I just. . . wanted him to come home.
The iris was purple, the petals fanning out and looking as though they were just waiting to fall. I held it carefully in my hands, kneeling on the side of my grassy hill. I hadn't been here in a long time, ever since he was called away, ever since he'd put on that uniform, I hadn't wanted to come back. I didn't think I wanted to see this place anymore.
Which was silly. I'd never had him come with me to this place. This place was mine. My eyes stung, the tiny prickles threatening to restart the waterworks, but I didn't let it. I was done crying. It didn't even take any effort to hold the tears in anymore. Why hadn't I brought him here? I could imagine what would have happened. What I would have said. I would have explained everything. I would have told him what had happened and then he wouldn't have left. If he'd known. . .he wouldn't have just left. He would have stayed.
That's what I told myself anyway.
The flower twirled slowly in my hands. I wanted to throw it, tear it to shreds. I didn't know if I could stand looking at it anymore. I didn't want to think about what it meant. I didn't want to think about. . . about. . .
My breathing shook, my eyes clouding over. NO. I wasn't going to cry. I'd cried too many times already. It didn't do anything. There was no point in crying when no one was there to comfort me. Then it was just worthless tears. They were all worthless. WORTHLESS.
I took a deep breath, calming down. I was being silly. I knew the consequences of him leaving. I knew that. . . I knew he wasn't coming back. I should. . . I should. . . I sighed, putting the flower down softly in the long grass. I stood up, walking to the top, where a little garden bravely fought against the weeds. I pushed them aside, using my fingers and nails to dig a small hole. Leaning back to pick up the flower, I stuck the stem firmly into the ground, moving the dirt back to keep it firm. If all went well, the flower would grow a root and maybe then my special place would be covered with them. Covered with little irises. Wouldn't that be nice? I smiled, scrubbing at my eyes a little. Smearing mud on my face.
It was chilly, the wind scraping across the grass like an icy breath. I put my hands in my jacket pockets, forgetting why I hadn't done so before. The little folded piece of paper crinkled in my fingers. My breath sucked in, freezing my chest. But like always, I pulled it out, smoothing the wrinkles and peering at the too tidy print. It was such a little letter. Shouldn't little letters be unimportant? It should be the long letters I'm afraid of, not short ones. But that wasn't the way reality worked. That wasn't the way my world worked.
Dear Mrs. Gunther,
Your husband was a brave man. He died a hero. You should be proud. He served his country well, and we will all miss him. His donation to our cause has made a difference and we hope that this knowledge will help you through this difficult time. Please accept our deepest condolences.
I should be proud.
My husband died and I should be proud. My hands shook, my shoulders trembled. I didn't want to move, didn't want to keep drawing breath. One hand gently cradled my growing belly, the slight kick sending a tremor of pain through me.
My husband died a hero? That's wonderful. But now he would never live to be a father.
I just. . . wanted him to come home.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Room
I was in a large, bright room. The walls were white, the floor lightly tiled in a speckled pattern around my feet. And it was filled with people. People I knew, people I loved, people who meant more to me then anything.
They clustered around me, smiling, showing their hands. I smiled back, taking them, pulling myself toward them. They held me, and I held them, happy with their presence, with what they represented, with where I was. I was comfortable. Surely nothing could be more perfect then this, in a bright room, with people all around. Surely nothing was safer, surely nothing was better.
One of them turned away for a moment, squinting across the room. I cocked my head to the side, watching as she turned her back to me. Then someone else began to walk away. I grabbed his arm, but he shoved me off, still moving. Another person looked around, beginning to move outward. I tried to hold onto her, but she pushed passed. Soon they were all turning, all moving away. I tried to reach out, to hold them all in, but they wouldn't stop.
Soon I was alone by the wall, the speckled tile beneath my feet. The tile lurched, sending me sprawling. I tried to stand again, but the ground shifted, sending me flat on my back. Nobody seemed to notice as they walked further and further away. I tried to call out, but nobody seemed to hear.
Tears stung at my eyes, sending little bits of pain through the eyelids. My lips tried to form words, tried to make sound. “Come back,” I tried to whisper, but the ground jolted again, and my words were drowned out as I crashed to the wall.
I curled there, unable to move, seeing only the fuzz through my tears, doing nothing but stare toward the backs of the departing figures. I tried to reach out but my arms wouldn't move. I was alone.
Alone.
I wanted so badly to run after them, to hold them to me, to tell them not to leave. Why were they leaving? Why did they feel the need to go away? I needed them! Why couldn't they see I needed them? My head ducked into my arms, the tears falling freely now.
Something soft stroked the top of my head, lifting it up. A single hand reached toward me, palm up, waiting. I didn't move for a second, staring at the outstretched limb. He leaned down, gripping my wrists firmly, but gently. “Stand up,” he said, pulling me to my feet. I swayed, the ground still feeling like a wave. I looked into his face, feeling slight recognition. He wore robes of white and seemed to emit a soft, muted glow.
I licked my lips and tried once again to speak, but the words wouldn't form in my mind. I wanted to cry, but the presence of him kept me still. “It will be alright,” he promised, helping me take a step. I didn't want to. I was afraid to lift one foot and place it down again without all of my friends around me. I was afraid that the ground would shift and I would fall. I was afraid to do anything. But his hand was firm and strong. His step sure. So I followed.
Slowly, but I followed.
“You've never been alone,” he said, “And you won't ever be alone. But sometimes, when things get rough, you need to learn to stand.” He slowly let go of my hand, making me take a step on my own. I turned toward him in a panic, terrified that he would turn his back. But he didn't. He smiled at me, motioning me forward, “I'll always be close by and if you need me I'll be there.” My next step was firmer. My feet feeling more secure. “But sometimes you won't see me, or you'll forget to look for me.” I shook my head, turning back to him, “I'll never leave you.” I smiled holding out my hands, he took them, pulling me along, but then he let go.
“But by the same token, you must learn to walk on your own.” I closed my eyes, and when I opened them he was gone. Nothing but the retreating backs of those that left me behind. I didn't know for sure if he was gone, but I didn't think so. I looked around searching for a place to go. A door popped out at me, inviting me in. I moved forward each step more confident then the last. I didn't know what was behind that door, but I knew that I needed to find out. And even if nobody came with me, I knew that I had to do it anyway. But someone was coming with me. Someone would always come with me. Because he promised he would be.
They clustered around me, smiling, showing their hands. I smiled back, taking them, pulling myself toward them. They held me, and I held them, happy with their presence, with what they represented, with where I was. I was comfortable. Surely nothing could be more perfect then this, in a bright room, with people all around. Surely nothing was safer, surely nothing was better.
One of them turned away for a moment, squinting across the room. I cocked my head to the side, watching as she turned her back to me. Then someone else began to walk away. I grabbed his arm, but he shoved me off, still moving. Another person looked around, beginning to move outward. I tried to hold onto her, but she pushed passed. Soon they were all turning, all moving away. I tried to reach out, to hold them all in, but they wouldn't stop.
Soon I was alone by the wall, the speckled tile beneath my feet. The tile lurched, sending me sprawling. I tried to stand again, but the ground shifted, sending me flat on my back. Nobody seemed to notice as they walked further and further away. I tried to call out, but nobody seemed to hear.
Tears stung at my eyes, sending little bits of pain through the eyelids. My lips tried to form words, tried to make sound. “Come back,” I tried to whisper, but the ground jolted again, and my words were drowned out as I crashed to the wall.
I curled there, unable to move, seeing only the fuzz through my tears, doing nothing but stare toward the backs of the departing figures. I tried to reach out but my arms wouldn't move. I was alone.
Alone.
I wanted so badly to run after them, to hold them to me, to tell them not to leave. Why were they leaving? Why did they feel the need to go away? I needed them! Why couldn't they see I needed them? My head ducked into my arms, the tears falling freely now.
Something soft stroked the top of my head, lifting it up. A single hand reached toward me, palm up, waiting. I didn't move for a second, staring at the outstretched limb. He leaned down, gripping my wrists firmly, but gently. “Stand up,” he said, pulling me to my feet. I swayed, the ground still feeling like a wave. I looked into his face, feeling slight recognition. He wore robes of white and seemed to emit a soft, muted glow.
I licked my lips and tried once again to speak, but the words wouldn't form in my mind. I wanted to cry, but the presence of him kept me still. “It will be alright,” he promised, helping me take a step. I didn't want to. I was afraid to lift one foot and place it down again without all of my friends around me. I was afraid that the ground would shift and I would fall. I was afraid to do anything. But his hand was firm and strong. His step sure. So I followed.
Slowly, but I followed.
“You've never been alone,” he said, “And you won't ever be alone. But sometimes, when things get rough, you need to learn to stand.” He slowly let go of my hand, making me take a step on my own. I turned toward him in a panic, terrified that he would turn his back. But he didn't. He smiled at me, motioning me forward, “I'll always be close by and if you need me I'll be there.” My next step was firmer. My feet feeling more secure. “But sometimes you won't see me, or you'll forget to look for me.” I shook my head, turning back to him, “I'll never leave you.” I smiled holding out my hands, he took them, pulling me along, but then he let go.
“But by the same token, you must learn to walk on your own.” I closed my eyes, and when I opened them he was gone. Nothing but the retreating backs of those that left me behind. I didn't know for sure if he was gone, but I didn't think so. I looked around searching for a place to go. A door popped out at me, inviting me in. I moved forward each step more confident then the last. I didn't know what was behind that door, but I knew that I needed to find out. And even if nobody came with me, I knew that I had to do it anyway. But someone was coming with me. Someone would always come with me. Because he promised he would be.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Girl Code
So, I wrote this story in like. . . half an hour. Maybe less. I was bored, had a few minutes, and decided, why not? It's completely ridiculous, but I think it's kind of funny. Oh, and it's not meant to be deep or anything. It really is just a ridiculous story that I busted out in a few minutes, and I decided to post it because the site has been boring lately.
Running is hard work.
I'm not kidding! Sweat was pouring down my face as I ran against the conveyer belt, my eyes fixed at some nonexistent point in the distance, trying NOT to think about how fast I was going and how tired I was. But that never really works.
Running is one of those weird exercises that most people hate—who're sane– some people love—they're the crazy ones– and some do just because they have to—that's me. I don't completely hate it, I think it's fun to feel the stretch and pull of your muscles, the feeling of going and going and going and never stopping, but on the other hand. . .
My lungs were stretching and pulling and I wanted to stop really badly.
But I didn't. Like always I pushed on, forcing my legs to keep going even though I didn't really want to. Running was the time when life just seems to flash before your eyes, you know? Like having a near death experience in a half hour. It could be called wonderful, but ever since my ipod broke it meant that I had to sit-- well, run-- through all of my problems every day. It was extremely annoying.
At the moment, the problems were all related to one thing: boys. Like always. This time it was my best friends boyfriend. He was flirting with me and making me exceedingly uncomfortable. But on the other hand. . . I'd liked Chris for more than half a year. Both Rachel and I had. When she'd caught him I'd respectfully backed off because that's what best friends do. You don't break that girl code. You just don't. Not unless you wanted to lose yourself a friend at least.
But now. . . he was totally flirting with me. And his eyes followed me whenever I moved. I couldn't help but think he was admiring my runners body. Speaking of which. . . Dang was it time to STOP yet? Nope. Still had fifteen minutes to go. Blast.
He had the most gorgeous dirty blond hair, it was cropped short, and I knew it was fun to fuzz. We all teased each other, and he fuzzed my head so I fuzzed his back. He has really, really good hair. Ugh. . . This train of thought was not helping me.
Rachel and I had been friends since we were two. Our mom's had been college buddies and they'd lived near each other after that. It was a miracle that neither of them ever moved, and Rachel and I had grown up together. We'd had our fair share of fights, who didn't? But life was good. We always made up and we'd gone through High School together, liking different boys the ENTIRE time. Our taste was COMPLETELY different. And yet. . . Why did she have to fall for Chris too? Chris was the only guy we could ever agree on that was completely hot. Completely gorgeous, which is weird because normally she had totally weird taste in guys, I mean. . Totally. But here we are. . . grrrr. ..
Run, run, run, run, run. . .
Why do I even care about this? This is crazy.
Run, run run run run run run run run. .
I'm so tired. . .
Runrunrunrunrun. . .
He has green eyes. . .
Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun. .
“Lucy!” Rachel called. I yelped, twisting my head. My foot slipped, right off the conveyer belt.
Oh snap.
My legs flew backwards, sending my face straight into the tredmill. I fell forward, sliding down and collapsed onto the ground. My heart was still going a million miles an hour, my face was covered in sweat, and I was seeing double.
And laughing hysterically.
“Lucy, are you okay?!” Rachel ran over to me, trying to help me to my feet. I laughed her off, waving my hand nonchalantly.
“I. . hahaha,” I drew a deep breath, “Guess I have my answer.” Confusion cross my best friends face as I took her hand and she pulled me to my feet.
“And what's that?” she asked.
“I'm an idiot.” I grinned, giving her a gross sweaty hug.
I fell off a tredmill the other day, hahaha, it was great.
Running is hard work.
I'm not kidding! Sweat was pouring down my face as I ran against the conveyer belt, my eyes fixed at some nonexistent point in the distance, trying NOT to think about how fast I was going and how tired I was. But that never really works.
Running is one of those weird exercises that most people hate—who're sane– some people love—they're the crazy ones– and some do just because they have to—that's me. I don't completely hate it, I think it's fun to feel the stretch and pull of your muscles, the feeling of going and going and going and never stopping, but on the other hand. . .
My lungs were stretching and pulling and I wanted to stop really badly.
But I didn't. Like always I pushed on, forcing my legs to keep going even though I didn't really want to. Running was the time when life just seems to flash before your eyes, you know? Like having a near death experience in a half hour. It could be called wonderful, but ever since my ipod broke it meant that I had to sit-- well, run-- through all of my problems every day. It was extremely annoying.
At the moment, the problems were all related to one thing: boys. Like always. This time it was my best friends boyfriend. He was flirting with me and making me exceedingly uncomfortable. But on the other hand. . . I'd liked Chris for more than half a year. Both Rachel and I had. When she'd caught him I'd respectfully backed off because that's what best friends do. You don't break that girl code. You just don't. Not unless you wanted to lose yourself a friend at least.
But now. . . he was totally flirting with me. And his eyes followed me whenever I moved. I couldn't help but think he was admiring my runners body. Speaking of which. . . Dang was it time to STOP yet? Nope. Still had fifteen minutes to go. Blast.
He had the most gorgeous dirty blond hair, it was cropped short, and I knew it was fun to fuzz. We all teased each other, and he fuzzed my head so I fuzzed his back. He has really, really good hair. Ugh. . . This train of thought was not helping me.
Rachel and I had been friends since we were two. Our mom's had been college buddies and they'd lived near each other after that. It was a miracle that neither of them ever moved, and Rachel and I had grown up together. We'd had our fair share of fights, who didn't? But life was good. We always made up and we'd gone through High School together, liking different boys the ENTIRE time. Our taste was COMPLETELY different. And yet. . . Why did she have to fall for Chris too? Chris was the only guy we could ever agree on that was completely hot. Completely gorgeous, which is weird because normally she had totally weird taste in guys, I mean. . Totally. But here we are. . . grrrr. ..
Run, run, run, run, run. . .
Why do I even care about this? This is crazy.
Run, run run run run run run run run. .
I'm so tired. . .
Runrunrunrunrun. . .
He has green eyes. . .
Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun. .
“Lucy!” Rachel called. I yelped, twisting my head. My foot slipped, right off the conveyer belt.
Oh snap.
My legs flew backwards, sending my face straight into the tredmill. I fell forward, sliding down and collapsed onto the ground. My heart was still going a million miles an hour, my face was covered in sweat, and I was seeing double.
And laughing hysterically.
“Lucy, are you okay?!” Rachel ran over to me, trying to help me to my feet. I laughed her off, waving my hand nonchalantly.
“I. . hahaha,” I drew a deep breath, “Guess I have my answer.” Confusion cross my best friends face as I took her hand and she pulled me to my feet.
“And what's that?” she asked.
“I'm an idiot.” I grinned, giving her a gross sweaty hug.
I fell off a tredmill the other day, hahaha, it was great.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Waterfall
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.
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.
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?
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