Deep in the Swamps

There were a lot of things Marie hated about living in the Louisiana swamps. Slithering snakes, Spanish moss, angry gators, the heat. It was like the earth was in overdrive here, pulsing with life gone wrong, and everywhere you turned there were ample creatures and critters with overgrown vegetation creeping its way into your space. Marie would get sick of it and would slam the shutters on her little shack as hard as she could, once even knocking one off its hinges, but soon the heat would be sweltering and she’d give up, opening the windows to the world lurking outside again.

At night, her ears would ring with the sounds of frogs that wouldn’t shut up, leaving her brain echoing in-out-in-out-in-out. Sometimes she didn’t think she’d make it through the night. She’d hear an odd splash in murky waters outside, and her imagination would run wild with the possibilities of what creeped just feet away from her sleeping bag.

It hadn’t always been like this. Once, she’d had a home that was free from such horrors. It was far from perfect, but she’d had a real bed and air conditioning at night and food that hadn’t come out of cans.  Pizza.  She missed pizza. That was back before her Mom had started dating Bud and he’d begun making up lies about Marie. Marie- an honor roll student who never got in trouble.

Sure, she’d smoked a Marlboro now and then, maybe chugged a few Coors, but she never would’ve dreamed of doing all those things he’d told her Mom. When she’d been confronted, her cheeks burned in shame, she felt the heat in her ears like burning nickels, and she hadn’t even been able to think of a response. Instead, she’d packed her bags and left. If her Mom wanted to believe that alcoholic loser over her – her own daughter – so be it. She didn’t need that crap.

Three months later, she was doing just fine on her own. Ever crafty, she’d brought plenty of sewing supplies, and she’d been able to sell enough hand sewn fur purses at the local farmer’s market to keep herself in food. She caught the rat-like nutria to eat initially (their flavor reminiscent of turkey – and at first the taste had made her long for Thanksgiving at her grandfather’s house – but hundreds of nutria later she was over that), and then realized she could use the pelts. They were tricky to skin, but Marie hadn’t let that stop her. She had to do all her sewing in the heat of the day, since she had no electricity, and she had to be careful with her little flashlight (batteries were expensive after all), but it gave her something pleasing to do with her hands. She liked the feeling of being productive. And she liked listening to the songbirds while she worked, her favorite being the reaoo-reeyee call of the yellow-throated vireo. When she saved up enough money, she imagined that she’d splurge on a huge bag of mixed birdseed – little seeds and husks of all types – and she’d find some scrap wood and craft a little feeder to hang from the old Sycamore tree. Marie daydreamed that the little warblers would grow to trust her, that they’d come closer and closer – drawn to the irresistible seed she provided – and that one day they’d perch on her hands to eat. Their delicate feet would clasp around her fingers as they nibbled and she’d learn to croon their song to them in a mutual friendship. Because she wasn’t going to find friendship anywhere else the way things were going.

This piece is linked with The Red Dress Club who provided the writing prompt:

The most frequent advice I come across for amateur writers is, "Write what you know."
"What you know" doesn't necessarily always mean "your comfort zone." For this week, take what you know out of your comfort zone. Try a new genre, a new time period, a geography you've only dreamed of, fantasy or historical instead of contemporary fiction, try the male POV if you usually write women. Or vice versa.
Switch it up. See where it takes you.

I liked this prompt because I like to travel elsewhere when I do the fiction posts, and I frequently do a couple of google searches to provide details on a subject I don't know.  I think it's more fun if I get to go somewhere new through my writing.