Chapter 1
Madeline Corwell had it all. A beautiful home, a successful husband, a well mannered daughter, and a face that could have been in Vogue. Not the kind of woman you’d see splashed across news headlines in conjunction with “insanity” or “murder”. Yet there she was. I was shocked. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more original to say. Not about originality ma’am. We just want the facts. It says here that on the morning in question, you found Mrs. Corwell? Yes. As well as the body of the deceased? Yes. And you claim she told you why she did it before her mania made her incoherent, as described in the findings of Dr.Smith? Yes. Would you mind enlightening us? Of course. It all started when they first moved in…… Chapter 2 I remember it clearly, the lavish garden party they threw as a sort of “we are here” to the neighborhood. At the time, it seemed quiet fun, but now I wonder if it was a sign. A sign, ma’am? Well, you know, of…….never mind, forget I said that. Anyway, the party was quite lovely. My husband Jim and I went and, as always, made sure to pay our respects to the hosts. That’s when I first met Madeline. Can you describe her character to us, ma’am? She was lovely. Kind, soft spoken, beautiful. She was obviously in love with her husband, which I thought was nice considering how many people get divorces or cheat these days. It’s such a shame… Ma’am, please. Of course. Anyway Madeline and I got into a simple conversation about our children. Her daughter, Anne, was her mother’s spitting image, absolutely beautiful. I remember mentioning to her that my daughter Lily was about the same age, though at the time she was at boarding school and the two wouldn’t get properly introduced until around Christmas that same year. Ma’am…. Sorry, sorry, I just get so easily distracted. It happens whenever I try to think about….. Ma’am, we understand this is a hard thing to recall. However, we need the full story in order to have a timeline and profile of Mrs. Corwell. Of course. Well, that first incident happened almost seconds after that. I was mentioning Anne’s lovely blue dress and Mr. Corwell, John, said “Yes, she is a lovely thing, my girl.” And Madeline seemed to almost……stiffen. Stiffen? It’s hard to describe, it was so minute. Her eyes seemed to fade out of focus just slightly, her smile weakening before coming back almost aggressively. Her hands tensed as if she wanted to fidget but stopped herself. It was so odd. It didn’t happen for the rest of the party so I just put it off as nothing. But that was the first odd instance. Chapter 3 What was the next sign of odd behavior, ma’am? The next one I remember clearly was when we invited Madeline to our weekly book club. A way for us moms and wives to get out of the house besides work and PTA meetings. It started off perfectly normal. We were reading Lolita that month and we were all just horrified at it yet we couldn’t stop reading. Those sort of books are like watching a car crash. Anyway, we strayed a bit from the book to talk about Madeline. She seemed to expect this. She told us how she did work at a small magazine in the city. She worked remotely though as the magazine is small and is still a bit of an up and coming thing. She and John apparently met when they were both in college. Did the whole college sweetheart thing and then Anne came along. Now there they were, in a new house, John with a new job and Anne about to start high school. There was just something odd about the way she talked about everything, like it was scripted. We began talking about her move and Julie, who runs a small antique shop, asked if Madeline had found anything interesting in the attic or basement. Madeline got quiet for a second. She sort of…..didn’t zone out but sort of…… Looked a bit dazed? Yes. It was odd because she popped right back a second later and said she hadn’t found anything that exciting. I’m not sure how I knew, but I knew she was lying. What would be so important that you felt she would lie, ma’am? I wasn’t sure at the time. I just put it off and we got back to the book. It was only later that I knew what she was lying about finding. What would that be? The mirror. Chapter 4 A mirror, ma’am? I know it sounds strange, but hear me out. A day or two later, I was over Madeline’s place. We were just chatting over coffee about the book club. I was lending my extra copy of Lolita to her since I accidentally bought two and she didn’t have one. We were just chatting and she offered to show me the house. It was lovely, very modern and polished despite them only moving in a week ago at that point. It was only when Madeline showed me the attic that I finally saw it. It was a large mirror, an old Victorian thing, I think. I’m not good with dating these things, that’s more Julia’s speciality. Anyway, it was an old mirror, long and large with black, ornate designs. At the top of the mirror, there were three objects carved into it: an apple, a crown and a comb, all set in an exact triangle with the apple at the top. It wasn’t dusty, which was odd to me since Madeline mentioning that she found it like this, like it was waiting for her. Ma’am….. Look, I know it sounds crazy, but you should have seen her when she was looking at it. Her eyes got all glassy and she was smiling so oddly. It was like she got absorbed in her own reflection. I had to shake her to get her to snap out of it. She just looked at me afterword and apologized, not even noticing she had zoned out. So this was the first overt episode Mrs. Corwell had? As far as I know, yes. I just remember that I needed to get away from that mirror fast. I know it sounds insane, but I swear that that thing was……was…….. Was what, ma’am? I don’t want to sound cliche or anything, but I swear that mirror was alive. Chapter 5 Anyway, a few weeks passed after that first time with the mirror. Madeline seemed to become more…..stable. Stable as in no odd episodes? Yes. She and I began to get closer. We invited her to dinners and chatted between my volunteer hours and her work schedule. Our husbands began to hang out more often together, always over at one of the houses on weekends to watch what sports game was on. It was then that I started to notice something. It’s…….it may just be me being a bit nosy or dramatic, but….. Ma’am, as we stated at the start of this interview, any information is helpful to this investigation. I know. Alright, so John was a very good husband from what I know. He was a good worker, faithful, never raised a hand to Madeline or Anne. Barely ever yelled in fact from what Madeline told me. But, he would sometimes say tiny things. He would always be teasing her, saying how her earrings were making her earlobes stretch out or how her eye makeup one day made one eye bigger than the other. Clearly little jabs between two people in love enough to tease in that way. Or he’d talk about Anne, saying how amazed he is at her achievements or how she’s growing up. Nothing too odd, just a father proud of his daughter. But whenever he did that, Madeline would sort of twitch. Like she did that day at the garden party, but more subtle. She’d get all tense then hide it and joke back at him or join in talking about Anne. If we were in her house, she’d disappeared for a little while and come back with more makeup or her hair freshened up or some little addition to her appearance. If she was over at ours, she’d go to our bathroom and take quite a while. I never hear anything in there, but she’d always come out more primped up in some way. I know this seems odd or not worth mentioning, but it made me uneasy. I was starting to wonder what exactly happened behind closed doors in that house. Turns out, I’d soon get an answer. Chapter 6 A few weeks before that night, I got a call at 3am from John. I remember thinking it odd at first that he’d call me at this hour, as well as that he was calling me in general. How do you know he wanted to speak to you specifically? I offered to wake Jim, thinking the two had some sudden urgent business to discuss, but he said no, that he wanted to talk to me. He said that Madeline hadn’t come to bed that night, that she was upstairs looking at that mirror. Apparently it started right after dinner, when Anne announced that she was going out with a friend of hers, Aaron, to study at the library. I had met the boy before, his mother also being in the book club. He was a perfect gentleman, very sweet and clearly had a crush on Anne, which John and Madeline approved of due to his kind nature and having a good head on his shoulders. After Anne left, John had heard Madeline finish cleaning up before vanishing upstairs to the attic. She hadn’t been down since. John thought she was cleaning up but he heard odd whispers as he went up to bed. He tried to get her to come to bed, but she seemed unresponsive, face pressed to the mirror. He thought she may listen to me since she and I had become so close. So you went over to the house. Of course. John pointed me upstairs…… How did he seem? Annoyed, nervous? He looked scared. He said he had tried everything to get her to come away from the mirror, but nothing seemed to stick. She just kept mumbling something he couldn’t make out. So, I went up. It was so odd. Madeline was rocking back and forth, staring at the mirror without blinking. That strained look in her eyes was back. As I got closer, it sounded like she was chanting. Did you hear what exactly she was chanting? No, her lips were pressed too close to the mirror and she was talking so low I couldn’t make it out. But I remember feeling some kind of awful dread when I heard her. I can’t explain why, but I just knew I had to stop it. I walked forward slowly, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. I called out her name and she started like she was electrocuted. She looked around all confused before turning to me. She asked me when I got here and where Anne was. I said I didn’t know but John was waiting downstairs. We both went down and John swept her up in concern. She just kept asking him where Anne was. I’m not sure, but when she asked that, something in me wanted to grab the girl and run. You felt Anne was in danger? Yes. I can’t pinpoint why, but I did. John seemed to feel that way too because he told her she was in bed, having come back hours ago from studying before insisting they get to bed. I only left after I heard their bedroom door close. I went back home, but I couldn’t sleep the entire rest of the night. I just kept my eye on that house, thinking of the odd look in her eyes when she asked about Anne. Chapter 7 I watched her for the next few days. I know how that sounds, but I just had a bad feeling, you know? I just kept seeing her from that night, that vacant look and that odd chant. She was normal as normal could be, at least to everyone else. But to me, there were little things that tipped me off. She seemed to keep a closer eye on Anne. She also was primping more often, excusing herself more and more only to come back with more makeup or a new hairstyle. At one point, when book club was at her house, she left and came back in with a completely different outfit! Just to confirm, you are certain no one else noticed this strange behavior? Well, yes and no. Our friends didn’t and John seemed to be ignoring it. But Anne and Lily noticed. At that point, Lily and Anne had been introduced and were fast friends. Lily was home for Christmas break and the two girls were chatting in Lily’s room one day. I wasn’t snooping if you were wondering. I was passing by with some laundry that needed to get into the wash and happened to overhear them talking about Madeline. Anne was telling Lily how odd her mother was acting, though she mentioned it was more odd than usual. She also noticed the extra primping, but Anne was exposed to more of Madeline’s oddities. Apparently, Madeline wouldn’t let Anne leave the house without makeup anymore. Always going on about acting like a young lady and babbling in one breath that boys don’t like a sloppy girl only to say that Anne didn’t have time for a boy and should focus on her studies. Anne wasn’t sure what had gotten into her mother, who, while a bit obsessive about her appearance, usually didn’t harp on Anne’s too much. However, she mentioned it may have something to do with that odd mirror in the attic. She also said that due to this, her father had arranged for the mirror to be take away. I have no idea why the idea filled me with such relief. Or how bad things were going to get from there. Chapter 8 The next morning, Madeline went ballistic. The workmen came in and took the mirror. John had to hold Madeline close as the mirror was packed in a truck, heading to a pawn shop a few towns over. I remember her crying and screaming at him. I was watching from the window so I couldn’t tell you what she said. Mr. Corwell has mentioned what she said in his statement. Oh. I didn’t know that. Well, I suppose that makes sense, you interviewing him as well. Him being in the thick of it all. That poor man….. Ma’am…. Sorry, sorry. Anyway, Madeline was screaming and crying as the mirror was carted away. I remember after the truck pulling away seeing John pull her inside. I also remember seeing Anne in her room, watching them. Madeline came into her room a few seconds after John took her inside. She was shouting and screaming at Anne, pulling at her own hair. She never laid a hand on her, but I could tell Anne was frightened, frozen on her bed. I would have run over there but John quickly dragged her out of the room, leaving Anne alone and terrified. She mentioned it to Lily when she came over later, how her mother was locked in her room, sobbing about that mirror. How her father tried to get to to listen, to calm down, but she was inconsolable. I’m not sure what that mirror did, but it seemed like the damage was done. I just didn’t know how much damage it had done until it was far too late. Chapter 9 For a few days, things seemed to calm down. Madeline’s primping seemed to lessen, she zoned out less at book club and dinners. Her and Anne went back to being amicable, thought there was a new distrust in Anne’s eyes. Madeline and John were back to being that perfect couple, though John toned down the teasing. All in all, things were looking up. But there were still little things, things that told me we weren’t out of the woods yet. Such as? Well, she would stop and look into any mirror she passed by. It was never too long, but it was longer than average. She’d also get this look whenever Anne mentioned Aaron. It was always so quick, but it was there. A look of absolute loathing and anger. I suppose that’s why I wasn’t that surprised when I got the call that night. Chapter 10 So, on the night of the murder, the report mentions Mr. Corwell called you before contacting police. Yes. He said he was hoping I could keep Madeline calm so when you guys finally did arrive, she wouldn’t…… Become aggressive. Yes. He was in hysterics as he called me. It was around 2am, before you ask. I remember not being able to understand him for a while, then when I finally got him to calm down, he finally was able to tell me that…….that……I’m sorry…… Take your time, Ma’am. Mhm…..sorry….he was finally able to tell me that Anne was dead. He said how he heard an odd thumping sound from the attic as well as whispering. Then he noticed Madeline wasn’t in bed. He crept over to the attic, going up the stairs and trying the door but found that it was closed and locked. He pushed on it, but he said a weight was apparently holding it down. He tried again, causing the door to creak. It was at that point the whispering paused for a second. Then he heard Anne’s voice through the door, like she was laying on it. It sounded like she just woke up, mumbling to Madeline and asking what she was doing. Then she starting screaming and John tried to push the attic door open again, but it wouldn’t budge. He kept hearing Madeline mumble something, the sounds of a struggle, then…..then the sound of several sharp impacts. And by impacts, you mean….. I mean the sound of someone being stabbed, yes. John didn’t know it until he smelt blood and saw a few drops leak out from between the boards of the attic door. That’s when he ran and called me. She was still up there apparently, and he couldn’t bring himself to go up there to try and make sure she didn’t run. He said he wouldn’t know what he’d do. He begged me to come over. I agreed. I don’t know why I did and I wish every day that I hadn’t. But I did. So, I got my robe on, took a deep breath, and went over there. Chapter 11 The first thing I saw was John, sobbing on the steps, shaking horribly. I doubt it was from the cold. He just pointed me inside, the phone next to his ear as he talked to a dispatcher in a choked voice. I walked inside. Everything looked normal, but something felt…off. I can’t explain it. I went upstairs, toward the attic door. There was a small red spot on it. That was when it really hit me that she……that it was…… Take your time Ma’am. Thank you. I pushed open the attic door. I supposed Madeline unlocked it. It was…….gruesome. Madeline was just sitting there, staring at a small hand mirror. She was……painting herself with the blood. Anne’s body was just sitting there, her eyes staring unblinking at the ceiling. Madeline didn’t look at me when I called out her name. She just kept rubbing the blood into her cheeks like blush. I couldn’t help but ask it. I don’t know why I did, but some small part of me had to know. I asked her why she did it. She stopped for a moment, put the mirror down, and looked at me. Her eyes were……empty, like she wasn’t even there at all. “Because her beauty is wasted on her and love sucks it out of you. It had been sucked from me for so long…..I wanted it back. She had it. So I did it. I saved her from becoming me. I ended the cycle.” She said it so simply, like any of it made any sense to me. I remember just staring at her. She went back to her primping. That’s when you guys came and took her away. You probably know what happened next. I know that when arrested, Mrs. Corwell was calm until an officer tried to take her mirror. I know that’s when she became violent and had to be restrained as she was loaded into the squad car. I also know Dr. Smith has declared her insane and, if what you say is true, that he is correct in asking for the insanity plea from the court. You do understand that will mean she will be sent to a mental institution over a prison, yes? I do. I want her to get help. She is…..was….my friend. The last thing I want is for her to be locked away without help. But….. But? But I also want a record of this somewhere. See, after the arrest, John got word that the mirror got delivered to the shop he sold it to. I just want someone to check on that thing. I have a bad feeling that it’s not done yet. Ma’am, we appreciate your statement and assistance in Mrs. Corwell’s defense but unfortunately we do not have time to chase fairytales. End recording. … Pawnshop owner murders assistant, claims temporary insanity By: Riley Quinn, Daily Executor Police arrested local pawnshop owner Beverly Marks this morning after nearby witnesses claimed to hear the sounds of a struggle within her shop, Oddities and Heirlooms. The 45 year old woman was found next to her deceased assistant, Mary Kore, holding a knife. She struggled against police but was quickly arrested for first degree murder. According to an officer on the scene, the suspect was murmuring something about a latest acquisition to her shop and how she just wanted to “halt the voices she was hearing,” claiming that she “will probably have her lawyer slap an insanity plea before the day gets dark.” We will bring you more on this story as it develops. The End.
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She giggles
as the snowflakes kiss her cheeks and eyelashes. He laughs with no shame despite his age as the wind tousles his hair like he is a child again, They giggle as the snow heralds the coming of yet another lovely Christmas. Sits blurry eyes and bright screen
Wide, yawning mouths and granola bars. Poetry that picks and pokes at the world, like one picks at a scab. I wonder if these poets moan to know their work has been swallowed by these new panting, hungry minds that snap at any new morsel. I wonder why my eyes grow dim sometimes, while others seem to widen at the sight, the scent, of a brand new story. Being a writer means you are open to learning anything. From the most simple task to the most complex idea, you let your mind open and learn it. Not because it can lead to the next great novel. But because the best ideas are found, not given, and they often appear in the oddest places and times.
Ideas can vary, every writer knows. Maybe you get the next Frankenstein or Dracula. The next 1984 or Fahrenheit 451. Maybe the next Slaughterhouse 5 lives in you, Maybe your story doesn't focus on doom and gloom. Maybe you have worlds unfounded in your mind. The next Hogwarts or Camp Half Blood, another world that thousands can escape to and live in for years to come. Maybe your stories are simpler, not made of vast worlds but layers of small infinities in our own. Another Night Circus or Nicholas Flamel, where the world is a puzzle that deconstructs itself before your eyes. Maybe you have the next superspy or set of ghost hunters, ordinary evolving to extraordinary and back again, the idea that someone can take on the dark world with little more than his or her wits. Maybe that's where you go. But, this in lies the difference between the dreamer and the writer: the writer does not make excuses as to why you can't write this. They don't blame practicality or work or inspiration for their stories nebulous lack of existence. They, instead, make the time. They put on some music (or not), grab something to drink (or not). What ever they do before, they do. They prepare, they breathe, and they begin. (So by God my fellow daydreamers and storytellers, grab your pens or laptops, remove all doubt, and begin, begin, begin.) Chapter 1
It’s amazing what you remember about people after they are gone. The little ticks and traits that escaped you until they became all you had left. Like those little nursery rhymes you used to recite as a kid. Hickory Dickory Doc……. Those little things become so important, so vital you weep at the slightest mention of them. Those little things is what I clung to after my father passed away. That, and an old antique clock. Chapter 2 My father loved little things and old things. He loved the little nursery rhymes and tongue twisters he kept like bits of paper in his pocket, like a tune you could’t get out of your head. He loved running his hands over old clocks, following the paths of its former owners, wondering about their stories. I wonder if he ever stopped to consider the hands that would come after him. “Mara.” I look up at my mother, her weary eyes poking from the attic door. I hold up the clock to her. She smiles a pained smile. “He never finished that one. Maybe you can get it working.” I just nod, rise, and wait. She steps down from the ladder, disappears back into her own grief. Doesn’t bother trying to find the bits of paper, or strain to hear the song. I hold the clock in my hands, and exit the attic. The clock is silent. Chapter 3 The guts of the clock sit before me, brass shimmering in the light of the window and the noon-day sun. Three days. Three days and……nothing. Grumbling, I walk past the kitchen, past the living room where my mother sits listlessly, to the garage. I search high and low for another screwdriver, maybe a maintenance book, something to help me fix this damn clock. What I find is my father’s log journal. He logged each clock he fixed, who he fixed it for, and a little comment on each one. Potential portal to an alternate dimension. Odd croaking noise with no origin. Beautiful woodwork I slam the book shut. I leave the garage. Seeing how he saw each clock, each little detail where other couldn’t……..I couldn’t be reminded of that right now. I return to the clock. It remained silent. Chapter 4 Judy watches me from across the room, tapping her pen against her notepad. She’s nice, and definitely a good therapist. But I doubt I’m her favorite patient. For one thing, she has to pull teeth with me. “How are you, Mara?” Thumbs up “How has your week been?” Shrug Like I said, pulling teeth. I’m just not good at, well……talking. Just like my dad. “Tell me about this clock your mother mentioned, Mara.” I don’t want to say anything, because I can’t stand the ideas she’ll spout. About how this is a coping mechanism, how this is something I’m doing to feel close to my father. It hurts to hear, hurts to narrow the yawning chasm in my chest as something to simply be dealt with. The reprieve (and dare I say magic) the clock brings with it, with each wire I fix and every inch I clean, revealing the designs beneath, chopped down into just a coping mechanism, something unhealthy and dramatic that needs to end at some point. Time, like grief, is infinite to me. It doesn’t go away so easily. You can’t pause time, and you can’t make pain smaller. So I stay quiet. Silent as the clock. Chapter 5 The fairy’s painted smile at the top of the clock is mocking me. Her lips create that same little pout my mom used to have on when I said something ridiculous as a child. Before the accident, before her lips stayed frozen in an ever present thin line. I want to talk to her, want her lips to unfreeze and smile at me again. But we don't always get what we want. We make compromises. So, for another day, I stay silent. Silent as the clock. Chapter 6 My father was always so composed when he was working on a clock. No matter how frustrating the problem appeared, he kept his cool. At times outside of the clock, the same could not be said. It’s hard to reconcile the angry giant with my loving father at times. But I’d take his anger over the silence in my house right now. The source of it seems to be the clock. Cold, silent, and dead. Just like my dad. Chapter 7 My mother is humming. Not anything specific, just snatches of notes that she weaves together with air and sorrow as she cooks dinner. But she’s still humming. It’s something. It fills the silence the clock seems in no hurry to shatter. Chapter 8 That stupid rhyme. It keeps sticking into my mind, winding and slipping between my ears like a fly. My dad would mutter it playfully as his hands flew around his table. The clock ticking right as he finished the last dock. I try muttering it like a wizard summoning some power. Maybe for a minute, just one minute please, he can come back to me and tell me how this damn clock is supposed to work. Hickory Dickory Doc The mouse ran up the clock The clock struck one, the mouse was done. Hickory Dickory Dock. Nothing. Nothing. More blasted, stupid nothing! With all the strength I have, I heave the block of wood down on the table. It stays fine, stubbornly held together as I weep. Daddy, please. Please don’t be done. I miss you. Chapter 9 “Mara!” “Mara, sweetie, don’t cry!” “Please talk to me, love, shhhh, don’t cry.” “Mama’s here, please talk to me baby.” “I want Dad!” “Oh sweetie. I know you do. I miss him every day. I miss the way he’d make the house smell like clock oil and sawdust. How he’d say those silly rhymes to you whenever you helped him with his clocks. How he would tell you stories about each one. How he’d only eat potatoes if they were boiled. How he hated pop music. Honey I miss him every day. I know you do too. I’m sorry I haven’t saw anything until now.” “It hurts!” “I know sweetie. It’s going to for a while. You have to remember to let it out. You can’t just keep bottling it up. You have to let these things out. They’re like the gears of a clock. They need to come out in order for the clock to be fixed.” “I love you sweetie. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you. I’ve got you now sweetie. I love you.” “I love you too.” Chapter 10 Judy was smiling sadly at me as I finished recounting my break with my mother. “Mara, I’m so sorry you’ve been hurting like this. But, I’m glad your ready to move forward. The process may seem long, but it will be worth it.” I nodded, considered, then said “Thank you Judy. For actually giving a shit.” Judy laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t be any good at my job if I wasn’t. Now, how’s the rest of your week been?” I take a breath, the first one that hasn’t felt like something was out a place in a long time. I was finally ticking. And tocking. And moving forward. Chapter 11 As it turns out, the problem was right there. I just wasn’t able to see it, focused and blinded as I was. The clock was just jammed. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed. I closed the latch on the back, wound it up, and off it went. Mom smiled as she placed it on the mantle. Hugging me, we both watched as the clock ticked on between the tinsel and fairly lights, the Santa statue and the angel Dad loved to place at the very end. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. On you go, Hickory. Dickory. Doc. The End Chapter 1
My whole life, stories have fascinated me. The tropes, the tales, the tellings. What gets added and what gets cut. What ideas seem immortal and which ones seem too finite. This bending, twisting thing has taught me much. But it never taught me what to do when a giant black vortex opens in your dorm room. That part it conveniently left out. Chapter 2 I was just minding my own business when WHAM black swirling vortex. I will admit, I was more annoyed than anything when it popped up, cause I thought it was just my roommates glasses case that fell over again. I also had headphones on blasting Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas so I wasn't exactly paying much attention. So when I discovered it wasn’t a glasses case but a black vortex, well, color me surprised. It seemed to be made of pure darkness, collapsing and folding into and out of itself. I’m no science major, so thats the best I can describe it. In true vortex fashion, it started pulling me toward it, alongside of flinging everything around the room. In that moment, hyped up on rock and adrenaline, I decided what the hell? If I’m going, I’m going the way I want to. So, I raced forward, tucked my legs to my chest, and cannonballed into the unknown. “COWABUNGA!” Chapter 3 The drop was…..kinda fun. The portal seemed to twist itself into the worlds best slide, sharp turns and swirls that made me scream in joy. Finally, the ride ended with me falling from an ashen sky. I was worried for about two seconds. Cause the next thing I know, I’m grabbed sharply from the left. Then I’m suddenly in the claws of a giant vulture. I mean, take a vulture and supersize her. Thats what had me. She flew me to her nest and dropped me down. Three babies waiting with open beaks. NOT. GOOD. So I did the natural thing. I kicked the vulture in the throat once it set me down, ran across the branch (of a tree as big as a small duplex), climbed down and ran like a lunatic. Like you do. Only to find myself in a forest that seemed to be dipped in pitch, oozing and cracking at the seams. The trees towered lifelessly and seemed to only inhabit deadly animals the size of mini vans. Like the two wolves that cornered me when I was not fifteen feet away from the nest. Jeez, girl can’t catch a break. Chapter 4 From my right, I hear an annoying neeying……. Oh, and the thud of a nervous horse. “My lady! I have come to liberate you from these beasts!” An admittedly handsome dude with fine blue threads and a giant ornate sword sat on the back of the white horse. His pompous “yes I know I’m awesome” smile made me doubtful of his abilities. He hopped off the horse, approaches the wolf on my left and charged like a maniac. The wolves out finessed him easily, dodging his clumsy attempts at stabs and slipping past his lazy footwork. Needless to say, the prince ended up on his ass real quick. His amber eyes filled with fear as he stumbled and tried to find his sword. Which was conveniently at my feet. Oh to hell with it. Grabbing the sword, I took advantage of the wolves being distracted with Pretty Boy and stabbed the first wolf in the neck. A good twist and he was down fo the count. The second tried to charge over his fallen friend, but just had the business end of the sword meet his eye. He still landed on top of me, which was gross cause hello, giant dead wolf. I pushed at the bulk for a moment before it shifted off me, which is when I realized it wasn’t just cause of me. The Prince had gotten off his royal fanny to help. How sweet. I stood, holding the sword close to me. “What the hell was that?” I hissed to him. He smiled that cocky smirk again. “It was a Lycantra, native to the Grey Wood. Do not worry madam, you are safe.” As if he had slain them. Ok, that tears it. “Yeah because I sliced them while you were screaming on the ground! Who the hell taught you to fight? You’re a Prince, right? Cause I feel like decent fighting skills should be a requirement of that position, and hon you failed big time!” The Prince seemed to sag at this, but before he could get a word in a trumpet sounded in the distance. He turned back to me. “It’s the Royal Guard. I will need my sword back, madam.” I sighed, and handed back to him. Before he could leave though, I yelled “Wait!” He turned back. “Mind giving me a lift? I’m not from around here and I figure you dad has some kind of wizard who may be able to explain why.” The Prince cocked his head, confused. “He does, but how do you know that?” I just smirk, my turn to be cocky. “Lucky guess.” Chapter 5 The ride to the palace was a bit disorienting. From pitch covered woods to a bright, colorful village to a large ornate castle, we passed in blurs of green, blue, pink, and white. It hurt my eyes and made the jostling of the horse even more nauseating. Finally we stopped before I could toss my cookies. The palace gate opened wide, allowing the Guard to enter, with us in the center. The courtyard was huge, people running this way and that like in the movies. I had no clue why. Feast maybe? Anyway, The Prince helped me down and walked me to the Royal Throne Room. The throne was pure gold and on it sat an old but kind king. Geez, did someone just hit a button on a cliche fantasy generator or something? The King, in an unsurprisingly booming voice, asked “Son, who is this maiden you have brought before me?” I was getting real sick of this maiden bullshit. Princey replied in the same haughty tone “She is a foreigner who requests council with The Great Wizard Ludwig.” I couldn’t help but giggle at the name. The King gave me a slight glare before saying, “As you wish my son.” The Prince bowed and escorted me away. The moment we left the Throne Room, he took a relieved breath. He sagged a bit, his posture and manner seeming to relax. Huh. Interesting. Because I’m a nosey little shit, I decided to ask “Not this biggest fan of your old man?” The Prince glanced at me wearily as we moved through the castle, but replied “He is a good father and a good King, he can just be a bit….” “Intimidating?,” I prompted, and he smiled. “That’s a word for it.” We walked in silence for a moment, before I offered “My dad can be that way too sometimes. But I know he loves me, so its ok. Your dad probably doesn’t do it on purpose, he has a hard job.” The Prince nodded. “We both do. Nonetheless, I just wish I had more time to just relax and be myself. As you can see, I’m not that good at being the standard Prince.” “Huh, could’ve fooled me,” I replied. He laughed, realizing it was a joke. I smiled. He actually had a really nice laugh. And he actually seemed not so bad. “You’re not so bad Princey,” I tell him. He thinks for a moment, before I hear this, only slightly audible, shy: “Clement. My name is Clement.” I restricted my laugh this time. He stopped before a large set of mahogany door. They opened ominously. BeforeI slipped inside, I whispered back. “Hi Clement. My name is Hera.” Chapter 6 Ludwig’s (I cannot believe that’s his name) chamber was a standard wizards chamber. Glass vials and magical books covered every surface, the air filled with the bubbling of countless potions. The walls had constellations lovingly adoring its midnight blue walls, the rich carpet a sharp contrasting crimson. And in the center of it all was Ludwig himself. An old, white haired man in flowing grey robes, crooked spectacles perched precariously on his nose, muttering in a language that was almost inaudible as he scanned over one of many of the ancient tomes. I politely clear my throat. “Hello, I was sent to see you.” He turned, startled, but a smile replaced his shock as he strolled over to me. “Yes, my dear I was expecting you. Sit, sit we have much to discuss.” He gestured to an overstuffed lilac sofa, tucked into a corner nook. He sat opposite me in a long lavender armchair. As you could tell, his color coordination skills were a bit off. Smiling, he crafted a cup of tea in mid air and stared at me for a moment before declaring: “Let us get to brass tax. You want to know why your here, yes?” I nodded, happy he wasn’t trying to ask stupid questions. “Well, my dear, for many years our little world has been plagued by the Dark Ones of the Grey Wood, of who you have been acquainted with. The source of this is an ancient spell, cast by a wizard long ago for a reason long forgotten. It is said only one who understands the true intention of our world can lift it. As you can imagine, no one has a clue what that means. So, we have been putting our poor undertrained Prince to work alongside of our Guard to do damage control while I scramble to figure it out. That is, until you dropped in.” I digested the information overload I was just given for a moment. Then, I took a breath, and asked the one important question that bore asking: “What do I have to do?” The old man smiled sadly at me. “That, my dear, is a question your going to have to answer for yourself.” I wanted to yell at him. Tell him thats bullshit. In stories like these there is always a quest, an oracle, something to go and find to fix the problem. Heroes never have to just sit and wait for the answer to come to them. But I also knew that, from the books and the dark circles under Ludwig’s eyes, if there was something like that, they would have found it already. So, I just nodded, rose, and left the chamber. This is going to take longer than I thought. Chapter 7 I sit on the balcony of the castle, overlooking the garden. It’s a blur of color, flowers of each type blooming in harmony. Pretty and distracting for the hamster in my brain. I turn the idea over and over in my head as the sun lazily drapes itself across the sky. The intention of a world….. Well who the hell is supposed to know that? I’m not a God, or a hero, or anyone who would have access to that information. Where could I….. A cough stops my train of thought. Clement. He smiles shyly as he joins me, looking at the garden with a fond gaze. “I suppose Ludwig told you.” I nodded. “That sucks, dude.” He nodded. “I’ve gotten used to being confused about it. And trying to save people even though I have no clue what to do. I’m no warrior. Never was meant to be one. We had no enemies and Father preferred diplomacy over war. So, when the monsters started coming and the people needed help, I was scared. I had a fancy sword, minimal training, and I just had to wing it. It’s been hard.” He finished, looking up at the sky. Lowly, I responded “I could relate to this in a way. Being thrust into something you never thought you had to deal with, was a lot like what life did to you back home. You can’t prepare for it, you can’t plan each thing out, you can’t assume that life will accommodate your expectations. You just go for it.” He smiled wearily, turning to me. “That is true. You just….” A scream and a snarl cut him off. Like a shot he was off the balcony, with me hot on his heels. Chapter 8 She was cornered. The hulking mass of a wolf snarled at her as she cowered. Screaming “Help! Please! Someone!” We glanced at one another. I grasped his sword’s handle from his belt, pulled it out, and got to work. One mighty jab in the back, the creature was toast. All done, just like that. As the woman gathered herself, Clement helping to ease her up, I thought “its only this easy in a story…..” WAIT A STORY. Smiling to myself, I ran to Clement and the fallen girl, whose cheeks were a rosy red around the prince. “I know how to heal the Grey Wood.” Chapter 9 Clement glanced at me, unsure. “I don’t know, Hera. That seems like it may be….” “Dangerous? Yeah I know. But I’m certain this is the answer.” Clement sighed but nodded. Lifting his sword, he said “I’ll keep an eye out for you.” I smiled. “Thanks.” With that, we marched into the heart of the Grey Wood. Chapter 10 The twigs cracked and broke under our feet as we moved with caution, Clement’s sword extended before him as I moved by his side. With no warning, the trees exploded with creatures. Wolves, large vultures, and some creatures I couldn’t identify moved toward us, there eyes saying only one thing: you shall not pass! Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but….. Standing tall, I began. “Stories have been around for years….” Clement gave me a look that clearly said “what the hell are you doing?”, but I went on. “They have entertained us and helped us learn more about ourselves than anything else. They make us smile and laugh or shed tears. They chronicle heroes, villains, and all those in between. But stories have always had tropes. Little things that repeated again and again. People can hate them, claim they are played out and boring. But they exist because they serve the story. They let us see whats important, what the story is trying to say. In this case, you,” I gestured to the horrifying horde “ are here to remind us that darkness and death can strike even the happiest of us. You are something to vanquish, some evil to slay. You are here to prove that bravery and courage and all that good stuff can help us through life. Which is true in some cases. But honestly? You guys have done your job. So, this story needs an ending and it seems there is only one way to end it.” With that, I grabbed Clement’s sword hand and thrust it into the ground, the tip piercing the charcoal ground. The ground seemed to unwind and reset itself into color, the trees shifting from hulking grey masses to bright green skyscrapers. The monsters faded into shadows, tall but nonthreatening. Releasing Clement’s hand we both marveled at the new sight before us. “I can’t believed that worked.” Chapter 11 The party was one to remember. Dancing, good food, loud music, the (apparently) standard fair for parties in the kingdom. It was still awesome. Clement turned out to be a great dancer, and he seemed to be getting along great with the peasant girl he saved. Certainly more a lover than a fighter, I thought to myself, smiling as I watched him twirl her. The night slipped by quickly, ending when the Sun slipped up the sky and Ludwig announced (using a weird ball of golden energy) that it was time for me to depart. Chapter 12 I turned to Clement, sticking out my fist. “It’s been real, dude. See you later.” He smiled, took my wrist into his hand, pulled me close and…… I was five seconds from smacking him. “Dude. No.” He laughed. “I know, just jesting with you.” I rolled my eyes, but I still smiled. He took my hand and shook it. “It has been an honor, my friend.” I nodded. “Same here.” I waved to his lovely lady friend (mouthing to him “go for it” while winking), then turned to Ludwig. He spread his hands, the golden ball of light flattening out on the ground to form a tunnel of light. Like before, I’m going the way I want to. “COWABUNGA!” Chapter 13 Back in my chair Back in my dorm, Kansas playing on like it was never paused. Like it never happened. Like it was just a weird flash of a dream. But it was real. How do I know? Cause even my imagination isn’t that crazy. So, here is where it ends, back at the start, lessons learned, things like that. My final thoughts? Well, it was fun. But it is good to be home. What did you think? The End Chapter 1
Star crossed lovers. Soul mates. True love. These ideas have been the basis of every love story, sonnet and tragedy in history. Man has whispered the idea to each other so many times the stories run into each other like a painting caught in the rain. They have worshipped and coveted the idea close to their hearts, searching far and wide for that bliss that the story’s hold as the thrilling climax…… Until they didn’t. Until they decided it wasn’t worth the waiting, the longing, the heartache of wrong, wrong, wrong again. They gave up on love. They gave up on soul mates. The sonnets stopped flowing, the songs ceased, the worship crumbled into dust like so many shrines do. The world gave up on love. Little did they know how real the stories were. Chapter 2 Alma blinked her eyes open as her alarm application screamed at her. Hitting the button to quiet it, she rose, her feet padding softy against the floor as she exited her earthy toned room. In the kitchen, her mother was making breakfast. They had the Mister for that, but sometimes Alma’s mom wanted to make something from scratch. Not illegal, but odd to say the least. Which is why Alma was the only one who knew about her little hobby. “Morning,” she croaked as she neared her mother. She glanced over her shoulder to see that today was scrambled eggs day (something the Mister could spit out in a second) and went to sit down. Alma’s mother returned the sleepy greeting with a smile as she finished the eggs, setting them down in front of their places at the two person table. A standard feature in every house, since no more than two people should inhabit it. Alma polished off her breakfast quickly and slipped back into her room to get ready for the day. The shuttle was going to be here in approximately 26 minutes, the clock read. Alma nodded to it and it closed, leaving her to get ready for school. Chapter 3 It started slowly. As technology grew and blossomed, the old stories began to die. The ideas coveted for thousands of years now seemed passé. The world was getting faster and faster, and no one had time to turn back. As the past crumbled in neglect, the future forgot. Love became something that was required of you. Then science made that requirement optional. Then, it became another archaic idea. Love? Who had time for such a fairytale? So, it too crumbled. No one had the time or temperament for it. Anything to do with love became taboo, or downright illegal. Leaving us at now, in a chrome, loveless world. Chapter 4 Caleb sat in his chrome classroom, the overwhelming white stinging his eyes as it did every day. He professor was droning on and on. The math equation on the board was still just as easy to understand as it was 15 minutes ago. Caleb hated this part. He sighed, his head tilting to look at the small, digital clock. 25 minutes remain of the class, it read, the text on a constant loop. It won't be long, he thought. It won’t be long now. Chapter 5 Alma looked desperately at the clock, her knee bouncing. Other students began to look at her in annoyance, the constant wiggle of her desk and the rolling of her pencil becoming bothersome. She stopped, but the energy still flowed freely. Just a little longer, she thought. Just a little longer. Chapter 6 Finally, the bell rang. As children filed out the door in their normally orderly manner, paying no mind to the strangers that were their classmates, two sets of hands fidgeted. Two sets of feet itched to run. But they stayed quiet, perfectly acting the part of strangers. They waited until the sun greeted them, until the Breeze danced before them. Then, with a look only could know, they slipped off, two specks of silver among a sea of moons. Chapter 7 Alma breathed a sigh of relief. Running from the silver metropolis always left her feeling lighter, as if she were a serpent shedding a skin. Turning, she saw that he had caught up to her. Smiling, Caleb strolled forward. No, not Caleb. That was his name out there, in the world with no love or history. Here, he was- “Eros”, she whispered as he neared her. Still smiling, her leaned down, leaving a lingering, luscious kiss against her lips. “It’s been too long, Psyche.” Chapter 8 You’ve probably heard the legend, yes? Of a goddess’s wrath, an arrow, and two who chose to love? Of failed trust, trials, and divine intervention? No? I thought so. This is a story that no longer exists. Faded to dust like the rest. But people, people do not fade so easily….. Chapter 9 Psyche smiled as Eros pulled away, an equal grin upon his features. “I’ve missed you,” she said, grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers. “And I you, my dear. I don’t know how long I can last like this. Having to run and hide, pretend we are as empty as those around us. Live and listen each day to loveless people talk of things with no passion, no heart, no…..” “Soul?”, Psyche supplied, not without humor. Eros smiled. “Yes. How much long must we bear it?” Psyche let herself drift into his arms, wrapping her own around him as the sun dipped below the sky. “We will find a way.” Chapter 10 They stayed for as long as they dared, watching the sun’s colors give way to the endless navy of the cosmos. Then, they parted. I suppose this will be lost on you, but perhaps you will remember about parting and sweet sorrow. Then perhaps you can get a glimpse of what they felt as they turned and left one another, watching their beloved fade back into the silver landscape. Chapter 11 They have played this game for centuries. Constantly searching, looking, wondering is that you? Are you here? Where are you this time? A hundred, a thousand, a million miles away? Each time the world seemed to conspire to bring them together. Sometimes it took years. Other times it took longer. Decades, whole lifetimes spent longing. They never gave up though. Their many names and many stories colored the lives of multitudes of people and sometimes touched history so profoundly that they appeared anew in another nations history books. They lived through hatred, segregation, genocide, anarchy. They lived through all the pain that man can put into his own mind or is thrust upon him by the cruel gods. They outlasted it all, because they lived for the moments where eyes met, hearts soared, and souls settle. For the relief of finally, finally I found you. How I have missed you. A moment we all get, but we have forgotten the joy it could bring when love became extinct. Chapter 12 Alma, she was Alma again, was greeted by the sight of her mother, working on dinner. The Mister sat unused, a silver paperweight. Alma sighed, and sat the table. She was getting tired of this, of this constant game of pretend. But it was necessary. The time had not come for the old stories to be renewed. She had to wait. As she ate, she couldn’t help the burst of youthful impatience that surrounded her. When, when, when? Patience, her old soul crooned. Patience. The time will come soon. Chapter 13 Caleb scratched his neck and sighed, the article nebulas of his CelLight giving no guidance. He remembers every lifetime in which he was without her. Each one ached worst than the last. Each one stole a piece of him only reunion could bring back. But as he watched the too perfect swirl of the stars above him, he saw that reunion would be far off. Chapter 14 It came months later. After small glances, secret kisses, whispered “i love you”s that never saw the light of the Sun. It came not with fanfare and noise. Not with a clap of thunder or the gales of the winds. It came with a whisper of the leaves, leaves that held the tears of spited mothers and jilted lovers. Leaves that only speak when they know they will be heard. It is time. And so it was. Chapter 15 Caleb watched her pass by, an arms reach away. He remembered long ago hearing of Tantalus, the man who could never have the food dangling so close to his fingertips. Could never quench the thirst on his tongue. Caleb now knew truly how he felt. The muted agony that never left even after you claim you don’t want it. That you can survive with just a glance. For years just a glance, just a moment. Now, the time would come when that agony would fade, just as the histories did. Caleb smiled, looked to the sky as so many did before. He couldn’t wait. Chapter 16 It started slow. They staged a pretend first meeting: something simple. She drops her books, he helps her. They move on. Then, they let themselves linger longer and longer as they “ran into” each other more. They talk and laugh, let themselves brush shoulders and hands. Pretend to be confused over their newfound feelings. Mention just a little too much to their mothers. Let the worry and curiosity sink in. Its a tale as old as time after all. We’ve just forgotten how it goes. Just because we’ve forgotten, however, doesn’t mean they have. And they remembered well. Chapter 17 It didn't take long for people to start talking. It took even less time for the officials to get involved. … Alma sat at her two person table as the silver clad Solemn one looked at her with accusing eyes. “Alma, you’ve been spending a lot of time with your fellow classmate Caleb…” “Boyfriend”, Alma corrected. She’d have to be defiant enough for this to work, and speaking like this was a sure fire way to help this along. “He’s my boyfriend.” Boyfriend, lover, husband, other half. She had a hundred names for Caleb, but that one was the best for now. The Solemn one stared unmoving at her. She supposed he’d never been corrected before. “Whatever this is, is dangerous, Alma. There is a reason we do not do these things anymore.”He spoke as if she had done something vile. “Holding hands, waking together without a proper destination or reason, talking about abstract notions, k-k….” “Kissing.” Alma supplied. The Solemn one growled. “Alma, this is serious. This must end.” Alma gazed at him, a man whose ancestors must have once worshipped the things that he now called wrong. Poor fool, he had truly forgotten. Good thing she was here to remind him. “I couldn’t agree more.” Chapter 18 The amazing thing about the imagination is that it seems to leap away from us. Even in such unimaginative times, the peoples minds raced when the news that blared over their tiny silver ActoCons: Two teens to stand trial for blasphemous behavior. No one knew what that meant. All those who had were long gone now, their ashes spread to the winds. So it was with morbid delight that the crowds gathered that fateful day in the center of the Shopping district. What they were about to see would help raise humanity out of its melancholy times. And Joy would be returned to the world. Chapter 19 Caleb watched as the crowd filtered into the square, his hand never leaving Alma’s. They hadn’t been careful after the Solemn Ones came knocking with bared teeth. They still loved, they laughed, kissed, smiled, and never apologized for it. Now they wanted to scare others. Like other generations before used death as a tool to keep a forced order. He couldn’t help but smirk. Oh how foolish they were. That smirk stayed until after the Proclaimer read the sentence, after the firing squad appeared and lined their shots. Only after that did the cocky smirk vanish into a look of serenity. He and Alma held their hands together, the picture of calm. A moment passed in silence. And then BANG BANG BANG BANG Chapter 20 The crowd stared for a moment, unable to comprehend what was before them. The bullets had failed somehow, in a way no one could comprehend. Magic was a dead concept, and science could only shrug. The fact was the two accused still stood, their soft smiles gracing the crowd. Suddenly, a soft light emitted from their forms. The wings of a dove sprouted from Caleb’s back, his silver uniform now a white tunic from the days of old. Above Alma’s head rested a ring of laurel, a nod to a god long dead. Her uniform now a tunic of rich purple, befitting a goddess of such stature. They stood before the populous, not simple children, not ancient dead tales, but alive and triumphant once more. Proof that an old story truly never dies. Chapter 21 The two lovers stood before the awed crowd. Hand in hand, they walked off the makeshift stage and toward the crowd. Eros spoke first. “My dear friends, you have forgotten us. You thought I wasn’t worth it anymore. You thought I was too hard to find, or too hard to keep. But you forgot that I am hard work. I am why you have survived for millennia. I am why men went mad or why they found serenity. I am why a caged man will never truly be broken, whether the bars are before his eyes or behind them. I am the voice calling from the dark in the tones you know so well. I was, and am, the only reason that ever made sense. I am Love, and you threw me away.” Eros looked among the now frightened crowd. His features softened, and a smile played over his lips. “Friends, do not be afraid. I am not here to hurt anyone. You see, my anger comes because in forgetting me, you gave her up,” he gestured to Psyche, who stood lovingly at his side. “And I am as much a victim of love as anyone. For in giving me up, you diminished her, though to me she has always been lovely.” Psyche smiled and kissed his cheek before facing the crowd. “Years ago I chose him. No matter what dark thing laid in my way, no matter what foolish challenge crossed me, I still chose him. And that decision is the best one I ever made. He gave my soul a reason to shine brighten. He made me laugh, cry and feel more profoundly than I ever could conceive of on my own. When you turned from that, it made me wonder why you suddenly feared such powerful, amazing feeling. Love makes you alive, it give life to you in a way nothing else can. So why do you shun it so now? Why do you run from it? Because it was hard to find? Because it became an archaic concept? Because those emotions invoke fear? My friends, what you have lost is not something easily replaced by rules and machinery. Ehat you have lost is your soul, the core of it, the thing that gives it life. And we have stood by for too long, allowing the soul to wither.” At that moment, the two extended their hands. As one, they proclaimed: “You now have a choice: strike us down again, or embrace us once more. Either way, their will be no punishment or blame, just a hope that you find us again one day.” The people were silent for a moment, contemplating what to do. Some of the Solemn Ones did eye their guns, until two people stepped forward. The two took the hands of the couple, a smile playing upon their lips. One by one, others followed, placing hands on the shoulders of those connected to the couple or upon the shoulders of the couple themselves. The love radiated slowly, tentatively, a soft breeze on a spring day. Some opened themselves easily to it, but for others it would take time. But what it carried was profoundly powerful: connection, awakening, and most of all Joy. That is how Love returned to the soul of man. And that is how, after so long, I was born again. The End Chapter 1
Have you ever wondered what others thought about you? Have you ever thought about what you were to other people? If you were the subject of a thousand sonnets or just a passing thought? Well, when I was young, I learned that you could know. The answer, laid in the most magical and underrated place you could think of: The library. At least, one specific library…. Chapter 2 It started with Coy. He was a new student in my English class, all bright green eyes and hunched shoulders. His hands continued to move spastically as the teacher introduced him to the class. Coy Matthews. He was sweet, odd, and shy. He sat next to me, smiling in that bashful way of his, muttering a soft “Hello”. I smiled. “Hi, I’m Dana.” He smiled, taking my tan hand in his pale one, his bright eyes meeting my dark brown orbs. The teacher launched into the lesson, my mind slipping off to other places, not paying attention. If I had, I would see how his eyes linger before turning toward the front. Chapter 3 That day, I walked my normal route after school. Up Central, down Main, left on Cherry, right at Hillside. Down the ally behind Joe’s. To the strange keyhole. Grabbing the gold key around my neck, it went in and turned with ease. Through the golden door. Home at last. Chapter 4 The owl shaped lights blazed to life in excitement. Their mistress was home. I smiled to myself. Grandma used to say that this place was alive in its own right. She was the one who watched it before. Now, it’s my turn. I go about my duties, dusting, patching, general simple tasks any Bookkeep does on a day to day basis. That’s what we are. Bookkeeps. Like clockwork, I finish my tasks, grabbed a well worn hardcover, bound in brown and gold, and sat in my favorite red leather chair. I opened the book, finding sentences, disjointed and scattered, in every color of ink you could think of. Skipping ahead, I saw the new thoughts I had that day about others. I like her hair. Man, how does he know that? I wonder where she got that top? Simple, little sentences that flutter on and off the page. If I wanted to, I could glance down at the footnotes and see who those people were. I could find they books and see what they thought about me at that same moment. Or later on, or whenever I crossed their mind. It was odd at first, seeing what others thought about me. It felt like spying. Now, though? I know that it’s my job. I read my thoughts, which link back to theirs, and see if they need a nudge in the right direction. A push to help lift them from a dark mood. Glancing about, one thought strikes me. He seems sweet. It was about Coy. I didn’t have to look at the footnotes to know that. But for some reason, that day, I wondered…. What had he thought about me? I normally don’t care that much. I only check when I think someone is having a bad day, or in a bad mood, or worse being bullied. But I couldn’t stop wondering. So, I got up, walked to the Ms, and lo and behold. Coy Matthews. With no hesitation, I crack his book open. I will never forget what I found inside. Chapter 5 My God, she’s beautiful. The way the sunlight seems to catch in her hair, making it appear as if she has diamonds woven into it. The way her graceful fingers just click against her desk in a little dance of her own making. The way her brown eyes light up at the mention of Lovecraft. Horror fan, cool. Ugh, dude, stop staring at her! She’s gonna notice. Do I want her to notice? Ugh, why, why?! Why do I do this to myself? She could put a Greek statue to shame. That was the last one. I remember blushing as I read over his sweet thoughts, almost like poetry, to myself. I had no idea what to do. Seems I wasn’t the only one. Chapter 6 The next day, I watched him. I saw how he glanced at people, quickly looking before returning his eyes to the ground. I saw how he rarely initiated conversation, only really responded when someone just walked up to him and started chatting. I saw how he smiled to himself when he passed one of the many couples in the hall, a hint of longing in his eyes. Most of all, I saw how he kept cutting his eyes to me whenever he could in class and in the hall. Eyes on me one minute, back on the floor the next. It was….odd, but not a bad odd. Especially since I knew how eloquent and kind he could be. But now came the question: how to approach him? Chapter 7 The answer came in English class a week after he had arrived. A project. We were to analyze the old, moldy Shakespearean chestnut Romeo and Juliet and present our findings to the class alongside of a scene from the work. I knew it was risky, cliche and kind of bold. But hey, I’m an old romantic. What can I say? With a plan in mind, I turned right to Coy. “Wanna work together?” I asked, hoping not to sound over eager. Coy looked shocked, but nodded happily after the surprise of being asked first wore off. The plan was in motion. Hopefully it would work. Chapter 8 Coy fiddled with his backpack strap as he walked to her house. Why did he agree to do this again, he moaned in his thoughts. Oh. Right. Cause the loveliest girl he had ever seen had decided to ask him in that sweet way of hers that only an idiot would say no to. Coy was not an idiot. At least, he likes to think he’s not. Coy sighed to himself as he approached the right house. Okay, he said to himself. Play it cool and it will go well. Well, it won’t go too badly at least. Grumbling to himself in defeat, he knocked on the front door. Chapter 9 I smiled as I opened the door to see Coy’s face, nervous but happy. “Hey,” I said, feigning casualness. In reality I was buzzing with nerves. This should work, but what if I read this wrong? Just because you can read someone’s thoughts doesn’t mean you know what their thinking. Odd logic, I know, but also oddly apt. I led him upstairs to my simple grey and white room, plopping on the bed as he took my desk chair. He opened his copy of the play, flipping through absently. “So what passage were you thinking?,” he asked, his nerves clear in his voice. I grinned. The plan was now in motion. “I was thinking the balcony scene.” That was probably not the answer he had been expecting, but he smiled nonetheless. “Would I be cliche if I said that was one of my favorites?,” he asked jokingly, his eyes sparkling. I shook my head as I thought a poet like you would love that scene. With little else, we began rehearsing. Chapter 10 Coy really took to it. His eyes glittered with joy as he read the lines, clear and concise as he spoke of forbidden love and his desires. His eyes never seemed to leave me as the scene progressed, his hands raised slightly as if reaching for me. My heart felt like it would drop to the floor in amazement at each and ever line he uttered. We spoke about interpretations and gestures, our eyes never really locking, skirting around each other like nervous animals as we fiddled with our books. He left, a soft smile on his face, a new bounce in his step. I closed my door to a very obvious but still new realization: I was so screwed. Chapter 11 Coy was smiling as he left the house, his thoughts running on a loop of Dana’s shimmering eyes and kind smile. Her lovely, dimpled cheeks that held such emotion as she spoke her lines, the picture of thoughtfulness and indecision. Her soft hands that he wanted to hold so badly…. Coy cut his thoughts off. He sounded so weird. Who fantasies about someones hands? Him apparently. Sighing, he continued on his way, not knowing Dana was smiling shyly down at his book as she sat on her bed, thinking how it wasn’t all that weird. (Thinking it was actually kind of nice.) Chapter 12 Well, it looked like it was working! Sorta. Maybe. I was not that confident in myself at the time, but it was going well. Coy and I were planning to meet again the next day, same time, same place. Right before he arrived that next day, I stewed and paced, wondering if this too much, too fast. But I also knew that if I didn’t try, we would be continuing this delicate dance around each other, which it me seemed silly. I liked him. A lot. Odd to say when I only met him about a week ago. But, there was just something about him. Downstairs, the doorbell rang. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and smiled. Hopefully, he won’t faint. Chapter 13 Coy felt his stomach drop to the bottom of his shoes. Did she just…… Did he just….. Wait, what? He pulled back and stared into Dana’s lovely dark eyes. This had to be a joke. But when he looked at her, all he saw was sincerity. And that made his stomach reappear hesitantly. Maybe this wasn’t a prank… With that in mind, Coy went back in for another kiss. Chapter 14 I am not going to lie, I was kinda smug about my apparent victory. It seemed harmless at first. After all, there is a kiss within the scene, so why not put it into practice? So as the scene went on, I slipped closer, and closer, and just a liiiiiiiiitle bit closer. Coy seemed a bit nervous, but not at all scared. Finally, he spoke the line, eyes never leaving mine. I struck. It wasn’t even a proper kiss. More like a quick peck. But Coy’s face looked as if I had throughly ravished him. A thousand emotions seemed to cross his face as his lovely bright eyes stare into mine with confusion, fear, and then finally, finally, hope. Hope and something else I don’t want to look at at the moment. His smile grew with a confidence I did not know he possessed. His hand met my cheek gently, his eyes and lips wondering “May I?” I nod, and then we got to practice the art of a proper kiss. Chapter 15 For days after, we lived in each others pockets. Walking to school together, walking home, hanging out, sharing sweet kisses over our textbooks as we did homework. We were every cliche couple in existence. Coy grew less and less shy with me with each passing day. There seemed to be no limit to his kindness and his love of poetry. He was amazing. So why did I feel so horrible? The answer was obvious: I knew his every thought, but he didn’t know mine. I knew every sweet word he wrote in his mind, but he knew nothing of how I was slowly learning to (dare I say it) love him. That seemed unfair. It made it seem like there was this hulking figure over my happiness with him. Until one day, I decided that enough was enough. Chapter 16 “I have to tell you something.” Coy felt his body lock up at the statement. Those words have never yielded anything good for him. Dana seemed so nervous, her hands wringing, shoulders hunched, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He wanted to hold her, to sooth this fear away. But he also knew that trying to do that would deter her in telling him. And this, this seemed big. So, he placed a smile on his face, took a breath, and said “What is it?” She hesitated for a moment, then grabbed his hand. “Actually, it’s better if I show you.” Chapter 17 I took him down each winding street, the lights glaring at me in fear. It was almost as if they could sense the stranger I was bringing before them. I took a deep breath as the streets slipped past. Central, Main, Cherry, Hillside, Alley behind Joe’s Toward the door. Taking out the key with shaking hands, I whispered “Please be nice to him.” The door swung open. Chapter 18 The long sweeping arches of marble were illuminated one by one as the soft electric lights flickered awake. Below them rows upon rows of leather bound books sat proudly on dark oak shelves, their history etched into the small cracks and chips they wore with dignity. Marble owls, serpents, crows, and dragons shifted along the walls, their soft coos and croons greeting their mistress as she passes them by. Their eyes are ever attendant, watching each book with love and care. The lack of dust and cracks in the binding seems to attest to this. Long oak tables with matching chairs decorate the first larger area of the library, which seems to go on forever, with no true end to the rooms. Comfy couches and armchairs were found in another area, beanbags and even a small kitchen in another. Soft rugs of varying shades but are of the same soft texture grace the floors, ranging from electric blue to burnt orange. Coy was amazed. He’d only ever dreamed of a place like this. Little did he know that there was much more in store. Chapter 19 I led him through the library, his eyes widening to the point of popping out of his head. “I’m gonna take your silence as you being either impressed or freaked out,” I said after a while, hoping it would jolt him back. It did, somewhat violently. He jumped and squeezed my hand in shock. “I’m definitely impressed. What is this place?” Smiling, I lead him to my favorite spot: my lovely red armchair, worn but steady in her age. Sitting him down in the opposite chair, I explained. “This is what many call the Library of Souls. Here, every thought a person has on other people are collected and stored in these books. I am a Librarian. My job is to monitor and check the thoughts people have to make sure that they are happy. If they’re not, I endeavor to do something about it, whether its give them compliments, random act of kindness, what have you. These books are only for this area. There are thousands of us all over the world, and that is our mission.” Coy looked amazed and intrigued. I could tell he was bursting with questions. But the only that finally hit the air was “Is that how you knew I liked you?” Taking a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst, I nodded. Chapter 20 Coy sat there, shock echoing back and forth within his head, repeating the soft parodies of “She lied to me.” Coy wanted to be angry. He did. But for some reason the rush of heat did not come. The flash of lightning on his tongue never surfaced. He wasn’t angry. Though he knew he should be. Odd. He realized, the moment he looked back at Dana, why he wasn’t angry: Because he knew how much this must have been eating at her. How the guilt and shame must have burned her tender heart, a heart he now cradled in his hands. How the anger at her self must have left its harsh bruises on her mind. How the idea of telling him was like swallowing poison willingly. Idiotic and dangerous. The fact that she told him. The fact that she took the chance of inciting his anger and spite. It just showed how much she loved him. How much she wanted him in her life. How can he be angry at that? Coy stood and made his way over to Dana. Her eyes regarded him warily, but she stood as well, as if she could somehow sense his intentions but didn’t trust herself to know. He took her into his arms, and held her tight. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispered in her ear. She shook with surprise and relief. He felt her hug him back. “You’re welcome. Thank you for understanding.” He pulled away, placing a feather-soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “Of course.” Chapter 21 We worked from there. No more lies, no more shame. Just us and the beauty of the library I love. I see him there, every day. Smiling and reading each thought with a reverence I never knew someone could have. Its been years since words and thoughts brought us together. I've learned much in that time, but one lesson sticks with me: Love comes when it needs to. And sometimes the universe will point it out in a place you never thought to look. So, to you my dear friends, all that is left to say for this story is a very warm, humble, and true...... The End Chapter 1
Exactly 9,100 km away and many years ago, in a city named Damascus, is the starting point of where two families became one. Their story is not a tragedy, nor is it simply happy. There are no household grudges or forbidden love. There is war, there is strife, and there is happiness. There is new countries and new lives. There is death and life. This is a story about two families who became one. And it starts 9,100 km away. Chapter 2 It starts with one man. A man born in a land 9,100 km from the place he now resides. A man who was born when his father went up to his mother, a charming smile on his face and offered her a piece of chocolate. She accepted, they talked, and soon love bloomed. From that love, their children were born: Five sons and one daughter. They grew up happy, playing soccer and building scooters from wood, a small trick their father taught them. He grew into a man of simple tastes and simple desires. An outrageous thing to be in a world so complicated. Chapter 3 And it was getting complicated. War seemed a constant there. Foreigners, men with accents speaking languages he did not understand seemed to flutter around his city. His father knew that language, but never bothered to teach him. Later, he would learn it anyway. As time went by, he watched his brother move to a strange land, to study engineering when he really wanted to be a playwright. He came back to visit, but he still seemed a million miles away. Eventually, he stopped coming. The boy who was not quite a man was told his brother's in America. Soon, he would be on a ship, bound for a land even stranger than the one he thought he knew. Chapter 4 Little did he know, years ago, she was on a similar ship, heading to that same land. She was much to young to realize how big this was. That her parents, her mother an orphan who fell in love with a dentist (her father), was moving them across the sea. To a new life away from the brewing troubles in a city 9,100 km away. As each one dropped behind, her excitement had grown. No one ever does know what a new tide will bring. Chapter 5 He comes to America, to New York City, finding a rush of lights, people, comeonegetamoveonoverhere! Everything whips past him, chaos the normal order of the day. It reminds him vaguely of home. He gets work at a jewelry company named Cartier. It’s simple work, fixing rings and tuning watches. Giving customers a nice smile as he shows them the new design of the season. He makes friends easily, has an apartment, grabs lunch at a local falafel cart and watches the madness go by. He makes friends, one in particular with a bright smile and a big heart named Mike. Mike accompanies him around New York, smiling as he, wild and excited, works through the corners of the city, drawing out a map for himself in the madness. Mike stays by him on late nights while he downs coffee in a dingy diner after proclaiming that he has to drive Mike’s car. They laugh together when Mike accidentally throws his shoes at a police car than subsequently forgets the next day. They remain together when Mike shows up, humble and contrite, after mistakes that were made in dark moments. They stay friends for many years, “Big” Mike another little constant in his shifted world. He settles himself, carving out a small chunk of an American life. Chapter 6 She grows up in a small apartment in Brooklyn, siblings always on top of each other. Her three brothers and sister always quarreling, always laughing, and always being. She goes to school, learns many things and blushes whenever the boys in the hall spare her more than a fleeting glance. She has many friends, but always goes home after school, the sidewalk well acquainted with her footsteps. She helps her mother cook and clean, smiles when her father comes home from work, a simple world of normal monotony than she is perfectly happy in. A regular American family. Or as close as they can get. Chapter 7 His boss, Mr. Henry, was a kind, eccentric man. Smiling as he sat at the head of the table, the soft music and chatter of the French restaurant spilling around him, he seemed almost an eye for all the hustle and bustle. It seemed to revolve around him while he himself was a point of calm. He smiled widely as the waiters brought their appetizers. As everyone chatting about their Christmas plans, he saw that each plate seemed to only contain a thumbnail amount of food. He asked, as a joke but also seriously “Could I have the entree as an appetizer?” Mr. Henry laughed loudly, a bell like sound that seemed to let the chaos around him rise with jubilation and merriment. He said “Sure, why not?” He would remember his good humor with a smile, and remember how his large appetite and sarcasm always seemed to lead him to good people. Chapter 8 His father comes to visit him. He looks around his apartment, his eyes sharp and critical. “You can’t live like this,” he says to his son, eyes distressed. “You need to come home.” He’s a dutiful son, and does not argue. He buys a ticket to go back across 9,100 km. A few days before he goes, his father calls. “Stay in America a while. Things here are not very good. They’ve got the draft going.” He understands. He doesn’t want a life of war and bullets. His brother tried it for a while, but ended up not liking it much. They were a family of artisans, not warriors. He thinks he’ll stay another year or so. He ends up staying much longer. Chapter 9 He goes to pick up another friend of his one morning for work, by a little house in Brooklyn. Its quieter here, a strange mix of suburbia and city, the two clashing yet mixing well together. He knocks on the door, and his friend is not the one to open it. It is her. She smiles at him, her raven hair seeming to glow in the light. Her smile is soft, but has strong edges to it. Her eyes, a warm brown, look at him curiously before she shouts for his friend to come out. In that moment, he knows that he has met his wife. Chapter 10 She isn’t too impressed by him. Sure, he is handsome, and when he begins to show up more, she realizes he is also kind. He is humble in some ways. not like the other men she’s met, who boast and swagger and preen like peacocks. He is confident in himself, but also willing to be wrong. A quality that she’s rarely seen. His smile is bright, his hands work worn. He dresses nicely, has a pleasant voice. She still isn’t impressed, though. (Even though all the little details stick in the back of her mind.) Chapter 11 Time passed. A dance with two partners, one taking a step forward, the other a step back. It seemed never-ending, and a few times it ceased all together. Until finally, both parties took a step forward. And the dance truly began. … Her father calls her down one day. He is there, smiling nervously but brightly as always. Her stomach flutters at seeing him. That was a recent occurrence, but not an unwelcome one. Her father, a blunt but kind man, gets straight to the point. “He is asking you to marry him. Will you?” The question hangs in the air as she looks at him. She sees a good life, not a perfect one, but a good one. One of pitfalls and mountains, good times and bad. But ultimately, a happy life that was worth living, with someone worth living with. “Yes.” Chapter 12 The wedding was a day of joy. She glided down the aisle, her white gown glowing in the multicolored light of the church. He smiled widely, looking at her stride to him on her father’s arm, their families and friends smiling happily as she passed. When she got there, the veiled revealed her small, secretive smile to him. He gave her one in return as the priest began the ceremony. When they finally kissed, their secret was open to all: they both somehow knew that this was where they would end up. Chapter 13 They got a little apartment in Brooklyn. He worked each day, she did too, jumping from job to job. Time slipped by, until one day she smiled and told him the news that most hear at this point of marriage. She was pregnant. 9 months and 18 hours later, a bouncing baby boy named Christopher entered the world with much fanfare and jubilation His cries would later become a voice of reason and distinction. His eyes filled with ambition and focus. He would soon step before judges and professors and friends and allow his silver tongue to dazzle them. But that would not be for many years. Chapter 14 They moved to another apartment in Brooklyn, this one bigger and better for a growing family. 2 years later, she was pregnant again. Those two years were tainted, though. Perhaps it was the universe balancing their otherwise idyllic lives. Perhaps it was the apartment, its wall containing a sinister force that seeped into their days. Or perhaps it was just a bad time, with no true explanation. Nonetheless, fights broke out between the couple, ugly screaming matches that rattled the floors. Business dropped to a snails pace, the sparkling diamonds and jewels his display case (his, he was his own boss now) winking dully at the apathetic eyes that passed them a glance. He didn’t think it could get any worse. He was wrong. … She sat, unmoving, unblinking, only registering the traffic down below her. She sat as a still as a column in that hospital bed, her hands folded before her. Only hours ago, a baby resided within her, a baby girl she wanted so badly to meet. Now, nothing. The technician’s furrowed brow at her sonogram should have told her something. The worried look in her doctor’s eye when she came to the office with her husband. It all slipped by her until she heard the words. “Your child’s heart has not developed correctly. It only has three chambers rather than four.” The doctor told them of the surgeries, the risk, the poor quality of life the child would have. She had shaken her head, said how she could handle it. She so badly wanted a baby girl, a playmate for her son, another lovely smile, another mouth that called her mommy. Someone she could take about clothes and boys and growing up as a woman with. She wanted it with a fervor that scared her. But then the baby came. When her screams had subsided, when the doctors waited for that telltale cry, all they received was silence. They raced, and shouted and tried, but it was too late. All the while she had screamed in her mind my baby my baby please cry for mama. In the end, it was inevitable, her doctor said in that sad tone that made her want to howl. But as she looked down below at the traffic, tracing her now empty belly, visions of big eyes and happy smiles filling her mind, she longed for the opportunity to prove the universe wrong. Chapter 15 They left that haunting apartment behind, its dark walls and forbidding air now locked in their rearview. They move into a brick palace, a split house that shines brightly in spring, a ruby among the stones. Business picks back up, the lost allure of gems restored to the eyes of his customers. The unknown tension between him and her ease, bringing them back to familiar serenity. And finally, on an unremarkable night in July (or day, since it is moments before midnight when this occurs), a baby girl is born. Their baby girl. She has shining brown eyes that will forever be lost out windows and in books. A smile that will stretch at the sight of new stories, whether they are bound in hardcover or before her on the technicolor screen of a movie theater. This little girl adores them. And she will one day, to show that adoration, write a story about them. Chapter 16 My family has seen many things. Things that broke their hearts. Things that lifted their spirits. Things that brought tears. Things that have brought joy. Things others experience each day, in small doses. My family is anything but small. We are loud and proud and sometimes quite crazy. We have stories to tell in candlelight restaurants and family gatherings that not many have. We are a family of immigrants who survived the tests of the universe and man, to make it here. Here, where he, my father, gets to smile at his full grown son, now a man who is pushing himself to become the best he can be. That ambition became a powerful compass, leading him to the greatness he longs for. He gets to kiss her, my mother each morning as he goes off to work, the diamonds dull compared to her smile. She keeps the house they worked so hard to gain, filling it with laughter and food and love. He gets to hug me, his wide eyed creation of imagination and hope. And he gets to tell me he loves me. We are a family. And I wouldn’t have us any other way. The End. Chapter 1
Everyone knew the stories. The stories of things that go bump in the night. The stories of beings with sharp fangs and shadowy claws. The stories of others, beings that were no longer human. But like most stories, there is more than one version of them. The version Kevin Adler heard from his grandmother was quite different. Chapter 2 She told the stories of lost souls, who were flung into the darkness after Death came too soon. She told the story of lovers torn from each other, of lost souls good and bad who were tossed into a world of never ending night. She told of how the sunlight burned their shadowy flesh, how they can never feel the warmth of the Sun that they remember so well. She told of how they wept for the world they were forced to leave behind much too early. How man was fearful of them because of their wailing and lamentation to the unfeeling Moon. How they became monsters to man, forced to hide from the light and their hate-filled gazes. But that was a long time ago. Chapter 3 He was a grown man now. Bought an apartment, had a steady job, the whole nine yard. Well, he was beginning the job in a couple days. The newest beat reporter for a small paper here in New York. The apartment was only new to him, but it was fine. He probably wasn't going to be around much anyway. At least thats what Kevin thought as he surveyed the clean furniture against the tarnished, water damaged walls. The sink apparently dripped ominously at all hours, and the floorboards screamed with only the smallest amount of pressure. The landlady had a thick accent that was undistinguishable and deep frown lines, tapping her foot expectedly. He could work with this. “I’ll take it” he told her with a smile. She grunted and went off to get the forms. As he was signing though, she seemed to soften a touch. “You sure you want this one?,”she asked, her eyes constantly glancing around the room like an owl. Kevin gave her a look. “I mean I know its not the newest or shiniest, but its close to work and affordable so….” The landlady patted his arm. “Of course. Don’t listen to me. Old lady going on. Let’s get you settled in.” As they left, neither noticed a pair of bright, luminous green eyes following them out….. … Turns out, Kevin was going to be spending more time at his place then he first thought. The jobs the editor landed him with were simple fluff pieces on what went on around the city. Nothing that took too long to do background on or type up a quick draft for. Not much chatting with other writers and not much….well anything. Kevin figured since he’s fresh out of school that made sense. Why give the new kid the hard beats? Let him earn it. Kevin wasn’t the type to split hairs or complain much when things didn’t work out. So he settled into a routine: go to work, work his beat for about four-five hours. Head back to his desk and type up some drafts. Do edits there if the editor isn’t busy and if he is, do them at his desk at home. Order some take out, with some late night TV, sleep, repeat. That was until she popped up. Chapter 4 It was a night like any other. Kevin was at his desk, typing attentively, correcting and adding to his latest piece: a new toy store opening up on 55th. A simple promotional piece really. He glanced up for a moment, just to see what time it was, when a pair of bright green eyes met his. Naturally, he screamed. Stumbling out of his chair, he tried to run as the……thing came closer. Its movements were smooth, agile, the shadows on the wall playing out behind it. It looked human, but its skin was a black void. It leaned over Kevin. Kevin waited for the claws, the teeth, the pain to come……. But all he felt was something warm being pressed into his hands. Then, nothing. Kevin opened his eyes. The creature was gone. He looked down and saw a fresh cup of coffee had been pressed into his hands. Glancing at the clock, he realized that it was around the time he would make one when he was working late. He rose, glanced around, only to see nothing but his apartment in proper order. He cautiously sat down at his desk and took a tentative sip of the drink. It was perfect. For the rest of the night, Kevin felt like a set of eyes were watching him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, though. Chapter 5 This persisted for a few weeks. He’d find fresh cups of coffee, a clean desk, or already washed dishes. He’d find, sometimes, a sandwich or other simple meals set out for him on nights he came home from the office late. He know who was doing it, but the creature didn’t reappear. He came to appreciate it, though. He wondered if he had offended it with his reaction. Or if it was just trying to show him how it meant no harm. Either way, he was determined to make things right. Turns out, he didn’t have to wait long. Chapter 6 She glides from the wall about a month after her first appearance. He’s silent, waiting on his couch for her to come closer. She does, her movements as lithe as he remembers. She eyes him warily. “It’s ok. I’m not gonna scream this time. Or fall out of the chair.” Her lips quirk in a smile. Pity. It was quite amusing. Kevin shivers a bit, unsettled by the voice that came from no where and everywhere at once. It’s nice though, timid and kind. He stands from the couch and steps forward none the less. “Hey, thats not cool,” he replied, a soft laugh leaving his lips unexpectedly as he comes closer to her. She smiles wider. You’re right. My apologies. They both stand awkwardly for a moment or two. Finally, Kevin breaks the silence. “I’m Kevin Adler.” He extends a hand out of habit. She regards him for a moment, her sharp green eyes searching his azure ones. Finally, she slinks back to the walls, fading from sight. But as she leaves, the air is filled with that same timid, but kind voice. I’m Dara. Chapter 7 They fell into a routine of sorts. She’d make some coffee when he needed it. He’d keep the blinds closed most of the day (cause he remembered what his grandmother said about shadows and light). She’d keep the place clean. He’d let her sit with him on the couch while he watched late night TV (because it was the only light she could be in the presence of without burning). They’d talk when he wasn’t working. She’d tell stories of her life before the darkness. He’d listen in awe. Days turned to weeks turned to months like this. Chapter 8 She told him everything. Told him how she lived in a happy home, with her mothers warm smile and her fathers booming laugh. Told him how those bits of warmth were all she had now. Told him of the days dancing in sunlight, drawing by the sunset, feeling a cool breeze on her skin in the middle of the day. Told him how she died by a fallen tree in the middle of a storm, just a random act of nature. Told him how she was only two years older than he was now. Told him how she wanted to be an artist. He listened, entranced. Slowly, a small spark started in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it meant. But then, who does? Chapter 9 He noticed little things about her. How her hair seems to cascade so softly down her back. How her shadowy skin seems to contain little stars when looked at from the right angle. How her eyes seem to contain a universe. How her voice became soft when she spoke of art. How she would laugh at his corny jokes, full and bell-like. She noticed his stares. Noticed how they seemed to linger more and more as time went on. Then, one night, when he reach out and took her hand, the first to touch her in so long, she noticed how warm his hands were. His lips were just as warm. Chapter 10 Her lips were surprisingly soft. That was Kevin’s only thought as he kissed her, gentle and sweet. Her hands rested on his shoulders. His on her waist. Her skin was cool to the touch, like holding a cold glass of water. They pulled away for air, her green eyes glowing in happiness but colored slightly in confusion. He smiled and rested a hand on her cheek. “Your amazing,” he whispered in awe. She grinned widely, that same timid voice ringing out. What does that make you? He chuckled at her quirked brow and blatant sass. He leaned in, the smile never leaving his face. “In love, I suppose,” he whispered against her lips as he leaned in for another kiss. Chapter 11 Hands tangled together. Soft kisses to eyes. Feet touching feet. Stars behind eyes. A spark of happiness, nestled between two. Chapter 12 She stayed nestled under the sheets for as long as she could. Then, with one last kiss, she slipped back to the shadows. Kevin stared at the ceiling, feeling content for the first time in so long. Too bad it couldn’t last. Chapter 13 Months pasted by. They moved and loved and smiled together. His mother noticed first. “All you seem to do is go to work and hang out in your apartment. I’m just concerned for you honey,” His mother told him over the phone one day on his way to work. Kevin rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly happy right now mother.” “But you’re all alone! Everyone needs someone in their life honey.” Kevin thought of Dara’s lovely smile, her glittering eyes, her sweet voice. He found himself fighting off a silly grin. I have her. She’s all I need, he thought. What he said was “I’m still trying to get a hang of things right now mom. The socializing part will come.” He heard her sigh. “Alright, mister. I love you.” “Love you too.” With that, he hung up and went to work, thinking of his lovely shadow. Chapter 14 More and more “concerns” came soon after. His father worried when he never mentioned any new girls he met, when before he would gush about the smallest crush. His cousins, who were close to him, asked why his days seem to be the same. His grandmother asked why he seemed more interested in the old stories she used to tell him. He dodged and lied, feeling his heart slowly tear. He was not the only one. Chapter 15 Dara came to hate the sound of the phone ringing. She came to hate the scratchy voices on the other end of conversations she overheard. She came to hate how often they seemed to come now, never giving her a moments peace. She came to hate the doubts they spewed to the man she had dared to give her heart to. But most of all, she came to hate how she started to think that they were right. Kevin needed someone who could let him go out and be with people. He needed someone who could spend the day and night with him. He needed someone who everyone would see and smile at, rather than recoil in fear at. He needed someone alive. Maybe thats why, one night, she gave him one last kiss, and vanished into the walls, resolving to never leave them again. Chapter 16 It had been three weeks since Dara left. Kevin was in despair. He laughed bitterly to himself and he stared at the television listlessly. Guess they were right, you never know what you have until it’s gone. He just went through the motions now, and people started to notice. He stopped caring about simple things, like how he looked or when he ate. He just couldn’t find the need to keep going. Not after he had given her everything. He couldn’t blame her though. The way things were going, something like this would have happened eventually. Even if those concerns hadn’t started pouring from the phone, they would have reached this. Still, Kevin didn’t care. He wanted her. Needed her. He remembered that last piece of his grandmothers story. How sometimes the shadows meet the people they were meant to be with. How that was the greatest torture, because they could not be together. Suddenly, Kevin stood from the couch. Screw that. Screw that! He began to pace the room, a wild man in a frenzy. He knew there had to be a way, he just knew! The only one who knew, though, was his grandmother. Chapter 17 Kevin told her everything. At first, she didn’t believe him. But when had her little Kevin ever lied to her? “Kevin, sweetheart”, she asked softly as she heard the stifled sobs from the phone “do you love her?” A short silence, then “I do. It was like you said grandma. I felt alive when I was with her. It felt right. Now, it feels like my heart has been ripped in half.” Kevin’s grandmother closed her eyes, moved by his words. “Alright, Kevin, here’s what you need to do…” Chapter 18 The shadow world was a mysterious one. It is not really a world, with a ground and a sky. It’s a moving mass. A world of shadows, moving and dancing together in perfect rhythm, swaying to an unheard beat. A world where everyone seemed run into everyone else, but no one felt uncomfortable. It felt almost soothing, to sink into the blackness, to not think…. Dara! Dara started as she felt herself being pulled. She tried to resist at first, fearful at who could be summoning her. Others looked her way, shocked. A summoning had not occurred for thousands of years. DARA! Dara stopped fighting. She knew that voice. Kevin? Confused and startled, she was plucked from the darkness, shoved into the world of light once more. Chapter 19 Kevin waited, looking around the dark corners of his apartment. Hoping she would appear. A moment passed, then two…… Then he felt her. He remembered his grandmothers words. Call to her with all your heart and soul. Tell her of your love. Seal that love with a willing kiss. Then the shadow can be in the world of the living once more. Then he and Dara could finally be together, for good. It was a lot to ask. He would be giving his heart away. Never would he love another. It was worth it. For Dara. “Dara” Kevin began, a soft whisper from his cracked lips “My God, I’ve missed you so much.” She didn’t speak, didn’t step forward. Stayed to the wall, drifting. Kevin swallowed, raising his voice. “Dara, I know why you left. You think you won’t be enough for me. That one day I’ll love someone else, a woman who is alive. Who can step in sunlight. Who doesn’t know the corners of a world of darkness. But you’re wrong. I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you. Every night when we were together, I felt like this was what I was waiting for. My whole life I’ve felt like I’ve been sleep walking. I’ve felt like I was just going through the motions. Then you appeared, so kind and warm. You showed me the smallest kindness, and suddenly life became more than just going through the motions. I had someone to laugh with, to share my heart with. Someone who knew me inside and out. When you left”, and here his breath hitched on that word, left “I was shattered. I knew I couldn’t go back to sleep. I was stuck awake in a life I thought I wanted. In reality,” he extended his hand, where he felt her, lingering “the only thing I wanted was you.” Kevin waited, praying, hoping against hope that Dara would take his hand. A moment passed, two, three…… Then a hand laid in his. Dara’s hand. She looked at him with those shining green eyes, her body a constellation of stars. Do you mean that? Kevin gave her a watery smile. He tucked a piece of her obsidian hair behind her ear. “Yes, Dara. I do. I love you.” Dara gave a small, watery chuckle before she leaned in, a smile on her face. I love you too. And with a kiss, their love was solidified. Dara felt her connection to the shadows shatter. She felt a new rush of life fill her soul. Kevin felt it too. When they broke apart, it was with wonder and love in their eyes as a new day dawned. Chapter 20 They spent many happy years together. To those on the outside, Kevin spent the rest of his days alone. Sure, he had a group of good friends and he had his family, who loved and adored him. But he never had someone who held his heart. At least, according to them. We know better, don’t we? In the end, the two lovers died happy, hand in hand. No children or property to mark their time. Only a string of articles and an apartment filled with laughter and love. It seems tragic, I know. To let them be happy only to die. But that is the fate of things around here. They did live happy lives, though. That’s what counts. After all, they say love conquers all, right? The End |
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