When all else fails?
Jump.
Kori stared into the frothing mist of the waterfall, feeling the blood drain from her face. There were two choices, either let the hunters catch her, or jump down into the abyss and hope she didn't land on any rocks.
This should not have been that hard.
Kori swalowed, turning around and peering into the trees. She knew she didn't have much time. She held her backpack close to her chest, biting her lip worriedly. What was she thinking? This had obviously been a really bad plan from the beginning, and yet here she was, holding her bag and hoping she wasn't going to die one way or the other.
Heh. She sniffed at herself disdainfully, she'd accpeted that she was going to die a LONG time ago. Time to make use of it.
The huge bulldogs burst through the trees. Kori closed her eyes and jumped, throwing herself into the forthing, churning mess of the waterfall.
Look out, she thought, holding her breath as her body tumbled this way and that. She felt her skin hitting the side of the cliff, felt as some of it ripped, but it all seemed very distant. No doubt she would feel that later. But for now. . .
The water poured over her hair, drenching it. She felt shockingly freezing. The end was coming up, the poor of water was going to smash into her and envelop her, thousands of gallons of water were going to dump onto her head and she was going to die.
Well, that was the theory anyway.
Here I come.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Addiction
This is something I wrote for my creative writing class. I'm a little concerned with my mental health. . . but whatever. it's a first draft, so have patience with it. This might say something about my mental health but I kind of like it :D Careful, it's ridiculously long.
It was just after six in the evening three months after the world went to Hell. Taern ghosted through the streets without making a sound, following after a man in a long blue coat. He stopped as the man reached a blank wall, looking up at it's height. He was almost as tall as Taern, but stood hunched over which made him seem much smaller.
“I know you're there Taern,” He said, “You don't have to hide.” Taern stepped out of the shadows and faced the man, keeping his hood covered.
“You know me,” he said.
“I remember you. Years ago it seems. Back in a time when you weren't afraid to walk out into the light.” He looked up at the street lamp lighting the small patch of gravel he stood on. Taern stayed as far from the illumination as possible. The man smiled sadly, his eyes swimming in the faint light, “Come with me Taern, we have something to discuss.”
He turned and began walking down along the wall, going toward the right. Taern thought about stopping him, but then began to follow. His eyes darted along the shadows, trying to keep everything that moved within his sight. The shakes were getting worse, he needed to finish this soon.
The man led him through the alleys until they reached the main road. Once there they followed a side road that led to a neighborhood of houses. They were all lit, the windows streaming light and the faint sound of voices crying through the doorways. Mothers called for their children to come inside out of the cold and fathers demanded that they hurry because they wanted dinner. The ground was crisp and chill, a faint frost dusting the lawns and houses.
“Wait a moment, Taern,” the man turned to face him once more, his green coat hovering around him, “We don't have to continue on just yet.” Taern stopped, his black boots crunching into the cold grass and breaking their fragile stems. His breath hovered around his face like a cloud and his fingers felt numb with the cold. He was still shaking, but he could control it for a little while longer. The man had to know how much danger he was in, why wasn't he running? What did he want?
“You think you've lost everything, don't you?” the man asked, trying to peer past the cowl of Taern's cloak. Taern was determined not to reply. His green eyes glittered in the midnight light. “Answer me, Taern,”
“What right do you have to demand anything?” Taern's voice was soft, barely more than a rumble in the night.
“I know something you don't.”
“Then tell me what it is,” He was tired of the wait, he needed this to be over, then he would return to the hills to live out his miserable existence until he couldn't stand to wait any longer. The man looked toward one of the houses on the street. There were more children around that house than any other, a woman calling to them as she wiped her hands on a green towel. Taern let his hand fall to his belt, pulling out a long obsidian blade. The warped, blackened glass reflected none of the dim light around it.
“Do you remember Taern? Do you remember?” The man spoke again, jolting
Taern from his thoughts.
“Remember what?”
“Remember when.” He began to move, walking toward the house with the most children. Taern scowled, his hand trembling where he held the blade. If he didn't answer his questions soon then. . .then what? He'd commit the deed before children?
Innocents?
What if they were like him?
Taern shoved the thought away. There were no others like him. He had searched, he was an anomaly. Unique. Not special, just a freak. He tried to steady the weapon, but if anything the shaking increased. “What are you talking about?” he whispered after the stranger. Why was he following him? Taern began to follow, almost against his will. Why didn't he just complete the deed and be done with it?
“I'm talking about this,” the man said. Taern followed his gaze. There was a little girl, blond, her hair chopped short, her gray eyes glittered in the street light, she knelt in the frosted grass, playing with frozen fingertips. She was freezing, but she continually ignored the woman's calls to come in. “I'm thinking about the girl.” Taern stared, fascinated. She was young, but not a baby, not a child. She had to be closer to 12 or 13. It seemed like years before she finally stood up and began walking toward the house. She walked with a frighteningly familiar step.
“Jessie,” Taern whispered. The name puffed out in a breath of white mist. The girl turned back, as though she'd heard him, then shrugged and rushed forward.
“I know something you don't know,” the man said. But he never finished. Taern yelled, spinning on his heel and ramming the black blade toward the man's heart. Let's see what you know.
The blade slowed, the world hesitated. The wind no longer felt cold and everything grew still and silent. Slow.
Silent.
Warm.
End.
And then it began.
[I]He'd been eleven when his father left. His sisters had all gotten older and left him before his mother got sick. But he'd always played with the chickens outback. Those stupid chickens that weren't good for anything but food. But he played with them, because there'd been no one else to play with.
Men came when he was fifteen. They told him things, things he'd never dreamed of. His mother told him to stay, begged him to stop, but he'd hit her and run away. She couldn't stop him. She was weak because she'd let his father leave. She couldn't stop him, and now she couldn't stop her son either. The boy ran.
He joined the group, he got older, learned how to fight, learned how to take care of himself. He learned that there were things out in this world, things that he didn't care to really know about. They scared him, but he fought them. He killed them, burned them, destroyed them. They grew to fear him, and ran when he came near. But he was strong. He stayed. He fought.
There was a girl, a beautiful girl with curly red hair. He loved her. They talked, smiled, held hands. He was afraid. Was he strong enough? Was she? What would she do if she found out what he did? He couldn't tell her, but he wanted to. He wanted her to love him the way he loved her. But was that possible?
They told him she was a monster, one of the ones he fought against. He told them she wasn't, she was different, he would change her. Tears fell from his eyes for the first time in a long time. He yelled, cried, fought, but he couldn't beat them. He watched in horror as they tied her to a stake and burned her alive, her beautiful green eyes wide with terror. Why? They asked him. Why?
Years later, he left. He wandered. He searched. He found someone, a young boy. Taern jolted within his mind, recognizing the black hair and steel gray eyes. The boy was reserved. Taern hadn't realized he'd been so different, even back then. He was the boy who would change everything. Should he kill him?
The boy was so young, he didn't know what he had done. The danger he had put the young girl in. ######The man felt a pain where his heart had been, so many years ago. He saw the cursed child with the girl. They were happy the way only the young were, before it was beaten out of them. But they didn't have much time left.
But he was too late. By the time he reached them the girl was already dead. The boy was gone, fleeing into the night. He had lost everything. The man searched through the rubble, his heart sinking. And then a small cry reached him. He turned over a spare table cloth, pulling out a young baby. He tucked the baby under his arm and walked away.
More images tumbled through the air. Taern watched every aspect of the man's life. He saw all of the horrible things he had done, all of the good. He watched him kill, watched him save lives. Saw the man save the baby and drop her off here, leave her with the lady at the care center. The man had searched for him for years. Looking for the cursed child. He hadn't found him.
Until now. [/I]
Like he always did, Taern tried to pull back, tried to stop the blade from its killing blow. Like always, he felt the blade bite into the soft flesh, peeling it back, a warm gush of blood seeping from the wound to coat his chilled hands. Gods help him, but it actually felt good.
The man fell to the ground, his eyes glazing over in pain. But a small smile lit his face, a sigh of relief, the last thought entered Taern's mind before the man went still and dark. The last thought to haunt him forever.
[I]Now it's in your hands, Boy.[/I]
* * *
Jade looked up when the lights went out, “Mrs. Laney?” she whispered. A few of the other children started to cry and she grabbed one of the younger kid's hands, gripping it tightly. “Mrs. Laney? What's going on?” There was no reply. The children's sobs were getting louder and Jade had to resist the urge to put her hands over her ears. What was going on?
“Jade?” She turned to the little girl who's hand was grasped tightly in her own, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing, the lights just went out.”
“Jade?”
“Yes?”
“What's that?” Jade spun around, her eyes widening as the silvery point of a blade rested at her throat. She froze, her entire body icing over and leaving her immobile. Something flashed in the darkness and the little girl began to cry with the others. Jade couldn't take her eyes off the shiny material pressed up against
her neck.
“Jessie,” a man whispered, his voice was dark, deep. Jade tried to keep herself from quivering, but only slightly succeeded.
“I-I'm not Jessie,” she whispered, the blade pressed tighter against her skin, “I-I'm Jade.”
“Jade?”
“Y-Yes.” She hated the quivering in her voice. She hated the stumble over the words. She straightened her back, tried to seem brave, but it was hard. It was difficult to think about anything but the feeling of the cold steel against her throat. She closed her eyes, hoping that if she couldn't see it gleaming then she wouldn't be able to feel it anymore. But she could. It was cold and sharp.
“What are you doing here?!” It was Mrs. Laney, Jade opened her eyes only slightly to see the woman's blur run toward the stranger. “What are you doing??!” she screamed. Jade jumped backwards when it seemed like her guardian would ram into the intruder, she had her nails out and seemed to be about ready to scrape them across the strangers back when he shifted.
It was so slight, Jade might have missed it if she hadn't been staring at his blur so intently. He barely moved, but in that movement the blade vanished from against her skin and flickered through the air. Mrs. Laney gasped. Jade thought someone was screaming but couldn't tell who. It seemed an eternity, like the world had decided to slow down and stop in that one, measureless moment. Jade opened her eyes wide, because she knew that she couldn't be allowed to miss a second of it.
A light seemed to be coming from Mrs. Laney. A whispy trailing light that flickered against the darkness. Jade frowned, feeling her stomach muscles tighten and jolt, if she squinted, she could see tiny figures dancing in the light. Little people. Most of them looked like Mrs. Laney, only younger. There was a little girl dancing through some flowers, a child crying by a tombstone. Two girls linking arms. A man leaning in to kiss a young woman. The images continued. Until finally the world seemed to speed up and the light vanished into the stranger.
And Mrs. Laney slumped to the ground.
“I'm the girl's father,” the stranger spoke to her corpse, he sounded tired and sad, “I'm here to take her home.” it was only then that Jade realized the screaming was her own.
* * *
Taern dropped his daughter onto a horse and rode. They rode far, the ride seemed like it would last forever, like nothing would ever stop them from just riding and riding and riding. He didn't know how much the young girl could stand but she never complained. She never said anything. Taern wondered how much of the Transition she saw. Did she see death the way he did? Did she have the curse that would make her life a living Hell if she ever shed another persons blood? Or was she just a normal girl who'd been shocked into silence after she'd essentially been kidnapped?
“Do you know who Jessie is?” Taern finally asked, trying to keep his voice impassive. He didn't know what to think of this girl, but she looked so like her. Looked exactly like the woman Taern had loved so long ago. Was it even possible that this was really her daughter?
“No,” the girl said, her voice quiet, “I don't know her.” She sounded strong despite the lack of volume. Taern could almost believe she wasn't frightened. Almost. He nodded and continued to ride. The two fresh lifespans he'd consumed warmed his insides and played out behind his eyelids. Sometimes he would do nothing for days after a Transition but sit and watch the life of the person he'd consumed. He sit and watch, criticize their stupidity, feel proud at their triumphs and cry at their sorrows. He almost never thought about how he'd killed them anymore. He never thought about how they would never get to return to whatever family they'd had before. He didn't think about how he was the one who had stolen their lives from them.
No, he couldn't think that way. Instead he would sit and watch, the memories alive and fresh in his veins. He felt good, felt alive as they played out along his insides, as though he had consumed their very souls and they were no warming his. He supposed that in a sense they were. If he even had a soul anymore.
Going without a Transition for more than a couple of days was torture for him. He would get the shakes first, but if he didn't satisfy his need soon then he would convulse on the floor, vomiting until he found the strength to push forward until he found the next life he wanted to consume. He couldn't live without them. If you could call whatever it was he did living.
The man he'd consumed had been a member of a group of people that hunted monsters like him. People who were different, who had. . . abilities. Some had the powers of the gods, others were more like curses. For Taern, it was a living nightmare. The man he'd killed should have been hunting him, but he hadn't been. He'd been leading Taern to his daughter. To the child of the only person Taern hadn't felt the need to kill, the only person who he had wanted to consume in an entirely different way. .
Taern bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. The tip of his forehead rested against his daughter's hair, making her shift uncomfortably beneath him. “Who are you?” she finally asked. She had Jessie's fierce temper. Taern looked up, they were traveling through fields of grass. The mountains in the distance. Should he take her there or should he continue to a town?
What, precisely, had he ever thought about doing with this child?
“I'm Taern,” he said, “Your mother was Jessie.” He didn't want to talk about it, but the words felt compelled to come out of him. Maybe it was because he'd never spoken them aloud before. Only let them consume his nightmares. “What's your name?”
“J-” Taern could almost here her clamping her jaw in an attempt to stop stuttering, “Jade.”
“That's a pretty name.”
“Why did you kidnap me?”
“Because. . .” Why had he kidnapped her? “Because you're my daughter too.” The girl fell silent for a moment, her body shaking.
“You killed Mrs. Laney.”
“Yes.”
“W-why?” Taern was taken by surprise at the question. Which was odd, since it really wasn't that strange of a question. In fact, it was rather reasonable. Why had he killed the woman? Maybe he was just so used to killing by now that the thought of there actually being a legitimate reason astounded him. When was there ever a good reason for killing someone? Didn't that seem a little like a oxymoron?
“She. . . was in the way.” Taern squinted, trying to pretend that there was something he was trying to see in the distance. The girl shivered in his arms and he tightened them automatically around her. She stiffened but he pretended to ignore it.
“What are you?” she whispered. Taern dug his spurs into the horse's flank, making him leap forward. The wind howled in his ears, his heartbeat loud in his chest. What are you? What are you? What are you?
The girl didn't ask anymore questions.
There was a little village at the bottom of the mountains. It was cute. The little houses all lined up in rows behind the main street. There weren't many shops, most of the “villagers” lived further out on their farms. Jade shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, obviously feeling restless. Taern was slightly surprised, forgetting the hours it had taken for him to become accustomed to the saddle. She would be sore for days. They headed toward the town, stopping at the little inn that hovered just at the edge of town. Taern jumped off the horse, extending his hand for the girl. She hesitated, obviously unwilling to take it, when he grabbed her and pulled her down. A stable hand came out and took the horse, leading him toward the stables. The girl crossed her arms and looked away, still quivering slightly. Taern wondered if she was cold.
He grabbed her shoulder and steered her into the Inn, half expecting her to make a run for it the moment they walked in the door. People stopped and stared as they walked in. A few whispered urgently to each other. Taern walked up to the bar tender and ordered a drink and some water. The man stared at him for a moment, his jaw agape.
“Taern. . .You're. . .”
“The drinks Sampson.” Taern said.
“You're not supposed to be here, Freak,” the voice came from a man behind them. Taern glanced over his shoulder and saw a huge man standing up in his chair. His girth doubled past his belt and rippled as he straightened. Taern was dwarfed in comparison.
Jade watched as her captor sighed, his expression mildly annoyed, “Do you really want to push this?” he asked, “It's been years.”
“You should never have shown your face here again,” the big man said. Taern bit back a grimace. Jade scooted closer to him. He killed Mrs. Laney, but he wasn't nearly as frightening looking as the men around her. She hated herself for it, but she stayed close. “Who's the girl?” the big man demanded, “Now you're resorting to children.”
Taern made a snap decision, “She's my daughter,” he said. There was murmuring and angry noises from the onlookers, Taern couldn't help but smile, “Maybe
you should fear her as much as you fear me.”
“Is she like you?” For the first time, the giant looked small as he cowered before a twelve year old girl.
“Do you want to find out?” Taern's expression was neutral and uninterested. His eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Jade shifted uncomfortably under all the stares, but something else was stirring too. It was like she wanted them to come at her. She wanted to see if she could beat them. She wanted to see if she could beat them all.
Was. . . was she like her father?
“Get out!” The bar tender yelled. Taern glowered at him.
“I want my drinks,” he said, the entire tavern had gone silent. Taern reached to his belt and pulled out a long black dagger. All the light seemed to be drawn to it, like a black hole. Jade couldn't tear her eyes away from it. She wanted it. The same strange feeling she'd had when all of those men were staring at her, she wanted it. She wanted to feel it in her hand, she wanted to know if she could wield it. Or would it wield her?
What did that mean? How could a knife wield someone?
“How long has it been Taern? Since you last. . . fed.” It was the bar tender again, his voice gruff in the silence. Taern raised his eyebrows at him it was the only facial expression he gave.
“Last night,” he said, his body was completely calm, none of the tell tale shakes to show his usual need.
“Then maybe you'll run dry,” Something big leaped forward, ramming into Taern and knocking him backwards into the bar. The bar tender smashed a bottle, making the glass fly away in jagged, sharp points. The newly forged weapon was shoved toward Taern's throat but he was already in motion. He shoved his first attacker back, spinning and shoving him into the broken bottle. The bar keeper gasped and tried to pull back, but it was too late, the glass had already run him through. Now the others were in motion, the entire bar was in chaos, most running to mob Taern and the others dashing for the exit.
Taern leaped and rolled, moving so quickly he seemed like he was flying. His black dagger was merciless, drinking up the flood of life as it cracked their bodies open. Jade was fascinated, it was like everything was going in slow motion. He would be about to sink the dagger in and everything would slow, and the little light figures would begin to dance into Taern. Jade watched all of them, her father draining the body dry, before he would try to pull the knife back and spare the attacker.
It was always too late.
And then everything would speed up again.
As he fought, Taern looked like he was bursting with health. His eyes were bright, his skin gleaming. The more he killed the healthier he looked. Jade huddled underneath the bar, her legs curled up under her as the whirlwind of sound and screams cascaded down from everywhere. Part of her wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out and yell and yell and yell until the world stopped and people stopped dying. The bodies looked very strange right before they hit the ground, like something was missing. Like he'd done more than take their life. Some were grimacing, some crying, some growling, but all had one thing in common. They were dead.
What a worthless way to die.
Shouldn't death mean something? Why didn't it mean anything for them? Blood flooded the girl's cheeks as she glared at the men attacking her father and dying. They were all dying, and for what? Shouldn't they try to stay alive so it isn't worthless? Or was everything worthless already? Was that why they kept on fighting?
But no. . . now they were running. The few still standing turned and ran from Taern, some of them yelling, some of them just fleeing as fast as possible. The bar keeper was slumped over the counter, his hand still clutching the broken bottle. There were at least six men lying on the ground. None of them were breathing. None of them were moving at all.
Taern didn't leave survivors. Why didn't that surprise her?
Or more importantly, why didn't it mortify her?
Jade pulled herself out from under the bar, looking down at the bodies that lay between her and Taern. There was something missing. Something vital. A soul? Jade wasn't sure she believed in souls. She wasn't sure that such a thing existed. She knew what did exist though, lives. Living. People had stories, they had lives, they had secrets. Was that what was gone? Did such a thing leave a mark upon a person? She turned to her father, who was staring at her from dark eyes. He didn't say anything, just stood there. His blade wasn't even bloody, it still gleamed from the light it sucked into it.
“I know what you do,” She whispered. Taern tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, examining his daughter. “Stories.”
“What?”
“Their stories. You steal them. That's the only thing that nobody should be able to take, but you take them. You take their life story.” Jade took a deep breath, surprised that she was trembling. Taern started to take a step toward her when she vomited all over the floor. She fell forward onto her knees, her hands snaking out at the last moment to catch herself. There were tears in her eyes, but she couldn't seem to make them go away. “You steal them,” she repeated, “You steal their stories.”
* * *
“Does it hurt?” She seemed tired, her eyes drooping and red. She poked at the fire with a long stick, roasting the tip of it. Fire was strange. It only consumed. It ate and ate and ate without regards to anything else. Any good that it had, any good it presented, was just a by-factor of the consumption.
“No,” Taern said, “Not anymore.” Of course not. Why should it hurt him? Jade swallowed the lump in her throat. Did he think of them as friends? He must know them more than their closest family members. He would see where they were born, where they came from, their first love, their every loss. . . did he hate them? Or did he love them? Did their faces haunt his dreams? Would Mrs. Laney be remembered among all those faces?
“H-how do you. . .live?”
“By breathing.” Taern stopped, gazing up at the sky, “In and out.”
“You know what I mean,” she snapped at him, it seemed wrong. He shouldn't say things like that. He shouldn't joke. It wasn't funny. He didn't reply. The snap of the logs being consumed by the flames sent up a flurry of sparks. She jerked away to avoid getting burned. “Will it happen to me?” he stayed silent. “Answer me!”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to say no,” there was a catch in her voice now, but she shoved it down, “I want you to say nothing is wrong with me.”
“You want me to say you're not like me.”
“Yes.”
“I can't.”
“So I am like you?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You just don't know.”
“No, I don't.”
“How can you stand it!? How can you look at them. . .”
“I don't look anymore.”
“Did you ever?”
He flinched slightly, but didn't look at her face. His eyes reflected the dancing flames. “I remember their eyes,” he finally said, “They were black. Soulless. Looking into them for too long made me feel like I was drowning. So no, I don't look at them anymore.” He stood up abruptly. Agitated. The flames parted in his eyes and Jade wondered if maybe she could see the memories, feelings and stories playing out behind his gaze. Did he still watch them when it was over? Did he remember all of their names? Did he love them or hate them? She had to know. She had to know if she was like him. She had to know if she was cursed like he was.
“Why did you take me?” she whispered, “I would have been safe where I was, I would never have the opportunity to. . .to. . .to kill anyone. I wouldn't have to worry about it!” Why did she worry about it now? What was the point? If she just didn't kill anyone. If she just didn't slide that obsidian dagger into anyone's lifeblood. . .
“Because.” Taern raised his hands and then dropped them lifelessly. “You look like her.”
“What?”
“Jessie.” he turned away, “You look like Jessie.” It wasn't an excuse. It didn't even come close to an excuse. And yet Jade laid down by her spot near the fire and didn't ask anymore questions. She didn't want to know, she decided. She didn't want to understand.
The night passed swiftly. Jade dreamed of monsters and fangs dripping with blood. When she woke up, Taern was already packing up the little camp, stamping out the fire, the few belongings already strapped to the horse. Jade laid there for a moment, her breath catching. When she could finally force herself to her feet it felt like the world was trying to shove her back down. What was her story? Did she even have one anymore? All these things happening to her. . .they didn't feel real. Like she was watching it from the sidelines. It was some other girl, some other time, some other reason. It wasn't real. It was all in her head.
Her blood pulsed in her ears, she wondered what it would look like if it spilled out over the ground. Would it be gleaming scarlet? Like rubies? Or would it just fall to the ground while all of her stories were stolen by the man behind her?
Why did she care?
Taern's dagger laid on the grass a few feet away from her. Jade took two steps and swept it into her hands, holding it gently. What would it be like? Having all of those stories to fill up your own? You wouldn't have to think about how your life was worthless, how nothing mattered. Because you would see the things that do matter. You would see the things that are important and some feeling would return to you. Maybe. Maybe he stole the stories because he couldn't live knowing his life had no reason and no point. He couldn't live believing he was a freak, so he killed people who didn't know, he killed them and lived through their lives. Maybe some of them actually made him feel better about himself. Maybe others made him want to die.
Maybe he should die.
“Jade?” His voice was very near. It wasn't angry, it wasn't annoyed, it was tired. Like everything was finally hitting him.
“How many have you killed?” she whispered.
“One or two every week for twelve years.” he said quietly. She nodded, her hands trembling. The dagger turned, pointing toward her.
“Do you love them?” she said, her breath puffing out in the morning air, gently misting her face.
“Every single one.”
Jade nodded, her hands trembling. It would be easy. What stories would she see? What things would she know?
Or should she just end it here and now?
“Jade.” her name sounded pretty coming from his mouth. Like it was something precious. Jade looked behind her at him, looked into those eyes and saw all those stories playing out behind them.
“How did you meet my mother?” she asked.
“We were school mates. She was my best friend. She didn't know I was a freak.”
“How did she die?”
“They found out.”
Jade turned slowly toward him, still clutching the dagger's hilt tightly in her hands, “Do you miss her?”
“Every single day.”
“Every single day,” Jade repeated, “Every single day.” The knife flew forward and everything slowed down. The blade slowed, the world hesitated. The wind no longer felt cold and everything grew still and silent. Slow.
Silent.
Warm.
End.
And then it began.
It was just after six in the evening three months after the world went to Hell. Taern ghosted through the streets without making a sound, following after a man in a long blue coat. He stopped as the man reached a blank wall, looking up at it's height. He was almost as tall as Taern, but stood hunched over which made him seem much smaller.
“I know you're there Taern,” He said, “You don't have to hide.” Taern stepped out of the shadows and faced the man, keeping his hood covered.
“You know me,” he said.
“I remember you. Years ago it seems. Back in a time when you weren't afraid to walk out into the light.” He looked up at the street lamp lighting the small patch of gravel he stood on. Taern stayed as far from the illumination as possible. The man smiled sadly, his eyes swimming in the faint light, “Come with me Taern, we have something to discuss.”
He turned and began walking down along the wall, going toward the right. Taern thought about stopping him, but then began to follow. His eyes darted along the shadows, trying to keep everything that moved within his sight. The shakes were getting worse, he needed to finish this soon.
The man led him through the alleys until they reached the main road. Once there they followed a side road that led to a neighborhood of houses. They were all lit, the windows streaming light and the faint sound of voices crying through the doorways. Mothers called for their children to come inside out of the cold and fathers demanded that they hurry because they wanted dinner. The ground was crisp and chill, a faint frost dusting the lawns and houses.
“Wait a moment, Taern,” the man turned to face him once more, his green coat hovering around him, “We don't have to continue on just yet.” Taern stopped, his black boots crunching into the cold grass and breaking their fragile stems. His breath hovered around his face like a cloud and his fingers felt numb with the cold. He was still shaking, but he could control it for a little while longer. The man had to know how much danger he was in, why wasn't he running? What did he want?
“You think you've lost everything, don't you?” the man asked, trying to peer past the cowl of Taern's cloak. Taern was determined not to reply. His green eyes glittered in the midnight light. “Answer me, Taern,”
“What right do you have to demand anything?” Taern's voice was soft, barely more than a rumble in the night.
“I know something you don't.”
“Then tell me what it is,” He was tired of the wait, he needed this to be over, then he would return to the hills to live out his miserable existence until he couldn't stand to wait any longer. The man looked toward one of the houses on the street. There were more children around that house than any other, a woman calling to them as she wiped her hands on a green towel. Taern let his hand fall to his belt, pulling out a long obsidian blade. The warped, blackened glass reflected none of the dim light around it.
“Do you remember Taern? Do you remember?” The man spoke again, jolting
Taern from his thoughts.
“Remember what?”
“Remember when.” He began to move, walking toward the house with the most children. Taern scowled, his hand trembling where he held the blade. If he didn't answer his questions soon then. . .then what? He'd commit the deed before children?
Innocents?
What if they were like him?
Taern shoved the thought away. There were no others like him. He had searched, he was an anomaly. Unique. Not special, just a freak. He tried to steady the weapon, but if anything the shaking increased. “What are you talking about?” he whispered after the stranger. Why was he following him? Taern began to follow, almost against his will. Why didn't he just complete the deed and be done with it?
“I'm talking about this,” the man said. Taern followed his gaze. There was a little girl, blond, her hair chopped short, her gray eyes glittered in the street light, she knelt in the frosted grass, playing with frozen fingertips. She was freezing, but she continually ignored the woman's calls to come in. “I'm thinking about the girl.” Taern stared, fascinated. She was young, but not a baby, not a child. She had to be closer to 12 or 13. It seemed like years before she finally stood up and began walking toward the house. She walked with a frighteningly familiar step.
“Jessie,” Taern whispered. The name puffed out in a breath of white mist. The girl turned back, as though she'd heard him, then shrugged and rushed forward.
“I know something you don't know,” the man said. But he never finished. Taern yelled, spinning on his heel and ramming the black blade toward the man's heart. Let's see what you know.
The blade slowed, the world hesitated. The wind no longer felt cold and everything grew still and silent. Slow.
Silent.
Warm.
End.
And then it began.
[I]He'd been eleven when his father left. His sisters had all gotten older and left him before his mother got sick. But he'd always played with the chickens outback. Those stupid chickens that weren't good for anything but food. But he played with them, because there'd been no one else to play with.
Men came when he was fifteen. They told him things, things he'd never dreamed of. His mother told him to stay, begged him to stop, but he'd hit her and run away. She couldn't stop him. She was weak because she'd let his father leave. She couldn't stop him, and now she couldn't stop her son either. The boy ran.
He joined the group, he got older, learned how to fight, learned how to take care of himself. He learned that there were things out in this world, things that he didn't care to really know about. They scared him, but he fought them. He killed them, burned them, destroyed them. They grew to fear him, and ran when he came near. But he was strong. He stayed. He fought.
There was a girl, a beautiful girl with curly red hair. He loved her. They talked, smiled, held hands. He was afraid. Was he strong enough? Was she? What would she do if she found out what he did? He couldn't tell her, but he wanted to. He wanted her to love him the way he loved her. But was that possible?
They told him she was a monster, one of the ones he fought against. He told them she wasn't, she was different, he would change her. Tears fell from his eyes for the first time in a long time. He yelled, cried, fought, but he couldn't beat them. He watched in horror as they tied her to a stake and burned her alive, her beautiful green eyes wide with terror. Why? They asked him. Why?
Years later, he left. He wandered. He searched. He found someone, a young boy. Taern jolted within his mind, recognizing the black hair and steel gray eyes. The boy was reserved. Taern hadn't realized he'd been so different, even back then. He was the boy who would change everything. Should he kill him?
The boy was so young, he didn't know what he had done. The danger he had put the young girl in. ######The man felt a pain where his heart had been, so many years ago. He saw the cursed child with the girl. They were happy the way only the young were, before it was beaten out of them. But they didn't have much time left.
But he was too late. By the time he reached them the girl was already dead. The boy was gone, fleeing into the night. He had lost everything. The man searched through the rubble, his heart sinking. And then a small cry reached him. He turned over a spare table cloth, pulling out a young baby. He tucked the baby under his arm and walked away.
More images tumbled through the air. Taern watched every aspect of the man's life. He saw all of the horrible things he had done, all of the good. He watched him kill, watched him save lives. Saw the man save the baby and drop her off here, leave her with the lady at the care center. The man had searched for him for years. Looking for the cursed child. He hadn't found him.
Until now. [/I]
Like he always did, Taern tried to pull back, tried to stop the blade from its killing blow. Like always, he felt the blade bite into the soft flesh, peeling it back, a warm gush of blood seeping from the wound to coat his chilled hands. Gods help him, but it actually felt good.
The man fell to the ground, his eyes glazing over in pain. But a small smile lit his face, a sigh of relief, the last thought entered Taern's mind before the man went still and dark. The last thought to haunt him forever.
[I]Now it's in your hands, Boy.[/I]
* * *
Jade looked up when the lights went out, “Mrs. Laney?” she whispered. A few of the other children started to cry and she grabbed one of the younger kid's hands, gripping it tightly. “Mrs. Laney? What's going on?” There was no reply. The children's sobs were getting louder and Jade had to resist the urge to put her hands over her ears. What was going on?
“Jade?” She turned to the little girl who's hand was grasped tightly in her own, “What's wrong?”
“Nothing, the lights just went out.”
“Jade?”
“Yes?”
“What's that?” Jade spun around, her eyes widening as the silvery point of a blade rested at her throat. She froze, her entire body icing over and leaving her immobile. Something flashed in the darkness and the little girl began to cry with the others. Jade couldn't take her eyes off the shiny material pressed up against
her neck.
“Jessie,” a man whispered, his voice was dark, deep. Jade tried to keep herself from quivering, but only slightly succeeded.
“I-I'm not Jessie,” she whispered, the blade pressed tighter against her skin, “I-I'm Jade.”
“Jade?”
“Y-Yes.” She hated the quivering in her voice. She hated the stumble over the words. She straightened her back, tried to seem brave, but it was hard. It was difficult to think about anything but the feeling of the cold steel against her throat. She closed her eyes, hoping that if she couldn't see it gleaming then she wouldn't be able to feel it anymore. But she could. It was cold and sharp.
“What are you doing here?!” It was Mrs. Laney, Jade opened her eyes only slightly to see the woman's blur run toward the stranger. “What are you doing??!” she screamed. Jade jumped backwards when it seemed like her guardian would ram into the intruder, she had her nails out and seemed to be about ready to scrape them across the strangers back when he shifted.
It was so slight, Jade might have missed it if she hadn't been staring at his blur so intently. He barely moved, but in that movement the blade vanished from against her skin and flickered through the air. Mrs. Laney gasped. Jade thought someone was screaming but couldn't tell who. It seemed an eternity, like the world had decided to slow down and stop in that one, measureless moment. Jade opened her eyes wide, because she knew that she couldn't be allowed to miss a second of it.
A light seemed to be coming from Mrs. Laney. A whispy trailing light that flickered against the darkness. Jade frowned, feeling her stomach muscles tighten and jolt, if she squinted, she could see tiny figures dancing in the light. Little people. Most of them looked like Mrs. Laney, only younger. There was a little girl dancing through some flowers, a child crying by a tombstone. Two girls linking arms. A man leaning in to kiss a young woman. The images continued. Until finally the world seemed to speed up and the light vanished into the stranger.
And Mrs. Laney slumped to the ground.
“I'm the girl's father,” the stranger spoke to her corpse, he sounded tired and sad, “I'm here to take her home.” it was only then that Jade realized the screaming was her own.
* * *
Taern dropped his daughter onto a horse and rode. They rode far, the ride seemed like it would last forever, like nothing would ever stop them from just riding and riding and riding. He didn't know how much the young girl could stand but she never complained. She never said anything. Taern wondered how much of the Transition she saw. Did she see death the way he did? Did she have the curse that would make her life a living Hell if she ever shed another persons blood? Or was she just a normal girl who'd been shocked into silence after she'd essentially been kidnapped?
“Do you know who Jessie is?” Taern finally asked, trying to keep his voice impassive. He didn't know what to think of this girl, but she looked so like her. Looked exactly like the woman Taern had loved so long ago. Was it even possible that this was really her daughter?
“No,” the girl said, her voice quiet, “I don't know her.” She sounded strong despite the lack of volume. Taern could almost believe she wasn't frightened. Almost. He nodded and continued to ride. The two fresh lifespans he'd consumed warmed his insides and played out behind his eyelids. Sometimes he would do nothing for days after a Transition but sit and watch the life of the person he'd consumed. He sit and watch, criticize their stupidity, feel proud at their triumphs and cry at their sorrows. He almost never thought about how he'd killed them anymore. He never thought about how they would never get to return to whatever family they'd had before. He didn't think about how he was the one who had stolen their lives from them.
No, he couldn't think that way. Instead he would sit and watch, the memories alive and fresh in his veins. He felt good, felt alive as they played out along his insides, as though he had consumed their very souls and they were no warming his. He supposed that in a sense they were. If he even had a soul anymore.
Going without a Transition for more than a couple of days was torture for him. He would get the shakes first, but if he didn't satisfy his need soon then he would convulse on the floor, vomiting until he found the strength to push forward until he found the next life he wanted to consume. He couldn't live without them. If you could call whatever it was he did living.
The man he'd consumed had been a member of a group of people that hunted monsters like him. People who were different, who had. . . abilities. Some had the powers of the gods, others were more like curses. For Taern, it was a living nightmare. The man he'd killed should have been hunting him, but he hadn't been. He'd been leading Taern to his daughter. To the child of the only person Taern hadn't felt the need to kill, the only person who he had wanted to consume in an entirely different way. .
Taern bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. The tip of his forehead rested against his daughter's hair, making her shift uncomfortably beneath him. “Who are you?” she finally asked. She had Jessie's fierce temper. Taern looked up, they were traveling through fields of grass. The mountains in the distance. Should he take her there or should he continue to a town?
What, precisely, had he ever thought about doing with this child?
“I'm Taern,” he said, “Your mother was Jessie.” He didn't want to talk about it, but the words felt compelled to come out of him. Maybe it was because he'd never spoken them aloud before. Only let them consume his nightmares. “What's your name?”
“J-” Taern could almost here her clamping her jaw in an attempt to stop stuttering, “Jade.”
“That's a pretty name.”
“Why did you kidnap me?”
“Because. . .” Why had he kidnapped her? “Because you're my daughter too.” The girl fell silent for a moment, her body shaking.
“You killed Mrs. Laney.”
“Yes.”
“W-why?” Taern was taken by surprise at the question. Which was odd, since it really wasn't that strange of a question. In fact, it was rather reasonable. Why had he killed the woman? Maybe he was just so used to killing by now that the thought of there actually being a legitimate reason astounded him. When was there ever a good reason for killing someone? Didn't that seem a little like a oxymoron?
“She. . . was in the way.” Taern squinted, trying to pretend that there was something he was trying to see in the distance. The girl shivered in his arms and he tightened them automatically around her. She stiffened but he pretended to ignore it.
“What are you?” she whispered. Taern dug his spurs into the horse's flank, making him leap forward. The wind howled in his ears, his heartbeat loud in his chest. What are you? What are you? What are you?
The girl didn't ask anymore questions.
There was a little village at the bottom of the mountains. It was cute. The little houses all lined up in rows behind the main street. There weren't many shops, most of the “villagers” lived further out on their farms. Jade shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, obviously feeling restless. Taern was slightly surprised, forgetting the hours it had taken for him to become accustomed to the saddle. She would be sore for days. They headed toward the town, stopping at the little inn that hovered just at the edge of town. Taern jumped off the horse, extending his hand for the girl. She hesitated, obviously unwilling to take it, when he grabbed her and pulled her down. A stable hand came out and took the horse, leading him toward the stables. The girl crossed her arms and looked away, still quivering slightly. Taern wondered if she was cold.
He grabbed her shoulder and steered her into the Inn, half expecting her to make a run for it the moment they walked in the door. People stopped and stared as they walked in. A few whispered urgently to each other. Taern walked up to the bar tender and ordered a drink and some water. The man stared at him for a moment, his jaw agape.
“Taern. . .You're. . .”
“The drinks Sampson.” Taern said.
“You're not supposed to be here, Freak,” the voice came from a man behind them. Taern glanced over his shoulder and saw a huge man standing up in his chair. His girth doubled past his belt and rippled as he straightened. Taern was dwarfed in comparison.
Jade watched as her captor sighed, his expression mildly annoyed, “Do you really want to push this?” he asked, “It's been years.”
“You should never have shown your face here again,” the big man said. Taern bit back a grimace. Jade scooted closer to him. He killed Mrs. Laney, but he wasn't nearly as frightening looking as the men around her. She hated herself for it, but she stayed close. “Who's the girl?” the big man demanded, “Now you're resorting to children.”
Taern made a snap decision, “She's my daughter,” he said. There was murmuring and angry noises from the onlookers, Taern couldn't help but smile, “Maybe
you should fear her as much as you fear me.”
“Is she like you?” For the first time, the giant looked small as he cowered before a twelve year old girl.
“Do you want to find out?” Taern's expression was neutral and uninterested. His eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Jade shifted uncomfortably under all the stares, but something else was stirring too. It was like she wanted them to come at her. She wanted to see if she could beat them. She wanted to see if she could beat them all.
Was. . . was she like her father?
“Get out!” The bar tender yelled. Taern glowered at him.
“I want my drinks,” he said, the entire tavern had gone silent. Taern reached to his belt and pulled out a long black dagger. All the light seemed to be drawn to it, like a black hole. Jade couldn't tear her eyes away from it. She wanted it. The same strange feeling she'd had when all of those men were staring at her, she wanted it. She wanted to feel it in her hand, she wanted to know if she could wield it. Or would it wield her?
What did that mean? How could a knife wield someone?
“How long has it been Taern? Since you last. . . fed.” It was the bar tender again, his voice gruff in the silence. Taern raised his eyebrows at him it was the only facial expression he gave.
“Last night,” he said, his body was completely calm, none of the tell tale shakes to show his usual need.
“Then maybe you'll run dry,” Something big leaped forward, ramming into Taern and knocking him backwards into the bar. The bar tender smashed a bottle, making the glass fly away in jagged, sharp points. The newly forged weapon was shoved toward Taern's throat but he was already in motion. He shoved his first attacker back, spinning and shoving him into the broken bottle. The bar keeper gasped and tried to pull back, but it was too late, the glass had already run him through. Now the others were in motion, the entire bar was in chaos, most running to mob Taern and the others dashing for the exit.
Taern leaped and rolled, moving so quickly he seemed like he was flying. His black dagger was merciless, drinking up the flood of life as it cracked their bodies open. Jade was fascinated, it was like everything was going in slow motion. He would be about to sink the dagger in and everything would slow, and the little light figures would begin to dance into Taern. Jade watched all of them, her father draining the body dry, before he would try to pull the knife back and spare the attacker.
It was always too late.
And then everything would speed up again.
As he fought, Taern looked like he was bursting with health. His eyes were bright, his skin gleaming. The more he killed the healthier he looked. Jade huddled underneath the bar, her legs curled up under her as the whirlwind of sound and screams cascaded down from everywhere. Part of her wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out and yell and yell and yell until the world stopped and people stopped dying. The bodies looked very strange right before they hit the ground, like something was missing. Like he'd done more than take their life. Some were grimacing, some crying, some growling, but all had one thing in common. They were dead.
What a worthless way to die.
Shouldn't death mean something? Why didn't it mean anything for them? Blood flooded the girl's cheeks as she glared at the men attacking her father and dying. They were all dying, and for what? Shouldn't they try to stay alive so it isn't worthless? Or was everything worthless already? Was that why they kept on fighting?
But no. . . now they were running. The few still standing turned and ran from Taern, some of them yelling, some of them just fleeing as fast as possible. The bar keeper was slumped over the counter, his hand still clutching the broken bottle. There were at least six men lying on the ground. None of them were breathing. None of them were moving at all.
Taern didn't leave survivors. Why didn't that surprise her?
Or more importantly, why didn't it mortify her?
Jade pulled herself out from under the bar, looking down at the bodies that lay between her and Taern. There was something missing. Something vital. A soul? Jade wasn't sure she believed in souls. She wasn't sure that such a thing existed. She knew what did exist though, lives. Living. People had stories, they had lives, they had secrets. Was that what was gone? Did such a thing leave a mark upon a person? She turned to her father, who was staring at her from dark eyes. He didn't say anything, just stood there. His blade wasn't even bloody, it still gleamed from the light it sucked into it.
“I know what you do,” She whispered. Taern tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, examining his daughter. “Stories.”
“What?”
“Their stories. You steal them. That's the only thing that nobody should be able to take, but you take them. You take their life story.” Jade took a deep breath, surprised that she was trembling. Taern started to take a step toward her when she vomited all over the floor. She fell forward onto her knees, her hands snaking out at the last moment to catch herself. There were tears in her eyes, but she couldn't seem to make them go away. “You steal them,” she repeated, “You steal their stories.”
* * *
“Does it hurt?” She seemed tired, her eyes drooping and red. She poked at the fire with a long stick, roasting the tip of it. Fire was strange. It only consumed. It ate and ate and ate without regards to anything else. Any good that it had, any good it presented, was just a by-factor of the consumption.
“No,” Taern said, “Not anymore.” Of course not. Why should it hurt him? Jade swallowed the lump in her throat. Did he think of them as friends? He must know them more than their closest family members. He would see where they were born, where they came from, their first love, their every loss. . . did he hate them? Or did he love them? Did their faces haunt his dreams? Would Mrs. Laney be remembered among all those faces?
“H-how do you. . .live?”
“By breathing.” Taern stopped, gazing up at the sky, “In and out.”
“You know what I mean,” she snapped at him, it seemed wrong. He shouldn't say things like that. He shouldn't joke. It wasn't funny. He didn't reply. The snap of the logs being consumed by the flames sent up a flurry of sparks. She jerked away to avoid getting burned. “Will it happen to me?” he stayed silent. “Answer me!”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to say no,” there was a catch in her voice now, but she shoved it down, “I want you to say nothing is wrong with me.”
“You want me to say you're not like me.”
“Yes.”
“I can't.”
“So I am like you?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You just don't know.”
“No, I don't.”
“How can you stand it!? How can you look at them. . .”
“I don't look anymore.”
“Did you ever?”
He flinched slightly, but didn't look at her face. His eyes reflected the dancing flames. “I remember their eyes,” he finally said, “They were black. Soulless. Looking into them for too long made me feel like I was drowning. So no, I don't look at them anymore.” He stood up abruptly. Agitated. The flames parted in his eyes and Jade wondered if maybe she could see the memories, feelings and stories playing out behind his gaze. Did he still watch them when it was over? Did he remember all of their names? Did he love them or hate them? She had to know. She had to know if she was like him. She had to know if she was cursed like he was.
“Why did you take me?” she whispered, “I would have been safe where I was, I would never have the opportunity to. . .to. . .to kill anyone. I wouldn't have to worry about it!” Why did she worry about it now? What was the point? If she just didn't kill anyone. If she just didn't slide that obsidian dagger into anyone's lifeblood. . .
“Because.” Taern raised his hands and then dropped them lifelessly. “You look like her.”
“What?”
“Jessie.” he turned away, “You look like Jessie.” It wasn't an excuse. It didn't even come close to an excuse. And yet Jade laid down by her spot near the fire and didn't ask anymore questions. She didn't want to know, she decided. She didn't want to understand.
The night passed swiftly. Jade dreamed of monsters and fangs dripping with blood. When she woke up, Taern was already packing up the little camp, stamping out the fire, the few belongings already strapped to the horse. Jade laid there for a moment, her breath catching. When she could finally force herself to her feet it felt like the world was trying to shove her back down. What was her story? Did she even have one anymore? All these things happening to her. . .they didn't feel real. Like she was watching it from the sidelines. It was some other girl, some other time, some other reason. It wasn't real. It was all in her head.
Her blood pulsed in her ears, she wondered what it would look like if it spilled out over the ground. Would it be gleaming scarlet? Like rubies? Or would it just fall to the ground while all of her stories were stolen by the man behind her?
Why did she care?
Taern's dagger laid on the grass a few feet away from her. Jade took two steps and swept it into her hands, holding it gently. What would it be like? Having all of those stories to fill up your own? You wouldn't have to think about how your life was worthless, how nothing mattered. Because you would see the things that do matter. You would see the things that are important and some feeling would return to you. Maybe. Maybe he stole the stories because he couldn't live knowing his life had no reason and no point. He couldn't live believing he was a freak, so he killed people who didn't know, he killed them and lived through their lives. Maybe some of them actually made him feel better about himself. Maybe others made him want to die.
Maybe he should die.
“Jade?” His voice was very near. It wasn't angry, it wasn't annoyed, it was tired. Like everything was finally hitting him.
“How many have you killed?” she whispered.
“One or two every week for twelve years.” he said quietly. She nodded, her hands trembling. The dagger turned, pointing toward her.
“Do you love them?” she said, her breath puffing out in the morning air, gently misting her face.
“Every single one.”
Jade nodded, her hands trembling. It would be easy. What stories would she see? What things would she know?
Or should she just end it here and now?
“Jade.” her name sounded pretty coming from his mouth. Like it was something precious. Jade looked behind her at him, looked into those eyes and saw all those stories playing out behind them.
“How did you meet my mother?” she asked.
“We were school mates. She was my best friend. She didn't know I was a freak.”
“How did she die?”
“They found out.”
Jade turned slowly toward him, still clutching the dagger's hilt tightly in her hands, “Do you miss her?”
“Every single day.”
“Every single day,” Jade repeated, “Every single day.” The knife flew forward and everything slowed down. The blade slowed, the world hesitated. The wind no longer felt cold and everything grew still and silent. Slow.
Silent.
Warm.
End.
And then it began.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Titleless
Look up.
Look down.
Look to the side.
Look around.
What do you see?
What do you want?
What do you hope for?
What can you pray for?
I don't know.
I never knew.
I don't understand.
I don't think you do.
Have you seen a person?
Have you seen a soul?
Have you seen the eyes of a pain wrecked hole?
Have you wondered why the world doesn't always seem to turn?
Done is the beginning.
Done is the end.
Done is my endless wandering around this wretched bin.
Done is my only cry as the horror pushes on.
Look what I have done.
Look down.
Look to the side.
Look around.
What do you see?
What do you want?
What do you hope for?
What can you pray for?
I don't know.
I never knew.
I don't understand.
I don't think you do.
Have you seen a person?
Have you seen a soul?
Have you seen the eyes of a pain wrecked hole?
Have you wondered why the world doesn't always seem to turn?
Done is the beginning.
Done is the end.
Done is my endless wandering around this wretched bin.
Done is my only cry as the horror pushes on.
Look what I have done.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Light
Can you see light?
The light in the sky, the light in the wind, in the trees. Can you see the soul? The soul of a person, thought, being.
I thought we'd all get along great, I thought this world would hold true.
It doesn't.
It won't.
Light.
It flies through space and time, it goes faster than anything, moves more gracefully and efficiently. Why can't we all just be a little more like light?
What are we missing?
Choices.
We make mistakes, we are delusional, we forget. I don't want to forget, but how can I not?
Why do I write?
I write because to not would be to kill me, I write because I'm whinny, I write because I don't know what else to do.
Fly.
Soar.
Light.
Shine.
Don't forget. But what is it you really want to remember?
This is the way my brain thinks. This is the way that it functions and rolls. Do you recognize it? Can you see similarities between my brain and yours?
Or am I really all alone?
The light in the sky, the light in the wind, in the trees. Can you see the soul? The soul of a person, thought, being.
I thought we'd all get along great, I thought this world would hold true.
It doesn't.
It won't.
Light.
It flies through space and time, it goes faster than anything, moves more gracefully and efficiently. Why can't we all just be a little more like light?
What are we missing?
Choices.
We make mistakes, we are delusional, we forget. I don't want to forget, but how can I not?
Why do I write?
I write because to not would be to kill me, I write because I'm whinny, I write because I don't know what else to do.
Fly.
Soar.
Light.
Shine.
Don't forget. But what is it you really want to remember?
This is the way my brain thinks. This is the way that it functions and rolls. Do you recognize it? Can you see similarities between my brain and yours?
Or am I really all alone?
Monday, October 25, 2010
Home
I'm not sure I like the idea of putting this one up here, but I'll do it anyway. This is another essay about another close topic. This one talks about home.
There's this street in my hometown of American Fork that runs exactly through the middle of everything. It's not extremely long, but it will take you from the New Walmart, to the library, through the fast food restaurants and all the way passed Macey's. It isn't the best street in the world-- No street within the borders of AF could be considered “The Best”-- but I cannot ride, walk, or look down it without having flashback mania.
Everything happens on that street. I worked on it; my best friend worked on it; it was the street we drove on to get anywhere and it was the street I walked on to travel everywhere! It was the street you could not avoid.
Once, after my best friend Caitlyn was finished working at the library, she, John and I were all hanging out around her car, staring out at that street. We were laughing, talking, teasing each other and texting everyone else in the known universe while we were doing it. I remember trying to keep things light while not actually looking at either of them since they would continually make goo goo eyes at each other, something that made me uncomfortable.
Knowing us at this period of time, it would never have surprised you that we were chatting with each other and texting every other friend known to mankind. Why? Because this was “The Era of Great Depression,” a period of time ranging approximately from January to the beginning of March. My senior year was terrible but January and February were the worst on dealing with it. So if we had a spare moment, it was spent hanging out with our friends and texting the ones that couldn't be there.
On this particular night, we were the unwilling witnesses to a texting battle we had been prepared for but didn't particularly want. It was between two of my closest friends, Erika and Amanda, and I don't even remember what it was about anymore. It lasted for. . . an hour? An hour and a half? Somewhere around there, and I played my usual role of jumping between the two trying to figure out what was going on. And at the same time was keeping up a pleasant conversation with Caitlyn and John and acting happy and hyper.
We were a bipolar bunch. Or we just had really good masks.
Even though I don't remember the specific reason for the fight, I do remember the sudden feeling of panic when Amanda sent out a text that said something along the lines of, “Whatever. It's fine. I just can't do this anymore,” and then stopped responding. Knowing Amanda at the time and the different things she was going through caused me to jump to a less-than-stellar conclusion as to what she meant. I launched myself into Caitlyn's Volkswagon Bug, Owen, (Yes, we named the car, and it was one of the coolest cars on the face of the planet. I swear, I spent more time in that beat up piece of junk then I did in my own house!) and told Caitlyn to drive to Amanda's as fast as she could!
I had been almost positive that Amanda was going to commit suicide.
I can't ride down that street at night without having flashbacks of that evening. It didn't turn out the way I thought it would; Amanda had no intents on committing suicide and had to talk to me for a good forty-five minutes before I would calm down. But as strange and anxious as the event was, it was only one of a long list of weird nights that I could spend pages upon pages talking about. See, American Fork is a dinky little town in the middle of Utah County. Nothing “cool” is ever supposed to happen there because it is Mormonsville within Mormonsville. The whole scenario is supposedly quite drab and altogether sleep-through worthy. And it was drab for most of my time living there. I had a few adventures when I was younger, but nothing too extravagant. Nothing that would scar me or make me remember every detail of a specific location or time for the rest of my life.
Until my senior year of course.
Then everything went a little psycho.
So home, to me, isn't home without the memories creeping up on me and sometimes forcing me into a little ball of pain. There have been many times where I want to hide from them and then turn around and realize that many of them were amazing On that same main street there is a park that sits right in front of our town Library. I sat there with the first boy I'd had a crush on in years and talked to him for hours. He kissed me in that park, on three different occasions. I can't walk through it without noticing the spots we sat, the places where he explained his life to me. It makes me smile even as it makes me sad.
In fact, I don't think there is a single spot in that entire city that doesn't bring back a rush of memories for me. Driving through the city with Caitlyn, running in the cool morning air, getting ready to have John teach me self-defense; getting my first bruise from said self-defense. I did a lot of crazy things my senior year. Not going to deny how fun it was, but it also left a lot of scars in a lot of places. The High School being one of the greatest. I never want to return there again, because the memories there are sharper than the memories on main street.
It was at the front of that building that the buses pulled up to a huge crowd of people, all standing silently with tear-filled eyes. I remember wanting to hide my face, duck down under the cushions and never come out. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, to pull myself upright and walk with the rest of my band down the aisle of the bus and walk out those doors and into the crowd. They were all clapping their hands, the tension building in the air because I could tell that many of them wanted to break through those carefully constructed lines and rush at us. To be able to grab hold of their friends and children and never let them go again. I had to turn away my face because tears were beginning to fall from my already cracked and tired eyes.
I'll never forget that night; the night of the bush crash where one of our teachers was lost and a fourth of our band didn't come home with us, but instead were taken in emergency vehicles to the hospital. That night haunted me for months, making me unable to sleep and soaking my pillow through with tears. No, I don't want to go back to the High School. Some memories are even more painful than others.
My room was probably the place that I can most assuredly call home. I lived in the rest of the house only kind of. If I was home, I was hibernating. Which isn't to say that me and my family weren't getting along just fine, I just often wanted to be alone. Of course, that's only when I actually was home. Usually I was out with my friends doing some stupid thing or other; but if I was home, I was in my room. And if I was in my room, then I was texting.
Oh the wonders of texting! Most people would be astounded at my mad skills in that area. I've had fights, emotional realizations, and therapy sessions all via text message. Lots and lots and lots of therapy sessions. Usually they weren't for me, though I'll admit that some were, but most of my therapy sessions were for the friends who were struggling the most at the time. I love them all dearly, but I also stayed up until three in the morning talking to a few of them to make them feel better about themselves without them remembering that I would be getting up two hours later to go running.
Not exactly considerate but, at the same time, I never blamed them, or told them to stop. I wanted to be there, because for some strange reason I thought that maybe my presence helped. We were all depressed, but we clung to each other in the hope that maybe it would get better. And not all of my conversations were depressing. Many of them were fun and happy! Those are the ones I wish I could remember better.
My room became a place of music to keep me awake, homework half done as I texted my friends, and novels. Lots and lots of novels! I couldn't get enough of them throughout my childhood, let alone through my senior year. My room was my refuge; my hidden space. I loved it there and can still close my eyes and remember it exactly the way it was, before we cleaned it out and moved me to Provo.
So what does home mean to me? To be honest, the feelings are mixed. The memories of home all seem to be sharply inclined toward pain, which was actually one of the reasons I decided to move to BYU in the first place. I was tired of the flashbacks, tired of being unable to go down a single street without being taken back to that moment, or that second, whether good or bad. But by the same token, I wouldn't want those memories to ever go away. I wouldn't want to ever forget. Because those are the memories that shaped me, that shaped who I am today.
So I guess my only definition of home would have to be the result: Me.
There's this street in my hometown of American Fork that runs exactly through the middle of everything. It's not extremely long, but it will take you from the New Walmart, to the library, through the fast food restaurants and all the way passed Macey's. It isn't the best street in the world-- No street within the borders of AF could be considered “The Best”-- but I cannot ride, walk, or look down it without having flashback mania.
Everything happens on that street. I worked on it; my best friend worked on it; it was the street we drove on to get anywhere and it was the street I walked on to travel everywhere! It was the street you could not avoid.
Once, after my best friend Caitlyn was finished working at the library, she, John and I were all hanging out around her car, staring out at that street. We were laughing, talking, teasing each other and texting everyone else in the known universe while we were doing it. I remember trying to keep things light while not actually looking at either of them since they would continually make goo goo eyes at each other, something that made me uncomfortable.
Knowing us at this period of time, it would never have surprised you that we were chatting with each other and texting every other friend known to mankind. Why? Because this was “The Era of Great Depression,” a period of time ranging approximately from January to the beginning of March. My senior year was terrible but January and February were the worst on dealing with it. So if we had a spare moment, it was spent hanging out with our friends and texting the ones that couldn't be there.
On this particular night, we were the unwilling witnesses to a texting battle we had been prepared for but didn't particularly want. It was between two of my closest friends, Erika and Amanda, and I don't even remember what it was about anymore. It lasted for. . . an hour? An hour and a half? Somewhere around there, and I played my usual role of jumping between the two trying to figure out what was going on. And at the same time was keeping up a pleasant conversation with Caitlyn and John and acting happy and hyper.
We were a bipolar bunch. Or we just had really good masks.
Even though I don't remember the specific reason for the fight, I do remember the sudden feeling of panic when Amanda sent out a text that said something along the lines of, “Whatever. It's fine. I just can't do this anymore,” and then stopped responding. Knowing Amanda at the time and the different things she was going through caused me to jump to a less-than-stellar conclusion as to what she meant. I launched myself into Caitlyn's Volkswagon Bug, Owen, (Yes, we named the car, and it was one of the coolest cars on the face of the planet. I swear, I spent more time in that beat up piece of junk then I did in my own house!) and told Caitlyn to drive to Amanda's as fast as she could!
I had been almost positive that Amanda was going to commit suicide.
I can't ride down that street at night without having flashbacks of that evening. It didn't turn out the way I thought it would; Amanda had no intents on committing suicide and had to talk to me for a good forty-five minutes before I would calm down. But as strange and anxious as the event was, it was only one of a long list of weird nights that I could spend pages upon pages talking about. See, American Fork is a dinky little town in the middle of Utah County. Nothing “cool” is ever supposed to happen there because it is Mormonsville within Mormonsville. The whole scenario is supposedly quite drab and altogether sleep-through worthy. And it was drab for most of my time living there. I had a few adventures when I was younger, but nothing too extravagant. Nothing that would scar me or make me remember every detail of a specific location or time for the rest of my life.
Until my senior year of course.
Then everything went a little psycho.
So home, to me, isn't home without the memories creeping up on me and sometimes forcing me into a little ball of pain. There have been many times where I want to hide from them and then turn around and realize that many of them were amazing On that same main street there is a park that sits right in front of our town Library. I sat there with the first boy I'd had a crush on in years and talked to him for hours. He kissed me in that park, on three different occasions. I can't walk through it without noticing the spots we sat, the places where he explained his life to me. It makes me smile even as it makes me sad.
In fact, I don't think there is a single spot in that entire city that doesn't bring back a rush of memories for me. Driving through the city with Caitlyn, running in the cool morning air, getting ready to have John teach me self-defense; getting my first bruise from said self-defense. I did a lot of crazy things my senior year. Not going to deny how fun it was, but it also left a lot of scars in a lot of places. The High School being one of the greatest. I never want to return there again, because the memories there are sharper than the memories on main street.
It was at the front of that building that the buses pulled up to a huge crowd of people, all standing silently with tear-filled eyes. I remember wanting to hide my face, duck down under the cushions and never come out. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, to pull myself upright and walk with the rest of my band down the aisle of the bus and walk out those doors and into the crowd. They were all clapping their hands, the tension building in the air because I could tell that many of them wanted to break through those carefully constructed lines and rush at us. To be able to grab hold of their friends and children and never let them go again. I had to turn away my face because tears were beginning to fall from my already cracked and tired eyes.
I'll never forget that night; the night of the bush crash where one of our teachers was lost and a fourth of our band didn't come home with us, but instead were taken in emergency vehicles to the hospital. That night haunted me for months, making me unable to sleep and soaking my pillow through with tears. No, I don't want to go back to the High School. Some memories are even more painful than others.
My room was probably the place that I can most assuredly call home. I lived in the rest of the house only kind of. If I was home, I was hibernating. Which isn't to say that me and my family weren't getting along just fine, I just often wanted to be alone. Of course, that's only when I actually was home. Usually I was out with my friends doing some stupid thing or other; but if I was home, I was in my room. And if I was in my room, then I was texting.
Oh the wonders of texting! Most people would be astounded at my mad skills in that area. I've had fights, emotional realizations, and therapy sessions all via text message. Lots and lots and lots of therapy sessions. Usually they weren't for me, though I'll admit that some were, but most of my therapy sessions were for the friends who were struggling the most at the time. I love them all dearly, but I also stayed up until three in the morning talking to a few of them to make them feel better about themselves without them remembering that I would be getting up two hours later to go running.
Not exactly considerate but, at the same time, I never blamed them, or told them to stop. I wanted to be there, because for some strange reason I thought that maybe my presence helped. We were all depressed, but we clung to each other in the hope that maybe it would get better. And not all of my conversations were depressing. Many of them were fun and happy! Those are the ones I wish I could remember better.
My room became a place of music to keep me awake, homework half done as I texted my friends, and novels. Lots and lots of novels! I couldn't get enough of them throughout my childhood, let alone through my senior year. My room was my refuge; my hidden space. I loved it there and can still close my eyes and remember it exactly the way it was, before we cleaned it out and moved me to Provo.
So what does home mean to me? To be honest, the feelings are mixed. The memories of home all seem to be sharply inclined toward pain, which was actually one of the reasons I decided to move to BYU in the first place. I was tired of the flashbacks, tired of being unable to go down a single street without being taken back to that moment, or that second, whether good or bad. But by the same token, I wouldn't want those memories to ever go away. I wouldn't want to ever forget. Because those are the memories that shaped me, that shaped who I am today.
So I guess my only definition of home would have to be the result: Me.
Memory
Okay, this isn't a story, but it's an essay and it's for creative writing so I think it's okay.
I really like this one.
I have a lot of really good memories. I have memories of days I took on dragons and monsters and knights in battle armor. I have memories of picking locks and stealing goods for the poor, or being Princess Peach and battling Bowser. I have memories of arguing with my step-brother about whether or not Wood Elves were better than Light Elves, and of acting out a story that would later turn into my first novel. Going through my drawer of memories is like watching a movie of adventures; half of them fake, half of them real. I know that some of my childhood extravaganzas will go away and fade with time, but the real memories, the ones I breathed in and saw and felt, will remain with me forever.
I've mentioned in a few essays about how this last year was life-changing for me. I've talked about how it was difficult and how it was filled with pain and challenges. That's all true, but some of that pain led to the most memorable experience I have ever had. And for a change, it isn't one that will haunt my nightmares.
Sadly, the wonderful experience wouldn't have occurred without the tragedy that preceded it. On October 10, 2009 the American Fork High School Marching Band was coming home from Pocatello, Idaho after sweeping, or winning every caption, of the Pocatello competition. I can still remember how good we all felt! I was laughing and talking with my friend Zoe and sending a random text every once in a while to my friend Shelby, who was on a different bus because she was a woodwind and played clarinet. It was a little unusual that I actually had my phone on me, since I had often forgot it in my case or at home during those days.
I will never forget the moment Mr. Arnold, our assistant director, stood up and shouted at us all to “Shut up!” His voice was panicked, a phone to his ear. The message was delivered down the bus as the vehicle pulled over and sat there. I didn't know what to think, what to do. It was several hours later that any of us knew the extent of what had happened in that second.
One of our buses had overturned, the driver passed out at the wheel. They had narrowly avoided falling off a sheer cliff side only a few feet to their right. It was the woodwind bus. Our teacher, Heather Christensen, had jumped forward the instant she saw the driver begin to teeter at the wheel. She'd grabbed it, barely managing to maneuver the bus away from the drop beside them; she was thrown out the window and smashed beneath the monster for her troubles.
She saved all of those children's lives.
Everyone I knew had started to call, or text, my phone. They asked if I was okay, asked about what had happened. I gave them all a mechanical, genial response, unable to think past the fog in my brain. At first I had panicked, thinking Shelby had been on that bus, but she hadn't been. She'd been on the Color Guard bus. She, Erika, and John had all waited for me because I had been late and they hadn't been able to find a spot on the woodwind bus that day.
It was my fault that my three best friends in band weren't on that bus when it crashed and flipped.
Am I a bad person for being grateful for that? Am I horrible and evil for thanking God that I had been a few minutes late? How dare I be grateful that my closest friends weren't on that bus when others were. How dare I feel even a glimmer of happiness on that night when the world went to Hell.
I've kept my phone on my person every second of the day ever since that moment. I didn't even march without it in my pocket. Leaving it for even a moment makes me feel like I'm about to have a heart attack. What if something happened? What if I couldn't reach my friends in time?
Unfortunately, it's necessary for me to explain this experience in order to understand the one that came after it. My world was shattered that night; a quarter of my family, my fellow band members, had been on that bus. Had been in danger. We all became so close as a band family, it's hard to even comprehend one of them being lost. Because of Heather, not one of them were taken away from us. The police made sure to push this point home to us, over and over. This was a miracle.
They all should have died.
Our band tour that year would take us to the Western Regional Championship. My first year in marching band the American Fork Band got second in the Western Region for the first time since we'd been founded. I still consider that one of the best memories I have. In 2008 we had actually won first place in the entire Region. That memory is one of the shinning points of my life.
And yet, that doesn't hold a candle to how what it felt when we marched onto that field in 2009. This year, this time, I wasn't marching for me. I wasn't marching for anything that I wanted. I wasn't marching for glory or for the chance to win the championship. I was marching for the person who saved my family. The person who protected the people I care about. Flashbacks played underneath my eyelids, bringing that night back to me with perfect clarity. Sobs were clogged in my throat, but I held my head up high, eyes shinning as the rest of my family marched around me. They were all there. Not one of them was missing from this most important of all performances.
It was because of her that they all had been there, standing and marching beside me.
I prayed hard that night, closing my eyes in those moments right before we marched onto the field. My friends surrounded me, the trumpet section being more accepting than I had ever known them to be. They were literally my brothers and sisters. I hugged each and every one of them, individually. Then I went and sought out John, Shelby, and Erika. Then I went and looked for Zoe's little brother, Sam, who had been on that bus that night. I hugged him too. It was time to perform.
There are no words. No words that could ever give justice to marching onto that field beneath that crowd. No words to explain the lights that shinned down, to explain the goosebumps that erupted along my skin as I looked up at the screaming crowd as they leaped off their chairs and cheered us on. No words to describe the feeling of the tears falling down my cheeks and onto my beautiful silver trumpet.
I wish something I wrote could ever give it justice. I wish something I spoke would ever be able to explain, but it won't. I could never even come close.
We performed. We performed in a way that I have never done before nor sense. Even when we went to Grand Nationals afterward, something nobody thought would happen, it didn't match this moment. It came close, but I had been hoping for another performance after that one. On this occasion, I thought that this would be my final show. The final time I would stand in that uniform, perform this music. On this occasion, I thought it was my final chance to give tribute to my hero.
I don't think there was a dry eye in the entire stadium. I know mine weren't; the tears cascaded down my cheeks but I had to ignore them. I couldn't focus on them, because I needed to perform that night. And tears would only get in my way. I played with everything I had. I tried to put my soul into my horn, put my heart into the music. It was the most amazing experience I have ever had. I never stood straighter, held my horn higher, or looked upon the judges with more pride.
We had a purpose. We were one family and we had lost a member. A beautiful wonderful woman who had saved her children. We were playing for her.
For Heather.
When it was finished, not a single soul remained in their seats. Not one person attempted to stop the flow of moisture from their eyes. The lump in my throat grew into an unbearable size and my tears flowed unhindered. Looking around me showed the same for everyone else.
So if someone asks me, “What is your most memorable experience?” Or asks what I have accomplished in my life so far, I will always give them an answer. I will always tell them it was the night I played my horn for a hero. I will tell them it was the night we won Western Regionals.
It was the night Heather Christensen looked down from heaven and smiled.
I really like this one.
I have a lot of really good memories. I have memories of days I took on dragons and monsters and knights in battle armor. I have memories of picking locks and stealing goods for the poor, or being Princess Peach and battling Bowser. I have memories of arguing with my step-brother about whether or not Wood Elves were better than Light Elves, and of acting out a story that would later turn into my first novel. Going through my drawer of memories is like watching a movie of adventures; half of them fake, half of them real. I know that some of my childhood extravaganzas will go away and fade with time, but the real memories, the ones I breathed in and saw and felt, will remain with me forever.
I've mentioned in a few essays about how this last year was life-changing for me. I've talked about how it was difficult and how it was filled with pain and challenges. That's all true, but some of that pain led to the most memorable experience I have ever had. And for a change, it isn't one that will haunt my nightmares.
Sadly, the wonderful experience wouldn't have occurred without the tragedy that preceded it. On October 10, 2009 the American Fork High School Marching Band was coming home from Pocatello, Idaho after sweeping, or winning every caption, of the Pocatello competition. I can still remember how good we all felt! I was laughing and talking with my friend Zoe and sending a random text every once in a while to my friend Shelby, who was on a different bus because she was a woodwind and played clarinet. It was a little unusual that I actually had my phone on me, since I had often forgot it in my case or at home during those days.
I will never forget the moment Mr. Arnold, our assistant director, stood up and shouted at us all to “Shut up!” His voice was panicked, a phone to his ear. The message was delivered down the bus as the vehicle pulled over and sat there. I didn't know what to think, what to do. It was several hours later that any of us knew the extent of what had happened in that second.
One of our buses had overturned, the driver passed out at the wheel. They had narrowly avoided falling off a sheer cliff side only a few feet to their right. It was the woodwind bus. Our teacher, Heather Christensen, had jumped forward the instant she saw the driver begin to teeter at the wheel. She'd grabbed it, barely managing to maneuver the bus away from the drop beside them; she was thrown out the window and smashed beneath the monster for her troubles.
She saved all of those children's lives.
Everyone I knew had started to call, or text, my phone. They asked if I was okay, asked about what had happened. I gave them all a mechanical, genial response, unable to think past the fog in my brain. At first I had panicked, thinking Shelby had been on that bus, but she hadn't been. She'd been on the Color Guard bus. She, Erika, and John had all waited for me because I had been late and they hadn't been able to find a spot on the woodwind bus that day.
It was my fault that my three best friends in band weren't on that bus when it crashed and flipped.
Am I a bad person for being grateful for that? Am I horrible and evil for thanking God that I had been a few minutes late? How dare I be grateful that my closest friends weren't on that bus when others were. How dare I feel even a glimmer of happiness on that night when the world went to Hell.
I've kept my phone on my person every second of the day ever since that moment. I didn't even march without it in my pocket. Leaving it for even a moment makes me feel like I'm about to have a heart attack. What if something happened? What if I couldn't reach my friends in time?
Unfortunately, it's necessary for me to explain this experience in order to understand the one that came after it. My world was shattered that night; a quarter of my family, my fellow band members, had been on that bus. Had been in danger. We all became so close as a band family, it's hard to even comprehend one of them being lost. Because of Heather, not one of them were taken away from us. The police made sure to push this point home to us, over and over. This was a miracle.
They all should have died.
Our band tour that year would take us to the Western Regional Championship. My first year in marching band the American Fork Band got second in the Western Region for the first time since we'd been founded. I still consider that one of the best memories I have. In 2008 we had actually won first place in the entire Region. That memory is one of the shinning points of my life.
And yet, that doesn't hold a candle to how what it felt when we marched onto that field in 2009. This year, this time, I wasn't marching for me. I wasn't marching for anything that I wanted. I wasn't marching for glory or for the chance to win the championship. I was marching for the person who saved my family. The person who protected the people I care about. Flashbacks played underneath my eyelids, bringing that night back to me with perfect clarity. Sobs were clogged in my throat, but I held my head up high, eyes shinning as the rest of my family marched around me. They were all there. Not one of them was missing from this most important of all performances.
It was because of her that they all had been there, standing and marching beside me.
I prayed hard that night, closing my eyes in those moments right before we marched onto the field. My friends surrounded me, the trumpet section being more accepting than I had ever known them to be. They were literally my brothers and sisters. I hugged each and every one of them, individually. Then I went and sought out John, Shelby, and Erika. Then I went and looked for Zoe's little brother, Sam, who had been on that bus that night. I hugged him too. It was time to perform.
There are no words. No words that could ever give justice to marching onto that field beneath that crowd. No words to explain the lights that shinned down, to explain the goosebumps that erupted along my skin as I looked up at the screaming crowd as they leaped off their chairs and cheered us on. No words to describe the feeling of the tears falling down my cheeks and onto my beautiful silver trumpet.
I wish something I wrote could ever give it justice. I wish something I spoke would ever be able to explain, but it won't. I could never even come close.
We performed. We performed in a way that I have never done before nor sense. Even when we went to Grand Nationals afterward, something nobody thought would happen, it didn't match this moment. It came close, but I had been hoping for another performance after that one. On this occasion, I thought that this would be my final show. The final time I would stand in that uniform, perform this music. On this occasion, I thought it was my final chance to give tribute to my hero.
I don't think there was a dry eye in the entire stadium. I know mine weren't; the tears cascaded down my cheeks but I had to ignore them. I couldn't focus on them, because I needed to perform that night. And tears would only get in my way. I played with everything I had. I tried to put my soul into my horn, put my heart into the music. It was the most amazing experience I have ever had. I never stood straighter, held my horn higher, or looked upon the judges with more pride.
We had a purpose. We were one family and we had lost a member. A beautiful wonderful woman who had saved her children. We were playing for her.
For Heather.
When it was finished, not a single soul remained in their seats. Not one person attempted to stop the flow of moisture from their eyes. The lump in my throat grew into an unbearable size and my tears flowed unhindered. Looking around me showed the same for everyone else.
So if someone asks me, “What is your most memorable experience?” Or asks what I have accomplished in my life so far, I will always give them an answer. I will always tell them it was the night I played my horn for a hero. I will tell them it was the night we won Western Regionals.
It was the night Heather Christensen looked down from heaven and smiled.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Needle
(This is an older thing of mine, but I still like it.)
The last customer left the shop, the small bell letting out a high ding as the door closed. I sighed in relief, dropping my hands to my sides. Thank goodness, the day was finally over. Mercy bustled around the kitchen as I left the counter and went to help her close up. Flour was everywhere, covering pots, pans and most importantly, Mercy herself. Mercy’s red hair was clinging to her forehead, her green apron only visible under the dough and icing.
“Will you make sure these dishes are cleaned?” She begged, grabbing her coat and getting flour all over the black velvet. “They won’t want to clean them in the morning.”
“Yes, I promise,” I assured her, my eyes rolling. The bakery was Mercy’s heart and soul. The thought of leaving me here alone scared her to death. What if I broke something?
“Just. . . Don’t forget to lock up.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t forget. . .”
“Mercy! Go home.” She threw me an insulted glare before glancing around the shop one more time nervously. Only a few short steps brought me to her side and allowed me to grip her shoulder. I pushed her around and opened the back door one handed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but will my bakery?” she grumbled. I laughed and shoved her through the door. She spun around, opening her mouth to continue the argument. I snapped the door shut, shoving the dead bolt home. The lights flickered above me sending little spidery shadows all along the walls.
Finally! I hummed a little as I went about my work, putting the finishing touches on a few pastries as I closed up. It was dark outside, nearly one A.M. and I couldn’t wait to be able to go home. It had been a hectic day, no less then 12 orders of cinnamon rolls had come in during my shift alone. That was nearly twice the amount we normally received!
I plunged the roller into the steaming, soapy water, pushing against the clinging dough with impatient fingers. My bed was waiting and when I got there I wouldn’t leave until noon. The water felt good against my skin, warm and steamy. I could feel the sweat on my brow, but didn’t mind it so much as my hands transferred dish after dish from one sink to another. My eyes burned with the effort of keeping them open, my work turning to autopilot as my mind drifted.
I just couldn’t wait to go home to my warm bed. My pillows were soft and clean, my blankets would wrap around me and be my sails as I was taken from harsh reality into the warm comforts of. . .
Something very cold touched the back of my head. It wormed its way into my hair, shifting through the thin strands like a snake. Screaming, I whirled around, my hands jumping to my hair in panic. It was gone, ripping a few of the strands along with it. For a moment, I didn’t move. Just stared around the kitchen. It looked just like normal, the big black oven to my left with a preparatory counter off to the side. Great silvery cabinets adorning the walls.
My hand rubbed the sore spot gently as I turned back to the sinks. The lights above me flickered unsteadily. Calm down Natalie, I ordered myself, taking deep breaths. It had probably just been my hair getting caught on one of the drying utensils above my head. My heart beat slowed down to a more normal pace allowing my breaths to come easier. It was nothing, don’t be stupid.
It didn’t feel like nothing though, I could still imagine the cold hand wrapping around my hair. Touching me. . . I shoved the thoughts from my mind, grabbing a bowl and shoving it into the water with unnecessary force. Water slopped all up the sides and stained my apron, showering my shoes. I held my breath in anger, trying to calm down. It was stupid, it wasn’t like I had never closed up shop before.
[I]But never alone,[/I] a snide voice whispered in the back of my mind. I ignored it and went to grab the mop. The thing was so old bits of fiber were missing from the bundle. I gripped the rough worn handle comfortingly, as I pulled it back, a small piece of mirror fell from the shelf it had been leaning on. I tried to grab it before it hit the ground but it slipped through my fingers, shattering against the cold linoleum floor.
“That’s bad luck,” something whispered. Tell me about it, I thought. I dropped the mop and grabbed the broom instead. My heart was pounding again, sending the blood rushing through my veins. Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump. Skittering sounded off to my right and I almost dropped the broom.
“Please,” I begged, “Don’t let it be rats.” Mercy would never forgive me if she found out there were rats in her store.
“Natalie. . .” something whispered, it’s voice was oily and smooth, goose bumps erupted all along my skin, my heart pounding ferociously.
“Shut up!” I yelled, it echoed around the store, bouncing off the silver surfaces. I felt stupid. It wasn’t real, I was just freaking myself out. I leaned my head against the broomsticks handle. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply. I was being stupid. It wasn’t real. I was just freaking out.
Now open your eyes, and just get back to work, I commanded, slowly peeling the lids back.
The mirror hung on the wall opposite me, completely full and unblemished. My fingers gripped the broom tighter. My mouth going dry. My eyes darted to the ground, where the shards of broken glass had just been scattered. There was nothing. I raised my eyes back to the mirror. My arms shaking.
The face looking back at me was distorted, strangled and thin, with dead sunken in cheeks and black lifeless eyes.
I touched my own face with shaking fingers, probing the skin. It felt the same. The mirror laughed at me, making no noise. She placed a long, white finger to her lips; motioning for me to be quiet, then pointed toward the walls.
She laughed again when I turned to gaze at them, when I looked back she was gone.
Nothing could hurt me here, it was all in my head, it was just a fake, unbelievable. . .
“Natalie,” My head jerked up, the voice coming from above me, “Naatalieee. . .” it called, soothing and quiet. It was a woman’s voice. “Please come upstairs.”
“Who. . . Who are you?”
“Please come upstairs Natalie, we don’t want to hurt you.” a snickering, high pitched giggle sounded from beneath me. I jumped backwards, straining to see clearly as the lights flickered above me. Something cold and clammy touched my bare leg. “Please come upstairs.”
The lights flickered faster, making my eyes stream water. I gasped and tried to rub them clear, but when I opened them again the kitchen was dark. Something sharp scraped against my shin, making me scream and jump into the air. Another high pitched giggle sounded. I ran, running from the supply closet in blind panic. My foot caught on the edge of something, causing me to sprawl to the ground, smashing my head against the cold, metal floor.
It giggled as it let go of my ankle.
“Natalie,” the voice whispered, its breath ruffling my hair “Oh Natalie. . . “
I pulled away, curling into a ball and clutching my bleeding leg. A shape was emerging from the darkness, a shape barely larger then a six month old child.
It was white, the skin glowing through the darkness like a beacon. Small little red eyes peered at me from a hairless face. It walked on two legs like a man, but clutched a long, thin needle in one hand. Something dribbled down the creatures mouth, spilling from its pale lips and down its little chin.
“We like you Natalie,” it whispered, “oh beautiful Natalie. . .” it rubbed its sharp needle down the length of my cheeks, caressing it gently. Another giggle sounded from above me and another from the side.
“Oh Natalie,” the voices called, “Sweet Natalie.” I screamed as they plunged their needles toward my heart.
***
When I awoke, I laid upon the flat, hard surface. My insides quivering uncontrollably. Cold seeped up through my clothing, attaching itself to the bumpy pieces of my goose pimpled skin. I couldn’t see, the night pressed in upon me, suffocating. I was stuck, my limbs iced over in cold My eyes frozen in their sockets.
I strained my muscles, trying to force them to move, but they remained stiff and immobile at my sides.
Thump.
I tried to breathe, tried to let the air flow through my lungs. Nothing happened.
Thump.
Memories of pale skin and sharp needles piercing through me, I was dead. They had killed me!
Thump. . .thump.
Something hit the roof above me. My finger twitched.
Thump. . .thump. .thump.
Slowly, painstakingly, my eyes began to shift. Becoming looser and slipperier in my sockets. They shifted, trying to pierce through the thick layer of darkness around me.
Thump.
The wood above me creaked, a small stream of dust falling on my lips.
Thump.
More dirt.
Thump, thump, thump.
The last customer left the shop, the small bell letting out a high ding as the door closed. I sighed in relief, dropping my hands to my sides. Thank goodness, the day was finally over. Mercy bustled around the kitchen as I left the counter and went to help her close up. Flour was everywhere, covering pots, pans and most importantly, Mercy herself. Mercy’s red hair was clinging to her forehead, her green apron only visible under the dough and icing.
“Will you make sure these dishes are cleaned?” She begged, grabbing her coat and getting flour all over the black velvet. “They won’t want to clean them in the morning.”
“Yes, I promise,” I assured her, my eyes rolling. The bakery was Mercy’s heart and soul. The thought of leaving me here alone scared her to death. What if I broke something?
“Just. . . Don’t forget to lock up.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t forget. . .”
“Mercy! Go home.” She threw me an insulted glare before glancing around the shop one more time nervously. Only a few short steps brought me to her side and allowed me to grip her shoulder. I pushed her around and opened the back door one handed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but will my bakery?” she grumbled. I laughed and shoved her through the door. She spun around, opening her mouth to continue the argument. I snapped the door shut, shoving the dead bolt home. The lights flickered above me sending little spidery shadows all along the walls.
Finally! I hummed a little as I went about my work, putting the finishing touches on a few pastries as I closed up. It was dark outside, nearly one A.M. and I couldn’t wait to be able to go home. It had been a hectic day, no less then 12 orders of cinnamon rolls had come in during my shift alone. That was nearly twice the amount we normally received!
I plunged the roller into the steaming, soapy water, pushing against the clinging dough with impatient fingers. My bed was waiting and when I got there I wouldn’t leave until noon. The water felt good against my skin, warm and steamy. I could feel the sweat on my brow, but didn’t mind it so much as my hands transferred dish after dish from one sink to another. My eyes burned with the effort of keeping them open, my work turning to autopilot as my mind drifted.
I just couldn’t wait to go home to my warm bed. My pillows were soft and clean, my blankets would wrap around me and be my sails as I was taken from harsh reality into the warm comforts of. . .
Something very cold touched the back of my head. It wormed its way into my hair, shifting through the thin strands like a snake. Screaming, I whirled around, my hands jumping to my hair in panic. It was gone, ripping a few of the strands along with it. For a moment, I didn’t move. Just stared around the kitchen. It looked just like normal, the big black oven to my left with a preparatory counter off to the side. Great silvery cabinets adorning the walls.
My hand rubbed the sore spot gently as I turned back to the sinks. The lights above me flickered unsteadily. Calm down Natalie, I ordered myself, taking deep breaths. It had probably just been my hair getting caught on one of the drying utensils above my head. My heart beat slowed down to a more normal pace allowing my breaths to come easier. It was nothing, don’t be stupid.
It didn’t feel like nothing though, I could still imagine the cold hand wrapping around my hair. Touching me. . . I shoved the thoughts from my mind, grabbing a bowl and shoving it into the water with unnecessary force. Water slopped all up the sides and stained my apron, showering my shoes. I held my breath in anger, trying to calm down. It was stupid, it wasn’t like I had never closed up shop before.
[I]But never alone,[/I] a snide voice whispered in the back of my mind. I ignored it and went to grab the mop. The thing was so old bits of fiber were missing from the bundle. I gripped the rough worn handle comfortingly, as I pulled it back, a small piece of mirror fell from the shelf it had been leaning on. I tried to grab it before it hit the ground but it slipped through my fingers, shattering against the cold linoleum floor.
“That’s bad luck,” something whispered. Tell me about it, I thought. I dropped the mop and grabbed the broom instead. My heart was pounding again, sending the blood rushing through my veins. Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump. Skittering sounded off to my right and I almost dropped the broom.
“Please,” I begged, “Don’t let it be rats.” Mercy would never forgive me if she found out there were rats in her store.
“Natalie. . .” something whispered, it’s voice was oily and smooth, goose bumps erupted all along my skin, my heart pounding ferociously.
“Shut up!” I yelled, it echoed around the store, bouncing off the silver surfaces. I felt stupid. It wasn’t real, I was just freaking myself out. I leaned my head against the broomsticks handle. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply. I was being stupid. It wasn’t real. I was just freaking out.
Now open your eyes, and just get back to work, I commanded, slowly peeling the lids back.
The mirror hung on the wall opposite me, completely full and unblemished. My fingers gripped the broom tighter. My mouth going dry. My eyes darted to the ground, where the shards of broken glass had just been scattered. There was nothing. I raised my eyes back to the mirror. My arms shaking.
The face looking back at me was distorted, strangled and thin, with dead sunken in cheeks and black lifeless eyes.
I touched my own face with shaking fingers, probing the skin. It felt the same. The mirror laughed at me, making no noise. She placed a long, white finger to her lips; motioning for me to be quiet, then pointed toward the walls.
She laughed again when I turned to gaze at them, when I looked back she was gone.
Nothing could hurt me here, it was all in my head, it was just a fake, unbelievable. . .
“Natalie,” My head jerked up, the voice coming from above me, “Naatalieee. . .” it called, soothing and quiet. It was a woman’s voice. “Please come upstairs.”
“Who. . . Who are you?”
“Please come upstairs Natalie, we don’t want to hurt you.” a snickering, high pitched giggle sounded from beneath me. I jumped backwards, straining to see clearly as the lights flickered above me. Something cold and clammy touched my bare leg. “Please come upstairs.”
The lights flickered faster, making my eyes stream water. I gasped and tried to rub them clear, but when I opened them again the kitchen was dark. Something sharp scraped against my shin, making me scream and jump into the air. Another high pitched giggle sounded. I ran, running from the supply closet in blind panic. My foot caught on the edge of something, causing me to sprawl to the ground, smashing my head against the cold, metal floor.
It giggled as it let go of my ankle.
“Natalie,” the voice whispered, its breath ruffling my hair “Oh Natalie. . . “
I pulled away, curling into a ball and clutching my bleeding leg. A shape was emerging from the darkness, a shape barely larger then a six month old child.
It was white, the skin glowing through the darkness like a beacon. Small little red eyes peered at me from a hairless face. It walked on two legs like a man, but clutched a long, thin needle in one hand. Something dribbled down the creatures mouth, spilling from its pale lips and down its little chin.
“We like you Natalie,” it whispered, “oh beautiful Natalie. . .” it rubbed its sharp needle down the length of my cheeks, caressing it gently. Another giggle sounded from above me and another from the side.
“Oh Natalie,” the voices called, “Sweet Natalie.” I screamed as they plunged their needles toward my heart.
***
When I awoke, I laid upon the flat, hard surface. My insides quivering uncontrollably. Cold seeped up through my clothing, attaching itself to the bumpy pieces of my goose pimpled skin. I couldn’t see, the night pressed in upon me, suffocating. I was stuck, my limbs iced over in cold My eyes frozen in their sockets.
I strained my muscles, trying to force them to move, but they remained stiff and immobile at my sides.
Thump.
I tried to breathe, tried to let the air flow through my lungs. Nothing happened.
Thump.
Memories of pale skin and sharp needles piercing through me, I was dead. They had killed me!
Thump. . .thump.
Something hit the roof above me. My finger twitched.
Thump. . .thump. .thump.
Slowly, painstakingly, my eyes began to shift. Becoming looser and slipperier in my sockets. They shifted, trying to pierce through the thick layer of darkness around me.
Thump.
The wood above me creaked, a small stream of dust falling on my lips.
Thump.
More dirt.
Thump, thump, thump.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
A Thieving Child
“Zarin, what are you doing?” Kelly knelt down in the sand next to her older brother. She was trying to be careful and not get her new white, Sunday dress all ruined. Zarin looked back and smiled at her, his grin mischievous.
“See that ball?” he whispered, pointing to the round rubber ball that was next to a chubby ten year old licking a chocolate popsicle. The chocolate was all over his chin and cheeks, his grubby fingers getting the mess all over his beautiful red and gold ball. Kelly nodded, tilting her head to the side. Zarin didn't seem to care that his brand new church suit was getting covered in wet sand and ripping from the rose bush that he was hiding behind. She pulled on his sleeve.
“Zarin no! Don't you remember what Daddy said?” She tugged insistently, but he shrugged her off.
“Look at it Kelly!” he whispered in excitement, hardly even noticing the girl pulling on his arm, “isn't it so pretty?”
“Zarin! Daddy said no more! He said if you do it again. . .”
“Dad doesn't have to know everything,” Zarin snapped, pulling his arm free, “Go bug someone else Kelly.”
“I'll tell!” Kelly stood up, her little hands balled into fists on her hips, “I promise I will!” Zarin grabbed her and pushed her down into the dirt, smearing it all over her dress. Tears rose to her eyes and she tried to roll away from him but he held her there.
“No you won't,” Zarin hissed angrily, “You won't because if you do I will put bubble gum all in your hair and then make mom cut it all off!” The tears overflowed and she pushed him with all her strength. Zarin moved away from her and looked through the bushes once more. “It's only a little ball, Kelly,” He said, almost apologetically.
“Daddy said no,” Kelly murmured angrily under her breath, sitting with her back to him. Zarin frowned and sat down behind her, pulling her into his lap the way he used to when she was a baby and gave her a hug, for a moment she squirmed, then she stopped and hugged him back.
“If I get it, then you can have it,” he promised, “I know Mitch popped your last one.” Kelly sniffled into his shirt, Zarin smiled and patted her head. “See? Everything's going to be fine.”
“Dad said someday you'll go to jail,” Kelly whimpered.
“Dad's wrong,” Zarin said harshly, “Do you. . .” he shook his head, changing his mind on what he was going to say, “Dad can't lock me up anymore.”
“Okay,” Kelly sniffed and Zarin hugged her again.
“You're so little,” he told her, almost giggling-but Zarin was too old to giggle now. “Like a little doll.” Kelly stuck her tongue out at him.
“Just go get me the ball Zarin Clyde,” she ordered, pointing with her little fingers. Zarin mock saluted her then put her down on the grass instead of the dirt.
“Be right back!” he promised.
Kelly waited.
Zarin snuck on his belly, keeping his head low to the ground as he crawled like a spider to where the older boy was sitting. If he happened to hear anything then Zarin's cover would be blown and he'd be in big trouble. Big kids didn't approve of little kids sneaking up on them.
Zarin grit his teeth, digging his hands into the soft grass. Well, he wasn't a little kid anymore. He was big now too. He could try to beat him up, but Zarin would win. Just because he wanted to. That's the way it worked.
Like him wanting that ball. He wanted it, so he would have it.
The little boy grinned, pulling himself closer and closer to the edge of the park to where the boy was still sloppily eating. He wouldn't see him. Don't see me, Zarin thought to himself, creeping slowly forward, please don't see me. I'm not here, you're eating a popsicle and enjoying it. Don't see me. I'm not here. . .
He was only a few feet away now. . . just a few more seconds. . .
* * *
“Zarin!” Kelly yelped in surprise when her brother came back, he was walking with pride, his back straight and his head held up. There was a little red and gold ball tucked under his arm and a look of absolute satisfaction upon his young face.
And a great big bloodied gash across his cheek and a swelling black eye.
“What happened?” Kelly cried, running over to him. He handed her the ball.
“I didn't look behind me,” Zarin said happily, lounging on the damp grass. “Turns out usually big kids have friends.”
“What did you do?”
“I took it anyway. Turns out big kids aren't nearly as tough as they think they are either.”
“See that ball?” he whispered, pointing to the round rubber ball that was next to a chubby ten year old licking a chocolate popsicle. The chocolate was all over his chin and cheeks, his grubby fingers getting the mess all over his beautiful red and gold ball. Kelly nodded, tilting her head to the side. Zarin didn't seem to care that his brand new church suit was getting covered in wet sand and ripping from the rose bush that he was hiding behind. She pulled on his sleeve.
“Zarin no! Don't you remember what Daddy said?” She tugged insistently, but he shrugged her off.
“Look at it Kelly!” he whispered in excitement, hardly even noticing the girl pulling on his arm, “isn't it so pretty?”
“Zarin! Daddy said no more! He said if you do it again. . .”
“Dad doesn't have to know everything,” Zarin snapped, pulling his arm free, “Go bug someone else Kelly.”
“I'll tell!” Kelly stood up, her little hands balled into fists on her hips, “I promise I will!” Zarin grabbed her and pushed her down into the dirt, smearing it all over her dress. Tears rose to her eyes and she tried to roll away from him but he held her there.
“No you won't,” Zarin hissed angrily, “You won't because if you do I will put bubble gum all in your hair and then make mom cut it all off!” The tears overflowed and she pushed him with all her strength. Zarin moved away from her and looked through the bushes once more. “It's only a little ball, Kelly,” He said, almost apologetically.
“Daddy said no,” Kelly murmured angrily under her breath, sitting with her back to him. Zarin frowned and sat down behind her, pulling her into his lap the way he used to when she was a baby and gave her a hug, for a moment she squirmed, then she stopped and hugged him back.
“If I get it, then you can have it,” he promised, “I know Mitch popped your last one.” Kelly sniffled into his shirt, Zarin smiled and patted her head. “See? Everything's going to be fine.”
“Dad said someday you'll go to jail,” Kelly whimpered.
“Dad's wrong,” Zarin said harshly, “Do you. . .” he shook his head, changing his mind on what he was going to say, “Dad can't lock me up anymore.”
“Okay,” Kelly sniffed and Zarin hugged her again.
“You're so little,” he told her, almost giggling-but Zarin was too old to giggle now. “Like a little doll.” Kelly stuck her tongue out at him.
“Just go get me the ball Zarin Clyde,” she ordered, pointing with her little fingers. Zarin mock saluted her then put her down on the grass instead of the dirt.
“Be right back!” he promised.
Kelly waited.
Zarin snuck on his belly, keeping his head low to the ground as he crawled like a spider to where the older boy was sitting. If he happened to hear anything then Zarin's cover would be blown and he'd be in big trouble. Big kids didn't approve of little kids sneaking up on them.
Zarin grit his teeth, digging his hands into the soft grass. Well, he wasn't a little kid anymore. He was big now too. He could try to beat him up, but Zarin would win. Just because he wanted to. That's the way it worked.
Like him wanting that ball. He wanted it, so he would have it.
The little boy grinned, pulling himself closer and closer to the edge of the park to where the boy was still sloppily eating. He wouldn't see him. Don't see me, Zarin thought to himself, creeping slowly forward, please don't see me. I'm not here, you're eating a popsicle and enjoying it. Don't see me. I'm not here. . .
He was only a few feet away now. . . just a few more seconds. . .
* * *
“Zarin!” Kelly yelped in surprise when her brother came back, he was walking with pride, his back straight and his head held up. There was a little red and gold ball tucked under his arm and a look of absolute satisfaction upon his young face.
And a great big bloodied gash across his cheek and a swelling black eye.
“What happened?” Kelly cried, running over to him. He handed her the ball.
“I didn't look behind me,” Zarin said happily, lounging on the damp grass. “Turns out usually big kids have friends.”
“What did you do?”
“I took it anyway. Turns out big kids aren't nearly as tough as they think they are either.”
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Run
“Just run. And keep running, until you can never, ever come back.”
I ran. The wind blew in my ears, the rain stained my cheeks, but still I ran. It was so dark that night. The stars weren't shining, the street lamps weren't turned on. I could only run, and run quickly.
My heart was beating in my chest. Ka-boom, Ka-boom, Ka-boom, reminding me with each step that I had to go faster. Be stronger. Live longer.
Run.
I didn't want to run. I wanted to turn back, to face it. To live with it. I wanted to be stronger. I wanted. . . so many things. But I couldn't have them. I could never have them.
I just had to run.
Go. Go. Go.
Run, flee, be quick.
They couldn't hold me down. They couldn't stop me. Nobody could. Nobody can. I'll run until I'm ready to turn back. I'll run until the strength fills my bones, my muscles. Until they can't defeat me.
Monsters seem to be coming at me from all sides. They face me and grow, pushing in, snarling and trying to catch me unaware. But I can't fight them right now. I can't face them. I'm not strong enough.
Run! Please!
I push my muscles faster, push the legs until they burn. They can't stop me. They can't defeat me. They can't crush me.
Not if I'm running.
And while I run; my muscles build strength. My pumping arms becoming stronger, my legs become faster and harder. As I run, I begin to grow.
My running sparks growth. My growth sparks strength. And my strength sparks courage.
So, yes. You think you have me defeated. You think you have me scared and fleeing. You think that I'm finished.
But I'm not.
I never will be.
But until I'm ready, I'll continue to run.
I ran. The wind blew in my ears, the rain stained my cheeks, but still I ran. It was so dark that night. The stars weren't shining, the street lamps weren't turned on. I could only run, and run quickly.
My heart was beating in my chest. Ka-boom, Ka-boom, Ka-boom, reminding me with each step that I had to go faster. Be stronger. Live longer.
Run.
I didn't want to run. I wanted to turn back, to face it. To live with it. I wanted to be stronger. I wanted. . . so many things. But I couldn't have them. I could never have them.
I just had to run.
Go. Go. Go.
Run, flee, be quick.
They couldn't hold me down. They couldn't stop me. Nobody could. Nobody can. I'll run until I'm ready to turn back. I'll run until the strength fills my bones, my muscles. Until they can't defeat me.
Monsters seem to be coming at me from all sides. They face me and grow, pushing in, snarling and trying to catch me unaware. But I can't fight them right now. I can't face them. I'm not strong enough.
Run! Please!
I push my muscles faster, push the legs until they burn. They can't stop me. They can't defeat me. They can't crush me.
Not if I'm running.
And while I run; my muscles build strength. My pumping arms becoming stronger, my legs become faster and harder. As I run, I begin to grow.
My running sparks growth. My growth sparks strength. And my strength sparks courage.
So, yes. You think you have me defeated. You think you have me scared and fleeing. You think that I'm finished.
But I'm not.
I never will be.
But until I'm ready, I'll continue to run.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Dear Mom
Dear Mom:
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I didn't do what I knew I should have. I should have come to you and told you everything. I should have let you know what was going on. But I didn't. And now this is the result. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
But I just can't do this anymore. When your entire world turns upside down and you can't see anything straight, when the world changes from black and white to something different, something that defies even gray. . .something that changes everything. Well, I can't live like this. I won't do it. I refuse to do it. And maybe that makes me a coward. But at this point I no longer care
So I'm sorry.
I know I sound like a whinny teenage girl. I'm only thirteen years old. The world is so much bigger than the things that are going on right now. And maybe you're right. In fact, I know that you're right. But I also know that what I'm feeling now, the things that are going through my head, the things that I feel, they aren't fake. They're real. It's real things Mom, real issues. Just because you don't want to understand, or just because you don't understand why they're such a big deal, doesn't mean that they aren't real to me.
Because they are.
I hate me, Mom. I hate me; what I've become and what I represent. Everyone says that teenagers make a big deal about nothing. That our issues will eventually go away. Once we grow up.
Once we grow up.
Is that what you thought too Mom? Did you think it would get better once I grew up?
Well, I'm not going to grow up. It's not going to happen anymore because I can't do this. I can't think like this. You say it will get better, you say this is a brief moment, but you do it as you look at me worriedly. You don't know what's really going on.
I should have told you.
I want you to know that I wanted. . . I want to tell you. I want to explain everything, tell you what is eating at me, what makes me cry at night. But how can I? How can I tell anyone? I can't lose everything. . .ha. How funny a thing for me to say. I can't lose everything? Aren't I throwing everything away already?
You got scared when I started showing up to breakfast with little white lines on my wrist. You only saw them after they were old, Mom. You didn't know. I didn't want you to know. You never saw them when they were red.
Mom. Mommy, do you know why I used to cut myself? It's a strange feeling. . . being in so much pain but having nothing to show for it. I wish I could explain it in a way that would make you understand. How dare I hurt so much when physically I was perfectly fine? I didn't like it. I wasn't okay with it. So I made myself a reason to be in pain. I gave myself over to it.
I wanted to see blood. I wanted to see the physical evidence that something was wrong. Because I knew that if I didn't. . . if I didn't. . . well then I had no right at all to be hurting. Not if nothing was wrong. Not if it was all in my head. I can't do this any more Mom. I love you. Or at least I think I do. I want to say I'll see you later. But I know I won't.
Because at this point. . . I'm not so sure that I believe in God anymore.
---Tera
My dearest Tera,
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry you didn't think I understood. I'm sorry you didn't realize that I was there. I'm sorry that you didn't want to come to me when you needed me the most. You thought I didn't understand, you thought I didn't care. You thought I was too old, too aged, too misunderstanding. You thought you were the only one to have ever experienced this pain.
I'm sorry I didn't explain. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.
Tera, my darling daughter, did you think that I had never been hurt? Did you think that my life was perfect? You silly girl, you said it yourself that you knew that eventually your world would get better, but you didn't believe it enough to stay. My life was hard too. My life wasn't perfect either.
I know what it's like to want to see blood to explain away my pain.
Why did you leave me Tera? Did you think that I wouldn't be able to comprehend? Did you not want to hurt me too?
Tera, I have experienced the same things you have. The world has gotten tough, the winds have blown and knocked me over more than once, but I always was forced to stand back up. Oh sweetheart, why didn't you trust yourself to continue standing?
I miss you. I love you. Why did you have to leave?
I'm setting this on the gravestone now, beside the picture of your young face. I wonder if you can see it? You said that you'd stopped believing in God.
I wish I could tell you, I wish I could have explained, he was the only one keeping me standing.
I wish I'd taught you to cleave to him too.
I love you,
Mom
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I didn't do what I knew I should have. I should have come to you and told you everything. I should have let you know what was going on. But I didn't. And now this is the result. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
But I just can't do this anymore. When your entire world turns upside down and you can't see anything straight, when the world changes from black and white to something different, something that defies even gray. . .something that changes everything. Well, I can't live like this. I won't do it. I refuse to do it. And maybe that makes me a coward. But at this point I no longer care
So I'm sorry.
I know I sound like a whinny teenage girl. I'm only thirteen years old. The world is so much bigger than the things that are going on right now. And maybe you're right. In fact, I know that you're right. But I also know that what I'm feeling now, the things that are going through my head, the things that I feel, they aren't fake. They're real. It's real things Mom, real issues. Just because you don't want to understand, or just because you don't understand why they're such a big deal, doesn't mean that they aren't real to me.
Because they are.
I hate me, Mom. I hate me; what I've become and what I represent. Everyone says that teenagers make a big deal about nothing. That our issues will eventually go away. Once we grow up.
Once we grow up.
Is that what you thought too Mom? Did you think it would get better once I grew up?
Well, I'm not going to grow up. It's not going to happen anymore because I can't do this. I can't think like this. You say it will get better, you say this is a brief moment, but you do it as you look at me worriedly. You don't know what's really going on.
I should have told you.
I want you to know that I wanted. . . I want to tell you. I want to explain everything, tell you what is eating at me, what makes me cry at night. But how can I? How can I tell anyone? I can't lose everything. . .ha. How funny a thing for me to say. I can't lose everything? Aren't I throwing everything away already?
You got scared when I started showing up to breakfast with little white lines on my wrist. You only saw them after they were old, Mom. You didn't know. I didn't want you to know. You never saw them when they were red.
Mom. Mommy, do you know why I used to cut myself? It's a strange feeling. . . being in so much pain but having nothing to show for it. I wish I could explain it in a way that would make you understand. How dare I hurt so much when physically I was perfectly fine? I didn't like it. I wasn't okay with it. So I made myself a reason to be in pain. I gave myself over to it.
I wanted to see blood. I wanted to see the physical evidence that something was wrong. Because I knew that if I didn't. . . if I didn't. . . well then I had no right at all to be hurting. Not if nothing was wrong. Not if it was all in my head. I can't do this any more Mom. I love you. Or at least I think I do. I want to say I'll see you later. But I know I won't.
Because at this point. . . I'm not so sure that I believe in God anymore.
---Tera
My dearest Tera,
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry you didn't think I understood. I'm sorry you didn't realize that I was there. I'm sorry that you didn't want to come to me when you needed me the most. You thought I didn't understand, you thought I didn't care. You thought I was too old, too aged, too misunderstanding. You thought you were the only one to have ever experienced this pain.
I'm sorry I didn't explain. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.
Tera, my darling daughter, did you think that I had never been hurt? Did you think that my life was perfect? You silly girl, you said it yourself that you knew that eventually your world would get better, but you didn't believe it enough to stay. My life was hard too. My life wasn't perfect either.
I know what it's like to want to see blood to explain away my pain.
Why did you leave me Tera? Did you think that I wouldn't be able to comprehend? Did you not want to hurt me too?
Tera, I have experienced the same things you have. The world has gotten tough, the winds have blown and knocked me over more than once, but I always was forced to stand back up. Oh sweetheart, why didn't you trust yourself to continue standing?
I miss you. I love you. Why did you have to leave?
I'm setting this on the gravestone now, beside the picture of your young face. I wonder if you can see it? You said that you'd stopped believing in God.
I wish I could tell you, I wish I could have explained, he was the only one keeping me standing.
I wish I'd taught you to cleave to him too.
I love you,
Mom
Spider
Lynx had never been a rule follower.
His father's fist slammed against the table, splintering the carved wood around the beefy hand, “Why, Lynx?” he shouted, “You had no business reading the Leader's handbook!” spittle flew from the old man's lips, striking Lynx in the face. He wiped it off with the sleeve of his tunic, frowning.
“Why's he have to keep secrets?” the boy rubbed his sleeve against the side of the table, “Why does he get to know things we don't?”
“Because he's our HIGH LEADER!” his father bellowed.
“Wolf. . .” Lynx's mother walked into the kitchen, her brow was furrowed and wet, her damp red hair hanging in her face. She was pretty for an older lady, though it was obvious she was old. Her once ruby red hair was growing gray, and her face was lined with streaks; most of which had been caused by her rebellious son.
Wolf turned toward his wife, Lark, and shook his head. His big shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes wearily, “Why do you do it boy? Don't you realize what this means?”
“I do it because. . .” Lynx faltered, but his father didn't stop.
“You're going to be punished son. Punished, and punished severely.” Wolf raised his eyes to meet Lynx's, but the boy only raised his gaze higher. His back straightened and he stood as tall as any fourteen year old boy could.
“I'm not afraid,” he said stiffly. And he wasn't. Lynx knew that when he broke the rules, he'd be punished. It was something he prided himself on. Breaking the rules was only okay if you were willing to accept the consequences. He'd always been ready. When he'd stolen the bishop's staff, his father had been forced to hold him still while the holy man burned his hands with fire. When he mocked an elder, he'd been forced to swallow a giant grasshopper, alive. And now that he had stolen the High Leader's secret handbook, he'd have to. . .
“They're going to send you into the woods boy,” Wolf whispered harshly, “They'll send you into the woods, and this time you won't come back.”
* * *
The woods were dangerous. Gigantic leafy trees towered into the sky, blocking out nearly all sunlight, but the little that did get through only created shadows on the ground, rather than provide any illumination. In some places, the foliage was so packed together it was impossible to squeeze through the large trunks. In others, the spaces were so wide Lynx couldn't touch either tree even when he stretched out both of his hands.
Lynx had always prided himself on being able to take the punishment offered to him without flinching. He'd always said that he only did things when he was sure he could handle the punishment that would be given because of it.
He'd been wrong.
Lynx could feel his arms and legs shaking. He tried to keep them under control, but they were nearly spasming. The forest wasn't just a place for great oaks and sycamores, it was a place of magic and energy. And of great creatures that would suck out their victims brain and drink they're blood like wine. It was the only rule Lynx hadn't broken: Don't go into the forest.
He'd decided he couldn't handle the punishment that would have offered. Because it would have been death.
And now he was here.
Lynx carefully stepped over a fallen trunk. The mushy, decaying matter squished beneath his toes, and he tried not to gag against the stench. What types of horrible creatures lived here? Creatures that devoured and munched on poor unsuspecting victims. How many herds had the village lost to the Spiders alone?
The Spiders. . . Those were the creatures to fear. Lynx didn't dare close his eyes as he scanned the tree tops and the middle ground, looking for the great bulk that would reveal the monsters. Spiders were gigantic versions of the smaller kind. They could range from the size of a cow to the size of a buffalo. Even the smaller ones could kill you with just a tiny prick of one of their fangs. They were blood thirsty beasts. Just the day before, a group of hunters had gone into the forest looking for meat, and half their members had been taken and eaten by the things.
“Stop it!” Lynx shouted into the trees. He needed to stop thinking like that! If he was going to survive, he needed to. . .
What was that?!
Something moved off in the corner of the boy's vision. He spun, glancing nervously from left to right. What was that? Sweat was beginning to form in the palm of his hands. He tried to stay calm, tried to keep himself from panicking. It was nothing. There was nothing there.
But he was wrong.
A vicious clicking noise sounded from above him. Lynx slowly lifted his head, feeling his entire body begin to shake. And there it was.
It was gigantic. The size of a medium sized house if not larger. The fangs were dripping with saliva and poison. Its many red eyes glaring down at him. Lynx's legs gave out and he fell to the floor. His heart pounding and his mouth going dry. The beast and he looked at each other. Neither moved, neither made a sound.
There was no getting away from a Spider. They were vicious killers, they ate whatever they found no matter what they'd eaten before. Their stomachs were the same as bottomless pits. They had no mercy, not upon children, not upon animals, not upon men. Lynx was going to die.
The spider still didn't move.
Lynx slowly raised his shaking body to its feet. He kept his eyes locked on the Spider, and it twitched. Lynx took a few steps to the side, and the Spider followed him with its gaze. There was no way out. He was going to die. Death, the Spider was gong to suck his bones dry and lick up his fluids! No! He didn't want to die! Please!
It didn't matter. But the Spider still didn't move.
A large carcass was lying off to the side. It looked like a half eaten cow. Lynx tried not to look at the mutilated corpse, but his gaze was repeatedly drawn to it. What if. . . what if Spiders weren't crazy bottomless pit eaters? What if they actually did get full?
Lynx started to move. Slowly, very carefully, he moved with purpose and tried to hug the tight knot of trees to his back, looking for any space that would be big enough for him to squeeze through. He didn't make a sound, hardly seemed to breath as he slowly, slowly tried to sneak away.
The Spider watched him. It watched him with those beady red eyes, but still it didn't move. Lynx noticed something he hadn't before. The belly of the Spider bulged. Its eyes were half closed in contentment, even as it watched the boy move. It was. . .happy. Full.
But Spiders were monsters that never became. . . full.
Maybe there were more to these creatures than Lynx had previously thought.
He reached a niche, squeezing his body into the tiny space, and vanished from the Spider's view. He wasn't out of the woods. He wasn't anywhere safe, and yet. . .
The Spider hadn't killed him, when it so easily could have. The forest was a place of death and darkness. The creatures in it were mindless man eaters, there was no escape. . .
If the villagers had been wrong about one creature, even if it was a rare exception. . .
Well, what else were they wrong about?
His father's fist slammed against the table, splintering the carved wood around the beefy hand, “Why, Lynx?” he shouted, “You had no business reading the Leader's handbook!” spittle flew from the old man's lips, striking Lynx in the face. He wiped it off with the sleeve of his tunic, frowning.
“Why's he have to keep secrets?” the boy rubbed his sleeve against the side of the table, “Why does he get to know things we don't?”
“Because he's our HIGH LEADER!” his father bellowed.
“Wolf. . .” Lynx's mother walked into the kitchen, her brow was furrowed and wet, her damp red hair hanging in her face. She was pretty for an older lady, though it was obvious she was old. Her once ruby red hair was growing gray, and her face was lined with streaks; most of which had been caused by her rebellious son.
Wolf turned toward his wife, Lark, and shook his head. His big shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes wearily, “Why do you do it boy? Don't you realize what this means?”
“I do it because. . .” Lynx faltered, but his father didn't stop.
“You're going to be punished son. Punished, and punished severely.” Wolf raised his eyes to meet Lynx's, but the boy only raised his gaze higher. His back straightened and he stood as tall as any fourteen year old boy could.
“I'm not afraid,” he said stiffly. And he wasn't. Lynx knew that when he broke the rules, he'd be punished. It was something he prided himself on. Breaking the rules was only okay if you were willing to accept the consequences. He'd always been ready. When he'd stolen the bishop's staff, his father had been forced to hold him still while the holy man burned his hands with fire. When he mocked an elder, he'd been forced to swallow a giant grasshopper, alive. And now that he had stolen the High Leader's secret handbook, he'd have to. . .
“They're going to send you into the woods boy,” Wolf whispered harshly, “They'll send you into the woods, and this time you won't come back.”
* * *
The woods were dangerous. Gigantic leafy trees towered into the sky, blocking out nearly all sunlight, but the little that did get through only created shadows on the ground, rather than provide any illumination. In some places, the foliage was so packed together it was impossible to squeeze through the large trunks. In others, the spaces were so wide Lynx couldn't touch either tree even when he stretched out both of his hands.
Lynx had always prided himself on being able to take the punishment offered to him without flinching. He'd always said that he only did things when he was sure he could handle the punishment that would be given because of it.
He'd been wrong.
Lynx could feel his arms and legs shaking. He tried to keep them under control, but they were nearly spasming. The forest wasn't just a place for great oaks and sycamores, it was a place of magic and energy. And of great creatures that would suck out their victims brain and drink they're blood like wine. It was the only rule Lynx hadn't broken: Don't go into the forest.
He'd decided he couldn't handle the punishment that would have offered. Because it would have been death.
And now he was here.
Lynx carefully stepped over a fallen trunk. The mushy, decaying matter squished beneath his toes, and he tried not to gag against the stench. What types of horrible creatures lived here? Creatures that devoured and munched on poor unsuspecting victims. How many herds had the village lost to the Spiders alone?
The Spiders. . . Those were the creatures to fear. Lynx didn't dare close his eyes as he scanned the tree tops and the middle ground, looking for the great bulk that would reveal the monsters. Spiders were gigantic versions of the smaller kind. They could range from the size of a cow to the size of a buffalo. Even the smaller ones could kill you with just a tiny prick of one of their fangs. They were blood thirsty beasts. Just the day before, a group of hunters had gone into the forest looking for meat, and half their members had been taken and eaten by the things.
“Stop it!” Lynx shouted into the trees. He needed to stop thinking like that! If he was going to survive, he needed to. . .
What was that?!
Something moved off in the corner of the boy's vision. He spun, glancing nervously from left to right. What was that? Sweat was beginning to form in the palm of his hands. He tried to stay calm, tried to keep himself from panicking. It was nothing. There was nothing there.
But he was wrong.
A vicious clicking noise sounded from above him. Lynx slowly lifted his head, feeling his entire body begin to shake. And there it was.
It was gigantic. The size of a medium sized house if not larger. The fangs were dripping with saliva and poison. Its many red eyes glaring down at him. Lynx's legs gave out and he fell to the floor. His heart pounding and his mouth going dry. The beast and he looked at each other. Neither moved, neither made a sound.
There was no getting away from a Spider. They were vicious killers, they ate whatever they found no matter what they'd eaten before. Their stomachs were the same as bottomless pits. They had no mercy, not upon children, not upon animals, not upon men. Lynx was going to die.
The spider still didn't move.
Lynx slowly raised his shaking body to its feet. He kept his eyes locked on the Spider, and it twitched. Lynx took a few steps to the side, and the Spider followed him with its gaze. There was no way out. He was going to die. Death, the Spider was gong to suck his bones dry and lick up his fluids! No! He didn't want to die! Please!
It didn't matter. But the Spider still didn't move.
A large carcass was lying off to the side. It looked like a half eaten cow. Lynx tried not to look at the mutilated corpse, but his gaze was repeatedly drawn to it. What if. . . what if Spiders weren't crazy bottomless pit eaters? What if they actually did get full?
Lynx started to move. Slowly, very carefully, he moved with purpose and tried to hug the tight knot of trees to his back, looking for any space that would be big enough for him to squeeze through. He didn't make a sound, hardly seemed to breath as he slowly, slowly tried to sneak away.
The Spider watched him. It watched him with those beady red eyes, but still it didn't move. Lynx noticed something he hadn't before. The belly of the Spider bulged. Its eyes were half closed in contentment, even as it watched the boy move. It was. . .happy. Full.
But Spiders were monsters that never became. . . full.
Maybe there were more to these creatures than Lynx had previously thought.
He reached a niche, squeezing his body into the tiny space, and vanished from the Spider's view. He wasn't out of the woods. He wasn't anywhere safe, and yet. . .
The Spider hadn't killed him, when it so easily could have. The forest was a place of death and darkness. The creatures in it were mindless man eaters, there was no escape. . .
If the villagers had been wrong about one creature, even if it was a rare exception. . .
Well, what else were they wrong about?
Pop
I didn't think it was too big a deal. Just a whole bunch of us put into a fairly large space. We were all clumped together, rolling over each other and trying to find a little pinch of room that we could call our own.
“Where are we going?” I asked my neighbors, a few swiveled to look at me, finding the movement difficult because of how smooshed together we all were.
“This is the end,” she had a thick dark coating, there was nothing else really remarkable about her besides the fact that she was a tad darker than the rest of us.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“There's no way we're going to survive this.” I turned away. She was crazy. The others turned away as well, as though she had some type of infectious disease.
“I don't know,”
“Where are we going?”
“Why are we here?” The questions began to circle around me until soon the entire space was filled with them. I shook myself and looked around. It was just a white space. There was nothing remarkable about it. I was so crushed in with the others, I couldn't even really see the floor.
I smashed into my neighbor when the space suddenly jolted. We all screamed, trying to keep our balance as it shook. “What's happening?!” I yelled.
“It's the end.” The girl whispered. I started to yell at her to shut up, when the shifting rose to a new extreme. Up and down, up and down, we shook and tumbled against each other. Then we all flew to the right as the space jerked away.
Gravity was having a hay day, I couldn't tell which direction we were moving, just try to avoid being crushed by the others around me.
And then it stopped. Just as suddenly as it had started, the space was quiet again. We all shuddered. Trying to stay as close to ground as possible. No one said a word. It wasn't until I started sweating that I began to think that maybe it wasn't over.
“Is it getting. . . Warmer in here?” I whispered. The girl beside me sighed. I didn't know how she had managed to stay there, but she had.
“This is the end.” She said simply. The space began to get warmer and warmer, like a fire. My insides squirmed, growling and rumbling in weird undesirable ways.
“What's going on!” And then everything went totally wrong. There was a sharp POP and one of my neighbors flipped, his insides sprouting through his chest and rearranging themselves to fit in the front. POP POP POP. Others were following. The space expanded as they piled on top of each other, growing and enlarging as more and more were ripped inside out.
POP, POP, POP, POP!
It was so hot, so uncomfortably hot. I was sweating, my insides rumbled and expanded. I tried to hold it in, tried to keep myself from exploding. What was going on?! What had I done to deserve this?!
“Goodbye,” The girl next to me smiled.
“NO!”
***
Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop. The Girl smiled as the smell of butter filled the air, the dinger sounded and she opened the microwave with a smile. Pulling the bag out, she walked to the table and pulled it open. The warm aroma filled her nostrils and she grinned.
“Yum,” she murmured, popping one of the kernals into her mouth, “Hey guys! I've got Popcorn!”
“Where are we going?” I asked my neighbors, a few swiveled to look at me, finding the movement difficult because of how smooshed together we all were.
“This is the end,” she had a thick dark coating, there was nothing else really remarkable about her besides the fact that she was a tad darker than the rest of us.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“There's no way we're going to survive this.” I turned away. She was crazy. The others turned away as well, as though she had some type of infectious disease.
“I don't know,”
“Where are we going?”
“Why are we here?” The questions began to circle around me until soon the entire space was filled with them. I shook myself and looked around. It was just a white space. There was nothing remarkable about it. I was so crushed in with the others, I couldn't even really see the floor.
I smashed into my neighbor when the space suddenly jolted. We all screamed, trying to keep our balance as it shook. “What's happening?!” I yelled.
“It's the end.” The girl whispered. I started to yell at her to shut up, when the shifting rose to a new extreme. Up and down, up and down, we shook and tumbled against each other. Then we all flew to the right as the space jerked away.
Gravity was having a hay day, I couldn't tell which direction we were moving, just try to avoid being crushed by the others around me.
And then it stopped. Just as suddenly as it had started, the space was quiet again. We all shuddered. Trying to stay as close to ground as possible. No one said a word. It wasn't until I started sweating that I began to think that maybe it wasn't over.
“Is it getting. . . Warmer in here?” I whispered. The girl beside me sighed. I didn't know how she had managed to stay there, but she had.
“This is the end.” She said simply. The space began to get warmer and warmer, like a fire. My insides squirmed, growling and rumbling in weird undesirable ways.
“What's going on!” And then everything went totally wrong. There was a sharp POP and one of my neighbors flipped, his insides sprouting through his chest and rearranging themselves to fit in the front. POP POP POP. Others were following. The space expanded as they piled on top of each other, growing and enlarging as more and more were ripped inside out.
POP, POP, POP, POP!
It was so hot, so uncomfortably hot. I was sweating, my insides rumbled and expanded. I tried to hold it in, tried to keep myself from exploding. What was going on?! What had I done to deserve this?!
“Goodbye,” The girl next to me smiled.
“NO!”
***
Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop. The Girl smiled as the smell of butter filled the air, the dinger sounded and she opened the microwave with a smile. Pulling the bag out, she walked to the table and pulled it open. The warm aroma filled her nostrils and she grinned.
“Yum,” she murmured, popping one of the kernals into her mouth, “Hey guys! I've got Popcorn!”
Spawn
I have two minutes to write, fifteen to catch my breath and absolutely zero in which to explain.
Interested yet? You should be.
My name is Rae Sage. I'm fourteen years old, have dirty dark hair chopped short to keep it out of my face, and a baseball cap that's always turned backwards.
Yes, backwards.
A lot of the kids say I don't look like a girl, but I am. I just don't put all that stuff on myself and wear shirts that would reveal how pathetically tiny my bust size is. I wear knee length shorts and a black t-shirt. Always.
But I really don't have time, so I guess it's time to get to the point.
It started Saturday, and it won't ever stop. I was walking toward the school, dragging my feet because I didn't want to go. The kids would make fun of me, even though I kind of freaked them out sometimes. I wasn't unaware of the effect I had on people, but it still hurt sometimes. (I kind of hope nobody will ever read this) I mean you can only pretend to be the tough girl for so long. Anyway, I was walking to school, when this kid grabbed my arm. He was tall, had to be in high school or something.
His eyes were gray and bleak, his expression grim. “Rae,” he said, and I openly stared at him even though it was rude, “You've got to listen to me, go home, put in your headphones, and tell your parents that you're sick.”
“What?” the word just kind of tumbled out of my mouth because it was already open from staring at him.
“Rae, please, just trust me.” He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me back the way I'd come, but I resisted. Who was this guy? I don't trust people on principle, but he scared me more than people did normally. And his touch felt like it burned my skin. “Rae. . .”
“Let go of me!” I yelled, twisting and pushing against his hand. His skin was growing uncomfortably hot, searing into my wrist. I was almost crying because it hurt so bad. When his hand moved a bit, I could see that my wrist was bright red. “What are you doing? Let go!”
“Rae!” He tried to hold me still, but I was twisting like a crazy person. He cursed under his breath, then seemed to realize what he was doing. He let go of me with a gasp and I jerked away, turning and sprinting toward the school. “Raven!” he yelled again, but I wasn't listening. I needed to get to school.
Which turned out to be a pretty lame decision.
When I burst through the front doors, I was already late. A hall monitor glared at me but I ignored them as I sprinted to my first class. My wrist was still burning, but I tried not to pay any attention to the pain. In fact, I tried not to think at all because thinking about the boy made me start to shake. Who was he? What was his problem and how had he burned me? And why did he know my name?
“Thank you for joining us Miss Sage.” my teacher glared disapprovingly down at me and I blushed, ducking my head and rubbing my wrist. The room was white and boring. It was a science room, so it should have been filled with interesting things right? Things like drying animal guts and baby fetuses in jars, but there wasn't anything like that. The only decoration at all was the big table of elements that dominated the back wall. “Miss Sage!”
My head snapped back to the teacher, surprised. Usually she didn't make such a big deal when I came in late. But something was weird today. Her eyes were a funny color, and her lips were pressed together so tightly I was afraid they'd be swallowed.
“Yes?” I didn't mean to sound rude, but I probably did looking back at it. I was a little freaked out okay? That's not unusual when a strange shouts weird things at you.
“You're a little piece of work aren't you?”
“What?”
“You little pest.” her eyes were turning darker and darker, like glowing fireballs. The other kids were staring at her just like I was, but she didn't pay any attention to them. She'd been standing behind her desk in the front of the room, but now she reached across it and dug her long fingernails into the wood, crawling on top of it despite wearing a long old fashioned dress.
“What are you doing?!” I yelled, I didn't mean to, but all of the sudden I was up and moving. Running, running from a teacher! That wasn't allowed, and apparently she knew it.
With a screech, she launched herself at me, knocking me against the wall and pinning my throat between her suddenly razor sharp talons. I screamed and the other kids screamed with me, all running for the exits.
Like I already said, sometimes it's hard to play the tough girl all the time.
“You're Devil Spawn,” she hissed. I tried to squirm but she dug her nails into my skin and I froze, “You belong to me!” Her teeth were long, sharp and pointed. Her breath smelt like dead fish, and I had to work to keep from gagging.
“Let go!” I tried weakly, but my voice was small and squeaky. She laughed, and there was a pulling sensation, like I was about to sink into the ground and melt there. I struggled but she tightened her grip on my neck. “LET GO!”
The voice that came out of my mouth shocked me more than it did her but I acted on it just the same. It was a harsh voice, one that felt like it was full of power. I shoved against her, and this time she let go of me with a scream. My hands and feet were steaming, and so was the front of what used to be my teacher.
Now she was. . . something else. Her overcoat was puffed out in the back, making it look like she had wings, and her face was twisted, like a monster. “I'll kill you,” she hissed, her mouth foaming.
I think I said something real intelligent, like, “EEK!” She launched herself at me again, and I only just barely managed to dodge out of the way. She'd maneuvered herself so that she was between me and the exit. I backed toward the back wall, my heart thumping a million miles a minute. The power that I'd felt just seconds ago seemed to dwindle as I stared into the face of the creature in front of me.
“Who are you?” I whispered, I wasn't going to let myself cry, but I seriously wanted to. And trust me, I don't cry. Crying is when things are so hopeless, there's literally nothing else you can do. I guess this kind of qualified as that type of a situation.
“What do you think I am, spawn?” the monster hissed, slowly advancing toward me.
“Are you going to kill me?” I don't know why I was so intent on talking, maybe it felt like that would buy me time. She smiled, and I cringed back because her canine's were now so long and dripping with a blackish goo that made my stomach squirm.
“We don't eat the flesh of spawn,” she growled. I swallowed, which almost made me throw up, seeing her black spit put serious disgusting images in my head.
“Spawn?” my teeth were clattering. At this point, I had backed up so much that I'd hit the wall, my spine pressed tightly against the barrier. Instead of answering, the monster attacked me again. I threw myself out of the way, smashing into some of the desks and giving myself bruises that I'm sure will make me ache for days.
She jumped onto the wall, her talons sunk into it and holding herself there. I swallowed nervously, but she just snarled. Her fingers were gripping the table of elements poster. Her back foot had ripped the corner. She tried to launch herself at me again, but the poster caught her, holding her in place and then tangling her up as she fell to the ground. I ran. I ran faster than I should have ever been able to run in my entire fairly short life.
I darted through the doorway, running smack dab into the boy from before. My wrist burned angrily at the sight of him, and I tried to push past but he grabbed my shoulders.
“Is she still in there?” he barked, I tried to shove him away the way I had the monster, but he didn't budge. He didn't look like a beast the way the teacher had, if anything he seemed to glow a little bit. But I didn't want to take any chances. His hands were already burning through my t-shirt.
“Let go! Let go of me!” I screamed.
“Shh! Rae!”
“Who are you!?” I demanded. He paused, then took a deep breath.
“My name is Gael, I'm a divine. And I'm also your half brother.” I don't really have time to explain my reaction to that. I don't really have much time left at all actually. But Gael took me away from the monster, and took me to a place where 'Divines' usually stayed. It was like a hotel, but smaller and hidden like a pub. Divines apparently are like Angels, only they aren't affiliated with a God or anything like that. They're just. . . I don't even know. Supposedly they are the essence of good. And on the other side, Torments-like my teacher-were like Demons without the Devil. They're the essence of bad.
And apparently, being Spawn means I'm a mix of both.
I wish I had more time! But I just don't. Gael may have been a gallant brother and a good guy, but he wants the same thing as the torments. The divines want to take all spawn like me and eat their energy. It doesn't supposedly kill us. . . but I'm not willing to risk it. So now my time is up, and I have to leave. But I have to warn someone. I have to tell someone before I run.
Because it could be you next. Everyone is either a divine or a torment, or spawn like me. If your spawn, then there's a chance that you can put yourself on either side, but if you try to stay neutral. . . you'll be consumed. So I'm just warning you all now, because I need to run. I need to run and I'm asking you to join me. Because it won't ever stop. This battle for good and evil, and all us little people stuck in the middle. I just want to live, I just want to be happy.
Is that so wrong?
So be careful. Because all of us. . .all of us spawn, all of us half divine, half torment, we all have one thing in common. One thing that the other two sides don't have.
We're human.
Interested yet? You should be.
My name is Rae Sage. I'm fourteen years old, have dirty dark hair chopped short to keep it out of my face, and a baseball cap that's always turned backwards.
Yes, backwards.
A lot of the kids say I don't look like a girl, but I am. I just don't put all that stuff on myself and wear shirts that would reveal how pathetically tiny my bust size is. I wear knee length shorts and a black t-shirt. Always.
But I really don't have time, so I guess it's time to get to the point.
It started Saturday, and it won't ever stop. I was walking toward the school, dragging my feet because I didn't want to go. The kids would make fun of me, even though I kind of freaked them out sometimes. I wasn't unaware of the effect I had on people, but it still hurt sometimes. (I kind of hope nobody will ever read this) I mean you can only pretend to be the tough girl for so long. Anyway, I was walking to school, when this kid grabbed my arm. He was tall, had to be in high school or something.
His eyes were gray and bleak, his expression grim. “Rae,” he said, and I openly stared at him even though it was rude, “You've got to listen to me, go home, put in your headphones, and tell your parents that you're sick.”
“What?” the word just kind of tumbled out of my mouth because it was already open from staring at him.
“Rae, please, just trust me.” He grabbed my hand and tried to pull me back the way I'd come, but I resisted. Who was this guy? I don't trust people on principle, but he scared me more than people did normally. And his touch felt like it burned my skin. “Rae. . .”
“Let go of me!” I yelled, twisting and pushing against his hand. His skin was growing uncomfortably hot, searing into my wrist. I was almost crying because it hurt so bad. When his hand moved a bit, I could see that my wrist was bright red. “What are you doing? Let go!”
“Rae!” He tried to hold me still, but I was twisting like a crazy person. He cursed under his breath, then seemed to realize what he was doing. He let go of me with a gasp and I jerked away, turning and sprinting toward the school. “Raven!” he yelled again, but I wasn't listening. I needed to get to school.
Which turned out to be a pretty lame decision.
When I burst through the front doors, I was already late. A hall monitor glared at me but I ignored them as I sprinted to my first class. My wrist was still burning, but I tried not to pay any attention to the pain. In fact, I tried not to think at all because thinking about the boy made me start to shake. Who was he? What was his problem and how had he burned me? And why did he know my name?
“Thank you for joining us Miss Sage.” my teacher glared disapprovingly down at me and I blushed, ducking my head and rubbing my wrist. The room was white and boring. It was a science room, so it should have been filled with interesting things right? Things like drying animal guts and baby fetuses in jars, but there wasn't anything like that. The only decoration at all was the big table of elements that dominated the back wall. “Miss Sage!”
My head snapped back to the teacher, surprised. Usually she didn't make such a big deal when I came in late. But something was weird today. Her eyes were a funny color, and her lips were pressed together so tightly I was afraid they'd be swallowed.
“Yes?” I didn't mean to sound rude, but I probably did looking back at it. I was a little freaked out okay? That's not unusual when a strange shouts weird things at you.
“You're a little piece of work aren't you?”
“What?”
“You little pest.” her eyes were turning darker and darker, like glowing fireballs. The other kids were staring at her just like I was, but she didn't pay any attention to them. She'd been standing behind her desk in the front of the room, but now she reached across it and dug her long fingernails into the wood, crawling on top of it despite wearing a long old fashioned dress.
“What are you doing?!” I yelled, I didn't mean to, but all of the sudden I was up and moving. Running, running from a teacher! That wasn't allowed, and apparently she knew it.
With a screech, she launched herself at me, knocking me against the wall and pinning my throat between her suddenly razor sharp talons. I screamed and the other kids screamed with me, all running for the exits.
Like I already said, sometimes it's hard to play the tough girl all the time.
“You're Devil Spawn,” she hissed. I tried to squirm but she dug her nails into my skin and I froze, “You belong to me!” Her teeth were long, sharp and pointed. Her breath smelt like dead fish, and I had to work to keep from gagging.
“Let go!” I tried weakly, but my voice was small and squeaky. She laughed, and there was a pulling sensation, like I was about to sink into the ground and melt there. I struggled but she tightened her grip on my neck. “LET GO!”
The voice that came out of my mouth shocked me more than it did her but I acted on it just the same. It was a harsh voice, one that felt like it was full of power. I shoved against her, and this time she let go of me with a scream. My hands and feet were steaming, and so was the front of what used to be my teacher.
Now she was. . . something else. Her overcoat was puffed out in the back, making it look like she had wings, and her face was twisted, like a monster. “I'll kill you,” she hissed, her mouth foaming.
I think I said something real intelligent, like, “EEK!” She launched herself at me again, and I only just barely managed to dodge out of the way. She'd maneuvered herself so that she was between me and the exit. I backed toward the back wall, my heart thumping a million miles a minute. The power that I'd felt just seconds ago seemed to dwindle as I stared into the face of the creature in front of me.
“Who are you?” I whispered, I wasn't going to let myself cry, but I seriously wanted to. And trust me, I don't cry. Crying is when things are so hopeless, there's literally nothing else you can do. I guess this kind of qualified as that type of a situation.
“What do you think I am, spawn?” the monster hissed, slowly advancing toward me.
“Are you going to kill me?” I don't know why I was so intent on talking, maybe it felt like that would buy me time. She smiled, and I cringed back because her canine's were now so long and dripping with a blackish goo that made my stomach squirm.
“We don't eat the flesh of spawn,” she growled. I swallowed, which almost made me throw up, seeing her black spit put serious disgusting images in my head.
“Spawn?” my teeth were clattering. At this point, I had backed up so much that I'd hit the wall, my spine pressed tightly against the barrier. Instead of answering, the monster attacked me again. I threw myself out of the way, smashing into some of the desks and giving myself bruises that I'm sure will make me ache for days.
She jumped onto the wall, her talons sunk into it and holding herself there. I swallowed nervously, but she just snarled. Her fingers were gripping the table of elements poster. Her back foot had ripped the corner. She tried to launch herself at me again, but the poster caught her, holding her in place and then tangling her up as she fell to the ground. I ran. I ran faster than I should have ever been able to run in my entire fairly short life.
I darted through the doorway, running smack dab into the boy from before. My wrist burned angrily at the sight of him, and I tried to push past but he grabbed my shoulders.
“Is she still in there?” he barked, I tried to shove him away the way I had the monster, but he didn't budge. He didn't look like a beast the way the teacher had, if anything he seemed to glow a little bit. But I didn't want to take any chances. His hands were already burning through my t-shirt.
“Let go! Let go of me!” I screamed.
“Shh! Rae!”
“Who are you!?” I demanded. He paused, then took a deep breath.
“My name is Gael, I'm a divine. And I'm also your half brother.” I don't really have time to explain my reaction to that. I don't really have much time left at all actually. But Gael took me away from the monster, and took me to a place where 'Divines' usually stayed. It was like a hotel, but smaller and hidden like a pub. Divines apparently are like Angels, only they aren't affiliated with a God or anything like that. They're just. . . I don't even know. Supposedly they are the essence of good. And on the other side, Torments-like my teacher-were like Demons without the Devil. They're the essence of bad.
And apparently, being Spawn means I'm a mix of both.
I wish I had more time! But I just don't. Gael may have been a gallant brother and a good guy, but he wants the same thing as the torments. The divines want to take all spawn like me and eat their energy. It doesn't supposedly kill us. . . but I'm not willing to risk it. So now my time is up, and I have to leave. But I have to warn someone. I have to tell someone before I run.
Because it could be you next. Everyone is either a divine or a torment, or spawn like me. If your spawn, then there's a chance that you can put yourself on either side, but if you try to stay neutral. . . you'll be consumed. So I'm just warning you all now, because I need to run. I need to run and I'm asking you to join me. Because it won't ever stop. This battle for good and evil, and all us little people stuck in the middle. I just want to live, I just want to be happy.
Is that so wrong?
So be careful. Because all of us. . .all of us spawn, all of us half divine, half torment, we all have one thing in common. One thing that the other two sides don't have.
We're human.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Unique
Have you ever seen the sky mold into darkest night?
Have you ever watched the moon glow with borrowed light?
I never thought I'd wonder the purpose of painted wings
Things hoped for, things wished for, and things totally unseen.
Suffering Angels flying so high,
I watch them fall, streaming from the sky,
Their pearly white wings,
Their ripped and ruined robes,
They thought they knew the answers,
But turns out they were wrong.
My heart keeps beating,
My eyes keep seeing,
The blood never stops in my veins.
I thought I was different,
I thought I was special,
But none of it mattered,
They were just thoughts of the vain.
The war continues onward,
those angels keep fighting,
and they only care that I bleed.
I bleed and I fall,
The world crashes down,
Their wings fly and flutter 'round me.
And when I open my eyes,
And look without pride,
I see what they wanted to show,
And that was hundreds of angels
Surrounding my friends,
And the friends of friends I don't know.
"We're everywhere and nowhere,
we're here but we're not,
so don't you go feeling so special.
You're life may bring pain,
You heart may just burst,
But look around and you'll see,
You're just like everyone else."
Have you ever watched the moon glow with borrowed light?
I never thought I'd wonder the purpose of painted wings
Things hoped for, things wished for, and things totally unseen.
Suffering Angels flying so high,
I watch them fall, streaming from the sky,
Their pearly white wings,
Their ripped and ruined robes,
They thought they knew the answers,
But turns out they were wrong.
My heart keeps beating,
My eyes keep seeing,
The blood never stops in my veins.
I thought I was different,
I thought I was special,
But none of it mattered,
They were just thoughts of the vain.
The war continues onward,
those angels keep fighting,
and they only care that I bleed.
I bleed and I fall,
The world crashes down,
Their wings fly and flutter 'round me.
And when I open my eyes,
And look without pride,
I see what they wanted to show,
And that was hundreds of angels
Surrounding my friends,
And the friends of friends I don't know.
"We're everywhere and nowhere,
we're here but we're not,
so don't you go feeling so special.
You're life may bring pain,
You heart may just burst,
But look around and you'll see,
You're just like everyone else."
Monday, May 24, 2010
Demon-Angel (I)
This is my Demon-Angel Story. It's still a work in progress, and it's pretty long, so I apologize. The grammar is probably bad, so I'm sorry for that too. Please forgive me and take it for what it is anyway. Thanks!
Sweat dripped down the Angel’s face, her eyes narrowed to keep the moisture out of them. Three inches. That’s all it would take: three inches. Possibly four, and he would be dead. The Demon’s vivid green eyes glared balefully back at her. He lay on the ground, his back pressed up against the grass, his chest heaving. The faint moonlight making his eyes shine out like beckons, the vivid green standing against his bloodshot whites. That was the mark. The outside sign that he wasn’t human. He was something lesser. Something sinister and evil.
A demon.
She could do it. She could kill him. She knew she could. He was in her power. He deserved it. He had killed Layn, killed her like it had been nothing. He was a demon, a monster. The sharp point of her blade rested directly over his heart. All she had to do was push down. Her left hand gripped the flat of the blade, holding it steady. It would be her first kill. The first time she sliced through flesh and claimed a life as her own.
The Demon’s baleful glare once again drew her gaze. The bitterness and hatred showing through. The fate of the fallen, and something else. . . Something barely noticeable. His eyes screamed. He didn’t have a wound on his body, but his eyes screamed in pain. What was wrong with him? He hurt. . .he suffered.
The Angel’s hand slipped, and her thumb touched his skin- the shirt having burned away from the power of her blade-and felt the sticky, wet substance stroke her finger.
Three inches, maybe four, and that substance would flow freely.
Blood.
With a shriek, the Angel leaped backwards, ramming against the alley wall. In an instant, the Demon was up. He glanced at her only once-the gaze full of hate and something new. . . fear. Then he vanished.
***
Lynn paced the hallways restlessly. Janet walked beside her, laughingly telling her all about the day before. Lynn smiled and laughed, but wasn’t really paying attention.
She had been so close! What other mission was she serving then to rid this world from as many demons as physically possible? And yet she had felt pity, and let him get away. As though he had a soul. As if he deserved her pity. . .
But those green eyes. . .those painful green eyes. . .
“Look at Jerren today,” Janet commented, breaking through Lynn’s thoughts “He looks kind of down.” Lynn felt a small twinge of concern, the same pang she felt whenever anyone was in pain. She looked across the room and located the boy, sitting at a small, dismal table in the corner of the commons room. He wore a baggy grey shirt and flannel pants. His skin bleached of color, his hair arranged in disarray. Lynn bit her lip and felt a rush of sympathy. She began to walk forward, when a new thought snuck into her brain.
Why was he wearing those clothes? Was he trying to commit social suicide? All she had to do to ruin this kid’s life forever was whisper a few words to Janet. She would carry them to the other girls, who would carry them to others. He would be destroyed, with only a few well placed words. It would be almost too easy. . .. .
Lynn shook her head angrily, slapping her forehead and closing her eyes. What was wrong with her?! She was an ANGEL!
“Yeah, he looks sad,” she told Janet softly, “And lonely.”
“Lonely?”
“Go talk to him, you’re the one who’s good with words.”
“Yeah, cause you’re no good at all,” She laughed, then glanced over at the boy, her smile fading. “I think I will,” she murmured, “He looks so sad. . .” within moments, she was standing by the boy, opening her mouth to speak. Lynn smiled. That was what she was here for. To help people.
The day continued, and Lynn’s mood went from bad to worse. Thoughts. . .images and ideas plagued her. Things that were NOT angelic. Trip him and he’ll hit her. . . say this and she’ll go home crying. . . sneer at them when they walk by, make them wonder what they did wrong. . . She barely avoided them. Her mission was to help the humans around her, not tear them down more then they already did themselves. What was wrong with her? She’d bitten her tongue so many times it felt swollen, some of the human friends she’d acquired were noticing something was wrong, but she brushed them off. What was she going to tell them? I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m an angel sent to protect you guys, and right now I feel like doing the opposite.
Like make your lives miserable?
“Well that was a brilliant move,” Sarcasm dripped from the boy’s tone like soupy rainwater. Laughter resounded through the hallways. Lynn opened her eyes, she’d been trying to block out the thoughts and images, not even realizing where she was going. Now she was at the edge of a small crowd; all clustered around an attractive junior. His back was to her, but his voice made her angry, “Are you really going to go out with her? She looks like a maggot.”
“It’s a girls choice. . .”
“Turn her down, she’s disgusting.”
“Yeah Eric, She’s gross!” The other sheep-like humans jumped at the chance to suck up to the popular boy. Why did being beautiful give you permission to be a jerk? Lynn scowled, the poor boy who was being picked on was new to the school. Didn’t know the social status’s or whatever cruel chaste system this rotten hole had for its members. For the first time all day, Lynn felt her angelic righteousness return to her, and she pushed her way through the crowd.
“You could ask Ashley,” the popular boy was saying, his face in thoughtful contemplation “She’ll strip her shirt if you so much as look at her sideways. . . “
”You’re a jerk,” Lynn snapped. Utter silence. The crowd all turned toward her, and the boy slowly turned toward her, “Don’t you have something better to do then prove that you’re a prick?”.
“OOOh!” Some boys chanted, “Little prissy’s going to tell us what to think and say?”
“Maybe she wouldn’t stand so straight if we took the stick out of her. . .”
The junior cocked his head at her, grinning the devil’s smile. Lynn gasped and leaped backwards, knocking into the people behind her. Vivid green eyes that nearly burned. The whites blood-shot, until they didn’t look white at all.
Demon. He grinned wider when he saw the recognition flicker in her face, “Hey Angel,” he taunted, “Did you miss me?” The other boy’s laughed, not realizing how serious he was. Lynn stared, shocked, before regaining her composure.
“I don’t suppose we can take this outside?” she hissed through clenched teeth. The Demon grinned at the humans around him, who were all laughing foolishly. They had no idea who this boy was. And she doubted they would care if they did.
“Sure,” he smirked. She spun on her heel and marched out, praying his desire to put a knife between her shoulder blades would be quelled by the fact that it would be witnessed by several high school students. He threw his cronies a look and they stayed back.
Lynn led them through the halls and into the back, there were no security camera’s in this part of the school, as she knew from her several scouting trips. As soon as the door closed behind them, she spun, gripping the boy’s shirt and slamming him against the wall. He moved faster then lightning, twisting out of her grip and grabbing her wrists, pinning them behind her before she could struggle free. She tried to kick him, but he blocked it with his knee. He laughed, his voice echoing against the school walls; then shoved her away. He leaned against the wall lazily, gazing down at her smugly.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance!” Lynn snarled, pushing herself up from the dirt.
“Yes you should have,” he said rolling his eyes in an exaggerated motion, “Has anyone told you, you’re a moron? Or are all Angel’s as completely incompetent as you are?”
“I could kill you now,” Lynn growled, her teeth clenched.
“Good.”
Lynn grabbed her blade, resting and compacted at her belt. It didn’t look like much at first glance, just a silver canister she could have been wearing for a fashion statement. It had small ruins etched into the sides, flowing and twisting like flowers. But both the Angel and Demon both knew that when held properly, it would twist and elongate into a brilliant weapon.
Lynn yanked the weapon free, twisting it the way she’d been taught. Sharp pain shot though her fingers and up her wrist, digging and shocking her very bones. The scream jumped from her throat before she could stop it and the weapon dropped uselessly to the ground, smoking slightly. Lynn didn’t pick it up, just stared at it.
“Oh yes, very effective.” The Demon drawled. Lynn didn’t answer, “You know what’s going on, don’t you Angel?” The Angel looked up from her weapon, her face draining of blood. “You’re falling.”
“F-falling?” she whispered, her voice catching.
“Y-yes.” he mocked.
“Why?”Lynn chocked out. Falling? NO! It wasn’t possible. Why would she fall? Fall from heaven, fall from grace, fall from being an Angel? No, it wasn’t possible. Lynn shook her head, trying to stop the horror and panic from crawling up her skin and settling into her muscles and joints until she froze completely, “Why am I falling?” She lurched forward, griping his shirt. He snarled and tried to jerk free, but she held on tightly, “Why?! What did I do wrong?!”
“What do you think?!” he shouted, gripping her hands and trying to pull them free, “You spared a Demon! Did you honestly think you could gain forgiveness from that?” Lynn fell to her knees, his shirt fabric still clenched tightly in her fists. .
“It was an accident,” the words were nearly unintelligible.
“Don’t lie to yourself.” The demon snarled, with a sudden fury he ripped her hands free from him, tossing her aside, “It was pity. I don’t want, or need, anyone’s pity. Let alone yours. Demons are demons for a reason, you had no right to spare my life. What is wrong with you?!” With one hard yank, he pulled her to her feet, his fingers white where he gripped her upper arm, “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”
“It was you’re eyes,” she whispered. Falling. . .falling. . . to fall was the worst punishment there was. You became weaker, became foolish. It was almost like becoming a human. She wouldn’t be able to communicate with the others anymore. . .wouldn’t be able to see their faces without shielding her face from their glory. “You seemed so. . .” it felt foolish now. Foolish and sinful, what she had done. She had spared one of the hellspawn. One of the creatures that had been trying to destroy the world since it had began. How was it possible that she had thought she’d seen remorse in his horrible bloodshot demon eyes? “I’m falling. . .” she whispered, but something didn’t make sense. . . “Why are you here? Are you offering yourself to me? Do you really want to die?”
He snorted, his face thick with disgust, “No, I don’t want to die, Angel. I just don’t want your pity binding me. Because now I have to do something incredibly distasteful.”
“What’s that?” Lynn hurriedly whipped her eyes, she hadn’t even realized she was crying in front of this monster.
“I have to help you keep your grace.”
***
Alaric. He’d been known by many names of course, but that was the one he remembered the most. Alaric, a Demon no one wanted around. Not that most people wanted demons around anyway. He hated his name. The humans called him Alex, and he preferred it. It was simple, mundane. Nobody expected to get their heart ripped out by Alex.
Though what people expected and what actually happened was usually very different.
The Angel was still trying to come to grips with what was happening to her. Alex scowled and turned away from the beautiful red-head. Her blue angel eyes were still wet, though she was trying desperately to stop the flood of tears. Typical of Angels, weak, unable to stop a show of weakness. That was the first lesson he’d learned, it had been beaten into him by his beastly brother.
The pain was finally receding, now that he stood next to the bloody bird girl. Her pity, her mercy that allowed him to retain his life, had formed a bond between the two. She’d spared him, so it was his “responsibility” to help her. Of course, the bond used torturous pain to pull the Demon back to his charge. If he even thought about leaving her, the pain rippled through his body.
“Are you just going to sit there all day?” he growled, the annoyance so thick in his voice he was surprised she could recognize any of the words.
“Sorry,” she muttered, she was still dazed, she probably didn’t even register that she had just apologized to her worst enemy. The silver in the white’s of her eyes flashed with sunlight as she lifted her head, gazing up at him. “Where are we going to go?”
Alex snorted, “I have no idea.”
“An Angel Sanctuary?” she whispered, thinking. Alex hissed softly through his teeth.
“If Angel’s were the only thing that could help you girl, a Demon wouldn’t be needed to bring your grace back.” It was true. Alex knew very little about an Angel’s grace or how they obtained and kept it. He didn’t believe in that heavenly god crap. There had to be some other source of power they used. And it had to be linked with his own, or the bond wouldn’t have been formed.
“Then we should just walk,” Lynn whispered, “And go wherever it leads us.” Alex scowled. But what else could they do? Maybe the Angel had better instincts about this then he did. He just wanted to get the annoying task over with as quickly as possible. Then he could kill the girl without feeling like his cells were being torn to shreds.
Alex cracked another smile, thinking about it. He would save her, then kill her, and maybe she would even go to hell. Seemed like a fun ride to him.
Lynn had her eyes closed, walking with a sure step that betrayed her otherworldliness. She was very beautiful, with her long red hair and angelic figure, but Alex had learned long ago not to judge from appearances. She had nearly killed him after all. He had just finished off her partner and hadn’t seen her until it was to late. And now he was here.
Alex swore. His frustration and anger building up until the word formed and fell through his lips. He hoped it would take a little of the annoyance and pain with it. Lynn stopped in her tracks, turned and slapped him.
“How dare you?” she hissed, Alex rubbed his jaw.
“Why not?”
“Do you not realize you are in the presence of. . .”
“A falling Angel?” he sneered. She turned away, and when she spoke her words were softer then they’d been before.
“I’m falling Alex,” she whispered, “Is it so wrong to try and avoid falling faster?”
“Do you think it will rub off on you?” he taunted, “Make you want to be more like me?”
”Just. . .don’t,” she sighed.
“I’ll try. I sure wouldn’t want to be damned myself.” She turned away, ignoring the comment; something Alex thought was a shame. He’d found the joke very funny.
Soon they were traveling through main street. The cars whizzed by, honking their horns erratically, some of the drivers screaming profanities that made Lynn flinch. The smell of fast food was heavy on the air along with the pungent smell of gasoline and body odor.
“Are you getting any epiphanies yet girl?”
“There has to be a way,” she murmured.
“Sure there is.”
“Do you have an idea?”
“Nope.”
Lynn scowled, “You’re no help at all.”
“Sure I am, my mere presence has kept off at least seven different attacks on you.”
Lynn jumped slightly, looking surprised, “What?”
“You’re a weakened Angel. Use your brain and do the math.”
“Demons were trailing me?”
“Anyone with fangs would love to get them sunk into that pretty neck of yours.”
“Wonderful.” Lynn buried her face in her hands for a moment, rubbing it wearily, “Just. . . wonderful.”
“Have you ever thought of just letting yourself fall? Just letting it happen?” Alex cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. Lynn frowned at him.
“Why would I do that? I want to be good. I want to be an Angel.”
“Do you? Do you really?” They locked eyes. Blood-shot green eyes locked on blue silver streaked ones.
“Yes,” Lynn said firmly, “I really do.” Alex smiled slightly, a small smile, like he knew something she didn’t.
“Then let’s get going,”
They continued on. Heading nowhere. Making no headway. Lynn was lost in thought, her brow scrunched in concentration. Alex wondered how hard she had to fight against the impulses to do wrong things. It was hard, thinking things that were contrary to what you’d been taught. He wondered how long she’d fare.
They’d been walking all day. The sun was setting behind the tall buildings and lighting them all to brilliant shades of orange and red. The city looked like it was on fire.
“Alaric.” the word trickled down Alex’s spine, chilling his bones. It was deep and penetrating, rumbling in the evening air. Alex felt his back stiffen and he turned toward the sound. At first, it was nothing but shadows. But as Alex watched, the shadows solidified, taking a form and mass. He was tall, broad shouldered and black haired. He didn’t look anything like Alex, who was fair haired, spiny and thin. But the two held an unmistakable resemblance in their blood-shot green eyes. The shadows fell around the newcomer like a cloak. Like protection.
“Gereic.” Alex whispered. Lynn turned her blue eyes to him, and recognized the tone of voice. Alex was afraid. No, more than afraid. He was petrified. More figures were pulling themselves from the shadows between the buildings. They were in an alleyway, hidden from the rest of the world. Alex tried to back into a wall, keep all of the enemies in He reached out a hand and gripped Lynn’s forearm, pulling her with him. “You can’t fight them,” he whispered to her, his voice tight, teeth on edge, “Especially without your weapon.”
Gereic smiled at the small demon, “Alaric, it has been too long.”
“Not long enough,” Alex responded grimly. Gereic laughed, his dark head thrown back and shaking with mirth. Alex grit his teeth, wishing he could spit at the man. Gereic took another step forward, Alex wanted to step back away from him, but his back was already to the wall.
“I have to wonder, why is the girl still alive?” Gereic shook his head in mock sorrow, “You’ve been with her all day.”
“Because I can’t kill her.” Alex growled, his eyes flickering to the other demons surrounding them. On a normal day, he wouldn’t have given them a second thought. They were low levels, barely more then cronies. But with Gereic here. . .
“Can’t you?” the greater demon murmured. Alex flinched. “I know your skills boy. You’ve been to the deepest pit, a little pain shouldn’t bother you.”
“I don’t do pain anymore,”
“Oh really?” Gereic laughed, “You don’t do pain? Are you a Demon or not boy? There’s no way for you not do have pain. Our entire existence is pain! Are you trying to repent? Trying to heal the wound from all those years ago? You think helping this. . . flying rodent will help you forgive yourself?” Lynn gripped Alex’s arm. He was grateful for the contact, though he would never admit it. “The easiest way to save her Alaric, is to kill her. You know this.”
“Shut up.”
“It won’t be hard.” Gereic’s voice turned smooth and persuasive.
“Leave him alone,” Lynn growled, “You’re evil words mean nothing here.”
“She can’t fall if she’s dead.”
“No,” Alex was shocked when the word broke through his lips. What was he doing? A trickle of blood flowed across his palm from where his nails had dug into the skin. His entire body was shaking. He locked eyes with the greater Demon, challenging him with his gaze, “No,” he repeated.
“Do you want her to heal you?” Gereic actually took a step back in surprise, “Do you really think what you feel is able to be healed by an Angel? You’re wounds go deeper then physical boy. Her kiss will do nothing for you.” Alex didn’t answer. He didn’t do anything, “The Kiss of an Angel would destroy you boy, no matter what healing properties it contains.”
“What do you mean?” It was Lynn who spoke. Her voice was strong, but Alex could hear the effort of maintaining that strength. Gereic turned to look at her for the first time. Her blue eyes glared into his green ones. Lynn raised her head proudly, expression defiant, eyes unblinking. They stared at each other for a moment, and Alex felt slightly proud of the girl. It was rare that someone could hold a greater demon’s gaze.
“The touch of an angel raises things,” Gereic said finally, his gaze still holding hers, “It you kissed him, he would raise above a demon.” Alex flinched back. “And I will not allow that to happen. Some part of him wants it, he wants to be free from the chains of Hell.” Gereic shifted his gaze back to Alex, who stared back defiantly, “But it won’t happen. Not to him. Not to my little brother.”
“Little brother?” Alex whispered, “Little brother? Since when have you been sentimental Gereic?” his voice burned with derision.
“Kill her,” Gereic commanded. ,
“No,”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” The demons behind their master snarled, then leapt forward. Lynn screamed, dropping to the ground and using both feet to knock one of the demons back. Alex leapt forward, his scythe appearing and elongating in his hand. He brought it around, slicing through one of the many black little monsters. They were like sludge, a mass of moving barely beasts, they had a vague human form, but were wavy, like the form wasn’t all there. Lynn came to her feet, shaking. Alex could read the expression on her face. She was defenseless, she needed a weapon.
Another demon rushed them. Alex leaped into the air, driving his feet into its face. It was like jumping into jello. The form held against his weight, but it gave slightly. Alex shoved it to the ground, his scythe slicing through the flesh easily. He spun, blocking the strike from on of the other creatures. A large sweep of the weapon knocked down three other opponents, sending them flying in different directions. Sickly green blood leaked from the black bodies. He glanced frantically back at Lynn, but she seemed to be holding her own.
The angel’s fist flashed through the air, shoving the demon’s nose into his brain. She spun and high kicked another one in the chest. She moved so fast, it was as if she flew through her moves. It wasn’t long before her fists were slick with the green blood of lesser demons.
Alex heard his name whispered, and he only had a second to whirl around before his brother stabbed at him. Their blades locked, and the greater demon smiled down at his brother. Alex wrenched his scythe free, whirled it and cut sideways. Gereic blocked it and shoved Alex down. He rolled as fast as he could, but his brother’s blade still sliced through the thin skin of his arm. Alex cried out, holding the limb to his chest, clutching his only weapon with the other.
“Alex!?” Lynn yelled, but he didn’t look at her. The greater demon advanced, and it was all he could do to keep his brother from ripping his flesh to tiny chunks of raw meat. He spun and ducked, trying to get to the offensive, but was always forced to defend himself. The singing blades rang through the alley, filling the night air with their cries. Gereic laughed, and Alex knew that he wasn’t even trying.
“I don’t want to kill you Alaric,” he said, Alex spun his blade and tried to slice off Gereic’s head, but the Demon easily avoided the blow, “I want to save you.”
“From what?!” Alex snarled, his arms and body shook, partly from fury, partly from exhaustion, “From an angel? Because she can do so much damage.”
Gereic’s eyes flashed dangerously, “She will take your. . .”
“Soul?” Alex barked out a laugh, “My soul is gone!” his scythe flashed, brought up before Gereic realized what he was doing. It sliced through the tender skin on the Greater Demon’s ear, causing him to cry out in pain. Gereic’s eyes began to burn, and Alex could see his small reflection staring back at him. His brother’s control finally broke, and he began to really attack. He moved so fast, Alex didn’t even see the blow coming. One moment they stood facing each other, Gereic’s ear bleeding slightly, his weapon gleaming in the faint light. The next second, Alex screamed in pain.
Gereic shoved his blade straight through his brother’s stomach. The sickening crunch of flesh and sinew being ripped apart snapped through the alleyway. Alex’s eyes widened in horror. Lynn cried out in horror, staring at the blood covered tip of the blade.
The one poking out of Alex’s back.
With deliberate slowness, Gereic twisted the blade; flexing his grip to extend the excess blades into either side. They shot out, snapping through his ribs and extending out of him like a cross. Someone screamed his name, but Alex could only feel pain, white hot and never ending. The blades retracted, and he fell to the ground.
***
Lynn screamed when Alex fell, nearly missing the blow that was aimed at her head. She ducked, feeling as it whizzed by her. She struck out, and he was knocked flying. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Alex’s motionless body. A thousand emotions ran through her. Demon’s were evil. It was a horrible act that she had spared one, but Alex had refused to kill her. Alex had saved her life. If he hadn’t been there, she would already be dead.
Lynn jumped into the air, using all the strength her angelic body could lend to her. She landed beside Alex’s body, crouched low as though she could protect him from the wounds that spilled blood all over the ground. Gereic laughed at her, drawing back his blade. Lynn narrowed her eyes, her teeth bared in a snarl. Pain ripped through her back, the muscles screaming as the bindings came loose after years of confinement. She stretched the muscles she’d been unable to use for years.
“No,” Gereic whispered in shock, taking a step back, “You’re too young,” Fifteen foot wings burst from her back. They slammed into Gereic’s chest, his eyes widening in surprise as he was knocked flying. Lynn’s arms wrapped around Alex, gathering him to her the best she could. His blood washed over her hands like a waterfall, sticking between her fingers and making her grip slippery and loose. She tightened it as best she could, then forced herself straight up and into the air. Her wings strove forth powerfully, bringing them height. Alex’s dead weight was dragging her down, but Lynn continued to force herself higher.
Her arms and back burned with the effort, her eyes streamed tears of pain that the wind snatched away. She flew for as long as she was physically able, until finally dropping to the ground in exhaustion. The demons were far behind them. She laid Alex down gently, lowering his head onto the floor carefully. He still bled, and if he’d been human, he would have been dead. Even by demon standards, it was a miracle he was still alive. Gereic hadn’t pierced his heart. Slashing through his middle section and missing the important organ entirely. Had it been on purpose? Even as he was driven to a rage, did he have compassion on his brother?
Could demons have compassion?
Sweat dripped down Lynn’s neck, dampening the back of her ruined shirt as she tried desperately to stop the flow of blood. Alex groaned and she touched his face. It was cold to her fingers.
“What. . .”
”Hush,” Lynn whispered, “You’re hurt.” Something caught in her throat, forcing her to look away from the boy’s face.
“Wonderful.” Even half dead, his voice held a fair amount of sarcasm. She lifted his head and set it in her lap, trying to figure out a way to make him more comfortable. He gasped, groaning in pain. Do you want her to heal you? Gereic’s voice whispered in the back of her mind. She didn’t understand what he’d been talking about at the time. Some wound, some feeling of remorse Alex had been feeling? He was a demon, could he feel remorse?
But she was an Angel. Her kiss had the power to heal, a gift from heaven. Could she heal him? Should she heal him? She was falling because she had spared him once, was it possible that there would be no hope for her at all if she spared him again? And what if the kiss destroyed him anyway? Was it worth the risk? Was it wrong to save a life, even if it was a demon’s?
She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. Alex’s breath was becoming shorter, shallower. Lynn’s own breathing quickened in panic. He had saved her life. If he hadn’t been there, she would have died. Was it wrong? Would it kill him? Would she be doomed forever?
“Lynn?” his voice was quiet.
“Yes?” The word came out as a sob.
“Thank you.” His eyes closed, and a small smile played on his pain stricken face, “I never would have wanted to die anywhere near my brother.” Lynn’s heart throbbed, was it wrong? Her soft hands gently turned his face until he was looking at her. His eyes opened and he stared at her, realization dawning on his face, “No,” he whispered.
“I won’t let you die.”
“No!” But Lynn ignored him and gently pressed her lips to his. Alex was too weak to struggle, and Lynn wrapped her arms around his head, pressing him to her. She could feel the energy transferring, leaving her and seeping into the dying body of the Demon. She felt her grace really begin to slip from her, sending her down further and further. When he was healed, would she even be an Angel anymore? Alex lifted his hand, touching her cheek with the bloodied limb. It rested there for a moment, too weak to move, then the strength returned to him and he shoved her away. Lynn fell back, gasping. She felt heavy, weighed down like she’d gained a hundred pounds. Alex was on his feet, glaring down at her.
“What’s wrong with you!?” he shouted, and Lynn jumped at the unexpected noise, “I’m a demon!”
“You’re not like other demons,” she said, “You’re. . .”
“Just as evil as the rest of them! Why won’t you let me die?! Why can’t you act like an angel? Why do I have to be left with the only angel in the entire realm who wouldn’t kill me if she had the chance?”
“Why do you want to die?”
“I don’t!” Lynn came to her feet, striding toward him, she reached to touch his face, but he flinched back, “I’m a demon!” Lynn could see herself reflected clearly in his eyes. The vivid green eyes that haunted her nightmares. The reds seemed more swollen then usual, and something else. . . Lynn gently turned his face toward the light, and watched as the light reflected off tiny strands of silver.
“No,” she whispered, “You’re not.” Alex shoved her away. He leaped backwards, staring at his hands. He had seen his reflection in the Angel’s eyes. He had seen the change. He gripped his hair with both hands, looked up at her only once more, then fled.
She could never make him Rise.
Sweat dripped down the Angel’s face, her eyes narrowed to keep the moisture out of them. Three inches. That’s all it would take: three inches. Possibly four, and he would be dead. The Demon’s vivid green eyes glared balefully back at her. He lay on the ground, his back pressed up against the grass, his chest heaving. The faint moonlight making his eyes shine out like beckons, the vivid green standing against his bloodshot whites. That was the mark. The outside sign that he wasn’t human. He was something lesser. Something sinister and evil.
A demon.
She could do it. She could kill him. She knew she could. He was in her power. He deserved it. He had killed Layn, killed her like it had been nothing. He was a demon, a monster. The sharp point of her blade rested directly over his heart. All she had to do was push down. Her left hand gripped the flat of the blade, holding it steady. It would be her first kill. The first time she sliced through flesh and claimed a life as her own.
The Demon’s baleful glare once again drew her gaze. The bitterness and hatred showing through. The fate of the fallen, and something else. . . Something barely noticeable. His eyes screamed. He didn’t have a wound on his body, but his eyes screamed in pain. What was wrong with him? He hurt. . .he suffered.
The Angel’s hand slipped, and her thumb touched his skin- the shirt having burned away from the power of her blade-and felt the sticky, wet substance stroke her finger.
Three inches, maybe four, and that substance would flow freely.
Blood.
With a shriek, the Angel leaped backwards, ramming against the alley wall. In an instant, the Demon was up. He glanced at her only once-the gaze full of hate and something new. . . fear. Then he vanished.
***
Lynn paced the hallways restlessly. Janet walked beside her, laughingly telling her all about the day before. Lynn smiled and laughed, but wasn’t really paying attention.
She had been so close! What other mission was she serving then to rid this world from as many demons as physically possible? And yet she had felt pity, and let him get away. As though he had a soul. As if he deserved her pity. . .
But those green eyes. . .those painful green eyes. . .
“Look at Jerren today,” Janet commented, breaking through Lynn’s thoughts “He looks kind of down.” Lynn felt a small twinge of concern, the same pang she felt whenever anyone was in pain. She looked across the room and located the boy, sitting at a small, dismal table in the corner of the commons room. He wore a baggy grey shirt and flannel pants. His skin bleached of color, his hair arranged in disarray. Lynn bit her lip and felt a rush of sympathy. She began to walk forward, when a new thought snuck into her brain.
Why was he wearing those clothes? Was he trying to commit social suicide? All she had to do to ruin this kid’s life forever was whisper a few words to Janet. She would carry them to the other girls, who would carry them to others. He would be destroyed, with only a few well placed words. It would be almost too easy. . .. .
Lynn shook her head angrily, slapping her forehead and closing her eyes. What was wrong with her?! She was an ANGEL!
“Yeah, he looks sad,” she told Janet softly, “And lonely.”
“Lonely?”
“Go talk to him, you’re the one who’s good with words.”
“Yeah, cause you’re no good at all,” She laughed, then glanced over at the boy, her smile fading. “I think I will,” she murmured, “He looks so sad. . .” within moments, she was standing by the boy, opening her mouth to speak. Lynn smiled. That was what she was here for. To help people.
The day continued, and Lynn’s mood went from bad to worse. Thoughts. . .images and ideas plagued her. Things that were NOT angelic. Trip him and he’ll hit her. . . say this and she’ll go home crying. . . sneer at them when they walk by, make them wonder what they did wrong. . . She barely avoided them. Her mission was to help the humans around her, not tear them down more then they already did themselves. What was wrong with her? She’d bitten her tongue so many times it felt swollen, some of the human friends she’d acquired were noticing something was wrong, but she brushed them off. What was she going to tell them? I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m an angel sent to protect you guys, and right now I feel like doing the opposite.
Like make your lives miserable?
“Well that was a brilliant move,” Sarcasm dripped from the boy’s tone like soupy rainwater. Laughter resounded through the hallways. Lynn opened her eyes, she’d been trying to block out the thoughts and images, not even realizing where she was going. Now she was at the edge of a small crowd; all clustered around an attractive junior. His back was to her, but his voice made her angry, “Are you really going to go out with her? She looks like a maggot.”
“It’s a girls choice. . .”
“Turn her down, she’s disgusting.”
“Yeah Eric, She’s gross!” The other sheep-like humans jumped at the chance to suck up to the popular boy. Why did being beautiful give you permission to be a jerk? Lynn scowled, the poor boy who was being picked on was new to the school. Didn’t know the social status’s or whatever cruel chaste system this rotten hole had for its members. For the first time all day, Lynn felt her angelic righteousness return to her, and she pushed her way through the crowd.
“You could ask Ashley,” the popular boy was saying, his face in thoughtful contemplation “She’ll strip her shirt if you so much as look at her sideways. . . “
”You’re a jerk,” Lynn snapped. Utter silence. The crowd all turned toward her, and the boy slowly turned toward her, “Don’t you have something better to do then prove that you’re a prick?”.
“OOOh!” Some boys chanted, “Little prissy’s going to tell us what to think and say?”
“Maybe she wouldn’t stand so straight if we took the stick out of her. . .”
The junior cocked his head at her, grinning the devil’s smile. Lynn gasped and leaped backwards, knocking into the people behind her. Vivid green eyes that nearly burned. The whites blood-shot, until they didn’t look white at all.
Demon. He grinned wider when he saw the recognition flicker in her face, “Hey Angel,” he taunted, “Did you miss me?” The other boy’s laughed, not realizing how serious he was. Lynn stared, shocked, before regaining her composure.
“I don’t suppose we can take this outside?” she hissed through clenched teeth. The Demon grinned at the humans around him, who were all laughing foolishly. They had no idea who this boy was. And she doubted they would care if they did.
“Sure,” he smirked. She spun on her heel and marched out, praying his desire to put a knife between her shoulder blades would be quelled by the fact that it would be witnessed by several high school students. He threw his cronies a look and they stayed back.
Lynn led them through the halls and into the back, there were no security camera’s in this part of the school, as she knew from her several scouting trips. As soon as the door closed behind them, she spun, gripping the boy’s shirt and slamming him against the wall. He moved faster then lightning, twisting out of her grip and grabbing her wrists, pinning them behind her before she could struggle free. She tried to kick him, but he blocked it with his knee. He laughed, his voice echoing against the school walls; then shoved her away. He leaned against the wall lazily, gazing down at her smugly.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance!” Lynn snarled, pushing herself up from the dirt.
“Yes you should have,” he said rolling his eyes in an exaggerated motion, “Has anyone told you, you’re a moron? Or are all Angel’s as completely incompetent as you are?”
“I could kill you now,” Lynn growled, her teeth clenched.
“Good.”
Lynn grabbed her blade, resting and compacted at her belt. It didn’t look like much at first glance, just a silver canister she could have been wearing for a fashion statement. It had small ruins etched into the sides, flowing and twisting like flowers. But both the Angel and Demon both knew that when held properly, it would twist and elongate into a brilliant weapon.
Lynn yanked the weapon free, twisting it the way she’d been taught. Sharp pain shot though her fingers and up her wrist, digging and shocking her very bones. The scream jumped from her throat before she could stop it and the weapon dropped uselessly to the ground, smoking slightly. Lynn didn’t pick it up, just stared at it.
“Oh yes, very effective.” The Demon drawled. Lynn didn’t answer, “You know what’s going on, don’t you Angel?” The Angel looked up from her weapon, her face draining of blood. “You’re falling.”
“F-falling?” she whispered, her voice catching.
“Y-yes.” he mocked.
“Why?”Lynn chocked out. Falling? NO! It wasn’t possible. Why would she fall? Fall from heaven, fall from grace, fall from being an Angel? No, it wasn’t possible. Lynn shook her head, trying to stop the horror and panic from crawling up her skin and settling into her muscles and joints until she froze completely, “Why am I falling?” She lurched forward, griping his shirt. He snarled and tried to jerk free, but she held on tightly, “Why?! What did I do wrong?!”
“What do you think?!” he shouted, gripping her hands and trying to pull them free, “You spared a Demon! Did you honestly think you could gain forgiveness from that?” Lynn fell to her knees, his shirt fabric still clenched tightly in her fists. .
“It was an accident,” the words were nearly unintelligible.
“Don’t lie to yourself.” The demon snarled, with a sudden fury he ripped her hands free from him, tossing her aside, “It was pity. I don’t want, or need, anyone’s pity. Let alone yours. Demons are demons for a reason, you had no right to spare my life. What is wrong with you?!” With one hard yank, he pulled her to her feet, his fingers white where he gripped her upper arm, “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”
“It was you’re eyes,” she whispered. Falling. . .falling. . . to fall was the worst punishment there was. You became weaker, became foolish. It was almost like becoming a human. She wouldn’t be able to communicate with the others anymore. . .wouldn’t be able to see their faces without shielding her face from their glory. “You seemed so. . .” it felt foolish now. Foolish and sinful, what she had done. She had spared one of the hellspawn. One of the creatures that had been trying to destroy the world since it had began. How was it possible that she had thought she’d seen remorse in his horrible bloodshot demon eyes? “I’m falling. . .” she whispered, but something didn’t make sense. . . “Why are you here? Are you offering yourself to me? Do you really want to die?”
He snorted, his face thick with disgust, “No, I don’t want to die, Angel. I just don’t want your pity binding me. Because now I have to do something incredibly distasteful.”
“What’s that?” Lynn hurriedly whipped her eyes, she hadn’t even realized she was crying in front of this monster.
“I have to help you keep your grace.”
***
Alaric. He’d been known by many names of course, but that was the one he remembered the most. Alaric, a Demon no one wanted around. Not that most people wanted demons around anyway. He hated his name. The humans called him Alex, and he preferred it. It was simple, mundane. Nobody expected to get their heart ripped out by Alex.
Though what people expected and what actually happened was usually very different.
The Angel was still trying to come to grips with what was happening to her. Alex scowled and turned away from the beautiful red-head. Her blue angel eyes were still wet, though she was trying desperately to stop the flood of tears. Typical of Angels, weak, unable to stop a show of weakness. That was the first lesson he’d learned, it had been beaten into him by his beastly brother.
The pain was finally receding, now that he stood next to the bloody bird girl. Her pity, her mercy that allowed him to retain his life, had formed a bond between the two. She’d spared him, so it was his “responsibility” to help her. Of course, the bond used torturous pain to pull the Demon back to his charge. If he even thought about leaving her, the pain rippled through his body.
“Are you just going to sit there all day?” he growled, the annoyance so thick in his voice he was surprised she could recognize any of the words.
“Sorry,” she muttered, she was still dazed, she probably didn’t even register that she had just apologized to her worst enemy. The silver in the white’s of her eyes flashed with sunlight as she lifted her head, gazing up at him. “Where are we going to go?”
Alex snorted, “I have no idea.”
“An Angel Sanctuary?” she whispered, thinking. Alex hissed softly through his teeth.
“If Angel’s were the only thing that could help you girl, a Demon wouldn’t be needed to bring your grace back.” It was true. Alex knew very little about an Angel’s grace or how they obtained and kept it. He didn’t believe in that heavenly god crap. There had to be some other source of power they used. And it had to be linked with his own, or the bond wouldn’t have been formed.
“Then we should just walk,” Lynn whispered, “And go wherever it leads us.” Alex scowled. But what else could they do? Maybe the Angel had better instincts about this then he did. He just wanted to get the annoying task over with as quickly as possible. Then he could kill the girl without feeling like his cells were being torn to shreds.
Alex cracked another smile, thinking about it. He would save her, then kill her, and maybe she would even go to hell. Seemed like a fun ride to him.
Lynn had her eyes closed, walking with a sure step that betrayed her otherworldliness. She was very beautiful, with her long red hair and angelic figure, but Alex had learned long ago not to judge from appearances. She had nearly killed him after all. He had just finished off her partner and hadn’t seen her until it was to late. And now he was here.
Alex swore. His frustration and anger building up until the word formed and fell through his lips. He hoped it would take a little of the annoyance and pain with it. Lynn stopped in her tracks, turned and slapped him.
“How dare you?” she hissed, Alex rubbed his jaw.
“Why not?”
“Do you not realize you are in the presence of. . .”
“A falling Angel?” he sneered. She turned away, and when she spoke her words were softer then they’d been before.
“I’m falling Alex,” she whispered, “Is it so wrong to try and avoid falling faster?”
“Do you think it will rub off on you?” he taunted, “Make you want to be more like me?”
”Just. . .don’t,” she sighed.
“I’ll try. I sure wouldn’t want to be damned myself.” She turned away, ignoring the comment; something Alex thought was a shame. He’d found the joke very funny.
Soon they were traveling through main street. The cars whizzed by, honking their horns erratically, some of the drivers screaming profanities that made Lynn flinch. The smell of fast food was heavy on the air along with the pungent smell of gasoline and body odor.
“Are you getting any epiphanies yet girl?”
“There has to be a way,” she murmured.
“Sure there is.”
“Do you have an idea?”
“Nope.”
Lynn scowled, “You’re no help at all.”
“Sure I am, my mere presence has kept off at least seven different attacks on you.”
Lynn jumped slightly, looking surprised, “What?”
“You’re a weakened Angel. Use your brain and do the math.”
“Demons were trailing me?”
“Anyone with fangs would love to get them sunk into that pretty neck of yours.”
“Wonderful.” Lynn buried her face in her hands for a moment, rubbing it wearily, “Just. . . wonderful.”
“Have you ever thought of just letting yourself fall? Just letting it happen?” Alex cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. Lynn frowned at him.
“Why would I do that? I want to be good. I want to be an Angel.”
“Do you? Do you really?” They locked eyes. Blood-shot green eyes locked on blue silver streaked ones.
“Yes,” Lynn said firmly, “I really do.” Alex smiled slightly, a small smile, like he knew something she didn’t.
“Then let’s get going,”
They continued on. Heading nowhere. Making no headway. Lynn was lost in thought, her brow scrunched in concentration. Alex wondered how hard she had to fight against the impulses to do wrong things. It was hard, thinking things that were contrary to what you’d been taught. He wondered how long she’d fare.
They’d been walking all day. The sun was setting behind the tall buildings and lighting them all to brilliant shades of orange and red. The city looked like it was on fire.
“Alaric.” the word trickled down Alex’s spine, chilling his bones. It was deep and penetrating, rumbling in the evening air. Alex felt his back stiffen and he turned toward the sound. At first, it was nothing but shadows. But as Alex watched, the shadows solidified, taking a form and mass. He was tall, broad shouldered and black haired. He didn’t look anything like Alex, who was fair haired, spiny and thin. But the two held an unmistakable resemblance in their blood-shot green eyes. The shadows fell around the newcomer like a cloak. Like protection.
“Gereic.” Alex whispered. Lynn turned her blue eyes to him, and recognized the tone of voice. Alex was afraid. No, more than afraid. He was petrified. More figures were pulling themselves from the shadows between the buildings. They were in an alleyway, hidden from the rest of the world. Alex tried to back into a wall, keep all of the enemies in He reached out a hand and gripped Lynn’s forearm, pulling her with him. “You can’t fight them,” he whispered to her, his voice tight, teeth on edge, “Especially without your weapon.”
Gereic smiled at the small demon, “Alaric, it has been too long.”
“Not long enough,” Alex responded grimly. Gereic laughed, his dark head thrown back and shaking with mirth. Alex grit his teeth, wishing he could spit at the man. Gereic took another step forward, Alex wanted to step back away from him, but his back was already to the wall.
“I have to wonder, why is the girl still alive?” Gereic shook his head in mock sorrow, “You’ve been with her all day.”
“Because I can’t kill her.” Alex growled, his eyes flickering to the other demons surrounding them. On a normal day, he wouldn’t have given them a second thought. They were low levels, barely more then cronies. But with Gereic here. . .
“Can’t you?” the greater demon murmured. Alex flinched. “I know your skills boy. You’ve been to the deepest pit, a little pain shouldn’t bother you.”
“I don’t do pain anymore,”
“Oh really?” Gereic laughed, “You don’t do pain? Are you a Demon or not boy? There’s no way for you not do have pain. Our entire existence is pain! Are you trying to repent? Trying to heal the wound from all those years ago? You think helping this. . . flying rodent will help you forgive yourself?” Lynn gripped Alex’s arm. He was grateful for the contact, though he would never admit it. “The easiest way to save her Alaric, is to kill her. You know this.”
“Shut up.”
“It won’t be hard.” Gereic’s voice turned smooth and persuasive.
“Leave him alone,” Lynn growled, “You’re evil words mean nothing here.”
“She can’t fall if she’s dead.”
“No,” Alex was shocked when the word broke through his lips. What was he doing? A trickle of blood flowed across his palm from where his nails had dug into the skin. His entire body was shaking. He locked eyes with the greater Demon, challenging him with his gaze, “No,” he repeated.
“Do you want her to heal you?” Gereic actually took a step back in surprise, “Do you really think what you feel is able to be healed by an Angel? You’re wounds go deeper then physical boy. Her kiss will do nothing for you.” Alex didn’t answer. He didn’t do anything, “The Kiss of an Angel would destroy you boy, no matter what healing properties it contains.”
“What do you mean?” It was Lynn who spoke. Her voice was strong, but Alex could hear the effort of maintaining that strength. Gereic turned to look at her for the first time. Her blue eyes glared into his green ones. Lynn raised her head proudly, expression defiant, eyes unblinking. They stared at each other for a moment, and Alex felt slightly proud of the girl. It was rare that someone could hold a greater demon’s gaze.
“The touch of an angel raises things,” Gereic said finally, his gaze still holding hers, “It you kissed him, he would raise above a demon.” Alex flinched back. “And I will not allow that to happen. Some part of him wants it, he wants to be free from the chains of Hell.” Gereic shifted his gaze back to Alex, who stared back defiantly, “But it won’t happen. Not to him. Not to my little brother.”
“Little brother?” Alex whispered, “Little brother? Since when have you been sentimental Gereic?” his voice burned with derision.
“Kill her,” Gereic commanded. ,
“No,”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” The demons behind their master snarled, then leapt forward. Lynn screamed, dropping to the ground and using both feet to knock one of the demons back. Alex leapt forward, his scythe appearing and elongating in his hand. He brought it around, slicing through one of the many black little monsters. They were like sludge, a mass of moving barely beasts, they had a vague human form, but were wavy, like the form wasn’t all there. Lynn came to her feet, shaking. Alex could read the expression on her face. She was defenseless, she needed a weapon.
Another demon rushed them. Alex leaped into the air, driving his feet into its face. It was like jumping into jello. The form held against his weight, but it gave slightly. Alex shoved it to the ground, his scythe slicing through the flesh easily. He spun, blocking the strike from on of the other creatures. A large sweep of the weapon knocked down three other opponents, sending them flying in different directions. Sickly green blood leaked from the black bodies. He glanced frantically back at Lynn, but she seemed to be holding her own.
The angel’s fist flashed through the air, shoving the demon’s nose into his brain. She spun and high kicked another one in the chest. She moved so fast, it was as if she flew through her moves. It wasn’t long before her fists were slick with the green blood of lesser demons.
Alex heard his name whispered, and he only had a second to whirl around before his brother stabbed at him. Their blades locked, and the greater demon smiled down at his brother. Alex wrenched his scythe free, whirled it and cut sideways. Gereic blocked it and shoved Alex down. He rolled as fast as he could, but his brother’s blade still sliced through the thin skin of his arm. Alex cried out, holding the limb to his chest, clutching his only weapon with the other.
“Alex!?” Lynn yelled, but he didn’t look at her. The greater demon advanced, and it was all he could do to keep his brother from ripping his flesh to tiny chunks of raw meat. He spun and ducked, trying to get to the offensive, but was always forced to defend himself. The singing blades rang through the alley, filling the night air with their cries. Gereic laughed, and Alex knew that he wasn’t even trying.
“I don’t want to kill you Alaric,” he said, Alex spun his blade and tried to slice off Gereic’s head, but the Demon easily avoided the blow, “I want to save you.”
“From what?!” Alex snarled, his arms and body shook, partly from fury, partly from exhaustion, “From an angel? Because she can do so much damage.”
Gereic’s eyes flashed dangerously, “She will take your. . .”
“Soul?” Alex barked out a laugh, “My soul is gone!” his scythe flashed, brought up before Gereic realized what he was doing. It sliced through the tender skin on the Greater Demon’s ear, causing him to cry out in pain. Gereic’s eyes began to burn, and Alex could see his small reflection staring back at him. His brother’s control finally broke, and he began to really attack. He moved so fast, Alex didn’t even see the blow coming. One moment they stood facing each other, Gereic’s ear bleeding slightly, his weapon gleaming in the faint light. The next second, Alex screamed in pain.
Gereic shoved his blade straight through his brother’s stomach. The sickening crunch of flesh and sinew being ripped apart snapped through the alleyway. Alex’s eyes widened in horror. Lynn cried out in horror, staring at the blood covered tip of the blade.
The one poking out of Alex’s back.
With deliberate slowness, Gereic twisted the blade; flexing his grip to extend the excess blades into either side. They shot out, snapping through his ribs and extending out of him like a cross. Someone screamed his name, but Alex could only feel pain, white hot and never ending. The blades retracted, and he fell to the ground.
***
Lynn screamed when Alex fell, nearly missing the blow that was aimed at her head. She ducked, feeling as it whizzed by her. She struck out, and he was knocked flying. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Alex’s motionless body. A thousand emotions ran through her. Demon’s were evil. It was a horrible act that she had spared one, but Alex had refused to kill her. Alex had saved her life. If he hadn’t been there, she would already be dead.
Lynn jumped into the air, using all the strength her angelic body could lend to her. She landed beside Alex’s body, crouched low as though she could protect him from the wounds that spilled blood all over the ground. Gereic laughed at her, drawing back his blade. Lynn narrowed her eyes, her teeth bared in a snarl. Pain ripped through her back, the muscles screaming as the bindings came loose after years of confinement. She stretched the muscles she’d been unable to use for years.
“No,” Gereic whispered in shock, taking a step back, “You’re too young,” Fifteen foot wings burst from her back. They slammed into Gereic’s chest, his eyes widening in surprise as he was knocked flying. Lynn’s arms wrapped around Alex, gathering him to her the best she could. His blood washed over her hands like a waterfall, sticking between her fingers and making her grip slippery and loose. She tightened it as best she could, then forced herself straight up and into the air. Her wings strove forth powerfully, bringing them height. Alex’s dead weight was dragging her down, but Lynn continued to force herself higher.
Her arms and back burned with the effort, her eyes streamed tears of pain that the wind snatched away. She flew for as long as she was physically able, until finally dropping to the ground in exhaustion. The demons were far behind them. She laid Alex down gently, lowering his head onto the floor carefully. He still bled, and if he’d been human, he would have been dead. Even by demon standards, it was a miracle he was still alive. Gereic hadn’t pierced his heart. Slashing through his middle section and missing the important organ entirely. Had it been on purpose? Even as he was driven to a rage, did he have compassion on his brother?
Could demons have compassion?
Sweat dripped down Lynn’s neck, dampening the back of her ruined shirt as she tried desperately to stop the flow of blood. Alex groaned and she touched his face. It was cold to her fingers.
“What. . .”
”Hush,” Lynn whispered, “You’re hurt.” Something caught in her throat, forcing her to look away from the boy’s face.
“Wonderful.” Even half dead, his voice held a fair amount of sarcasm. She lifted his head and set it in her lap, trying to figure out a way to make him more comfortable. He gasped, groaning in pain. Do you want her to heal you? Gereic’s voice whispered in the back of her mind. She didn’t understand what he’d been talking about at the time. Some wound, some feeling of remorse Alex had been feeling? He was a demon, could he feel remorse?
But she was an Angel. Her kiss had the power to heal, a gift from heaven. Could she heal him? Should she heal him? She was falling because she had spared him once, was it possible that there would be no hope for her at all if she spared him again? And what if the kiss destroyed him anyway? Was it worth the risk? Was it wrong to save a life, even if it was a demon’s?
She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. Alex’s breath was becoming shorter, shallower. Lynn’s own breathing quickened in panic. He had saved her life. If he hadn’t been there, she would have died. Was it wrong? Would it kill him? Would she be doomed forever?
“Lynn?” his voice was quiet.
“Yes?” The word came out as a sob.
“Thank you.” His eyes closed, and a small smile played on his pain stricken face, “I never would have wanted to die anywhere near my brother.” Lynn’s heart throbbed, was it wrong? Her soft hands gently turned his face until he was looking at her. His eyes opened and he stared at her, realization dawning on his face, “No,” he whispered.
“I won’t let you die.”
“No!” But Lynn ignored him and gently pressed her lips to his. Alex was too weak to struggle, and Lynn wrapped her arms around his head, pressing him to her. She could feel the energy transferring, leaving her and seeping into the dying body of the Demon. She felt her grace really begin to slip from her, sending her down further and further. When he was healed, would she even be an Angel anymore? Alex lifted his hand, touching her cheek with the bloodied limb. It rested there for a moment, too weak to move, then the strength returned to him and he shoved her away. Lynn fell back, gasping. She felt heavy, weighed down like she’d gained a hundred pounds. Alex was on his feet, glaring down at her.
“What’s wrong with you!?” he shouted, and Lynn jumped at the unexpected noise, “I’m a demon!”
“You’re not like other demons,” she said, “You’re. . .”
“Just as evil as the rest of them! Why won’t you let me die?! Why can’t you act like an angel? Why do I have to be left with the only angel in the entire realm who wouldn’t kill me if she had the chance?”
“Why do you want to die?”
“I don’t!” Lynn came to her feet, striding toward him, she reached to touch his face, but he flinched back, “I’m a demon!” Lynn could see herself reflected clearly in his eyes. The vivid green eyes that haunted her nightmares. The reds seemed more swollen then usual, and something else. . . Lynn gently turned his face toward the light, and watched as the light reflected off tiny strands of silver.
“No,” she whispered, “You’re not.” Alex shoved her away. He leaped backwards, staring at his hands. He had seen his reflection in the Angel’s eyes. He had seen the change. He gripped his hair with both hands, looked up at her only once more, then fled.
She could never make him Rise.
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