Flames blaze my way in a sideways cyclone of death.

With no other options, I brace myself for the heat.

Yet, it still whips me as if it was my mistress in her dungeon-

It beats me until I relent, and lay myself at Its feet.

When it's over, I crack my eyes open.

I stare at the gigantic beast in front of me.

Black scales cover it from snout to tip of tail.

Danger, my brain whispers cautiously.

Gold eyes watch me in confusion.

I guess it expected me to burn easily.

It lowers its head and sniffs my person.

A little too close to my sexual necessities.

I make a sudden dash for the exit.

It trips me with its tail, and I land the opposite of gracefully.

I feel fire flare its warmth at my back.

I turn to glare at the beast, but in its place stands a man made from lonely night's dreams.

He's as naked as the day he was... hatched.

A flush fills my face and I cannot attest it to the heat.

He crouches down near my person.

His pitch hair falls around his body and to his feet.

He opens his mouth and a deep, smoky voice escapes.

"Why won't you burn, morsel?" I shrug, as my future looks bleak.

He flashes a sinful smile; I stare entrancedly.

Some people might be concerned with the Dragon's tail, but right now, I'm more worried about the Dragon's teeth.

#fantasy #poetry

Time stretches like a lithe cat-

slowly, rump in the air, with its arms splayed out in front of it. 

Time passes like a volatile cat-

you hope that, when it passes you, it will be kind. 

Unprepared for its attacks, you react with fear and develop waryness for your future.

You'd think time stops with death.

Yet, it continues.

Because time stretches-

Like a lithe cat.

I knew he was of water as soon as he was birthed from my womb.

His cries rang out like waves crashing against a stone wall.

They reverberated through my body and shook my very soul.

As he grew, he became the ocean. 

He was ever moving and changing.

My boundaries couldn't hold his mysterious depths.

He would leave, and bring various debris to my shore.

But, he continuously blessed my saintly home with his laugh- A low one, akin to water rushing in a wild river. 

He filled my home with peace.

His father was of fire.

He blazed on the darkest of nights like an inferno consuming woods.

People swore that there was no hope of taming the flames... But when fire meets water, steam forms.

Yet, fire fears evaporating the water, as water fears diminishing the fire.

I watch them together and I am amazed, as I watch water and fire corral each other. 

And love, like steam, mists.

Death was a messenger for God and a friend to the Devil. 

One night He came to me, requesting my life, on his way to snatch several.

“Lovely, I need you. You have to come with me.”

You’d better believe I was shocked. I was only twenty-one, you see.

“No dice, my good man, I still have things to do.”

He stiffened his slight body; “But Lovely, I’m in love with you.”

Lucifer appeared: “Woman take his hand!”

Angels appeared: “We’re sorry, but we second that, child of man.”

The Lord appeared and said gently, “Let the girl decide. After all, only she has control of her life.”

And to this day, I stand behind what I chose to do.

I married the handsome Death, and together, we created you two.

Four false starts.

All extremely good, but my mind can't think of the rest.

Four points of view.

Will I lead with the leading lady? The husband? The best friend? Remain omniscient?

Four years in the making.

A high school thought wanting to be written. A childish dream needing to be realized.

Four chewed on pencils.

From my mind to my hand- I can't get the words onto paper. 

Four encouraging words from my siblings.

You can do it. I believe in you. We will be here.

Five words to self: I'm determined to write it.

I had danced with the devil my entire life. Literally. Phenex's favorite dance is the Viennese Waltz; though we are much better, in my opinion, at the Foxtrot. All that spinning makes me dizzy. 

I had expressed this to Phenex the first time we met in the form of vomit, and continuously have ever since. Yet, he loves to spin me around the marble dance floor. The Waltz makes him happy, and I do love to see my demon happy. Even now, he smiles down at me as we twirl around the gilded ballroom. Inevitably dizzy, I glare up at him, making throw back his head and laugh.

He flashes his dimples at me and asks, “Do you remember the first time I spun you across this floor?”

I cock an eyebrow at him, “Vaguely. I was what? Three? Four years old?” I chuckle and turn my head away from him, watching our shadows dance in the warm light. Amusement wells up inside of me; “What I do remember is swearing out vengeance against The Widows.” I smile as I whisper, “I got that vengeance, and a demon too.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a look of anger pass over his handsome face. 

He slows our dance down to simply rocking from side to side. He pulls me into his arms, and tightens them to steel bands around me. I turn back to him, and lay my head onto his warm, wide chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, and he rests his chin on the top of my head. “I’m fine Phenex. We’re fine. It’s over with now.”

We sway.

I feel my platinum hair catch onto his bristly beard, as he nuzzles me. I fist his rose red hair in one hand, and clasp the back of his blue, velvet dinner jacket in the other.

You see, in the outside world, we would never be able to do this. There are daily demands from dragons, witches, and wolves. Fairies call on me for protection spells. I have to make charms and potions to sell to plebs. Demon hunters seek me out to dispose of Phenex. 

Unaware that he is a Marquis of Hell, and that I am the Monarch of the Witches. Unaware that our collective title is “The Phenomena”.

Yet, here we stand. Swaying.

I feel that here, inside my head, there is only Finny and Phen. No outside disturbances. No reality. No need for our titles. It’s just a demon and the girl whose body he inhabits.

I close my eyes and think of the fateful day that had brought us together. Now that I think back on it, I was actually five. A little girl seeking love in anyone, only to be shunned by everyone. 

***

I dimly remember my parents. After all, they had gifted me to their mothers, and never looked back. I don’t blame them for never looking back. I just blame them for everything else.

Although, they had as much control over their lives as I did over mine. Conceived to conceive “The Phenomena”. Their childhoods were rough, as well. At an early age, they were forced to learn spells and to fight in the war witches were waging on wolves. Until they were eighteen. As soon as they turned that magical age, they had to mate and create me- a being prophesied to be blessed by Hekate, and kissed by Madame Laveau themselves.

After I was born and well into my second year of living, they voluntarily went back to war. They deposited me at their mother’s feet and disappeared; I haven’t seen them since.

In their stead, I was raised by the “Black Widows”; Nonna and Nanna. My mother’s Italian mother, and my father’s Scottish mother. Two of the most fearsome witches of all time. Witches were so afraid of them, they never said their names- as if the mention of them would conjure them up. Those two had even started The War on Wolves. It was a war that would go down in our history as “the most needless, blood filled disagreement that has, or ever will, happen again”.

I don’t think I have never hated anyone as much as I hate those two. They saw me as a blank canvas for them to paint on- short, whitish blonde hair, wide, pale gray eyes, and skin the same shade as alabaster- I was a blank page for them to fill. The only color I had, was the smattering of brown freckles across the middle of my face. But, that wasn’t enough for them.

I was to be their best novel ever written. 

I wasn’t even in their house, yet, when they began teaching me spells. As a matter of fact, they slammed closed the front door and told me to think of a spell to get it open, or I would sleep outside that night. And it only got worse from there. 

Soon, I would have to know spells to counteract mother nature. I would have to make charms to protect witches in battle. I would have to know spells in six languages, know the ingredients for them, and be able to recite them verbatim. I would have to take down witches, seven times my senior, in pit fights.

In spite of it all, I was adjusting well to my new life. That is, until they did the unthinkable. 

As we at dinner on the eve of my fifth birthday, I began to feel dizzy. It would be later in life, when I would figure out I was drugged, heavily. When I awoke, I came to the startling realization that I was chained up in the dungeon. My wrists to the wall behind me, and my feet to the floor. Witches, wizards, and warlocks alike, surrounded me. Candles flickered eerily, casting wavering shadows against the walls. Runes were drawn all over my body, and I sat slumped against the wall, with a circle underneath me.

Then they began chanting. Still woozy from the drugs, their words bounced around my foggy head, until it finally dawned on me. They were summoning a demon. 

I didn’t even freak out. I knew it was far too late in the game for that. Instead, I searched out the eyes of my grandmothers. I found them just as the circle began to glow, and smoke began to climb out of it. I held their gazes, as the smoke began to whirl around me. As my sight began to dim, I made sure to smirk at them both. Right before my world went dark, I heard a dark chuckle in my ear in response.

***

I awoke with Phenex- a Marquis of Hell with twenty legions at his command- in my body, and dark magic so strong, Witches of the Light crossed themselves when someone breathed my name.

 He and I have been together ever since. He taught me how to kill, and I taught him the value of life. He taught me how to dance, and I taught him the importance of rest.

It’s actually kind of funny. In the end, Phenex is the only one that filled in this blank canvas. In the real world, my once white hair, is now a deep red. My ivory skin has turned light copper. Alas, I do have to say that the biggest change has been in my personality.

 Where there was once a cold, timid child, that followed the rules and never made a fuss, there is now a rambunctious adult. One that doesn’t care about what others think, or say. One that has learned to feel a whole spectrum of emotions. 

I lean my head back, and stare up into Phenex’s teal eyes. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a tight hug. “I love you, Phenex.” I say, softly, “With every cell in my body, I love you.”

I feel him grin against my shoulder

“And I love you, Fienyx. With every soul I have devoured; every lifetime I have lived.” 

I smile. I know that no matter how long he and I have on Earth, no matter what we go through, and no matter if I forget to stock up on his favorite cookie, it will always be me and him. Phenex and Fienyx against the world.

-Fienyx Strega is the 21 year old best friend to Rowan Boucher, a girl more mysterious than the ocean. What secrets will the two uncover about each other as they go through life together? And who keeps trying to kill them? Find out in the ELEMENT'S ENDING series.

I always forget my role.

Am I the angel that saves sinning souls? 

Am I the demon and corrupting 

people is my goal?

Could I be a God, creating rules as problems pop up?

Ah, now I remember. I'm the human, trying my hardest not to run out of luck.

Living life, constantly toeing the line.

I don't know if Heaven will take a soul as dark as mine.

But hey! I remembered. What, is forgetting a crime?

Yes, I remember; I'm the mortal, living on borrowed time.

         It’s two-thirty in the morning and the rest of the world is sleeping. I creep downstairs, skipping every step that creaks. Padding softly into the kitchen, I immediately head to the fridge. Taking out the pie Mom made, I cut a big piece and put the rest back. I pour myself a small glass of water. With a wet paper towel, I wipe up any droplets and crumbs from the counter.

        Snack in hand, I go out the sliding doors and into our backyard. I balance the cup of water and pie in one hand, and reach back with the other to close the door. It’s a balmy, summer night; no clouds in the sky, a soft breeze rustling the tree’s leaves, and bugs, chirping an early morning song, create a soothing escape from the nightmares of last night.

I head over to the pool, ignoring the chairs and tables near the house. Carefully placing my food on the ground, I bend down to roll the legs of my sweat pants up. Sitting down and sticking my feet in the cool, teal water, I pick up my pie and take a bite. I stare up at the stars.

         People in desperate situations always stare at the stars. They might even ask a question: “Universe what am I doing wrong with my life?” Or “Will someone tell me how to fix this problem?” They think that the Cosmos will guide them to an answer.

I think that’s insane. These people ask for solutions from any divine being listening. They shout these questions out, in hopes that something greater than them will come down and magically solve all their problems. Unknowing that these being are selfish. That a greater being’s answers might fix everything, but only according to their morals and ethics. And those answers usually come with heartache and misery.

I think it’s silly, yet here I am about to do the same thing. I know better. I know the beings out there intimately. But still I stare up at the stars, hoping they’ll give me an answer.

          “Why do you have such a big piece of pie?”

           I almost fall in the pool. Spinning around, I find her seated at the table I ignored when I came out here. Her body is bathed in darkness. The only thing I can see are her amber eyes, glinting dangerously in her dark face. She stands and walks over to me. I turn my head away in embarrassment. I stare at my lap, as she sits down beside me sticking her legs into the water as well.

          I peek at her from my peripheral. The light from the pool dances in her raven coils. The humidity in the air is making it frizz and fluff up. Thickly lashed, clay colored eyes glitter in her mocha brown skin. She arches an ebony brow at me, and glares disapprovingly, until her wide mouth stretches into a smile. She lifts her face to the sky, as a light breeze blows, ruffling our curls. I stare at her, watching the stars in her eyes. Catching me staring, she winks and flashing her white teeth at me in a grin.

         It’s times like this, I forget that I know nothing about my mother. Her hair shrouds her in mystery. Those eyes hide her thoughts. That smile hides her true feelings. She is a walking enigma. A puzzle I doubt I’ll ever figure out.

I mentally shrug. Eating a bite of pie, I relax a bit. I’m enjoying this quiet time alone with her. 

        Then a flashback hits me.

***

         My mother, tears falling from her brown eyes, watches a house burn. She falls to her knees and whispers, “Please, God, no.”

         Firefighters come running out of the house, carrying bodies. She crawls to the firefighters and grabs the end of one of their jackets, trying to see the body. An officer runs over and pulls her away, allowing her to sob on his shoulder. Muffled yells sound from the crook of his neck.

***

        She presses her cool hands against my cheeks, “Breathe, Kenny. Just breathe.” I blink away tears, and stare up into her sad eyes. “These flashes,” she says quietly, “They’re of my past, aren’t they?”

       My jaw drops in shock; “How did you know about them?”

       She smiles, “I have cameras and microphones installed everywhere in the house.”

       I blink up at her.

       She cocks an eyebrow at me and folds her arms, “Now answer my question.”

       I try to look away, but she stops me with a gentle hand to my cheek. Closing my eyes and resting my head against it, I sigh, “Not all the time. I wasn’t even seeing your past, until Ethan asked you about that scar.”

       She touches her neck grimacing. She nods thoughtfully, “I thought so.” She smiles ruefully, “I’ve actually known about them since they started, but I was waiting for you to tell me.”

       I shake my head at her and smirk, despondently gazing out at the pool, “I would have never told you. I thought you would be angry.”

       She grabs a fistful of my curls and turns my head to her. She presses her mouth to my forehead and sighs. Wrapping her arms around my shoulders, she rests her chin on my head. She quietly, says, “I am angry. But not with you. I’m angry because I can’t bear this burden for you. I can’t take this hurt away, and that frustrates the hell out of me.”

       I wrap my arms around her tiny waist, and mumble, “I know.”

       She sighs, her breath ruffling my hair; “Don’t tell Finny this, but she’s right. You having these flashes and Milla hearing voices, has swayed me; you all need to know about our pasts.”

      She drags a petite hand through her wild hair. “You should have heard her,” She mimics Aunt Finny’s raspy voice, “ ‘Rowan, how are they supposed to know who to defend themselves from, if we don’t tell them who our enemies are?’ ”

       I chuckle at her spot on imitation of Finny.

       She continues: “ ‘Rowan, how did you feel when no one told about your bloodline? Rowan, if we had a historian, you wouldn’t even have to tell them about your past. They could just read it.’ Ugh, I can just hear her now.”

       “Is that voice supposed to be me?”

       My mother and I freeze.

       Turning our heads in unison, we spot Aunt Finny standing in the sliding door, tapping her foot. Her signature rose red waves billow around her short, curvy body. She’s dressed in an all white, lace nightgown, like some sort of heroine in a Victorian novel. She cocks her head at us and raises her flame colored eyebrows, “Well, Madame?”

       Mom rolls her eyes and stands. Walking over to Finny she calls to me over her shoulder; “Tell your siblings to come to the den in the morning. It’s past time I told you all your ancestry.”

        I watch her walk over to Finny. Long, lithe legs lead up to round hips and a waist so tiny, you would never suspect she had a kid; much less thirteen.

       She stands, clad in a black tank top and black cloth shorts, in front of my Aunt. At 5’ 8”, she towers over Finny’s shorter frame; “Finny! Guess what? I’m finally telling the kids about my past!” She gushes at her.

       It’s Finny’s turn to roll her eyes, “I heard. What I didn’t hear is the name of the person writing it all down.”

      Mom grimaces.

      Finny throws her hands in the air, “You never think anything through!”

      She waves a hand impatiently at Finny, trying to shush her. Tapping a finger against her chin, she suddenly shrugs and points back at me, “Kenny will.”

      This is news to me.

       “Wait a minute,” Mom says, a comical look of disbelief on her face, “I never think anything through?! Me?! Who’s the one that got us kidnapped my Junior year of college, because she “accidentally” set fire to a certain someone’s house? You, that’s who!”

         A gasp of betrayal follows that statement, as they both head into the house, arguing. My mom turns back to close the door. Winking at me, she loudly says, laughing, “And Kenny’s going to write it all down, too! So I’ll have physical proof, when one of our husbands whines about the two of us being in danger all the time. I’ll tell them it’s you who puts us in the line of fire the most!”

        I turn back to the pool and stare up at the stars. After a while I get up, heading into the house. I chance a look over my shoulder, in time to see a shooting star. A low, chuckling voice sounds in my ear. I frown and say, quietly, “You’re not funny.”

        At that, I turn away and close the door.