Night had long since fallen. A dense, gray slab hung heavy in the sky, but that did not stop the snow from glowing. Shimmering flakes floated down from above. They huddled in close, giggling as they welcomed every newcomer with open arms. It had been a long journey and they needed to recount it all for they did not know when the cycle might begin again.

All the while, a girl from a world not our own watched, huddled in the window nook of a small, gray-stoned cottage, alone. A cup of brewed elders cradled in her hands grew cold with every forgotten sip. Let it be cold, she thought, let everything be cold.

The flames in the hearth dwindled as wisps of silvery breath escaped her lips. Fresh crystals accumulated in the corners of the latticed window pains, but she could not make sense of their whispers between the warped glass. No matter, for a chill crept through the house to finish off the dying beast behind her, as sleep slithered up her spine.

Slowly she numbed. But before being enveloped, the girl in the window allowed her eyes to rest out onto the Garden Sea, now blanketed beneath a thick quilt of ice and snow. Lying dormant in the grips of the season, awaiting the call of It’s mistress. How lucky it must be, the girl pondered, to know what it is you’re meant to be. And so the hands of sleep took hold, and pulled her from the world into somewhere far beyond.

***

Though her journey would be short lived. For a terrible POP! rang out from the depths of the night. Ripped from sleep’s grasp, the girl jolted forward, dumping the frosted remains of her cup across her lap. As she wiped the slush away, breath heavy in her lungs, she peered out the now ice-rippled window across the snow-crested garden.

It no longer glowed, but rather radiated in the presence of a Goddess. A Goddess for whom shown abnormally bright despite her waning crescent.

It was then that, bathed in the light of the divine, the girl realized what had made the awful sound that tore her from her slumber. The Garden Sea, having heard its mistress’s call, shattered its icy cover and now bubbled furiously at the edges.

Steam rose as blankets of ice and snow melted into the fury below. The flakes that had gathered along the pool’s edge scrambled over one another to escape being devoured by the water’s wrath, thrashing against the rocky shore. The Sea had been awoken long before its time and demanded answers. However, the Mistress was in no mood to explain in the midst of her servant’s tantrum. And so the little ocean spit and spewed so high and far, icicles formed midair, threatening to impale any and all who dare near the forest clearing.

The girl, who still watched from her nook, ducked as projectiles smashed against the house. She had never witnessed a landlocked sea behave in such a manner and questioned what in all the lands the Goddess’s reason for waking it could have been, when all went still.

The water paused, a hush fell over the quivering snow. The girl peeked out the window once more, though now from the safety of the floor. The Goddess never wavered.

In an instant, the sea collapsed.

With a mighty rush and a shake of the earth, it was as if the Sea’s bottom simply fell out and swallowed itself whole. Not a soul moved, for they knew never to slight a sentient sea. They watched and waited. Because as the old saying says, what goes in, must come out. And out it did indeed.

Just as sudden as it had collapsed, the Garden Sea welled up from deep below its gaping crater and expelled its contents tree-top high in one magnificent gush. Turtles and toads who napped with the Sea were sent flying. Thankfully, the fishes had gone for the season.

Standing now, nose pressed flat against the frigid window, the girl’s mouth dropped as a dark creature, with four long limbs, came spiralling up through the air, enshrouded in the bowels of the Sea.

It landed with a remarkable THUMP! a few feet off the muddy banks in a plume of squealing snow who attempted to break its fall, causing the girl and seaweed-adorned trees to flinch upon impact. The creature no longer moved.

Now satisfied with the absence of its parasite, the Garden Sea settled and collected itself once more, pulling a thin sheet of ice up over its shoulders, content with the work it had done. However, its mistress was not as easily pleased and remained above, encircled by a curtain of clouds, gazing over the regurgitated thing.

It will surely freeze if left out all night, the girl thought, and then what is to be done? The Mother Moon had overseen its journey and delivered the creature personally. Whatever the purpose, although much to her discontent, she couldn’t let it die. So the girl turned away from her window, abandoning her empty cup, and stepped into the home where she fed the last withering flame a few logs.

As the beast regained its strength and took up battle with the smothering chill, she wrapped herself in a thick, mycelium parka lined with moss, slipped on matching boots, and snagged a pair of red-knit mittens before heading out into the bitter night.

Not wanting to be trampled, the snow parted ahead of the girl from the window as she made her way along the banks of the sleepy Garden Sea. Dazed water dwellers slowly made their way back to their host, while the surrounding trees tossed ocean weeds back down below.

The creature was shivering when the girl reached it, but not inherently conscious. And upon closer inspection, the thing so rudely expelled from the backyard pond, was nothing more than human. Not from her world, of course, judging by his unseasonable choice of dress, but human just as she.

Crystals formed along his eyelashes and embedded themselves in his dark, wiry curls. He was freezing, she had no choice but to take him in. For although they meant well, the snow had a habit of forgetting themselves and tended to cause more harm than good, despite their best efforts.

She bent down to the gangly stranger, and awkwardly hoisted him up onto her shoulder. Only for the abrupt movement to cause him to vomit sea water across her shoes and send the snow scattering. With a sigh, she stole a glance at the Mother above who did no more than look back.

So she struggled to balance the entirety of the boy’s weight against hers, thanking Goddess he was not any larger, and eventually managed to drag his limp body back along the path to her home. As she stumbled forth the snow filled in at her heels, hoping she might drop the newcomer and leave him for their enjoyment after all. She did not.

By the time the two returned to the little stone cottage the fire in the hearth danced a majestic jig to announce its victory against the lingering chill. Thanking the flames, the girl placed the stranger on the weed-woven rug at their base before shutting the remainder of the night away.

After putting the kettle on, she stripped the stranger of his crisp clothes and hung them to dry. They were threaded of a rather perverse material that seemed would serve little purpose in her world. From where had he travelled, she wondered, And why?

She layered him in knitted blankets and placed a straw-stuffed pillow under his head so he might rest comfortably. The natural pink had replaced the violet-blue in his lips and his shivers had almost ceased. Though now he began to mutter odd things in his sleep that the girl could barely make out. Something about grandmothers and bottomless puddles.

Strange, didn’t everyone know not to step into water they couldn’t see the bottom of? He must not have, considering how he got here. Although she doubted it was much of an accident, as the Moon would never have taken him so far.

The boy’s mumbling went on for some time and not knowing when he would wake, the girl brewed herself another cup of elders and took up position in her window nook to wait.

Outside the flakes began to fall again, settling along the window’s edge to get a better view, still hoping the thawed creature may by some chance return to them.

And having seen the boy’s safe-enough delivery, the Goddess turned her attention to matters elsewhere, allowing the curtain to fall and darkness to swaddle the night once more.

All the while, the Sea slept.

when you let yourself feel devastated

and forgive yourself for it,

hope seeps in

— Heather Havrilesky

She sits on the sofa, covered loosely in a blanket, a cup of still-warm tea nestled in her hands, mind in so many places at once. Shivering a bit as the cool air drifts around her ankles, somehow masterfully slipping between the woolen socks and worn-out sweatpants that she has on today, causing goosebumps to explode on the skin like tiny fireworks, the hairs on her arms lifting instantly. The old windows, miserably failing to stop the cold from coming in on a frigid day like this. The heaters, not making that much better job at keeping her warm. Unless she would consider clinging to them directly from floor level and with high levels of affection. Well, something to think about. Shrinking a bit, she wraps the thick rust-colored blanket tighter around her, making a face as the over-sugared liquid slips down her throat. Then she sighs, staring numbly at the darkening room. Feeling too tired to even get up and turn the lights on.

Yesterday proved to be a very long day, not just for her but also for Charlie. Funny enough, her collapsing in public and then later exposing herself emotionally on the roof didn't even prove to be the hardest or the strangest part of the day. She looks down at her hands, the fingers still wrapped around the chipped, red ceramic cup, wondering how much crazier her life could still possibly be. There really was no answer to that. All she could do was square her shoulders and soldier through whatever the world had in store for her.

Slowly, her mind returns to the cafeteria and the plastic chair that got more and more uncomfortable the longer she sat there alone, waiting for him. Arms crossed, and her back shoved into the seat as if she wanted to sink into it and blend with its structure until she would disappear altogether. Time, the surroundings, and the people around slowly blurring away, fading into oblivion as everything inside her became loud. So loud while lost in the soundless world that held her in a tight, nearly suffocating embrace. Destructive tenderness, and cold fingers against the skin, that were calling her home. A home that nobody wanted. A home that scorched and burned until there was nothing left.

Lost in your thoughts, stranger?

She remembers flinching and then looking up a bit dazed until her stare had gained some focus, eyes meeting his as her muscles lost some of their tension.

Concentrating, she slowly makes the rest of the scene come back to life, playing out as if she was there again. The past and present blending together as she holds the cup tighter in her hands. Her mind, settling all too easily in the conversation they had. Breathing and inhaling each word as if it was all happening now. His question, still vibrating in her ears.

You could say that. All gloom and flawless skin in one. Always some upsides to every situation.

She had tried to add a smile to her words, but it came out crooked and mangled somehow. Not that she was surprised much. One could only pretend so long before everything started to fall apart.

Yes, there are always some.

He said slowly and then tilted his head, his hand resting questioningly on the chair opposite to her.

Can I join, with the threat of my head being chopped off by any uneasy topics?

She stared at him for a moment, getting herself together, and then outstretched a hand with ease as if she wasn't really strained or bothered by the whole situation. As if there weren't any chunks of ice swimming in her veins, making her body become unnaturally still. She wanted to act naturally in front of him, yet each physical action felt like moving through rust. Just rust and countless wholes.

Go right ahead. I won't stop you.

He nodded and then sat down slowly, the chair's metal legs making a screeching sound that made them both flinch painfully.

Sorry about that.

No worries, it's my daily soundtrack in here.

She tapped a finger at the side of her forehead, trying to bring some comic relief, but it only made him frown more.

I wish you wouldn't have to go through all of this.

His voice had been soft and gentle and made her even more uneasy than before. Receiving comfort and affection was still a rather alien concept for her. Before Charlie came along, she had many dark months to go through, her soul or whatever was left of it at its lowest. And now, all those weeks later, she was still baffled that all that warmth was meant for her. Still looking at him almost suspiciously whenever he spontaneously did something nice for her, feeling like a wild animal that was brought into the house. Or a beaten-up dog that was doing its best to figure out all the new surroundings. Not knowing how to react to all the good that was coming its way. Rolling into a tight ball somewhere in the corner and only very gradually getting used to the kindness that was being given away so effortlessly, it seemed.

I think I lost you again.

His voice made her snap back into reality again.

Just for a moment, but I will always come back to you. Promise.

I know.

His voice became gentle, and she inhaled deeper, watching him tap against the table a few times before looking up at her again.

I'm not any better at picking at an awkward conversation than you are, trust me.

Her forehead creased automatically at the words.

Oh, I could argue with that.

I am aware, after all, arguing is your favorite activity at the gambling table.

Slowly, her eyebrows lifted then, the corners of the mouth shifting into a faint shadow of a smile.

You're not entirely wrong there.

She smirked a bit. And this time, the smile felt less broken.

Well, I will take that answer as a win. Hopefully, not my last.

She inhaled quickly and spoke before her old patterns caused her to stretch out the conversation, only sliding past the surface and not cutting anywhere deeper. Not touching the layers that were covered in cement and rubble of her previous life.

I had someone very close to me, someone I loved so much that it brought me pain. The good kind, the kind that has no explanation that could ever be put into silly, meaningless words.

She said with surprising calm, things that stirred in her mixing with the ones that felt relieved that she could finally let go of some of her burdens. Observing as his vibrant blue eyes became slightly bigger. But beyond that small change, he remained calm as well, not even moving or trying to speak. She nodded, mostly to herself. A sort of reassurance to continue.

It wasn't an easy kind of love to live with. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and not possible to put, in any kind of frame. It brought the worst and the best in me at the same time. It made me stronger, but it also made me more vulnerable, weaker to what could come. Because when you love like that, there aren't that many places that you can hide to avoid the grief and pain that would come when it's taken away from you.

She had taken a slow, steady breath and marveled at how strangely easy those words flowed out of her. Words she thought that she had thrown away on her darkest day just to remain breathing, but now realizing that they had never left her. They clung to the skin and wrapped themselves under the muscles, mixing with the oxygen that colored her lungs so well. It was at that moment when something in her shifted and bend unpleasantly. Her chin raising, and the jaw clenching, knowing what had to be said next.

But unfortunately, that day came sooner than I feared it would, the empty prayers that I whispered every day proving to be just that. Just empty things.

She swallowed as a sad smile appeared on her lips, and he outstretched a hand automatically to soothe her pain. But she just shook her head and quickly moved the fingers away, crossing her arms tightly over the chest.

I loved him, Charlie. More than anything in this world, it seems at times, but that wasn't enough to keep him alive... with me. Because one day someone decided that his life was no longer worth the while.

She looked to the side and stared out the window at the thick clouds coloring the sky with deep greys and shades of purple that brought some unexplainable beauty to the picture. Yet, her brain decided to ignore any form of such comfort, her fists clenching until the knuckles became white. Not that she cared much. The only thing that mattered to her at that moment was to let it go. To shed some of the layers that no longer served a purpose. Almost like a snake trying to wriggle itself out of its old, dead skin. Even though the process proved to be rather brutal.

Like at that moment, inside the cafeteria. On those two plastic chairs and the big table between them. The silence, separating them physically, with all the words that still had to be said, making them even further away. And she didn't want that gap to grow. No, that was something that she could no longer allow. Sometimes you just have to forgive yourself, or it will drag you down under all the dirt you were already under, but this time there would be no air left to breathe in between.

The softest of inhales. Say it. She urged herself in that second that somehow seemed like the most fragile second in the world.

Dan. That was his name.

She whispered and heard his chair scrape a bit against the linoleum floor. After a few seconds, she glanced back at him, fingers unclenching slowly.

You see, Charlie, Dan tended to have a talent for making bad decisions. Repeatedly, somehow never learning from his mistakes. And I was there to see him through all the storms and fires he recklessly jumped into without a second thought. At most times, he was lucky. Dangerously lucky.

Her eyes searched his for a moment, and then she pointed a finger at him, almost accusingly.

But you know how it is with luck, don't you?

He nodded slowly, cautiously, apparently sensing a shift, and her smile grew heavy and dark. Thick and black, like tar that drips down your fingers. Deadly, slow calmness.

Yes, exactly. Luck runs out, even for the dark horses of the race.

Silence swelled in around them as the people in the cafeteria kept on talking. Plates and cups, shifting, hushed conversations filling the vast space. So many worries in one room, it caused her a headache. Unfiltered sadness, and anger sipping into the brain, pulsating accusations and dread she could not block, throbbing whispers tightening around her. Just another day in hell, nothing else. She exhaled and put her hands on her lap, rubbing them slowly against the knees in thought. Memories flooding her slowly but with power as she put the physical pain away, separating from it for now. Only one destruction at once, God. Something in her smiled in a bitter way. She wasn't even sure if she believed in any higher power, and yet she begged for its mercy at times like these. She tilted her head slightly and let out a breath, eyes gliding numbly over his worried face.

So, one day he didn't come back. I wasn't really surprised that much as he had episodes like those before, drifting away from me for a day or two. Sometimes even three. Once again handling, another new lucrative business that "this time will work for sure".

For a second, she heard Dan's voice as if he was right there with her. This time it will work, baby. This plan is bulletproof, I just feel it. She breathed out and tried not to taste the bitterness on her tongue and instead just continued, her voice becoming dull and empty.

But it never really did. And on that day, instead of seeing his tired, mangled face, which somehow always had a smile reserved for me. Just for me...

She inhaled through her teeth sharply, and without warning, the wounds opened up again, catching the light and gushing blood all over the table. The motion nearly too painful for her to swallow, her throat tightening. But she fought it and clenched her fists again. It's just pain, it's nothing you haven't felt before. Get a grip on yourself. Finish something for once. She told herself with sternness, trying to replace the ache with anger. Grabbing her side as if wanting to stop the invisible bleeding and barely stopping herself from growling as the pain became too physical, too real.

But I didn't get to see it. Instead, seeing a different face and different eyes. Those eyes were serious and respectful. The officer that I had opened the door to; surprisingly gentle as he explained to me that the person most important to me, someone I could not imagine breathing without - not fully, anyway - was gone. No longer... here.

She stumbled on the last word like there were pieces of shredded glass in her mouth. Feeling the ice in her veins, stirring and covering the spaces between the ribs as her chin lifted slightly, back straightening in the plastic chair. The urge to disappear in it was gone. All she felt was her muscles thickening and beginning to settle like concrete. Matching the texture of her bones as the next words felt out of her mouth like tiny sharp pebbles, covering the floor with dust and rubble.

Murdered coldly in some dark, disgusting... sickening alley.

She looked up at the ceiling, letting the light from the lamps blind her a bit as her shoulders rolled slowly. As if she was trying to make her body move. As if she was trying to remember how it was to be human again.

The officer said a fight must have had broken off between him and the attacker. And the other person had no trouble taking one step too far. These things happen more often than one thinks, apparently.

She said in an empty voice, sarcasm coloring her words and seeming to be the only audible shade of life left in her on that day.

Hey, but what to expect when drugs and gambling issues are involved, right? Some people are just problems from the beginning. And society doesn't like that, Charlie.

For some reason, her voice managed to turn sweet as her tongue ran slowly against her teeth, threateningly sweet. As if she had been hanging on the last thread that kept her from tasting insanity fully. Tasting it and enjoying it.

Did you know they found cocaine on him? I mean, beyond finding a wide, gushing gap in his chest? Mmm, not the prettiest sight, in my opinion.

She hadn't looked his way as she asked the question. Lost somewhere between the past and what was actually going on around her. She felt disconnected from everything and didn't have any will to resurface.

He lost so much blood.

She murmured it very low, making it sound more like rusting leaves than actual words.

Whispering them almost to herself as if she was the only one in the room.

But there was nothing they could do when he was found. Nothing to be saved. It didn't matter though, as he was left there to rot there the entire night. They found him early in the morning. On November 12th. The policeman knocked at my door a few hours later. It was 9:32 a.m.

She faintly heard the voices return, creeping into her head and bringing tension under her forehead. She couldn't care less.

9:32 a.m. It's funny how a human brain can recall such small details. Don't you think?

Her voice trailed off, and she shivered after a moment, somehow smelling the snow in the air. Even if she was inside, sitting in warmth. Maybe it was because of how frozen her body felt against her numb thoughts. Or perhaps she remembered how the air smelled when she had to go in and identify the body. And feel the cold skin of his cheek as she stroked it for the last time, in that soulless room with fluorescent lights and metal, shiny surfaces everywhere. Standing there, feeling like being inside a freezer. But then again, since that day, everything felt cold to her.

Suddenly, she felt gentle fingers wrapping around hers as he pulled a chair next to her and sat down, not saying anything. Just being there and coating her with a soft warmth that she needed so desperately.

It's okay. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.

She stared at her hand in his, not looking at him until he reached out with his other hand and lifted her chin lightly. A kind smile that brought some light to her state and gradually melted the ice covering her skin. Just like the winter sun as it allows the Spring to shyly creep onto the stage. Slowly for now, but enough to let some hope to seep in. A trace of waking up life.

Is that where you were last week, Nora? Honoring his memory? Dealing with the date?

He asked after a few seconds, but to be honest, it might as long have been hours or days, for all she knew. Time felt like a very surreal thing to inhale and breathe with on that day.

You don't have to answer now. I'm sorry, that was probably a bit insensitive.

She shook her head slowly as his hold was still on her. Smiling a bit at him, his fingers on her chin seemed to burn right through the flash. It was a good burn.

No, it's okay. And yes. I went to visit him at the cemetery.

It must have been a rough time for you.

You have no idea.

He nodded and let go of her chin, letting her lean in and rest her head on his shoulder, as his arm wrapped around her body, his other hand still squeezing hers reassuringly.

I can only guess all the things you have been through in the last couple of years. But I"m here for you, whenever you need me. I mean it.

I know... I know.

It was then when he rested his chin against her head, and her body nestled itself into him. As always, somehow so naturally as if she had known him for years and not just a couple of months. But she didn't fight it as much as in the beginning. No, at that moment, she just let herself sink into him and forget that anything existed, apart from here and then.

_ _ _ _ _

She shakes her head and comes back to reality unwillingly, as the cold of her flat and the empty couch without another warm body against hers hits her harshly. Less than 20 hours, and she already missed him and his presence. And there was less and less in her to fight that feeling. She wraps herself tighter in the rusty color blanket, and sinks deeper into the pillows, letting her body fall and roll into a ball, the street lamps coloring everything in shades of orange and gold.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )

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Previous chapters :

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42. https://old.theprose.com/post/441074/between-the-corridors-of-fragile-things

43. https://old.theprose.com/post/442704/doctor-issues

44. https://theprose.com/post/444836/eventually-everything-resurfaces

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Ava always thought that if anybody could hear the sticky slimy thoughts that ran through the crevices of her brain, that they would run for the hills screaming.

Sure, she spoke like a good person and acted like a good person, but her thoughts were almost never those of a good person. Ava knew how to act and look the part; she’d been pretending her whole life, after all. It was easy to be good when she intimately knew what was bad. The bad being her natural inclination.

Still, she lived in constant fear of someday being found out. She learned early on in life that if she acted like herself or said her real thoughts out loud, that she lost friends and people’s affections. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

After many years of work and excruciating self-restraint, Ava had achieved what many would call a charmed life. She was successful, popular, and well liked by a select group of her peers. She married into wealth, obviously, to a good-looking man with a good name and old money. Not that Ava needed anyone to provide for her. Not at all. She made her own fortune as a chief financial officer in pharmaceuticals.

Ava enjoyed her job. It gave her an arena in which she could play. She was successful because she had the distinct advantage of having zero moral qualms in making decisions. It was easy, really. Plus, it was nice having a double income household. The old adage was true: the more money you make, the more you spend.

Wealth aside, she specifically chose Jeffrey as her husband because he didn’t need mothering, constant reassurances or cleaning after. She didn’t need any insecure jealous messages blowing up her phone when she did whatever she wanted. Where are you? What time are you coming home? She nipped that habit in the bud early on in the relationship. Jeffrey claimed he was being a thoughtful partner when he engaged in such behaviors. He learned to give her the exact amount of space she needed with time.

Ava could tell Jeffrey loved her. She supposed that should be one of the top reasons she married him. She was astute when it came to other people’s feelings. She just had trouble feeling them herself. She liked Jeffrey, he was a good life partner for what she needed. He didn’t annoy her on a daily basis and he played his role. Ava decided that was good enough.

Besides, Jeffrey gave her two perfect children: Sophia, sixteen, and Oliver, ten. They were nice enough kids, well-behaved, beautiful. Perfect for the image that Ava had been cultivating. On a good day their Christmas photos could rival that of the English Royal Family.

Sophia was the spitting image of Ava, with strong cheekbones and long wavy copper hair. She was the athletic darling of her soccer team and a social butterfly. Already Ava could tell Sophia was charming but secretly ruthless, which should serve her well in life. Oliver took more after his father, academically gifted, with light brown curls over intelligent brooding eyes. Ava predicted he would be successful in his own right, even though he lacked the ruthlessness of his sister.

So long story short, Ava’s life was pretty much exactly what she wanted and needed it to be. The darkness in her mind notwithstanding. Ava prided herself in her self-control. She had impulses, sure, but she would never, ever risk the life she had built.

Well, to a degree. She did have to let the dark out once in a while or else she would go crazy. She just had to be very, very careful.

There were casualties, as Ava liked to call them, throughout the years. Friends who incurred too many infractions, work rivals who mistakenly thought they could compete at her level, PTA moms who learned the hard way not to cross Ava Louise Stanton.

For most of them Ava simply orchestrated life-ruining events (an outed affair, fraud allegations, financial ruin, to name a few choice ones), but some did suffer physical consequences. Ava liked those the least: they were messy, risky, and took more meticulous planning. She favored psychological torture the best, it was enjoyable like an expertly played game of chess. Invariably, the payoff in the end, regardless of method, was always worth it.

So yes, Ava knew something was very wrong with her. But hey, at least she was self-aware enough to practice what she thought was an admirable level of self-restraint. After all, she never purposely hurt anybody who didn’t have it coming. She deserved some kind of medal for that.

She knows as soon as she picks up the phone. Maybe because the voice coming from the other side may have taken a second too long. Maybe because before the strangely casual greeting she may have heard his anxious breathing. Somehow she knows. And between all that hello and hi and how is everything and oh you know it must be the same at your place right and yes that’s crazy who could have thought, she knows there is more. He takes a breath.

“I have to tell you, I have to get this out of me, I still love you, I can’t forget, I miss you so much, I know so much has happened, it’s been so long, but I’ve done everything, I don’t know what else to do, I feel like I’m choking, I had to tell you, you are the love of my life, I am not asking you for anything, I don’t expect anything, but I had to tell you, if you ever feel down, if you ever feel like nobody’s ever really loved you, I just want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world and I always will…”

She doesn’t say a word for a second, or two or three. He waits. And then she bursts into a stream of don’t-say-that-you-know-that-is-not-true-you-think-you-love-me-but-you-know-you-only-say-that-because-you-are-there-all-by-yourself-you-shouldn’t-tell-me-that-you-will-be-sorry-later-what-do-you-expect-of-me-please-don’t and she talks because she as she talks he is quiet and if he is quiet she won’t hear that he loves her when the mere thought of him gives her cold shivers and that he sees her as the love of his life while she sees him as a big mistake with a name, a surname and an address. But even as she talks she feels how much he suffers and the grief for all this madness floods her eyes and breaks her voice and she knows that when he hears her cry he will think that if she still cries after everything that’s happened and after so long that is because there is still something there and she fears that he will cling to this frayed thread of hope built by salty pitiful tears and nothing else.

And between the empty sentences come the full tears, because she is so, so, so sorry. Why, dear God, why do things have to be this way? How can the object of so much love give nothing in return, how can someone love one who does not love him back, how can someone love one who loves someone else, someone who doesn’t love her, someone for whom she cries other tears, these filled not with pity but pain? Why is there love even when it is never nurtured, how can it still be there even when always despised? What is this hell in which we live, at the same time with so much love and with no love at all, receiving what we neither expect nor desire while we expect and desire what we can’t have? Why? Why do things have to be this way?

But soon she runs out of those empty sentences, and then she falls silent; she realizes there is no thread left he can cling to, and she can almost feel in her own mouth the taste of his regret. In the deafening silence that follows her merciful speech, she knows that he feels small and pathetic and that he would give anything not to have heard that rejection he just heard, disguised as common sense. He murmurs something and hangs up, but she finds no relief. Because she can almost see him, so far away, sitting down, his back slumped, his head in his hands, a lump in his throat and this pain that just won’t leave him. And she finds no solace in thinking that one day the pain will go away. She knows it will not. She knows.

Heartless

For a passerby, the cottage of the Littles down the slanting road would have appeared uneventful. The couple, though old, always stood together despite their trivial and inevitable domestic clashes. As time passes, people trapped inside the walls of a building are expected to have their silly disputes. In that way, homes are no different from prisons. You are trapped with other individuals within the walls of a compound. Wherever you go, you return home at the end of the day.

Anyway, the Littles shared what one can call the conventional husband and wife relationship. Mr Little talked little, hands behind his back, and short-tempered. Mrs Little talked far too much, hands waving in the air, and perhaps was the most patient person on the face of the entire Earth. She loved cooking, while he loved building. She loved him, and he loved her.

But again, people trapped inside the walls of a building are bound to have disagreements. Sometimes, Mr Little walks out of the home, ensuring each step he took reverberates through the entire neighbourhood. And when one walks in, probably Mrs Hutchinson, they would find Mrs Little by the dining table, crumbled tissues beside her. Still, they were the most conventional couple ever to be made. Mrs Little would say something like, "It's not that he is heartless. He sometimes just doesn't understand. Men are always angry."

The Long Walk Home

It takes Li Hyun nine minutes to walk home from school. Through the busy roads with the loud traffic, that is. He despises that path. Though no one knew, he never took that road home. He slips through the back gate of his school, down the small muddy track behind the messy Andersons, and through the deserted longer route to the Seoraksan mountains.

That Friday evening, Li Hyun did the same. He never had many people to call friends. Except one, and he had been missing for a while now. So, his evening escapades had never been noticed by any.

As he leapt over the small fence behind the apartment of the Andersons, he reached his favourite spot. The path where maple trees lined up on both sides of the road. It looked just like how it was in the desktop wallpapers. There were differences, of course, but only two souls in the entire world knew about them.

The little boy pulled down the straps of his bag to the maximum. His coffee-brown eyes nearly glistened in the sunlight below his messy, light blonde hair.

'Kay

"Do you have a minute, sir?"

Oh, I forgot them back at home. Would you like me to get some? Though the words never made it out of the chambers of his mind, Louie was sure that his expressions took no effort to conceal the emotions. He turned around, midway through his haste to the office, late as always. And he instantly regretted not taking the effort to suppress his actual emotions. The college girl who stood before him seemed to have popped straight out of a fairy tale. Was she glowing?

"Sir." She repeats, but it is not loud enough to help Louie discern that he was staring at her without the slightest trace of shame. "Sir," it was almost a shout on the second turn, and it successfully brought Louie back to his senses.

"Yes, yes! How can I help you," Louie paused, "ma'am?" Well, this is getting formal. Louie was never good with girls. Well, people, in fact. There should be a reason why he knocked out the very first person who had the guts to interview him. That man lost his two canines on the right side that day with a single blow. It's expected of an older gentleman, isn't it? It cost Louie a few bucks too.

"Uh, we are doing a survey, and if we could have a minute of your time, it would be great! It's okay if you're busy, you know." The smile that occupied her face the very next moment almost announced that it wasn't okay. And Louie had a hard time deciding between the girl's awkward smile and Katherine's sweetly threatening grin. But again, has any gentlemen his age survived the cute smile of a young girl? "I am totally free!" I am so more than done.

Well, the questions in the survey felt more like a personal attack than the sweet reception Louie had expected.

Do you hate your job? Hell yes!

Do you feel like your earnings are less than what you deserve? Am I even paid?

On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your current standard of living? Negative!

But the answers that made it to the paper could not be further refined. That's how good it was. There might have been a lot of things Louie was unaware of. Doing a survey wasn't one among them. It paid him even more than his job does!

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Since the weekly challenges are returning to the fold, and that Christmas is nearly here, and that I am flooding with ideas, I decided to include all the unfinished stories, as of yet, in this segment of the series. Ah, it is a relief to get it out of my mind. Hope you enjoy the story! Now, let me go and do some serious research on Ted Bundy. And also, I have a Christmas story coming up. Let me try to finish the year with a bang ^-^ Lots of love <3

Ursula

Failure. It's hard to accept. Ursula's burning eyes and clenched teeth said the same. The plated sword went straight through her chest, blood splattered on her armour. There she sits, knees on the snowing ground. Unable to see how this could have happened. How senseless? Did they ever stand a chance?

Hundreds lay behind her. Dead. As cold as ice beneath their rotten corpses. Yet, she stays up. She could never accept failure. Now, she puts up a fight against death. Why, sister, why? Just die. Die.

Herman laughed a laugh louder than the howling winds. The winds smelled of death, of defeat. A feud that lasted his whole life, and it ends without him having moved a finger. He only wished if he could be closer. Staring right into her eyes as darkness carries her away for one last time. Holding her by the sides of her gentle neck, whispering how arrogant she always was. Never grasping when to stop trying. Never knowing when to accept defeat. His stupid little sister.

Ursula stood again, proving Herman right. She didn't know how to stop. One might call it brave. Or perhaps, courage. Fools. Teaching their children virtues they never kept themselves. But Ursula was too naive to understand. And Herman too wise. He knew how the world worked. Knew when to turn around and grab the sword before getting stabbed from behind. He knew when to run and when to stay. But not his little sister.

And time has left them both at their righteous positions. One on the icy ground, putting up their final fight. And one on the balcony of their citadel, waiting for the other to fall down to their death. Their eyes met for one brief second before another arrow pierced right through her shoulder. Herman could hear her scream in anguish, but he wasn't sure. A battle cry, it seemed to be. But with none to follow. A single young girl against the greatest army in the West. It was only a matter of time.

If Ursula had a bow and an arrow, she would have used her last breath to send Herman plummeting down into the snow. He knew it too. Why else would he stand behind his two best guards? Fear, some call it. Or cowardness. But Herman knew better. It was wisdom. It was what a true King would do.

Another arrow pierces her left shoulder. This time, it sends her back to her knees. Kneeling. There was only one way this could end. And it was about time.

Descent

Blood isn't red. It's more of a crimson. Darker. And denser.

Blood isn't warm. It's cold. Almost frozen, that it sends a chill down your spine.

Blood isn't like water. It's thicker. Sticks to your skin like paint. Hard to remove once stuck.

Or perhaps, it's the royalty. Maybe, the starving children out in the streets have blood bright red. Maybe, the fragile slaves in the newest forts have blood with warmth. Maybe, the young women in the royal halls have blood like water. But not the blood of the king. His blood is cold. His blood is thick. His blood is crimson-- nearly purple. At least, that's how Naziya feels against her face.

She shoves the rotten corpse down from the dusty throne. As it rolls down the stairs, nearly detached, Naziya can see the purple stain it leaves behind. Of course, the rugs will have to be changed. So should the lights. And the tables. And Norvamyne. And it will. It has to.

Naziya never expected her to be the one to sever his throat in the end. With what time had left her, she no less than deserved it. And now, she has completed her purpose. Her destiny. Her wish. Her dream. Her life. A faint smile creeps its way down her little cheeks.

She has never felt this emotion in a while. The last time she did, she lost the only person who could have saved her. Or, in fact, saved the king from what was to come. He should never have killed the one she loved. He should never have hurt Naziya. Not again.

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And there it is. A bit of fantasy, I know. For a while in between all this mess, I have to admit that I was kind of captured by the thought of being able to create an entirely new world right from our desks. I mean, creating new characters is something I love to do, but a different realm-- that's a whole another level! And I know I posted this about a day late, but what can I say? Life happens (: I hope something about the two short tales that never made it to the end will inspire your creative self to do something marvellous. Keep writing! Keep loving! And stay happy! Lots of love <3

#fiction

Look, I never expected my life to turn out the way it has. I was normal. I was the most normal of normal, and I was perfectly happy living my mediocre life, thank you very much. So, how in the world did I end up like this?

Let me explain. It was about three weeks ago when everything started to go downhill. It was the middle of summer and I was bored out of my mind. Most people enjoy summer vacation, but after a while, it can get a bit tedious doing nothing at all. Especially if you live in a small suburban neighborhood with nothing thing to do for miles on end. There was also the unfortunate reality that I had no one to do anything with. Parents? Out of town for work. Yes, both of them. Siblings? I don’t have the pleasure of having any. Friends? The very few I actually had were out traveling with their families and actually having fun with their life. Everyone was able to get out, except me.

I didn’t mind that they had all left for me to suffer by my lonesome. My parents worked hard to provide for me and they looked guilty as they relayed the news that they would be gone for two weeks. My mom had placed her hand on my shoulders and looked at me with eyes full of regret.

“Oh, Sam,” she started. “I’m so sorry. You’ll be in the house all by yourself!”

“Don’t worry,” I had reassured her. “I’ll be fine for a bit on my own.”

“It’s only two weeks, but I might be able to finish up early and come back sooner.”

“Mom, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to rush your work for me. I can take of myself.”

“I trust you not to burn the house down, Sam,” my dad quipped as my mom continued to fret about. I gave him a deadpan look to showcase how much I appreciated his lack of help in improving my mom’s frantic state. It took a bit of convincing, but in the end, I was able to convince her that I would be perfectly capable on my own with the promise to call every day or if I ever needed help.

While I was trying to send off my parents without them worrying too much about me, my friends were acting as true friends should and were laughing at my predicament. They wouldn’t have been laughing if they were also stuck at home, but they had the fortune of being out of town as well. My friends were lucky to be able to go out and travel and I accept that, but they could’ve been a little bit less smug about their departures. Commenting a simple “sucks to be you,” and texting every so often bragging about all the fun they were having at beaches and going to watch musicals on Broadway. I adore them, but I also want to throttle them sometimes. Who needs annoying siblings when you can have annoying friends instead.

Anyways, I’m getting off track. Back to the point.

So, instead of suffering through my lonely misery at home, I had the bright idea to go to a park nearby. It was a fairly small park with a questionably built wooden playscape being its main feature. For many obvious reasons, parents didn’t like their children playing on it, and the location of the park was in a fairly secluded area surrounded by thick trees. Any sane person would go to the mega-park that was only a few blocks from this one. Why go to a half-broken park that was obviously not up to safety codes when you could go to a 125-acre park with a huge playground, splash pad, skate park, dog park, basketball and volleyball courts, and its own lake for kayaking?

Apparently, I’m not sane because I thought it would be a good idea to go to the deserted and creepy park. A place that looked like a prime location to be kidnapped or the setting of a bad horror movie. Yes, I went to that very park to read a book to chase away my boredom.

I never said that I was the smartest person in the world. And it is with great regret that I must inform you that I get stupider.

I will state right here and right now that I am an idiot. I acknowledge it, and there is no reason to remind me because I am fully aware of the fact. With that out of the way, I’ll explain one of the reasons why I’m an idiot: I fell asleep.

That’s right you heard me. Me; a fifteen-year-old soon-to-be high school sophomore, fell asleep in the middle of a desolated sketchy park, in the middle of a wooded area, while reading a book. Oh, did I also mention that I went out there in the evening? No? Well, now you know. In my defense though, the sun usually sets around eight during the summer and I was fully expecting to be home before sunset.

That is if I hadn’t fallen asleep.

So, color me surprised when I woke up and there was neither hide nor hair of sunlight. The sky wasn’t even the pretty mixture of orange and pink when the sun had just set. Nope, it was pitch dark outside with the only evidence of light coming from the lone street light that sat at the entrance of the park and the full moon.

It was disorienting to wake up from an unintended nap into darkness. I bolted up from my position leaning against the aging wood of the playscape I sat in the middle of. The soft surface from years of use shifted as I moved and the rusted bolts that held the structure together creaked. The soft noise seemed to echo in the silence of the night. The only other noise was the sound of the wind shifting through the trees and the soft cooing of the animals that they held. Looking up into the sky, the pale moonlight cast a ghostly shadow across the ground.

Once I was able to grasp the situation, I wretched my phone out of my shorts pocket and tapped on the screen. 11:56 pm flashed across the screen and dread spread throughout my entire body. The first thought that ran through my mind was that I needed to get back home. The second thought was that of course, not even a kidnapper would want to come to this desolated place. I want to punch my past self for even entertaining the thought I was safe from danger in a basically abandoned park. The moment I finished thinking that thought I made my way to climb out of the wooden structure, that’s when I noticed something on the edge of my peripheral.

There standing in the middle of the light cast down by the streetlamp stood a lone figure. They were dressed in dark jeans and a simple black jacket with a hood covering their head. I found the attire odd since it was the middle of summer. I couldn’t figure out any more about this mysterious character because they were facing away from me and looking toward the empty street. But soon, I felt like they were more well equipped for the weather than I was. Sweat trickled down my back and arms only to be cooled by the wind that flowed lazily through the trees. It seemed as if the temperature had dropped 30 degrees in the span of a few moments, which should not have been possible, but apparently mother nature didn’t get that message. I watched as the figure looked out at the street. I didn’t know if they knew I was there or not. I wasn’t making much noise, but in the silence, even the smallest sound seemed to be amplified.

I just wanted to go home, but there was only one entrance to the park that wasn’t the woods and this figure was blocking it. I’m not the largest human being in the world. One of my best traits is that I’m a fast runner and that comes from the fact that I’m quite lithe in structure. The figure in the distance was about the same height as me, but even in the dark, I could tell that they were probably stronger than I was. More likely than not I would probably be the one murdered in this situation.

That is if they even had the intention to murder me. They could’ve been a completely friendly individual. However, this didn’t seem like the most optimal situation to be making a new friend. Especially when the person was just staring at the empty street near midnight.

It was while I was contemplating risking a quick run through the woods when the weirdest thing I have ever witnessed in my life happened.

Suddenly a loud sound, like a thunderclap, pierced through the night air. I shifted my head around the person and towards the street where the noise had come from. I was shocked to see that the once smooth asphalt had been cracked. I watched with mouth agape as the crumbling pieces continued to shift. I hadn’t even noticed as the figure in all-black moved from their spot grabbing a bag that sat rested against the light pole and slowly made their way towards the trees.

If I hadn’t been watching the destroyed asphalt with unadulterated shock I might have not believed what I saw. Heck, there’s still a part of me that doesn’t believe what I saw. A dark haze erupted from the newly created cracks. Its body shifted in the dust-filled air, having no definite shape. It billowed back and forth above the place it sprouted from. Soon enough the form started to solidify. It grew darker and darker as it became more defined. Even from my distance and in the faint light of the night I was able to distinguish the dark veiny wings that erupted from its back. The being wore a grotesque mask that looked as if a skeleton had been encapsulated in half-formed muscles. Its hunched figure moved slowly with long sluggish strides as if it were walking through a deep bank of mud. A reapers staff, the mark of death, materialized from its smoky body and it clutched at it with its gnarled hand.

I watched as the being lurked near the trees and as it grew closer, the grass at the edge of the curb connecting the street with the flora browned and shriveled. As if its mere presence sucked the life out of anything that lived. It reached the edge of the tree line, raised its arm into the air causing small rocks to levitate and turn into fine points. With a simple movement of its’ limb, it shot the rocks like projectiles at the few living creatures clinging to life nearby in the dense trees. It was difficult to make out exactly from my position but the sharp noise followed by squelches and the pained cries that reverberated throughout the night was enough for me to piece together the unwanted imagery. After the last rock hit a small bird trying to make its’ escape, it turned towards me. I didn’t know if I was going crazy, but it seemed as if this abomination was coming in my direction. As if it could sense that I was the closest living creature and was coming to steal my life as it did to the animals and grass before me.

I felt the ice-cold grip of fear seize my heart and found myself unable to move. In the two sockets where its eyes should’ve been only held the faint glow of blood-red light. They chilled me to the bone and promised of my end. I sat rooted in place. The breath I hadn’t known I had been holding escaped me in a sudden whoosh. This is it. My final moments in life. I was going to die alone in the dark by a random demon creature all because I was bored.

It was with great luck, or great misfortune depending on who you ask, that the creature wasn’t allowed to travel far up the pavement enough to murder me. All of a sudden the mysterious figure from earlier was standing in front of the dark being. They were now holding a long object covered in a leather sleeve in one hand and a bag slung over one shoulder. In comparison to the tall monster towering over menacingly with its scythe, the hooded figure didn’t seem like they stood much of a chance. Yet, they stood there without moving an inch. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fear in the smaller figure. The creature stared at the other figure almost questioningly with its head tilted in consideration. Then in a single move, the creature lifted its limb and I watched as the pointed stones lifted once again and aimed at the person.

In a swift movement that I was barely able to see, the hooded figure sidestepped the barrage of stones and ripped the leather sleeve off of the object in their hand. They parried the remaining stones aimed at them and moved with an inhuman speed back towards the spotlight created by the street lamp. At first, I thought they were holding a metal pipe, but after another glance, I realized that it was a sword. Like a legit Arthurian knight of the round table type sword. It was a silver color and shone even brighter than the moonlight. As they dodged and maneuvered the creature’s advances I noticed a bright red stone in the center of the hilt. It was similar in color to the sharp red light in the creature’s eyes.

The hooded person had brought the creature into the light and it did not look any better in the light than it did shroud in the darkness. The person backed up towards the light pole and threw their bag onto the ground. When the creature finally was within range, they plunged the sword through its middle only to have it go through its mist-like body without effect. It lunged at them with claws as sharp as daggers on one hand and the scythe on the other. They swiftly moved to the side and sliced their blade through its neck, again, with no effect. It continued to move forward and slice at the person. They dodged every swipe then danced past the pole and onto the grass surrounding the perimeter of the playground. The creature followed and as it stepped onto the lively grass there was a loud hissing, and the earth beneath it withered and died leaving only a black scorched area.

The creature continued its advance on the figure but they were undeterred by its menacing approach. The figure lunged forward once again aiming for one of its blood-red eyes. This time it stumbled backward letting out a high screeched wail that made my ears pop. While the creature wailed in pain and anger the hooded figure took the opportunity and aimed a stab at its other eye before ripping the sword back once more and plunging the sharp object in the place where its heart should have been if it was alive. Each time the sword passed through it let out a horrid wail the next worse than the first. I watched as the person removed the sword then held up their left arm towards the creature. In their hand, they held a smooth clear orb I hadn’t noticed earlier. The person faced the creature with the orb and stated softly in a clear, distinctly female, voice, “I, Audree Stone, banish thee from this plane, for the harmony of life and death.”

It was a series of words I understood definition-wise, but could not wrap my head around when said in that order. It was simply incomprehensible. Yet, it seemed that was enough for the creature. Light burst from the orb and penetrated the monster and severed the body into millions of dust particles. It left behind only the swirling of its remains in the wind and a small ruby gem on the ground it once occupied. The girl, Audree, picked up the small crystal and laced it onto a cord around her neck that already contained a large selection of green, blue, and yellow crystals.

The chill that had overtaken the area had disappeared. It was only me and the girl in the hot humid night, yet not a word was shared between us. There was no way to tell if my presence was known or not. I was of the opinion that I would not mind if she hadn’t noticed me. She would definitely be capable of murdering me the same way she had offed the dark creature. So, I stayed quiet and watched as she picked up her discarded belongings then made her way over to the destroyed street. She placed her right hand onto the ground, the clear orb still clutched in her left and whispered words I could not hear. In the blink of an eye, the crumbled asphalt mended itself. I rubbed my eyes to make sure that I was really seeing that because all the stuff that happened previously wasn’t crazy enough. While I had been making sure that I was not hallucinating the girl had disappeared, leaving me alone with a scene that was exactly as it should be. No crazy demon creature. No hooded girl with a silver sword. Just me and the completely normal creepy playground and undamaged street.

I sat there for a few moments taking everything in before I shook myself out of my stupor. I checked the time once again on my phone and it read 12:03 am. Had it really only been seven minutes? It felt like it had been a lot longer than that. I made my way home quickly, not wanting to come across another demon banishment. Once I had safely got inside and locked the door I let out a shaky breath and contemplated whether everything that had happened had truly happened. The only conclusion I could reach was that if it was all real, then I was glad it was over and I was safe and sound.

Too bad that sentiment didn’t last very long…

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I found a very short story that I wrote while I was in middle school. I wrote it on October 26th, 2011. I read it and I thought I'd see if I could improve on it with a little over 10 years more of knowledge and experience. I ended up changing quite a bit from the original, but the general idea is still there. I don't write a lot in fiction story format so I thought it would be good practice.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!

God said to take up serpents and that nothing shall by any means hurt him, so of course, Azariah did so, and this killed him, but that wasn't even the worst of it; he had a baby on the way.

One month before he died, he and his wife were downtown at the Oriental Market buying spices in bulk. They were tight on cash because three and a half months before he died, he fell off a ladder cleaning out the M-Hall gutter. It would have been a clean fall, but there was a rock feature below and his jeans got caught on a step on the way down. He flipped like an acrobat, then he hung like a bat, and lastly, he became a bomb—set to destroy Earth. The carnage amassed a crowd. He twitched a little every now and again until the paramedics came.

A week after the fall Commander Plumb finally woke up (technically for the second time, but the first was so brief he couldn’t remember it). His wife was hysterical when the doctors came in, begging them to fix her husband. She was terrified. Uneven pupils stared back at her and Azariah was nowhere to be found in them. He grabbed his wife’s arm, begging her to listen. Please call me Commander Plumb he said. You are disrespecting Him he said. Then he seized and a nurse anesthetized him.

Much later, he woke up as Azariah and eventually they let him go. There was now an absurd bill under his name that he had no intention of paying off with broom and mop. This is why they were buying spices in bulk at some shop even though neither of them cooked well, and why his car sat empty in front of their apartment, and why his wife was working two jobs now. On top of this, both of them took turns vomiting in the sink each morning because his wife shared his nausea.

And now one month before he died, he seized again in the middle of the Oriental Market, spilling ginger powder all over himself. A little raisiny old lady with an aged voice called 9-1-1, but Commander Plumb woke up and ran away before the paramedics came.

He was saturnic, pale as bone, and babbling incoherently. He stumbled like an infant but never fell the whole way. He was guided by God.

The problem with the Tower of Babel, he was told, was that it wouldn’t have been able to carry mankind past the stratosphere, and that was a far way away from Saturn. Heaven was a wind-worn brick building built on a moving storm a few hundred feet into the gaseous mass. The most convenient part about Heaven was the locally sourced comet ice, though the rings were a bit thin recently and God was thinking about having a comet or two brought into orbit when Azariah woke up.

Hello, God said, and welcome to Heaven.

Have I died? Azariah asked.

No of course not, and please, it’s Commander Plumb.

Yessir, Commander Plumb.

Not me, Commander Plumb.

The sanguine clouds painted the light and then the room. There were papers that Commander Plumb couldn’t read everywhere. The only machine he recognized was a hole punch. God said it was his office. There were multiple armrests placed haphazardly on both chairs and Commander Plumb was shifting the whole time, trying to find a comfortable position. This was because God looked like a bunch of green grapes.

When the Bible said he created man in His image, He meant it. Grew from yeast, He said. Or, pretty much so. I just figured I’d let you screw up. Trial by fire He said. You all were beautiful at first. I’m not disappointed.

The mitochondria and ribosomes sat vaguely like a smile in His cytoplasm.

Commander Plumb was in Saturn for no reason as far as God knew. The whole business had been decentralized millions of years ago because Earth had more people than God had sensory organs. David, a red grape-ish blob, was in charge of Angelic Defense. He monitored Plumb and admired his careful and merciful attitude towards microbes—his gut flora flourished and his immune system was quite kind towards various hepatitis, influenza, rhinovirus, and bacterial strains. He didn’t drink alcohol, eat fresh bread or yogurts. He was, surprisingly, the only person on Earth who was eligible for drafting into the Angelic Army. David got into his giant tin-can-shaped ship, analyzed, and rectified Azariah straight to Saturn, promoting him straight to Commander. He was re-christened in comet-water and named after Saint Plumb, who discovered potassium sulfite—also known colloquially in Saturn as ambrosia. Years of temporal distortion exposure made David’s bulbs shrivel, but he had to crank this one all the way up regardless since Commander Plumb was supposed to be in a coma. Hopefully, the whole training ordeal would take about two and a half seconds Earth time.

A familiar sort of bacterial magnetism originally woke Commander Plumb up, and once he felt an uncomfortable vinyl suit against his naturally moist skin, he couldn’t fall back asleep. The suit whistled as it rubbed against the examination table, which had the same polymer upholstery. David circled around him, admiring the lack of restraint in Plumb’s glands. David was sure he had the one; he racked the brain up and then a tube full of violet gas presented itself for breathing. This put the war-ready human to sleep before he went to see God, who sent him back to David finally with some postscripts for that Bible thing. Then David took back Plumb’s uniform, loaded him back into the giant tin can, and a spiral column filled with bubbles as time unwarped and bent Plumb back to bed. This was all the air in his lungs, which had to stay on Saturn because it was far denser than Earth air, which is why he woke up gasping and drained of color before he took off.

He was looking for God now. A sign said “Second Pilgrim’s Pentecostal Church” and he fell into the congregation. He was sure he was sobbing uncontrollably, but no one else was convinced. They thought he might be an alcoholic or going through meth psychosis—but Commander Plumb was set to bring Earth back together. He was a Saint now. When he woke up, all he could think about was verse and psalm. He knew the entire Bible, cover to cover. He couldn’t remember why he was so distressed, which is why he needed to find God and ask for a reminder.

The congregation realized he might be speaking in tongues. Occasionally, they heard talk of Solomon, or Joseph, or a parable about janitors. They surrounded him with religious curiosity. After the tics and convulsions calmed, he talked about his visit and how everyone there was chosen as they truly, really, seriously understood that Book. Pretty much no one believed him, except Pastor Jim, who quizzed Commander Plumb on scripture. As everyone there knew, lying was a sin—so of course, he was telling the truth, and he told them another parable that moved the crowd so greatly that two older ladies fainted. He threw out the communion, renounced vineyards, gave several angelic descriptions that were uncomfortably sexually charged, and then convinced everyone there to all call up KSFM in unison.

A van was there twenty minutes later, and Commander Plumb delivered two more sermons to the local public broadcast television station.

He had garnered a following of about a hundred people after a week of news interviews and fervorous sermons, and they would talk to God all trying to remember the post-scripts. It made enough money in tithes for Commander Plumb to quit his old job.

The night before he died, he had a horrible fever dream. He was laying in a soup of mechanical parts, rope, and lather. Each move shaped space. He was placing infinitesimal pieces according to a master blueprint that came to him with each surge of his migraine—creating his own sarcophagus. It was pitch black, but everything had a shadow. For the rest of his life, he would be building a machine to bend metal.

He had hot flashes for the rest of the night until service next morning, when everyone laid hands on him so God would let them recover. And following that, they started the cameras, and Tim grabbed his rattlers. Commander Plumb was granted power, sure, but the rattler’s hemotoxin was so much simpler than Plumb and didn’t care much for power.

He was saturnic again, but this time he was turning violet. He started to puff up as air escaped violently. Sputtering, moaning, and hacking the whole way through, he began to speak. Jude chapter one, verse two he said. Mercy, peace, and love be multiplied to you. That’s what yeast does. Earth is our sugar. Then his throat closed up. He couldn’t tell anyone what he learned—the preservative of humanity—as he drowned in a pool of his own drool. Bursting at the seams now, he seized and choked on his own tongue.

The news was big, and his wife got some money from that, and she got some money from the church too, but she spent most of it trying to get Pastor Tim in jail for murder. Then she learned she was expecting.

Worst of all, Azariah’s death was ruled a suicide.

Chapter One

Alanna stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at the imposing façade of the academy. How was she supposed to survive the next year here? The letter in her satchel had practically burned a hole in her hand when she’d opened it.

Dear Alanna Quade,

Your application has been accepted.

You have been selected to learn the ins and outs of writing competently. You will never have the excuse of “I didn’t know” to get you out of writing that essay, report, or summary again.

If you show promise, you will be allowed to continue in our hallowed halls. You may become a respected historian, play wright or novelist.

Please report for classes on September 1st, 2020

Your mentor and leader,

Maestro Weaver

Dean of Skills

PS: This letter must remain in your possession as proof of enrollment. Loss will result in the immediate dismissal of any student who cannot provide it upon demand.

At the bottom, the official crimson seal shone in all it’s waxy glory, proclaiming the missive as genuine.

“My application has been accepted. I never applied, and they know it,” Alanna thought again as she peered up at the towering spire of the main campus building.

“Hey, are you as scared as I am?” A quiet voice spoke in her ear.

“Not scared so much as annoyed. Why do we have to give up a year of our lives to learn how to write?” Alanna complained and introduced herself to the girl standing next to her.

“I’m Cora, Cora Warner.” The girl had brilliantly pink hair. “Because everyone has to do it. No exceptions.” She wondered what rock Alanna had been hiding under.

“Thanks for talking to me,” Alanna said, “I’m an empath and a healer. I already know how to write reports. This is going to be a waste of time. I’d rather be studying medicine. I want to be a doctor.”

“I had to say something,” Cora said. “I don’t mind coming here, but it means I’ll have to postpone treatment for my eyes.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Alanna’s healer instincts went on high alert.

“I can’t see colors. I’m totally colorblind. I want to see them so much, but there’s only one treatment.”

Alanna could feel the intensity of Cora’s desperation. “I wish I could just go in a fix it for you, Cora. But even I know, that has to be a special genetic alteration. Do you understand it could blind you if it doesn’t work?”

“I might as well be blind. This gray life isn’t much of a loss. Man, that sounds like a downer, I really want to be a scientist so I can find an easy cure for this. But if treatment works? I want to be an artist.” Cora said.

“Let’s go in and get registration over with. Do you have your letter with you?” Alanna asked.

“In my book bag,” Cora said as they started up the endless steps to the big brass doors of the main entrance.

“Hey, do you two know your hair clashes?” The young man who was following them up the stairs stopped them at the same instant. They turned to see who would be so audacious as to mention hair color. Their eyes widened. The young man towered above them, over six feet tall his silver braids swung around his shoulders as he stared at them, taking in Cora’s bright fuchsia locks and Alanna’s deep auburn curls.

Alanna’s heart did a quick flip in her chest. He was gorgeous.

“And who are you?” Cora said boldly. She was breaking her own rule of observing and not saying much to others before she got to know them better.

“Nikolai.” He said it like everyone should know it.

“Nikolai who?” Alanna’s tongue felt a little thick, she hoped her instant attraction didn’t show.

“Just Nikolai.”

“Well, could you send us to the right place to get through registration?” Cora requested. “We’re kind of lost.”

“Just follow the signs,” Nikolai pulled the massive door open and pointed at the ornate calligraphy declaring registration this way with an arrow pointing down the hall. “There are more of them that will lead you to the big gymnasium. Welcome.”

They stared after him with wide eyes. His hair swung back and forth, tight corn rows of silver braids swinging just above the shoulder blades of a well muscled back. He moved with the grace and assurance of someone innately strong, both physically and mentally.

“I wonder if I’ll see him again?” Alanna whispered, “Oh my God, he’s everything a guy should be, I think I might be in love.”

“Um, really?” Cora didn’t believe in love at first sight.

Alanna blushed. “I didn’t think I said that out loud.”

“You did, but I’ll admit he is great to look at. Pretty amazing actually.” Cora tugged Allana’s sleeve.

“Let’s keep going. I want to know which department we’re assigned to and if we might get the same residence.”

Alanna kept Cora’s fluorescent head in sight as she continued to follow the arrows pointing to registration. The corridors seemed endless and she wondered if there was a floor plan for this building. She was hoping to be able to go home at night, as her family lived only ten minutes away on the underground train. She didn’t want to be confined to a school. She’d have to pack her clothes and books, and they’d probably make her give up her studies toward her medical entrance exams.

Walking into the cavernous room, both of them skidded to a stop. It looked like they were a bit late getting there as long lines of new students stood at most of the tables. The letters of the alphabet were written on placards which hung from the ceiling indicating where they should go to register.

“Well, that’ll teach me to have a common letter for a last name,” Cora was disgusted. There had to be at least twenty kids ahead of her in line. “You have two ahead of you, Alanna. Will you wait for me?”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll get through this as quickly as I can and join you in your lineup,” Alanna said, “Look who’s helping at your table.”

Clara moved to one side of the line so she could get a good look at the staff sitting at the sturdy table. It was loaded in files and three people were dealing with students, efficiently ticking of squares, and getting signatures. Nikolai waited patiently, as they worked and as three more were cleared, he jerked his head, to let them know to follow and headed out the back entrance to the gym.

“Okay, get yourself done, and come over. Maybe you can get another glimpse of him that way.” Cora agreed.

Alanna nodded. Making her way through the throng, she went to the table with the Q written on white cardboard fluttering under the breeze generated by one of the giant fans hanging from the upper rafters. One student had already disappeared, and she waited patiently putting her time to use observing as Nikolai reappeared from the back door he’d disappeared through a few minutes before.

“Hey, you must be Alanna Quade,” The liquid tone of the voice brought her crashing back to reality.

“Yes, I am.” Alanna shook her head dispelling the fantasy she’d been weaving. She approached the table. There was one file left.

“I’m Sapphire. Few Q’s at all this year. Which is the only reason I agreed to man a table at all. Do you have your letter? I’ll need it to verify against our list of candidates for this year.” The woman was as striking as Nikolai. Pure white hair with skin to match, her eyes were peculiar, almost as if they didn’t have pupils. They looked like she’d used gold eyeliner. Weird. Well folks did come from everywhere to go through writer’s camp and training here.

Alanna swung her satchel onto the table and unbuckled the shiny brass hasps. Flipping through the books, she found her letter between an anatomy text and the herbal compendium Chin Chi had recommended. Handing it to Sapphire, she waited for her to scan it.

“This appears to be in order. Read this and sign it. You’ll be assigned to Alpha residence. Your department is the Relevant. You’ll be guided to the department and they will assign you to a room. You’re exempt from having a room mate. We are sensitive to mind readers and empaths.”

“But I was hoping to stay at home.”

“Take it up with your department leader.”

Alanna sighed. “All right. I hope I can convince them. I’ll just go over to wait with my friend. We’ll go up together.”

“I can’t blame you. I’ll slip out the back. Let Nikolai know which residence you’re in. They’ll take care of the rest from there.” Sapphire handed her the letter and winked. She added, “Don’t lose that. It’ll be the one way to prove that you do belong here. Lock it in the desk in your room once they assign it.”

“Why? Can’t it be replaced?” Alanna misplaced things all the time. Privately she wondered how Sapphire had guessed her interest in the tall silver haired young man.

“They’re magically encoded. It can’t be reproduced until they do the next batch next summer.” Sapphire wondered where this empath came from. Her family must have been out of the loop. How would this naïve child do with her assigned major? Did she even know what it was? Mystery/Thriller/Horror. Alanna Quade was a medical fast track healer. Would she even be able to weave a tale worthy of the final assignment? What the heck were the maestros thinking?

“I’ll be careful then. Thanks for the warning and the explanation.” Alanna tucked it back into the satchel, and silently chanted a protection spell. If anyone tried to get into it, they’d get a case of prickly itching rash which would give them away.

Studying the W line, she saw Cora’s bright pink head and started across. This wasn’t going to be as straight forward as she hoped.

This is the first chapter of a science fantasy novella with a good undercurrent of thriller. You can find the rest of it here:

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/thriller/537026

She knocked on my front door and I did not even touch the handle before the door moved wide open with a creak.

I froze in my steps, taking a moment of silence to behold her beautiful flowing locs that seemed to be hugging her rosy cheeked face.

Her locks moved to and fro- I just stared and wondered who this goddess could be? And what in the cosmos was she doing in my apartment of all places? Eh, truly odd.

Then her voice reached out into my mind. Her lips were not moving, but I understood everything that she had to say:

"Don't fear. I come from a place where time and space is something that is not quite a matter there. We have all the time in the world..." She tilted her head a bit backward, slapped her knee, and chuckled then continued..."It's just like you humans like to say. Is it not?"

I blinked and scratched my head. What was going on here? Was this some kind of joke that my neighbors had pulled together? They knew that I was certain about there being some place where time and space- or a vast range of alternate realities were possible.

But now this being standing before me with her golden, beautiful dazzling locs, her eyes were shining like a starry night brought to life with a light that was quite blinding.

She approached me...moving steady...reaching closer and closer, until our noses touched. Then she blinked her eyes and in an instant we were transported to another place.

I gasped and held onto her. In a tight embrace, not wanting to let go. She smelled wonderful. Reminded me of a blast of sweet roses, a mix of lavender, and honey, too.

Wherever we were headed, I hoped it was an island that had lots of palm trees, coconuts, and lots, and lots of rum.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hPhL1Xg_zj8

#WAYFINDER. (c)

Mardi, 16th Nov., 2021.

Image source- https://www.artstation.com/artwork/68xP8N