Of Pomegranate Petals (A January 2014 Thread)
Spain. Sochi had visited the beautiful countryside once before. While it had been nearly three years since he’d visited on his year off before attending university, the fragrance of the clay brick road still damp from the passing rain along with the sights of small shops and street vendors made him feel at peace for the first time in almost a year.
A couple days earlier, Sochi’d been discharged from the hospital, the injuries he received from his “break-up” with his ex-boyfriend had all but recovered, but inside he still felt too damaged to spend anytime alone with himself. Going home and waiting for the semester to start, his dance classes and theater rehearsals to begin, and the impending court dates to arrive just wasn’t an option. On a whim--or maybe not much of a whim at all--spending a week in Spain seemed like the better alternative.
Munching on a croquette that he’d bought from a vendor on the corner, he weaved his way through the streets, avoiding places with a lot of people. Before he’d arrived, he’d sent an e-mail to a retired flamenco dancer he’d stayed with during his backpacking trip, and she’d graciously agreed to let him stay with her this week. Popping the rest of the croquette in his mouth, he caught the sweet scent of flowers, deciding to himself that getting his hostess a bouquet would be proper at the very least and turning off the main road to enter a small flower shop to purchase the perfect gift.
