*Readers be aware that an active shooting situation is mentioned in this story. Please feel free to skip out on reading it* I used my name, but all other names and places (except NC) are made up.
One moment. One moment was all it took for me to become a 'hero' instead of a young woman trying to buy groceries for the week. My name is Brittnay, and I died today after throwing milk in a man's eyes.
The weekly scrutiny of prices on food should have ended how it always does, buying food to make than going to get fast food for a job well done. I also spent that time thinking of escape scenarios, like most people do, imagining how I would react if there was a sudden attack or bad weather event that targeted the specific headache-inducing, LED-lit Walmart I currently stood in. I wish I had done more strategizing.
Gunshots reverberating through my eardrums as I was trying to decide between name-brand milk or store-brand was disconcerting, to say the least. Yet as I stood in front of the refrigerated doors, my body recognized what was happening before my brain did, flinching down to make a smaller target. Instead of my first thought relating to potential death, I immediately pictured phones lighting up with yet another public shooting event that people would shake their heads at, swipe off their notifications bar with a mutter or two, and then forget about as they hit the next button on their laptops for another video. My thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a small girl crying as her mom tried to quiet her down and move her between aisles. It is strange how in a moment of pure terror, your brain can shut off the panic and instead figure out a plan, just as mine did then. Gunshots continued to echo through the building, getting closer as I ran toward the woman and child.
"Are we going to die?" I met the mother's eyes as I shook my head, having no idea how to comfort her or even answer that question. Instead, I pulled them back towards the refrigerated milk doors, opened one, and shoved back the rolling carts the gallons were placed on. In a moment of pure terror, my brain remembered something that I had always wanted to do as a kid. I ushered the two inside and motioned for the other people I could see in the area. Once everyone I could see had shoved through the door and into the refrigerated room, I went inside and pushed the milk cart back against the door.
"Move to that corner over there, hopefully, no one will see us," My voice came out a hell of a lot calmer than I was currently feeling, but the part of my brain that had always considered exit routes in case of this exact scenario was lit up. "If you are able, open the boxes of milk and gather the gallons. We can throw them or even splash them in the gunman's eyes if they try and come back here. Don't take the milk off the shelves; we don't want to let them see us. Has anyone called 911?" After a moment or two, five of the group stood and started to open the cardboard boxes while another man held his phone up, showing he was currently on the phone with a dispatcher.
"There are seven units already here, but there are at least three gunmen and they can't make their way back here yet. The dispatcher is asking if there is a way to get outside from our position?" Right as I was about to try and open the door on the back wall, there was a large booming sound and all of the lights went out. Worse, I could just make out a figure in all black walking towards our location with a gun propped on his shoulder. The young girl immediately made a sobbing sound and I turned to see her mother cover her mouth and start whispering in her ear. The silence that followed was deafening enough that I could hear the dispatcher asking for an update on our position through the guy's phone. The moment you are faced with the realization that you might actually die, the part of us that once lived on constant adrenaline and death shoves forward. I would like to say that I picked up a weapon and faced the potential attacker without a second thought, but what I actually did was open a gallon of milk and prepare to throw it in the attacker's face. Some small part of me that survived through humor chose that moment to ask, 'Got milk?' right at the same time that I locked eyes with the gunman between gallons of 2%. Well, shit.
"Throw the milk!" If I had known those would be my last words I would have tried to think of some inspiring quote, but instead, I threw myself towards the milk cart as the gunman opened the door to step in. I immediately splashed what I could of the gallon out and toward him, but apparently, milk isn't a long ranged weapon, most of it splashing on his neck and chest. I didn't stop though, instead, I shoved the cart forward and knocked the man off balance. I felt responsible for the people behind me and I wanted to save them, especially the young child now sobbing loudly again. Instinct pushed me into full fight mode and I jumped towards the gun to knock it away from the attacker who let out a few rough curse words. Have you ever watched a television show where the good guy and bad guy were fighting for the gun, the barrel facing harmlessly upwards as the two wrestled, maybe shooting off a few bullets during the struggle? Well, unfortunately for me the gun was facing directly at me as I jumped towards it. I got in a few shoves and felt others jumping onto the gunman from behind me but it took a few minutes of fighting to realize the gun had gone off directly into my chest. My ears rang and I landed on my back facing upwards. Someone leaned over me and started pressing down on my numb chest. As I stared up and watched the LED lights flickering, one of my last thoughts was that I was glad I couldn't feel anything.
*Ding* Today in Marshland, North Carolina four gunmen opened fire within the Walmart on Second Street. Police have confirmed that three of the accused gunmen are in custody while another is escorted by police to the nearby emergency room. At least 5 people are confirmed dead with 12 seriously injured...
I never thought that death would sound like beeping if I am honest. I also didn't think I would feel the worst of all headaches, yet here we are.
"I can't believe people were killed in Walmart, I was going to head over after my shift." That was also unexpected. I slowly opened my eyes to try and find where the voice had come from only to see a nurse dressed in maroon scrubs standing beside the bed I was on. She seemed just as surprised if the widening of her eyes was any indication. "You're awake! Great, I will be right back with the doctor!" As she rushed out I noticed another nurse standing beside a whiteboard. He was writing something on it when he noticed my attention.
"Are you in any pain? I can't really give you anything right now but I will make sure the doctor knows." His gentle smile surprised me into nodding.
"My head is pounding," Damn, my voice was scratchy.
"Understandable," I watched as he added it to the board of notes on the wall, and just as I was about to ask about it, the nurse from earlier came walking in with an older woman.
"How are you feeling? Is there any pain or discomfort?" I assumed she was the doctor so I told her the same thing I said to the male nurse. She nodded and then sat on the chair beside my bed. "The police are going to want to speak to you, can you do that? As your doctor, I can keep them away for a few more hours since you were knocked unconscious. Unfortunately, I can't keep them away forever, but I can try my best." I had never been much of a crier, but for some reason, my eyes immediately began to water at the way she was talking to me. It brought back everything that happened to the forefront of my mind and I grabbed at my chest causing the doctor to frown.
"Are you feeling pain in your chest?" When she brought her stethoscope down onto my skin, the coldness of it made me jump. "Your heart is beating fairly quickly. Are you feeling panicked right now?" Of freaking course, I was feeling panicky. I had been shot in the chest!
"I was shot, what happened," part of me still noticed the difference in my voice, but it was probably just hoarse since I had been unconscious. The doctor frowned and turned to the nurses who seemed just as surprised. Had they not noticed the bullet hole?
"The only observation made of her chest is a scar that resembles a decade-old bullet wound." The confusion on my face must have been as obvious as his because the doctor frowned again.
"You said you were shot, did that happen today at the Walmart?" I nodded and the older woman continued to frown and motioned for the chart. After several moments she turned back to me. "We didn't find any trauma except for the mild concussion that caused you to fall unconscious. From what I understand, you were covered in blood, but we couldn't find any injuries. We assumed it was from the gunman after he got shot by police. Would it be alright if I took a look at the scar on your chest?" Numbly, I nodded and she gently pulled the gown I was wearing until she could see the raised scar on the left side of my chest. We both frowned at it, especially after she prodded it in a few spots and sat back. "This scar is at least five or more years old. Maybe you thought you were shot when you fell?" I didn't answer, still looking at the scar I definitely had not had before I went to the store. If the doctor wasn't also confused, I would have accepted some new genius method of surgery, but the look on her face told me we hadn't advanced that far overnight.
"No, I was shot and I didn't have his scar before." She shared a look with the nurses before turning back to me.
"Alright, I am going to go speak with the police. Before I go, could you tell us your name?"
"Brittnay Laster," She nodded and left the room followed by the two nurses after they gave me a mild pain reliever. An hour later I was still spiraling when the need to use the bathroom won out over my need to not move in case my chest decided to burst open. After very carefully standing, I was surprised when I didn't fall to the ground. Instead, I only felt as though I had been lying down for several hours. A knock at the door surprised me a bit and as it opened I told the officers I would use the restroom and be right out.
Two things happened at once, I caught ahold of my reflection at the same time the policeman asked me for my name. This time when I hit the floor I wasn't numb. Oh, and I had blue hair.
~~~ Several hours later
Police custody wasn't as bad as how crime shows liked to portray it. The two officers didn't handcuff me when I was released from the hospital, and they took me to a room that looked a lot like my grandmother's living room, coffee and all. Plus, they ensured I was comfortable before asking me a million questions. Questions I also did not have the answers for.
"When I left my house yesterday morning I was a brunette with some extra weight that threw milk into a gunman's neck. Now I am a healthy-weight individual with blue hair and a scar. Did the hospital accidentally give me weight-loss therapy and a dye job?" Normally the physically fit figure in the mirror would have thrilled me, I had been trying to lose weight for years in an attempt to control my back pain with little success. Plus, I had blue hair in the past and thoroughly enjoyed it, but the upkeep was a pain so I dyed it back. The officers looked just as confused as I did, which didn't give me much confidence. Instead, the older officer leaned back and gave me the universal look for what the hell.
"If the bloodwork hadn't matched you to Brittnay Laster's bloodwork on file I would not be speaking to you right now. Her, your, history doesn't show anything about a previous gunshot wound and our medical professional finds it hard to believe you would have survived a shot to your chest right over your heart. Not only that but officers found Ms. Laster in a pool of blood, dead from a gunshot to the exact same spot. Yet when emergency paramedics arrived, you were lying there breathing with only a minor concussion, blue hair, and all. No one witnessed a body swap, and witnesses claim Ms. Laster saved them from the gunman when he attempted to enter the refrigerated room they were hidden in. In the space of the five minutes Ms. Laster's body was left unaccompanied, she became you. Camera footage was cut by a small bomb left by the attackers in the power room and generators only powered emergency lights. Can you see why we are confused by this situation?" Once the apparent detective finished his analysis I met his eyes and did the only thing I could. I shrugged.
"Sir, I am currently trying not to hyperventilate. Not only am I sitting here, not dead as you so politely stated, I feel the healthiest I ever have. My back isn't throbbing from sitting and lying down all day and night when normally it would be throbbing with a dull ache I've had since my back surgery and my breathing feels complete instead of mostly complete. I should be wrapped in covers screaming but instead, I am sitting here with you while we stare at each other without answers. So yes, I can see why you are confused, but do you see why I feel like I have been body swapped into the same yet completely different body?" I met his eyes as I took a sip of my bland coffee. A few moments later there was a knock on the door and the officers stood to leave.
"I understand and we will get to the bottom of this," His words should have been comforting but they felt like a thinly veiled threat.
What felt like an eternity later, a man and woman walked into the room in fancy suits. I stared at them as they took a seat, a small part of me worrying I was meeting the men in black.
"Hello, Ms. Laster. My name is Agent Richards and this is Agent Bowman, we were wondering if we might speak with you for a moment?" The woman, Detective Richards, reached forward to shake my hand. After introductions and permission from me, they both seemed to settle back into their chairs, and my suspicion that they were the men in black grew. Were they about to accuse me of being some kind of alien body swapper?
"We understand you must be confused and nervous, but I think we can help you."
Hours later I stared out of the plane window I had found myself seated in and tried to make sense of what the very understanding and patient agents had told me. Not only had I apparently been Doctor Who'd (regenerated into a new body) but I was also something that they compared to a Valkyrie from Norse Myth, a warrior given a second life when they died saving people in battle. Not only did I not feel like a warrior, but my weapon into this second life had been a gallon of milk, which at best gave your bones some calcium and at worse made my stomach feel like it was the one at war. Oh, and there were dozens of others like me in the world and we were all going to make up some dollar tree brand Avengers. Goody.
Ch 1 WIP
(Hi y'all! If you are reading this I just wanted to say thank you and also that this is definitely a work in progress. While the general backbone of the story will remain the same, I could go back and rewrite sections as I decide what fits best with the narrative in my mind. I have had this story idea for a few years now and am finally sitting to flesh out ideas. That being said, if you see any errors in grammar or thought, please let me know. I tend to write late at night and so I'll probably miss some obvious mistakes quite often. As I decide I am happy with a chapter, I will take out the WIP in the title :) Thanks loves!)
Ailia was growing weary of these meetings. They began and concluded the same; a fae of high position would make a claim, the King would kill the fae, and the rest of the court would remain silent lest they follow the sacrifice into the grave. Rarely, the king, Brendan Conchobhair, would either agree or be neutral with that day's claim, and little blood would be shed on the millennia-old floor of the castle's council room. Today was the former.
"My King, though I am aware that the dark fae mustn't rise in power, I must stand against going to war with them at the current moment. The recent struggles with the-" Ailia raised a brow. Normally Brendan would not allow more than a few words if he did not agree with them. Today he allowed a full sentence before punctuating his silence with the sound of a head falling to the ground.
"Really, I must wonder if you might be coming to your senses a bit to allow so many words," Ailia's musings fell on deaf ears. As she was basically a ghost that sometimes managed to become corporeal, there was little she could do to show her stance. After the pause in the room extended to an uncomfortable silence, Ailia sighed and shoved the dead man's chair away from the table. She almost smiled when the men all let out a startled yelp, but as Brendan seemed unaffected she did not find it overly enjoyable. Instead, Brendan ignored her signal that she did not approve of his actions and stood.
"If I must suffer through one more meeting where one of you tries to make me rethink my plans against the dark kingdom, I will ensure more than one head hits the floor." The calm and soft voice belied the words the king had spoken, but Ailia agreed the meetings were becoming tedious. No one dared bring up the rebel attacks that had become a tell-tale sign of the time of day; least still wanted to make a decision in regards to attacking the dark fae. Ailia herself did not oppose war, but she did agree that it was not the best strategy to start a war during an outright rebellion against the current monarch. Too bad no one wanted to listen to the centuries-old ghost.
What must have been several hours later, Ailia barely twitched when she heard the calls of an attack at the front gates. After a few more moments, a sigh escaped her as she went to the large window hidden in the library. Below, she observed the twenty or so rebels stoically facing the fifty guards that stood at attention at the gates. Another bored sound escaped her as she noticed how lazily the guard stood at attention against the rebels; this was the sixteenth time that the rebels had come and only stared at the castle guard before retreating at the smallest sign of action. The lack of strategy within the rebel forces made the castle's guards more than a little secure in their ability to make them retreat. Ailia had wondered before if that was their strategy but found herself unwilling to care past her general musings. After several more moments, the Captain of the Guard faked an advance and the shabby rebel fighters fled once again.
Ailia sat and watched as their forms scattered and fled towards one of only three safe paths through the Forest. Just seconds later, the rebels had disappeared and silence again reigned through the halls of the castle.
Knowing the Head of the Guard would have to report the 'attack', Ailia silently made her way towards the King's study. Before she may have even been slightly interested in moving about the room but several centuries had given her the revelation that there was nothing to be found. Only old charts, maps, and any reading the current monarch found themselves interested in. While she did sometimes look over Brendan's shoulder, she rarely found his work interesting. Moving into the room, Ailia studied the monarch who had become a major nuisance to her purgatory of a post. Like most of the Conchobhair line, Brendan had emerald eyes and skin of midnight. His dark auburn hair was shaven, but his curls were still apparent. As old as she was, Ailia could admit the King was a handsome man, though several generations removed from her own.
Moments later, she heard heavy footsteps approaching the study and Ailia listened to the knock followed by the large Head of the Guard. Today proved to be interesting, because instead of dismissing Tobias, Brendan motioned for him to stay as the head researcher and a few councilmen that were closest to Brendan arrived. It appeared the men were determined to not waste time because as soon as they were settled the discussion began.
"Your Majesty, I apologize as I haven't found anything new in the literature in regards to the Guardian," If anything could gain Ailia's attention quickly, it was hearing that title. The King did not seem surprised, only turning a pen around his fingers in thought. As I was becoming aggrieved that was all, one of the councilmen cleared his throat.
"Majesty, mayhaps we should consider why the Guardian has been showing disfavor lately. Though I am in agreement that we should go to war with the Dark, it seems the Guardian especially shows unrest during our strategy meetings." At least one of them understood her blatant signs. Every time war was mentioned, she would move something in the area which was all she could do unless the Monarch was threatened. Ailia had thought her parlor tricks were going ignored, but it seems she had gotten at least someone's attention. "Perhaps it is aware of something we aren't," A snort almost escaped her but she was impressed the man was able to think beyond Brendan's scope. She had learned decades ago that Brendan was convinced she hated him. He wasn't wrong, but she hated the entirety of the royal line she was cursed to serve, not just Brendan. He had murdered his entire line to ensure his succession, or at least he thought he had. At first, she had been horrified by his actions, but eventually, the weight of time crushed her again and she could only feel vague emotions, the strongest of which was hate for this family.
I would be old enough to have known loss, and to have understood where that came from. I would be old enough to recognize the creases on my mother's forehead that did not yet mark mine. I would be old enough to know that death is possible, but perhaps not old enough to believe it could affect me. I would be old enough to have seen friends born near the same time as I, form families and have small ones of their own. I would be old enough to recognize that yet another winter has come and gone, flowers once again filling fields of green. I would be old enough to be expected to start my own path instead of trailing behind my parents. I would be old enough to confidently, but carefully, answer the siren song of adventure. I would be old enough to see the graying hair of my grandmothers, and recognize they were not immortal. I would be old enough to have seen beloved pets born and perish, too soon for my liking. I would be old enough to see a man and find them attractive, but maybe not old enough to feel the need to settle. I would be old enough to accept that I was an adult, but wise enough to know that does not mean I have seen everything.
Someday I would come to accept that the universe didn't have it against me, but today was not that day.
"I am SO SORRY!" Instead of answering the poor stewardess I continued to stare at what was once an important letter but was now serving as a napkin for the recently spilled tea. "I will go grab some napkins and a new peppermint tea for you right away, ma'am." A few minutes later I was still staring blankly at the letter when several paper towels were dropped in my lap. "Let me help clean this up, would you like to move to a different section of the train? We have several other seats just like this one, in fact, I could sneak you up to first class." That got my attention.
"It's alright, neither of us expected the sudden stop, but I would love to take you up on that offer." The smile I sent her way wasn't even completely forced with the promise of cushier seats in mind.
"Of course, let me go and clear it with the head steward and I will be right back. Go ahead and get your stuff together so we can head up immediately." After another small smile and nod from me, she took off back towards the front of the train car, apparently very relieved that I wasn't yelling at her. Looking again at the letter I silently prayed that it would still be legible enough to read. Deciding to hope for the best, I quickly got my scattered belongings together off the empty seat beside me and was just finished zipping up my bag when the original stewardess arrived with another man, presumably the head steward she mentioned.
"Please follow me, ma'am, we are happy to move you to an open first-class cabin since your seats are unfortunately a bit wet at the moment." Not giving me a chance to respond, the bald man turned on his heel and headed for the stairs that led to the top portion of the train car.
"Would you like me to help carry anything?" I smiled and shook my head at the kind woman before throwing my pack over my shoulder to carefully follow the man up the stairs. While the train was not moving very fast, there were still unexpected bumps as it moved along the tracks, so I slowly moved forward while mumbling sorry when I would accidentally brush my bag over someone's arm. Once I made it up the few steps I located the man halfway down the railcar and continued towards him, hoping to hide that I was out of breath from such a short distance.
"Here we go miss, feel free to head inside and get settled. We still have seven hours before we get to our location so if you would like help, we can lay the seats down into a small cot," I carefully maneuvered inside the cabin and looked around trying to not make it obvious that my peasants heart cried pennies while looking at the private space.
"No thank you, I am going to try and get some work done. Thank you so much for the upgrade," As soon as my words were out the man nodded and left, gently shutting the door behind him. Falling back into one of the plush chairs I was beginning to think that the universe was attempting to apologize for the last several months, but I really should have known better. After finally opening the damp letter and laying it out to read its still-legible font, I slumped over and let out a large sigh.
Dear Miss Kylie Palmer,
It is with regret that we must inform you that no further evidence has been found in the case of your late father, Colin Palmer. While we will still have an officer working on the case, it has been decided that the lack of evidence from the last three months has made the case come to a halt. As such, we regret that we must pull all but a single detective from the case. Please be assured that should any evidence make itself known, we will review the case again. Detective Erin Delerio's contact information is included in the enclosed envelope. Please be advised that Detective Delerio is also heading fifteen open cases and may not be able to respond immediately to any queries. However, if you remember anything that could be useful in this case, feel free to contact her and she will respond as quickly as she is able.
While we are aware that this is not the news you or we hoped for, please remember that we are still going to work diligently to find evidence in this case.
Sorry we could not offer better news,
Head Detective of the HPD
Part of me had known that if the detectives had found anything useful they would have called rather than sending a thin envelope to my home address. Yet, the crushing disappointment I felt was the same. A few moments later, the steward from earlier knocked on my door. A second later he opened it, but as he did the train hit another bump and I again found myself staring down at my soaked pants. Maybe I really should give up peppermint tea. After another rush of apologies the man took off to grab towels and I stared again at the letter. While disappointed I knew they wouldn't find anything. After all, I had cleaned the apartment from head to toe with bleach after watching my father's final breath. I just wished they would find the safe my father had hidden mere hours before I had arrived that night a few months ago. The universe truly had it against me, and apparently, so did peppermint tea.
~ I wrote this several (and I mean several) years ago. I went through and fixed the grammar but I can't say this is the best piece I have ever written :) Just thought it was a fun take on this prompt.~
“In my defense, there was NO way I could have known about this,” I said remorsefully to the angry leaders standing in front of me. “It’s not like I am omnirescent or whatever.”
“Omnipotent, and yeah, you are,” Athena said angrily but again I just shrugged and continued looking out at the damage.
“Are you going to do anything, or just stand there and watch?” I heaved a sigh that said it all: Why do I have to do the thing? The caring thing?
“Fine, give me a moment, I can make it worse.” I thought that was the right thing to say but Puck threw his arms in the air angrily, oh wait. “Was I supposed to say better?” I am never sure what these pantheons want from me: the Fae just like to party and occasionally save trees, the Greeks and Romans tend to have arguments and cause wars, and don’t even get me started on the Hindu guys- they are seriously messed up. But at the moment, all 126 pantheons seemed in agreement that I am an idiot. I just love to bring the family together.
“For the sake of all that is...” Hades stopped and looked around, “Guess holy isn’t really appropriate in this case. But can you please do something? This situation cannot become any worse.” Hades immediately stopped talking and glared at Karma who just grinned and waved.
“Can we kick her out of here, she doesn’t belong to any of our pantheons, she just causes trouble!” A particularly chubby house elf shouted, still staring at Karma like she was the devil... well that guy never showed up so I guess she could play his part.
“Did you just say she doesn’t even go here? 10 points to Slytherin for the Mean Girls reference!” Hades blinked but I saw Puck cover a laugh. “I also do not belong to any pantheon and I would rather watch the amusing cat eating a carrot than sit here and listen to you argue.” With that, I began to walk out but Persephone called for me to stop and I did. But only because I didn’t feel like angering her annoying mother and ending up with a frozen house straight out of a Frozen movie. Seriously, the girl ran away with the bad boy, who didn’t see that coming? Yet her mother punished the planet with winter, well except for the tropics but that was entirely selfish.
“Listen, you may not have seen this coming but it needs to come to an end. The human race will go extinct otherwise, and then where will we be?” Persephone asked calmly.
“We could bring back the dinosaurs, those guys were awesome," I pause to remember the large beasts but sigh. "I see your point, without humans, there would be no cat tube.” The thousands of eyes focused on me all did the simultaneous blink that was so scripted. I heaved a morose sigh but slowly turned back to the window. “Anyone got any ideas on how to fix this?”
"You did it! You fix it!” Aerobel called out while angrily brushing her hair.
"I didn’t do it,” Then I started laughing.
“That is proof of guilt!” Puck pointed at me in accusation, “I would know it anywhere, I do it all the time.”
"I merely laugh because this was ingenious, seriously. Whoever did it step forward and I swear I only wish to congratulate you!” More sighs and mumbles.
“Why does the most powerful of us all have to be insane?” Set muttered from his pyramid throne.
“Trust me, look into my mind and you would be the same,” I said in a false moment of lucidity, then started to laugh again. “To fix this I shall become human and Descend.” This time the room became so quiet you could hear the breaths of the pixies on the balcony. Quite a feat for a cavern with more than a thousand different deities.
“No way, that is so incredibly stupid, not even you would remember who you are and we wouldn’t be able to get a signature to decide which of those humans you were. You hold the cement together, without you here the world would end much quicker than it already is.” Athena yelled angrily and many more voices piped in.
“Aw, I just love hearing how much you all care about me.” I quickly spread my wings and flew up in the air so everyone, including the leprechauns forced to the back, could see me. “It is the best decision, I will stay on Earth with the humans for a year; hopefully by then, one of you will have located me. Bring me back here and I will know everything I need to settle the Earth.” I settled my feet back to the ground and again looked out the window.
“Why does she keep looking out the window? There is nothing there but a brick wall,” Loki ‘whispered’ from behind me. I just kept staring, he should know I wasn’t focused on the wall. The Earth’s pain called out to me through the void my consciousness was settled in, and while I did truly think that what was done was an amazing accomplishment, I also knew that it couldn’t be allowed to continue. However, I couldn’t keep up the charade of carelessness around the pantheons for much longer, soon the planet’s grief would overwhelm me. Hades and Athena were correct in stating I needed to fix this. I was the only one powerful (stupid) enough to stop what had been set in motion. The End of Times, Ragnarok, Armageddon; it had many names for those down below but it all ended the same way: the humans dying and the blue planet with them. I forced myself to turn away from the window and face Pinga. With a slow blink that appeared to make her nervous, I released a sigh, then muttered under my breath.
“What?”Arawn asked from behind me, shadows leaking out of his cloak, “What did you say?” I released another world-weary sigh.
“I said, I really want a donut,” Turning on my heel, I pushed through the angry and confused gods and goddesses and made my way out of the gaudy conference room. As soon as I pushed through the barrier into my private rooms, the Pantheons thought they were safe to speak, but I could hear them when they began complaining of my lack of morality. Several brought up the debacle of my last Descension. At least they weren't the ones that ended up on a cross.
Even as she lay dying, the whispers of the souls around her comforted her slowing breaths. The souls of all things she once drew energy from, would soon regain the energy she had borrowed. If she had any regrets, it would surely be that her brother not be lying here with her in a state of calm acceptance. That even now she could hear his raging screams as he fought through the hoards to reach her. He would soon be the last of their kind, and she regretted leaving him to that fate alone. Their species had already ended, with only two siblings left, but to be the last would hold its own special form of torment. Finally, as she felt her chest still, her soul broke free and soared above the war-beaten lands. Yet instead of finding herself at a door, or some sort of other side, she continued to watch her bloodied brother fight with their friends to reach her, unaware or unwilling to see that her body was too still. Deathly still. What felt like hours later he reached her, slowly crouching beside her and she felt the moment he accepted she was gone. His shoulders, once so proud seemed to collapse inwards even as he slowly removed her hand from the one thing she had willingly given her life for. A scroll now soaked through with her blood and seemingly tying her to this veil of existence.
Well damn. That was not planned.
Pull the lever Kronk, WRONG LEVER!
Goodbye my love *beep, beep, beep......
All I Hear Is..
Well, my thoughts as I read this were about trying to find something to fill the endless hours of nothing. I currently have 2 jobs, one in my field and one as just extra money. However, it is slow at both places right now so I work maybe 3 days a week. Sitting, eating, laying down, reading, eating again, random drives, petting my cat- this is all I am right now. It is easy to get lost in the mundane and, upon waking, realize that you feel 'gross'. That sitting and basically doing nothing makes you feel empty and that you aren't trying to do anything with your life. The mundane allows dark corners of thought to reach out and make themselves more known- usually hidden behind professional smiles or busy hands, the corners take over your thoughts. Your health, weight, bank account, family, friends, all of it becomes vulnerable. Like open wounds that are reopened just for salt to be shoved inside. Sometimes the darker thoughts will pop out of nowhere: questioning if death is something you would fear or not if it were to happen suddenly, maybe by your own hand. I am NOT suicidal, but the dark corners sure like to make you wonder. Now I am a bit embarassed by where this tirade has gone- but as prompted I am just typing. Currently I am sitting on a small twin bed in a cabin I live in as part of my position at a camp as an environmental educator. With schools just starting back after the holidays, I only work once a week taking care of the small collection of reptiles and amphibians we have for our herpetology classes. I spend an hour everyday applying to jobs online, wanting to feel more like an educator than a fancy camp counselor. Yet, all I hear back is silence or interviews with undecided dates to hear back. I am 13 hours away from friends and family, wondering if I am on the right path at all, or if I am only flailing in a dark pond hoping I grab a log. The last several years I have been working in seasonal positions working in all types of environmental educator positions I have loved, except for my current position. But I am starting to feel weary of not knowing what or even where comes next. I am from Alabama and in the last 3.5 years I have lived in: Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, south Alabama, Bristol (UK), Alaska, and North Carolina. My heart never wants to settle, but my mind begs for somewhere constant. Somewhere I can put roots. Yet my heart screams for adventure away, away from the chaos that is family and the small town I grew up. Somewhere I can start anew, surrounded by strangers that become amazing friends I talk to through SnapChat. Surrounded by wildlife that I have only seen on TV, books, or screens. Surrounded by people that aren't from my small part of Alabama and comment endlessly on my apparently VERY strong southern accent while saying its cute, not weird. But again, my brain wants consistency, knowing that I will still be where I am in not just a few months but in the next years. Somewhere I can reliably be sent Amazon packages and have friends know they can open the door and find me. Where I can bring my nephew to spend a week with me everyyear. Where I can decorate and not worry about accruing too much to stuff back into suitcases to either go in a car or on a plane. Where I can get to know the store owner and pick at them for discounts and laughs. Life is a scattering of faces and places that I want to add to and all at once stop. The amazing excitement of stepping into an airport for another adventure while anxiety also eats at my insides reminding me I know no one at this new location but my heart stepping in and reminding me thats where the magic lies. Yet, my mind also whispers that time is finite and my grandmothers are low on sand to fall. That my cat can't follow me constantly, and she too is ageing. That my nephew hates speaking on the phone, and could easily forget me if I am gone for too long. Yet the song of adventure is in my other ear. Whispering of places, experiences, and friends to find, not through remaining in Alabama, but by adventuring and adding to my map of places I have visited. The swan song of adventure has won out for almost four years and most of me wants it to remain the winner. However, enough of me cries for consistency. To not switch coworkers like old socks and instead greet the same faces every day for not months but years. To have steady income and not wonder if I will have to ask my parents for help when work is slow or I am between places. My soul cries for a relationship not founded on a few weeks and fizzling out because I know I won't stay. Cries to create roots that connect for more lasting memories rather than amazing blips of time in my life. I know Alabama is not my home, it has some of my heart, but it isn't my future. My family likes to remind me that if I am far away, or god forbid in the north where snow isn't just in pictures but on roads as a consistent feature half the year, I won't know how to help myself. Yet I defend by stating my nomadic life has created a strong independent soul that can't be told it needs to have help. That I can't move somewhere permananetly far away because I would be alone- no my soul screams that I will make friends and maybe new family that will fill that inevitable social void. Yet, here I sit on a small twin bed, alone. Two jobs did not make much room for creating outside friendships besides friendly coworkers. Here I sit an hour from the beach that I have not yet seen because I am tired of going new places to explore alone because I don't have anyone to ask. Coworkers at camp have left for different places and coworkers at bath and body works are too busy with their lives. It is not necessarily that I hate exploring alone, no I love it. But when the choice isn't there, it becomes lonely rather than exciting.