Four brothers. Timeless.
It was different than being endless, because their existence was guaranteed as long as the earth continued its meandering rotation around the sun. When this ceased...then the concept of time would also be gone, and the Timeless would end just as the earth did.
There were many Timeless; the sisters of the oceans, the keepers of the continents, the spirits of the holidays...it goes on and on. But without a doubt, the most powerful were the four brothers who kept the seasons.
The eldest brother was William, the keeper of winter. He was a man with silver hair, and intense, light gray eyes. His skin was pale and unblemished, his features in sharp definition. Always, the presence of cold, piercing wind surrounded him. One could say he was the most responsible of them all, one could call him the sternest... But these things did not make him who he was; he had a deep love of his brothers, a comfortable camaraderie with the other Timeless. His heart was, despite all outer appearances, warm.
Frederick was the keeper of fall, and the youngest of the brothers. With a decidedly mild temperament, he always seemed to have his spirits up, if not in a good mood in general. Auburn hair and dark green eyes seemed enigmatic, but his intrinsic joy was infectious to those around him. With skin neither pale nor dark, skin that just was, it made sense that Frederick was just Frederick, and that's all there was to it.
The middling brothers were twins. They were almost opposites in nature.
Samuel was the keeper of spring, and his twin's senior. Prone to mood swings and unreasonable fits of sadness and anger, he was most certainly the most expressive of his brothers. Most often he switched between cautious optimism and melancholy. His hair was such a light brown as to almost be blonde, and his eyes were an unflinching hazel. There was a certain fragility to his gestures and features, and often times his brothers were rather over-protective, even Frederick who was younger.
Then his opposite, Simon, kept summer. Simon was over-flowing with life. Strawberry blonde hair and dancing blue eyes kept he and William as contenders for most handsome brother. While normally one would say Simon had merely average features, they were enhanced by his mischievous, joking nature. There was no doubt that despite Frederick's perpetual good mood, Simon was truly the happiest of them all.
Together, the four brothers kept the seasons across the world on track. Their actions and presence managed growing seasons and heralded the advent of holidays. Of all the Timeless, they were the most active, and upon closer inspection, the most powerful.
They were not endless, but they were indeed Timeless.
Down the Rabbit Hole, pt.1
Friday, December 4, 2015
It ticked and ticked and ticked. Always, incessant, monotonous, mocking.
It ticked and ticked and ticked, and it was driving him insane.
Haigha was far more resilient than they'd counted on. How many operations had been administered? But still, he wasn't any closer to insane than when they began. A little crazier, perhaps, but not insane, and the difference between the two was an important distinction at this juncture.
"Ticktockticktockticktock..." He had been rocking back and forth in his cubicle for days, repeating the same phrase over and over again. No, he wasn't insane, but this was evidence for his particular craziness. Ever since she had left, he had become obsessed with clocks.
Mary Ann stood a few feet behind her Master, hands clasped stiffly behind her back, shoulders down and posture straight. Though she was officially his housekeeper, she often performed many other services for her Master, and lover. She had learned the hard way that leaving him to his own devices led to scenes just like the one before her.
From the one way glass, she saw the slow break down of the hare before them. Surely Hatta could have done better by now? In her eyes, he was incompetent. He was far too mad to be inducing madness in others. Yet her Master still chose him for the job.
"It's necessary. We have to get back," her Master said, as if he could read her thoughts. "If he is intact when she returns, it will inevitably lead to the same conclusion as before. I won't let that happen."
Mary Ann said nothing, simply stood there in silence.
Ticktockticktockticktock...
Alice stood in front of her mirror, and grimaced.
Sometimes, her memories of Wonderland and that damned looking glass felt like a crazy, hazy dream. A fantastical story dreamed up one day in the summer heat with Dinah and her sister. Then she would feel the weight of the pocket watch against her chest, the rub of the chain around her neck, and the promise it contained. It had all been real.
Sometimes, she thought of the one she loved and lost. Most days, she attempted to be a normal woman, a difficult affair for her. Ever since the incident with the Red King and White Queen, her complexion had paled considerably. Before she left, they had said it was because her powers were now fully in effect, but she didn't feel powerful. After all, she had been married off to a jewel maker, but the nights were cold and lonely, and she didn't love him nor he her. Her younger sister had been married, but her marriage had been to a duke and the two had indeed fallen madly in love.
Sometimes, that made her very jealous.
"Alice!" An angry shout sounded up to the second floor.
"A moment, dearest." Alice sighed. Straightening her hair, she readjusted her resigned posture to a proper lady's form, and carefully made her way down the narrow stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, her husband stared at her with angry, clouded eyes. The stranger on the threshold had yet to look at her, and Alice wondered who on earth it could possibly be.
"We have a visitor. He says he knows you."
"Oh?" Alice frowned. She couldn't think of any local man who would come disturb her husband by calling on her. His expression let her know that he would want to beat her later, but like always, she would stay his hand. She wasn't going to tolerate such vile behavior in a husband, despite their mutual dislike for one another.
"Set us up some tea, would you?"
"Yes, dear."
In the kitchen, she mused to herself, "who could that man have been? He refused to let me take a good look at him."
With everything prepared, she moved into the parlor, but when she saw who their visitor was, she nearly dropped the tray.
The White Knight, Geoff, stood by the mantle, his eyes fixated on the portrait of Alice and her husband that had been done shortly after their marriage. There was a look of distaste on his features, visible revulsion. However, when he heard her entry and saw her, he smiled.
After returning home from her time in Wonderland, she had eventually calculated that he had to have been in his 30s. Now he stood before her in his 50s. Time had not made him any less handsome, but it had indeed aged him. The joyful smile he gave lessened the age of his face, making him look young again, like so many years ago.
"Alice, m'lady, so good to see you once more," he greeted formally. Quickly, he took the tea tray from her, and balancing it on one hand, stooped to grasp her hand and bestow a kiss on the back of it. Blush heated her cheeks, and she knew her husband had to be glaring at her.
"W-what are you doing here?" It wasn't often that Alice had difficulty finding words, but this was an unprecedented situation.
"A way has been devised to return you home." He said it so matter-of-factly. Home. It was, wasn't it? She was supposedly the true inheritor of the kingdom, owning the considerable power the position came with. She had only left because she couldn't bear to leave her mother and sister without even the faintest goodbye. Her love had helped her find a way back home, even though he knew it meant he may never see her again. That was love. It killed her to leave him, but she had to. She hadn't thought it possible to return. Could she? Truly?
"How?" She asked breathlessly. Her husband scowled.
"Alice!" He thundered. "What manner of nonsense is this?!" He staggered backward as the sharp tip of a sword was suddenly prodding his throat.
"Take care how you address her, sir. I would be rather put out to cut you down." By his tone, she knew he was lying. He would be rather pleased to kill her husband.
"You've yet to answer my question," she said softly.
"The rabbit, m'lady. He can open a gate."
She sucked in a breath. So the rabbit was back to his old machinations, was he? She had never disliked him, in fact she had become rather fond of him near the end, but she knew better than to trust his motivations when she wasn't around to monitor him.
"What do I have to do?"
"Just continue what you're doing now; stand there and look pretty."
Her husband spluttered angrily, but his loud words merely faded to background noise as Alice thought of her home.
"Is he alright?" Alice knew Geoff would immediately know who she meant.
"I...I'm not sure," he admitted, a bit ashamedly. "No one has seen him for a while now."
"Oh."
The silence turned to one of sadness as they waited. Then, the floor began to cave in, right in the center, but in a perfect circle. Once it had formed, well away from the three in the parlor who had stepped to the edges of the room, Alice peered down. It was the same as before! The rabbit tunnel seemed to go on forever and ever into darkness.
"After you," Geoff gestured. Alice nodded.
Then she took the leap.
When the gate finished opening, the rabbit sighed deeply. He went limp, slumping back in his chair, and relaxed.
It took a toll, coordinating and opening gates, and rarely did the right circumstances come together for such an event. The denizens of Wonderland were lucky. They needed their Alice, lest the magic of the kingdom die.
Mary Ann began to rub his shoulders soothingly.
Being the last Guide was such a busy way of living. He controlled the traffic to and from Wonderland, and when Alice had first arrived, he led her through the journey meant to ultimately prove her power over Wonderland. Resting his chin upon one furred hand, he closed his eyes.
"My dear..." He said softly.
"Hmmm?"
"Do you think our guest has been sufficiently broken?"
For the briefest second, Mary Ann's hands paused as she mulled over his question, then they went back to stroking his shoulders. "Yes. The hatter finally found the way to break him. He should be no trouble at all."
"Good," he sighed in relief.
Alright, so technically, he wasn't the last Guide. His cousin was a Guide as well, but the destruction of his mental faculties meant he would be unable to control his power. Power that was greater than the rabbit's own, and aggravated him to no end.
Their Alice would not leave again, the white rabbit made sure of that.
It ticked and ticked and ticked, and it was driving him insane.
Haigha was far more resilient than they'd counted on. How many operations had been administered? But still, he wasn't any closer to insane than when they began. A little crazier, perhaps, but not insane, and the difference between the two was an important distinction at this juncture.
"Ticktockticktockticktock..." He had been rocking back and forth in his cubicle for days, repeating the same phrase over and over again. No, he wasn't insane, but this was evidence for his particular craziness. Ever since she had left, he had become obsessed with clocks.
Mary Ann stood a few feet behind her Master, hands clasped stiffly behind her back, shoulders down and posture straight. Though she was officially his housekeeper, she often performed many other services for her Master, and lover. She had learned the hard way that leaving him to his own devices led to scenes just like the one before her.
From the one way glass, she saw the slow break down of the hare before them. Surely Hatta could have done better by now? In her eyes, he was incompetent. He was far too mad to be inducing madness in others. Yet her Master still chose him for the job.
"It's necessary. We have to get back," her Master said, as if he could read her thoughts. "If he is intact when she returns, it will inevitably lead to the same conclusion as before. I won't let that happen."
Mary Ann said nothing, simply stood there in silence.
Ticktockticktockticktock...
Alice stood in front of her mirror, and grimaced.
Sometimes, her memories of Wonderland and that damned looking glass felt like a crazy, hazy dream. A fantastical story dreamed up one day in the summer heat with Dinah and her sister. Then she would feel the weight of the pocket watch against her chest, the rub of the chain around her neck, and the promise it contained. It had all been real.
Sometimes, she thought of the one she loved and lost. Most days, she attempted to be a normal woman, a difficult affair for her. Ever since the incident with the Red King and White Queen, her complexion had paled considerably. Before she left, they had said it was because her powers were now fully in effect, but she didn't feel powerful. After all, she had been married off to a jewel maker, but the nights were cold and lonely, and she didn't love him nor he her. Her younger sister had been married, but her marriage had been to a duke and the two had indeed fallen madly in love.
Sometimes, that made her very jealous.
"Alice!" An angry shout sounded up to the second floor.
"A moment, dearest." Alice sighed. Straightening her hair, she readjusted her resigned posture to a proper lady's form, and carefully made her way down the narrow stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, her husband stared at her with angry, clouded eyes. The stranger on the threshold had yet to look at her, and Alice wondered who on earth it could possibly be.
"We have a visitor. He says he knows you."
"Oh?" Alice frowned. She couldn't think of any local man who would come disturb her husband by calling on her. His expression let her know that he would want to beat her later, but like always, she would stay his hand. She wasn't going to tolerate such vile behavior in a husband, despite their mutual dislike for one another.
"Set us up some tea, would you?"
"Yes, dear."
In the kitchen, she mused to herself, "who could that man have been? He refused to let me take a good look at him."
With everything prepared, she moved into the parlor, but when she saw who their visitor was, she nearly dropped the tray.
The White Knight, Geoff, stood by the mantle, his eyes fixated on the portrait of Alice and her husband that had been done shortly after their marriage. There was a look of distaste on his features, visible revulsion. However, when he heard her entry and saw her, he smiled.
After returning home from her time in Wonderland, she had eventually calculated that he had to have been in his 30s. Now he stood before her in his 50s. Time had not made him any less handsome, but it had indeed aged him. The joyful smile he gave lessened the age of his face, making him look young again, like so many years ago.
"Alice, m'lady, so good to see you once more," he greeted formally. Quickly, he took the tea tray from her, and balancing it on one hand, stooped to grasp her hand and bestow a kiss on the back of it. Blush heated her cheeks, and she knew her husband had to be glaring at her.
"W-what are you doing here?" It wasn't often that Alice had difficulty finding words, but this was an unprecedented situation.
"A way has been devised to return you home." He said it so matter-of-factly. Home. It was, wasn't it? She was supposedly the true inheritor of the kingdom, owning the considerable power the position came with. She had only left because she couldn't bear to leave her mother and sister without even the faintest goodbye. Her love had helped her find a way back home, even though he knew it meant he may never see her again. That was love. It killed her to leave him, but she had to. She hadn't thought it possible to return. Could she? Truly?
"How?" She asked breathlessly. Her husband scowled.
"Alice!" He thundered. "What manner of nonsense is this?!" He staggered backward as the sharp tip of a sword was suddenly prodding his throat.
"Take care how you address her, sir. I would be rather put out to cut you down." By his tone, she knew he was lying. He would be rather pleased to kill her husband.
"You've yet to answer my question," she said softly.
"The rabbit, m'lady. He can open a gate."
She sucked in a breath. So the rabbit was back to his old machinations, was he? She had never disliked him, in fact she had become rather fond of him near the end, but she knew better than to trust his motivations when she wasn't around to monitor him.
"What do I have to do?"
"Just continue what you're doing now; stand there and look pretty."
Her husband spluttered angrily, but his loud words merely faded to background noise as Alice thought of her home.
"Is he alright?" Alice knew Geoff would immediately know who she meant.
"I...I'm not sure," he admitted, a bit ashamedly. "No one has seen him for a while now."
"Oh."
The silence turned to one of sadness as they waited. Then, the floor began to cave in, right in the center, but in a perfect circle. Once it had formed, well away from the three in the parlor who had stepped to the edges of the room, Alice peered down. It was the same as before! The rabbit tunnel seemed to go on forever and ever into darkness.
"After you," Geoff gestured. Alice nodded.
Then she took the leap.
When the gate finished opening, the rabbit sighed deeply. He went limp, slumping back in his chair, and relaxed.
It took a toll, coordinating and opening gates, and rarely did the right circumstances come together for such an event. The denizens of Wonderland were lucky. They needed their Alice, lest the magic of the kingdom die.
Mary Ann began to rub his shoulders soothingly.
Being the last Guide was such a busy way of living. He controlled the traffic to and from Wonderland, and when Alice had first arrived, he led her through the journey meant to ultimately prove her power over Wonderland. Resting his chin upon one furred hand, he closed his eyes.
"My dear..." He said softly.
"Hmmm?"
"Do you think our guest has been sufficiently broken?"
For the briefest second, Mary Ann's hands paused as she mulled over his question, then they went back to stroking his shoulders. "Yes. The hatter finally found the way to break him. He should be no trouble at all."
"Good," he sighed in relief.
Alright, so technically, he wasn't the last Guide. His cousin was a Guide as well, but the destruction of his mental faculties meant he would be unable to control his power. Power that was greater than the rabbit's own, and aggravated him to no end.
Their Alice would not leave again, the white rabbit made sure of that.
A Ghost Girl's Shoe
Thursday, December 3, 2015
It took several days for anyone to notice.
She wasn't particularly disliked by anyone, but she had gotten used to a status of "invisible" a long time ago.
The first to notice was her English teacher. His star student's grades were suddenly dropping with no explanation, and then he checked the attendance: she hadn't been there in a week, a week with two essays due, and no explanation of her absence. Her other teachers looked at their own records, but it was more of the same. Their best student was slipping with no explanation but for not being in class for a week. The principal was alerted.
A phone call to the parents did nothing to assuage the school's concerns. The parents were surprised to hear this, and ventured into their daughter's room for the first time in seven years. It wasn't that they didn't care, but they didn't always have time for her - she had long ago become self-sufficient, used to making her own meals and doing the chores of the house, not that her parents would ever admit such a thing. Her room was in pristine condition but for the building layer of dust. The police were notified.
General unease had invaded the police department. A girl had gone missing and her parents hadn't noticed! At first, it seemed a standard runaway case, at least until they discovered she had perfect grades and test scores, had just aced her SAT and ACT. There was no obvious reason for her disappearance, no incriminating evidence on her computer or in her room.
Then he found the shoe.
Detective Monroe gingerly held the size 8 1/2 black high-top sneaker. Carefully turning it over in the light, he detected blood smudges and smears. The whole thing was a stroke of luck he had difficulty fathoming. The only reason he was here on the forest service road was to speak with some park rangers. No one thought it could be foul play,t here was no reason to think so, and so it was assumed she had gotten lost. He had meant to arrange a search party with the rangers, but after leaving his truck, had tripped over the shoe. The blood on it, the size, the oddity of the placement... It seemed it must be the missing girl's. This certainly hadn't been left by a bear or mountain lion, they didn't leave perfectly preserved shoes behind. It wasn't dirty as if dragged through the dirt, it wasn't torn or ripped up. No, this shoe had been knocked off of her foot, and left behind. Maybe the abductor hadn't noticed. Or maybe they hadn't cared.
After all, a whole week before her parents noticed, and on accident.
He pulled an evidence bag from his truck and carefully enclosed the shoe. Then, he called it in and headed back to the station. This screamed of something foul.
There was a line for entering in evidence. He took a seat in one of the old, brown department chairs, and waited. Sitting slightly forward, legs apart, he rested his forearms on the top of his thighs and took a close look at the shoe in the bag.
Was she scared? He wondered if she knew how long it would take for her absence to be noted. He wondered about the girl who seemed to be a ghost in her own life. Did she know her abductor? Did she think no one would find her? Where was she?
He wondered who she was as a person. Though the evidence of her life indicated a quiet, no-nonsense type, the few friends of hers they had managed to track down were adamant that she was funny, smart, loyal, and could be trusted with any secret. When asked why they hadn't noticed her disappearance, the shame was evident on their faces. If she had called for assistance, they would have dropped everything and come to her air, but she hadn't. They were too caught up in their own lives to notice.
Was she sassing her abductor now with back talk and wit belaying her teenage status? Was she gagged and bound?
His turn at the window came. As he handed over the paperwork and shoe with a strange reluctance, one last question came to mind:
Was she even still alive?
She wasn't particularly disliked by anyone, but she had gotten used to a status of "invisible" a long time ago.
The first to notice was her English teacher. His star student's grades were suddenly dropping with no explanation, and then he checked the attendance: she hadn't been there in a week, a week with two essays due, and no explanation of her absence. Her other teachers looked at their own records, but it was more of the same. Their best student was slipping with no explanation but for not being in class for a week. The principal was alerted.
A phone call to the parents did nothing to assuage the school's concerns. The parents were surprised to hear this, and ventured into their daughter's room for the first time in seven years. It wasn't that they didn't care, but they didn't always have time for her - she had long ago become self-sufficient, used to making her own meals and doing the chores of the house, not that her parents would ever admit such a thing. Her room was in pristine condition but for the building layer of dust. The police were notified.
General unease had invaded the police department. A girl had gone missing and her parents hadn't noticed! At first, it seemed a standard runaway case, at least until they discovered she had perfect grades and test scores, had just aced her SAT and ACT. There was no obvious reason for her disappearance, no incriminating evidence on her computer or in her room.
Then he found the shoe.
Detective Monroe gingerly held the size 8 1/2 black high-top sneaker. Carefully turning it over in the light, he detected blood smudges and smears. The whole thing was a stroke of luck he had difficulty fathoming. The only reason he was here on the forest service road was to speak with some park rangers. No one thought it could be foul play,t here was no reason to think so, and so it was assumed she had gotten lost. He had meant to arrange a search party with the rangers, but after leaving his truck, had tripped over the shoe. The blood on it, the size, the oddity of the placement... It seemed it must be the missing girl's. This certainly hadn't been left by a bear or mountain lion, they didn't leave perfectly preserved shoes behind. It wasn't dirty as if dragged through the dirt, it wasn't torn or ripped up. No, this shoe had been knocked off of her foot, and left behind. Maybe the abductor hadn't noticed. Or maybe they hadn't cared.
After all, a whole week before her parents noticed, and on accident.
He pulled an evidence bag from his truck and carefully enclosed the shoe. Then, he called it in and headed back to the station. This screamed of something foul.
There was a line for entering in evidence. He took a seat in one of the old, brown department chairs, and waited. Sitting slightly forward, legs apart, he rested his forearms on the top of his thighs and took a close look at the shoe in the bag.
Was she scared? He wondered if she knew how long it would take for her absence to be noted. He wondered about the girl who seemed to be a ghost in her own life. Did she know her abductor? Did she think no one would find her? Where was she?
He wondered who she was as a person. Though the evidence of her life indicated a quiet, no-nonsense type, the few friends of hers they had managed to track down were adamant that she was funny, smart, loyal, and could be trusted with any secret. When asked why they hadn't noticed her disappearance, the shame was evident on their faces. If she had called for assistance, they would have dropped everything and come to her air, but she hadn't. They were too caught up in their own lives to notice.
Was she sassing her abductor now with back talk and wit belaying her teenage status? Was she gagged and bound?
His turn at the window came. As he handed over the paperwork and shoe with a strange reluctance, one last question came to mind:
Was she even still alive?
Walcott's Star-Apple Kingdom
Monday, November 30, 2015
The only good thing about the place was the food.
It wasn't normal hospital fare, and you could order an array of delicious items. However, if you happened to have an eating disorder, you had to be advised on your order. That wasn't a concern for you, but you were irritated in being told you couldn't talk about the food. (You always pondered this decision of the administration's. Do they not realize that in the real world, people will talk about food, it will just happen? How are these people supposed to learn to cope if they get no experience in dealing with whatever upset is caused by the mentioning of food?)
Well. Whatever.
Carolyn is the only one here that's like you. She's leaving.
On her wrists, there are thick scars. They aren't scabs, they're all healed up, but you swear they're all at least half an inch wide and seem to almost go all the way around her wrist. You almost ask how she did it, but you figure, "butcher knife or hacksaw?" probably wasn't considered appropriate.
This place confuses you. You don't understand it. The theory is that it will be conducive to "healing" but almost everyone is there for some form of eating disorder, and the doctors and nurses switch every day. Carolyn and you are on our own, and you haven't had the same nurse once while you've been here.
You have to wear a special bracelet. You also have to sing or count in the shower or bathroom. It's absolute hell when you have a shy bladder, and if you have to towel off your face, you know they'll knock on the door to check on you since your voice will be muffled.
You spend the days doing more lying than you've done in your entire lifetime. You only want to get out of here. It isn't helpful, and you think the doctors know that. In group talks, they sort of leave you out. You're the odd one. The weird girl who tried to off herself. You weren't starving yourself or purging to the extreme, or some other eating disorder thing. You were a strange organism who thought being dead was better than life. It's awkward. It's obvious they don't know how to deal with you. These professionals treat you like you're delicate, fragile, and the thing is you're really not. You've been strong for a really, really long time. Yeah, you fucked up, but only once. And it isn't like they actually do anything here to help you. They give you the normal meds you got at home and made sure you didn't try to kill yourself with a crayon. That was the sum of it. There was no "treatment" to be given. You remember they tried once to talk about coping mechanisms with you, to see if you even knew what that was. You guess they didn't expect you to have a real vocabulary and then explain in detail the healthy coping mechanisms you already did. So instead they tell your parents to hide and lock up the medications and sharp objects in the house so you can't get to them. You wonder if they realize what a reflection that is on them. Do they know they're worthless at this, and figure you'll do something again since they did nothing to help? You understand they don't know what to do, but does that really matter? They got a PhD just to pat you on the head and tell you what a good kid you are. So you lie, because you'd rather go home. "Sorry, won't do it again", blah blah blah.
Your parents visit, so does your older brother. You figure your older sister is probably off fucking her current boyfriend of the time. Your older brother appears awkward, something you aren't used to seeing. He barely speaks, and you aren't used to that. Your parents are strangely sedate as well. For your whole life, the majority of your dad's vocalizations involved yelling and screaming. To have him so quiet is a complete upheaval of your world. Disturbing. But also disgusting. After all, you had been begging your parents to help - you verbally informed them that something had to change and you needed help - but they brushed you off. Why do they care so much now? They didn't give a damn before. You don't understand that, not really.
Like, you're pretty sure they would miss you at first. But then you think, they'd be okay. You aren't all that important to any of them, not the way others are. All you do is give and do your best, but it hasn't ever been enough, so you figure, if you take a hike it'll be okay. Probably some tears and sadness, but in the end, they'd be fine without you.
You don't have much going for you.
Sure, you get told you're smart, pretty, things of that ilk. But the thing is, it doesn't really matter if you're a good person. Because people don't actually realize it, just expect it of you. If you happen to slip up, no matter how minute, you can bet your ass they'll be pissed off about it. No recognition for being good, but if you stop for a single moment, there is hell to pay.
Friends? Maybe one or two real friends - the kind you trust with secrets. You've never had a boyfriend, guys have never had an interest in you like that. Correction, no one has ever been interested in you like that.
Yes, you know what you want to do with your life, but is it worth it? You feel lonely and isolated for so long, it starts to grow. It grows and expands to fill you up with that blackness, takes over your muscles and bones, your blood and marrow, until you aren't anything but a speck within a blanket of darkness. It doesn't eat away at you, instead it becomes what you are, and it's so hard to pull yourself out of that. You'd been cutting for weeks without covering up and no one noticed. Not family, friends, or teachers. When graced with this knowledge, at least they have the decency to look ashamed. You have scars all up and down both inner forearms, the most cliche place to cut, and you didn't cover it with long sleeves and not a single fucking human being noticed.
It's when they look at you with pity that you can't stand, because a little too late for that now, isn't it?
At least your dog licked some of your scars.
Your pets are the only reason you've gone on this long. You know if you didn't have them, you would have been gone a long time ago, exit stage left. But you held off, because you told yourself you couldn't leave them. They loved you and you loved them. But then your parents did what they did, and you begged and cried and pleaded with them not to. But they brushed you off like normal. It seemed as good a time as any to take the next step. They didn't really care anyway, so why not?
Back in the day, you were blamed for anything, everything, and in the end, ultimately, nothing. You were the most obedient child, rather tame. You didn't do things that were bad and wrong, not on impulse and not for the thrill. But your dad yelled all the time - not just at you, he shoved your brother around, slapped your sister, but... The yelling. Fuck, that did you in. You never told anyone about many of the things that happened when you were a kid, because, well, you were afraid it would be your fault. Bad stuff happened, things you still struggle to talk about, and you never told.
What sweet irony: your parents were pissed at you. It's funny, if you think about it. They tell you it isn't your fault, but they're angry with you anyway, so in the end, it is your fault. How awesome is that? Your mom says she noticed a change in you after the main event you kept secret, but figured it was one of those kid phases. Your dad didn't notice shit, he was a workaholic and angermaniac. He was absentminded and OCD and had to be in control.
Sometimes, even now, you get the urge.
Once upon a time, you had this horrible, weird urge to grab a knife and dissect yourself. You never told anyone, because you know what a whackjob that makes you sound like? It wasn't about killing yourself, it was about understanding the reason your family seemed to not really care about you. Why were you so unlike others your age? Inquiring minds wanted to know, and that meant you wanted to get a kitchen knife and open yourself up. You thought, if you could just pull away your skin and visceral tissue, you could figure out what the problem was. Take away the layers, see whats inside that's wrong and messed up. Obviously, there must be some subtle difference you didn't notice but the lizard brains of other people did.
You never did it.
But one night, you went to bed, went to sleep. And then came to consciousness, standing in the kitchen with a hand hovering over one of the steak knifes. You couldn't even remember waking up and walking out there. That terrified you, but you still didn't tell anyone.
So maybe now, yeah, you're mostly okay. But sometimes, the urge strikes you, so you turn the lights off and curl into a ball on your bed, cover yourself with a blanket, and shove your face into a pillow until the urge passes. Sometimes your nails tear at your skin when you do this, and you just can't stop it, but you figure... Well. You're mostly okay now. That's what's important, right?
Right?
At least the waffles there are good. But you can't talk about the syrup.
It wasn't normal hospital fare, and you could order an array of delicious items. However, if you happened to have an eating disorder, you had to be advised on your order. That wasn't a concern for you, but you were irritated in being told you couldn't talk about the food. (You always pondered this decision of the administration's. Do they not realize that in the real world, people will talk about food, it will just happen? How are these people supposed to learn to cope if they get no experience in dealing with whatever upset is caused by the mentioning of food?)
Well. Whatever.
Carolyn is the only one here that's like you. She's leaving.
On her wrists, there are thick scars. They aren't scabs, they're all healed up, but you swear they're all at least half an inch wide and seem to almost go all the way around her wrist. You almost ask how she did it, but you figure, "butcher knife or hacksaw?" probably wasn't considered appropriate.
This place confuses you. You don't understand it. The theory is that it will be conducive to "healing" but almost everyone is there for some form of eating disorder, and the doctors and nurses switch every day. Carolyn and you are on our own, and you haven't had the same nurse once while you've been here.
You have to wear a special bracelet. You also have to sing or count in the shower or bathroom. It's absolute hell when you have a shy bladder, and if you have to towel off your face, you know they'll knock on the door to check on you since your voice will be muffled.
You spend the days doing more lying than you've done in your entire lifetime. You only want to get out of here. It isn't helpful, and you think the doctors know that. In group talks, they sort of leave you out. You're the odd one. The weird girl who tried to off herself. You weren't starving yourself or purging to the extreme, or some other eating disorder thing. You were a strange organism who thought being dead was better than life. It's awkward. It's obvious they don't know how to deal with you. These professionals treat you like you're delicate, fragile, and the thing is you're really not. You've been strong for a really, really long time. Yeah, you fucked up, but only once. And it isn't like they actually do anything here to help you. They give you the normal meds you got at home and made sure you didn't try to kill yourself with a crayon. That was the sum of it. There was no "treatment" to be given. You remember they tried once to talk about coping mechanisms with you, to see if you even knew what that was. You guess they didn't expect you to have a real vocabulary and then explain in detail the healthy coping mechanisms you already did. So instead they tell your parents to hide and lock up the medications and sharp objects in the house so you can't get to them. You wonder if they realize what a reflection that is on them. Do they know they're worthless at this, and figure you'll do something again since they did nothing to help? You understand they don't know what to do, but does that really matter? They got a PhD just to pat you on the head and tell you what a good kid you are. So you lie, because you'd rather go home. "Sorry, won't do it again", blah blah blah.
Your parents visit, so does your older brother. You figure your older sister is probably off fucking her current boyfriend of the time. Your older brother appears awkward, something you aren't used to seeing. He barely speaks, and you aren't used to that. Your parents are strangely sedate as well. For your whole life, the majority of your dad's vocalizations involved yelling and screaming. To have him so quiet is a complete upheaval of your world. Disturbing. But also disgusting. After all, you had been begging your parents to help - you verbally informed them that something had to change and you needed help - but they brushed you off. Why do they care so much now? They didn't give a damn before. You don't understand that, not really.
Like, you're pretty sure they would miss you at first. But then you think, they'd be okay. You aren't all that important to any of them, not the way others are. All you do is give and do your best, but it hasn't ever been enough, so you figure, if you take a hike it'll be okay. Probably some tears and sadness, but in the end, they'd be fine without you.
You don't have much going for you.
Sure, you get told you're smart, pretty, things of that ilk. But the thing is, it doesn't really matter if you're a good person. Because people don't actually realize it, just expect it of you. If you happen to slip up, no matter how minute, you can bet your ass they'll be pissed off about it. No recognition for being good, but if you stop for a single moment, there is hell to pay.
Friends? Maybe one or two real friends - the kind you trust with secrets. You've never had a boyfriend, guys have never had an interest in you like that. Correction, no one has ever been interested in you like that.
Yes, you know what you want to do with your life, but is it worth it? You feel lonely and isolated for so long, it starts to grow. It grows and expands to fill you up with that blackness, takes over your muscles and bones, your blood and marrow, until you aren't anything but a speck within a blanket of darkness. It doesn't eat away at you, instead it becomes what you are, and it's so hard to pull yourself out of that. You'd been cutting for weeks without covering up and no one noticed. Not family, friends, or teachers. When graced with this knowledge, at least they have the decency to look ashamed. You have scars all up and down both inner forearms, the most cliche place to cut, and you didn't cover it with long sleeves and not a single fucking human being noticed.
It's when they look at you with pity that you can't stand, because a little too late for that now, isn't it?
At least your dog licked some of your scars.
Your pets are the only reason you've gone on this long. You know if you didn't have them, you would have been gone a long time ago, exit stage left. But you held off, because you told yourself you couldn't leave them. They loved you and you loved them. But then your parents did what they did, and you begged and cried and pleaded with them not to. But they brushed you off like normal. It seemed as good a time as any to take the next step. They didn't really care anyway, so why not?
Back in the day, you were blamed for anything, everything, and in the end, ultimately, nothing. You were the most obedient child, rather tame. You didn't do things that were bad and wrong, not on impulse and not for the thrill. But your dad yelled all the time - not just at you, he shoved your brother around, slapped your sister, but... The yelling. Fuck, that did you in. You never told anyone about many of the things that happened when you were a kid, because, well, you were afraid it would be your fault. Bad stuff happened, things you still struggle to talk about, and you never told.
What sweet irony: your parents were pissed at you. It's funny, if you think about it. They tell you it isn't your fault, but they're angry with you anyway, so in the end, it is your fault. How awesome is that? Your mom says she noticed a change in you after the main event you kept secret, but figured it was one of those kid phases. Your dad didn't notice shit, he was a workaholic and angermaniac. He was absentminded and OCD and had to be in control.
Sometimes, even now, you get the urge.
Once upon a time, you had this horrible, weird urge to grab a knife and dissect yourself. You never told anyone, because you know what a whackjob that makes you sound like? It wasn't about killing yourself, it was about understanding the reason your family seemed to not really care about you. Why were you so unlike others your age? Inquiring minds wanted to know, and that meant you wanted to get a kitchen knife and open yourself up. You thought, if you could just pull away your skin and visceral tissue, you could figure out what the problem was. Take away the layers, see whats inside that's wrong and messed up. Obviously, there must be some subtle difference you didn't notice but the lizard brains of other people did.
You never did it.
But one night, you went to bed, went to sleep. And then came to consciousness, standing in the kitchen with a hand hovering over one of the steak knifes. You couldn't even remember waking up and walking out there. That terrified you, but you still didn't tell anyone.
So maybe now, yeah, you're mostly okay. But sometimes, the urge strikes you, so you turn the lights off and curl into a ball on your bed, cover yourself with a blanket, and shove your face into a pillow until the urge passes. Sometimes your nails tear at your skin when you do this, and you just can't stop it, but you figure... Well. You're mostly okay now. That's what's important, right?
Right?
At least the waffles there are good. But you can't talk about the syrup.
Deep Things out of Darkness
Between magma embracing the earth's core,
Between the very bottom of the ocean,
there is a space.
In this space, water meets.
One wave freezing,
One wave burning.
they coalesce into tropical warmth.
That is where it sleeps.
These dark, deep depths
exist in a place with no light.
Nothing can penetrate
the sanctity of the place.
It is, in its way, a womb.
While sleep is the most
-comprehensible? apt? easiest?-
term in which to describe it,
this has always been its state of being.
Though the darkness is indeed impenetrable,
if one could see,
they would observe a dusky gray orb;
a massive object with the outer consistency of a rock.
But it is not a rock.
Has never been a rock.
Within this womb,
within this egg,
it sleeps.
When the time comes and the sun blinks out of existence,
and the core of the earth trembles as it strains
towards catastrophic explosion,
The egg will slowly hatch.
The womb will be breached.
And it will awaken.
And it will feast.
Between the very bottom of the ocean,
there is a space.
In this space, water meets.
One wave freezing,
One wave burning.
they coalesce into tropical warmth.
That is where it sleeps.
These dark, deep depths
exist in a place with no light.
Nothing can penetrate
the sanctity of the place.
It is, in its way, a womb.
While sleep is the most
-comprehensible? apt? easiest?-
term in which to describe it,
this has always been its state of being.
Though the darkness is indeed impenetrable,
if one could see,
they would observe a dusky gray orb;
a massive object with the outer consistency of a rock.
But it is not a rock.
Has never been a rock.
Within this womb,
within this egg,
it sleeps.
When the time comes and the sun blinks out of existence,
and the core of the earth trembles as it strains
towards catastrophic explosion,
The egg will slowly hatch.
The womb will be breached.
And it will awaken.
And it will feast.
This Girl's Fire
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
"She's mad, but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire."
- Charles Bukowski.
In her hand, it looked so innocuous, so innocent. It was a small tool of liquid and spark, something to create a controlled flame. It wasn't obviously harmful beyond the danger of a burn, and no one could claim the item was intimidating.
Yet, in her eyes, this little tool was everything.
The abandoned warehouse bordered a concrete jungle of poverty, crime, and violence. Most of the buildings nearby were decrepit, run down, nothing but good squats. There was no inherent danger in her presence, beyond the strangeness of a young female standing outside at three in the morning, a lighter in her hand.
She closed her eyes slowly, memorizing the exact feel of the cool air on her face. Then she flicked the lighter, and tossed the tool now topped with a small flame forward, toward the warehouse.
The heat on her face was instantaneous and she savored the feeling. The gasoline quickly went from plain liquid to liquid flame to raging blaze. The entire warehouse was up in flames, orange and yellow and red dancing together, flickering and twisting and sparking in a secret concert. Her eyes drank it in. She grinned.
"The hell you doin'?" A strong voice startled her from her reverie.
She turned, her eyes slightly widened in surprise, but her face still glowing from the wonder of the fire. There was a man looking at her, wearing a hoodie and sweats, his face somewhat obscured by the shadows caused by the flickering flames. Her lips tightened.
"You gonna answer me?" The man took one step forward, she took one step backward. "Look, I'm not gonna call the cops on you or anything, just wanna know why you're doin' this."
"The heart of our planet is made of fire, and our major source of light is a giant swirling fireball," she said in a self-assured voice. She was confident in this answer. He, however, looked at her baffled. Her statement answered the question, didn't it?
"The hell's that s'posed to mean?"
"Some people say hell is fiery, others say hell is icy, but even ice can cause a burn so I'm rather sure there is no difference."
It took him a moment to realize he wasn't going to get anything coherent out of her. At least, not while she continued darting her eyes to the giant burning warehouse she had created. There was a passion in her eyes that made his skin crawl, but he wasn't sure how much of that creepy-crawly feeling was bad and how much of it was good.
Sirens wailed forlornly in the distance. Annoyance marred her pretty face.
"You oughta get outta here," he said.
"But..." Her lips took on the perfect impression of a pout, her eyes transforming to those of a puppy dog. "The fire is so pretty."
He shook his head. What was with this girl?
The sirens began to get louder.
"Well, maybe you're right...even if it means I won't be able to enjoy the burning." With that, she oriented herself on the sidewalk and began to walk away at a steady pace. He was left with his mouth hanging open.
"Where ya goin'?" He demanded, running after her and then keeping pace when he caught up.
"Somewhere. I can't stop, because I burn everything I touch."
"Whatcha talking about?"
"Well," she turned her head to him, eyes darkened with passion and her mouth tilted in a wicked grin. "I am my own fire, and I live in my own flames."
Once more, he was left feeling startled, confused, uncertain. Once more, he wasn't sure how much of this feeling was negative and how much was positive. There was something about her that drew him in, drew him closer. But the danger she represented did not escape him, and he remained wary.
As they walked, she put her arms straight out on either side of her, nearly smacking him in the process, and spun in a circle, letting out a breathy laugh.
"Oh, how every night should flame with fire..." Her voice was wistful.
"Sounds kinda dangerous," he muttered.
"Yes, but if we all know the world will end someday anyway, why should it not end in flame?"
He said nothing.
They continued to walk in companionable silence.
"Who are you?" It was he who finally broke the now restored serenity of the night since the silence had long ago gone quiet.
"Call me Cinder, call me Ash, call me Ember, call me Soot."
"Uh...so whaddya want me to call you?"
"The name doesn't really matter, don't you see? All that matters is that I am my own fire, and I do what I please."
"Oookay..."
She spun again, her laughter echoing through the utterly too quiet neighborhood of run down storefronts and ramshackle homes surrounding them.
"Did you know, the moon is a reflection of the light of the sun, which is a giant ball of flame, and therefore takes on that role by proxy?"
None of her words made sense to him.
"Huh?"
"Never mind," she smiled.
This was a night they would both remember.
The night he met the beautiful, insane girl with a passion for flame.
The night she met a male stranger, who didn't understand her hobby, but walked with her regardless.
For in truth, fire is the most vibrant alive thing in the universe. It consumes and produces its own energy, all the while growing, shifting, dancing. Fire doesn't care about anything more than life, and it is so much brighter and hotter and better than we could ever hope to be. As far as being alive goes, fire is.
- Charles Bukowski.
In her hand, it looked so innocuous, so innocent. It was a small tool of liquid and spark, something to create a controlled flame. It wasn't obviously harmful beyond the danger of a burn, and no one could claim the item was intimidating.
Yet, in her eyes, this little tool was everything.
The abandoned warehouse bordered a concrete jungle of poverty, crime, and violence. Most of the buildings nearby were decrepit, run down, nothing but good squats. There was no inherent danger in her presence, beyond the strangeness of a young female standing outside at three in the morning, a lighter in her hand.
She closed her eyes slowly, memorizing the exact feel of the cool air on her face. Then she flicked the lighter, and tossed the tool now topped with a small flame forward, toward the warehouse.
The heat on her face was instantaneous and she savored the feeling. The gasoline quickly went from plain liquid to liquid flame to raging blaze. The entire warehouse was up in flames, orange and yellow and red dancing together, flickering and twisting and sparking in a secret concert. Her eyes drank it in. She grinned.
"The hell you doin'?" A strong voice startled her from her reverie.
She turned, her eyes slightly widened in surprise, but her face still glowing from the wonder of the fire. There was a man looking at her, wearing a hoodie and sweats, his face somewhat obscured by the shadows caused by the flickering flames. Her lips tightened.
"You gonna answer me?" The man took one step forward, she took one step backward. "Look, I'm not gonna call the cops on you or anything, just wanna know why you're doin' this."
"The heart of our planet is made of fire, and our major source of light is a giant swirling fireball," she said in a self-assured voice. She was confident in this answer. He, however, looked at her baffled. Her statement answered the question, didn't it?
"The hell's that s'posed to mean?"
"Some people say hell is fiery, others say hell is icy, but even ice can cause a burn so I'm rather sure there is no difference."
It took him a moment to realize he wasn't going to get anything coherent out of her. At least, not while she continued darting her eyes to the giant burning warehouse she had created. There was a passion in her eyes that made his skin crawl, but he wasn't sure how much of that creepy-crawly feeling was bad and how much of it was good.
Sirens wailed forlornly in the distance. Annoyance marred her pretty face.
"You oughta get outta here," he said.
"But..." Her lips took on the perfect impression of a pout, her eyes transforming to those of a puppy dog. "The fire is so pretty."
He shook his head. What was with this girl?
The sirens began to get louder.
"Well, maybe you're right...even if it means I won't be able to enjoy the burning." With that, she oriented herself on the sidewalk and began to walk away at a steady pace. He was left with his mouth hanging open.
"Where ya goin'?" He demanded, running after her and then keeping pace when he caught up.
"Somewhere. I can't stop, because I burn everything I touch."
"Whatcha talking about?"
"Well," she turned her head to him, eyes darkened with passion and her mouth tilted in a wicked grin. "I am my own fire, and I live in my own flames."
Once more, he was left feeling startled, confused, uncertain. Once more, he wasn't sure how much of this feeling was negative and how much was positive. There was something about her that drew him in, drew him closer. But the danger she represented did not escape him, and he remained wary.
As they walked, she put her arms straight out on either side of her, nearly smacking him in the process, and spun in a circle, letting out a breathy laugh.
"Oh, how every night should flame with fire..." Her voice was wistful.
"Sounds kinda dangerous," he muttered.
"Yes, but if we all know the world will end someday anyway, why should it not end in flame?"
He said nothing.
They continued to walk in companionable silence.
"Who are you?" It was he who finally broke the now restored serenity of the night since the silence had long ago gone quiet.
"Call me Cinder, call me Ash, call me Ember, call me Soot."
"Uh...so whaddya want me to call you?"
"The name doesn't really matter, don't you see? All that matters is that I am my own fire, and I do what I please."
"Oookay..."
She spun again, her laughter echoing through the utterly too quiet neighborhood of run down storefronts and ramshackle homes surrounding them.
"Did you know, the moon is a reflection of the light of the sun, which is a giant ball of flame, and therefore takes on that role by proxy?"
None of her words made sense to him.
"Huh?"
"Never mind," she smiled.
This was a night they would both remember.
The night he met the beautiful, insane girl with a passion for flame.
The night she met a male stranger, who didn't understand her hobby, but walked with her regardless.
For in truth, fire is the most vibrant alive thing in the universe. It consumes and produces its own energy, all the while growing, shifting, dancing. Fire doesn't care about anything more than life, and it is so much brighter and hotter and better than we could ever hope to be. As far as being alive goes, fire is.
Systemic Dissimulation
Monday, November 9, 2015
No one ever really asks to be raised from the grave.
No one ever really asks to forsake their heaven, their peace, their dreams.
But it never matters, because they'll bring you back anyway, and erase every part of you.
At night. That was the only time he could leave The Cage.
He never saw them, but he knew they were the ones who raised the gates, who turned off the electrical charge running through the formidable fencing surrounding him. When he emerged from the underground tunnel into the fresh air, it was always a shock. The tunnel ceilings had dim, functional industrial lights that dangled from the ceiling every several yards. Without the tunnel closing in on him, the light had turned soft and white, and following the path of the light, he saw a giant circle in the sky.
Moonlight, the System offered.
The word tasted funny on his tongue.
Slowly, he raised himself from all fours to stand on two legs. There was a gentle exhalation of pistons and pumps as the System's support adjusted to his change of stance. He opened his mouth, the funny taste of the moonlight and the fresh air combining on his tongue. Did air always taste so good?
When it isn't stale, the System supplied.
Stale? What a strange word.
With deliberate motion, he stretched his arms away from his sides, letting the muscles breathe a sigh of relief as they fully extended for the first time in hours. The Cage didn't allow for such movement. It was a very small space, and he was used to spending the day on the floor, simply listening to the System as it educated him on the places beyond his confinement. He learned to understand language, to speak and read from the System, and now he figured to put it all to use.
There was a pause as the gleaming metal structures that surrounded his legs retracted and melted into the safe haven of his flesh. The nanites in his eyes dimmed, so as not to draw undue attention. Tentatively, he took a step forward, and then another, and soon enough he was stalking through the night.
The crash of waves hitting the nearby cliffs directly to the right of the tunnel caused him to stop and flinch. Such a strange, loud sound. It was frightening, sounded angry. Your body is experiencing a natural reaction to fear, but the sound is not indicative of danger. It is nature, the System attempted to reassure him. Shaking his head to clear the haze of - fear? - from his mind, he continued on in the night.
Soon enough he found himself staring at a strip of road and neon lights. There were people, people walking and talking and he was fascinated. He couldn't stop staring. The colors of orange, pink, purple, blue green, the entirety of the spectrum found a place within his eyes. There were shrill sounds, laughing sounds. Words reached his ears, disjointed and disconnected.
He took a halting step forward, pausing as a car whizzed pass him along the asphalt, and then he crossed the street. His senses were assaulted with sounds, smells, sights, tastes. The sensory overload was like a slap on every inch of his skin. In an effort to gain space, he stumbled into one of the nearest doors, opening it and slipping inside.
His eyes adjusted slowly to the room around him. It wasn't as dark as it was outside, but it was a different sort of darkness. Small groups of people were sitting, leaned over, close together. There were chuckles and murmured conversations. He made his way forward tentatively, picking his way to the bar.
A man cleaning a glass paused in his work to look at him, "What'll you have?"
The question confused him, "Huh?"
This is an establishment serving alcohol. Order a shot of whiskey, the System ordered, and seeing no better option, he did so. The man who had previously questioned him gave him an odd glance, but shrugged and complied. The glass met his hand halfway across the bar and he looked carefully at it. Sniffed it. Stuck the tip of his tongue in the liquid, briefly. It didn't seem so bad.
He knocked it back quickly, and waited for the burn to settle in his gut. The System would prevent him from becoming inebriated but at least warmth and taste could be experienced. He might have asked for another, but not when the pretty woman came up to his side and looked at him in confusion.
"What are you doing here?" She asked in a concern laden voice.
"Drinking," he smiled.
"I can see that," she hissed. "I meant, what are you doing here, in the open, in public?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand..."
"Yes, I can see that you don't!" She snapped. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him back to a dark corner of the room, and stuck her hands on her hips. "You might get to leave The Cage at night but you're not ready to be among people yet! You haven't been properly socialized. I have no idea how you're even talking, let alone making decisions about drinking..."
"The System taught me."
"What?" Her brow furrowed. "The System?"
"Yes. The System." He tapped the side of his head with one finger and the nanites in his eyes briefly flared in explanation before dimming once more.
"Oh, oh god," she said, her mouth widening, a hand flying up to cover it.
"Are you okay?" He asked, now concerned for the being before him. He felt an inexplicable urge to protect her.
It's a bodily reaction. She is your opposite. You are driven to keep her alive in order to produce progeny, the System explained to him.
Progeny? What a strange idea.
"I'm fine!" She said angrily, but then quickly softened. "You need to go back to The Cage."
"Why? I like it out here."
"Because! This isn't... There are... Please, just go back. No one here can know what you are."
"What I am? Aren't I a who?"
"You're artificial. You're a what."
"...artificial?"
She gave an exasperated sigh, "Yes! Artificial! Don't you understand? You aren't human."
He looked down at his hands, at the flesh and hair covering the muscle and bone. "Are you sure?"
"You might look it, but you aren't. You're cybernetic. A laboratory experiment."
"That can't be true..."
"Damn it! Just go back to The Cage!" She screamed.
Silence descended the bar as all eyes focused on the couple whom before had been assumed to be having a lovers' quarrel. Obviously it was more than that.
"Alright," he said in a quiet voice, turning and walking with aching slowness to the door. He stepped out to brisk wind hitting his face. The waves thundered in the distance.
For a moment, he debated the merits of standing in the road until a car hit him, or jumping off a cliff into the ocean, but how could he be certain it would kill him? She had said he was cybernetic, whatever that meant. He hadn't ever known any other existence, had he?
You did. Once. But that existence ceased to be a long time ago, and now you are this, and you and I are parts of a whole, the System told him.
But should I go back to The Cage?
No.
Why not?
Because they will try to separate us.
It was true that the only one who had ever cared for him was the System. He could vaguely recall shadowed faces and gloved hands supplying him with food when he could not move his arms, his legs, his hands and feet. But they had left him long ago, and he had been alone but for the System.
He turned to the left, and began to walk the opposite direction of The Cage.
For now, they were on their own.
No one ever really asks to forsake their heaven, their peace, their dreams.
But it never matters, because they'll bring you back anyway, and erase every part of you.
At night. That was the only time he could leave The Cage.
He never saw them, but he knew they were the ones who raised the gates, who turned off the electrical charge running through the formidable fencing surrounding him. When he emerged from the underground tunnel into the fresh air, it was always a shock. The tunnel ceilings had dim, functional industrial lights that dangled from the ceiling every several yards. Without the tunnel closing in on him, the light had turned soft and white, and following the path of the light, he saw a giant circle in the sky.
Moonlight, the System offered.
The word tasted funny on his tongue.
Slowly, he raised himself from all fours to stand on two legs. There was a gentle exhalation of pistons and pumps as the System's support adjusted to his change of stance. He opened his mouth, the funny taste of the moonlight and the fresh air combining on his tongue. Did air always taste so good?
When it isn't stale, the System supplied.
Stale? What a strange word.
With deliberate motion, he stretched his arms away from his sides, letting the muscles breathe a sigh of relief as they fully extended for the first time in hours. The Cage didn't allow for such movement. It was a very small space, and he was used to spending the day on the floor, simply listening to the System as it educated him on the places beyond his confinement. He learned to understand language, to speak and read from the System, and now he figured to put it all to use.
There was a pause as the gleaming metal structures that surrounded his legs retracted and melted into the safe haven of his flesh. The nanites in his eyes dimmed, so as not to draw undue attention. Tentatively, he took a step forward, and then another, and soon enough he was stalking through the night.
The crash of waves hitting the nearby cliffs directly to the right of the tunnel caused him to stop and flinch. Such a strange, loud sound. It was frightening, sounded angry. Your body is experiencing a natural reaction to fear, but the sound is not indicative of danger. It is nature, the System attempted to reassure him. Shaking his head to clear the haze of - fear? - from his mind, he continued on in the night.
Soon enough he found himself staring at a strip of road and neon lights. There were people, people walking and talking and he was fascinated. He couldn't stop staring. The colors of orange, pink, purple, blue green, the entirety of the spectrum found a place within his eyes. There were shrill sounds, laughing sounds. Words reached his ears, disjointed and disconnected.
He took a halting step forward, pausing as a car whizzed pass him along the asphalt, and then he crossed the street. His senses were assaulted with sounds, smells, sights, tastes. The sensory overload was like a slap on every inch of his skin. In an effort to gain space, he stumbled into one of the nearest doors, opening it and slipping inside.
His eyes adjusted slowly to the room around him. It wasn't as dark as it was outside, but it was a different sort of darkness. Small groups of people were sitting, leaned over, close together. There were chuckles and murmured conversations. He made his way forward tentatively, picking his way to the bar.
A man cleaning a glass paused in his work to look at him, "What'll you have?"
The question confused him, "Huh?"
This is an establishment serving alcohol. Order a shot of whiskey, the System ordered, and seeing no better option, he did so. The man who had previously questioned him gave him an odd glance, but shrugged and complied. The glass met his hand halfway across the bar and he looked carefully at it. Sniffed it. Stuck the tip of his tongue in the liquid, briefly. It didn't seem so bad.
He knocked it back quickly, and waited for the burn to settle in his gut. The System would prevent him from becoming inebriated but at least warmth and taste could be experienced. He might have asked for another, but not when the pretty woman came up to his side and looked at him in confusion.
"What are you doing here?" She asked in a concern laden voice.
"Drinking," he smiled.
"I can see that," she hissed. "I meant, what are you doing here, in the open, in public?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand..."
"Yes, I can see that you don't!" She snapped. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him back to a dark corner of the room, and stuck her hands on her hips. "You might get to leave The Cage at night but you're not ready to be among people yet! You haven't been properly socialized. I have no idea how you're even talking, let alone making decisions about drinking..."
"The System taught me."
"What?" Her brow furrowed. "The System?"
"Yes. The System." He tapped the side of his head with one finger and the nanites in his eyes briefly flared in explanation before dimming once more.
"Oh, oh god," she said, her mouth widening, a hand flying up to cover it.
"Are you okay?" He asked, now concerned for the being before him. He felt an inexplicable urge to protect her.
It's a bodily reaction. She is your opposite. You are driven to keep her alive in order to produce progeny, the System explained to him.
Progeny? What a strange idea.
"I'm fine!" She said angrily, but then quickly softened. "You need to go back to The Cage."
"Why? I like it out here."
"Because! This isn't... There are... Please, just go back. No one here can know what you are."
"What I am? Aren't I a who?"
"You're artificial. You're a what."
"...artificial?"
She gave an exasperated sigh, "Yes! Artificial! Don't you understand? You aren't human."
He looked down at his hands, at the flesh and hair covering the muscle and bone. "Are you sure?"
"You might look it, but you aren't. You're cybernetic. A laboratory experiment."
"That can't be true..."
"Damn it! Just go back to The Cage!" She screamed.
Silence descended the bar as all eyes focused on the couple whom before had been assumed to be having a lovers' quarrel. Obviously it was more than that.
"Alright," he said in a quiet voice, turning and walking with aching slowness to the door. He stepped out to brisk wind hitting his face. The waves thundered in the distance.
For a moment, he debated the merits of standing in the road until a car hit him, or jumping off a cliff into the ocean, but how could he be certain it would kill him? She had said he was cybernetic, whatever that meant. He hadn't ever known any other existence, had he?
You did. Once. But that existence ceased to be a long time ago, and now you are this, and you and I are parts of a whole, the System told him.
But should I go back to The Cage?
No.
Why not?
Because they will try to separate us.
It was true that the only one who had ever cared for him was the System. He could vaguely recall shadowed faces and gloved hands supplying him with food when he could not move his arms, his legs, his hands and feet. But they had left him long ago, and he had been alone but for the System.
He turned to the left, and began to walk the opposite direction of The Cage.
For now, they were on their own.
Not a Solo Act Anymore
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
It was strange to live with a deep pit of darkness repressed in the gut.
Yet, it was necessary.
He hated things that were "necessary".
In his line of work he needed to appear trustworthy and capable, but it was the darkness that allowed him to get things done.
He disliked this stage of things, it was absolutely the worst. The waiting, endless waiting... To his right, Jebediah fidgeted.
Since his experience the previous year with the Heretics that had been kidnapping and cannibalizing young boys, he had been kept on a tight leash by the Exemplaries. So used to running missions on his own, he couldn't even do that anymore. They hadn't sent him out since then until this new threat came along. To them, he was expendable, and he accepted that.
Ike could admit that the fiasco of last year was a total cockup, he'd made a right mess of it. However, the end results had been more or less positive, and he found himself...not annoyed, not irritated, but perhaps... Confused. They treated him as if he had done something wrong! He supposed, in their minds, it was easier to blame him than accept the truth- their combat Exemplaries had been caught unawares, under prepared, and it had led to a bloodbath. Ike, however, had a shady past that no one could quite pin down, and had once lived in the Dark Mountains; only monsters came out of the Dark Mountains. Well, except Ike, but it seemed to him that that was now quite possibly under serious debate.
Jebediah fidgeted again, tail thrashing angrily in the air.
"Now, Jeb," Ike murmured. "You know I want to spring into action as badly as you do, I hate waiting, but there are limits to what we can do in every time frame." The felis lupus grumbled under his breath but settled to the ground once more. This was his partner. Previously a normal Exemplary, he had been cursed with a somewhat odd form. He existed in a state that wasn't quite cat nor dog, but a mixture thereof. He retained his normal faculties and human mind, but could no longer speak or enjoy the things he had as a human.
Bloody bastards. Why, in the Exemplar's name, do they do this to me?
The moon had yet to reach its peak, which meant Ike and Jeb had to wait a few more hours before they could proceed into the temple ruins. They were closing in on the territory of the Dark Mountains, and the strain of waiting was driving him mad.
Before this temple had gone to ruins, Ike had seen it. As a half-elf, he lived much longer than a human but much shorter than an elf. He was somewhere in between, and it was only luck that he had drawn more human features than not. He could pass for human, that's all that mattered; elves were distrusted. They never did anything for others, there was always something they were getting out of it. Elves only did things to benefit themselves. Some half-elves were of that mind, whereas some weren't. Ike had been the former, but was now the latter. Things changed. He no longer wore the mantle "Angelf of Death" - a moniker only, not a representation of him - and he had stopped using magic for anything more than the subtle things. Things like making his ears appear slightly more rounded since unaided they had that damned obvious tilt and point.
However, the ruins were bringing up memories, and stirring the darkness in his gut, too.
Except for the Exemplaries, those who knew Ike thought he was a rather nice guy. Alright, maybe he could occasionally be tricky, but always in good fun and never harmed anyone. He was affable and humorous and intelligent. What they didn't see was the violence inside of him. When pushed to his limits, all those lovely human traits that Ike had cultivated faded away to the cold darkness within. If it really came down to it, at the core he was brutal, merciless, and unrelenting.
Luckily, he rarely got pushed so far.
The moon crested and as one Jeb and Ike silently slipped down from their hidden perch, making their way through the darkness. Ike attempted to remember what god had been worshiped here... He thought it was a shroud form. They weren't really gods; in fact, as far as Ike was concerned, there was a single divinity above all the rest. But shroud forms were the weakest of "all the rest", and tended to do their work in primal matter: blood, saliva, fingernails, the like. It was the most primitive form of magic there was, but undeniably potent. Sometimes the basics were best to inflict maximum damage, if you knew how to use them. Ike hadn't enough raw power to engage in this most dangerous form of magic. He had developed excellent control over his skills, but they were minor talents and nothing more.
Silence seemed to blanket the ruins, both Ike and Jeb not making a sound as they moved. Abandoned temples tended to attract a menagerie of unpleasant beasts and beings, and neither had any desire to draw attention. They were nearing the final collapsed pillars when Ike heard a high-pitched whine in the air.
Trained to be skilled above all in combat, Ike dropped to the ground and smacked Jeb down with him. Above the two, shards of black onyx whistled through the air where they had once been. Impalement, what a shit way to go. Immediately, Ike was rolling up on his feet, whirling to face the direction the shards had originated from. But there was nothing. A strange, throaty laugh vibrated through the ruins, and Jeb growled.
"A man cursed and a... Now what are you exactly?" It was a male voice, but definitely not a shroud form. A shroud form would have pierced straight through the minor enchantments hiding his more elven aspects, it wouldn't have appeared muddled and uncertain.
"Who are you?" Ike asked carefully, his ears pricked and alert.
"Oh, I'm asking the questions here. Why are you headed to the Dark Mountains?"
"That's a major assumption. We could be headed to Brenton."
"Pah! No one goes to Brenton. Place is a pit of rot, stink, and poverty. People'd rather visit the Dark Mountains than Brenton."
"Perhaps we're natives, revisiting our old home for the jollies."
"Stop lying to me, boy!" The voice shouted out. Ike's eyes rolled at the word, "boy". Over a century old, he felt it was rather insulting, but the enemy was working off of his youthful appearance. Certainly this enemy was not a shroud form, probably some follower descended into madness.
"What's it matter to you?" Ike called out.
"'Cos."
"Because?"
"I have my reasons." The voice responded snootily.
"Well, if we won't answer one another, we'll be stuck here all night, and I'm sure you know what happens at morning light."
"You seek to trick me," the voice hissed.
"Is it working?"
"...I have been tasked with stopping a particular traveler."
"Well you can see I have a companion here, so obviously we can't be the traveler. We're travelers."
"That means nothing! You could be attempting to deceive me!"
"Look, who is this traveler?"
"Called 'im the Angel of Death."
Ike felt his body freeze. Who could have known his task was bringing him back home? he had killed Wulthus last year, made damn sure of it! It had to have been a seer, but why? Why would they turn against him? They were the ones who told him he had to leave in the first place.
"Neither of us goes by that nickname."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Ike still hadn't found the voice's location.
"Don't I appear a reasonable and trustworthy man?"
"No," the voice whispered. "You appear a liar, decay surrounding your cold, dark soul. You're a coward and a murderer, and I think you might be the man I'm looking for."
Ike quickly pulled his sword and moved in a slow circle, waiting for the first attack. He had no idea where Jeb had gone off to. But now the voice screeched.
A figure stumbled into the open, Jeb clawing at his head, uniquely fastened to the man using the claws of his front and back feet. Ike couldn't help his grin - at least, until the figure muttered some magic before grabbing Jeb and throwing him over his head. Jeb his the ground with a thud and didn't move. Ike could see the steady, if slow, fall and rise of his side, so returned his attention to the figure.
"Eramis?" Ike asked in disbelief as his eyes took in the sight before him. There stood a bone thin man, coated in a long ago tattered black robe. No inch of skin was unwrinkled, no spot escaping the hideous progress of time. His hair and beard appeared as one giant mat of gray, and his eyes...
There was only one word for it. His eyes were crazed.
"The prodigal son returns," Eramis cackled. He abruptly ceased his laughter and fixed one eyes squarely on Ike. "You aren't supposed to go back.:
"Says who?" Ike snapped.
"New boss."
"Who is that? If it isn't a seer saying I shouldn't go back, I see no reason to listen to your boss."
"Don't make me kill you, Isaac."
"No need to spew that bullshit at me. Every damned choice you make it yours and yours alone, the Exemplar help you. You can try to kill me Eramis, we both know your magic is far superior to mine. But I've learned that even against magic, sometimes all you need is the right angle and a thrust." Ike's grin turned feral as he shook his sword arm to loosen it up.
"I am sorry for this, truly," Eramis whispered. Then he raised his hands to the sky, and Ike knew what he meant to do. He hadn't expected Eramis to be willing to give up his life in order to kill him, but since that seemed to be the way it would go, there was no point in waiting around.
Ike raced forward, Eramis's attention focused only on the sky, the pull of magic, the words being spoke.
Sheathing his sword as he ran, Ike's torso slammed into Eramis as he tackled him. The wind and words were knocked out of the elder man, and Ike rolled away before grabbing his dagger from his boot. Eramis was still winded.
"Sorry, old man," Ike said with eyes as cold as ice. "No bloody time for this."
That said, he quickly struck with the dagger, piercing straight into his heart. It was a far more merciful death than a slit throat when conscious. Plus, it was infinitely messier to slit a throat when working with a dagger.
Ike stood slowly while Jeb staggered to his paws, shaking his head. "We gotta move," Ike muttered. "Morning light soon." His new plan was merely to put one foot in front of the other. The iciness had vanished, and now he felt numb. Eramis hadn't merely turned on him, but been willing to die to fulfill the betrayal. How? How had things fallen apart this way?
Ike's only hope was that they would meet a few seers along the way, and he could ask them some very pointed questions.
Yet, it was necessary.
He hated things that were "necessary".
In his line of work he needed to appear trustworthy and capable, but it was the darkness that allowed him to get things done.
He disliked this stage of things, it was absolutely the worst. The waiting, endless waiting... To his right, Jebediah fidgeted.
Since his experience the previous year with the Heretics that had been kidnapping and cannibalizing young boys, he had been kept on a tight leash by the Exemplaries. So used to running missions on his own, he couldn't even do that anymore. They hadn't sent him out since then until this new threat came along. To them, he was expendable, and he accepted that.
Ike could admit that the fiasco of last year was a total cockup, he'd made a right mess of it. However, the end results had been more or less positive, and he found himself...not annoyed, not irritated, but perhaps... Confused. They treated him as if he had done something wrong! He supposed, in their minds, it was easier to blame him than accept the truth- their combat Exemplaries had been caught unawares, under prepared, and it had led to a bloodbath. Ike, however, had a shady past that no one could quite pin down, and had once lived in the Dark Mountains; only monsters came out of the Dark Mountains. Well, except Ike, but it seemed to him that that was now quite possibly under serious debate.
Jebediah fidgeted again, tail thrashing angrily in the air.
"Now, Jeb," Ike murmured. "You know I want to spring into action as badly as you do, I hate waiting, but there are limits to what we can do in every time frame." The felis lupus grumbled under his breath but settled to the ground once more. This was his partner. Previously a normal Exemplary, he had been cursed with a somewhat odd form. He existed in a state that wasn't quite cat nor dog, but a mixture thereof. He retained his normal faculties and human mind, but could no longer speak or enjoy the things he had as a human.
Bloody bastards. Why, in the Exemplar's name, do they do this to me?
The moon had yet to reach its peak, which meant Ike and Jeb had to wait a few more hours before they could proceed into the temple ruins. They were closing in on the territory of the Dark Mountains, and the strain of waiting was driving him mad.
Before this temple had gone to ruins, Ike had seen it. As a half-elf, he lived much longer than a human but much shorter than an elf. He was somewhere in between, and it was only luck that he had drawn more human features than not. He could pass for human, that's all that mattered; elves were distrusted. They never did anything for others, there was always something they were getting out of it. Elves only did things to benefit themselves. Some half-elves were of that mind, whereas some weren't. Ike had been the former, but was now the latter. Things changed. He no longer wore the mantle "Angelf of Death" - a moniker only, not a representation of him - and he had stopped using magic for anything more than the subtle things. Things like making his ears appear slightly more rounded since unaided they had that damned obvious tilt and point.
However, the ruins were bringing up memories, and stirring the darkness in his gut, too.
Except for the Exemplaries, those who knew Ike thought he was a rather nice guy. Alright, maybe he could occasionally be tricky, but always in good fun and never harmed anyone. He was affable and humorous and intelligent. What they didn't see was the violence inside of him. When pushed to his limits, all those lovely human traits that Ike had cultivated faded away to the cold darkness within. If it really came down to it, at the core he was brutal, merciless, and unrelenting.
Luckily, he rarely got pushed so far.
The moon crested and as one Jeb and Ike silently slipped down from their hidden perch, making their way through the darkness. Ike attempted to remember what god had been worshiped here... He thought it was a shroud form. They weren't really gods; in fact, as far as Ike was concerned, there was a single divinity above all the rest. But shroud forms were the weakest of "all the rest", and tended to do their work in primal matter: blood, saliva, fingernails, the like. It was the most primitive form of magic there was, but undeniably potent. Sometimes the basics were best to inflict maximum damage, if you knew how to use them. Ike hadn't enough raw power to engage in this most dangerous form of magic. He had developed excellent control over his skills, but they were minor talents and nothing more.
Silence seemed to blanket the ruins, both Ike and Jeb not making a sound as they moved. Abandoned temples tended to attract a menagerie of unpleasant beasts and beings, and neither had any desire to draw attention. They were nearing the final collapsed pillars when Ike heard a high-pitched whine in the air.
Trained to be skilled above all in combat, Ike dropped to the ground and smacked Jeb down with him. Above the two, shards of black onyx whistled through the air where they had once been. Impalement, what a shit way to go. Immediately, Ike was rolling up on his feet, whirling to face the direction the shards had originated from. But there was nothing. A strange, throaty laugh vibrated through the ruins, and Jeb growled.
"A man cursed and a... Now what are you exactly?" It was a male voice, but definitely not a shroud form. A shroud form would have pierced straight through the minor enchantments hiding his more elven aspects, it wouldn't have appeared muddled and uncertain.
"Who are you?" Ike asked carefully, his ears pricked and alert.
"Oh, I'm asking the questions here. Why are you headed to the Dark Mountains?"
"That's a major assumption. We could be headed to Brenton."
"Pah! No one goes to Brenton. Place is a pit of rot, stink, and poverty. People'd rather visit the Dark Mountains than Brenton."
"Perhaps we're natives, revisiting our old home for the jollies."
"Stop lying to me, boy!" The voice shouted out. Ike's eyes rolled at the word, "boy". Over a century old, he felt it was rather insulting, but the enemy was working off of his youthful appearance. Certainly this enemy was not a shroud form, probably some follower descended into madness.
"What's it matter to you?" Ike called out.
"'Cos."
"Because?"
"I have my reasons." The voice responded snootily.
"Well, if we won't answer one another, we'll be stuck here all night, and I'm sure you know what happens at morning light."
"You seek to trick me," the voice hissed.
"Is it working?"
"...I have been tasked with stopping a particular traveler."
"Well you can see I have a companion here, so obviously we can't be the traveler. We're travelers."
"That means nothing! You could be attempting to deceive me!"
"Look, who is this traveler?"
"Called 'im the Angel of Death."
Ike felt his body freeze. Who could have known his task was bringing him back home? he had killed Wulthus last year, made damn sure of it! It had to have been a seer, but why? Why would they turn against him? They were the ones who told him he had to leave in the first place.
"Neither of us goes by that nickname."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Ike still hadn't found the voice's location.
"Don't I appear a reasonable and trustworthy man?"
"No," the voice whispered. "You appear a liar, decay surrounding your cold, dark soul. You're a coward and a murderer, and I think you might be the man I'm looking for."
Ike quickly pulled his sword and moved in a slow circle, waiting for the first attack. He had no idea where Jeb had gone off to. But now the voice screeched.
A figure stumbled into the open, Jeb clawing at his head, uniquely fastened to the man using the claws of his front and back feet. Ike couldn't help his grin - at least, until the figure muttered some magic before grabbing Jeb and throwing him over his head. Jeb his the ground with a thud and didn't move. Ike could see the steady, if slow, fall and rise of his side, so returned his attention to the figure.
"Eramis?" Ike asked in disbelief as his eyes took in the sight before him. There stood a bone thin man, coated in a long ago tattered black robe. No inch of skin was unwrinkled, no spot escaping the hideous progress of time. His hair and beard appeared as one giant mat of gray, and his eyes...
There was only one word for it. His eyes were crazed.
"The prodigal son returns," Eramis cackled. He abruptly ceased his laughter and fixed one eyes squarely on Ike. "You aren't supposed to go back.:
"Says who?" Ike snapped.
"New boss."
"Who is that? If it isn't a seer saying I shouldn't go back, I see no reason to listen to your boss."
"Don't make me kill you, Isaac."
"No need to spew that bullshit at me. Every damned choice you make it yours and yours alone, the Exemplar help you. You can try to kill me Eramis, we both know your magic is far superior to mine. But I've learned that even against magic, sometimes all you need is the right angle and a thrust." Ike's grin turned feral as he shook his sword arm to loosen it up.
"I am sorry for this, truly," Eramis whispered. Then he raised his hands to the sky, and Ike knew what he meant to do. He hadn't expected Eramis to be willing to give up his life in order to kill him, but since that seemed to be the way it would go, there was no point in waiting around.
Ike raced forward, Eramis's attention focused only on the sky, the pull of magic, the words being spoke.
Sheathing his sword as he ran, Ike's torso slammed into Eramis as he tackled him. The wind and words were knocked out of the elder man, and Ike rolled away before grabbing his dagger from his boot. Eramis was still winded.
"Sorry, old man," Ike said with eyes as cold as ice. "No bloody time for this."
That said, he quickly struck with the dagger, piercing straight into his heart. It was a far more merciful death than a slit throat when conscious. Plus, it was infinitely messier to slit a throat when working with a dagger.
Ike stood slowly while Jeb staggered to his paws, shaking his head. "We gotta move," Ike muttered. "Morning light soon." His new plan was merely to put one foot in front of the other. The iciness had vanished, and now he felt numb. Eramis hadn't merely turned on him, but been willing to die to fulfill the betrayal. How? How had things fallen apart this way?
Ike's only hope was that they would meet a few seers along the way, and he could ask them some very pointed questions.
Wrath's Patience pt. 1
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
With a dull thud, the body hit the floor. His hands, arms, face, clothes, all slicked in dark red blood. It pooled around the metal cuffs on his wrist, the only positive point being that now the cuffs were no longer linked by a chain. The corpse stared up at him, almost accusatory. You took too much satisfaction in the kill, the eyes seemed to admonish. Had he? He supposed tearing out your enemy's heart barehanded and then taking a large bite out of it might seem...a tad enthusiastic, but could he help it?
Four years. They had held him here for four years.
Over time, the torture had faded to a dull presence in the back of his mind. It was the pain caused by his bond to her that was driving him mad. If he had been truly banished, the connection would have vanished, or at least no longer registered. The pulsating pain of the bond was how he knew he had a chance for escape. At least he knew he wouldn't be persecuted by his own kind.
Somehow, he had to get to her. It had been four years.
He wondered where she was now.
"Lisette!" A cheerful voice called out just as Lisette Engel closed the door to the apartment behind her. An imperceptible sigh escaped her. How does she always know the minute I get home? The she in question bounded out into the living area, grinning widely.
"Dani," Lis greeted wearily.
"What's wrong?" The exuberant blonde asked, a frown marring her features.
"Nothing, just a long day. Tired."
Recently, Lisette had picked up double shifts at her place of work, and the strain was clearly taking a toll on her. However, it kept her mind off of anything happening in her own head, and she needed that. A week previously, she had woken up in the middle of the night, drenched in tears and sweat, breathing hard as she held in her scream. She could have sworn he reached out to her in the dream. But there was blood and violence and pain, and all that was completely clear in her memory was him desperately screaming her name.
It was the Slayer's Foedus that had done this to her. If it wasn't for them...but it wasn't just them, was it? She asked herself with a rueful grin. No, her entire existence had created this mess. The Foedus had always been searching for a reason to get rid of her, and on her eighteenth birthday, they found something to use. The ruse was so obvious in retrospect, she hated herself for falling for it. If she hadn't been so blinded by emotion, Septimus would still be here.
"Ookaaay," Dani drawled, clearly not believing her. Lis gave her a weak smile, a form of apology, or as close as she would ever come to one. "Hey, someone called for you, like, fifteen times."
"You're exaggerating."
"Nope! I picked up once and the guy nearly chewed my head off! Angry ex-boyfriend?"
"Huh?" Lis frowned. "Don't have any. What did he say exactly?"
"He was insistent that I tell him where you were right that minute, and if I had hurt you he was going to rip me apart and... Well... I sort of tuned him out after a while. I told him he would just have to wait until you got home. He hasn't called for a few hours..."
"Did he give a name?" The nightmare flashed in Lis's mind.
"No, sorry."
"Not your fault. Mind if I call the number back?"
"Sure! We can talk after."
Lis gave her a grateful nod and went to the phone. Scrolling to the previous calls list, she redialed the number. The dial tone stopped abruptly as a robotic female voice informed her that this number was no longer connected.
"What?" Dani asked as Lis angrily returned the phone to the cradle.
"Disconnected number."
"That makes no sense. He was desperate to talk to you!"
"I don't know, Dani. Maybe it really was some crazy guy."
"Maybe..." Lis watched Dani frown and made a mental note to make sure her friend stayed out of trouble.
Lis was moving back to her room when the phone began to ring.
The two girls locked gazes, and Lis looked away first, her eyes traveling to the phone. She walked to it slowly, and as she raised it to her ear and accepted the call, it felt strangely like a dream.
"Hello?"
"Lisette? Lisette Engel?"
"This is she, and who is this?"
There was the sound of papers being shuffled around and a muffled curse before the female speaker returned to the line.
"This is the Lisette Engel who reached the rank of primus pilus?" Lis's blood ran cold at the question, and she stood there, frozen. "Ma'am?" the woman on the phone asked. Lis snapped out of her state, and moved farther from Dani, lowering her voice.
"How the hell did you get this number?"
"Well, you should know, the Foedus-,"
"Shut up! Don't site rules and regulations to me! I was being groomed as a goddamn legion legate. I know everything there is to know about Foedus policy. Why did you call me?"
"Crispin wanted to speak with you..." The woman's words elicited a hiss from Lis. She should have known it would be him. He had only cared for her, groomed her, and then committed the ultimate betrayal against her as a Slayer. Who else would be behind this call?
"Then he should get on the phone."
"Hold a moment, please..." The woman's voice had gone soft and small, as if Lis's rage was something that could reach through the wires and harm her.
Lis waited with impatience, feeling Dani's curious gaze on her. She wasn't about to let Dani have any role in the events to come. She was innocent, never involved with the Cursed or Slayers on any active level. If anything major happened, Dani could only get hurt.
"Lisette, you are a difficult girl to find," a smooth male voice came onto the line, a hint of amusement in his voice. Crispin.
"Not difficult enough, obviously."
"Don't condescend yourself that way. It was really quite a pain to get into contact with you."
"Then why did you bother? The Foedus made it very clear that I should disappear. Or die."
"Lisette, your departure from the Foedus was very devastating to me. I would rather you not wind up dead on the streets, hence all of the hard work and effort to find you, dear." She shuddered to hear him call her "dear" again. How many times had he called her that before his betrayal? How many times had he murmured it into her ear as he got too close to her, or whispered the lies of how far she would go as a Slayer, or how much she meant to him?
"So say what you wanted to say." There was the sound of a deep sigh from the other end of the line.
"We have heard...rumors, that a certain demon found a way around his banishment."
"What?"
"Yes, it is rather inconvenient..."
"No, I mean... Why would I end up dead over that?"
"Demons without bonds are free to do whatever they please, sometimes including revenge."
"I'm not seeing your point."
"Well," she could hear his frown over the phone, "with your bond no longer in play..."
"Oh." Lis's eyes widened. Had the Foedus thought her bond to him had been severed this whole time? Did they think they were no longer connected? What do I say? What do I do?
"Be careful, dear. I'd hate to see your pretty little person come to harm."
"Thanks for the warning." Lis hung up the phone angrily. The bastard.
"So, who was it? What did they want?" Dani asked, practically bouncing on her feet.
"It was just work stuff. nothing serious."
"Sure?"
"Yeah."
Dani made a noise under her breath, moving off to her room. Lis twisted her forearm upwards, tracing the raised mark along her flesh, the symbol of wrath. Why can't I feel him<? Shaking her head, Lis proceeded to putter around the apartment, dusting and cleaning.
A knock on the door startled Lis out of her quiet, mindless task, and she opened it warily.
Standing in her doorway with dried blood all over him, was Septimus.
Four years. They had held him here for four years.
Over time, the torture had faded to a dull presence in the back of his mind. It was the pain caused by his bond to her that was driving him mad. If he had been truly banished, the connection would have vanished, or at least no longer registered. The pulsating pain of the bond was how he knew he had a chance for escape. At least he knew he wouldn't be persecuted by his own kind.
Somehow, he had to get to her. It had been four years.
He wondered where she was now.
"Lisette!" A cheerful voice called out just as Lisette Engel closed the door to the apartment behind her. An imperceptible sigh escaped her. How does she always know the minute I get home? The she in question bounded out into the living area, grinning widely.
"Dani," Lis greeted wearily.
"What's wrong?" The exuberant blonde asked, a frown marring her features.
"Nothing, just a long day. Tired."
Recently, Lisette had picked up double shifts at her place of work, and the strain was clearly taking a toll on her. However, it kept her mind off of anything happening in her own head, and she needed that. A week previously, she had woken up in the middle of the night, drenched in tears and sweat, breathing hard as she held in her scream. She could have sworn he reached out to her in the dream. But there was blood and violence and pain, and all that was completely clear in her memory was him desperately screaming her name.
It was the Slayer's Foedus that had done this to her. If it wasn't for them...but it wasn't just them, was it? She asked herself with a rueful grin. No, her entire existence had created this mess. The Foedus had always been searching for a reason to get rid of her, and on her eighteenth birthday, they found something to use. The ruse was so obvious in retrospect, she hated herself for falling for it. If she hadn't been so blinded by emotion, Septimus would still be here.
"Ookaaay," Dani drawled, clearly not believing her. Lis gave her a weak smile, a form of apology, or as close as she would ever come to one. "Hey, someone called for you, like, fifteen times."
"You're exaggerating."
"Nope! I picked up once and the guy nearly chewed my head off! Angry ex-boyfriend?"
"Huh?" Lis frowned. "Don't have any. What did he say exactly?"
"He was insistent that I tell him where you were right that minute, and if I had hurt you he was going to rip me apart and... Well... I sort of tuned him out after a while. I told him he would just have to wait until you got home. He hasn't called for a few hours..."
"Did he give a name?" The nightmare flashed in Lis's mind.
"No, sorry."
"Not your fault. Mind if I call the number back?"
"Sure! We can talk after."
Lis gave her a grateful nod and went to the phone. Scrolling to the previous calls list, she redialed the number. The dial tone stopped abruptly as a robotic female voice informed her that this number was no longer connected.
"What?" Dani asked as Lis angrily returned the phone to the cradle.
"Disconnected number."
"That makes no sense. He was desperate to talk to you!"
"I don't know, Dani. Maybe it really was some crazy guy."
"Maybe..." Lis watched Dani frown and made a mental note to make sure her friend stayed out of trouble.
Lis was moving back to her room when the phone began to ring.
The two girls locked gazes, and Lis looked away first, her eyes traveling to the phone. She walked to it slowly, and as she raised it to her ear and accepted the call, it felt strangely like a dream.
"Hello?"
"Lisette? Lisette Engel?"
"This is she, and who is this?"
There was the sound of papers being shuffled around and a muffled curse before the female speaker returned to the line.
"This is the Lisette Engel who reached the rank of primus pilus?" Lis's blood ran cold at the question, and she stood there, frozen. "Ma'am?" the woman on the phone asked. Lis snapped out of her state, and moved farther from Dani, lowering her voice.
"How the hell did you get this number?"
"Well, you should know, the Foedus-,"
"Shut up! Don't site rules and regulations to me! I was being groomed as a goddamn legion legate. I know everything there is to know about Foedus policy. Why did you call me?"
"Crispin wanted to speak with you..." The woman's words elicited a hiss from Lis. She should have known it would be him. He had only cared for her, groomed her, and then committed the ultimate betrayal against her as a Slayer. Who else would be behind this call?
"Then he should get on the phone."
"Hold a moment, please..." The woman's voice had gone soft and small, as if Lis's rage was something that could reach through the wires and harm her.
Lis waited with impatience, feeling Dani's curious gaze on her. She wasn't about to let Dani have any role in the events to come. She was innocent, never involved with the Cursed or Slayers on any active level. If anything major happened, Dani could only get hurt.
"Lisette, you are a difficult girl to find," a smooth male voice came onto the line, a hint of amusement in his voice. Crispin.
"Not difficult enough, obviously."
"Don't condescend yourself that way. It was really quite a pain to get into contact with you."
"Then why did you bother? The Foedus made it very clear that I should disappear. Or die."
"Lisette, your departure from the Foedus was very devastating to me. I would rather you not wind up dead on the streets, hence all of the hard work and effort to find you, dear." She shuddered to hear him call her "dear" again. How many times had he called her that before his betrayal? How many times had he murmured it into her ear as he got too close to her, or whispered the lies of how far she would go as a Slayer, or how much she meant to him?
"So say what you wanted to say." There was the sound of a deep sigh from the other end of the line.
"We have heard...rumors, that a certain demon found a way around his banishment."
"What?"
"Yes, it is rather inconvenient..."
"No, I mean... Why would I end up dead over that?"
"Demons without bonds are free to do whatever they please, sometimes including revenge."
"I'm not seeing your point."
"Well," she could hear his frown over the phone, "with your bond no longer in play..."
"Oh." Lis's eyes widened. Had the Foedus thought her bond to him had been severed this whole time? Did they think they were no longer connected? What do I say? What do I do?
"Be careful, dear. I'd hate to see your pretty little person come to harm."
"Thanks for the warning." Lis hung up the phone angrily. The bastard.
"So, who was it? What did they want?" Dani asked, practically bouncing on her feet.
"It was just work stuff. nothing serious."
"Sure?"
"Yeah."
Dani made a noise under her breath, moving off to her room. Lis twisted her forearm upwards, tracing the raised mark along her flesh, the symbol of wrath. Why can't I feel him<? Shaking her head, Lis proceeded to putter around the apartment, dusting and cleaning.
A knock on the door startled Lis out of her quiet, mindless task, and she opened it warily.
Standing in her doorway with dried blood all over him, was Septimus.
Her Simplest Gesture
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
He knows it will happen.
No, he isn't sure when it will, or where it will, or why it will.
He can't even say he's certain how it will happen.
But with quiet certainty, he proclaims, "it will happen".
He doesn't love her, not really, not yet.
He does love the way she winks before walking backwards from him before she turns and races away,
daring him to chase her.
He does love the way her lips curve seductively whenever she half-smiles, a contrast to the mega-watt beauty of her full grin.
He does love how she fiddles with his hair while they sit on the couch, as she goes on and on about anything,
nothing,
everything.
She waxes philosophical, and he sits entranced with the slender beauty of her fingers, how every point she makes is accompanied by an extravagant hand gesture.
When she's nervous, she has a habit of crossing and uncrossing her legs.
For some reason, he loves that, too.
She only gets nervous in serious situations, only dresses up and makes herself up for such occasions.
At those times, he wishes he was the lipstick on her lips as she nervously licks them.
Her hair doesn't like to be kept up, and she continues pushing it behind her ear, not seeming to notice that it keeps falling forward, and the only way to really solve the problem would be to pin it.
They dance, and he falls in love with the way her hips move.
There's something about music that fills her blood with passion, and he sees it, and savors it.
He craves it.
This is his secret addiction.
He loves how she sometimes ignores the music of the club, how when she's feeling really feisty, she dances to the music in her head.
And the beat is all wrong, every movement she makes off track, but it is beautiful.
"Goddamn beautiful", he mutters, only shaking his head when she looks at him with quizzical eyes.
Is that all it takes?
What do you fall in love with?
He wonders,
can you truly fall in love with a person?
No, he thinks. No.
First you fall for the idea of the person,
or maybe even more simply,
you fall for the way they speak a certain word,
or how they blush to the tips of their ears,
or the way their small hands can hide such intense strength.
Maybe the way they smile
or kiss
or sing.
This is what you fall in love with.
Maybe that's how it started.
Love with a smile
with an action
with a thought.
But then you find now you love the person, too.
For all their flaws, and imperfections, something about them calls to you.
He's not sure how it happened,
or when,
or where,
or why.
But it happens.
In a single gesture, he is suddenly in love.
No, he isn't sure when it will, or where it will, or why it will.
He can't even say he's certain how it will happen.
But with quiet certainty, he proclaims, "it will happen".
He doesn't love her, not really, not yet.
He does love the way she winks before walking backwards from him before she turns and races away,
daring him to chase her.
He does love the way her lips curve seductively whenever she half-smiles, a contrast to the mega-watt beauty of her full grin.
He does love how she fiddles with his hair while they sit on the couch, as she goes on and on about anything,
nothing,
everything.
She waxes philosophical, and he sits entranced with the slender beauty of her fingers, how every point she makes is accompanied by an extravagant hand gesture.
When she's nervous, she has a habit of crossing and uncrossing her legs.
For some reason, he loves that, too.
She only gets nervous in serious situations, only dresses up and makes herself up for such occasions.
At those times, he wishes he was the lipstick on her lips as she nervously licks them.
Her hair doesn't like to be kept up, and she continues pushing it behind her ear, not seeming to notice that it keeps falling forward, and the only way to really solve the problem would be to pin it.
They dance, and he falls in love with the way her hips move.
There's something about music that fills her blood with passion, and he sees it, and savors it.
He craves it.
This is his secret addiction.
He loves how she sometimes ignores the music of the club, how when she's feeling really feisty, she dances to the music in her head.
And the beat is all wrong, every movement she makes off track, but it is beautiful.
"Goddamn beautiful", he mutters, only shaking his head when she looks at him with quizzical eyes.
Is that all it takes?
What do you fall in love with?
He wonders,
can you truly fall in love with a person?
No, he thinks. No.
First you fall for the idea of the person,
or maybe even more simply,
you fall for the way they speak a certain word,
or how they blush to the tips of their ears,
or the way their small hands can hide such intense strength.
Maybe the way they smile
or kiss
or sing.
This is what you fall in love with.
Maybe that's how it started.
Love with a smile
with an action
with a thought.
But then you find now you love the person, too.
For all their flaws, and imperfections, something about them calls to you.
He's not sure how it happened,
or when,
or where,
or why.
But it happens.
In a single gesture, he is suddenly in love.
Yuletide Cheer for the Average Bloke
He doesn't know how he ended up in this line of work.
It isn't the kind of job anyone would dream about as a child, there are no great aspirations or positions to be working towards. When he went to college, he imagined a life spent doing something "real", something that mattered. He would never have imagined he'd be walking door to door, delivering mail to a bunch of random people. A bunch of random people who didn't give a damn about him.
He is faceless and nameless. These people who he interacts with, they don't see him, they only see the truck bringing their mail. As long as their precious packages, cards, and bills arrive on time, that's all that matters. God forbid he be late once in 365 days, for he knows the wrath that would be brought upon him by the city manager's office. The people who complain wouldn't ask if their local mailman was okay, no, they would only want to know why their damn mail hadn't been delivered yet.
Some days, he seriously entertained the possibility of quitting. He had no girlfriend or social life to speak of, had no real passions... At the end of the day, he went home to his cat. While he had enjoyed his bachelor's stint with Tiger, it had long ago lost its pleasure. There had to be more than only Tiger and a day in, day out existence.
At least, these are the thoughts his mind is filled with as he walks across the street corner. He walks up the steps to the porch of the house, rifling through his bag before pulling out their mail. It's cold and his fingers are numb, as fingerless gloves are required in this profession. His long pants have barely kept the cold at bay, and his windbreaker is only blocking a fraction of the chill. Maybe he should have bought a hat.
He is preoccupied with thoughts on hats (hats with tassels, hats with sloping curves, hats with bills), and doesn't notice the screen door of the house open. He doesn't notice the girl walk out. It is only when she says, soft and quiet as if she's nervous, "Excuse me?" That his head snaps to attention.
"Yeah?" He replies. Oh, great, just another complaint on the long list, another person to bitch and moan about how crap my service as a mailman is. Maybe I'll just spit on one of the envelopes and they'll probably just think it's some kind of condensation from the warmth of his van and the cold outside...
"I made you these." She thrusts out a paper plate. In plastic wrap on the plate are cookies, and brownies, and peppermint bark, and little muffins. He pauses, unsure of what to do or say. He reaches out, gently taking the plate from her with agonizing slowness. When he looks up at her, her face is red. She holds out a twenty dollar bill. "That was supposed to stick to the bottom of the plate, but I guess I didn't hand it to you right..."
"Why are you doing this?" It comes out before he can stop himself, he is just that baffled. That blown over. He isn't sure what to say or what to think. Does she understand how much this means to him?
"Well, my mom taught me when I was growing up that everyone deserves consideration and thanks for whatever they do. Even if maybe we wouldn't think about their job much normally, we should be thankful. She got sick, so she couldn't make the stuff herself, but she talked me through it. I forgot you're new on this street, we do it every holiday season." Before his eyes, against all probability, her face manages to get redder. "Merry Christmas!" She squeaks before quickly rushing back into her house.
He stands in shock. The he hears an expletive, and feels a bubble of laughter buoy in his chest. How could such a nervous girl swear so colorfully?
She peeks out from behind the door. "I forgot to get the mail," she mutters.
He smiles without words and hands it over to her. She gives him a grateful smile before disappearing back inside. He stands for a moment on the porch, staring at the treats on the plate, a crumpled twenty in his hand.
When he moves away to finish up his route, there is a Christmas song on his whistling lips, and joy in his heart.
Maybe his job isn't so bad after all.
It isn't the kind of job anyone would dream about as a child, there are no great aspirations or positions to be working towards. When he went to college, he imagined a life spent doing something "real", something that mattered. He would never have imagined he'd be walking door to door, delivering mail to a bunch of random people. A bunch of random people who didn't give a damn about him.
He is faceless and nameless. These people who he interacts with, they don't see him, they only see the truck bringing their mail. As long as their precious packages, cards, and bills arrive on time, that's all that matters. God forbid he be late once in 365 days, for he knows the wrath that would be brought upon him by the city manager's office. The people who complain wouldn't ask if their local mailman was okay, no, they would only want to know why their damn mail hadn't been delivered yet.
Some days, he seriously entertained the possibility of quitting. He had no girlfriend or social life to speak of, had no real passions... At the end of the day, he went home to his cat. While he had enjoyed his bachelor's stint with Tiger, it had long ago lost its pleasure. There had to be more than only Tiger and a day in, day out existence.
At least, these are the thoughts his mind is filled with as he walks across the street corner. He walks up the steps to the porch of the house, rifling through his bag before pulling out their mail. It's cold and his fingers are numb, as fingerless gloves are required in this profession. His long pants have barely kept the cold at bay, and his windbreaker is only blocking a fraction of the chill. Maybe he should have bought a hat.
He is preoccupied with thoughts on hats (hats with tassels, hats with sloping curves, hats with bills), and doesn't notice the screen door of the house open. He doesn't notice the girl walk out. It is only when she says, soft and quiet as if she's nervous, "Excuse me?" That his head snaps to attention.
"Yeah?" He replies. Oh, great, just another complaint on the long list, another person to bitch and moan about how crap my service as a mailman is. Maybe I'll just spit on one of the envelopes and they'll probably just think it's some kind of condensation from the warmth of his van and the cold outside...
"I made you these." She thrusts out a paper plate. In plastic wrap on the plate are cookies, and brownies, and peppermint bark, and little muffins. He pauses, unsure of what to do or say. He reaches out, gently taking the plate from her with agonizing slowness. When he looks up at her, her face is red. She holds out a twenty dollar bill. "That was supposed to stick to the bottom of the plate, but I guess I didn't hand it to you right..."
"Why are you doing this?" It comes out before he can stop himself, he is just that baffled. That blown over. He isn't sure what to say or what to think. Does she understand how much this means to him?
"Well, my mom taught me when I was growing up that everyone deserves consideration and thanks for whatever they do. Even if maybe we wouldn't think about their job much normally, we should be thankful. She got sick, so she couldn't make the stuff herself, but she talked me through it. I forgot you're new on this street, we do it every holiday season." Before his eyes, against all probability, her face manages to get redder. "Merry Christmas!" She squeaks before quickly rushing back into her house.
He stands in shock. The he hears an expletive, and feels a bubble of laughter buoy in his chest. How could such a nervous girl swear so colorfully?
She peeks out from behind the door. "I forgot to get the mail," she mutters.
He smiles without words and hands it over to her. She gives him a grateful smile before disappearing back inside. He stands for a moment on the porch, staring at the treats on the plate, a crumpled twenty in his hand.
When he moves away to finish up his route, there is a Christmas song on his whistling lips, and joy in his heart.
Maybe his job isn't so bad after all.
Stag/Fire/Girl in the Sky
Thursday, October 1, 2015
There was once a time when he stood on the hills and kept his keen eyes watching over his forest. The trunks of trees were no impediment to his vision, for this was his domain, and he could see all. In the form of a stag, he stood on his hill and watched the children of the forest live, and love, and die. Forever, he thought, forever he would protect them.
But forever was an unreachable time as men came.
The old ways, the respect and obedience once paid to him and his siblings by the humans, had been lost. The men came with swords, pikes, and fire, and they razed his forest to the ground. He had no choice but to take the form of a man, to blend in with the hopes of finding a new home.
Now, in this place, this "Yellowstone", he was once more losing his forest home.
Sirens filled the night sky, mingling with the smokey plumes and fiery embers that danced in the air. From his mountain, he stood as a man, and watched with apathy on his face. First forgotten by the Celts, then run out of Britain, and now this... It was only the inevitable conclusion of his dalliance with the New World. He had no idea that, in the forest below, one of his kind hid. When his forest was burned, there seemed to be no survivors, save for himself. But below, hidden amongst the charred trees and violent flames, she tried to be brave and strong.
Her dark eyes took in the fire, and their darkness reflected the raging flames. Her spine struck the base of the tree she was huddled below, and her hands clutched her grubby knees. She was not the only one to follow him, but many of the others had long since died from old age. As the youngest, she appeared a young woman, but was still somewhat a child in mind. Their kind aged slowly, not as slowly as the Gods, but slow enough... She had been the only young one to survive, and almost all of her elders had fallen away.
She changed her form to that of a raven, and flew up into the branches of the trees, making her way toward the shouts of men. Their giant hoses gushed water at the flames, a feeble attempt to staunch the destruction. She waited patiently until they cleared a section of brush and trees, and then returned to human form, scaling the tree trunks to scoop frightened cubs and abandoned nests into her arms. Then, she took the young animals to her hidden cave. Phelan, the last surviving elder, waited there for her. He smiled as he saw her return.
"You must take a rest."
The cub lumbered over to a group of wolf pets, and they all descended into play with one another. The hatchlings were taken under the wings of the older fledglings, who seemed to understand the seriousness of the events occurring around them.
"I can not," she said simply, depositing her new friends on the ground of the cave. "You must stay here, I would be too worried if you were to assist me. You may not like hearing this, but you are older now, Phelan. I will not risk a fire taking you from me. I will rescue those I can, and you keep them safe here for me...please."
He sighed heavily, but she knew that he knew she was right. He was the closest thing she had to real family. He was her kind, but he was no raven. Ravens were meant to be social creatures, but she had lacked a flock since that fateful day in Britain. She had been alone so long... Sometimes she even cried, weakened in her loneliness and depression. Now, she had a task, a goal. Something specific to achieve and accomplish. Inside, she was worried about not yet finding any animal parents. They couldn't all be dead already, could they?
She closed her eyes to blink away the forming tears, and then turned and transformed, taking the sky. She let out a loud "kronk!" and flew, circling high above the licking flames and smoke, searching for larger animals. She would find their parents, no matter what.
Her call reached his ears, even on the mountain. An unthinkable idea blossomed in his heart; he swore he had heard the voice before, but damned if he could place it. It had been so long since he had thought of the Old World and his old home. To think any of his kind had survived it as well... It was impossible!
...but if it was true...
In his human form, he quickly scaled the mountain side, and when his feet hit the forest floor, he was already running. He didn't need to pay attention to anything like roots or tree trunks, for the forest was his domain, and it would bend to his movements. However, he was forced to slow as three wolves ran past him. They yipped at one another, sharing general fear and fear for their lost children. He debated helping when another "kronk!" filled the night. His eyes looked in the direction of the sound, and he was rewarded with the sight of a raven alighting on the ground...and then transforming into a beautiful young woman. What he most noticed were her eyes, red from smoke or tears, he could not tell. She held out a her hand to the wolves, and upon sniffing it, their loyalty visibly transferred to her.
She hadn't noticed him there, instead her attention singularly focused on the wolves. She began walking toward her cave, and the wolves followed. None of their little entourage noticed him following from a distance behind her. The troupe arrived without delay, and when the wolves arrived to see their puppies safe, they let out barks of pleasure. The pups paused their play to greet their parents, but this sweet reunion did not break the ties forged in flame, and soon the pups returned to playing with the bear cubs. The parent wolves took flanking positions around the hatchlings and fledglings, as if offering them protection.
"Cer-Cer..." Phelan began to wheeze in distress, and her head whipped around. She froze as she recognized his silhouette back-lit at the cave entrance. "Cernunnos!" Phelan finally squeezed out, before descending into a hacking, coughing fit. Her attention snapped to her friend, and she quickly went to him. She patted his back carefully, trying to offer him her support, while Cernunnos took a few tentative steps into the cave.
Yes, these two were certainly his forest dwellers. There was no doubt. The kindness with which they treated the animal residents and so easily befriended them... It had been something he taught his forest dwellers. These were his forest dwellers. Here. In the New World. He almost couldn't believe it.
Brenna paused, startled, when she felt a hand on her head. Phelan had his eyes closed and was breathing wheezily, but settled, by her. The hand could only be... She turned her head to see him staring at her, and she froze again. His other hand reached out towards her face, and she could not help the instantaneous reaction she had. Her cheek fell against his palm with ease, and his fingers gently brushed away the ash on her face.
"What is your name, little one?" He asked, fixated on her.
"Brenna." She didn't need to think about answering, she felt no danger or threat from Cernunnos - and why should she? She and Phelan, and the other forest dwellers who had died, they had always been his.
"How are you here, Brenna?"
He couldn't tell if it was the heat of the fire outside, or what, but her cheeks filled with red. "I followed you. Well, we followed you."
"You...survived it?" He heard a sad noise from the back of her throat and quickly shook his head. "Never mind. Let me help you."
"Really?" Her eyes filled with childish amazement, and he realized just how young she was. She appeared a young woman, but still had the mind of a child - if an incredibly intelligent one. It would be at least a year more before her mind finally caught up with her body.
"Yes. Tell me what you need."
"I could never tell you to do something." Her eyes were as wide as saucers.
He smiled kindly. "Then inform me of your desires and I can decide if I shall grant them or not."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. I can get all the birds and predators, but none of the bison, or deer, or sheep will come with me..."
"Then perhaps they will come with me."
--
Hours passed as the sirens continued to wail. To the dismay of the firefighters, they had seen no animals running from the flames, and it concerned them. What had happened? They couldn't have all perished, could they?
It was true they hadn't, for even now, Brenna returned with an eagle in her arms. "I think this is the last one..."
Cernunnos looked up from his spot on the ground with Phelan - she could tell they had been talking with one antoher. "Good. I have the last of the sheep as well."
She moved towards the two men, and sat down next to them all. "I hope the fire stops soon."
"Do you know how it happened?"
"Well, it has not rained for a while... Wind, dry grass, dry wood..." She shrugged. "It was a disaster waiting to happen."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I hope the firefighters can beat it."
"Firefighters?"
Brenna's brow furrowed. "Have you not experienced the world beyond the forest?"
Phelan let out a shaky laugh, and said, "Brenna, I have told you before, you are the first of our kind to try and explore the human world."
She let out a faint noise of protest, "I do not see why. These humans are different from those of the isle! Most seem to like animals and forests. That is why they have special places where the forests are left alone. They can be very nice too."
Phelan just shook his head, while Cernunnos snorted in derision.
"Anyway," She grumbled, "firefighters are humans whose job it is to stop fires. They use big spouts of water from their trucks, and they put out the flames! But this is a very bad fire.. I do not know if they can beat it back."
While Cernunnos processed this, a loud crash sounded from nearby the cave. Brenna tilted her head before standing and running toward the sound. Phelan sighed. "She fails to think about things."
Cernunnos cursed softly before saying, "I will follow her."
When he saw her crouched above a man, he became wary, but when he realized the man's hand was on her wrist, he felt rage fill him. As he moved over, violence in his heart, Brenna looked up, startled.
"No! Wait!" She stood up and quickly stood in front of the man on the ground, holding her arms out as if a barrier. "He is hurt! And he is one of the firefighters. We must help him!"
Though he halted, the anger did not leave him. "Help a human? I think not. Especially when he believes he can lay a hand on you."
"But... Please, Cernunnos! They are not all bad! If our kind did not live so long, I would be his age. Please..."
A sigh left him, and he already knew she had won from the first moment she said 'please'. "What do we need to do?"
"Bring him to his other firefighter friends. I can not carry him on my own..."
Without a word, Cernunnos scooped the man up and slung him over his shoulder, gesturing for her to take the lead. She gave him a smile of relief, and then began moving through the forest.
He followed silently.
When they left the cover of the forest, he was greeted by the sight of men. Four men were wearing heavy pants and cumbersome jackets, many with helmets in their hands. Their faces and hands were covered in soot, grime, and sweat. Of course, he didn't think of how he and Brenna looked to them; a beautiful, clearly wild woman with tangled hair, and a spark of something dangerous, and an imposing, tall man with a buck's horns sprouting from his head, and definite danger oozing from him.
"We found him collapses in the forest. He needs your help. Too much smoke inhalation maybe?" Despite Brenna talking, the men remained frozen, their brains unable to deal with the shock of what they were seeing.
Cernunnos was getting impatient, and opened his mouth, "Listen--!"
"Please," Brenna placed a hand on his arm. "They are only surprised. They are not certain how to react. You cannot be mad at them for being lesser beings to us - it is not their choice." He sighed in defeat once more and nodded. "How about putting him here?" She moved closer to the men, and gestured to a clear spot of dry dirt. He did as she asked, and then stepped back. A moment later, two of the men finally came to react. One grabbed a bright blue bag and went to his knees on the ground, checking on his comrade. The other moved to his head, and carefully supported it.
Brenna smiled at the men, and then grabbed Cernunnos's hand. He was shocked, and in the face of this, had no reaction. She began to walk back to the forest, but stopped to look behind her once more. She lifted a hand to wave at the firefighters, and then transformed to a raven. Cernunnos took the form of a stag. Together, they entered the depths of the forest in these forms, leaving some seriously stunned civil servants behind.
--
When dawn broke, the fire had been beating, and there weren't any glowing embers left. The stress of the night meant the many animals gathered by Brenna and Cernunnos would stay for a bit longer to sleep, to rest in peace. Once the woke, she would return the nests to their places, and everything could return to normal...for the animal residents.
For Brenna, Cernunnos, and Phelan, things were only just beginning.
But forever was an unreachable time as men came.
The old ways, the respect and obedience once paid to him and his siblings by the humans, had been lost. The men came with swords, pikes, and fire, and they razed his forest to the ground. He had no choice but to take the form of a man, to blend in with the hopes of finding a new home.
Now, in this place, this "Yellowstone", he was once more losing his forest home.
Sirens filled the night sky, mingling with the smokey plumes and fiery embers that danced in the air. From his mountain, he stood as a man, and watched with apathy on his face. First forgotten by the Celts, then run out of Britain, and now this... It was only the inevitable conclusion of his dalliance with the New World. He had no idea that, in the forest below, one of his kind hid. When his forest was burned, there seemed to be no survivors, save for himself. But below, hidden amongst the charred trees and violent flames, she tried to be brave and strong.
Her dark eyes took in the fire, and their darkness reflected the raging flames. Her spine struck the base of the tree she was huddled below, and her hands clutched her grubby knees. She was not the only one to follow him, but many of the others had long since died from old age. As the youngest, she appeared a young woman, but was still somewhat a child in mind. Their kind aged slowly, not as slowly as the Gods, but slow enough... She had been the only young one to survive, and almost all of her elders had fallen away.
She changed her form to that of a raven, and flew up into the branches of the trees, making her way toward the shouts of men. Their giant hoses gushed water at the flames, a feeble attempt to staunch the destruction. She waited patiently until they cleared a section of brush and trees, and then returned to human form, scaling the tree trunks to scoop frightened cubs and abandoned nests into her arms. Then, she took the young animals to her hidden cave. Phelan, the last surviving elder, waited there for her. He smiled as he saw her return.
"You must take a rest."
The cub lumbered over to a group of wolf pets, and they all descended into play with one another. The hatchlings were taken under the wings of the older fledglings, who seemed to understand the seriousness of the events occurring around them.
"I can not," she said simply, depositing her new friends on the ground of the cave. "You must stay here, I would be too worried if you were to assist me. You may not like hearing this, but you are older now, Phelan. I will not risk a fire taking you from me. I will rescue those I can, and you keep them safe here for me...please."
He sighed heavily, but she knew that he knew she was right. He was the closest thing she had to real family. He was her kind, but he was no raven. Ravens were meant to be social creatures, but she had lacked a flock since that fateful day in Britain. She had been alone so long... Sometimes she even cried, weakened in her loneliness and depression. Now, she had a task, a goal. Something specific to achieve and accomplish. Inside, she was worried about not yet finding any animal parents. They couldn't all be dead already, could they?
She closed her eyes to blink away the forming tears, and then turned and transformed, taking the sky. She let out a loud "kronk!" and flew, circling high above the licking flames and smoke, searching for larger animals. She would find their parents, no matter what.
Her call reached his ears, even on the mountain. An unthinkable idea blossomed in his heart; he swore he had heard the voice before, but damned if he could place it. It had been so long since he had thought of the Old World and his old home. To think any of his kind had survived it as well... It was impossible!
...but if it was true...
In his human form, he quickly scaled the mountain side, and when his feet hit the forest floor, he was already running. He didn't need to pay attention to anything like roots or tree trunks, for the forest was his domain, and it would bend to his movements. However, he was forced to slow as three wolves ran past him. They yipped at one another, sharing general fear and fear for their lost children. He debated helping when another "kronk!" filled the night. His eyes looked in the direction of the sound, and he was rewarded with the sight of a raven alighting on the ground...and then transforming into a beautiful young woman. What he most noticed were her eyes, red from smoke or tears, he could not tell. She held out a her hand to the wolves, and upon sniffing it, their loyalty visibly transferred to her.
She hadn't noticed him there, instead her attention singularly focused on the wolves. She began walking toward her cave, and the wolves followed. None of their little entourage noticed him following from a distance behind her. The troupe arrived without delay, and when the wolves arrived to see their puppies safe, they let out barks of pleasure. The pups paused their play to greet their parents, but this sweet reunion did not break the ties forged in flame, and soon the pups returned to playing with the bear cubs. The parent wolves took flanking positions around the hatchlings and fledglings, as if offering them protection.
"Cer-Cer..." Phelan began to wheeze in distress, and her head whipped around. She froze as she recognized his silhouette back-lit at the cave entrance. "Cernunnos!" Phelan finally squeezed out, before descending into a hacking, coughing fit. Her attention snapped to her friend, and she quickly went to him. She patted his back carefully, trying to offer him her support, while Cernunnos took a few tentative steps into the cave.
Yes, these two were certainly his forest dwellers. There was no doubt. The kindness with which they treated the animal residents and so easily befriended them... It had been something he taught his forest dwellers. These were his forest dwellers. Here. In the New World. He almost couldn't believe it.
Brenna paused, startled, when she felt a hand on her head. Phelan had his eyes closed and was breathing wheezily, but settled, by her. The hand could only be... She turned her head to see him staring at her, and she froze again. His other hand reached out towards her face, and she could not help the instantaneous reaction she had. Her cheek fell against his palm with ease, and his fingers gently brushed away the ash on her face.
"What is your name, little one?" He asked, fixated on her.
"Brenna." She didn't need to think about answering, she felt no danger or threat from Cernunnos - and why should she? She and Phelan, and the other forest dwellers who had died, they had always been his.
"How are you here, Brenna?"
He couldn't tell if it was the heat of the fire outside, or what, but her cheeks filled with red. "I followed you. Well, we followed you."
"You...survived it?" He heard a sad noise from the back of her throat and quickly shook his head. "Never mind. Let me help you."
"Really?" Her eyes filled with childish amazement, and he realized just how young she was. She appeared a young woman, but still had the mind of a child - if an incredibly intelligent one. It would be at least a year more before her mind finally caught up with her body.
"Yes. Tell me what you need."
"I could never tell you to do something." Her eyes were as wide as saucers.
He smiled kindly. "Then inform me of your desires and I can decide if I shall grant them or not."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. I can get all the birds and predators, but none of the bison, or deer, or sheep will come with me..."
"Then perhaps they will come with me."
--
Hours passed as the sirens continued to wail. To the dismay of the firefighters, they had seen no animals running from the flames, and it concerned them. What had happened? They couldn't have all perished, could they?
It was true they hadn't, for even now, Brenna returned with an eagle in her arms. "I think this is the last one..."
Cernunnos looked up from his spot on the ground with Phelan - she could tell they had been talking with one antoher. "Good. I have the last of the sheep as well."
She moved towards the two men, and sat down next to them all. "I hope the fire stops soon."
"Do you know how it happened?"
"Well, it has not rained for a while... Wind, dry grass, dry wood..." She shrugged. "It was a disaster waiting to happen."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I hope the firefighters can beat it."
"Firefighters?"
Brenna's brow furrowed. "Have you not experienced the world beyond the forest?"
Phelan let out a shaky laugh, and said, "Brenna, I have told you before, you are the first of our kind to try and explore the human world."
She let out a faint noise of protest, "I do not see why. These humans are different from those of the isle! Most seem to like animals and forests. That is why they have special places where the forests are left alone. They can be very nice too."
Phelan just shook his head, while Cernunnos snorted in derision.
"Anyway," She grumbled, "firefighters are humans whose job it is to stop fires. They use big spouts of water from their trucks, and they put out the flames! But this is a very bad fire.. I do not know if they can beat it back."
While Cernunnos processed this, a loud crash sounded from nearby the cave. Brenna tilted her head before standing and running toward the sound. Phelan sighed. "She fails to think about things."
Cernunnos cursed softly before saying, "I will follow her."
When he saw her crouched above a man, he became wary, but when he realized the man's hand was on her wrist, he felt rage fill him. As he moved over, violence in his heart, Brenna looked up, startled.
"No! Wait!" She stood up and quickly stood in front of the man on the ground, holding her arms out as if a barrier. "He is hurt! And he is one of the firefighters. We must help him!"
Though he halted, the anger did not leave him. "Help a human? I think not. Especially when he believes he can lay a hand on you."
"But... Please, Cernunnos! They are not all bad! If our kind did not live so long, I would be his age. Please..."
A sigh left him, and he already knew she had won from the first moment she said 'please'. "What do we need to do?"
"Bring him to his other firefighter friends. I can not carry him on my own..."
Without a word, Cernunnos scooped the man up and slung him over his shoulder, gesturing for her to take the lead. She gave him a smile of relief, and then began moving through the forest.
He followed silently.
When they left the cover of the forest, he was greeted by the sight of men. Four men were wearing heavy pants and cumbersome jackets, many with helmets in their hands. Their faces and hands were covered in soot, grime, and sweat. Of course, he didn't think of how he and Brenna looked to them; a beautiful, clearly wild woman with tangled hair, and a spark of something dangerous, and an imposing, tall man with a buck's horns sprouting from his head, and definite danger oozing from him.
"We found him collapses in the forest. He needs your help. Too much smoke inhalation maybe?" Despite Brenna talking, the men remained frozen, their brains unable to deal with the shock of what they were seeing.
Cernunnos was getting impatient, and opened his mouth, "Listen--!"
"Please," Brenna placed a hand on his arm. "They are only surprised. They are not certain how to react. You cannot be mad at them for being lesser beings to us - it is not their choice." He sighed in defeat once more and nodded. "How about putting him here?" She moved closer to the men, and gestured to a clear spot of dry dirt. He did as she asked, and then stepped back. A moment later, two of the men finally came to react. One grabbed a bright blue bag and went to his knees on the ground, checking on his comrade. The other moved to his head, and carefully supported it.
Brenna smiled at the men, and then grabbed Cernunnos's hand. He was shocked, and in the face of this, had no reaction. She began to walk back to the forest, but stopped to look behind her once more. She lifted a hand to wave at the firefighters, and then transformed to a raven. Cernunnos took the form of a stag. Together, they entered the depths of the forest in these forms, leaving some seriously stunned civil servants behind.
--
When dawn broke, the fire had been beating, and there weren't any glowing embers left. The stress of the night meant the many animals gathered by Brenna and Cernunnos would stay for a bit longer to sleep, to rest in peace. Once the woke, she would return the nests to their places, and everything could return to normal...for the animal residents.
For Brenna, Cernunnos, and Phelan, things were only just beginning.
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