Marmite by JP Richards

Ing threw back her head, laughing at the wind.

****“I know what it means,” she shouted, every breath a cloud, every thought a little death.

****Evi gazed up at her, marvelling at her freedom, the smooth sea parting below them like a promising kiss.

****“Why so happy?” she called, the yacht tacking to starboard, bright Caribbean sun hurling splinters of light at dancing waves.

****Ing sat astride the main spar, the white sail billowing before her, as though she alone was breathing their passage forward. Below her Evi’s hair glowed golden, her deft hands piloting the vessel.

****“Because I know what it means, what it really means,” she yelled, huge eyes sparkling.

****Climbing down onto the deck, she skipped behind Evi, sloppily kissing her neck.

****Evi laughed gently, one hand on the mahogany wheel. “You’re stoned.”

****Ing danced away, pirouetting, her arms flung wide. “I’m high as god,” she sang. “Higher, because he’s paste.” She flopped breathlessly onto the deck. With her back to the cabin, she smiled crookedly.

****“What?”  Evi asked, gazing down at her gorgeously unhinged wife.

****“Life,” Ing explained, her face a beatific mess of confused revelation, “is a god sandwich.”

****“It is?”

****Ing leant forward conspiratorially, holding her chin. “The universe is constantly expanding, like dough. But it’s also pulling apart – so gods in the middle, holding the pieces together. gods….” she’d lost her thought, brows colliding.

****“gods what?”

****Ing’s unfocused eyes suddenly beamed transcendent triumph. She leant closer. Reverentially she whispered, “god is cosmic Marmite.”

JP Richards writes sci-fi and flash fiction, some of it interesting. He lives on a island off North Wales, with a cat.

@thegod10101

Image couresy of JP Richards

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