Stockholm in december, frozen.
Silence eating her. Icicled she stirred her tea.

Just a week ago she’d felt selected. Unique.

Her dreams were coming true. Only the audition first.
She could act and get the part.

There had been rumors, gossip, talk of course —
but she had shrugged and called it envy.

He had been polite.
Kissed her hand, and complimented her on how she read the part
       and on her looks.

Then cold and dry — his hands, the couch, his threats and lies.

She fell and hid; unplugged her phone.

She stirred her tea again.

Me too.

As soon as I saw the picture I knew that I wanted to use icicle as a verb, and from that the story grew. For a man it’s of course almost impossible to understand how it feels to be raped by the sexual predators that men of power seems to be sometimes. So my apologies for any misunderstandings.

Friday Fictioneers is a community of bloggers who write 100 word fiction on the same photo each week. Rochelle leads and set the bar.

For those interested in online poetry I would like to tell you that we are soon making the dVerse anthology available for ordering from Amazon. I received the proof today and will do the final checks before sending it for printing.

Stay tuned.
December 6, 2017

42 responses to “Icicled

  1. This is brilliant, Björn — and sadly it will probably ring familiar for at least a few of your readers. Thank you for sharing it here.

  2. No need for apologies – you’ve turned a sensitive, delicate touch to one of the hardest of subjects to write about. Kudos for writing this so very well

  3. A very topical poem. I hope the awareness of this issue isn’t brushed back under the carpet and thought to be resolved, just because people openly talked about it once. Great poem!

  4. Both deft and sensitive. And how good to be so well reminded that there are men of empathy, who see women as people.

  5. Bjorn, you have captured it very well, and thank you for writing to this issue. I hope you will link it at Toads…it is perfect.

    I am excited about the anthology, cant wait to order one. Congratulations. I know putting an anthology together is a big job! It looks wonderful!

  6. Very appropriate for the time we live in. In conversations with friends it has become a chorus of “Me Too”. Shocking!!! People used to just bury this. Not anymore, thank goodness.

  7. A nice reading shedding light on the proverbial “casting couch”. We’ll never know all that passed on this route to stardom. The scars often don’t show. I haven’t decided on writing or not on this with the Toads. . ALL women should.

  8. Henceforth ‘icicled’ will be a verb in my mind – so aptly does it convey the emotional shutdown of any human being who has been subject to abuse. Your story is so on point!

  9. What a mind-blowing tale. The unfortunate reality of many.
    Thank you Bjorn for the power of your words. Must make a difference somewhere.

  10. You are our resident honorary feminist, Bjorn, and have expressed your feelings about ‘Me too’ perfectly. I especially enjoyed the lines:
    ‘Silence eating her. Icicled she stirred her tea’
    and .
    the way you hurried over the salacious details which can imagine so well:
    ‘Then cold and dry — his hands, the couch, his threats and lies’.

  11. I love the subtlety here, the hints at how devastating the experience was, how she holds herself silent and frozen and alone after plummeting from such hope, such happiness. Well done. And I liked the use of “icicle” as a verb, too.

  12. The aspect of this piece that most strikes me is the way you capture the emotional coldness at the heart of this man’s despicable act. You have him showing no warmth, not even the diseased heat of lust. A very chilling rape indeed; a pure demand for absolute submission. No wonder the victim is traumatised.

  13. Your use of ‘Icicled’ is very impactful. I think it really speaks to the state that whistle-blowers often find themselves in.

  14. I think you did a fine job of it. Becoming frozen can be much more preferable sometimes, just to shield yourself a little from the awfulness.

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