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somesecretpie · 2 months

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Weather Woman (Short Story)

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. An eyewitness, Ms. Self, said the weather was to blame but Susan knew it was anything but that. This was homicide. Divine intervention.

“My poor poor little pansies,” she said, peering over their wilted corpses. It had officially been a whole year since Susan’s county had any rainfall. Several months ago, the town began issuing fines to anyone who dared to water their lawn. Susan did not find this to be much of an issue—she continued to keep her garden green as suburbia withered and died around her, until she ran into a small problem.

Susan ran out of money.

From all the fines she was paying.

She reentered her home, morning paper in one hand, and her weekly subscription to “Martha Stewart Living” in the other. Her house was a wondrous temple of correct furniture and appropriate color palettes, bowls of plastic fruit at the center of each faux-mahogany table. Photographs of a happy family arranged in a symmetrical pattern (Not her own, though; they were stock images.) She would have absolute perfection, were it not for that scorched eyesore that marked her entryway garden.

Susan poured her morning coffee, popped a bagel in the toaster, and turned on the weather channel for her district. That was the only thing she watched now: The weather. Mr. John Sunday in front of his green screen, with his little yellow bowtie, and his eyes the color of the unchanging sky. He looked quite unremarkable for a man that disseminated such important information to the public, but looks can be deceiving. One does not look at a perfect egg and see themselves contracting salmonella.

“Please, John, some rain for my pansies,” Susan whispered into her morning coffee. She turned up the volume and his pleasant voice filled the living room.

“Good morning, Marin County! It’s gonna be nothing but blue skies this week. Perfect weather for going on a nice long walk. And enjoying all that mother nature has to offer—“

Susan threw her bagel at the television in a fit of anger. Then promptly cleaned it off the floor and swept it into the wastebin.

What did she do to deserve these never-ending blue skies? I’m a nice woman, aren’t I? she lamented. Don’t I deserve purple pansies? Don’t I deserve a little rain?

There was something malicious and secret behind John’s blue eyes. Something he knew that she did not. She could not bear to look at them!

She shut off the TV.

Her heart beat madly in her chest. What ever would Susan do? Refill her bed of flowers with desert cacti and succulents? No, wrong color palette. Take out a loan to continue watering her plants? Now that would be ridiculous…

The weather was to blame—but Susan had a poor understanding of it. What went on up there in the sky? Who, exactly, could she send a strongly worded email to?

That same morning, Susan Kelvin decided she would take out a loan after all, but not to water her plants. Instead, she would go back to her local community college to study meteorology. She was quite sure that most of her coursework was merely propaganda from Big Weather, but she needed that associate's degree so she could learn that secret that lurked behind the eyes of Mr. John Sunday. So she could join his ranks. So she could become a Weather Woman.

Susan applied to the local television network with high hopes. The fate of her future rested on their acceptance. She snuggled into bed that same night of her application and dreamed of fresh purple pansies dotting the corners of her deep green lawn. But...something was terribly wrong!

Susan gasped for breath and opened her eyes. Strong hands grasped her arms, the fabric of a bag over her face—she was being kidnapped! Oh this is going to work horribly with my schedule! thought Susan. She began to protest but a harsh voice shushed her to silence. She was shoved into a car.

After an hour or so of stumbling around, the bag was lifted, and Susan blinked rapidly. She was in a musty room lit by candles. Deactivated cameras hung on racks against the wall, and a circle of sharply dressed bodies surrounded her, their shadows bending and stretching in the flickering light.

“Welcome,” someone said. “You have been called before our chapter because of your personal obsession with the weather. And from our understanding, your qualifications may permit that obsession to become...something more.”

Susan struggled to get her bearings. In front of her was, if she was not mistaken, sliced tofu arranged into an occult symbol.

“Your name is Susan Kelvin and you have a degree in meteorology from Marin County Community College, is this correct?”

“Yes,” Susan confirmed.

“You live alone, your parents are deceased, and you have no friends or loved ones. Is this also correct?”

“Who are you people?”

Susan then noticed that she recognized the woman sitting on her left—it was Ms. Rivers from channel eight. A proper weatherwoman, straightened and carefully sculpted black hair, with a stormy gray pantsuit that tastefully contrasted against her dark complexion. And to her right was that weatherman from channel seven what’s-his-face (his appearance was not noteworthy). And at the very front, at the head of the body of bodies, the man who had been speaking to her was none other than Mr. John Sunday in his yellow bow tie.

“What interest do you have in becoming a Weather Woman, Ms. Susan Kelvin?”

“I…um…”

They waited patiently for her answer. It suddenly occurred to Susan that this was probably a job interview. She straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her.

“I believe I could bring a lot of value and a unique perspective to the weather conversation,” Susan said. “It has affected me personally…My district hasn’t had any rain in over a month.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “That must be terrible for you.”

“What are you apologizing for? You can’t control the weather.”

John Sunday leaned forward, and his blue eyes flashed a deep dark red. “Oh but we can.”

“Can what?”

“We control the weather, Susan.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “That is completely absurd. You’re all a bunch of wierdo people who kidnapped me and I’m...I’m going to tell the authorities!”

“No one will believe you,” whispered Rivers.

Susan glared at everyone, but the weather people held still, not a trace of doubt of their ability. But surely the truth about the weather would not be so…uncomplicated. Surely the unseen forces that murdered her flowers would not have human faces.

“I don’t believe you,” Susan said plainly. “But I do need this job so that I can pay off my student loans–”

“The forecasters bear a burden.” John ignored her question. The speech was likely rehearsed. “To be a forecaster is self-sacrifice! To be a forecaster is to be a champion of the greater good! Does that describe you, Susan Kelvin?”

She hesitated.

Champion is rather vague. It can have multiple meanings.

She thought of her beautifully decorated house.

Oh, but I am certainly good.

She thought of her neighbors and their inferior sense of style.

And I am certainly greater!

Slowly, Susan nodded her head.

The weather people muttered amongst themselves enthusiastically, like children, until silenced by John.

“Excellent,” he said. “Very good. Then, on behalf of the California chapter of forecasters, the masters of the weather, we welcome you. Thank you, Great Mother.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” the weatherpeople said in tandem.

Someone clapped twice, and the overhead lamps blasted light everywhere.

“You’ll be shadowing Rivers tomorrow at eight. Look sharp,” John said dramatically, but without the candlelight defining his cheekbones, it was quite hard to take him seriously.

The next day, Susan arrived at exactly eight o’ clock, wearing her best suit, and hair pulled back in a tight bun. She found Rivers, on set, eating conservatively from a bag of soynuts.

“Oh hey! It’s you,” the weatherwoman said. “Sorry about all that cult stuff. John can be so dramatic.”

Susan smiled in relief, but quickly hid it away. “That is an understatement,” she muttered. “Will there be any more kidnappings?”

“Only for your monthly status report,” she said, “But give me your number and I can text you before it happens.”

Susan did so hesitantly, and kept staring at her phone after the fact. She had one whole contact now. How quaint.

That day, Susan was supposed to examine the cue cards, inspect the camera crews, and stare intently at the weatherwoman, noting every minute thing she did. Rivers delivered her forecast with a smile. Blue skies again.

“That’s disappointing,” Susan said to her over lunch. “I was hoping for some rain in my district.”

“John already has the weather planned out for the next few weeks,” Rivers said stiffly. “So sorry.”

Susan did not laugh. “This again? Tell me you do not believe this “controlling the weather” nonsense! You are not wizards!”

“Did you not see our occult symbols?”

Susan swatted at the air. “Meaningless shapes.”

“And what about John’s flashing red eyes?”

Susan’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Now, I don’t know about that…But he should see a medical professional.”

Rivers rolled her eyes and left to prepare for her evening forecast. When it was done and there were no more cue cards to read from, she very quickly told the audience, in a joking manner, that there would be isolated showers over their recording studio from exactly five fifty PM to five fifty one PM. She then strut off the stage with a smirk.

“Well, that’s an oddly specific forecast—“

The weather woman grabbed her by the wrist and led her all the way to the back-door exit with the recycling and the parking lot.

“Check your phone,” Rivers said.

Susan did not see why she should, there would be no messages. This was because she only had one contact, you see. But as she held her phone in her hand, a large raindrop splattered on the screen. Then another. And now rain was pouring from the sky, dripping down her hair and suit. Susan’s jaw dropped. She had not felt rain in so long. It was five-fifty. And by five fifty-one, the clouds departed as if swept away by a large broom. The sunlight stung her face.

Rivers smiled at her.

So they really did control the weather.

This revelation posed a great many questions. Like, why did the public not know about this? And why did the weathercasters have these powers? And why had Susan studied for two years to become a meteorologist when she could just pulled forecasts out of her asshole? Susan frowned. Now that she thought about it, it was rather odd that her meterology courses mostly consisted of specifications for ritual sacrifice and obedience lessons. Susan had simply thought it was “one of those things” about academia.

“Well, Rivers…”

“Yes, Susan?”

“I suppose this whole “forecasting” thing is...it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Fun doesn’t do it justice!” Rivers said, through a handful of soynuts. “Just knowing how much power there is behind your every word. So long the camera is rolling, there is nothing stopping you from doing anything you damn well please!” Rivers laughed heartily, but kept her eyes trained on Susan. “Except your conscience, of course!”

“Oh, yes,” Susan said. “Ha ha!”

Fun doesn’t do it justice…It had been a while since Susan Kelvin had fun. She tried to remember when that was.

Oh, yes, of course!

It had been two weeks ago. Susan had just gotten home from work after a rough day, shoulders drooping, hair ruffled, when she looked down on her front porch and saw a beetle. The bug was turned on its back, legs flailing weakly in the air. There was nothing nearby for grasping, nothing but hot sunburned concrete. This bug had no way of righting itself yet it struggled still. Susan sat down and watched this bug. She watched it until it stopped moving. Until it returned to its natural state. Nonexistence. That had been fun, Susan remembered fondly. I am eager to have fun again.

After two days of shadowing Rivers, Susan was given her own partition of airtime over her district and a weekly forecast by her fellow weatherpeople. She delivered the forecast exactly as instructed. Blue skies.

“Pretty good for a first-time,” Rivers said. “Although, you were a bit stiff. Trying showing more emotion, more body language, you know?” She placed her fingers on her own cheekbones, pressing them upward. “Remember to smile.”

Susan didn’t know why she hadn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t having fun yet. She spent the rest of that evening practicing smiling in the mirror. She read Martha Stewart, baked a five-cheese lasagna exactly per the instructions, and smiled upon removing it from the oven like Martha Stewart did in the picture. She smiled until she did it without thinking, baring her teeth even in bed, as she dreamed of purple pansies.

The next day, she delivered her forecast so well that even John himself gave her a flamboyant “Well done!” And Susan smiled at them as they congratulated her—but still she was not having fun.

All this power and I never get to do anything worthwhile. Susan sighed. I could fix my front lawn if only John would let me.

Later at the meeting, Susan tried to articulate her feelings.

“We could be doing so much more, John. We could be helping the needy, like those poor people of Marin County who’s front lawns have been destroyed by the California heat!”

The weather people muttered undecidedly. Susan recognized her experiences were not universal, and acted accordingly, “Or what about people affected by hurricanes! Or wildfires, droughts, what about them, John! All those poor people we could help with our power—“

“Our power is a gift, you fool!” John snapped.

Susan raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“From Zietzebala,” said Rivers. “Our Great Mother Earth. She has gifted us with this forecasting power in exchange for our obedience as well as a few…sacrifices.”

“Ah.” Susan looked down. “And I suppose they have to be virgins too, don’t they. I’m still friends on facebook with a lot of men I went to highschool with who are probably–”

“No! Dammit, no! I meant, like, recycle. Plant a tree!” John looked exasperated. “Sometimes we sacrifice a tofurky, but we’ve never really gone farther than that.”

“Maybe we should,” muttered Rivers.

John turned sharply to look at her. “Don’t think I don’t know about that little stunt you pulled yesterday,” he said with a voice like acid. “Isolated showers? Over our studio? You know how important the schedule is–”

“I’m sorry.” Rivers said. She did not appear sorry. “It will not happen again.”

“It had better not.”

John left the room in a huff.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Susan asked “What did you mean by that?”

Rivers sighed. “I know what you mean about wanting to help. About all the good we could do. Climate change has already killed millions…and the death toll will continue to rise.”

Susan thought of her dead flowers and trembled.

“Don’t feel bad, Rivers,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“No but it is literally our fault we control the weather Susan.“

“Oh right.”

Susan had forgotten.

Rivers began crushing the snacks in her hand. “The horrible thing is–I could fix it all. I have an incredibly detailed plan to fix the environment that, when I placed it on the alter to Zietzebala, turned into a swarm of doves! So I know she approves!”

Rivers glared. “But her pact is with John. And John has a bad heart.”

Susan nodded. “Truly a wicked man.”

“No, he literally has a bad heart. Arrhythmia.” Rivers hit twice against her chest. “I’m next in line for leadership if ever something terrible happens to him, just so you know.” She looked askance, placing her hand on Susan’s. “Do with that information what you will, Susan.”

Several things flashed through her mind at once. She saw Rivers dressed in the fanciful robes of climate cult leader. Rivers telling her how beautiful her lawn was. River’s soft, well-manicured hands holding hers, not just now, but over and over again in the future. Rivers could be more than her singular phone contact. Susan’s cheeks grew hot and she withdrew.

“Susan?”

She collected herself, pouring another class of ceremonial non-alcoholic wine. She raised it in a toast. “Here’s to hoping John drops dead!”

Rivers laughed, “Oh Susan, you’re so funny.”

Ms. Susan Kelvin squeezed her incredibly soft hand. “And when you’re head forecaster, you’ll give my district some water, won’t you? Because we are…coworkers?”

Ms. Rivers seemed confused for a half-second, then replied. “Of course! We will help everyone, which includes you!”

“But not me specifically?”

“Not you specifically, no.”

“Oh.”

Susan looked away.

Rivers offered her a soynut, but Susan refused it.

***

Next morning, Susan awoke with a start. She had a good feeling about today, that good feeling had apparently kicked her out of bed at an hour earlier than usual. What to do with the spare time?

She clapped her hands together. I know! I will go out for breakfast!

So Susan drove her little car down to her neighborhood Denny’s, avoiding all the dead beetles in the parking lot with her new high heels. She squeezed herself into a cozy booth. A nice table all to herself.

A waitress approached.

“Brown toast, and two eggs please.”

“Will that be sunny-side up, ma’am?”

“No no,” Susan turned from the window. Blue skies. With a twinge of bitterness she clarified, “I like my eggs over easy.”

“Sure thing!” The waitress jotted it down. “Sorry for assuming, most people like ‘em sunny—.”

“Well I like them over easy,” Susan said with a smile.

Susan tapped her heel as she waited, sipping some lemon water. A tingling feeling ran up her leg, like a bug was crawling. She quickly ran her hand up and down her smooth leg, but it was nothing. Nothing.

Moments later a steaming hot plate arrived. The toast was cut into triangles (the only adequate shape), but the eggs. Oh, the eggs. They were sunny. Side. UP.

Susan stormed out of the establishment without paying, and sped to her job, positively seething.

She did her broadcast as normal, except for one teensy addition as follows:

“Lastly, you’ll be seeing a horrific category five hurricane over in Marin county with wind speeds of about one hundred twenty miles an hour. It will be localized entirely within this area.” Susan pointed with her pointing stick to the map, on which she’d drawn a red circle around that one particular Denny’s.” Susan smiled. “That will be all!”

They cut to commercial break.

No one approached Susan for a full five minutes. Then John appeared, apparently having powerwalked from the adjoining broadcast room.

“Susan, what the hell–”

“It was a joke!”

John looked flabbergasted.

Susan made a silly face.

“A…joke?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Susan…you need to be really fucking careful with “jokes” when you’re on camera…You’re not in training anymore. Everything you say will happen no matter how ridiculous.”

Susan smiled slightly. That was exactly what she hoped.

John put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Look here, when the commercial ends, you are going to tell everyone that was a “joke”. You are going to tell everyone that there will be no category five hurricane at that particular Denny’s. Okay?”

“Okay, John.”

He backed away as the camera man counted down. Susan straightened her collar.

“Good evening, Citizens of Marin county. I have something to tell you all about that Category Five hurricane I mentioned earlier.”

Susan thought about reversing her decision. But why should she? That Denny’s had tried to poison her. She was doing God’s work.

She cleared her throat. “That hurricane is going to have hail. So so much hail.” John was pulling at his hair.

“And that’s not all. Susan looked directly at the camera, “Mr. John Sunday is going to die at exactly six forty-seven PM, and nothing that anyone does, not any doctor, not any ambulance, not any priest will be able to stop it.”

John Sunday ran onto the set, jumping over the rolling chairs and camera crew, reaching for her microphone.

“And the power to this station will go off NOW.”

Darkness fell. Susan tried to run, but John tackled her to the ground. He pulled the microphone from her face and shouted into it, “No! No that will not happen, actually, that will not happen. Susan is wrong!”

But the cameras were not running.

“You’re too late, John.”

John clutched his face.

“What time is it?”

It was six forty-six.

There was terror in his eyes, “That wasn’t even weather related!” he stammered. “You will be fired for this!”

“Who is going to fire me, John?”

John took out his cellphone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. Susan heard it ringing, a steady pulse in his hand. But what John really needed was a steady pulse in his heart. He fell over in agony, and Susan bent over his writhing body. She watched until it stopped. Until it returned to it’s natural state. Nonexistence. Now she was having fun. Susan took his yellow bow tie (it was a clip-on.)

She ran through the crowd of concerned onlookers, off to her car to beat the rush-hour traffic. She heard sirens in the distance, a wailing chorus. Approaching. She clutched the wheel until her knuckles turned white.

Susan saw the siren was that of an ambulance and sighed. Pity that it wouldn’t help anything. What was done was done.

That night, Susan made tea before sleeping, listening to the soft rain against her window as it cooled, with one of Martha Stewart's Living magazines resting on her lap. It was all very calming. She tucked herself into bed at exactly nine-thirty, as she did every night, and slept as she had always slept.

But in her dreams, something was wrong.

Something was terribly wrong.

Susan always dreamed about being in her house, but now she was on a pedestal. On all sides of her, a dark abyss stretched down into infinity.

Instead of her carpet, the ground was teeming with worms.

Instead of the whistling of her teakettle, she heard an ominous wind, delivering muffled shrieks and cries.

Susan tapped her foot on the wormy ground. Well, this is boring! she thought.

But no sooner did her mind form that thought than the wind began to pick up.

Howling now.

And from the sky of inclement weather came a flash of blinding lightning. Susan opened her eyes and who should stand before her but...

“Martha Stewart!” Susan struggled to speak. “I am your biggest fan, I’ve—I’ve read every issue of your magazine, I read your blog—I try so hard to be just like you!”

The woman answered in a booming voice that was far too deep, “But you are not like me, Susan. You are a hollow vessel. You are a parody of human being.”

“You’re not...really Martha Stewart, are you?”

The woman bared her teeth. “I’m afraid not. I am merely taking a form that you can understand.”

Susan had a feeling she knew who it was. “Are you... Great Mother?”

“The one and only!” Zietzebala winked.

Susan looked her up and down. That dress was actually quite unfashionable now that she really looked at it. In hindsight it was obvious this was not Martha Stewart. Susan sighed soberly. Yes, not even a literal goddess can replicate such perfection.

Susan spoke to her in her usual condescending manner. “Why have you come to me like this...in a dream?”

“Isn’t it obvious why I’m here?” Not-Martha-Stewart said softly. “John Sunday is dead.”

Susan began to sweat. She adjusted her bow tie—no that was John’s bow tie, now she had drawn attention to it!

With the intention of discreteness, and complete failure of that which was intended, Susan removed the article and hurled it into the abyss. Not even a full second later, the bow tie had reappeared.

Again, Susan tossed it.

Again, it reappeared.

Again, she tossed it.

Bow tie back again!

Again, she tossed it—

“This is who you are now, Susan!” shouted Zietzebala. Crackling thunder leapt from her perfect face-framing bob-cut of yellow hair. “This is your burden.”

But the yellow of the bow tie didn’t even go with the current color palette of her outfit! Susan stood helplessly, in her persistently unfashionable clothing, staring into the eyes of this unearthly creature. And for the first time in her perfect life, Susan feared for her immortal soul.

“Great Mother, I am so sorry,” she said tearfully, “But you must let me explain myself! He was preventing me from doing my job as a forecaster, so I had to kill him. I had to!”

Not-Martha-Stewart's eyes flashed red. “Don’t take all the credit, my child. I killed him. You merely allowed me to.”

Susan stopped pretending to look upset. “Oh. So we are on the same page?”

“Not exactly.”

The Great Mother began to circle her, her high heels striking the writhing ground. “John is dead because he thought he could worship two gods at once.”

“He cheated on you?”

“With money.” Zietzebala shook her head. “John was too soft, much like the tofu he insists on sending me…He was unwilling to make the sacrifices I demand. But are you?”

The goddess was getting too close for comfort.

“That…depends…what they are?”

“I want blood, Susan.”

She had figured.

“Rivers has a two hundred page plan on how to save the environment. You are instrumental to that plan, Susan Kelvin. Because you are unlike any human I have ever known.” Her eyes glimmered like starlight. “You are…completely empty.”

Susan frowned. She felt strange. She felt used.

“I must go now–”

“Wait,” Susan stopped her. “While you’re here, can I ask you some questions about the nature of the universe? I’ve had a sudden stroke of curiosity.”

Zietzebala sighed. “Ok. I’ll give you three.”

“Objectively speaking, is the “Farmhouse style” or “Riverside cottage” style superior for a home kitchen?”

“That depends on the context, Susan.”

“Why are all the flowers in the magazines prettier than mine?”

“Because of the drought, Susan.”

She paused. Her last question…What shall it be?

After putting some thought into it, Susan decided to ask, “Is there life after death?”

Zietzebala smirked playfully. “Oh, I think you already know the answer.”

“Do I?”

“Haven't you ever thought there was a bug on your leg, and upon looking, found there was no bug?”

Susan squinted. “What of it?”

The Goddess leaned in closely. “Ghost bugs.”

Susan shuddered, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Susan grabbed onto the front of the goddess’s coat.

“Wait, I have one more question.”

“I said I’d give you three.”

“Please, just one more!” Susan demanded. “Are there other gods?”

“You already know the answer.”

Susan scoffed. “I’m…not sure that I do!”

Zietzebala turned from her, staring into the abyss. “It is time for you to wake up, Susan. Remember all that I have told you. Collaborate with Rivers. Eliminate everyone she tells you to.”

“What?”

“Be the good that Martha Stewart wants you to be–or there will be consequences!”

With that, she clapped twice and disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like cedar and pumpkin-scented candles.

Susan sat up from her bed abruptly and jerked her head to the side. Six o’ clock. I must get ready for work!

Susan hurriedly bread her hands, popped her soap in the toaster, ironed the carpet, and tore down Main Street. In her urgency, she went two miles above the speed limit.

Seeds of doubts sprouted worries in her mind. Do I really have what it takes to be an eco-terrorist? Susan fancied herself the very image of perfection. Was she not? She who kept her lawn so neatly trimmed? Who’s china was so neatly kept? Susan breathed rapidly. She who ravaged a Denny’s…

Destruction.

Peace.

Order.

Susan whirled into the parking lot of the recording studio, blew past everyone without a word, avoiding inquisitive eyes, avoiding accusatory fingers, planting her ass firmly in her little red rolling chair. She took a deep breath. Be the good…that Martha Stewart wants you to be.

Rivers ran up on stage, grabbed Susan’s face and kissed her passionately. Susan stumbled backwards, bracing herself against the desk. This was NOT an appropriate workplace activity. But Susan could not help herself. She returned the expression, kissing Rivers hungrily, barely noticing the notecards that had been pressed into her hand.

“We’re on in five!”

Rivers pulled away and Susan gasped for breath. “Read these exactly as they are written Susan,” Rivers said.

Susan dared not look down at the paper in her hand. What horrible dreadful things would be written on them?

Television static buzzed in her head. Someone was counting down.

The cameras trained on her.

“Now we will go live to Susan Kelvin with the weather!” The news reporter eyed Susan from her screen. “And I see you are wearing John Sunday’s signature yellow bow tie.”

Susan leaned forward slowly.

“That I am, Fiona. I have worn it to pay my respects—God rest his soul.”

“It’s kind of weird that you were able to forecast his death in such perfect detail.”

Susan paused.

“Yes well…he had a heart condition. So it was only a matter of time really.

“Of course.”

Susan exhaled deeply, and looked down.

Written on the notecards were not the names of oil barons to kill. Not golf courses to destroy. Not death, not destruction. Written on the card was simply the words “rain for everyone”

The television static grew purple.

Rain for everyone.

It was insulting.

“...Susan?”

Her eyes met Rivers. She was grinning ear to ear.

Rain for everyone.

Susan’s whole body shook as she began to deliver her forecast, “A cloud… will appear.”

The room melted away, only Rivers remained.

“Right over my house. A cloud will appear and it will rain. And it will never stop raining.”

Rivers smile twisted into a look of abject horror.

“And my pansies will respond to the rain. They will be the brightest purple. They will be the envy of all you disgusting animals.” Susan hadn’t noticed but she was screaming every word.

The ground beneath the recording studio quaked from thunder. The contract had been broken, wrath was eminent.

“I AM NOT EMPTY! I AM FULL OF PANSIES! I AM FULL OF RAIN.”

Flowers began sprouting from Susan’s ears, nose and eyes. Water poured from her mouth onto the floor. Choking on rain, Susan finished her forecast.

“And that…just about…wraps it up. Ba–ck…to you!”

A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, miraculously cutting through the walls of the recording studio, striking Susan. She fell from the stage. Shortly after, more bolts came and the recording studio violently burst into flames.

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. Eyewitnesses said that the weather was to blame but Ms. Rivers knew that it was anything but that. Homicide. Divine intervention.

Rivers stood alone in the parking lot, charred bow tie in one hand, and in the other, a flash drive full of files full of lies for the goddess of earth. The only god. “Damn you.” Her fingers closed around the yellow cloth.

Rain fell in sheets from the sky above Susan Kelvin's house, with no sign of stopping. Her pansy grew taller than cornstalks, stretching upwards, garishly purple. But Susan would never see them. Susan Kelvin was gone.

Though, some say that on hot summer days when the sky is endless blue, at the back of your neighborhood Denny’s, you can feel her.

Crawling on your leg.

#This is my first short story I've posted to Tumblr!#It's like that one episode of the Fairly Oddparents but if it was more gay and political #It has lesbians and Denny's in it but I swear that was an accident I am not pandering #hope you like it #short story #short fiction #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #weather woman

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commander-quack-to-the-bridge · 1 month

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My mother and I were watching Star Trek Into Darkness tonight (I'm not feeling well and we love to watch these movies together)

Well we got through the first scene, when Spock is in the volcano and Kirk asks Bones, "If I was there and Spock was here, what would he do?" And Bones replies, "He'd let you die."

Just... I have to say, I know there are a lot of points in that movie that revolve around the sentiment of Spock following the rules and regulations and protocols of Starfleet without hesitation. But there's something in Kirk's eyes when Bones says that, this flash like how can you possibly believe that?

I just know Kirk never fully believed that. He can't. I feel like a big part of the foundation of their friendship in the Kelvin timeline is rooted in Spock's human-side. Kirk knows it's there, just beneath the surface, well controlled but still there

Kirk hears Bones. Understands his concerns even. But doesn't believe them.

Thank you for coming to my strep throat induced TED talk.

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vertumnanaturalis · 8 months

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Yknow this is another thing that I've been chipping away at for the past few months (and if you're in the LQ or Exo Creator Servers you've Definitely seen me share these before) and haven't posted on Tumblr yet; it's the current WIP of my attempt to give every named, mentioned, or heavily implied to exist character in the game that doesn’t have a canon design! Over time I wanna post them all individually (along with the lore I’ve come up with for them), but these are all the completed ones right now

(names/roles below the cut)

(note: italicized names are non-canon names/nicknames for canon roles or character with only a nickname or a full name)

Top Row (Kids younger than Sol):

Cirrus [designs for first and second halves of the game] (One of Anemone’s triplet younger brothers)

Stratus [designs for first and second halves of the game] (One of Anemone’s triplet younger brothers)

Cumulus [designs for first and second halves of the game] (One of Anemone’s triplet younger brothers)

Nimbus [designs for first and second halves of the game] (Anemone’s youngest brother, specifically mentioned to be younger and not one of the triplets in one of the tutoring events)

Nectarine “Nena” [designs for first and second halves of the game] (babysitting job kid with photosynthesis augment; designed as Chino’s older sister)

Maraschino “Chino” (named in babysitting job, has a fire starter augment)

Effervescence “Ves” [designs for first and second halves of the game] (babysitting job kid with nocturnal vision augment that gives them glowing eyes)

Mistletoe “Misu Misu” [designs for first and second halves of the game] (babysitting job kid who was trying to sneak out one of the drain pipes; One of the orphans from the wormhole crash being raised in the creche; designed as Sorrel’s baby sister)

Kelvin [designs for first and second halves of the game] (babysitting job kid who was trying to sneak out one of the drain pipes; One of the kids who still has parents but is being raised in the creche anyways)

Macaroni “Mac” (Babysitting job kid with no sense of pain augment)

Contrivance “Connie” (Babysitting job kid with shark teeth augment)

Middle Row (Stratospheric NPCs):

Cinnamon “Cinna” (Named by Utopia, presumably another member of expeditions)

Imbroglio (A surveyor who is only mentioned as being deceased alongside Geranium if the shimmer is not cured in time, although it is never specifically said to have killed him; Designed as the previous Chief Surveyor before he handed the role to Tonin)

Sorrel (A surveyor who is only mentioned after their death before Vertumnalia 18; Designed as a Strato-born teenager older than Kom but younger than Utopia; Designed as Misu Misu’s eldest brother)

Quinine “Quinni” (A surveyor who is only mentioned after their death before Vertumnalia 18; Designed as a Strato-born teenager a few months younger than Kom)

Lavendula “Tula” (Named as Tonin’s deceased partner during his funeral; Tammy is stated to have had a mother who died at some point prior to landing, presumably they were the same person)

Arabesque “Besk” (Ms. Arabesque….. The Twins mother, cause of like 20% of the issues in the colony)

Encephalon “Ceph” (One of Tirah’s partners, only mentioned by nickname)

Peppercorn “Perk” (One of Tirah’s partners, only mentioned by nickname; The newest member of the polycule)

Pappardelle “Deli” (One of Tirah’s partners; no titles or pronouns are ever used for the third one, but there is explicitly a third partner)

Bottom Row (Heliopause NPCs)

Parabola “Polly” (Vace’s mom)

Theia (Rex’s mom)

Ikebana “Bana” (Nomi’s mom)

Carnelian Carnation “Carn” (Nomi’s dad)

Ventricle “Ven” (Vace’s dad)

Marjoram “Joram” (A named steward from the Heliopause, she will become Second Steward if Tammy and Sol don’t/can’t)

Netsuke (A named scientist from the Heliopause, he will become Second Engineer if Tang and Sol don’t/can’t; specifically mentioned to be experienced)

Quaternion (A named administrator from the Heliopause, he will become Second Administrator if Marz and Sol don’t/can’t)

Peppermint “Pep” (A named soldier from the Heliopause, she will become Second Surveyor if Dys, Tonin, and Sol don’t/can’t; Utopia really did not want this person for her second in command)

Yucca (A named cultivator from the Heliopause, she will become Second Cultivator if Cal is Cheif Cultivator and Sol doesn’t/can’t get the job; Said to be experienced enough in agriculture, and unlikely to side with the other Helio’s more war favoring tendencies)

Bluebell “Belle” (The Helio born cultivator that Cal married in some endings; Designed as Yucca’s younger sister)

Verbena (A Helio soldier named in a conversation Marz; It’s implied that they’ve slept together, so it’s likely that they’re very close in age)

Pelagic “Pelk” (A soldier named in one of the nurse events; Designed as a Helio soldier about Utopia’s age)

The people left to do include: Captain Morikawa, Defenestrate, Yarrow, Rex’s Dad, the baby from the Strato born just before coming through the wormhole, older/second half deisgns for Chino+Mac+Connie+Quinni….

Uh. Let’s just say that there are a lot of people actually named/referenced/implied in the game.

And that’s not even getting into anyone BORN on Vertumna… hahh....

#i was a teenage exocolonist #iwatex #my art #npc catalog #I am not gonna tag all these people right now LMAO

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modelsof-color · 1 month

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Photographers Mar + Vin ( Marcos & Kelvin )

Mar+Vin is a duo, formed by Marcos Florentino and Kelvin Yule. With backgrounds in Graphic Design and Journalism

MAR+VIN has contributed to a revolution in the way images are made in Brazil, adding artistic refinement to their photography to create stories that go beyond, while also playing an important role in the inclusion within the industry. Marcos and Kelvin often say that they are always looking for the "fantastic element" in the ordinary, creating powerful images with deep meaning and valuing their Brazilian roots.

Mar+Vin’s visual style is influenced by classical art with sculptural silhouettes and nods to symbolism, but they’re keen to incorporate local references from their Brazillian hometowns through locations and colour palettes.

Marcos was born in the state of Piauí, in a small village in the northeast part of Brazil. He started experimenting with drawing at a very young age and tried other medias as he grew up. Living his childhood in such a remote place, he found in the fine arts and in the books a way of dreaming with different and fantastic realities, helping him to accurate his vision, while watching his mother sew his sisters’ dresses for traditional Brazilian celebrations and graduations, which may have been his first contact with fashion. At 18, he moved to São Paulo and got a degree in graphic design through a scholarship. There he began to use photography as a form of expression and also expanded his art through experimenting with sculpture, ceramics, textiles, drawing and oil painting,

Kelvin is from the coast of Bahia, also in the northeast region of Brazil. He developed an inquisitive personality, mainly during his childhood as a queer kid growing up in a small town with a religious familly. At the age of 17, he went to university to study Social Communication and Journalism, where he directed his first short film and did some exhibitions exploring photojournalism, which led him to develop his interest in storytelling, bringing it to his photography as a way to reimagine things. Fashion appeared to Kelvin as a world of possibilities where he could express himself in multiple ways, telling untold stories through his own eyes. After meeting Marcos in 2016, he moved to São Paulo to develop his work in fashion, at which point they decided to unite their visions and creating the duo

( Informations took from their official website )

#people of color in fashion history

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coltrainbat · 1 year

Note

Do you think you could write about short sized! Reader working for Bruce banner as a lab assistant and Steve has a total crush on her.

Get A Life

You sat comfortably at your desk, analysing recent data on your computer screen. To an everyday person what would look like a jumbled mix of numbers and symbols to you made perfect sense.

“Bruceee.”

“Ah-huh.” He responded, eye deep into a telescope.

“The optimal temperature for nuclear reaction is…”

“100 million Kelvin… depends.”

“Figured.” You grumbled, nibbling on the end of a pen.

He rose from his stool, moving towards your desk and minimising the screen.

“This might sound hypocritical coming from me, but you need to get a social life.”

You re-opened the screen, eyes zoning in on him “This is social.” Gesturing between you both.

“No this is work.” He minimised the screen again.

“It’s a hobby.” You re-opened it,

“That you get paid to do.” He minimised the screen once more.

Before you could continue your game of cat and mouse, a knock at the door caused both your heads to rise.

“Sorry to interrupt I just came to drop off these documents for Y/N.”

Your eyes darted up to the large frame leaning against the door, his blue eyes never leaving yours as he offered a soft smile, holding a thick manilla folder in his hands like it was nothing.

“Oh yeah, okay, I was just about to go.” Bruce rose, walking past Steve.

Bruce raised his pointer finger at Steve, leaning in close and whispering while you were distracted by the screen in front of you “I…MIT won’t stop calling desperate for her to join so don’t… you know because I will go Hulk on your ass.”

Steve gave him a respectful nod “I won’t.”

“Good.” With a slap on the shoulder Bruce made his way out.

Steve stalked towards you, placing the folder on your desk with a thud.

You skim through the contents only to find blank pages.

“These are all blank?”

“Yes, they are.”

“What… why would you… what?”

Steve’s hand rubbed the back of his head “I just wanted an excuse to come see you.” He smiled at you sheepishly.

You sighed, rising from your desk making your way to the chemical cupboard with Steve close on your tail.

“I’m in the middle of making universe altering research breakthroughs Steven.” You thumbed through the walls of vials and chemicals.

Steven. Only you called him Steven. Not Rogers. Not Captain. Steven. And while he’d choke out anyone else who called him that besides his mother, he loved hearing his name fall from your lips.

“Which is why I think you deserved a break.”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me talking breaks around here?”

“Because you work the hardest.” You momentarily paused, turning your head over your shoulder, catching the sincerity on his face.

“I’m not a superhero.” You shook your head.

“You are, in a way…” He moved forward coming behind you as you reached upwards, pushing your weight onto your tippy toes to reach the container on the top shelf, your fingertips barely brushing it. Even in heeled boots you couldn’t even reach.

With a swift motion, he placed his hand on your hip to pull you back slightly, raising his toned arm and grabbing the container effortlessly and handing it to you.

“I can’t even reach the top shelf.” Blush rose to your cheek at the feeling of his body so close to you.

“Yes, but even superhero need help sometimes and more importantly… lives.”

“I have a life!” You moved out of his reach going back towards your desk.

“When was the last time you had a beer with us? Or didn’t go into the lab for a day? Or went on a date?” He spat out.

You paused, turning on your heels, eyeing him.

“What do you want?” You said bluntly, crossing your arms over your full chest.

You were annoyed and he could tell. But he was absolutely obsessed with the way you looked in this moment, eyes piercing right into his soul through your glasses, your hair in a claw clip with strands sticking out and falling over your face. The tapping on your boot against the linoleum floor and the way your arms crossed pushed your chest together revealing a small sight of cleavage under your sweater.

He shouldn’t have found it as sexy as he did.

“I’d like you to take a break…”

You went to interject him and give him a 1000 reasons why you wouldn’t take a break until he finished…

“So, I can take you on a date.”

Your mouth fell agape but you were quick to recover with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Do you want me to warm up the CAT scan? Seems your brain has turned to mush from being in the ice so long.”

“Y/N please.”

“Steven, I don’t date.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not scientific and it’s not logical, it’s unexplainable nonsense that drives women to insanity.”

He crooked an eyebrow up at you. “I don’t think you could get more insane than you already are if that helps.”

You rubbed your temples turning on your heels to go back to your desk until you felt a strong hang grab your wrist and pull you back into a hard chest.

“Y/N, I see what you do day in day out for this team, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. But I also see how when you’re focused your eyebrows knot together, how I know which pencils are yours because of the bite marks on ends, how at the end of every day you let your hair fall out and you shake it with your hands, how the sweat drips down your chest and soaks your sports bras in the gym, how when you make a sly comment everyone laughs because you’re funny without realising and I can’t stop looking at you and I won’t but I desperately want to see what’s in your mind behind formulas and data because I know there’s more to you than that so if you would give me the pleasure I really REALLY want to be the social life you so desperately need. I see you, more than you know. And while it may not be mathematical, it makes perfectly calculated sense to me.”

You sucked in your lips, emotions swelling inside of you. His head bowed towards you, foreheads touching.

“Please.”

You nodded unable to form words as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you in as his lips lightly brushed yours, forcing you to relax in his grip and reciprocate the tender kiss.

“I’ll see you at 7pm - don’t be late.” He gave you final kiss on your forehead, walking out with a beaming smile.

Leaving you in shock as you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding in and warmth spread throughout your body.

#steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers au #captain america #steve rogers x you

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yns-world · 1 year

Text

goddess

pairing: sotf cannibal tribe x fem!reader

warnings: standard sotf stuff— cannibals, death, violence, etc; nsfw under the cut

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: this is a self-indulgent fic and i’m kinda shocked that there isn’t any fics for these cannibal men 😫

you originally wanted to enjoy a beautiful vacation on a neighboring island, and one of the exclusive leisures provided there was a helicopter tour of the nearby islands

oh, how the dreamy vacation would turn into a nightmare.

a bullet shot through the pilot’s window, instantly killing him

the helicopter crashed in the sea, and you would’ve drowned if kelvin didn’t drag you back to shore

although he had sustained more injuries, kelvin and his military training kicked in as he began prepping shelter and starting a fire

the crackling wood of the fire cloaked the sounds of the predators in the forest, but by the time the first arrow was shot, it was already too late.

kelvin was killed, and your head whipped around as you frantically tried to hide— but where? this was an open beach and all you had was the ocean behind you.

a handful of flesh-covered men approached kelvin’s body, butchering him like food

one of them— a burly man covered in war paint— locked eyes on your form and you were terrified

under his animalistic stare, all you could was crumble to the ground and cry as you tried to accept your fate

but what he saw wasn’t another meal— no, what he saw was much, much more. and the rest of the group saw it too.

there was an ethereal beauty radiating off you as you sat on the sand; your white summer dress drenched in salt water, that same salt water dripping from your hair. your bulbous eyes wide in shock and fear, tears cascading down your cheeks to meet and intertwine with the water droplets on your face.

if they were human, then you were a goddess.

the first man was the one to stride towards you, scooping you up in his arms and carried you back to the camp

at the said camp, you were gently placed at a throne made of human flesh and bones, but the sight of it just made you cry even more. you were utterly horrified and your throat was sore.

the men— if you could call them that— knew you were thirsty and hungry, so they offered you bowls of blood and human flesh, but you wouldn’t take it.

a smaller man— someone who couldn’t be older than 22— offered you a handful of berries and you hesitantly accepted it.

over the next few weeks, you were vigilant of your captors. you observed their cannibalistic habits and rituals and didn’t take any part of it.

despite your protests to their way of life, you didn’t make a real effort to escape from their fort. without their food and shelter, you wouldn’t survive a day out there. and as much as it makes you sick to think about it, it’s somewhat better to be around other…humans, you guess.

they barely spoke, mainly communicating through grunts, groans, and absurd yelling, but their point was always made.

over this time, their behavior towards you became gentler, fonder even. less and less of the other campers would eye you out of hunger, and would leave offerings at your feet.

that’s when you began to understand their treatment— they were worshipping you as their god.

before your appearance, there was no real community holding them together, it was every man for himself. but after you, there were whole rituals, songs, and dances dedicated in your honor.

of course, most of them involved the use of human remnants, but you would grow tolerant of this fact. after all, it was them who idolized you and they were worshipping you the only way they knew how.

this tribe of people believed that you were the goddess of life, a representation of mother nature that has come to them in human form.

between them, it is believed that your emotions control the weather; that your utter kindness towards flora and fauna has to be protected and cherished.

eventually, word of your stay would spread to other tribes over the island— to the tribes of the outer beaches and the clans of the caves— and while some were docile and obedient in your reign, others saw this as a challenge to their way of life.

although rare, there would be attempts to hunt and kill you. to these select few, you were seen as a threat.

but you understood where they were coming from, and your sympathy for these cruel men just enhanced the island’s adoration for you— because who else than a merciful god would forgive those who want her dead?

among food, flowers, and other items found on the island, some of the islanders had other ideas as offerings.

nsfw under this point

specifically, the warrior-led men offered up their bodies to you in a way to please you— sexually.

at first, you found it grotesque and rude.

but when you looked at it from their point of view, these were men who had no real sexual experience nor have they felt the love of another person.

your first sexual partner was with the man that had found you on the beach and he was surprisingly gentle.

he sat in front of you, legs wide open with his cock on full display—hard and swollen— but he didn’t make any moves. he stared at you patiently, letting you control the narrative.

you brought your hand to his cock, gently stroking it and that elicited a groan from him that you never heard before

in just a few strokes, he was already leaking with precum, and the sight of him was making you wet

foreplay thrown out of the window, you straddled his lap and lined yourself with his tip, before slowly lowering onto him.

to him, it was painstakingly slow, but he knew better than to lose control and scare you off. so all he could do to cope was grip your thighs with his meaty hands and in that moment he lost it.

the feeling of your soft, succulent flesh in his hands sent him spiraling and he instantly came in your womb. but he was far from done.

after your first sexual encounter, he would soon become a regular body worshipper, but soon others would want to experiment.

there were a variety of worshippers that would come to you—some simply masturbated to the sight of you, while others just wanted to taste the fruit— both literally and figuratively.

there would be some men who’s one true wish is to die eating you out, while others just want to lick the sweet sweat off your skin and bite down on your flesh.

the latter group of people would be under the watchful eye of your original captor (or as you’d like to think, your own bodyguard)

but you found pleasure from all your worshippers. through this practice of relieving their sexual tension, there was a noticeable change in temperaments.

also through this practice, you demonstrated to them what unconditional love and affection truly was— something they had never felt.

after each session, you would bring them close, caress them, sing them a sweet lullaby— whatever their hearts needed at the moment to bring them ease.

even outside of sex, you would offer your love and affection to any and everyone.

to them, you were their goddess.

to you, you felt like a well-protected and well-loved individual.

if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging since that helps my account more than likes :)

don't be a ghost reader!! tell me your thoughts :) i love talking with y'all <3

check my pinned post for request and commission rules if you wish to request anything :)

#yns world #sons of the forest #sotf #the forest #sons of the forest x reader #sotf x reader #sotf kelvin #sotf fanfiction #sotf kelvin x reader #sons of the forest kelvin x reader

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stra-tek · 4 months

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"We pulled your mother's dildo from the wreck of the Kelvin, Jim."

Pic source: aosdailybts

#star trek #star trek aos #star trek 2009 #kelvin timeline #aos scotty #aos kirk #i'm sorry everyone

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wen-kexing-apologist · 3 months

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Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

Had a busy couple weeks, but here I am, returning to @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus. I am currently working my way through Unit 4: Heartbreak Alley, the totally light-hearted, definitely not agonizing section of the syllabus where I get to watch countless acts of violence be committed against queer people. Thank fuck I have Lesbians waiting for me at the end of this unit. The films in Unit 4 are: Bent (1997), Strange Fruit (2004), Boys Don’t Cry (1999), Brokeback Mountain (2005), Parting Glances (1986), Philadelphia (1993), The Living End (1992), Holding the Man (2015), Jeffery (1995), and Boys on the Side (1995).

Today I will be writing about

Strange Fruit (2004) dir. Kyle Schickner

[Run Time: 88 min, Available: had to purchase a DVD, Language: English]

Content Warning: lynching, racism, homophobia, rape, violence/gore

Summary: A New York attorney must return home to Louisiana to investigate the death of a childhood friend who, like Boyals himself, was both black and gay.

Cast:

Kyle Faulcon as William Boyals

Berlinda Tolbert as Emma Ayers

Well.

First of all, I guess, a thank you to @bengiyo is in order for discovering that Strange Fruit was available on DVD so that I was actually able to watch it. This has joined the likes of Mysterious Skin on my ‘definitely something I needed to watch, but can probably never watch again” list.

I want to warn anyone that is considering finding this film and watching it that it starts with a lynching. I…. I’m not sure I have the words. Not to get too real on main, but I have some pretty major trauma related to hangings, and I am just desperately glad that I did not watch this last week, as that was the anniversary and I am not confident I would have been able to finish this film. As it is I have been sitting in complete and utter silence since finishing the movie because a) holy shit b) the rope burns on his neck c) holy shit.

How do you watch a film like this knowing that lynchings still happen all the time? How do you watch a film where a gay Black man in a small, rural country town is brutally beaten, raped with a branch, and hung from a tree on screen while knowing that just last week a Black man was found hanging from a tree in a small, rural country town? For a movie that was filmed on a budget of only $250,000 (according to Wikipedia, the director was offered 6 million if he didn’t make the lead character both Black and gay and he turned it down) it is absolutely packed with very important, nuanced social commentary around queerness, around race, around homophobia in general and homophobia within the Black community specifically, around how the police uphold power, around the relationship between intellectualism and the South, and around how the queer community survives.

(sorry for the abysmal photo quality, there are no photos of this film and I watched it on my TV so I was not able to take screen shots)

For as cheaply as it was made it packs a motherfucking punch let me tell you, watching Kelvin scream for help, call for his mother, was just gut wrenching. Watching William desperately plead with the Black men who were lynching him not to do so because they were perpetuating the cycle of violence done by white men to black men not that long ago. How some Black men were fine with that because Kelvin, because William were faggots. How others killed themselves when the dust settled, understanding the realities of what they had done. The speech at the grocery story between Mrs. Ayers and Mrs. Boyals about how desperately Mrs. Ayers had wanted to disown Kelvin for being gay and how grateful she was that she hadn’t because she lost Kelvin too young.

The way small town loyalties and small town fears intersect, Matthew being so grateful that William protected him all the way back in fifth grade that he went against the orders of the other cops to tell William everything he knew, and how he was so afraid to be considered a homosexual if he stood up for a queer man. The way Sheriff Jensey was a racist, homophobic piece of flaming dog shit who still was doing everything he could to prevent people from knowing his nephew was gay. How he was reduced to ground meat for it. (Though, he can die, I have no remorse for him whatsoever). The way Mrs. Ayers calls out the fact that William can pass as straight but Kelvin couldn’t. The way that the queer community was silent in the wake of Kelvin’s death because that was the only way to guarantee the survival of community pillars. The fact that there was no new coverage of Kelvin’s death that we could see, but when the white man was lynched, there were news trucks all over the place because someone in power was affected.

And perhaps my favorite example, Duane, who refuses to step foot in a gay bar for fear of looking gay when he first starts investigating his brother’s murder with William who is ready to throw hands at Sheriff Jensey’s nephew when he makes a homophobic comment, putting his parole at risk, who ends the film driving around in William’s rental car which has the word Faggot spray painted on the back. The way he was angry at William for the stupid, elitist shit he was saying, about how everyone in Louisiana had an IQ below 80, how he refused to call this place his home anymore. Duance handled those moments so beautifully. There are so many important scenes in this film, I don’t think I can count this one as my favorite, but I do need to acknowledge how happy I was that Strange Fruit let a Black man cry on screen. Like, so much of Kelvin’s murder, and William’s attempted murder was incredibly upsetting, but I felt very deep in my soul the pain, the grief, the nausea that Duane must have been feeling looking at the memorial to his brother at his murder site.

I know because (again to get too real) for every day for months after my hanging related trauma I had to walk past a memorial for the person who passed, and let me tell you that shit was fucking brutal.

There is so much more that could be said about this movie, but genuinely, I cannot find the words. The production team knew what they were doing when they didn’t put a backing track on the end credits, opting for a silence that was interrupted by only the chirping of crickets. Because that is what this movie is, that is what this movie does. I am not exaggerating when I say that the only thing I could do for thirty minutes after the screen went to black, was just sit on my couch, frozen, and feel the weight of the silence around me.

Favorite Moment

I talked about this a bit above but my favorite moment in Strange Fruit is when Mrs. Ayers and Mrs. Boyals run in to each other in the supermarket and Mrs. Ayers gives a very passive aggressively polite talking to to Mrs. Boyals about her homophobia, trying to get her to go back on her decision to disown William after finding out he was gay. I do think it is vitally important that we get a scene where a mother of a queer son, who just lost her child because of it, is able to admit that she struggled with his sexuality, that she desperately wanted to be rid of Kelvin, that she desperately wanted to forget he even existed. The way she was spared from having a major regret in her life because she ultimately did not do that. She lost Kelvin when he was too young, she understands at a cellular level the precious nature of time, and how easily it can be squandered and she is trying to spare Mrs. Boyals from that pain. I appreciate it strikes enough of a chord with Mrs. Boyals that she attempts to visit William at the hospital, even if ultimately she is not able to make it through the doorway to his room.

Favorite Quote

“See that’s the thing about the bayou, no matter how much you try to push it back ‘ventually it’s gonna claim what belong to it. This is where you from man. This is where home is. Don’t matter how many degrees you got, you country.”

As a Southerner who did flee North, Duane’s words are still ring true. Even when my home state wants to dispose of people like me, even when states I have called home express their hatred of people like me, there is still a part of me that feels the emptiness of being away from home. I miss the mangroves, I miss the mountains, I miss the food, I miss the people I love who love me. It feels impossible to have the type of community I had back home up where I am now, and I am trying as hard as I can to cultivate it. I just love this line so much because I think it is important to remember where you came from, especially because William just before this was insulting the intelligence of people in the South, his people, from his home. I’m really glad he apologized for that.

Score

8.5/10

If this was a grade based on just emotional manipulation, the film would get a 10 cause...fuck. But structurally I think it's probably like a 7 or an 8 so I am gonna give it an 8.5.

#bengiyo queer cinema syllabus #bengiyo queer media syllabus #queer cinema syllabus #strange fruit #strange fruit (2004)#strange fruit the movie #unit 4: heartbreak alley

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