The monitor has kept a lonely vigil on the nightstand. Its green, and sometimes red, bars of light have blinked intermittently for nearly two weeks. The volume is turned off, though the residents in bed beside it wouldn’t know the difference. They lay inert beside its quiet pleas—bodies and breath reeking of the same substance that recently occupied the empty bottles littering the floor.

Neither is much to look at. The wife—we’ll call her that, for they are legally married after the common-law variety—is rather large. Her thin, unkempt hair fans across the pillows of her fleshy cheeks, puffy lips hiding dark, spotted teeth. Her pink, wrinkled chemise stains beneath the underarms and her hefty legs tangle in the rank sheets.

Beside her lies the broad form of her husband. Though not as corpulent as his wife, he bears it more awkwardly. His arms and shoulders are thin, but he packs more in his gut and cheeks and ankles. He is also rather hairier; the short stubble of his head extends toward his eyebrows, and down his back. An empty liquor bottle rests against his chest. He strokes it mindlessly with his thumb, a smile on his lips; sordid dreams flitting across his barren mind.

The monitor gives a sudden, silent scream as the bars flash to maximum capacity. Green. Green. Red. Red. Red. All five blink in rapid succession. The monitor seems to buzz and shake with the effort of waking its owners. The wife twitches and begins to stir.

Down the hallway, at the microphone end of the monitor, a girl crouches against crib bars, fingers to her ears.

“Hush, hush,” she pleads with her infant sister, “you’ll wake them!” Her knees are held tightly to her chest, tears in her big, somber eyes.

The girl is no more than seven, perhaps eight years old, though she is small for her age. Her body is as pinched and thin as her parents are large and obtuse. Her wispy-fine hair is mouse-brown and matted, and she reeks of urine. Reaching into the crib, she tenderly lifts out the shrieking bundle. Even so, no one has taught her to support the neck, and the baby’s head lolls back. The infant shrieks louder. Terrified, she pleads again— “Hush baby!”

She cradles her sister like she’s seen other girls do with their dolls. Girls whose dolls are exquisitely dressed, pushed along in pink little wicker prams. She rocks baby girl, back and forth, back and forth. Still, the girl screams on, inconsolable.

Fearful, the girl looks about, grasping at a bottle on the shelf. It is empty—only a dried milk residue remains—but she puts it in, desperate to quiet the shrieking. For a moment it works, baby girl is content to suck on the dry air of the bottle. But her empty belly aches with the rush of air and the crying intensifies. Laying the baby on the floor, the girl rushes through the doorway to get to the fridge, when from the other end of the house, a roar.

“Fer gods sakes, shut ’er up!”

The girl flinches visibly and hurries back to the room. At the end of the hall, an argument ensues.

“It’s yer turn.”

A whiny voice answers. “I went th’ last time!”

“No yeh didn’! Yeh jes’ slep’ through me gittin’ up!”

Their voices grow louder and louder through the thin walls.

“You son-of-a-b—! You say that every time!”

“I don’t! Ef’n yeh ever got off yer own lazy ass, yeh’d know!”

She screams at him in return, a high, angry shriek, and the sounds of a scuffle ensue. Profanities rain through the walls and the whole house shakes at the meeting of these two behemoths. Baby girl screams on, where she’s been left the floor. Her sister sobs quietly, crouched, hiding behind a threadbare armchair in a corner of the room.

A few loud thumps, a final shriek and the door flies open. Hair ratty and frizzed from the tussle, the ogress emerges from her cavern, jowls quivering with rage.

She hurls a final insult behind her; “son-of-a-b—!” before stomping down the hall. Her fury is brought to a halt on finding her infant on the floor. Her face slackens into an expression of dull stupidity as she puzzles over the marvelous event, when suddenly the pieces click.

“Lena!” Her patience is razor-thin. “–Lena! Where is that little b—!?”

Timidly, Lena emerges from behind the chair, thin arms across her chest, shielding herself.

“There you are.” Her mother grimaces. “What you been doin’?” When Lena doesn’t answer, she cuffs her across the head. “You been wakin’ her!? Huh? You been wakin’ her ‘cause you know we already en’t gettin’ no sleep!? You little b—! Answer me!”

Lena glances down at her squalling sister before replying. “No’m. Jes’ tryin’ to shut ’er up.”

“Liar!” Her mother slaps her again, before turning her attention to baby girl. Lena takes the opportunity to scuttle back to her place behind the armchair.

“What Lena been doin’ to you, huh?” she smiles emptily down at baby girl. Lifting her up, she presses the child against her bosom. “Shush, shush, baby.” Lena watches jealously from the corner.

Alternately rocking and bouncing, the woman works to console her. Rock, bounce, pat. Rock, bounce, pat. At moments, the newborn pauses in her crying and allows herself to be consoled. Then, remembering her parentage, the wails begin afresh.

“Agh—jest shutup!” The woman’s jaw quivers angrily. “Well—mebe you’re jest hungry!”

Rummaging in the cupboard, she hastens to mix a few ounces of formula and puts it in the child’s open mouth. Though hungry, the child gags on the cold milk, crying louder. Her small, wrinkled face is a crimson red-verging-on-blue. Rock, bounce, pat. The mother goes through the motions of consoling her child, though inwardly her corrupted heart dwells on the offenses against her. An abusive husband who forces her to care for their children alone! A willful daughter who purposefully awakens her sister. An infant who won’t stop screaming. All of them, conspiring to wrong her. Her mind picks over each damning evidence.

A dark seed of hatred, already well-established, takes firmer root. Her stained pink chemise slips off her shoulder and those wretched, rotted teeth grimace as the infant scorns her attentions.

Rock, bounce, pat.

Rock, bounce, pat.

Five minutes pass, then six. Each second is an eternity beside those ear-splitting screams.

At eight minutes, she tries burping her, changing her, feeding her again. After each failure, her fleshy face darkens, and her mind grows more embittered.

‘All I do is care for ‘em, hour after hour an’ this is my thanks.’ She thinks savagely. ‘I hate ‘em.’

Rock, bounce, pat.

Rock, bounce, pat.

Behind the chair, Lena tries to stifle a miserable sob.

“Lena! Git out here!”

Reluctantly, Lena creeps out from behind her perch.

“You woke ’er, so you c’n take ’er. See how you like it!”

She dumps the child unceremoniously into Lena’s arms and retreats into the hallway. The thin walls no longer hold back the tide of noise, however, and the alcohol has worn its way into a pulsing headache. She hovers there for a few minutes ‘jest to teach Lena a lesson,’ before marching back in to pull the baby out of Lena’s despairing arms.

Rock, bounce, pat.

Rock, bounce, pat.

Rock, bounce, pat, shake.

At first, it’s just brief jounce, enough to scare her quiet. Then, as the screams crescendo and the injustices against her culminate in the woman’s small mind, she shakes the child harder. With a final thump on the thinly carpeted floor, she begins to scream herself.

“Shutup! Jest shutup!”

This time, baby girl listens.

Cade let his arm fall slack, almost dropping the extra six inches of steel that extended forth from his loosening grip. He holstered the gun and surveyed the carnage before him. The church was riddled with corpses and viscera. He couldn’t help but wonder if God himself would be satisfied with this bloodshed, or if he would demand yet more.

He cast a glance to the altar and saw the monster himself, terror filling his tear-filled eyes, clutching the podium like his God would strike down this invader and save him from his fate. Just like he had saved the rest? Cade stepped slowly between the pews and down towards the twisted creature that was clad in black and white and covered in sin. He reached for the rope at his belt, and the creature snarled and whimpered before launching itself at him in a fearful frenzy.

Cade stepped aside and it fell to the floor behind him. He began tying the rope around his arms and legs. “You have soiled this holy house of Go…!” it screamed as Cade forced the rope around the creature’s neck and pulled it tight, cutting off any other worthless words from spilling from its maw. He leaned down and spoke into its ear with chilling calm.

“God ain’t here, Padre. You and I both know that. Don’t we?” he said in the low gravelly voice of someone who had found no reason to speak in some time, as he began dragging the monster towards the open doors of the ruined church and into the streets.

The people of the town who had refused to raise arms against him gathered around. Cade felt the evil in himself rising, as if called to waking by his actions. He thought about the things this creature had done to good people in the name of it’s unholy God. He thought about the sight of his wife and son’s charred cadavers and felt a tear stream down his face, though his face remained implacable. He wanted to enact horrible deeds against this killer, but that would do nothing but drag his soul into perdition right alongside it.

The people watched as the demon in their midst was dragged by a rope to the hanging tree in the center of town. A place where they had watched so many a man and woman “sent to God”. Cade inspected the faces of these people around him, and he saw fury in their eyes. Whether it was for him or his prey, he didn’t know.

Cade dropped the rope and allowed the demon in disguise to writhe along the ground as he stepped up to the tree and looked out once again at the faces of those complicit in the death of the only light in his world.

“If you’re wantin’ some last words to your flock Padre, best get to speakin’.” he said.

The preacher only managed a choked gurgle as he tried to claw at the section of rope wrapped firmly around his throat.

Cade nodded. “Par for the course, I suppose.” he said.

“Means about as much as the rest of the bile you spew.” he muttered to himself before stepping over to grab the end of the rope and slinging it over a thick bough of the tree and hoisting with every bit of strength he had left.

He heard no screams of shock from the crowd around him. Nobody tried to stop him or save the preacher. They all just watched the so-called man of God, as his face turned blue, and his tongue became swollen within his throat. They listened to the gurgles and the silent pleas in his bulging eyes, to them and his God.

Cade didn’t know if they had seen the truth in their sinful ways or if they simply didn’t find the strength necessary to stop him. He felt his muscles strain and his own strength waver as he continued to hoist the preacher, holding on until he felt the last of the life within the evil bastard disappear.

Finally, he felt the rope go taut and still. He released the weight all at once and turned around to see the lifeless corpse of the preacher, just as ugly on the outside now, as he had always been within.

Cade, without looking away, undid his holster from his belt and allowed the gun to fall to the ground before turning away without a word, and disappearing into the desert beyond.

I don't write fiction. Life too thick to break out from. Made up characters flat compared to those who have punched me in the gut in life. Punched so hard, so deep it knocked the creative wind out of me. So I can only spew, vent, rage. I hate this version of me.

There was another once. Joyful, loving. In love with you actually. Expansive, generous, giving. All for you. I loved even me then.

I know I say you took that soul away but is it true? Was it me instead of you?

Was it me instead of you who had the capacity to profoundly adore beauty, suck the spirit out of pleasure, enjoy just breathing? Was it me who gave you to power to deflate, ravage, slaughter my soul? If so, I renege on our broken contract of forever and ever; and now vow to try to reclaim the I who is me without you.

I'll admit I don't recall the melody but I still have the words always swirling never stopping in my head. Perhaps if I listen to the earth, the beat of my still thumping heart, the never disappointing spring, I can twist my words to a different tune and regain myself in the process. Perhaps if I just chose to realign my focus I can reclaim me.

Note: I mostly write, or hope to write, sci-fi or plain-old humour. However, as a challenge, I wrote a fantasy flash-fiction based on an image prompt. I hope this fits in with the brief of this challenge!

---

The tribe would never be the same again.

Kagura fell back from the crowd that watched Lephiane emerge from the top of the mountain. Lephiane’s lithe figure was shimmering with an aura around her. It glimmered in colours she had not seen before.

Not long ago, the two witch sisters had had one of their arguments when Lephiane was venturing across the Barren Rift.

“Lephy, please don’t go!” she had pleaded, “I don’t want an evil eye to befall you!”

“Sister, you know we are the chosen ones of the tribe,” Lephiane had argued, “We must venture for the tribe’s survival. They say the land of the Infinite People has a magical gift that has helped them survive for aeons and aeons.”

“But … but we have everything we need, don’t we? What’s more, we can now conjure up new things for the tribe. Things they never knew existed!”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact that we are all dying. Fast!”

“I am working on it …” Kagura had been hurt.

Lephiane had then held her sister close and comforted her.

“I know. I know. You are smart, brave and skillful. I am sure you will soon be able to save the tribe from extinction, one way or another. But my destiny lies in seeking wonders that exist across the lands, the waters and the mountains.”

“When will you leave?” Kagura had conceded after a pause.

Lephiane had smiled as she wiped Kagura’s tears with her sash. “At the first sign of dew tomorrow. You can send me away with your new creation that always brings us home.”

“The Pathfinder!” Kagura had exclaimed.

Now, as she watched her sister making way back slowly, she was filled with dread about the new dangers that would follow. What if the Infinite People were not friendly and the tribe faced an onslaught like the last time the long night had come? Hadn’t they been happy for so many ages just being black or white?

The land was white and people were black. It worked very well. The Radiant One in the sky never burned them with her wrath. They saw her walking by, watching over them serenely, where the lands, the waters and the mountains met the sky. There were no shadows to scare the little ones. There were no harsh bright surprises either.

The soft cushions that covered most of the sky were white too. Occasionally they cried along with the tribe when someone went back to The Invisible One. The laments lasted weeks sometimes. They usually buried themselves deeper into the white earth until the crying ceased. It gave them a chance to get closer to those who were resting below for eternity.

Lephiane was clearly visible now. Kagura retreated a step as if not wanting to meet her sister, not wanting to accept that she was back – and what gift she bore this time. She was happy with the way things were. Simple is always better. Two is better than many.

“I love this black and white world of ours!” she almost said aloud.

The shimmering aura around Lephiane made her appear ethereal, demonic even, and Kagura’s heartbeat sped up. What was about the shimmer that she could not fathom? She had never seen anything like it before. She wondered if her sister had turned evil from a sorcerer’s spell in the land of the Infinite People. She began chanting her secret hymn to face the imminent danger.

All around her, the tribe watched Lephiane. Each of her sisters stood motionless, like they always did to receive travellers. It was a show of strength. No weapons, no spells. Just silence and a resolve to stand their ground. Then, it happened.

A faint restlessness rippled through the watching sisters. A step here, a twitch there. Soon, they were all retreating, slowly. This had never happened before, thought Kagura. Lephiane was already bringing fear with her. The tribe that had lived without distress, doubt or phobia of any kind were moved. She prepared for the inevitable and made her decision.

---

“Kagura! Kagura! My dear sister!” Lephiane broke into a run and then stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong, sis? Why is everyone retreating?”

“It’s the … the aura around you!” stammered Kagura.

“Oh this? No, don’t be afraid, dear sisters” assured Lephiane, “It’s only an illusion; a mirage if you will. The gift I bring will free us from eternal perish. It will provide us with the magical powers to live forever!”

“How?” demanded Kagura, “All we have ever got from these gifts is destruction and pain.”

“I will teach you how to use it! I have met wizards all over the land of the Infinite People. I know why they are called the Infinite People!”

Kagura frowned but did not retreat any further. Lephiane was now within a few hands from her. Kagura mustered up her courage and met her sister. As they held hands, as she felt her sister’s fingers curl around her palm, Kagura felt something she hadn’t ever before. It was as if she was slowly thawing.

“What’s happening to me, Lephy?” she asked.

“This is the gift I bring” smiled Lephiane, “We will never pass away cold and frozen. We can survive the long white days and nights.

The Infinite People keep this gift everywhere. Their homes, pathways, mountains. They even carry it with them over water. Their nights are not black anymore. They can keep away all creatures with this gift. That is how they have survived for many many aeons.”

“How does the gift help them do that?” demanded Kagura, not convinced.

“It keeps them less frozen, or warm, as they say. They offered it to me … a warm welcome, they exclaimed. I was as fearful as I sense you are now, sister. Then, I began enjoying its fruits, which are countless. Do you know that we can keep this gift going forever? You can share it and it grows. Oh Kagura! We can finally see in the black nights. We can drive all the demons away that terrify the tribe!”

“Does this … this gift have a name?”

“Fire!” said Lephiane and Kagura knew:

The tribe would never be the same again.

Note: I tried Horror exactly once as a long-form story and it ended up better matching an Urban Fantasy or Paranormal.

**************************

The first night, no matter how dangerous, how bullheaded, and unbelievably insensitive to Donna's constant badgering or the motherly hysterics from Mom, Cole had visited Josh's little grave when his sister had first been lost.

Following a long, long, loooong coming "first date," with who had seemed a sweet, somewhat dweeb of a Tony McGuire fanboy.

There was a sleet of harsh rain at two eighteen in the morning, battering the cemetery. Completely stealing away his voice having barely opened his lips.

After all, shadows among the stones, or peeling up and down from the green bed of grass and jauntily blossoming sprouts from fresh mounds could very well be ghosts. And the very moon in the sky full and lustrous, was really a metallic drone watching and recording.

"I'm telling you little brother there's something out there. I knew that upswing of reported crop circles had been important. It's such a cliche but its completely possible they either don't care or don't think its important. For goodness sake if they've committed the perfect kidnapping not to mention figured intergalactic space travel what do they care about what us bugs think are patterns," he ranted and raved. Sounding crazy as always, in just the way that drove Donna insane. In just the way that swept him up and could sweep him away from his thoughts.

Of the too small, too beautiful gravestone. But Josh deserved nothing less, had been so, so much, and died much too young one summer's afternoon on a camping trip upstate with his scout troop.

Dad had spitefully sued the neglectful teens on duty and in fact the entire chapter to the ground.

"Dad wants to kill Zack," Cole informed to the silent marble. Not much of a marvel, hardly worth the waver. Despite knowing the poor, sweet guy was the last person to have been guilty. "No really, not just the usual, though that was funny to watch," and a genuine if not brittle smile came to him at the thought.

Then again, there'd been some tempers flown at Donna too, she hadn't told anyone they'd transitioned to dating.

"Let me tell you about what I found out, see there's this Occult website that sells really well and their products actually look homemade. Each one has its own flare," he continued on, smile hitched on his face, gleaming oddly in the scant light, "I-- I bought this salt, see we'd have maybe gone demon hunting around the woods and other such places dotted around, it's supposed to protect against demons and evil spirits."

Cole emptied the hemp bag in a negligible circle, careful with each palmful, that about half still turned to paste in the storm.

Saying a prayer, about twenty or so minutes later, Cole said his goodbyes and biked against the wet pavement, slippery and squeaking, fighting the tires and shocks of his once shiny new mint bicycle.

Able to creep back into the yard through the purposefully unlocked lawn gate sopping wet and stripping down to his boxers disposing of the offending clothes in an empty basin meant to be filled with a sizeable plant. Alarm set for a couple hours so he could take up collecting and piling the clothes into a couple hours with the dryer.

Well, that night turned to two then three and four, for five weeks without exception. He began to resemble a skin walker himself off his conspiracy boards, constantly grimy, stinking of wet soil, so, so grimy, itching everywhere scraping his nails across flesh to rash-worthy red.

Cole had been forced to admit, exclusively to himself that when the sound of the pipes dripping just underneath the wall, was his own heart, somehow outside his chest someone somehow dead. That something, some unholy thing wanted to devour him that he may have been losing his mind just a little.

He had admitted to a lesser crime, he admitted to meandering //inside// the house at odd hours unable to rest, so his parents permitted he skipped school.

And selfish as it was, Cole couldn't help but boast that included an exam in the dreaded literature class.

It took something of a terrible person, that once his head did hit a pillow, Cole slept without complaint. Without nightmares and without question. Of whether Donna would live or die. When. Or if she was found.

And in fact they did find her.

A very nice homeless man called the police and with the proper tests done did in fact ascertain there'd been no foolishness.

And the momentary flash, red and made of primal, inherited vitriol abated.

The good man had done a very good thing.

A very, very good thing.

"Hi! My name's Donna! I'm four years old! I don't, I don't know my full address yet," she said, hand distorting her words.

"Oh!" she shot out, pointing to Mom, "that's my Mom, her see and Dad too."

She giggled at her shaved head, squealed in naive curious fear of the bandage at her head.

Making her whole family flinched in how closely she fingered a blatant hole that had caved her head. Slick and sticky with blood, too much blood and fluid.

Somehow Cole still slept through the nights.

Some nights he did sleep through the way Donna wandered around the hall where the bedrooms are, eyes wide and in some way glazed. Somehow dusted with a silver there hadn't been before.

Other nights he heard her, humming an absent, toneless song in an airy fairy-like voice. Fitting for her delicate, ethereal young age.

In all seriousness, Donna had never been so, so... dim yet curious.

Her little red black button up easter dress always came back as clean as she had left in it.

However the doctors had said to expect it.

Even if it did prickle uncomfortably at Cole.

The little parts of Donna that came out wrong from that place she had been in.

But four year old Donna had cried when fed celery and broccoli at that age. Which had allowed him to be the good one for once.

And now she balked at the concept of meat and the dead animal.

Mom and Dad, the doctors, heads lowered in such pity concede all the manner of gruesome things she could have encountered.

Once the concept had finally sunk in, that like some fairytale her brother had grown big without her, she clung to his every word and asked a myriad of questions.

An otherwise perfect impression.

If it weren't for the unnatural misted shine of her green eyes and the sheer oddity of her childish smile.

Cole tossed and turned at night. The word skating across his brain.

Skin walkers. Dead. Changing faces, skin dirty becomes clean. Crops. No hair, no prints. No struggle at all.

FAKE.

Donna, was a fake.

His breath had just about turned to ice when the door knob turned.

Creak

Creak

Creak

Eyes bored down his nape.

Cole reluctantly sucked in a breath past the sudden marble in his throat.

"Are you awake?" she asked shyly, maybe wringing her hands.

"I had a nightmare, I was scared."

Cole kept his silence.

"Can I sleep with you?"

//I'll keep the nightmares away!//

Cole had once declared that, announcing an impromptu sleepover as the neglected older children with that pink ham named Josh around.

The thing that looked like his sister crawled into the covers.

Settling in contentedly next to him lying close enough that her nose touched his back.

"Are you okay? You're tense, really, real tense."

A blue coat enveloped the decrepit house.Not even smiles of joy could tarnish the ever present gloom that rested in there.Living there is a family we have watched dutifully through the years.We do not get attached, our feelings are not the same as yours so when we felt something for them it was new. You must understand we are God's to them small but worshipped nonethless. Every morning,night and day they search within us but over the years we have dared to look back. When the small one began to walk and the tall one began to cry we did not understand. When the small one fell and screamed and the tall ones ran, we did not understand. When the small one smiled,laughed and shared with us her mind we finally did,understand. Fooled by this enigma we all felt something, like she was our kin,a caring beyond what we knew possible developed.So when things began to change we noticed.

No one expected him,no one does but we do.We know what he does at night when his family is gifted peace. We know what violence dances about when the warm cloak of night comforts him. See we never rest,our duty is to reflect and what we saw we cannot unsee.Everynight it traumatises us a new chip forms like a crack in us.Slowly breaking from the sight,it haunts us.

When she climbs into bed and sniffles into her stuffed baby giraffe at night we saw him. When a tall woman rests her head at exactly 9 :47 every night we see him. He waits patiently like a hunting snake. First he walks down the stairs barefooted in nothing but a loose trousers and top. He slithers into the kitchen with a eyes which hold great secrets,it weighed on him. Thirsty he always drinks a quarter cup of fresh orange juice .He never finishes it.

Eager he leaves the cup on the counter and hurries to his daughters room. He reaches her room and slowly with care he opens the door. He allows it to fling open wide. Strange,he never steps inside but just stares at her. The concept of time we cannot grasp but we have noticed it's power over the years. So we know now that he spends about 4 hours watching her. No movement,not even an itch he stands there with a look that we wish we never saw. So unwavering in its intent,so cold in its delivery but what really scares us is how determined it is that it's almost eerie.

After this he goes down stares into the basement in a rush. When he comes out a smirk is always plastered on his face.A look of relief or fulfillment one seems to disappear the next morning.He wakes up early and shakes her up.She always insists on taking her stuffed giraffe with her.It feels sinister when he grips her hand dragging her down stairs towards the basement.Her giraffe bashes it's head against the steps while the girl let's a tear escape.Everytime.

We do not know what goes down there in the basement but it is not right. When the sun creeps away and the girl hides under her covers she cries rivers. She always grabs at her tissue box next to her light when it overwhelms her. Her melancholia overtakes her,outruns her and it will drown her.To witness her tears every night is torture so we like knights shall fall on our swords to end our suffering and hopefully hers.

A plan has been devised one that needs to be conducted with stealth. See every night the tall one that sleeps beside him wanders to the bathroom at 2:50 am. She relieves herself then returns back into bed at 2:54am.This gives us a 4min gap to end him. One of us is situated above the bed where we have seen horrendous things occur. We shall all crack and break in protest to our dear little friends slow shattering.

Hopefully our shards shall penetrate those eyes that haunts her and all of us each night. Hopefully tall one will feel free and not cover up her scars with us. We are exact but we have studied them,appreciated them that it has softened our eye. So although we may never die, we will never see our dear friend again. Hopefully they will move out this house. It never suited them expect for him. It enfolded him,welcomed him in like and old friend. This houses suited the kind of secrets he held in his eyes. The house was not cluttered it was almost sterile void of feeling and life. Everything was so clean and put neatly together expect her. She was a little walking chaos and this always infuriated him. It also interested him to a point we wished someone threw a dark cloak over us all.

Sadly duty does command us and to not listen and reflect would be denying our very being. So when we all shatter into pieces we shall hold her close. We captured her broken heart and our broken shards will piece it back together. That baby giraffe will not have to bash its gentle head against those cold wooden steps again. Tears will not fall upon her pillow anymore. The tall one will not hide those blue marks by her arms. We will not have to see all this and more.

We will never know why there was so many of us in that house in the first place. A family with so much to hide next to us who reveals everything was odd.

There smiles did not fool us and he certainly did not.

We knew the day we saw him first when he hung us all around except the basement. When he stared into us just a little too long. Desperately he scoured us top to bottom for himself we wonder. Maybe he wanted to see if we could see what others could not.That dark blue coat that sits on him heavily.It was the way he smiled at us like there was something hiding crouched behind it.

He fit in well with the decrepit house...too well.

What can I say? Children come and go. Mother, I am not, but my experience mothering almost nullifies the statement.

"Auntuncle Zee?" Baboon asks, somehow standing taller than me. She somehow still looks up to me.

"Yeah, honey girl?" I respond, not used to the passage of time. No amount of time can get you used to the unknowns of growing.

"Did the job call you back?" She asks innocently enough.

"Yes, honey girl. Do not fret about Auntuncle, some things never change." I state back.

"Grandpa was talking about how you're already supposed to have a job, though," Another excellent innocent statement. An astute observation.

"I have a job right now." I love this game.

"What job? Since when?" Her sweet little face frinkles in confusion.

"Auntuncle. Full time, since... when was your oldest sister born?"

"Jordan, I think he means a real job. You haven't even met Cassandra, so she wouldn't count."

"Am I not adding value and depth to your life through lessons, child? Whom else has a dearest Auntuncle?" My query is perfectly valid. To answer a question with a question is uncouth, and yet - the situation called for a question.

It's how I teach.

"Um... I guess you are, I don't think any other people have an Auntuncle," Her disappointed face is painful to me. Pivot, support the child, the next generation.

"Yeah... you definitely don't have four sisters who share the same Auntuncle." My quip, borne as natural as it's materialistic equipment.

"I fo- I was just asking if you got a job because Grandpa told me to bother you about it, and ask if you needed help looking," The frustration grows on sweet Baboon's face. I love this game.

"Niecey, didst thou not just forget four blood siblings? Methinks thou may require work on your presence of mind. Your presents are your siblings - mightst thou find them, as opposed to helping Auntuncle find a job? Find the siblings, find the power to help Auntuncle. Yeah?"

"I'm really not understanding you right now, Zee." Her face is perfectly confused.

"Yeah. That is the full-time job of an Auntuncle, honey girl. To be confusing."

I can't explain to her how I am even more confused than she is. My confusion starts at the sight of her. She used to be a third of my height. I used to carry her on my shoulders. I used to ask her if she needed help. I'm so proud of her for growing.

Children have such a bizarre hate for reminders that they are loved. Who is confusing who? Is this job not mutually symbiotic?

They tickle my brain and demolish my heart, daily, to make space for more love.

What is confusing about that? Let my brain slip into the fast-paced reality of life. Blink once, miss a school play.

Blink twice, miss an entire life.

Blink three times, Dorothy, and you'll always end up back home.

I'm confused how that cycle could ever be seen as a negative backslide.

Is that not life?

"I'm going to go outside and do some work, then, I guess...?" Her small voice cuts through my thoughts, I must have spaced out.

"Yes! Auntuncle lesson. Go enjoy your slice of life on our shared plot of land, child!" I boom out from my heart and soul to her.

"Um. Okay. I'm gonna have Grandpa spend time with you for... to... I think Grandpa was going to hang out with you anyways," Walking away, I see her slipping out of my life just as easily as before. We're all only a move away from a negative slip.

How positive, life can be what we make of it.

How I wish my wonderful family could understand the vision I try to share!