Reclaiming Me
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.
Minimal World
"That'll be $7.98," the woman, her gray hair peeking from under the bandana around her large, angular face, said as she bagged the watermelon and handed it to Luciana.
"I'll pay with my phone," Luciana replied.
The woman nodded, gesturing to the payment terminal on the counter. Luciana tapped her phone against it, and the transaction went through seamlessly.
"Thanks," Luciana said, taking the bag of fruit. "Have a great day."
"You too, honey," the woman called after her. As Luciana turned away, she gave her a once-over, it wasn't the first time she had seen her.
As Luciana walked out of the small market, she felt the heat of the sun beating down on her. It was a scorching summer day in Wisconsin, and the first thing Luciana did upon arriving home was to place the bag containing the watermelon on the table. The wicker tablecloth absorbed the impact of the heavy watermelon as Luciana sat down on the wooden piano bench and began to play. The fabric of her white dress with blue floral print rested on the walnut stool, doing little to alleviate the heat.
As the notes flowed, the painting displayed on the kitchen table was the sole listener, and Luciana its sole observer. Entitled "Minimal World," it depicted a greatly simplified landscape with clean lines and soft colors, featuring simple geometric shapes and ample negative space. The idea was to convey the beauty and serenity of a world reduced to its essentials. Not much is really needed to find happiness.
Luciana contemplated her thoughts to the rhythm of the melody. Her paintings, once ignored by the general public, were now appreciated by a large majority, allowing her to make a living from her art and exhibit it in galleries, museums, and even in official or private advertising campaigns. Did she really deserve this? Her art was minimalist and simple but encompassed a great sense of love for the world and society, infused with what she considered to be positive and important messages that invited reflection.
Still, for a long time, no one had paid attention to them, perhaps for some reason. She wondered if her success was fair. While many other artists, probably much more skilled than her, were living on the streets begging or creating very accurate portraits of the obliging people who stopped in front of them in the subway. Most people didn't have the time or inclination to truly appreciate the work of these artists. They hurried past, fixated on their own lives, rarely sparing a glance at the the artists that worked tirelessly, hoping that someone would acknowledge their talent and offer support.
Luciana's fingers glided effortlessly across the piano keys, and the music filled the room. The minimalistic painting seemed to absorb the melody, as if it were part of the artwork itself. Outside, the sun continued to beat down, just as Luciana beat the piano keys.
While Luciana played the piano in her sunlit living room, the library behind her suddenly opened without her even turning around. Her expression remained impassive and pensive. A blinding light, unlike anything compared to the sunlight filling the room, emanated from the space between the two now-separated bookshelves, and a six-meter-tall being entered the room, crouching to fit. "There's the watermelon, take it before it spoils in this heat," Luciana said dispassionately.
The otherworldly being floated towards the table, picking up the watermelon that seemed like a grape in its enormous hand, and checked its freshness by bringing it close to its wide mouth, which served as a nose and eyes—a sort of universal analyzer. "It's fresh," the being said. Luciana’s artistic career depended on that fruit, and no, she wasn't drawing watermelons.
Luciana stopped playing, having fulfilled her purpose: to summon the being, whose names were not spoken but played as melodies. They had taught her the melody during their first encounter.
"Yes, it's from the usual store, they have the freshest watermelons, just the kind you like," Luciana said, her eyes still fixed on her painting. "The fresher they are, the more citrulline," the being said, attempting a smile, which for its species meant opening its mouth to the sides—a somewhat intimidating appearance that Luciana had learned to ignore.
"Is something wrong?" the being asked, noticing her distraction. "It's just that, I don't know, do I really deserve this fame? I mean before meeting you, before meeting your race, no one noticed my paintings," she admitted. "Of course you do, that's why we fixed that little problem. Your paintings deserve admiration, they just needed the push that we give them. By the way, have you painted any new ones? So I can add the final touch?" the being said. "That final touch, it's like you hypnotize people..." Luciana hesitated. "Well, we just make them notice what they should notice, how amazing your creations are, that's all. And in exchange, we only ask for you to provide us with watermelons. I thought you were okay with it."
"I understand that Earth was your creation, just another ship of yours, and you signed an agreement with the Space Federation to give it up for experimental purposes, giving rise to the human race. That same agreement prevents you from intervening directly and disrupting the natural flow of our society or forcing anyone, which is why you chose this small action. And the fact that I’m the chosen one because, well, you didn't say it like that, but basically because I'm weak, a nobody. And I had a frustrated dream that made me easy to manipulate. Besides, who would believe me if I told them? An artist who imagines things wouldn't be anything strange. But couldn't you really get citrulline from somewhere else?" Luciana said, starting to sweat from the very act of speaking.
"It would be difficult to obtain watermelons in any other way. If we contacted someone with access to a watermelon field, it would be too obvious, and we don't want to cause any shortages or draw attention to ourselves—we don't want to be investigated. Besides, watermelons have the highest citrulline content on Earth. Citrulline is our source of energy, a powerful vasodilator necessary to make our machinery work, which essentially functions like your human body. That's where you came from, after all. Our reserves are running low, and our source was Earth until we signed the agreement. Of course, when we signed it, we didn't expect to encounter supply problems, but it's too late to go back now," the being said, and Luciana couldn't see any expression on his face, although the tone of its voice conveyed a deep sense of sadness.
The being approached her and placed its enormous, two-fingered hand on her shoulder. "The fact that you're concerned shows the goodness of your soul, and that's enough to deserve your paintings being appreciated. So don't worry about it, we're not harming anyone. You're a successful painter who purchases watermelons, and we get to keep our ship running. It's a win-win situation." The being's reassuring words and gentle touch brought some comfort to Luciana, but a lingering doubt remained in the back of her mind. Was this really a fair arrangement, or was she being taken advantage of in exchange for a taste of success?
The being disappeared the way he came, and this time Luciana didn't bother to bid farewell. Instead, without even checking that the library had closed properly, she headed to the bathroom. She thought that a refreshing shower might help clear not only her body but also her mind.
Luciana checked her mobile phone and saw a message from Matthew, her boyfriend. The last message they had exchanged was a sketch that Luciana had sent him for his opinion, and he now replied that it was impressive and that she should continue with the painting. In Luciana's eyes, that sketch was terrible. She thought to herself, "Not you too!" This was all she needed to decide to end the pact she had with the aliens.
She quickly sat down at the piano, playing the melody to summon the being, but no one appeared. Perhaps it hadn't yet returned to the ship. Unable to wait any longer, Luciana focused on the library, noticing that it wasn't sealed shut as she usually made sure to do after the visits. She pushed forcefully to open it, revealing a blinding light in the shape of a tunnel. She followed it, reaching a door, and on the other side, she could see what looked like spaceship pilot controls. She also heard voices, which scared her, so she hid in the doorway. Luciana saw another being similar to the one she had always dealt with enter from one side and hand a polka-dot backpack to another being. "Seriously? Another watermelon?" the other being said as they threw the backpack down a tunnel labeled "Waste for Shredding."
Brother Sister, Brother, BrotherSister
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."
The Gift
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. The strange plume that billowed from the sack behind her had stunned her. 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.
“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 eons and eons.”
“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?”
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 Lephiane making her 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 when 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. Often when someone went back to The Invisible One. The lament lasted weeks sometimes. They just buried themselves deeper until the crying stopped. It also gave them a chance, in a way, to get closer to those who were gone.
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 rising plume of smoke was growing in size and Kagura’s heartbeat sped up. What was about the smoke that she could not fathom? It was neither black nor white. She had never seen that shade before. She wondered if her sister had turned evil from a sorcerer’s spell. 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 but surely. 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 smoke!”, stammered Kagura.
“Oh this? No, don’t be afraid, dear sisters”, assured Lephiane, “This gift 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 eons.”
“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 when receiving me. A warm welcome, they exclaimed. I was as fearful as I sense you are now, sister. Then, I began enjoying the fruits of this gifts, and there 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 frighten the little ones of the tribe!”
“Does this … this gift have a name?”
“Fire!”, said Lephiane and Kagura knew:
The tribe would never be the same again.
Slipping Positively
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!
Black And White
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.