florencía

046

BITTER

"You okay mama?"
Cameras shutter, lights flicker, voices all array, but only one struck her intrigued.

"th-there's a lot of parents and teachers."
Sultriness of D.R.'s finest whispers escapades the circumscribing ambience, the openness beginning to resonate with an ill bitterness that aroused the curiosity of the atmosphere's most notorious authoritarians. The openness of the foreign bringing a sense of a coolness to the body that overheated with a sudden burst of loathe and intimidation that spoke to the hearth of H&H Learning Center. The preschool hosted the anxiousness of the Dominican Republic native vixen, bringing a passionate solace to the way she revels in the praises of her daughter and her family; the captivation that cultivated the allure of the heightened intensity of her daughter's inhospitable resting face and similar it was to that of her very own, the warmth of her alluring motherliness and it's submissiveness to the way the fluttering lights struck her existence spoke of her accustomed awareness to the world that functioned around the body that posed nervously for the lens that flickered to capture the essence of her posture posing with her daughter and her father. Her flesh glimmered like glitter under the harsh beam of the sun, the shimmering gold of her smooth flesh annexing to the intimidation that was her existence as a vicious embodiment of anxiety, of nervousness and captivation beneath the white cotton that clad her from its fitted embellishment of her body. It hugs her body with a soft touch of expression that annexed to the way her body moved to assure the commamnding voices of the teachers and administrators of her comprehension of what they sought out from the elasticity of her body behind the shuttering of their lenses and smiling faces. They capture her in her divinity as mother and as a creator nervous to eventually have to let go of the hand that held on just as tightly to her own, her aura exuding wholly into the atmosphere of the hallway, her body a sacred temple of foreignness and radiant beauty that cried serene operas into the cameras that flickered upon it, the lights that kissed upon it and under the people that gawked at the undeniable beauty of the native damsel. Her features were constructed for recognition, having had a face that posed for the eyes of the public as a lover and a hater of the people who adored her so.

"Such a beautiful little girl— such a beautiful family." Praised the gratified voices of passers, the eyes behind the cameras; the consumptive pupils that soon contracted with the static action they sought out in the subtle widening of the formerly sultry eyes shifting into something of a lost puppy, a fawn, a soft and submissive woman of her dominating nature begging for the offerings of another though she would never present herself in such a manner anywhere beyond the camera that captured her in time and space. There were times when her day job as a mother haunted her, bringing her a sense of foreignness that revoked her a sense of belonging, ripping her mind a sense of entitlement to the mind and body she flaunted for the eyes of the world as a ways to keep them away from the persona that became of her entitlement when those eyes closed and heads laid to rest, when the world laid to rest and the sun fluttered behind the skyline and her name became a mere conception of who she used to be as all anyone knew was who she had become. The pressure of the double lives haunted her, the pressure of keeping one a secret from the eyes of the other while exploiting herself in ways that had granted the world the greedy access to the temple she'd keep sacred for the inanimate eyes that stared up at her from their final breaking of their captured hand at the bidding of the ticking clock. eight-fifty-seven.