their skin on my chin. I’d look into their eyes and wonder if they understood, if they knew.

Nothing hurt anymore. Nothing.

I still dreamt about that white rabbit. Holding it firm between my teeth, looking for the next one. During the day, it hid around corners on the footpaths ahead of me. I’d give chase, but it was never there; it was always, invariably, something else.

Sometimes we’d go for a long walk to the beach, it would be slow but I didn’t mind. If it was warm, I’d go without my jacket and feel the sun on my back. With sand underfoot, they’d unclip my leash and I’d fly again. Down the length of the coast, as far as the eye could see and further – it was more than enough. All I knew then was sand, the sun, and them. I’d turn at the end of the beach and run back just as fast. Back to them; to this life. At long last I’d won.