A collaborative piece by H1 and thePearl

Little Miss Kitty

It was one of those long-tapered candles that were only brought out on Thanksgiving and Christmas. This day was neither of the two, but Mother lit it: the last candle.

She held onto the base, flickering light illuminating her green eyes so they seemed to glow with emerald embers. Pin-pricks danced along my upper arms as I took in the sight: gleaming eyes back-lit with the flash of lightning, thunder grumbling, wind whipping, trees groaning under the weight of the tempest battering our freshly painted shutters. Mother looked the part of a witch, hands long and elegant on the strings of her violin as she crooned a dark lullaby to us. The music entangled with the clash of thunder, sending children’s eyes ablaze in fearful wonder.

We loved and hated this song.

Her voice was perfectly suited, all hollow and forlorn and ringing with a pain young minds struggle to grasp, but commiserate with nonetheless. Her eyes filled with tears as she sang the second verse, and every time, we wept along with her. We hated going to bed with sadness in our hearts, but we loved to see Mother transformed, an echo of some otherworldly being rising up with the pulse of each note, the timid woman we knew for once buried under the weight of her raw pain.

She changed the words. She changed the melody. The version she crafted is etched upon the very heart of me:

Oh, do you remember?

A long time ago.

How two little babes–their names I don’t know…

Went strolling along

On a bright summer's day…

Got lost in the woods– and I’ve heard people say–

She always paused there, hovering on the last note as if weighing whether or not to sing the next part. But then she always continued, egged on by small voices whispering, “Finish the song, mama.”

The sun, it went down…

And the stars gave no light.

They sobbed and they sighed

And they bitterly cried.

Poor little babies,

They lay down and died.

I always drifted off to sleep during that part. Mother lingered for hours by my bed, stroking my hair, humming, and sobbing. I don’t think I really slept at all that night, every flash of lightning re-illuminating Mother’s haunted eyes in my mind. A part of me was afraid of her from then onward. She held on so tight to me, it made me afraid she would never let go… and I didn’t want her to, not really. I just snuggled in closer to my little brother, curling around his small body to shield him from the touch of Mother’s brief break from reality.

James had always been mine to protect. Mother paid him no mind, sometimes forgetting him in the house when we went to the grocery store, never reminding him to brush his teeth before bed, neglecting to even make him a plate at dinner time. It didn’t bother me. We both knew something wasn’t right with Mother, and if she wasn’t going to look out for my brother Jamie, I would. I always slid food off of my plate to him, helped him put on his shoes, and brushed his teeth with my own toothbrush. Mother wouldn’t buy him one, but I thought maybe she just didn’t realize that three-year-olds needed to brush their teeth, too. Mothers don’t really know everything, after all. But sometimes she was even a little mean. Sometimes she pretended she didn’t see him at all. Those times I was angry with her– those times I resented being the favorite, the one who never got left home alone, the one who got extra stories and songs at bedtime, the only one who ever got a cake-pop at the coffee shop. Don’t worry, I always saved a bite for Jamie.

I know Mother secretly loved Jamie, too, because after I was asleep, I sometimes heard her talking to him. She didn’t say much, but she did whisper his name a lot when she stroked my auburn curls. I liked to imagine she was petting his head, too. The words wove spiderwebs in my mind,

…And when they were dead…

The Robins so Red

Brought strawberry leaves, and over them spread–

And sang them a song the whole day long…

Poor babes in the woods… Poor little babes in the woods.

It wasn’t until the eve of my fifth birthday that the prophecy so carelessly sung in Mother’s broken voice became real. Mother always hid my presents in the back of her closet. I found the little box wrapped in brown paper on my second foray into the fragrant folds of sundresses that made up her wardrobe. Success. My gift, all wrapped up and waiting for greedy little fingers to gently peel back the tape, to unfold, to peek at the label, and then hastily re-tape and stow again, only to be greeted with crafted surprise upon the morrow. I was ever so careful with my opening of the brown paper, though it looked like Mother had had a hard time getting it to stick, it peeled back easily as if it had already been removed before. The paper fell away completely, little bits of it crumbling under my fingers. It was the most curious gift I’d ever seen. Mother had wrapped up Jamie’s shoes in a glass box. The bright orange velcro straps winked at me in the darkness of the closet. There was a picture of Jamie in there, too. He was holding a cake pop, with little bits of chocolate clinging to his face. I felt a pang of jealousy. Was Mother taking him out for cake pops without me? It was then that I heard footsteps approaching, and hastily shoved the box and paper back into its hiding place.

Mother was standing with hands on hips when I poked my head out from behind the dresses. She laughed at the sight of me and scolded (but I could tell she didn’t really mean it), “You silly girl– you won’t be finding it in there this year!”

Just then, a tiny ball of fur darted from behind her legs and hopped up to lick my cheeks. The puppy was a glossy golden color, with kind eyes and a gigantic blue ribbon tied around its neck. I squealed in my delight, puppy kisses showering my cheeks and eyelashes.“We were supposed to wait until the morning, but he just couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to meet you now,” Mother smiled,” I suppose he wanted to spend your special day with you.”

“Oh, Mama– I love it!” I squealed.

“I’m glad,” she whispered, “What will you name him?”

I answered without hesitation. I’d met a beautiful dog named Lola at kindergarten. I knew that should be this puppy’s name. “Lola,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Mother hesitated, “... he is a boy dog.”

“Yes,” I said, “and he is Lola. Lola. Lola. Lola!” I buried my face into the cozy fur of his neck. “Aren’t you?” I whispered. He yipped and licked my nose in agreement. I loved him–and he loved me, too. From that moment on I pledged to myself that Lola and I would be the best of friends–for the rest of forever. Best friends. Besides Jamie, of course. I spent the rest of the evening playing with them in the back yard. Lola wanted to run into the woods that stood to one side of our yard, but Jamie kept shooing him back my way. We ran ourselves ragged jumping and laughing and getting grass stains all over. Pine needles and sticks and tufts of dried grass tangled in our mussed hair, sticking up at odd angles. We looked rather like a family of little scarecrows.

The three of us fell into bed that night smelling of puppy dog and pine trees, contentedness radiating through our bodies to our very bones. It wasn’t until I was drifting off to sleep that I remembered to ask, “Jamie— Why did Mama take your shoes?” But he was already asleep, little toes poking out from under the covers all purply and covered in dirt from running barefoot.

That night, I dreamt of sleeping under a blanket of stars, clutching a bundle of flowers to my chest, tears crusted to my cheeks– but I wasn’t sad anymore– I wasn’t afraid. I was wonderfully warm. I was wonderfully at peace. It was the most beautiful dream I ever dreamt..and in the dream, I wasn’t me: I was Jamie.

In the morning I woke up to slurpy puppy dog tongue on my ear. I couldn’t help but giggle. “Wake up, Jamie!” I shook his little shoulders, “It’s my Birthday!” The sun had barely peeked over the top of the mountains when Jamie, Lola, and I made our way to the backyard. We frolicked the early morning hours away, and Mother brought out a picnic blanket and a plate with a steaming stack of pancakes. There was a bright pink candle in the top of the stack. She lit it and we all sang. I tried to give Jamie one of my pancakes, but Lola scarfed it down before it ever made its way to his grubby fingers. We all laughed. I gave Mother a kiss and she squeezed me in a hug that was a little too tight. I tried to pretend that I didn’t see the tear tracks on her cheeks when she turned away, bustling with the stack of dishes to the back door. Before she went inside she turned,

“Kitty–” she began, seeming to choke a little.

“Yes, Mama?”

“Happy Birthday, baby,” she smiled, “You and Lola have fun out here… but stay close.”

Her last words were lost in a swirl of ribbons as I darted across the yard, testing out the new pair of shoes Mother had given me along with the pancakes. They were pink, with tiny white flowers and glittery golden lightning bolts. The new shoes made me run extra fast. Lola tagged along behind, doing his best to capture the rainbow twirl in his tiny jaws. It was several minutes before I realized Jamie was missing. I stopped my running and Lola barreled into the back of my legs before plopping down to scratch his floppy ears. Jamie was nowhere to be seen. I called for him, but he didn’t answer.

“Lola, where has our brother gone?” I asked.

He just whined a little and went back to scratching. I crept closer to the line trees at the edge of the yard. Mother always said not to go in there, but Jamie was missing… Surely she’d make and exception for this…I slipped my toe over the imaginary line she had drawn in my mind, and I suddenly felt very cold. I stepped back into the yard. I should go get Mother. I should get a grown-up. I turned to go to the back door when suddenly a ball of bright golden fur and blue ribbons whizzed past my ankles and into the waiting woods.

“LOLA!” I screamed and darted after him, grateful for my fast shoes.

When I was a good way into the trees, Jamie popped up beside me, out of breath from running. “No.” He tugged at my braid.

“Ow, Jamie! Stoppit!” It was very unlike him to pull at me.

“No. Pwease. Go back,” he pointed at our house, barely visible beyond the trees. My head snapped back and forth for a brief moment between home and the golden blur quickly retreating deeper into the forest.

I looked at Jamie sternly, placing my hands on his shoulders, “I have to get Lola. You stay here. I will be right back.” I left him standing there, barefoot, with tears running down his cheeks. I heard one last pitiful, “Pwease,” before I darted off.

I didn't find Lola.

The day was turning hazy grey when I stumbled into the little meadow. Wildflowers and strawberries grew in great abundance, flourishing in the shafts of sunlight that shone through the open patch in the trees. These were the last lingering flowers of the summer. Fall had come on in earnest, and the air began to be chilly in the absence of the sun overhead. The ribbons had come out of my hair, and the light blue sundress Mother had put on me this morning was torn and tanned with dirt. I sat down in the flowers and wept. I didn’t know what to do, but Mother had always told me that if I should ever be lost, I was to sit down and wait. So I did. I ate strawberries until my tongue was raw and picked flowers to pass the time. The sky faded from grey to black and the first stars began to wink through. If I wasn’t so frightened, it would be beautiful.

It was as I reached down to pick one last dandelion for my growing bouquet that I saw him there: Jamie. He was sleeping in the strawberry leaves. I shook his shoulders, “Jamie! Wake up. What are you doing here?” He just stared up at me with a sleepy smile.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said softly, reaching up to swipe tears from my cheeks, “Don’t cry anymore. It’s okay. Come here.” He wrapped his little arms around me, and inexplicably, I felt all better– I felt safe. “Take off your shoes, Kitty,” he said, sounding too old for three, “Mama will be wanting them.”

I sat on the grassy ground beside him and removed my new shoes, placing them gently beside the scatter of flowers I’d spent the evening picking. “Will she put my shoes in a glass box, too?” I asked, feeling nothing but curiosity at the thought.

“Yes. She needs them– she needs them to remember you.” He took my hand then and we curled up, eyes trained on the stars above. They grew brighter as the night wore on, and I stopped feeling cold at all, but rather like the warmth of the thousand swirling suns above was shining on me. I smiled at the thought and Jamie spoke, one last time, “Let’s go, sister. It’s time to come home.”

He held my hand as we stepped into starlight.

Below, in the meadow, I saw myself lying there alone, beautiful–even in my dirty dress– with strawberries and flowers all around. The birds began to coo in a way that reminded me very much of Mother, fluttering through the branches in a flurry of wing and song. One by one the birds took turns draping leaves across my pale, lovely body until I had become part of the lonely field. My puppy crept from the shadows and crawled protectively onto my chest. I felt sorry that he couldn’t come home, too.

Mother

My eyes fluttered open, a steady flow of hot tears trickling forth, staining my face and falling like drops of blood to the ground… the ground where the two darling angels most precious to me were snatched away by the hand of God. The old wound which had scarred my heart all those years ago burst open with redoubled pain, aching sorrowfully for the children I had lost here. I retracted my hand from the tree and gazed up into its empty, barren branches. They creaked and swayed in the light breeze, giving voice to the silent moaning of my soul. The wind funneled down from the treetop and then carried skywards along my upturned chin, sending long hair whipping in wild tangles around my distraught face.

I inhaled deeply. The air smelled like bittersweet, poisoned honey. My faint exhalation carried on the winds and extinguished the feeble flame flickering on the small stub of candle held loosely in the fingers of my left hand. The wisps of smoke curled upwards and the ember glow from the wick slowly turned charred and black, finally crumbling into ash. That was the last candle, the last flame. I had refused for all these years, to accept it, clung to the vain hope that I could bring him back, but instead the other– my sweet little daughter– was taken from me as well.

I collapsed to the ground, leaning heavily on all fours. My eyes looked past the tender blades of grass waving gently in the Fall wind, and locked on a painfully familiar glimmer of glittery pink with white flowers peeking from the greenery a few yards beyond. They were shoes.

I uttered an ethereal, heartrending cry and lowered my head. It had been six years today. My limbs gave way and I lay on my side in the brush, the forest of lush green rising up around me like a garden castle. The strawberries grew sweet and ripe in tender clusters on all sides, and a handful of severed and wilted meadow flowers in various shapes and colors lay strewn about every which way. How many did she pick to bring home to me? I would carry them all home and arrange them carefully in her favorite vase placed on her bedside table, just as I had done with Jamie’s last collection. His were dry and crumbling, but these were fresh. Maybe they would make her bedroom smell sweet again, if only for a few days.

Lola hobbled weakly toward me and whined. Then he stumbled and fell beside me in the bramble of red berry leaves. He laid his head against the black case of my grandmother’s violin and turned his pitiful face toward my own. There, I saw my reflection.

I shot to my feet with a start, coursing with new energy. My hands flew to the violin and pressed the guard against the soft skin on the uppermost part of my neck. My fingers independently wove notes like a spider’s web as the bow swept slowly back and forth across the strings. The tune played itself, my heart bleeding the words along with it, those fateful lines which swept my darlings away from me:

Oh, do you remember…a long time ago?...

As the song progressed, my eyes shut themselves and the tears continued streaming down, but a bittersweet smile stole across my face. For in those words unspoken, the silence sang, and I heard their laughter echoing through the trees. I did not need to open my eyes to see them leaping joyfully together across the field, Lola frolicking alongside them. I did not need to open to see them dancing side by side in riotous squeals and merry tumbles. I did not need to open to see those bright, smiling faces, radiant with ecstasy, playing wildly in the wind. I even heard Kitty’s rapturous shout of victory whispering across the breeze. “I found him!” it called faintly, “I found him!”

I listened harder, the golden chaff swirling around, darting behind trees, sounds of laughter echoing where they would be, together forever: my babes in the woods.

I told him that I hated walking his dog.

The Bernese is strong and excited about everything and the leash is quite useless if a squirrel is stupid enough to show itself. The muscles in my arms and shoulders ache from every simple stroll through the neighborhood, and my throat stings from the constant begging and pleading and bargaining. His white and brown face, droopy and slobbering, always gives me that look over his shoulder until I give in and dig into my coat pocket for one of those bacon treats. A nightmare, indeed.

I complained about the task once more this morning, groaning about the frosted, slick sidewalks and that elderly woman south on Wadelyn Lane who always fusses about making sure that Baxter doesn't "conduct his business" in her grass. The winter was finally starting to take hold of our small town, and I despise the season and all of its freezing, windy facets. But Sam listened to every word, patient and amused, and just smiled warmly before kissing the line where my skin ends and soft curls begin. He told me he loved me and that he'd be back soon, and that he promised I wouldn't have to walk Baxter anymore once the snow arrived. And then he left.

Left me with the stubborn old giant that I swore gave me a mischievous smile through those floppy chops and waited at the door, bushy tail swishing. I glared at the muddy bootprints Sam left behind and prepared for the biting temperatures with my beanie and a thick jacket. And with reluctance, I grabbed the fraying purple leash hanging on the hook by the front door, clipped it onto Baxter's collar, and prayed that it would last another day before beginning the perilous half-mile journey around our suburban community.

The cold pierced through every pore in my face as soon as we walked down the driveway and past the tire tracks leading in the opposite direction. Baxter huffed happily and trotted, that tangled tail of fur wagging lazily and upright. Already, I could feel him taking advantage of the fact that I was his chauffeur as my torso was tugged ahead of my legs. My breath puffed out little clouds in front of me when I grumbled his name in warning, tilting my head to the sky beseechingly. But he acted as if he didn't hear me as he carried on, lifting his nose in the crispy air to take in all of the wonderful smells. My own nose twisted after we passed a pile of fresh, steaming dung on the sidewalk; I could only redirect Baxter's attention to a lilting bird's song and some sirens in the distance at that point.

Eventually, we passed the elderly woman's house, and she was conveniently seated on her porch with a mug of coffee giving off grey tendrils of warmth. Her eyes were narrow with sternness and judgment while she watched us pass. I just took my free hand out of the comfort of my pocket and offered an awkward wave with a tight smile. She didn't repay the gesture, but apparently found it in herself to nod.

But of course, the ever-argumentative mountain dog had to stop to sniff the dying blades of grass. My eyes widened at the unexpected audacity--even Baxter doesn't edge the widow's temper. I gave a gentle tug on his leash, which gave no assistance as he kept his snout down, inhaling whatever could possibly be so interesting in an aggravated neighbor's yard.

"Sorry!" I shouted. "We're working on his manners!"

She just stared at me expectantly, one leg crossed over the other while she waited for me to make Baxter obey. I grabbed at the side of his collar, making him look me in the face. I spoke through gritted teeth:

"You are embarrassing the hell out of me. Let's go."

He looked at me blankly, unmoving when I went to guide him along. I growled.

"Baxter, now."

Nothing.

I sighed, pursing my lips so hard they went numb in the freezing air.

"Okay, I will give you two bacon treats if you listen to me. Two. Treats."

The strange look the old woman gave me from across the lawn didn't go unnoticed, but I pretended not to see it, instead savoring the small victory when Baxter's tongue fell out in response to the bribe. He may be a dog, but he is fluent enough in a few select words to know when he's getting a good deal.

By the time the rest of the walk was complete, and Baxter received both of his treats, I was satisfied with the amount and difficulty of the challenges presented. The house was quiet and levels more pleasant than outside. I rewarded myself with a hot shower, breakfast in bed, and a hot cup of lavender tea while Baxter munched on his bed in the corner of the living room. Hours passed, and I prepped dinner: alfredo and garlic bread. I waited on the couch until six o'clock with my favorite reality show playing in the background.

And when he was late, I called to ask when he'd be home. I was only met with that welcoming, clever voicemail of his.

When another hour came and went, I worried about dinner, and how it was getting cold.

And finally, he knocked on the locked front door, and I was already scolding him about not answering my calls and letting a perfectly good meal go cool before I opened it for him.

But I found another man on my doorstep, all dressed in black and blue and holding his hat with both hands in front of him. He wore a pitiful face, and his eyes gleamed with exhaustion.

Baxter walked much slower to my side after my knees slammed into the muddy bootprints on the hardwood floors. He whined next to me after I screamed a cry so loud that other doors across the street opened. He laid down, pressing into me for comfort as the stranger in blue, who I'd never met before, knelt down and gave me his condolences and apologies for my dead fiance.

It was slick on the roads, he said.

It wasn't his fault. There was a young girl learning how to drive with her father.

None of them made it.

It wasn't five minutes from home.

I'm sure he was a good man.

And all of this talk in past tense...the words bit much colder than the winter that would come.

The last thing I'd said...

I told him I hated walking his dog.

-------

I never cleaned the hardwood floors by the front door.

I let the tire marks fade on their own, never parking in Sam's place.

I walked Baxter in every snow, every flurry, every blizzard.

And he never pulled or tugged or bothered the old woman's grass again.

Her name was Judith, I learned. And she loved her husband very much. He died of colon cancer in his forties, and she'd never felt so rotten and alone after the fact. But even so, after she'd heard of Sam's death, she brought freshly baked pies and home-cooked meals to that front door. And she talked for hours, every so often even sneaking a small bite of lasagna or bread to Baxter under the table. And I listened, not often speaking or necessarily kind, but Judith didn't seem to notice.

I never sold the house, and I slept alone for many years after.

But when the couple down the road moved in, I watched the young woman walk their German Shepherd, and I laughed every time she struggled to make him listen or relax. I kept bacon treats next to the mailbox--with a sign that said take one. And I bought salt every winter.

Spreading it on every home's driveway before the sun rose on Wadelyn Lane.

In the beginning, there was Age and Flow... and it was Goud.

“Are my wrinkles starting to show?” she asked applying some thick crème of a medicinal cosmetic scent to her neck. Some kind of clinical strength Eva Ltd brand Collagen. No answer was the correct one, so I gave her a peck on the cheek and told Breana we’d better get a move on. I didn’t want to add that we weren’t you know getting-any-younger, or that I was growing a beard, or otherwise invoke the Time Bomb of mankind. I am peaceable fellow, keen on the observation of the order of things and on what it is that makes people tick.

Our hosts were naturally of very important lineage, well formed in all aspects of the County’s cultural ferment and not ones to be kept waiting. And I like to be punctual.

The invitation had arrived on cream colored cold pressed card stock two weeks ago. Top notch. Not to be dismissed or refused. Like milk comes from the mother’s udder or whatever that archaic utterance is, the appointment had to be kept, as a matter of Family pride. We put our best Worsted wrappers on and waddled out. Instinct told me it was better to be early, for best seating. Nobody wanted to suffer through the evening beside an incessant Fondue of blubbering wisdom, nor next to some tasteless Debutant all powdered and perfumed.

As it was, we were sandwiched between the Americans and the Swiss, and fortunately the Swiss left gaps for getting a word in edgewise. But otherwise, mostly the atmosphere was stifling. And this one, and that one, spent too long debating whether it was mold or mould. I tried to support Free Form, but my voice crumbled under the velvety postulations poured out by our pugnacious companions.

As you can infer, the Dinner was tedium, but we muddled through the 6 courses: the amuse-bouche, the soupe, the appetizer, the salade, the main dish, and the dessert. My stomach had soured on observation that at each of these servings, there was one ingredient that always appeared, as chief, or as garnish, as staple to All the staples. It bothered me, but I could not quite identify the source of my ills. Conversation swirled around proud old questions of Human Exploits, global, local and across the table, and was washed down with copious Wine.

My missus and I were relieved to make our escape into the cool night wind, where I could finally gather my thoughts.

I held the door, then we hopped into the cab. Settled in, I began to narrate affairs from earlier in the week, and she put her head in her hand, with elbow on windowsill to listen, eyes closed, as I made sense of themes to myself, aloud:

I came out of the school gate the other day, and met a fellow teacher, smoking a cigarette, the way he does outside of school grounds, when things are too bad. My friend was upset and outraged, but not for the state of the world, or the incompetence that humanity so unwavering excels at.

No. My heroic friend teaches high school brats! And that is a fate worse than death!

Where my primary schoolers are a horde of cannibals, his is a far greater frustration, for his lot are a veritable garden patch; Uncaring, unfeeling, disinterested, and disaffect by anything AT ALL. They are quiet, sure, but they drive you down to the depth of great depression with their zombie, soul-deprived adolescence.

And yet this is not what drove my friend’s tirades and indignation that day. What had upset him so is a particular student. This one goes against the grain of his peers and talks incessantly all through class. His English is remarkable, and he uses it mercilessly to contradict and interfere with whatever the class is being taught. If they are taught that night is dark, he shall say it is daytime that is in shadow. If he says the world is polluted, he shall talk about increasing energy output and consumer demand. I shall offer no further examples. You must know of such an obnoxious fellow from your life, as well.

And what did this prodigy stir up today?

Well my friend reports that somehow, the lesson devolved in to the question of evil in the world. Does evil exist or is it just a product of predictable drives?

The idiot. As if this there is any doubt!!

Oh the ignorance of youth! My friend’s outrage was quite contagious; To think that they spent an entire lesson with that guy constantly bringing up that obvious topic!

But I would handle it better, so I told my friend. All that is needed is to remind that young cherub that there is a very good reason why parents all over the world made up stories about hungry wolves and witches with bubbling cauldrons. Show the kid his error straight up.

Perhaps, later on, there would be a chance to reflect on the conversation. It would have been even better if he just needed to tell him the truth. The only thing he really needed was to silence that irritant teen.

To tell him of The Cheese-maker.

You see...

First man lived with a feeling of emptiness in his life. Since it could stand and walk erect, since it could flake off sharp pieces of stone as cutting implements, and rub sticks together, man walked with an UNEASE.

Man tried to cover for that with hunting; thinking that big game brought down, will appease this hole they felt inside. Those mastodons and glyptodonts DID NOT alleviate the feeling. No. It just made man busy, being occupied in stripping meat of the bone and fashioning more weapons. it was a poor distraction. It solved nothing.

Sitting in the dark night, man stared at the flames and wondered what is it all for.

Love came and went. Romance felt right, but these escapades fell short as well, eventually. Man was satisfied of much, with a woman in his arm, and a slab of meat sizzling over the fire (or vice versa). He felt warm and safe, and yet he felt as if he wasn't feeling at all. There was more to life, he was sure.

Man built a hut, next-a cabin, followed by house , mansion, castle and palace. He cleared land, raised fields, he milled flour and brewed beer. Yet it was still there! Like a stringy piece of meat stuck between his teeth. Ever present, the emptiness.

Man next took some rendered fat, mixed in pigment and drew animals and trees upon the walls. He drew amorous depictions of ladies he yearned for and of his exploits in the wilderness.

He sang songs. He put on amateur theater productions, he sculpted in clay and marble.

And yet it was still just not enough. If anything, it made things worse.

Art of that time seemed to hold on to this gap and enlarge on the cracks instead of healing them. This void that was irritating and unrelenting and growing every day.

Then man got to thinking: All this time, I worry and toil, all this time I celebrate and please myself; but I still fail to find that which will fill this emptiness. That thing which I can’t even name!

It was then, that man tried to think systemically for the first time and answer the ageless question;

WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS LIFE?

Eons passed and the question remained unanswered.

Then one day, A cheese-maker stumbled upon the answer.

You must understand, that the invaluable art of Cheese-making was still very new then. Not developed in science and lore, nor varied in tastes and textures. All that people understood back then (and very few even that) of the process of the making of cheese, was that given proper conditions, milk could turn into cheese.

Milk COULD be induced to turn to cheese, but it MIGHT not. It WOULD turn to curds if treated properly and SHALL spoil if treated improperly. There was much ambiguity regarding how all this occurred.

It was then that this ancient cheese-maker stumbled upon a new thought; Milk can clot or coagulate, given the right conditions. And what else clots and congeals?

BLOOD!

Blood, that very liquid of life, that flows through the veins and courses through arteries. Until it flows no more. What better, sanguine expression could there be to the duality of the world?

Oh, that ancient cheese-maker knew all too well that liquid blood is life and solidified blood is death...

And since milk can undergo the exact same metamorphosis, it is also a substance that can be life, and enliven a weary spirit, and yet...

Could it, like blood be death..?

With tremendous curiosity, the ancient cheese-maker proceeded to test, if that could be so.

Over the weeks curiosity turned to enticement. Enticement turned to passion. Passion turned to arousal.

His eyes wide open, the cheese-maker carefully examined substances and added. Here this, there that. Arsenic, venom, and all poison known to him. There was much failure in this. Often, adding much of one thing would disrupt the delicate curdling process. The result would then be a loathsome boggy mess. In other times the cheese set well and firm, yet produced not even an uneasy stomach for those that took it in.

People being served cheese were a new, unknown quantity for this pioneer; As they received the cheese, they must have noticed him staring hungrily, and turned a pass on his offering, feeling somewhat nervous.

The great project required of the cheese-maker not only a great advance in the skill of his profession, but also a learning of concealing his anticipation and zeal from the recipients.

Such was the achievement, the moment when deftness and art came together to produce a proof that milk CAN be turned to death in solid form!

The ancient cheese-maker did not know the emotions that moved him. The world was young then and despite the many dangers, terrors and misfortunes of the world, there was never before such a thing as this; EVIL.

The cheese-maker experienced what many would later develop upon and expand. He now knew what it was that was missing from the lives of men. He could not define it any better than the others. He could not put into words what he had felt and yearned for. He certainly would not expand to others the intensity and sensation that was the culmination of such hard, meticulous work.

All the cheese-maker knew, seeing his friends their eyes open, frozen in horror and pain, their stomachs distended, all that he could think, was that he wanted more!

It is a known fact that Cheese is highly addictive. The digestion of the protein Casein releases Opiates of a form know as Casomorphins.

By this time, Bree and I had arrived back at our flat and were making the customary preparations to retire for the night. I was brushing my teeth and was now grimacing at myself silently in the mirror, and she was scrolling through her mobile, looking sleepily at snapshots from the soiree, lying away on the carpet in her tank and undies when I peeked around the bathroom door.

“Is that why they say, ‘Say Cheese,’ to the camera?” she said pressingly, making it clear that she was still digesting my narrative. Say Cheese; It certainly seemed like an empty phrase, meaningless, in all honesty, heartless even. I was finishing up with my floss and tooth picking, gargling summarily with mouth rinse. I had to pause, after tossing the strings like poly-o into the trash bin, and spitting.

--There, the person is, baring teeth and soul, with nothing on their tongue but the word “Cheese;” exposed and preserved, all in a moment conserved for eternity on film or digital media. The Cheese and the Cheese-Maker. Life and the Live’D... The Devil, in the detail, always d’ Evil festering in between... the Enzyme. The mix-in of the foreign agent, the unknown enemy that turns life giving milk into glue. For there is such a thing. The Casein. Odiferous and strange: milk paint with its opaque coverage and excess of smell and stain. Spilled, wasted; curd and whey where it does not belong.

I picked up my razor and started to Philosophically shave. “I don’t know, Bree, maybe we should suggest something else... I read it’s better anyway if it’s something that ends in an ugh rather than eese sound... more natural for the face,” I added stretching the skin of my cheek to the left down to the jaw, almost done.

“Like what...?” she queried grabbing her toiletries, body sprays, douche, antiperspirant soaps, and whatnot that she kept in that see through perforated baggie that suddenly struck me as a modern cheesecloth, “Butter?” she teased pronouncing it buh-duh... as she passed the sink and closed the door to the shower.

The corner of my mouth rose in involuntary reflex. Uh, I cut myself with the razor blade shaving a bit of stray hairs on the chin, and I hurriedly tamped it with a wad of tissue to stopper the bleeding... knowing full well it would curdle by itself, if let alone.

And suddenly a delicious word creeps in. One that also sounds like buttuh...

Another tiny blood drop glistens on my cheek. Drool. I am in the moment. Present tension.

"How about sodUH?" she says in the distance.

"Huh?"

"You know, words that have an 'Uh' sound."

"Oh that..." I say, looking at the drops pooling, growing, mixing. Pink. An ancient idea creeps into my mind. One of intense curiosity...

"Gou-duH" she says..

I look at the razor and how dropletts are clinging to the edge. Condensing, or just my imagination? Fascinating... Blood and water. Curd and whey. Things are separating into constitutional elements.

"Bud-dha" she offers, cracking open the steam covered door.

"Go on" I say... looking at her from the mirror admiring the blunt and fatty portions.

I am so interested in how it would play out. She is shaving her underarm with one of those girlie curved pink razors for Venus’s.

"Gir-duh"...she giggles, then she nicks herself good, and it’s pouring out of her. Hot and steady. Red. Her eyes fully dilatated. Fear, or arousal, I ask myself, again?

"..mur-duh..." I suggest, pulling in around the hip to investigate and lick her arm pit. She’s melting beneath the slightest heat, like Fontina.

Yes. this is going to be very interesting...

“What are you doing? … I don’t have any deodorant on!” Uh. And I drop the razor--

“God Dammit.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

04.24.2023

Batmaninwuhan/7v7

Collaboration Challenge @Prose

Fucker Doesn’t Listen

Tristan had his eyes wandering around the club and he was smiling at himself, feeling sure of himself that he managed to get past security. “Fucking morons,” he snorted, glancing back at the security guard trying to pry the Lycan and vampire apart. With their little scuffle, getting past the security check in was such an easy stint with that ‘scuffle’ that he was finding himself heading towards the bar for a drink, his head whipping back ahead to stare at the neon underlit bar. His hand swept across it as he leaned over it, slapping it slowly with his hand. “Hey bartender!” he called, staring into the crowd of moving bodies as the music resounded overhead, blaring out nearly all noise and almost his own voice too. His eyes were searching for the hint of that tall visage, that asshole he was going to put six feet under.

Hailey came over to him, her blonde brow high as she looked at him. “Customer,” she quipped back at him with a bit of an attitude.

He turned, his brown eyes bright as the locks of burgundy and brown bounced from around his face. “What an attitude,” he smirked, forcing the expression as he found himself glancing her up and down slowly. Bright blue eyes, soft dirty brown hair with high hints of blonde highlights. He wondered if they were even natural. He put both his forearms on the counter as he leaned on it, placing his foot on the bar that encircled the tall counter. “Do you always sass your customers like that?”

She blinked at him, all emotion leaving her face. “What do you want?”

“So cold,” he sighed, smiling as he laughed hoarsely at her. Tristan shook his head slowly as if in disbelief. “Do you guys have rum?” he asked, a quirky brow raising at her as he waggled the brow at her playfully.

“This is a bar,” she told him. Surely he wasn’t this stupid.

“And you’re a bartender,” he shrugged, unable to wipe the smirk off his face as he closed his eyes before opening them into a roll.

“And you’re wasting my time. Just rum? On the rocks? What?” she asked.

“Fine, fine.” He mock groaned at her, shifting his shoulder till he tilted his head to the side. “If you can fix me up something, anything with rum; that tastes good of course then I’ll tip extra. Can you manage that?” he asked her as he rapped his knuckles on the counter and slid into the seat to his right as someone left it. “Or is that too challenging?” he smarted off, putting on a little heat on her. “I don’t want to make your job hard for a busy girl like yourself.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes as she pulled up a glass. She started pouring a mix of rum and ginger beer. She threw a lime slice in it and slid it to him. “There,” she said. “Are you paying cash or tab?”

“Depends,” he told her, his eyes instantly going to the drink as he tugged the glass towards himself delicately between three fingers and a thumb, barely touching it. His pinky ran over the bottom of the glass for a moment, feeling the wet condensation slick over it and suddenly his eyes were back up to meet hers. “Are you going to be a giant pain in my ass or are you going to smile at me with your best customer service face?” he snorted, lifting it up to his lips as his other hand dug into his pocket to slap a twenty down on the counter. He winced a little at the sweetness, not fond of it, but drank it down anyway or at least half of it. “I might be back for more.” Something else, probably.

She forced a smile. “Mm, I’ll hold my breath.” She took the twenty and slipped further down the bar to catch a few more customers.

He leaned back against the counter, his eyes floating up to the crowd as he snorted to himself. “What a–” he started, then cut himself off. He wouldn’t be that mean, not yet at least. “I’m sure she gave me this sweet shit on purpose,” he grumbled into the drink, tilting his head back to chug it, popping up from the seat to go back for the crowd.

“Blood wine,” a female announced to Hailey, pushing her card at her as she turned her head, the red gleam in her eyes lighting up as she watched the man walk away, bleeding into the crowd. “My– my.” She gaped, nearly unseating herself.

Hailey pulled out a small bottle to hand to her as she slid the card off the bar. She looked to see what she was talking about. “Sheila- no…” she said, looking at her.

“Oh Hai,” she drawled, sucking on her pinky nail before clacking her teeth over it. “He’s like an open buffet, surely you aren’t going to tell me not to follow. Besides… I’ve been waiting for a thrall night,” she told her, standing up as she nearly missed the bottle with her hands, but found it absentmindedly before she dragged it off the glass countertop.

“A what?” she asked, taken back. She blinked as it dawned on her then. The blood left her face. How the hell did a human get in here? “It’s not,” she growled, sliding back her card as she quickly went to walk around the bar.

“No?” Sheila asked as she took a drink. She drank down a small sip, but it seemed to be lost on her as her interest waned. “I guess… I guess I’ll have to be quick if I want a handle on him,” she smirked, laughing to herself as she snatched her card up in trade for her drink to follow after him. Her hand was stuffing the plastic thing between her breasts as she wiped her hands on her thighs.

Hailey’s glowing blue eyes searched the crowd trying to find him quickly. She caught sight of the unruly auburn curls and zeroed in on him. “Hey!” she called after him, quickly grabbing for his wrist.

Sheila was slipping up to him right at that moment, catching his attention before he could turn to Hailey. “Hey there,” she smiled, staring at him. “Want to come with me?”

Tristan blinked, as if caught unawares between the two of them. He stared at the woman hard, as if his mind was trying to tug away, to discern the meaning to her words and how it hit him. “S-Sure?” He wasn’t sure, but his eyes were starting to glaze over.

“No!” Hailey shoved between them, facing Sheila. “You can’t do that here, Sheila. Break it now!”

She tsked at her in annoyance, rolling her eyes. “Such a bore,” she sighed, letting him go. “Another time, dollface. When you’re less… occupied.” She glanced at Hailey with almost a near glower before turning to bleed back into the fray of dancing bodies.

Tristan blinked, snapping from the daze to look around quickly. “Shit,” he breathed in amazement as he felt his thoughts come rushing back. Such a jarring feeling. What was that? He turned to look at Hailey, his brows knitting together before a grin formed on his lips. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but I prefer an honest ‘let me buy you a drink’ before you start getting handsy with the goods.”

She worked her jaw, her nostrils flared. She politely grabbed him by the front of his shirt, catching the sprinkling of chest hair before dragging him through the bar to the exit to toss him outside.

He grimaced, trying to tug back to pry her hand off, but she had a pretty good death grip on the shirt and his hair. “Yikes, fuck- don’t… grab so hard.”

“You’re a fucking idiot!” she snapped at him.

He stumbled out the door, turning to catch himself and turn on her. What strength for a tiny little thing. He blinked at her, in light astonishment. “Yeah, I’m not finding the relevance in this,” he told her, squinting at her. “If this is your idea of a date. I’m not impressed.”

“Shut up! Do you have a death wish?”

He snorted at that, rolling his eyes as he fixed his shirt. “Oh come on sweetheart, surely you’re not that concerned for a stranger like me?” he laughed, leveling a look at her as he wagged a brow at her. Like I’m letting some little bitch tell me what I’m fucking doing.

“You-” She almost screamed. “You really are that fucking stupid!”

He scoffed, putting his arms around his chest before lifting one to mimic her squawking with his hand. “Yeah yeah, anyway. When are you going to just admit you want it? I’m sure this works with all the other drunk ones, but you haven’t buttered me up with enough alcohol yet, baby cakes.”

“Oh!” She screamed. “You’re- Do you even know what this place is?”

“A club. I’m not dense,” he told her, shrugging. Where was she going with this?

“How did you get in?” she asked.

He smirked at that, “You would ask, wouldn’t you?” he asked her, a defiance lighting in his eyes as he rubbed his hand over his jaw and the neatly trimmed hair of his beard. “Look. You look the other way, go back in and wag your ass for a few more tips. I might slip one in your pocket if you stop screaming at me and we can both go about our businesses unless you want to… You know?” he laughed, unable to help himself despite not continuing.

Hailey flared her nostrils again and wanted so badly to just punch him in the face. Her fists tightened painfully at her sides. “If I look the other way you’ll be dead by morning. Go home. Don’t come back.” She relaxed her fists then

There was a thought! “Dead by morning, huh?” he asked curiously as he stroked his beard, contemplating it. “Meh, go on a date with me and I’ll give up.” For the night. “Then, maybe, I’ll be more apt to oblige the little lady.”

“You wish, pretty boy,” she scoffed.

His eyes lit up at that, staring at her in surprise. “Me?” he scoffed. “Oh, you really are a fucking treat.” Tristan stepped up to her, towering over her by a bit. “Make me,” he told her firmly, leaving it to her to try to discern his expression.

She glared up at him, her jaw working as she pushed her tongue into her cheek. “Don’t,” she growled.

“Oh, please, enough with the tough act, baby girl. I’m not intimidated by a little thing like you. Take the offer,” he told her, running his tongue over his teeth carefully. “Or go find another dick to ride.”

Her eyebrow twitched up, and before she could stop herself she punched him across the face.

Tristan expected it, almost at least, but it felt so much worse. Like he just got decked by another guy his size if not more as he saw white flash and his jaw clacked. Black hit him faster than he could manage out before fell back, rocked by the blow and hit the ground sprawled out flat on his back.

“God dammit!” she yelled. Now what the fuck was she supposed to do? She took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She pulled her phone out and called a cab for this stupid human before bending down to search his pockets. Finding his wallet, she looked through it for his license. “Tristan… fucking dumb ass.” At least she had an address to give the cab driver when they showed up. She thumbed through… Hopefully this was enough cash to get him home.

Hell of a Wake Up

Tristan hated how he woke up to the sound of a cab driver screaming at him. He didn’t remember how the fuck he got there, but the payment wasn’t cheap, nor was it cheap when he went back to see his car towed. “That bitch,” he growled, rubbing his jaw sorely as he grimaced and passed through a side door he saw open up on the side of the building. He wasn’t sure if security would be looking out for him, but catching the door open to slip in would be a cinch.

He turned his head, looking from behind him to slam right into a guy with sharp green eyes and black hair.

“Fuck, watch it, asshole,” he growled at him.

Tristan blinked, straightening up as he grimaced, one side of his mouth tugging up but it was less of a smile and more of a sarcastic curve of his lip. “Yeah?” he asked before he felt the slam of a fist into his chest. He didn’t even get the chance to stumble, knocked from his feet by a man clearly thinner than him before slamming into the ground and rolling over himself. “Fuck, these… guys don’t play around,” he scoffed, dragging himself up as he grabbed for his knife.

“You rolled his ass,” the black eyed man beside him cackled with similar black hair. “Damn, he must be fresh or stupid. I can’t tell.”

“Want to try again?” Tristan asked, cracking a grin at the two as he watched them look at each other before they turned on him.

He wasn’t sure who won that fight, but he was stumbling into the club after it all from that same side door, thankful it wasn’t locked. He shoved his hair back out of his face, sighing with relief that he’d managed to hook the blade across the cheek of the green-eyed one before catching the ear of the other. Guess being pretty meant a lot to one of them. “Fools,” he grunted, staggering into a wall for a second to groan. God, these people… really were inhuman. Why was he doing this again? Ryan. Ryan was why. He had to remind himself of that before he slipped into the crowd, coming up to the bar. Why the bar? Fuck, he wasn’t entirely sure other than the promise of something to ease the quench of his parched throat, burning from the heat of his burning lungs. His head was pounding and he couldn’t think straight. “Water,” he called, slapping down whatever little amount of bills he had in his pocket onto the counter.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hailey asked, her voice a high-pitched whisper as she came over to him.

“Asking for water,” he told her. “And if you don’t serve it, give me something harder than rum.” He really wasn’t in the best spirits to argue with her quite yet. He needed to get his head to stop ringing first.

She grabbed a water bottle from under the bar. “Now leave!”

“Baby girl,” he breathed. “If you could just not screech at the top of your lungs for once, I think my head would appreciate it a lot more than you know right now.” He pulled the bottle towards himself to crack it open and start chugging it. The ice cold water burned at first, making him nearly choke, but after a moment it only brought him a comforting relief. If only it was on his head instead.

There he goes again. “I’m not screeching. Do I need to remove you again, or are you going to be a good boy and get the fuck out?”

He scoffed at the remark, hardly perturbed by it. “Good boy?” Hardly. “You know… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that little sucker punch you laid on me last night,” he started, closing the water bottle to press the remaining liquid in it against his temple. “Mm, man, that smarts.”

“Sucker punch,” she snorted. “You think you can talk to me like that again, I’ll do more than lay you out,” she growled.

“So violent. I wonder how many guys find their kink in that,” he told her in light annoyance as the pain bled away for a moment and his vision cleared. He found himself blinking a few times as the clarity came over him to stare at her a little more. The blue eyes. Ah, he remembered that cute little plump face of hers. The speckle of a few freckles dotted her face, her short hair seemed to wave away from her face, parted to one side. “You’re cute, but I’m not sure I find your little violent streak too hot, babe. You’re going to have to clean that act up if you want to get laid.”

“You’re going to find yourself dead if you keep coming back here.” Her expression softened a little. “Please, just go home.”

“You’re not my keeper,” he told her, sitting up then to push off the counter. “Besides, I’m not here just to dick around like you think. If I die, then I guess I die.” He wasn’t planning on it, not till he put his little brother’s name to rest, then he’d figure out what he’d do with himself afterwards.

“That’s awfully morbid of you,” she said, crossing her arms. “What are you trying to accomplish? Why are you here?”

“I told you already,” he told her. “I don’t spill out my problems to strangers. Take me on a date and we can talk. Maybe… Just maybe I might let you in on a thing or two,” he told her, putting the bottle on the counter. “Anyway, thanks for the water. I’ll see you around.” He pushed off the counter, stepping back from her. He smirked. “Good luck with your little uh… bartending or whatnot.” Seemed like she did a little more than that, not that he minded it so much anymore. She wasn’t that bad on the second round.

“Wait!” She watched him go and huffed. “Fine… I’m not your fucking keeper,” she grumbled before getting back to work.

“Is… Is he good?” Adam asked in light surprise as he walked up to the bar. He was pretty new to the scene, but considering how new this was to him, he was doing his best to get used to working as a stagehand in the back and switching gears out of human society. “David asked for more water. Said he’s dying under the stage. Can you pass me a case?” he asked, turning to look back behind him. That guy looked like hell.

“Not really,” she sighed before pulling a case up from under the bar. “Tell David, he can grab one of these when he gets here and keep it backstage.”

“You know he can’t leave that stage,” Adam told her, smiling at her sympathetically. “They practically tethered him to it.”

“He doesn’t sleep there…” She said unamused.

He smiled more, not answering that. “I won’t spoil that,” he told her, glancing away. His eyes shot up to the crowd, noticing that guy had slipped off somewhere. “Do you want me to watch the bar? Or should I get security?”

“Tell him, or he can die of thirst and heat exhaustion.” She gave Adam a look. “And you can tell him I said that.”

He glanced back at her, ripping his attention from the crowd. “Hailey, you don’t have to be such a hard ass. Lighten up.” He took the case from her. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind getting it if that stupid platform got replaced. It breaks like every other night and he’s always fixing it and working the fog machines. Give him a break.”

She snorted. “I’ll ask the boss to get it replaced again, but he’s just going to say the same thing he always does. David just needs to get better at fixing it.”

“Pfft, right. Or he could just buy new equipment instead of shit off the used thrift apps he loves so much,” he told her. “I’ve heard it enough times around here and it’s only been a few weeks.” He chuckled at that. “Well, anyway. Good luck with that and uh… good luck with your beat up buddy. He looks like he just got out of a good work out fight.”

“My?” she snorted and rolled her eyes. As if.

He laughed more, shaking his head at her before walking away. Adam went back to the left stage as he paused, seeing Jeremiah and Farrah. “Hey!”

“Can’t talk! I’m late!” Farrah waved, slipping off from Jeremiah’s side who was going under the stage. She was sliding up to the bar. “Sorry I’m late, Hai. Jere had to pick me up because my car broke down again.” She was sliding up beside her, smiling weakly knowing it was only half of the excuse. Her boyfriend had a habit of… Well, taking his anger out on her things.

“It’s fine. It hasn’t been that busy tonight,” she told her, having an idea of what was going on, but not wanting to press it. “At least you’re here now.” She gave her a small smile.

She smiled weakly at that, knowing Hailey was being kind. Heath was a bit of an ass most nights, but Hailey was nice enough to not tear into her about him like everyone else did. “I’ll make it up to you tonight. You can go on a double fifteen. I won’t tell,” she told her softly. “Just um… Take the trash out or whatever and I’ll cover your back.”

“Alright. I’ve got to go grab another case of bloodwine. You good?” she asked her.

“I’m fine,” she smiled at her, repressing a wince. “Just. Go. I’ve got this.”

Hailey nodded and walked around the bar to start heading for the back where they kept the extra cases of blood wine and beer.

The back door was open, left cracked just right beside the storage door and the breeze from outside was drifting in, ice cold against the hot hair from the club.

Hailey stopped seeing the door open. “For fucks sake.” Was this how that idiot kept getting in? She stepped out to check and see if it was open for some reason.

There was the sound of a glass bottle skittering across the ground. Tristan was holding his head in his hands, feeling his head ringing as he tried to take in the cold air from outside. He was sitting on the ground outside the door, keeping it propped open with a milk crate. Fuck, my head won’t stop ringing. They really had kicked the piss out of him, hadn’t they?

Hailey sighed. Why didn’t this guy just leave? “You need me to call you a cab again?” she asked, crossing her arms as she stared down at him.

He laughed, shaking his head at her slowly. “No, but if you could leave me alone for a bit that’d be great,” he told her thickly, his smile quickly fading. “Gah, my head.” It hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit.

She rolled her eyes as she uncrossed her arms, running a hand through her shoulder length hair to push it to one side of her head. “Hey, look at me,” she told him, gently taking his face to get a look in his eyes.

“Why?” he winced, forcing a laugh despite it being mirthless and the sound coming off as more sarcastic than anything. “You plan to kiss me or something?” He stared into her eyes, one eye closing from the forming black eye.

“I’m checking to see if you need to go to the hospital. What happened to you?” she asked, concern bleeding into her tone.

“Hospital?” he asked, tilting his head back to yank it from her grip. “Mm, no. I’m afraid not.” He was pushing her hands from his head. “The only place I plan to go to is back inside when my head stops ringing.”

“Well, that’s likely not going to happen since I’m willing to bet you have a concussion.”

“Concussion con-” he rolled his eyes, unable to drag up something to retort with. He put his hands over his knees. “Tell me, you know a guy named Laurence?” he asked her. “If you do… That’s all I need. I’ll go on quietly if you just give me that. Promise.”

“Laurence?” She thought about it for a second. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

“Damn,” he cursed, sinking against the wall more. “I know he comes here a lot,” he breathed. “Fucker.” He closed his eyes for a moment, slipping out of it for a moment before blinking to open his eyes wide, turning his head slowly. “I need to go back in there then,” he breathed, pushing himself up slowly off the wall.

“Hey, wait,” Hailey said gently. “What are you gonna do when you see this guy?”

“Don’t worry about it baby girl, that’s not your concern,” he breathed, smiling as he stood up. He stared at the door before turning to peel himself off the wall to go for it.

She pushed against his shoulder to keep him from going back inside. “Will you stop? You’re really not looking good.”

He grabbed her wrist to tug her closer, his face close to hers. “If you plan to keep touching me, I’m going to take it as an advance,” he breathed, staring down at her, his eyes barely able to focus. When did everything get so blurry?

She craned her head back as she stared at him. “Um- it’s not. Let go,” she told him.

“You started it, grabbing my face. Getting in my personal space,” he murmured, leaning in closer. He didn’t let go of her, his footing faltering as he tried to catch himself while tugging her under him so he didn’t fall on top of her. Shit. It’s getting worse. He opened his eyes, realizing the other one wasn’t opening now and he was cursing himself for being dumb enough to challenge the two guys from earlier even if they didn’t look threatening enough. Gotta make a note… Not to think humans and these… guys are on the same level as me.

She gasped when he stumbled into her. “Alright. We’re going to the hospital,” she said, pushing against him a little to try and shift to get under one arm to help keep him up.

He snorted, rolling his one open as the other was barely cooperating. “You think you’re taking me to the hospital?” he laughed, his grip on her tightening to make it difficult for her to turn under him. “Mm, I don’t think so.”

“You’re in no position to fight with me, Tristan. We’re going.”

So it was her, blowing his money on the cab last night too. Had to have been. He never told her his name. “You sneaky cherub,” he laughed, tilting his head back before sighing sadly. “You cost me a lot of money on that fare,” he told her, now that he remembered it. She also cost him his car and wherever it was impounded. He was turning his head down, the glistening brown curls bouncing over his face neatly as he grabbed her cheek to have her look at him. “You owe me big time for that,” he told her, leaning in to press his lips hard against hers before opening his mouth. His eyes shut tight.

She was about to say something when he kissed her. She opened her eyes wide, trying to pull back again, but he had her face. “Mm!” she gasped.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the swollen one doing its best, as he ran his tongue over her teeth, feeling her pull back before he started to falter, his legs tangling up with hers as he stumbled back with her, pushing her towards the center of the alley then tugging back to the wall. Fuck. The world was starting to spin and he was afraid to open his eyes as he felt a sting on his tongue, making him yank back to let her go.

Hailey pushed away from him and glared. “You fucker,” she growled. “Now you’re really going.” She grabbed him by the shoulder of his shirt to drag him out of the ally towards the parking lot.

Tristan tried to yank back, his legs moving in weak and awkward steps as he tried to keep himself upright. His left eye opened to glimpse her. “Do I–” he felt the pain get worse and he hissed, grabbing his head as the burning sensation on his tongue intensified. “Fuck,” he rasped, grabbing his head.

“Yes, you have to,” she snapped at him. She pulled him along, none-to-gently towards her car.

“Y-You always start dates this way?” he asked, closing his eyes as he nearly slapped up against the side of her car, grabbing it for support before he slid down the height of it. “Fuck, my head,” he rasped, feeling the top of his head where the nice lump was coming to shape finally.

“It’s either I take you or an ambulance,” she said. Let’s see how he feels about that bill.

He scrunched his nose at that. “Yeah, sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got plenty racked up enough with those guys. I’m sure they’d love another bill.” He glanced at her, slowly sliding down the car to the concrete beneath his feet. “You’re better off just taking me home, putting an ice pack on it and c-call” the sharp pain coming over him had him pausing to muscle through it “-ing it good.”

“You haven’t even bought me dinner. I’m not going back to your place,” she quipped. “Hospital.” She opened the door to her back seat. “In.”

“T-Tell you what, you can have my dinner if they’re still serving,” he croaked in mockery of her retort. She was finally catching on at least. He frowned, groaning as he lifted himself up, swaying from side to side a little. “A-And what about p-people like yourself… Just running around, bludgeoning anyone as they like. Y-You go to hospitals too?”

“People like me?” she asked, her eyebrow arched. She rolled her eyes and grabbed him, pushing his head down as she shoved him into the car. “Just stop talking.”

He winced, unable to push her off as her hand touched his head, making him yank back and smack his head on the door frame of the car till he was falling back in the seat. “Damn, so rough,” he groaned, giving in as he laid back on the seat, putting his legs up to curl into himself. If he wasn't hurting so bad, he might have said more but he couldn't gather his thoughts.

“I-” she breathed out hard through her nose, before shutting the door to climb into the driver’s seat to start the car. “You at least know how to put a seatbelt on, right?” she asked, staring at him through the rearview mirror.

“Aw, you’re worried,” he rasped, covering his eyes with his arm. “That’s so sweet.”

“Obviously! I’m taking you to the hospital!”

He groaned, running his tongue over his teeth in discomfort as he started to move his legs more, trying to get comfortable. “Hospitals are– nice,” he told her, losing his train of thought a little as he grit his teeth, feeling the heat come up through him, really pressing in. He almost felt a fever starting to come on.

She buckled her seatbelt before pulling out of the parking spot to leave. She kept glancing at him through the mirror. “Don’t throw up in my car.”

“I would– never,” he gasped out, opening his eyes as he felt how bright the lights suddenly felt. “But God is it hot in here,” he told her, feeling the prickle of his skin against his clothes and the seat beneath him.

She looked at the temperature gauge on her dash. She sighed and turned the AC on for him.

He went quiet after that, drifting for a bit till they got up to the hospital. A thirty minute drive wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t feel like he was dying in his own clothing, sweating up a storm nearly as he tugged on his shirt, trying to weakly shed his overcoat. “So…” he started, trying to stir himself awake.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot, thankful that this late at night it wasn’t as busy, so she could find a spot pretty close. She turned the car off and looked back at him. “Hey, we’re here.”

He smiled at that. “I thought you knew my name,” he breathed, barely coming back to.

“So what?” she asked. She turned the AC off, finally starting to feel the bite of cold air. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He tried to force a laugh, a low, breathy yet sorrowful plea for relief. “Is it always this hot when you get hit?” he asked, feeling the black taking hold. He wasn’t sure how much of this made sense, but he felt like he was slipping away as the darkness started creeping up. “Or is it just you?”

“Ha ha.” She rolled her eyes, but then turned around to really look at him.

He winced, his mouth tugging down. “Because if not, my head is fucking splitting,” he told her, licking his tongue against his corner of his mouth before running his tongue over his bottom lip. “And everything feels like it’s starting to heat up. It’s… I can’t even describe it.”

She watched him and noticed the little bit of blood on his tongue. Dread hit her so hard, it nearly knocked the breath from her. “Oh shit. No. No. God dammit!” She growled. She turned to push between the seats to take his face. “Did-” how the hell was she supposed to word this? “Did you cut your tongue when you kissed me earlier?”

Tristan laughed at that. “You bit me, what are you talking about?” he asked, unable to open his eyes anymore. It all hurt too much.

“Fuck!” she wheezed. “You fucking idiot!” she snapped at him. “Fuck!” She pulled back into the front seat of the car and gripped the steering wheel so tightly it groaned. “AH!” She couldn’t believe it. She pulled a fucking Warren!

He winced, her voice blaring against his ears. “P-Please lower your voice, my head can’t take much more,” he groaned.

She grit her teeth so hard it hurt. “Guess we’re going back to your place,” she growled.

"Fun," he rasped in pain.

It’s Impolite to Kiss and Tell

Hailey rolled her eyes as she dragged Tristan out of the back seat of her car. "Wake up! Just a little longer!" She groaned.

“Ugh,” he groaned, his eyes rolling as she hefted him up. His body felt so heavy. “D-Doll, just drop me off…” he was mumbling, barely coherent. “We can dance at your club some other time.” He felt feverish, hot, and sweat was starting to bead up on his forehead as he tried to open his eyes into the night, a low metallic gleam already starting to sliver in his eyes.

She looked at him. "Yeah… can't do that." She grumped. "If you die- I swear!"

“Die,” he breathed as if more questioning it than anything. Tristan started turning his head as it fell on his shoulder and he felt his legs tumble from the car. “Babe. I’m not going anywhere till I get my hands on that sick son-of-a-bitch,” he grunted, trying to push himself up awkwardly as his knees bent. He groaned, hating the feeling that was coming on. “Fuck,” he rasped. He was going to throw up, everything was blaring so loudly at him.

"Oh no. If you're going to blow chunks do it that way," she said, turning him away from her as she tried to get him to the front door.

He wheezed, hating that it was coming up in such a blind state of pain before he threw up, catching himself on the ground as his back heaved and his palms hit something cold. Concrete? He wasn’t sure, but he knew his stomach was evacuating everything he just ate.

She let him fall to the ground but made sure he didn't fall over into his vomit. She winced and looked away. "You'll feel better once we get you inside." She frowned. Hopefully he had pain meds and at least an ice pack. A cold shower would help, but she was afraid he'd drown.

“What?” he asked her, trying to pry his eyes open as he staggered to his feet, stumbling over the fresh bile mixed with his drink and anything he’d had prior. He hated the smell that assaulted his nose, the smell sharp and harsh till he was scrunching his nose at her. “You… took me to your–” he wheezed, laughing weakly as he stumbled up to the door. Why did it feel familiar? He was reaching out, pawing at the wall before he found a handle and somehow he was almost certain he was home. Tristan groaned, slamming his shoulders into the door to slide down it and to the ground. “Fucking God, I feel like shit!” He hated it.

Hailey leaned down and took his face to catch his eyes. "I know," she frowned. "Where are your keys? I'll help you inside, get you something for the pain, and try and help you cool down." She knew he wouldn't get much relief tonight though.

So he was home? “Pocket,” he rasped, trying to move his left hand up that wasn’t sandwiched against the door to feel his left coat pocket for the opening. He sighed, wondering if this strange woman was going to help him or just make his night that much worse. He wasn’t entirely sure, but she was a nice treat when he was feeling extra worse for wear. “You mind… explaining why you’re… following me home when you rejected my passes every time before? Or should I just have feigned being sick to get you to go along with me?” he asked, laughing hoarsely. I really don’t want to remember any of this. God, he was certain he looked pathetic.

She rolled her eyes. "I'll explain tomorrow. When you're feeling better." She pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. "Come on, pretty boy. Just a little further and you can lay down."

“Pretty boy,” he grumbled, groaning as he shifted his weight to his calves, pushing himself up from the ground. “You-” he tried to remember what he was going to say, crashing into the wall and knocking down his picture frame hanging above him to grab the wall as he started to laugh. Tristan stared at the couch ahead of him, seeing the blurry form of its shape ahead before walking towards it to flop down on it, not even bothering to go for his room. “Just the leave key,” he started to tell her, pulling a hand up to point at the kitchen “on the table. I’ll find them tomorrow.” He didn’t expect her to stay.

She shut the door behind her and walked to the kitchen, but didn't set the key down to leave. Instead, she looked through his cabinets quickly to find a glass for water and then a bottle of pain meds. "At least they're all in one place," she sighed. She filled the glass with water and took it out to him on the couch. "Take these real quick," she told him gently.

He lifted his head, groaning before turning his head with his eyes closed. “You know, if you want to be a real doll for me, you could just do me the simple favor of just knocking me the fuck out instead of prodding and poking at me like you’re my nurse and I’m a geriatric patient.” He groaned, turning over onto his back before pushing himself up to lean on the back of the couch, beckoning for the glass to be put in his hands as he wasn’t planning to open his eyes anytime soon. It’s not like he could see through all the pain and the headache with the blaring colors and noises.

She breathed a laugh at that. "Mm, you'll thank me for this later." She took his face to make him look at her. "Rest," she ordered him.

Tristan barely had his eyes open, squinting at her as he heard her voice. So soft and melodic almost, the words coming from her lips almost in a sort of trance-like vibration that settled over him till he realized himself and he was yanking upright god-only-knows how long later. “Fuck!” he rasped, jerking up into a sitting position. He grabbed his head quickly. “Dammit!” He turned quickly, shuffling his phone from his coat pocket to check the time. How long had he been out?

Hailey was at the kitchen table sipping at a cup of coffee. She'd taken it upon herself to make a pot knowing he might be waking up soon.

He was checking his phone’s messages, but the only thing on there was that the tow yard that had taken his vehicle had finally reached out and there was a bill being invoiced to it if he wanted it back at the current rate with the operating hours. He made a sarcastic roll of the eyes at it, the beater car probably wasn’t worth it, but it was the principal of it. “God, she’s cost me more than enough,” he grumbled, scraping his hand through his hair when he heard the sound of porcelain coming to rest on wood. The sound was so acute to his ears that he yanked his head quickly in her direction, his chest rising and falling in a light panic at her presence. “What are you doing here? No, why are you still here?” he asked her, one assault of a question after the next, his mouth primed to spill more. Why the fuck did he pass out so easily like a baby after hearing her speak a word to him? He hadn’t slept that well in months prior to this point.

She had her legs crossed as she leaned over the table to hold the coffee cup. "There's a lot we have to talk about. Go ahead and get yourself a cup." She had her hair pulled all to one side messily, but it still looked nice. She looked tired though, like she hasn't slept much.

Tristan just stared at her, the immediate shock only barely beginning to settle into him as he yanked himself up from the couch. "Nice to see you made yourself at home," he griped sourly, stalking into his kitchen as he felt a painful yet gnawing hunger rip through him. Damn, if I wasn't so jacked up, I could take this better but I can't think straight. He ignored the prospect of coffee to reach for the nearly stale yet not quite molding bread for two slices. White bread of course, because anything healthy was far from his mind. He stared at her, leaning against the fridge. "You've got a lot of gall, seating yourself at my table and telling me to serve myself when you've clearly made strides to make yourself comfortable. Speaking of… I'm not the glitzy type so just spit it out." He wanted her out. He wasn't in the mood for this, though if he was being honest, his buddy was doing a lot more than craving sustenance.

She took a drink, her eyebrow twitching up at his attitude. "You're a Lycan now," she said, getting straight to the point. "I'm assuming you know what that means." She lowered the cup with a soft clink to the table.

Tristan scoffed at her. "The fuck I am," he shot back at her. "You told me I'd end up dead. I didn't do anything that would have ended up turning me-" he paused, his eyes rolling up as he started to try to remember last night, but most of it was a haze.

She blinked. "You forced a kiss on me last night and cut your tongue on my fang." She worked her jaw.

He rolled his eyes sharply at that. "Yeah, I remember that more now." He didn't really want to, though. Great. "Well, I guess that solves that. Great. So now what? Strolls under full moons then? Might eat the neighbor's cat or something?" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That's what you think we do?" she scoffed and rolled her eyes. She sat back in the chair and toyed with the coffee cup. "You'll be able to shift whenever you want. We're not controlled by the moon cycles. And you could eat the neighbor's cat, doesn't mean you'd enjoy it."

"Noted. I'll make sure I get shit faced the next time I want a night of fun if I can just do it on command." He bounced back at her. She wasn't going to just sass him without consequence. "I don't know what the hell you do, baby cakes, I just know I don't want to be rolling naked in the mud by the next morning. Why are you so concerned as to stick around anyway? Drinking my damn coffee." That was expensive coffee grounds too.

"I'm a bartender." She told him. She sighed and got up to take her cup to the sink.

"Ah, my bad. I missed the bit where bar and tender means sitting your plump ass in my chair and sipping on my coffee like you're some Brit with their tea and biscuits or whatever the hell they eat."

"First off, I stayed because you could have died last night. There was no guarantee you would have survived turning. I needed to be here in case anything happened. And to explain to you what you are. Second-"

"I'm going to have to just stop you right there." He cut her off. He laughed, covering his face before laughing hoarsely again. "So, let me get this straight. You, this pretty little sweet bartender who's knocked me out, used my cash on her whim and got my car impounded because she took it upon herself to be so troublesome before, is donning the mantle of dark instructor of the 'Lycan' or whatever it is you call yourself?" He laughed harder. "You're out of your gourd if you think I'm going to just take that-" he was laughing so hard, he was almost in tears. "Fucking hell. This girl." Tristan wiped a few years from his eyes, blinking as he stared up at the ceiling.

"What are you planning on doing then?" She asked, crossing her arms to stare at him. She was so glad he thought this was funny, because she was pissed. She was trying to do the right thing to, by not abandoning him, but this cocky little…

"Whatever the hell I want sweet cheeks, so keep your little nosey ass on your side of the fence." He looked down at his hand then and his brows rose, a curious thought hitting him. This could be advantageous. It'd make killing that mother-fucker ten times easier.

"I'd love to! But because I turned you- I can't just leave you to do God knows what."

"Says who? You?" He arched a brow at her. "Look. I don't need some puny blonde or whatever riding my ass about the do's and don'ts. Unfortunately for you, the only riding I'm ever going to allow is probably something I'm sure you're too afraid to admit you want." He glanced her up and down then.

She huffed out a hard breath and rubbed her forehead. "You realize it was your advancement that put you in this position right?" She turned glowing blue eyes on him.

"Oh, I'm perfectly aware. I have a sentient brain doll, I can put two and two together. This works in my favor. I'm hardly perturbed. What are you fretting about? Unless you wanted to continue that kiss…" he smirked at her.

"No! I'm just- I don't know why you keep making passes." She held her hand up. "Don't-"

"Because it's hot to see you pissed, trying to act tough. Look, your eyes are even glowing like you're going to burn a hole in my soul." He licked his lips carefully, watching her. She was grabbing his attention, but probably not the way she wanted.

And he did anyway… "If only." She sighed and pushed her hair to the other side of her face. "I'll help get your car out of the yard, and-" God what else was she going to do? How was she supposed to do this? "Help you learn to shift and tell you whatever you want to know. Then I'll be out of your hair."

"Mm, see– You say that, but I'm not sure I'm entirely sold." He was scratching at his beard and then running his hand around his mouth. "I don't care about the second bit, but I am curious how you put my ass to sleep like you did last night. What was that about?" He didn't really care to learn to 'shift' or whatever it was she was talking about. He assumed she meant turn into a werewolf, but he wasn't sure when he'd ever need that.

"I'm your sire. I have a level of control over you. You literally asked me to knock you out." She watched him, waiting for his reaction.

His eyes lit up, a toothy grin spreading between his lips. "Yeah, I'm not sure I like the sounds of that." He pushed himself up off the fridge, tossing the half eaten and uneaten bread slices on the counter to walk up to her. "I'm not exactly keen on the idea of a tiny little babe like you wielding power and control over me at the flick of the tongue." He stepped up to her then, cornering her against his counter. "Why should I trust you not to take advantage of that?" She was a perfect stranger to him.

"I understand why you wouldn't trust me. I have no interest in controlling you though. I'm not a vampire… I don't need a mindless thrall doing whatever I want." She pushed against his chest. "Don't. I have two older brothers. I'll lay your ass out without having to command you."

He didn't budge. He was staring down at her with curious eyes and that devilish smirk that was enhanced by his lengthened canines. "You mean like the last cheapshot you planted on my jaw?"

She arched her brow at him, a smirk playing on her lips. "Cheap?"

"I mean, come on. Only women and losers make passes like that. You think I'm scared?"

"You were surprised I would punch you after the comment you made? Not my fault you underestimated my strength." Her arms crossed again.

"You hit me, clacked my teeth together -thankfully I didn't break any - and you want to justify that? Baby girl, if you wanted to wrestle and fight me. All you needed to do was jump on my lap and I would have let you do whatever you wanted."

She grit her teeth hearing him. "You self-centered- Oh!" She shoved him away from her. "Quit pushing. Quit being a vulgar prick."

He let her push him back this time, but he only adjusted himself with a step off her. "I'm self-centered? Ha! You were the one who rolled up at me with that little fucking attitude of yours at the bar. You want me to not be vulgar, then don't pretend you're willing to get down and dirty with the boys. You're clearly not. If you want to be treated like a lady, fix that little scowl on your face and correct your mannerisms." He shot back.

She raised her brows. "It's not about getting 'dirty with the boys'. I'll hold my own in a scrap any day. Tell me you, you tell 'the boys' to ride your dick too?"

He smirked, unable to refrain from the laughter that spilled out of his mouth. "Your brothers must baby you a lot. I can tell. You have no idea what kinds of guys are out there if you're fretting over a few 'vulgar' words."

She growled at him. "Maybe you'd be more enticing if you didn't talk like that." She shoved at him.

"God, you're violent." He grabbed her wrists to stop her. "Why don't you just admit it? You don't know how to feel comfortable being a woman. Being pretty and vulnerable without all the malice and bite."

"Don't fucking corner me and I won't be." She growled, ripping her wrist back.

He let her go, watching her twist free and he put his hands up. He didn't roll his eyes for once, though. "Or you could just be nice without being such a bitch and I might feel more inclined to. Honestly," he scoffed.

"I was being nice! You woke up being fucking shitty."

That was agreeable. He nodded to that. "Fair enough. I did, but I guess being reminded my shit is impounded after barely remembering my trip home kind of has that kind of impact on a person. But I'll shoulder that burden because I know you won't."

"I just told you I'd help you!" She took a breath and turned to walk out of the kitchen.

He watched her go. Tristan tapped his finger on his arm slowly. "You want to make up for this? You want to make this less of a shit show for yourself?" he called after her, seeing how far she was going to go.

She turned to look at him, her arms crossed. She cocked her head to the side ready to hear what he was going to say. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he wouldn't make another pass or be a shit for once.

"Go with me, right now, to pick up my car. And you can teach me whatever it is your heart desires to satisfy your needs of being my whatever you call it, and then you butt out of my personal affairs and we can amicably both part ways. I won't make you responsible for me" he put his hand against his chest "or whatever I do with myself and you won't have to chase me out into the side alley of your work. Deal? And I'll be nicer to you, okay, babygirl?"

"Deal." That wasn't bad. That was honestly what she wanted anyway. "Ready to go when you are."

He stared at her, holding his hand out. "Shake on it," he added, a brow twitching up. He wasn't letting her off that easily. Watching her squirm a little did bring him a bit of joy.

She rolled her eyes and took his hand to shake on it.

"Atta' girl," he laughed. "Not so bad, now is it?" He shook her hand and let her go then.

She pulled her hand back. "Is it?" She quipped back.

"I think so. You're cuter that way." He walked to his bedroom. "Now, if you don't mind me. I'm changing out of my clothes. So… no peeking." He wagged a finger at her before going into his room, shutting the door behind him.

She rolled her eyes again and went to sit on the couch and wait for him.

Tristan shrugged a dark green v-neck t-shirt on, a fresh jacket and dark blue straight leg jeans. He was pretty happy to not be smelling like sweat before he came padding out of the room shrugging on one sock after the next. When they were on, he was musing his hair back, the thick waves of deep auburn and browns flopping back over his forehead. "I'm ready," he told her as he opened his coat closet to yank out a black waterproof jacket. The inner lining was plush and soft, making him relax a bit more before he fished his keys from his pockets to swap them into his coat.

Hailey stood up, and looked down. This is going to look great. She was still in her clothes from last night. Black skirt and black tank with fishnet sleeves. Oh well. "Alright," she sighed, heading for the door.

He glanced at her, pausing. “Do you want to borrow some clothes?” he asked, hanging back as she walked past him. He could tell from the look on her face that she was contemplating probably the very same thing he had after last night.

"Can I just borrow a jacket?" she asked.

Tristan stared at her, raising a brow. “What’s your size? I might still have some clothes left over from my little brother that would fit you better. And you can keep them, I won’t need them back.” Nor would his brother. He was dead so…

"It's okay," she said. She didn't know how to feel about wearing some strangers' clothes.

“Better they get use anyway, it’s not like he needs them anymore. It’s an open ended offer, take it or leave it,” he sighed, stepping back to go into the closet. “He’s dead, so… You don’t have to feel bad about taking anything. He can’t use them where he went,” he explained, the inflection in his voice flat.

Hailey blinked at how blunt he was. "I'm sorry," she frowned. Wearing a dead strangers' clothes didn't make it better.

“It’s fine. Most of it was new anyway,” he mumbled, his lip tugging up at the end as the growing disappointment hit his voice and features. “Most of it was meant for his birthday, but eh… Shit happens I guess.” Not really. His own internal thoughts pushed, but he wasn’t trying to sound vulnerable.

She watched him, seeing the hurt and looked away. "I-If you think they'd fit," she said quietly. She wasn't going to argue.

“Come back this way then,” he told her, shutting the closet door. “I’ll get you a fresh jacket after.” He turned, walking back through the living room to the second door beside his bedroom door that he had entered into earlier to open it. The room was largely untouched, a little messy here and there with a desktop sitting on the far right, a bed on the left sandwiched up against the closet’s sliding door that was left open and four boxes sitting on the bed. “There’s long sleeves in the larger box,” he told her, going into the room to untie the box. The bit of dust settled on the top of it whipping up into the air. “And if I remember right, there’s jeans…” He tugged the shirts out and laid them neatly beside the box. A maroon long sleeve shirt with streaks of neat rows of tightly knitted fabric sat on top of a black and orange shirt. He dug out the black skinny jeans on the bottom and tossed them up on the shirt then looked over to the other bag to rip the wrapping paper off it and toss down the black crew neck shirts. “Take your pick, whatever works. Whatever you like. I’m tossing the rest in the trash when I get back to it anyway.” He pulled back. “I’ll give you a minute,” he told her before walking back to the door.

She watched him, feeling the cold detachedness as he sorted through the clothes. She waited for the door to close before she took the skinny jeans to pull them on. Surprisingly they fit. Happy with that she pulled the skirt off before shifting through the box of long sleeve shirts for the smallest one she could find. It was faded black, almost to the point it looked gray. She pulled her tank top off, the fishnet bunching and making her hair staticky. She slipped the shirt on, liking the feel of the cool fabric. There were holes in the bottom of the sleeves and she let her thumbs slip into them. This would work. She slipped her shoes back on and walked out. "Thanks. They actually fit pretty good."

“They ought to, you both looked about the same size,” Tristan told her. “Honestly,” he breathed, yanking open the closet. “You’re lucky he was a pretty lanky kid. Otherwise you’d be swimming in anything closer to my size.” A boy Ryan’s size, as thin as narrow as he was, barely made it into a medium, but then again… He was barely seventeen. “Agh,” he sighed in frustration, trying not to get all tied up about it as he let a heavy sigh rip from his mouth before tugging out a jacket. He was ripping the tags off it and turning to toss it gently at her. “And there’s a jacket. Good?” he asked.

She caught it and nodded. "Yeah." She slipped it on quickly, before going back to the kitchen table to grab her keys. "Ready."

“Good enough,” Tristan told her with a cold detachedness that seemed to have overtaken his mood. He slipped out the door, holding it open as the crisp morning air bit at his face and stung his ears. Birds were chirping in the distance and he made a rather distasteful grimace at the sound. I fucking hate mornings. He wished it was the afternoon, the evening even. Anything but the mornings, but he had always hated them.

A Cold Afternoon

“That’ll be four-hundred, eight-seven dollars and twenty-six cents.”

“Fucking scammers,” he growled, pulling his wallet out to flick through for his bills and card.

"Here," Hailey said, handing the person behind the counter her card.

“Thank you,” the cashier told her. “Do you want your receipt?”

"Yeah."

“Sure, give me a minute and I’ll get you that once this prints up.”

Tristan stood off to the side, staring at the yard as he waited for them to bring forward his car. “I hate these places, these fuckers don’t give a good god damn about anyone’s shit.” He was curious if he’d even be able to drive his shit box out of here.

Hailey took the receipt and folded it up, putting it in the pocket of the jacket. "I don't see why they would."

He perked up at the sound of machinery past the wire fence, the green bands weaving through it obscured his view and he was tempted to pluck out a few to see as the fence slid open and a forklift was driving his car out, then laying it down before him. He was working his jaw, staring at it. The bumper was hanging off on the rear, his seat belt tied around the steering wheel still and he walked up to it, yanking the driver door open to unwrap the damn thing.

“You’re going to need a tow,” the driver of the fork lift told him.

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t need,” Tristan shot back, sticking his key into the ignition before trying to start it. As soon as the car cranked over, he was slipping into the busted up seat, the stuffing coming out of it to check the center console. He stopped, turning to lean his head back out of the doorway. “Where’s my money clip?”

“What?”

“Where’s my– You know what, fuck you. Piss of man.” He slammed the door shut and tried to get it to go while rolling down the window, but the moment he put it into drive, he heard an awful whirring noise that made him stop. He tried to give it gas again, but the transmission just kept screaming till he banged his head on the steering wheel. He could hear the forklift driver going back into the yard. “It’s fucking all wheel drive, morons! You- My…” He gave up. Now what was he going to drive? He’d have to call a tow truck to drive his car. He rolled his eyes before glancing over at Hailey. “You’re getting to be more trouble than you’re worth, you know that?” he smarted off at her.

Hailey sighed. She couldn't believe she just spent four-hundred dollars on this piece of shit. They'd have gotten more scrapping the damn thing. "Yeah, right. Scrap it and take the cash."

“No!” He told her stubbornly. “These motherfuckers can kiss my fat ass. They took two-hundred dollars from me, scammed me out of what was left in the form of this… this fucking fee! And they disabled my car because some jackwad can’t operate a tow truck and read ALL WHEEL DRIVE on the back of my fucking trunk!” He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel before turning it off to get out.

"I'll give you two-hundred to leave it," she told him. She understood his frustration, but…

“It’s my car,” he quipped back at her.

"It's not much of anything right now. I'm sorry-"

“Look,” he smiled at her. “I don’t know how you’ve got money pouring out of your ears to be just flaunting six to seven hundred dollars without batting an eye, but unfortunately for people like me, that kind of cash doesn’t come forth in a fortnight.” He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I’ll call my buddy to come- no… Fuck, he doesn’t have his truck anymore. I’ll just pay for it to be taken to my friend’s shop. They’ll come pick it up.”

“You can’t leave that here!” the cashier hollered at him.

“I know that!” He shot back. He turned, going back to lean through the window to turn the car on and shove it into neutral before he started to push it down the road. “Fucking bitch.” He rolled his eyes. “If you could just drive me back to my house. I’ll figure out the rest on my own.”

She deflated watching him. "Alright." She put him in this position and she was trying to make up for it. She shoved her hair back out of her face and scratched her head. "I can help," she offered. "I didn't know they'd do this," she frowned.

“Just, let me brood,” he told her. “Before I say something mean.” He sighed, pushing it a few feet further off to the side, then pushing the car back into park despite it trying to roll away on him on the small start of the slope.

"My brother is a mechanic. If we can get it to him then hopefully he can at least get it running," she offered.

“Deal.” He’d take it. Honestly. As he opened the door, he rolled the windows up and pulled the key to look at her then. “And I’ll split the cost of the parts or whatever.” It wasn’t entirely her fault. It’s not like she knew he drove there, let alone what would happen to his car. He felt his stomach rumble, making him wince. “Can we stop for lunch?” He was losing the will to be rigid with her and the high of playing verbal sparring with her was quickly petering out of him.

"Yeah." She started walking back to her car with him. She had no intention of letting him pay. She did literally flip his world upside down… even though it was his fault for kissing her. She unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, yawning. Damn she was tired.

Tristan climbed into the passenger seat, sitting down to snap a photo of his car, texting his friend. “I’ll have them take it to my friend’s shop in the meantime. Let me know when your brother can get it and we’ll move it again…”

"Tell them to take it to-" she told him the address. "There's no sense dragging the thing all over creation."

He smiled a little at her choice of words, glancing over at her after typing the address in and sending the message as he tugged the seatbelt on, then leaned against the armrest that was inlaid into the door. “You’re right.” He glanced ahead. “So… What do you want to eat for lunch?”

A nap. "Anything. Just tell me where to go." She said pulling out of the parking lot.

Tristan raised a brow as he stared out the passenger window. “Drive like you’re going back to my place. There’s a convenience store near there. We’ll stop there and then… whatever they have will suffice.”

She didn't have the energy to argue, but she'd hoped he'd pick at least a restaurant. "Fine." She started back towards his place, seeing the store and pulled in. She took a deep breath. "You- sure you don't want actual food?" she asked.

“I asked you what you wanted. Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, blinking as he turned to look at her in disbelief. She really was being that kind of chick right now, wasn’t she?

"Just asking- fuck." She got out of the car, shutting the door harder than she intended before walking towards the entrance.

He rolled his eyes, sitting in the car as he crossed his arms, waiting for her to stop. He wasn’t getting out, not when she was going to act like that. They should have just got what she wanted and now he was adamant to have her voice that instead of being pissed for not getting it when he asked.

She turned when he didn't get out and felt anger rise in her. She went back to the car and opened her door to look at him. "Not hungry anymore?"

“No. I’m hungry. I’m just not going to play this merry go round game. Get in and go where you want to eat. I’ll eat whatever. I literally asked you because I wanted to give you the option to pick. It’s morning time.”

She let out a breath, her nostrils flaring.

“Breathe.” Tristan told her, staring at her with half lidded eyes. “Baby girl, there’s no need to get heated. It’s just fucking breakfast. Let’s go where you want.”

"I'm not the one who said they were hungry. I'm not even fucking hungry! I'm fucking tired so for fucks sake pick a damn place."

“Then why are you getting huffy with me?” he asked her, putting his hands up. “I literally picked a place on the way back and now you’re griping at me. You were the one asking me like I was going to second guess myself. Come on? Mixed signals much?” he scoffed. “Do you do this with your brothers, too?”

"I hope you choke on your food." She growled, getting back in to start the car.

He rolled his eyes at her comment, letting it go. “Thank you!” he breathed, exasperated enough but happy she was finally taking some sort of initiative. “God. You need a nap.”

She gripped the steering wheel so tight it groaned. You think! "Just… don't." She sighed, driving back down the street to a fast food place. She'd thought about taking him to some place better, but she was too tired. "What do you want?"

“Coffee. Donuts. Simple stuff.” He wasn’t going to bore her with the bit about how he hated complex foods for breakfast, but that was why the convenience store sounded so nice. “If the donuts are small, get like half a dozen or whatever.” He leaned his head against the window, staring out it. The moment he got back, he was hoping she just plopped down on some surface and slept. Maybe she’d be less of a crab after a few hours of rest.

Fucking donuts! She started for the donut shop on the corner and aptly decided to go through the drive through. She ordered half a dozen mixed, and paid. She handed the box to him as she pulled away, yawning.

“Thanks,” he breathed, closing his eyes for a moment as he held the box in his lap. He looked down at it slowly, opening it to pull one out. “You want one?” he asked gently.

"I'm okay," she said, trying to remember how to get back to his house.

He touched it to his lips, holding back a sigh as he looked away. “I’ll leave you some anyway,” he breathed, taking a bit of the one he had after closing the box. “Oh, and thank you for these.”

"Welcome," she said. She found the street and pulled up in front of the house, yawning again as she got out. Damn… it's not like she wasn't used to being up late…

Tristan waited for her for a moment, glancing over as he licked the finished donut from his fingertips. “You all good?” he asked. She seemed like her energy levels had dropped significantly.

"I'm fine. Just tired," she sighed. She took a deep breath and pushed her hair out of her face.

“Then let’s go inside and you can take whatever spot you want to sleep. I have a whole second bed, a couch. You pick,” he told her as he got out.

She nodded, and turned the car off. "I need to call my brother first though." Couldn't have some random car showing up at his place. She pulled her phone from the center console flipping through to her brother's number.

“Sure, I’ll give you a minute to call him,” he sighed, walking away to the door to unlock it. Honestly, he was thirsty as hell and he really just wanted to watch TV for a bit then figure out how he was going to find that idiot, Laurence.

She watched him go inside and called Cole. "Pick up…" she sighed.

“Hey, thanks for calling. I’m probably sleeping or at work. If it’s urgent, text me. Thanks!” Beep.

"Cole… please call me back. There's a car being sent to you. I-" she took a breath. "I need it fixed. Appreciate it." She hung up and got out of the car, slipping the phone into the coat pocket. She locked her car and went inside. She was too tired to care how awkward it was walking into a stranger’s house. She went to the couch and immediately curled up on her side.

Tristan turned from the kitchen table, another donut caught between his lips as he watched her and snorted to himself. So this was it, huh? He was stuck with this bartender, this little tomboy of a woman and she was just sauntering up to his couch without a care in the world. “Look at that,” he muttered, wondering how he’d manage to figure out his own situation with someone like her around. It felt… a little less lonely, though. And he was nodding to himself, chewing on the glazed bread quietly before turning to the kitchen to wash his hands. He didn’t want to make the couch sticky. Heading back into the living room, Tristan stared at her for a moment, then - remembering their prior conversations - made sure to be careful not to touch her before pulling the fold out bed from under the couch’s cushions. Sure, it was a bit more like a twin than anything, but it worked. “Hey,” he started, not sure what else to call her. “Lay on this and I’ll get you a blanket and pillow.”

She didn't argue, just tiredly unfolding herself to lay down on the little bed, curling up again. She didn't say anything before falling asleep.

Tristan leaned back, looking down at her as his eyes flicked up to his bedroom door. He was hosting a strange woman he met twice at a bar in his house. He laughed to himself under his breath as he stood up to go to his room, going into the closet to drag out his winter comforter and the spare pillow he always ended up tossing off his bed. When he re-emerged into the living room, he set the pillow down beside her in case she stirred enough to grab it before laying the blanket out on her small form. “Guess we’ll see how quick you’re in and out of my life,” he snorted to himself, rolling his eyes. He had a whole person to catch. Fucking asshole, wherever he was, but first… First, he’d have to settle in with figuring out how he’d get through all this with her. And, honestly, after today. He wasn’t too sure it was going to be all that bad. She was kind of fun.

Turning his head, he glanced at the door, seeing it cracked open and walked up to it, shutting it and locking it before going back into the kitchen to make himself a coffee.

My art bring people to tears

and on their knees

really

whole neigborhood mine

on their knees is

begging me

in tears

not to recite my poems loudly anymore...

An Original Short Story

By MisterEnigma & LilEnigma

For us

Chapter 1

“Hello? Hey! Where is everyone?” The young zebra looked around for her family, but the dry and dusty plain was completely deserted. Anxiously flicking her tail, the zebra pranced this way and that, her ears alertly listening for call sounds. She searched in vain for any sign of familiar stripes.

“Hellooo?!” she called out louder, terror beginning to creep into her heart. She’d only been distracted by the vibrant colors of the bush lily for a second, or so she thought. The zebra’s family had abandoned her, but she was sure it was an oversight. Everyone knows to never go near the poisonous blossoms, yet curious little Dazzle just couldn’t help but admire their beauty. Of course her family didn’t see her in the one place they’d never look. They’d never leave her without a word otherwise. Determined to fix her mistake, she set off to find the herd.

For the rest of the day, Dazzle wandered from one watering hole to the next looking for her family. She even wandered warily into the open plain, ever watchful for predators. Lone zebras were an open invitation for the myriad of animals who thought little Dazzle was a tasty treat. She had no one to warn her of approaching danger, no one to protect her from an attack—but she had to be brave if she was going to succeed.

The days started to blend together as Dazzle searched for her family. She lost track of how long she’d gone without seeing another zebra. Desperate and alone, she even asked scary strangers for help.

“Excuse me, Mr. Elephant,” she politely sent her voice up to the bathing giant. “Have you seen any other zebras around here? I’m looking for my family.” The elephant sucked up a trunk full of water and squirted it at Dazzle. For a moment her eyes grew in excitement, but she abruptly realized this big guy wasn’t being playful. The elephant blew his nose-horn, flapped his ears, and then walked away from her without a word.

At the next watering hole, Dazzle saw several other animals, but still none with black and white stripes. Confident she’d find someone to help her, she frolicked toward the water. She wended her way through a herd of water buffaloes.

“Excuse me… pardon me… excuse me,” she called out respectfully to each buffalo. She garnered several angry huffs, but most just ignored her. Finally, Dazzle saw a young buffalo who seemed slightly attentive.

“Hi, friend!” she blurted out cheerfully. “Have you seen any other zebras around here lately? They seem to have left me by accident.” She couldn't help but let sadness creep into her voice. She'd been feeling very lonely and unimportant.

“Hah!” the young buffalo chuckled loudly. “Yeah, I see zebras everyday. Our herd just took the last watering hole from a mess of them. We pushed ’em right out. Bunch of scaredy cats!” He continued his torment as Dazzle felt herself being bumped from side to side by all the mannerless buffaloes.

“You don’t scare me,” Dazzle retorted, puffing her chest out and lifting her head high. She danced lightly on her feet, careful to not get trampled. “I'm just trying to get back to my kind,” she continued. “They need me.” Dazzle felt a tear threatening to escape her eye. She was courageous and wouldn’t give this upstart the satisfaction of showing any weakness. She turned her back and looked for someone else to ask.

Dazzle noticed a young gazelle stuck in the mud at one end of the hole. At first, she just watched to confirm the gazelle was in trouble. Hurrying back out through the herd of bullying buffalo, she made her way around giraffes, zorils, and various other animals looking to quench their thirst under the beating African sun. Knowing gazelles were notoriously skittish, little Dazzle approached cautiously.

“Um, hi there! Do you need some help?” Dazzle asked loudly while trying not to be intrusive. The gazelle bleated out a panicked cry, but didn’t answer. The other gazelles had left the watering hole already, so the curious zebra and the scared gazelle were stranded together.

Recognizing the danger the gazelle was in, Dazzle squished her way into the soft mud. Her hooves carefully found traction as she inched closer to the frightened animal. She called out kindly, “Heyyy… I'm going to help you out of there. Don't be scared…” Dazzle kept her cheerful tone but made her voice low and soothing as she stepped even closer.

The gazelle fought furiously to extract itself from the mud, but to no avail. Seeing how frantic it was becoming, Dazzle apologized quickly under her breath and headbutted the gazelle hard under its chest. The force of the hit disengaged the petrified creature and sent it stumbling into the mud. The gazelle regained its balance in a hurry and took off with a bounding leap. The gazelle never even looked back as it pronked away.

“You're welcome…” Dazzle said quietly to herself. All of her secret hopes to make a new friend fizzled out as she stood alone in the mud. The heartbroken zebra dropped her head in sorrow. “I wish I had a friend,” she moaned as she pulled herself out of the sticky trench, “Maybe just someone to appreciate my help, for once…”

Staring at her muddy hooves, Dazzle walked slowly away from the watering hole. The zebras hadn’t cared enough to even wait for her, now the other animals teased her or flat out ignored her. Little Dazzle felt invisible.

Chapter 2

As Dazzle wandered aimlessly through the African plains, an unseen creature lurked close by. A magnificently maned lion padded its way silently through the tall grass. Consumed by her grief, Dazzle was unaware of the danger hidden nearby.

With his body low to the ground, the lion crept quietly through the brush as he stalked the lone zebra. Mostly, the lion was curious why a zebra would be wandering alone, especially one so small. Zebras grow even bigger than lions, surely something must be wrong with this one. He watched it carefully to see if it was ill or injured, but it only seemed… sad. More interested, the lion gradually whisked his tail back and forth, continuing his prowling path.

The lion was so focused on the little zebra that he never noticed the human hunter on the other side of the trees. Decked out in safari gear, the hunter slowly positioned his bow and sighted the lion purposefully. He pulled the bowstring back with as much force as he could muster and released the arrow.

The lion bellowed out in pain as the arrow sunk deep into the side of his exposed rump. The hunter had missed his intended target: the lion’s heart. Now, he just had an injured and angry beast to contend with. He jumped quickly into his camouflaged jeep, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust as he sped off. The cowardly hunter wasn't about to stick around to find out if the lion would live or die.

Not knowing what had just transpired, Dazzle heard the alarming roar and fled for her life with a series of terrified snorts. She forcefully kicked up her rear hooves several times as she ran a zigzag pattern, convinced a roaring lion was right on her heels.

The strange zebra disappeared as the lion limped his way into the brush. In his agonizing pain, he became angry with himself for missing the danger from behind as he had followed the odd zebra. He had so wanted to find out what was wrong with the little creature, but he was afraid of scaring it away. Now the zebra was long gone, and he was left with a serious problem to deal with.

The lion settled down next to a big tree and delicately licked his wound. Blood trickled out of the hole in his rump, the arrow still sticking out like a single barb. The lion could feel his muscle spasm in pain as his back paw shuddered involuntarily. A growl escaped his throat as he chewed at the arrow in frustration. Unable to reach the right angle and extract the irritating barb, the lion finally laid his head down, panting heavily. The rhythm of his breath carried the exhausted lion to sleep.

Disoriented and unaware of how much time had passed, the lion startled awake as he heard the crunch of dry grass. Someone was approaching his hiding spot. Now alert, but unsure if he could defend himself, the lion stayed still as he waited. Suddenly, the same strange zebra came prancing about, in her own little world, completely unaware of what lay nearby. She wandered into the clearing and froze, her eyes fixed in terror at the crouched lion staring straight at her.

For a few moments, lion and zebra stared at each other, both holding completely still. Dazzle soon noticed the lion’s labored panting and the bizarre stick protruding from its rear. Flicking her ears back and forth and swishing her tail, Dazzle slowly moved in a semi-circle around the injured lion. She felt torn—her desire to be friendly and helpful, warring with her instinct to run and protect herself from this fierce predator.

The lion dropped his head submissively to the ground to show the zebra he was not a threat. The lion merely wanted to understand this peculiar little creature. Why was she alone? And why was she so sad?

“Please don’t go,” the lion called out quietly as he sensed her urge to run. “I won’t hurt you. As you can plainly see, I'm injured, and I could use a friend right now—or just someone to help me.”

Dazzle was astonished that the lion spoke to her. She’d only ever seen lions as they chased her own kind down. She’d never heard one speak before, and though she assumed they could talk, she was surprised this one wanted to talk to her. But what surprised her most was that the lion not only asked her for help, but he was asking her for a friend. What were the chances that the most helpful and the most friendly zebra there ever was just so happened to find this lion? It had to be a trick.

“How do I know you won't eat me?” Dazzle asked prudently as she kept her hooves at the ready. Her heart went out to the injured lion, but she was determined to survive, too.

The lion looked down and shook his head slowly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said hopelessly.

“Try me!” Dazzle blurted out without hesitation. Realizing her overexcitement, she switched to a poised demeanor. “Everyone has good in them—” her mind visibly interrupted itself, “Well, if they were here, my family would tell you I'm gullible—” she switched back to her reserved tone, “But maybe you have good in you, too.” By the end of her sentence, Dazzle convinced herself the lion could be trusted. Probably.

The lion stared gingerly at the little zebra, wondering if he should trust this clearly lost soul. She was crazy to be listening to him, crazy to believe him, and probably just crazy—but he must be crazy, too, to befriend a zebra. Still, he needed her. He didn’t have many options otherwise. With a leap of faith, the lion chose to trust the zebra.

“I don't hunt zebras,” the lion admitted quietly. “Actually, I don't hunt anything at all. I don't like to kill.” The lion’s shame was evident in his voice. He was denying his very nature, and he knew it.

“You don't hunt zebras?! Or anything at all?!” Dazzle echoed quizzically as she started to pace back and forth to process this enigma. “How do you survive? What do you eat? How is that possible? Are you tricking me right n—” Dazzle’s hooves stopped in their tracks. “Hey, wait! Weren’t you the one stalking me earlier?!” She retorted, pointing her single-toe-hoof and the stink eye right at him. She was onto him.

The lion huffed out a quiet laugh, amused by her animation. “Yeah, that was me, but I wasn’t stalking you to kill you.” He paused for a moment, a little embarrassed by his unhindered confession. “You looked like you needed a friend, but I didn't want to scare you. I should have paid more attention to my own surroundings while I was worried about yours.”

“You were worried about… me?” Dazzle replied, shocked at the revelation. “Why? I've never heard of a lion wanting anything to do with a zebra…” her voice dwindled. “Well, except to eat it.”

Slowly the lion told Dazzle his story, how he’d been kicked out of his pride when he refused to hunt. He’d joined in eating the prey others had hunted, but he never brought his own kill to the den. He was horrified by the thought of killing another creature, but he knew he needed to eat other animals to survive because lions are strictly carnivorous. His own father, the King of the Pride, had threatened to kill him if he showed his face anywhere near the family again. So, the lion had wandered for several weeks, putting distance between him and his own kind.

“How did you survive this long on your own? And what do you eat now?” Dazzle asked again, needing every detail of his fascinating story—and to make sure she wasn’t on the menu.

“I found other kills and chased away the scavengers to finish off their meals,” the lion admitted shamefully. “I can’t survive without meat, but I don't want to kill. You are completely safe with me because apparently I'm a coward.”

Dazzle carefully approached the lion. “You don't sound like a coward,” she replied compassionately while remembering his scary roar. “You’re the biggest lion I’ve ever seen! So, you must have a big heart,” she marveled at his massive head and huge paws. “I'm Dazzle, by the way.” Without a second thought, she touched her nose to the lion’s in a gesture of friendship and trust.

“I’m Ariel,” his voice softened in gratitude. “Do you know anything about how to remove this thing from my ass-end?” he chuckled nervously. “It really hurts.”

Dazzle’s demeanor instantly became very mature and concerned as she attentively examined the arrow protruding from the lion's backside. “Hmm—” Dazzle nodded her head and sucked her teeth while in deep concentration, acting like a Certified Stick-Remover (Dr. Dazzle, CSR, at your service). “This might hurt a little,” she stated obviously. “You should definitely look away, Mr. Lion.”

Grasping the arrow in her mouth, Dazzle yanked it hard and fast, quickly backing away from Ariel. The lion leapt up in shock, letting out a roar that shook the ground beneath Dazzle’s feet and melted her professional composure. Her mouth fell open, dropping the stick, leaving her agape like a wide-eyed child. He skittered away from Dazzle and licked at the wound as she sympathetically watched (from a safe distance, of course).

After the pain waned, Ariel stylishly sauntered back over to Dazzle, where she waited anxiously. His confidence was very apparent. Dazzle watched him tower over her as he walked his paws right up to her hooves. He rubbed his cheek against her face in gratitude. Ariel’s soft mane tickled her nose as he purred softly. Dazzle felt something of a tickle in her heart, too.

“Thank you, Dazzle,” he said sweetly. “I couldn’t have removed that myself. It really helps to have a friend.”

Dazzle pulled away abruptly. “Did we just become best friends?! Yup! I know we did!” She reveled in her self-proclaimed success and did an adorable attempt at a karate chop to celebrate. She finally found a friend—her best friend, at that.

They laughed and exchanged kind gestures for hours until they settled in under the big tree. As the world turned, something very special was taking place in the African savanna that night.

Chapter 3

Over the next few weeks, Ariel and Dazzle spent their days and nights together. They shared their stories with each other and comforted one another. Ariel shared more about the shame he carries for denying his nature to hunt, and Dazzle expressed how she felt like she never really belonged anywhere. But Ariel made her feel wanted for the very first time, and Dazzle assured him that being different made him wonderful.

Little Dazzle told of how her family was often irritated with her friendliness. How they would laugh openly at her for prancing around and trying to help others, completely oblivious to the ways of the world. They even teased her about her size, saying that she was weak and would never survive. She didn’t understand why everyone expected her to be anything other than herself.

Ever curious about his new zebra friend, Ariel asked Dazzle how she got her name. She explained how the other zebras started calling her “Razzle Dazzle” because she was always drawn to beautiful things. She would race right up to anything pretty or friendly-looking without caution. But whenever she tried to share her passion with the others, they’d laugh and say, “There goes Razzle Dazzle again!” completely dismissing her. Eventually, they shortened her name to just Dazzle. She didn’t even remember her real name anymore.

Suddenly, Dazzle started crying as she admitted to Ariel that she was now sure her family had purposely deserted her. She tried to convince herself that they left her behind by mistake, but deep down she knew the truth. They were tired of her Razzle Dazzle ways.

Ariel, too, admitted that he was devastated when he’d been kicked out of his pride. He loved his mother and sisters, but his father would not accept him. He said that Ariel wasn’t even a lion if he couldn’t kill to protect and feed the family. He was probably right, too. Maybe that’s why his father refused to name him when he was born. Ariel was smaller than his sisters at birth, so perhaps his father knew Ariel could never become a King like he was. Thankfully, at least his mother loved and believed in him. Convinced her son was sent straight from Heaven, it was she who named him Ariel.

Dazzle refused to agree with Ariel’s heartless father. She insisted that being able to kill did not make a lion a lion, though she wasn’t quite sure yet what did. She just knew in her heart that Ariel was the best lion there ever was, and often told him so. Little Dazzle assured Ariel that he had grown into, again, the biggest lion she’d ever seen—but he wasn’t just the biggest and the best lion. She was adamant that he was the most beautiful creature there ever was, inside and out. Why else would a Razzle Dazzle zebra be so drawn to a lion at first sight?

Each day Ariel and Dazzle spent together, they grew closer, reveling in their shared companionship. They even had special qualities to offer each other. Ariel protected Dazzle from other predators, both passively by his very presence and with his chilling roar. He especially kept a watchful eye whenever she needed to drink from the busy watering holes. He saw just how unique zebras are, and Dazzle was the most unique of them all. Ariel felt an instinctive need to keep her safe.

Little Dazzle loved how special her brave lion friend made her feel, and in return, she provided Ariel with tender care and loving support. There are certain places in the African plains where zebras and other prey go to die alone. Dazzle led him to these secluded spots and gave him a respectful distance so he could feed without shame. It took a while to convince him that she did not fault Ariel for needing to eat, and the dead surely wouldn’t mind.

“Aaarrriel!” Dazzle said his name in her adorable, sing-song way that he loved (but never admitted). “You’re a lion—and that’s okay!” Dazzle constantly reminded him that he was perfect just the way he was. Her positive, matter-of-fact attitude didn’t leave room for argument (just the way she liked it).

Thus, they continued for several months, growing more comfortable together each day. Time flew by as they seamlessly floated through life together. Many animals gawked in astonishment as they observed the odd couple. It made no sense, but it was no mirage. A zebra and a lion had formed their own pride—or was it a family? Their hearts were so full with the joy of each other’s companionship that such details mattered little to them. A once shamed lion and an unwanted zebra had somehow found their rightful place with each other.

As nights on the savanna began to cool, Ariel was becoming more comfortable in his feeding routines. One night, he was lethargic after feeding on the remnants of a fallen gazelle. Little Dazzle had settled in next to him, awake and watchful. Taking care of one another was second nature to them now.

Dazzle watched Ariel’s eyes grow heavy as he stared up at her. She leaned down and gave Ariel a soft lick on his nose, and in that precious moment, they both felt an electric flutter in their hearts. Dazzle froze for a moment to comprehend what had just happened. Knowing he felt it, too, Ariel just smiled. They finally felt at peace in this world, right there, in their own slice of heaven—together. Completely entranced by Dazzle’s gorgeous stripes in the moonlight, Ariel began to drift to sleep.

“I love you, Razzle Dazzzzz…” Ariel’s whisper faded to the slow, heavy breaths of slumber.

Dazzle’s heart jumped from her chest and tears filled her excited eyes. “Wait… what?!” Dazzle sharply whispered, trying to contain herself. “Did you just say you love… me?! But I love you! And did you feel that tingle-thingy, too?!” Dazzle’s voice started shaking as tears began to flow freely. “You’re my best friend… in the whole world.”

Ariel let out a loud growl-snore, completely unaware that Dazzle just poured her heart out to him. Dazzle softly neighed, giggling at Ariel’s noises. As she gazed upon her gentle giant, she felt as though she would explode from overflowing love. Little Dazzle calmed herself to let Ariel rest peacefully, but there was no way she would get any sleep that night. She nuzzled her nose into his fluffy mane to speak to him in his dreams.

“You’re a beautiful lion.” Dazzle whispered sweetly to him as he slept. “And one day, you’ll be a beautiful King.”

Chapter 4

“I love you… King…” Dazzle’s soft voice echoed somewhere in Ariel’s dreams. “Aaariel… Ariel… Ah… Ahh! Ariel! Help meee!”

Ariel was startled awake by Dazzle’s cries off in the distance. He knew her voice anywhere, but where had she gone?! She was just here!

Ariel jumped to his paws and raced faster than a cheetah towards the sound of Dazzle’s panicked cries. Quickly, he targeted a sight that boiled his blood.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” Ariel roared with all his might as he charged straight for Dazzle.

Dazzle had gone to the watering hole for a drink. Thinking of only him, she went alone so her hard working lion could rest. Before Dazzle could sense any danger, she’d been surrounded by a sneaky pack of hyenas. They pounced on her, tearing flesh from her hind quarters as she screamed. Ariel had never heard such a sound before—a sound that turned his boiling blood to solid ice, then right back to scalding. Little Dazzle desperately tried kicking the hyenas off while two others latched onto her throat, knocking her off balance. She was completely overpowered.

It only took moments for Ariel to reach the violent gang, but Dazzle had already been brought to the ground. The hyenas laughed while viciously biting her. They were ripping the life from little Dazzle as her eyes darted about in terror. Ariel roared with fury as he aimed himself like a missile at the cackling pack.

Ariel sliced into their outer circle like a hot knife through butter, feeling nothing as they relentlessly attacked him. This is what he was born to do, and every cry from Dazzle conjured his innate desire to kill. The loving lion was now on a massacre mission.

Ariel clawed one of the hyenas that had a hold on Dazzle’s throat and threw it against a boulder, crushing its spine. He instantly snapped his bite around the skull of the other hyena, bursting it open like a cantaloupe on the wrong end of a sledgehammer. The others scattered a little distance, laughing at the lion’s reaction, and even at the fate of their fallen comrades.

The anger raged in Ariel as he saw how little these filthy creatures knew of loyalty and love. He hooked one of the cacklers by its open mouth and slammed it to the dirt, stomping on its face with his razor sharp claws. Another heckling hyena tried to jump out of the way of the killer freight train, but Ariel caught him by its foot, instantly amputating it. He spit it out and launched himself forward like a great white shark to claim its entire leg. Ariel slashed, gashed, and mauled everything in sight, until all the hyenas fled for the lives and limbs they had left.

When the threat was gone, Ariel turned frantically back to Dazzle, and his heart crashed to his paws. Huge chunks of her legs and belly were ripped open, exposing her bones and bleeding organs. Her throat had puncture holes all over it. Scarlet red blood squirted out with each beat of her terrified heart, and every spray fell weaker than the last. Dazzle was going to die.

“A-Ariel.” Dazzle whispered weakly. “I love you. Please kill me. Don’t let them e-eat me-e-e-e.” Dazzle began to cry in fear of her impending demise, choking on blood and sobs. She was so scared. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave her beautiful lion. All she wanted was to stay—to stay in their perfect place together, to stay with her best friend… her best friend in the whole world.

“NO!” Ariel roared in fear and disbelief. “I won’t hurt you! Not my Dazzle! Not my little Dazzle!” he cried and he begged. But Ariel knew her fate if he didn’t stop this. Dazzle didn’t deserve to die a slow, agonizing death. She didn’t deserve any of this—and neither did he.

“Shh-shhh. I take care… y-you a-always.” Dazzle struggled, shaking uncontrollably.

“It’s okay to…”

She sucked in her final breath.

“B-BE… A LION!”

Dazzle forced out these final words in a harrowing cry as Ariel snapped her neck with his powerful bite. He held her between his teeth, wailing muffled agony into her flesh.

Ariel gently released Dazzle’s neck, and her head settled onto the ground. Her warm amber eyes, still looking up at him, glazed over with the cold absolute of death. He felt the very moment when her beautiful spirit slipped away into the heavens, and took a piece of his own with her. Ariel wouldn’t kill out of hunger, but he would out of love—and Dazzle went to her grave watching his undying devotion to her.

She was gone. His little Razzle Dazzle… was gone.

Chapter 5

Ariel roared his lament into the air, scattering again the distant hyenas and approaching scavengers. They had killed his only friend, the only one who had truly loved him. He would not let them have her body. She would be nobody’s meaningless meal. Her life meant more than that.

Still overwhelmed by rage, Ariel fantasized about killing even more hyenas. If he could catch every one of those dirty dogs, he’d rip their throats out without a second thought. Dazzle had loved him for his gentle spirit, but her death had awakened in him a prepossession for slaughter. He had never felt such rage, such hunger for revenge—and it scared him.

As the night dragged on under a bright full moon, Ariel’s mind was going numb from his swirling emotions. As he stood guard over her body, he thought back to just hours earlier when he stared up at her zebra stripes, dazzling in the moonlight. Remembering the way she gazed down upon him with so much love, adoration, and acceptance for exactly who he is—a lion, a predator—her own enemy. She never once blamed him for his needs or made him feel like a monster. Dazzle only made him feel like royalty.

“Why didn’t she just wake me?!” Ariel growled under his breath, feeling guilty for being angry with her. Grief, rage, and regret continued to clash throughout his mind.

After scaring away anything that dared look at her, Ariel dragged little Dazzle’s lifeless body to a fallen tree. It’d been struck down by lightning, so he didn’t even realize it was the very same tree where they had met on that fateful first night. He sat by her body, panting and growling in anger and frustration. He couldn’t keep the hyenas, buzzards, and other scavengers away forever. He didn’t know what to do.

“Don’t let them eat me,” her voice rang in his head. “I’ll take care of you. It’s okay to be a lion!” Dazzle’s last words tortured Ariel.

“Is this what you want me to do?!” Ariel pleaded to the moon, desperate for someone to guide him. His mind warred with his heart—his desire to respect her wishes clashing with his desire to hold onto her forever. He began shaking all over as he realized there was only one solution. To save her from rotting away like trash, and from being eaten by those who never even knew her… Ariel would have to devour every inch of his beloved friend.

Ariel cut into Dazzle’s gorgeous chest and began to slowly savor her from the inside out. He masterfully carved out each organ until only her heart remained. He held her heart gently between his teeth and placed it next to the tree. He spent the rest of the night laboriously chomping down every part of her, even most of her bones. She was tiny compared to him, but this was by far the most he’d ever eaten in his life.

Ariel sat quietly in his grief as he painfully digested the life-quenching sustenance which Dazzle provided. He kept having to convince himself that this is what Dazzle wanted—and of course it was. She would have it no other way but to take care of her beautiful lion. Even in death, Dazzle thought only of him. That was the purity of her heart—the heart which he saved for very last.

Ariel gently positioned his jaws over Dazzle’s heart and lapped it all into his mouth. He held it on his tongue with his eyes closed, acknowledging the grace she bestowed upon him. Then, with one last gulp, he swallowed little Dazzle’s big heart whole. Ariel fulfilled her final wish: a donation of life to the one she loved. It was the ultimate sacrifice for everything she believed in… for in him, she believed.

When he could eat no more, Ariel covered Dazzle’s remaining bones, hide, and hooves with the fallen tree branches. As the morning twilight approached, he could see sprouts of life growing sideways up toward the sun from this very special tree. How strange, he thought, that a tree would continue to grow even after it had fallen. Ariel couldn’t think of a more perfect tombstone for the strange little zebra he spotted all those months ago. Right here, under a broken tree she would surely call the most beautiful thing there ever was, lay Dazzle’s final resting place.

As the sun began to rise over the African savanna, Ariel could see the gore scattered over his entire body. He grievously cleaned the murder from his fur. Dazzle’s bright red blood had squirted into the hangs of his mane. He sobbed as he cleaned that away, too.

When Ariel licked up the last drops of her, he began to hear a faint drumming noise. He looked around in confusion as it grew louder. Finally, he realized—the sound was coming from inside his own chest!

“Bum-bump… bum-bump… bum-bump…”

It was the sound of a heartbeat, and not from just any heart! It was like the unmistakable sound of the African drums, beating wildly with a passion that could only belong to Dazzle! The drumming of her heart grew louder and faster inside his body.

“Bum-bump—bum-bump—bum-bump—bum-bump—bum-bump!”

Ariel felt a bolt of electricity within his chest and it shocked him to his feet. His paws barely touched the ground as he ran across the plains. He ran so fast that his two hearts burst into fire—a fire fueled by all the love that Dazzle gave to him!

“Bum-bump-bum-bump-bum-bump-bum-bump-bum-bump-bum-bump-bum-bump!”

Ariel ran and ran until his legs finally locked and he slid to the ground in a grinding halt. Breathing heavily, he looked down at his giant lion claws. He felt his lion tail swishing against the dirt. Saliva trickled down from his sharp lion teeth. There was no more denying his true nature. Ariel is a lion, and a lion must kill to survive… “and that’s okay.”

Ariel picked himself up off the dirt and raised his head high to meet the sun. His golden mane flowed like a sunrise at sea, gently rippling on the waves. There really was never a more beautiful lion in Dazzle’s eyes. She truly believed Ariel was destined for greatness, just like his mother believed when she named him. He let the welcoming warmth wash over him and invited the inevitable transformation to take place. Ariel, the Lion of God, was reborn with a heart of a King, forged by the love of a little zebra named Dazzle.

He ran to escape

The pain, the rage, the shame

His future taking shape

For she never cast the blame

He ran to start a fire

Two hearts burst into flame

Forged in the embers of desire

One lionheart, never to be tamed

Epilogue

Ariel, the apex predator, and Dazzle, his prey, were natural enemies. Yet, somehow, they found unconditional love together in this unforgiving world—a world in which they struggled to belong. They found the one place where they both fit perfectly—with each other. Ariel and Dazzle were destined to be together, even if for just a moment in this life. But one day, Ariel, too, will pass on. His lionheart will return to the heavens from which we are all born… And there, he will once again find his little Razzle Dazzle… prancing among the beautiful stars.

If a Zebra and a Lion can come together to find Zion…

Then, so can you.

FINDING ZION

“Bum-bump… bum-bump… bum-bump…”

I hide them. Under a sleeve or skirt.

Scratches that I have earned over years.

They burn and bleed.

They pull and tear.

I spend extra time every day trying to hide.

I don't want to show my bruises and scars.

Most people show them in pride of the battles they've won.

Yet I don't, I'm shy.

A scar down my heart. A bruise that I've brandished.

I trust nothing, it turns into hurt.

My face blushes when I look for a second to long.

Scared to meet other eyes that bore.

Maybe they wonder whats underneath the long robes.

Sometimes I wonder to. Only for a second.

They told me when I was young that I'm ugly.

One said that only scars could ruin the only beauty I have left.

So they hide. Under fabric, under a mask, under make up.

It's all a fake reality. One meant to hide the pain.

To hide the tears behind a smile.

But it never quite reaches the eyes.

You would know its fake if you look closer.

Only problem is, nobody does.

Nobody confronts the truth. They don't look at details.

They marvel at beauty as a whole.

Not beauty in one place.

I never knew, but that's why I'm ugly.

They never cared to look at tiny details.

Only the whole picture at once.

If they had looked at details they would have noticed.

My thick lashes, the way my lips curve in a smile.

He said that the curl at the end of my hair was beautiful.

He said that my eyes were enhancing.

He said never to fear the scars.

They just show that you survived, they show the battles.

A scar shows that you beat what tried to kill you.

So world, here are my brandished scars. And there meant for you to see.

I'm not hiding anymore, nothing is going behind the scenes.

Real beauty comes from what is there. Not what you are putting up.

Not the make up reality that you have.

You don't need to wonder what 's underneath now. Because here it is.

They look at me.

All mushed up faces into one.

What is your name? yells a man.

Your ugly says another

But all I see is a young girl.

Hiding under a weeping willow.

Her Mothers grave to the left,

Her Fathers to the right,

Her little brothers under her.

She sits there and cries.

Food is thrown.

She is called unspeakable names.

I walk up.

And she disappears,

I was to late.

She was to young.

I was to young.

So when I was a kid, I couldn’t tie my shoes. A common misconception people have about me is that I’ve fixed this issue. I haven’t. Sure, I can tie my shoes, but I only know the bunny ear method. I’m not kidding, I’ve never learned to tie my shoes with a single knot like most people. My parents could never get me to understand, and I’d work myself up into quitting each and every time they tried. I hated it.

First grade came around and I had no method whatsoever of tying my shoes when they came undone. All my friends, classmates, kids that thought I was smart, they all could do it, but I couldn’t. And so if my shoes ever came undone, I’d deal with it rather than ask anyone to help tie them for me. I was too embarrassed.

One day at recess, I climbed up a playground fort and went to hide up high away from view. My shoes had come undone and I tried tying them. Didn’t work. I just sat there trying many different things, and then this kid named Keegan came up to me, and I immediately stood up.

Keegan was a rough kid. If every grade has that one kid with significant anger issues, he was that kid. He’d flipped desks over, thrown chairs across the room. For such a young kid, he carried in him the rage of Rome. And when he came up to me, I didn’t want to be caught in one of his bad moods. I didn’t want him saying anything about me being too stupid to even tie my shoes. I didn’t want him saying anything. But he did.

“You don’t know how to tie your shoes?”

I sighed. I knew what was coming.

Keegan had let me have it before. The year before in kindergarten, Keegan had asked if I wanted a knuckle sandwich, and I had no idea what it was so I said yes. And then he actually punched me. He had pushed me off a swing before, kicked me in the shins playing soccer, and even a week prior had thrown me to the ground over a game of basketball.

But instead, that day, he said:

“Here, I can help you.”

I had never known Keegan to be nice or gentle. Even when he said that, I thought he was about to punch me or grab one of my shoes and throw them down to the ground. But he didn’t.

He sat down with me. He untied one of his shoes, and he told me, “I don’t understand how everyone else ties their shoes. I tie mine with two loops.” And he showed me the bunny ear method, just like that. I got my shoe laces and made the two loops and then knotted them together. And then I did it again and again. And quickly I found myself, for the first time ever, smiling in his presence.

Over the course of a single recess, I went from not being able to tie my shoes to knowing a method that has helped me my entire life. I don’t know any other method, and I don’t think I want to at this point. That memory is just too special to me. That kid Keegan was one of my many bullies as a kid, but for 10 minutes he helped me with something that’s kept helping up to this very day.

I don’t think I ever saw Keegan again.

It was 12am and in the deserted side of Show Low in a seedy hotel... Jesse, no Jessi?! ...Jessica? Yes…put her skirts on.  She had tried in vain to get the air conditioning to work, and then finally it started chugging away, replacing the sticky sweat on her body with a rewarding chill.  The skirts helped too in their multilayers, fanning in motion, and whisking dampness from the thighs at rest. Three or four of them to fill the hips out, cuz after the operation that area remained as an error in the silhouetted perception of the figure, still manly, though trapping the intention of a Lady in Waiting. But a good one. Gentle hearted, like in Szechwan. Respecting the spirit of others, no matter his/ her vessel. The god inside the human, right?

Jessica had just taken a taxi to the nearest inn from the airport, and it was on the cheap side in quality and price.  She liked the demeanor of the front desk clerk right away, though.  She had a gruff voice that was atypical of a woman but her eyes twinkled and she seemed as kind as a beardless ol’ Saint Nick.

“You new to ’Zona deary?”

“Uh, yeah, totally new…I just needed a place I could start fresh in.  Everyone from my old town knew me too well.”

“I know the feelin’ hon.  I had a hubby in Charleston who beat my ass to a pulp every damn day until I fucked him up good one of those times, and ever since everyone looked at me funny.  Never did like men much after being with the bastaid, so’s I moved out here six years ago when we dissolved our joke of a marriage, got this job, and I’ve been neck deep in puss ever since!  That’s a joke, I’m actually living alone mostly, but I got some good people I call friends.”

“Any place good to eat around here?”

“Depends on what you’re expecting.  There’s a Country Kitchen adjacent to the hotel, but that’s mostly trucker fare.  You’re looking a bit too lean to be a trucker though, I reckon.”

“I was kinda hoping for some Thai.  Anything like that?”

“Yay there’s the Bangkok Sight that’s on Bellevue and Third not to far from here.  There doing bad for business but they’ll be open at noon, and you might cheer ’em up!  I hear they make damn good noodles there!”

“Thanks…uh my names Jessica.”

“Put ’r there, Jessuca! My names Melve.”

It was with that same friendly conviction that Jessica presented herself to Jenny, her old friend from Grand Rapids as a housemate (for temporary) the next day over the telephone. Jessica had found out coincidentally from social media that Jenny lived here in Show Low now too. Jessica got a strange vibe with how much Jenny was obsessively laughing after Jessica said anything remotely funny about their past encounters in Grand Rapids, and the people from there that they were both still in touch with, but Jessica was quickly won over with how fast and seemingly selflessly Jenny welcomed her over to her digs.

When Jessica was deposited in a Uber at Jenny’s rather large but worn looking brown and white townhouse in Show Low it was like a weight had lifted off Jessica’s back, and she really felt a new start coming on!  Forget the warning signs of the two creepy looking cherub faced and dirty clothed lean and lanky dudes that were both not talking and sitting on different parts of the porch when Jenny ran out and greeted her. Jessica said Hi to the guys as she ascended the steps with Jenny, but they continued to stare through her as she was rushed inside and up the staircase with nary a word.  One wore a Bart Simpson tee-shirt with jelly stains on it.  He had a gelled haircut that made his hair more spikes than normal, and sat on the top porch step.  The other had a preppy Tommy Hilfiger polo on and sat in the porch swing.  He had black hair styled in the popular man bun style that everyone seemed crazy about.

Their blank stared resonated in Jessica’s mind as she entered Jenny’s room and looked around at her closet with shoes on the floor and dresses with the plastic still on them laid out on her bed.  Jenny seemed thrilled to have someone over so that she could show off all her outfits. Jessica always felt like Jenny’s enthusiasm was catching sometimes, and enjoyed it, though it could be exhausting at times.

“Hey Jenny, who were those weird guys out on your porch?”

“Oh, them?  Don’t worry about them, they’re just tired.  We have some crazy parties here sometimes, and they help set them up with what we need.”

These short years of on/ off camaraderie didn't bode too steady, but Jessica liked Jenny and felt they could overcome any uneasiness. Sometimes it did seem like there was this built in contempt in Jenny's understanding of the Contemporary woman, as she fashioned herself to be. She seemed a tad picky. She liked things. Too, much; more than people, and wasn't above putting any of these in her pocket(s) when needed.  Jessica knew this from experience because back in GR Jenny would ask her to go shoplifting for fun sometimes.  Jenny seemed to like beating the cameras. Jessica was trying to look past all of her shortcomings. and didn't mean to be critical, so she shoved any judgmental thoughts away. We all have our weaknesses in being that make us individual.  Jessica was going to try her hardest to be the best roommate and friend she could be.  She met Jenny’s gaze in the mirror and they each tried on some of Jenny’s new makeup.

“Hey, Jessi…ooh…I mean Jessica…who cares right?  Can I keep calling you Jessi?” Asked Jenny, giving the new bod a jealous once over.

“Um…uh…yes, well actually no…If you could I’d prefer Jessica, thanks.”

“Oh, no problem.” Said Jenny, almost rolling her eyes, checking her posture to make sure her tummy was tucked, and tits were up front.

“Hey, you remember that dude I was dating back in the day who I use to get all the good shit from?” Jenny asked again biting a thumb.

“You mean the drugs?  The heroin, and the coke, and all that?  Yay, I remember.  I never thought you liked him too much.”

“Oh, no, not really, but he was pretty cool.  He dropped me off here anyway after I couldn’t hack it with him in Portland.” Said Jenny, pouting.

“Oh, really?” Said Jessica.  “That’s pretty nice of him.”

“Yea he just wanted me to sell some ‘H’ for him, but I decided to just do it all cuz I didn’t wanna compete with the Sinaloa cartel.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a big thing here. Isn’t it?  You got any of that stuff left?” Jessica’s face expressed genuine concern for Jenny.

“Yeah you wanna shoot the last of it?” Asked Jenny with the beginning of a Cheshire Cat smile.

“No, I’m good.” Said Jessica.  Jenny’s conniving smile vanished completely, and her faux front of friendliness took itself over to the sofa to make a phone call with goodness knows who?

It seemed with each passing week that Jenny's weaknesses spanned the gamut, however: 'toxicating, thieving, conniving, and leaving.  Jenny was pulling the layers of the onion off right before Jessica’s eyes, and the end result was not a pretty sight. Jessica chided herself that she should have known better. Jenny had a track record for cutting herself extra slack on next month’s bills and running out. And sure enough that's what happened at the newly shared flat. Jessica being left with the full rent due and nothing of her cash or precious few jewels. Jenny had gone out, having vultured the pretty things with the help of some like-minded so-called friends, in inebriated life-sucking state. The landlord had no pity for the likes of Jessica and shot spittle as he told her to pay up or get the f--k out.

“I…I…I would pay you but I believe my friend has stolen my money that I brought with me from Grand Rapids.  I’m really sorry, she said she was going to be back today, but she has yet to return.”

He points to the Exit sign.

She stumbles out now into the dirt road. She has a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she’s aching too much to care in the mind and the heart. There are two bronze men up the hill, heading down this way. As they manifest closer, she is relieved to see that they are Mayans-- this being a comfort in her hope that they are more Human. In fact they strike her as almost god like in the way that they are moving in oblivion and shedding strange red statues and some other trinkets that are shimmering like gold. They must be drunk.

Jessie's stomach turns again when she then sees some white boys whose faces or rather whose hardened-masks she remembers she's seen before, hanging like gargoyles on the archway of the complex she had shared with Jenny. Their eyes are locked in on what is littering the street, but mostly on the gold, even as they take a snort from something in their pockets. They've been obviously looking for an opportunity, and they make a conspicuous round-about to follow the pair of Boozers who don’t seem to notice anything between themselves, let alone their surroundings. The tall junkies are laughing at the folly of the two dazed Mayans with an exploitive nature. Laughing at the Present.

..........

The two jocky junk addicted fiends who are named Devon and Derrick are looking for things to steal and plummet off with into their dubious future. Derrick is thinking of smashing a window, and even of hot wiring the truck of the two odd Mexicans, who are indeed Mayans and have just entered the city within the last few days. They have as if abandoned their vehicle outside of the main thoroughfare’s bar hop. The simpleton plan: Devon will keep furtive watch while Derrick will jerk the steering wheel violently to the right to get into the wiring easier and hot-wire the truck. Derrick’s long grubs are slow and methodical, exercised in the con do. Devon watches the dim setting with only a half-lit gas station a block away that is deserted. He doesn’t dare smoke, knowing the job is as good as done.

Could these wetbacks be part of the cartel? For a brief instant the thought enters Devon’s mind, and then vanishes back into the same abyss it sprouted from.

The buddies are on the brink of completely owning this rusty beater of a good driving vehicle; it sputters to life and lurches forward. The trunk of the relic is still open from the previous oblivious occupants and is displaying the strange reddish artifact things that appear extraterrestrial in an otherwise normal but rusting, dark blue Ford-esque truck from the '70s.  The moment and object are all very contradictory but nothing to think about for too long when committing a crime. The boys know they got something, but the fatigue of What? Is beyond the limits of their comprehension from the get go. The easy lift is what they are after and this has been a Gift so the only fitting ask-and-shrug is, Why question it? They keep going. But that’s when the sharper one, Devon, glances in the rearview and sees it, a pit rolling out under the bed of the truck. He slops Derrick on the bicep and gestures him to Stop with an abrupt palm of the right hand that turns into a convincing hold on the steering wheel, forcing Derrick to slam on the brakes to avoid some rusted metal on the side of the road.

Derrick cranes his head as Devon points with amazement at the new finding. Talk about dumb luck. Devon thinks of jumping into the hole that the now stolen truck has revealed by pulling forward. Like a fox dog in a whorehouse. He imagines finding more of the gold bricks and red artifacts, and before he knows it, he’s lowering himself into the throat of this underground lair. There’s a strange ladder that’s only half-way built up.  He has to dangle half of his body down before beginning to wrap an old ratty tennis shoe around a foot hold. He’s like in a dream, because there are no words for it.

"lucavich-vada-lucavich-vee-lucavich-vada…….. Primal Lord, Primal Lord!..."lucavich-vada-lucavich-vee-lucavich-vada….Primal Lord, Primal Lord!..."

(Playfully the song drifts throughout the hollow bowels of this stone enclosure with ancient writing on the walls. The surroundings seem small, and well contained, like a box type room with clay walls and hieroglyphics written on the walls. The walls seem slightly suspicious though, like there could be another labyrinth hidden in the creases that could go off for miles through unseen hidden networks. The verses of this strange immortal song that are quiet yet ominous are repetitious and sung not so loudly with almost a comedic over the top high pitch tone at the ‘Primal Lord, Primal Lord’ part, echoing from all directions off the walls.)

Devon looks around for a minute and his eye lands on a woman who's head is the only thing visible though she has a lengthy feminine shape in the semi-darkness. Aside from her beautiful face, she is covered head to toe in a writhe-y lung like outfit that is red as the hottest flames of a campfire. Her eyes seem to have been upon Devon since his descent, and they are flickering with an ancient evil as she hisses but also makes a throaty roar that seems like it comes from a lost liquid cavern.  Something like a Jenny. Something like a Jessi. Jessica?

Devon screams and then instantly she throws something unseen from her hands at him and his mouth freezes open but the screams are quieted so they become a softer pitch of complaints.

Tears stream down his face as she stares at him like a lizard at a fly. On the wall somewhere is a network of lungs that are beating against the wall like the hungry organs of a see-thru frog. She throws what looks like nuts into the man's pit of a mouth and black eels crawl out of the walls and dive into his mouth. They eat the nuts and parts of him as well as he screams quietly. At a slightly elevated pace he is pulled into a crevice in the bottom of the earth. Derrick begins to crawl down the hole the same way he did, and the woman rushes towards the top grabbing at him as he screams and dashes out of the hole with the monster lady not far behind. We see her rushing out of the hole with a hungry gusto, escaping from her ancient crypt and unleashing a dubious spirit into the world that will now breathe and breed on the surface.

The End

4/29/23

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Mavia +

Bunny Villaire

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