Class Blog

This year, me and my fellow students will be keeping a class blog.  Every month each one of us will write a new post.  Go here to check it out: http://syav.blogspot.com/. I'll be posting my monthly blog on here as well.

Here's my first post. Hope you enjoy!

Smothered by the midday heat, pineapple woman squats on the grimy sidewalk behind her basket of fruit. A conical straw hat shades her eyes from the angry sun. Her stick straight, graying hair is pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. A few strands of hair fall into her face; she swats them away, irritated. Her eyes glint with frustration. She hasn't sold enough pineapples today. Her floppy plastic sandals are broken. Her knees ache from squatting like a frog for so many hours. She's drowning underneath the lazy afternoon sky.
A boy is squatting behind her, poking at a burning pile of trash. The bitter smoke of flaming plastic licks her back, intensifying the already unbearable heat. She grimaces, resisting the urge to tell fire boy to take his matches and mischief elsewhere.

Two American tourists, one man and one woman, walk down the street. The young woman is fair skinned and willowy, with blonde mermaid hair and an inquisitive step. Her husband is tall and built, with scruffy brown hair and glasses perched on his pointy nose. He fumbles with a map, craning his neck to look at a street sign. The woman clicks away with her camera, desperate to have evidence of this dilapidated place. Together, they attract many curious stares.

As soon as mermaid woman and her husband come into view, pineapple woman forgets about fire boy. As if a light is switched on in the attic of her mind, her face lights up. Her eyes are rosy now, gleaming with hope. She is sure that these foreigners will buy her fruit. She scrambles to rearrange her pineapples, putting the freshest, ripest ones on top.

When mermaid woman and her husband are closer, pineapple woman beckons the two over, friends, come here, and smiles kindly. She points at her fruit, encouraging them to take a look. The two Americans are surprised. The woman looks to her husband, unsure of what to say to this little wrinkly woman gazing up at them with her soft brown eyes and crooked smile. The man simply waves his hand dismissively, avoiding eye contact with pineapple woman. Oh, friends, come here, she invites them. But the man pretends not to hear her, and continues walking down the street. Mermaid woman hesitates with her step, feeling a pang of remorse for the old woman. But her remorse is short-lived; she walks away quickly to catch up to her husband.

Hope extinguished, pineapple woman is ablaze with loneliness. Her knees begin to ache once again as fire boy makes another small pile of trash. She turns around to watch fire boy light the match. The reflection of the flames flickers in his eyes. Feeling her eyes etching into him, fire boy looks up at pineapple woman. They make eye contact through a sheet of black smoke. It dances between them, mocking their existence as it rises higher than their reach. Together, they look up to the sky, as if the remedy to their ailments is hidden in the fleeing ashes.