"What makes you think you can do anything?" she spat, her face contorted with disgust as she stared down her long nose at me. "You are just a man." Her lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. "And not even a very attractive one, at that."
I sighed inwardly, my eyes closing briefly in a silent prayer, before I turned to face her fully. "I have been doing this ever since it was invented," I explained patiently, though patient was not at all what I felt. "My team was one of the first to beta test the device, and I scored very high marks during that and all subsequent testing phases."
She gave me a look that implied she still didn't believe me, but what else could I say? I'd told her the truth. Technology and I, we got along great. It was people I couldn't stand, but a man had to eat and pay bills somehow.
Still, some days it just didn't feel worth the hassle of putting up with such ignorance.
This woman had dropped hundreds - if not thousands - on a device she only barely understood. It had not been treated with the respect it deserved, and now that it was dying (several years before the end of its expected lifespan) she suddenly needed to get it fixed.
But I, a simple man, was apparently not worthy of the 'honor' of repairing what she only saw as a fun techno-gadget, a toy to make her life easier.
It disgusted me, how people treated these objects. These machines were delicate and needed a soft touch. 'Percussive maintenance' may work on the monsters of the olden days, but rarely was it suitable for our modern times.
I was absolutely certain that this woman held to the so-called 'tried and true' methods of dealing with ornery technology.
My job was even more difficult as a man. The leading engineers of the day were women, considered to be better suited to the critical thinking required of our ever-evolving machines.
This customer's sexism was not unusual, but it still grated.
After a long, drawn out silence, she finally sighed, shaking me out of my reverie. "Fine," she snarled. "But you had better not fuck it up."
Oh, it was so tempting...
25 June 2015
24 June 2015
Good Intentions
Her tail flicked slowly through the water, stirring up micro-currents that caused nearby seaweed to stir and wave in the clear water. Sunlight, broken into shafts of light by the coral reef above, filtered down into the depths of the ocean in which she lived, glinting off her pale grey-green skin.
She trailed a series of bubbles behind her, blowing them through pursed lips as she expelled air from her over-water lungs. In response, her gill slits, previously hidden against her neck and upper torso, opened to let water flow through them.
Quite frankly, she preferred breathing through her gills than through her nose or mouth. She always felt so helpless on the surface, floundering and gasping for breath until her body remembered it knew how to take in air.
The humans who visited her little community had been shocked and disgusted at first, watching her go from gills to lungs. Now they tried to talk to her through things they called underwater radios. Human speech was funny, but easy enough to learn and understand, once she got the hang of it. They spoke a lovely, almost musical language. They had given her what they called a map, coated in some strange, clear film that kept it from dissolving in the water.
She, ever curious, taught them what her clicks and songs meant, explaining that dolphins spoke a similar language, though it wasn't exactly the same.
The mer-woman, as the humans had called her, had just reentered the water after a rare over-water visit with the little research ship. She was excited, because today a human woman would be joining her in the water. She'd watched the woman put on a second skin; it was black, and felt almost right, though it had an unnatural texture to it.
The tiny fins the woman had put on her feet had sent the mer-woman into fits of silent laughter, her throat not quite knowing how to form the sound for human ears. They all figured it out fairly quickly, though, and she heard their laughter ringing out across the water around them.
She felt more than heard the splash as the human woman entered the water. Turning, she made her way back through the reef, her powerful tail propelling her through the water at speeds the human could never hope to accomplish naturally. The mer-woman showed her excitement by swimming broad loops around her human companion, clicking rapidly with chatter even their machines had trouble following.
There was a brief moment where she was able to register sadness and guilt on the woman's face, before a heavy net snared her and dragged her from her home.
A tiny prick of pain, like a jellyfish sting, and the world around her drifted away into great, black nothingness.
She trailed a series of bubbles behind her, blowing them through pursed lips as she expelled air from her over-water lungs. In response, her gill slits, previously hidden against her neck and upper torso, opened to let water flow through them.
Quite frankly, she preferred breathing through her gills than through her nose or mouth. She always felt so helpless on the surface, floundering and gasping for breath until her body remembered it knew how to take in air.
The humans who visited her little community had been shocked and disgusted at first, watching her go from gills to lungs. Now they tried to talk to her through things they called underwater radios. Human speech was funny, but easy enough to learn and understand, once she got the hang of it. They spoke a lovely, almost musical language. They had given her what they called a map, coated in some strange, clear film that kept it from dissolving in the water.
She, ever curious, taught them what her clicks and songs meant, explaining that dolphins spoke a similar language, though it wasn't exactly the same.
The mer-woman, as the humans had called her, had just reentered the water after a rare over-water visit with the little research ship. She was excited, because today a human woman would be joining her in the water. She'd watched the woman put on a second skin; it was black, and felt almost right, though it had an unnatural texture to it.
The tiny fins the woman had put on her feet had sent the mer-woman into fits of silent laughter, her throat not quite knowing how to form the sound for human ears. They all figured it out fairly quickly, though, and she heard their laughter ringing out across the water around them.
She felt more than heard the splash as the human woman entered the water. Turning, she made her way back through the reef, her powerful tail propelling her through the water at speeds the human could never hope to accomplish naturally. The mer-woman showed her excitement by swimming broad loops around her human companion, clicking rapidly with chatter even their machines had trouble following.
There was a brief moment where she was able to register sadness and guilt on the woman's face, before a heavy net snared her and dragged her from her home.
A tiny prick of pain, like a jellyfish sting, and the world around her drifted away into great, black nothingness.
23 June 2015
Tears from the Moon
The rain beat down on his umbrella, a constant drumming as fat droplets hit the tightly-stretched fabric. There was no other noise; not even his footsteps penetrated the soft hiss of water hitting pavement.
Only the dim glow of street lamps lit up the night, though sometimes he could see the faint glow of the full moon from behind the cloud cover.
He'd been unable to sleep, tossing and turning as his mind went over all the ways the conversation could have gone. Could he have said this? Would that have made it worse? How could he have made it better? His every thought was of her and how their discussion had gone.
Everything he'd wanted to say, should have said, rang through his head now, drowning out even the rain. He would do anything for her, so why hadn't he said as much?
It was easy to hold himself together during the day, when people could see him, could judge him. But when the sun set and he found himself alone, his thoughts inevitably went to her.
Now she was lost. A memory, haunting his nights, his dreams. Why couldn't the ghost of her memory leave him alone, the same way she had done? He'd lost her, and instead of fighting to keep her, telling her the things he knew - now - that she had needed to hear, he'd just let her go.
He sagged, the umbrella lowering. Drops of rain hit his face, mingling with the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Looking up to the moon, he cried, letting the water wash over him.
It didn't take away the pain.
It never did.
Only the dim glow of street lamps lit up the night, though sometimes he could see the faint glow of the full moon from behind the cloud cover.
He'd been unable to sleep, tossing and turning as his mind went over all the ways the conversation could have gone. Could he have said this? Would that have made it worse? How could he have made it better? His every thought was of her and how their discussion had gone.
Everything he'd wanted to say, should have said, rang through his head now, drowning out even the rain. He would do anything for her, so why hadn't he said as much?
It was easy to hold himself together during the day, when people could see him, could judge him. But when the sun set and he found himself alone, his thoughts inevitably went to her.
Now she was lost. A memory, haunting his nights, his dreams. Why couldn't the ghost of her memory leave him alone, the same way she had done? He'd lost her, and instead of fighting to keep her, telling her the things he knew - now - that she had needed to hear, he'd just let her go.
He sagged, the umbrella lowering. Drops of rain hit his face, mingling with the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Looking up to the moon, he cried, letting the water wash over him.
It didn't take away the pain.
It never did.
20 June 2015
What's in the Past
Why did they leave me?
The question raced through her mind, over and over and over again. She played through every scenario, trying to pinpoint what happened. Where everything went wrong.
I wasn't good enough to keep him around.
I wasn't pretty enough.
I wasn't thin enough.
I didn't pay enough attention to him.
She never wanted me anyway.
I was too pretty to be around her.
I reminded her of things she wanted to forget.
I should never have been born.
I shouldn't exist.
Tears slid down her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red from prolonged crying, but no sound escaped her lips. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as she replayed in her mind, over and over again, the things he had told her.
I can't be with you.
This thing that happened... it's too much.
Too scary.
I can't do it.
It hadn't been her sole decision. He'd wanted it, too. She wasn't ready - financially or emotionally - and he just didn't want the responsibility.
She didn't regret the decision.
It had hurt, though. The trauma was mental more than anything. He slept in the bedroom while she lay, curled up on the couch, her body wracked with pain as the pills she'd taken did their work. It felt like knives were slicing at her insides, or like claws, ripping her apart from within.
And he slept, leaving her to face it all on her own.
A week later, when her body did things she didn't want, reacted to the pills in ways that made her hate looking at herself in the mirror, he began to show signs of being even more distant.
The distance had been growing ever since she'd taken the first pill.
Two weeks after that, he'd told her to pack up.
She had nowhere else to go close by. She asked for a week, to arrange a job transfer back to where she'd come from. At least she had friends there.
Friends she could never tell about what happened.
One person knew, and that person couldn't be there for her.
And the person she'd wanted to tell, needed to hear from, wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn't bring herself to intrude, not even for this. Especially not for this.
There was no comfort for her. Not here. Not back home.
Not anywhere.
The question raced through her mind, over and over and over again. She played through every scenario, trying to pinpoint what happened. Where everything went wrong.
I wasn't good enough to keep him around.
I wasn't pretty enough.
I wasn't thin enough.
I didn't pay enough attention to him.
She never wanted me anyway.
I was too pretty to be around her.
I reminded her of things she wanted to forget.
I should never have been born.
I shouldn't exist.
Tears slid down her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red from prolonged crying, but no sound escaped her lips. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as she replayed in her mind, over and over again, the things he had told her.
I can't be with you.
This thing that happened... it's too much.
Too scary.
I can't do it.
It hadn't been her sole decision. He'd wanted it, too. She wasn't ready - financially or emotionally - and he just didn't want the responsibility.
She didn't regret the decision.
It had hurt, though. The trauma was mental more than anything. He slept in the bedroom while she lay, curled up on the couch, her body wracked with pain as the pills she'd taken did their work. It felt like knives were slicing at her insides, or like claws, ripping her apart from within.
And he slept, leaving her to face it all on her own.
A week later, when her body did things she didn't want, reacted to the pills in ways that made her hate looking at herself in the mirror, he began to show signs of being even more distant.
The distance had been growing ever since she'd taken the first pill.
Two weeks after that, he'd told her to pack up.
She had nowhere else to go close by. She asked for a week, to arrange a job transfer back to where she'd come from. At least she had friends there.
Friends she could never tell about what happened.
One person knew, and that person couldn't be there for her.
And the person she'd wanted to tell, needed to hear from, wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn't bring herself to intrude, not even for this. Especially not for this.
There was no comfort for her. Not here. Not back home.
Not anywhere.
19 June 2015
Petrichor
The sky opened up above her, releasing a torrential downpour from the heavens. She was soaked clean through in mere seconds, but she didn't mind. The rain was warm against her skin. It sizzled when it reached the ground, releasing steam and the oddly comforting scent of hot, wet earth. To her, it smelled of summer.
It brought back memories of happier times: walking barefoot through the fields, stargazing on a warm summer night, and wading around flooded creeks. Despite the intense heat and humidity - not to mention insects - that plagued the southernmost states, she still enjoyed summer the most.
She stood, arms outstretched, letting the rain wash over her, a baptism from Mother Nature herself. Laughing, she twirled, flinging droplets of water from her arms, only for them to disappear in the sheets of water that pummeled down on her.
The rain didn't last long; it was gone almost as soon as it had arrived, a typical storm shower for the season. The clouds dispersed, their task complete, and left behind only mist and rainbows and wet ground.
As the sun shone down, baking the earth dry again, she smiled. With her eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, taking one last, deep breath of hot, wet soil, before she turned and made her way inside.
The memories clung to her like a perfume, and she spent the remainder of her day in peace.
It brought back memories of happier times: walking barefoot through the fields, stargazing on a warm summer night, and wading around flooded creeks. Despite the intense heat and humidity - not to mention insects - that plagued the southernmost states, she still enjoyed summer the most.
She stood, arms outstretched, letting the rain wash over her, a baptism from Mother Nature herself. Laughing, she twirled, flinging droplets of water from her arms, only for them to disappear in the sheets of water that pummeled down on her.
The rain didn't last long; it was gone almost as soon as it had arrived, a typical storm shower for the season. The clouds dispersed, their task complete, and left behind only mist and rainbows and wet ground.
As the sun shone down, baking the earth dry again, she smiled. With her eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, taking one last, deep breath of hot, wet soil, before she turned and made her way inside.
The memories clung to her like a perfume, and she spent the remainder of her day in peace.
17 June 2015
Sea-Borne
She stood at the bow of the little boat, her white dress and long black hair flowing around her. The sea breeze tickled her nose, bringing her the tang of salt and fish. A soft glow from behind her illuminated her figure, making her appear ghostly in the moonless night.
The soft rustle of leaves at her back caused her to glance back, a smile briefly gracing her lips. The tree, with its tiny lanterns, swayed gently in the breeze. Long branches seemed to beckon to her, and she turned away from the bow and toward the tree, which sat squarely amidships.
It was an impossible sight to behold, the tree growing from her little boat. Even more impossible was the door that opened to reveal a little home, with a stove burning cheerily in one corner. Across from the door, a face stared out at her, its lines carved with a delicate hand. Slowly, the face smiled at her, its wise old eyes glinting with life.
The young woman sat at the table beneath the face, eating the food that had been laid out, and occasionally looking up, smiling and making silent conversation with her guardian.
When she had eaten her fill, she gathered up a stack of paper and a pen, and began to write. She wrote love letters, letters of sadness, letters of joy; letters to friends, and to enemies, and to strangers; and letters that had no substance, only pure emotion. She wrote until her hand cramped, and then she cupped a mug of hot tea, sipping slowly as she regarded the papers before her.
She drank until her hand no longer hurt, and then she picked up the first letter, delicately folding it into a sailboat. The young woman repeated this process for every letter she had written, until dozens of the tiny paper boats had spilled over the table and onto the floor.
When she had finished her task, she retrieved a basket and began to gather the boats up, carefully placing them, one by one, until all were secured. The face smiled down at her, wordless acknowledgement, and the woman stepped back outside, back into her tiny boat.
As the stars shone down on her, she released the boats, one at a time, until the water around her was thick with their presence. Some sank immediately, drowned by water, imperfect in their construction, but others were borne away by the current. Maybe they would reach their destinations.
She stood at the bow of the little boat, staring out at the dark, distant horizon, and resumed her watch, patiently waiting for her relief.
The soft rustle of leaves at her back caused her to glance back, a smile briefly gracing her lips. The tree, with its tiny lanterns, swayed gently in the breeze. Long branches seemed to beckon to her, and she turned away from the bow and toward the tree, which sat squarely amidships.
It was an impossible sight to behold, the tree growing from her little boat. Even more impossible was the door that opened to reveal a little home, with a stove burning cheerily in one corner. Across from the door, a face stared out at her, its lines carved with a delicate hand. Slowly, the face smiled at her, its wise old eyes glinting with life.
The young woman sat at the table beneath the face, eating the food that had been laid out, and occasionally looking up, smiling and making silent conversation with her guardian.
When she had eaten her fill, she gathered up a stack of paper and a pen, and began to write. She wrote love letters, letters of sadness, letters of joy; letters to friends, and to enemies, and to strangers; and letters that had no substance, only pure emotion. She wrote until her hand cramped, and then she cupped a mug of hot tea, sipping slowly as she regarded the papers before her.
She drank until her hand no longer hurt, and then she picked up the first letter, delicately folding it into a sailboat. The young woman repeated this process for every letter she had written, until dozens of the tiny paper boats had spilled over the table and onto the floor.
When she had finished her task, she retrieved a basket and began to gather the boats up, carefully placing them, one by one, until all were secured. The face smiled down at her, wordless acknowledgement, and the woman stepped back outside, back into her tiny boat.
As the stars shone down on her, she released the boats, one at a time, until the water around her was thick with their presence. Some sank immediately, drowned by water, imperfect in their construction, but others were borne away by the current. Maybe they would reach their destinations.
She stood at the bow of the little boat, staring out at the dark, distant horizon, and resumed her watch, patiently waiting for her relief.
Masked
The room, large and round, held no furniture save for a stone bench in its center. The slab of rough rock was not lovely to behold; it was entirely utilitarian in appearance and purpose. The wall, on the other hand, was a different story.
Thousands of masks surrounded the bench. Some were fabric, others leather, still others plaster or even glass. They ranged from the truly elaborate to the most simplistic. The sole occupant of the room could not tell how they were mounted to the wall; for all he could see, it might well have been magic.
There was a break in the masks only for the door that would take him out of the room. He thought to try it, but something pulled him away from the door. It drew him to the opposite side of the room. Curious, he inspected the masks along the curve, wondering which one was calling to him.
He brushed his fingers along the rough cheek of a blue mask, the face fierce, scowling at him with gleaming red eyes. Feeling nothing, he moved on. A stone mask, expressionless and cold; a lace mask that made him think of butterflies; a leather mask that made him think of a weathered old man. None of these called to him.
He looked higher up on the wall, and felt his heart pounding in his chest when he spotted it. That was the one, but he couldn't reach it. He searched the room, seeing no ladder, no means of climbing to reach what he was after.
Even from where he stood, far below the mask, he could see how delicate it was. Fragile glass, flecked with silver, the simple details marked in bold black and red lines. The mask looked sad and lonely.
Frustrated, he clawed at the wall, scrabbling for purchase. He was surprised when he connected with a mask and, instead of coming away, it held strong. With renewed purpose, he began to climb, using the masks around him as hand- and foot-holds.
The mask he sought was further up than he'd first thought; the room swayed around him when he glanced down at the floor, now far beneath him. The stone bench was shrinking speck in his vision.
Still he climbed, until, at last, he was face to face with the mask. Up close, he could see tiny lines, like cracks, that trailed from the mask's eyes, as if it were crying. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I'm here." On impulse, he kissed its glass cheek.
In his head, he could hear a faint, but happy, voice.
I know.
Around him, all the other masks vanished, and the room faded away.
Crystal Roses
The garden glinted in the sunlight as hundreds of flowers slowly opened their blooms, petals spreading wide to greet the day. Dewdrops glistened on the myriad colors, a wild display that threatened the senses of onlookers. The garden, to the average person, looked much like any other flower garden. The scents of roses, orchids, and lilies perfumed the air.
This garden, however, housed most interesting secrets.
To begin with, its caretaker was a sidhe of the Seelie court. She looked human enough, even without glamour. It was one reason she'd been chosen to care for this particular garden, visible as it was to the human eye. More strange than that was what the flowers really were.
The sun rose higher in the sky, burning away the dew, and yet the flowers still glinted and sparkled. The sidhe brushed her fingers along the edges of one rose, reveling in the feel of the crystal against her skin. Nestled at the center of the rose was a small opal, white and fiery and full of magic and life.
It was not yet ready for harvest, but come autumn, the petals would fall away and leave the fully-grown opal behind.
Not all the flowers bore opals, of course. Some were growing emeralds, others rubies, still others sapphires. The Seelie court held magical gemstones in high regard, and Calista was the only sidhe capable of growing them. It was her special magic, not something she could teach; one had to be born to it. Her mother had been a gardener of supreme beauty and grace, and her father an enchanter who worked with the finest jewels.
Their magic had combined in her.
She wandered about her garden, watering the flowers where needed, and simply enjoying the sun on her face. Calista closed her eyes, inhaling the faint perfume of the crystal flowers.
It was a shock, then, when she opened her eyes to find a human male standing not two feet away, staring intently at her.
This garden, however, housed most interesting secrets.
To begin with, its caretaker was a sidhe of the Seelie court. She looked human enough, even without glamour. It was one reason she'd been chosen to care for this particular garden, visible as it was to the human eye. More strange than that was what the flowers really were.
The sun rose higher in the sky, burning away the dew, and yet the flowers still glinted and sparkled. The sidhe brushed her fingers along the edges of one rose, reveling in the feel of the crystal against her skin. Nestled at the center of the rose was a small opal, white and fiery and full of magic and life.
It was not yet ready for harvest, but come autumn, the petals would fall away and leave the fully-grown opal behind.
Not all the flowers bore opals, of course. Some were growing emeralds, others rubies, still others sapphires. The Seelie court held magical gemstones in high regard, and Calista was the only sidhe capable of growing them. It was her special magic, not something she could teach; one had to be born to it. Her mother had been a gardener of supreme beauty and grace, and her father an enchanter who worked with the finest jewels.
Their magic had combined in her.
She wandered about her garden, watering the flowers where needed, and simply enjoying the sun on her face. Calista closed her eyes, inhaling the faint perfume of the crystal flowers.
It was a shock, then, when she opened her eyes to find a human male standing not two feet away, staring intently at her.
14 June 2015
Heart and Soul
Music, eerily familiar to her ears, floated through the air. With her eyes closed, she imagined the notes, how they might look as they glided past her, surrounding her with their soft melody. When she smiled, it was soft and tinged with sorrow, though she was not quite sure why she was suddenly so sad.
There was a lull in the music, and then it resumed again, that same tune winding around her. Curious, Alaine followed the sound to its source. The room was easy to find, large and open as it was. A piano sat squarely in the center, and its sole occupant was seated there, his eyes closed as he played.
She stood silent in the doorway, unwilling to intrude yet wanting to remain. Unable to make a decision, she hovered, watching and listening. The man was stooped somewhat, indicative of his height, and his long, slender fingers delicately pressed the keys, caressing them as if they were a lover.
Alaine closed her eyes again, letting the music wash over her. As she listened, her feet moved her forward of their own accord, until she knew, without ever looking, that she was mere inches from the piano.
A long-buried memory surfaced, and music tumbled out from her lips, giving voice to the melody the man played.
The snow falls on quiet plains
A heart encased in cold
But at the core, the love she feels
Will make her heart of gold
The man's voice, rich and deep, joined her own in counter. She faltered briefly, her eyes fluttering open only to lock with his, two strangers caught in the music.
Two hearts and souls of sorrow
A life of blood and tears
Two hearts and souls of trouble
Their cries of shame and fears
A wind blows on desert fair
His soul buried and lost
Don't be afraid to dig a well
No matter what the cost
Two hearts and souls of sorrow
A life of blood and tears
Two hearts and souls of trouble
Their cries of shame and fears
She backed away on the last note, even as the man stood, his fingers leaving the piano. He did not follow her, instead giving her the space she needed. He smiled crookedly, waiting patiently.
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," she said, her voice soft, apologetic.
"Oh, my dear, don't apologize. You didn't intrude." Her voice caught as his smile broadened. "I've been waiting for you."
There was a lull in the music, and then it resumed again, that same tune winding around her. Curious, Alaine followed the sound to its source. The room was easy to find, large and open as it was. A piano sat squarely in the center, and its sole occupant was seated there, his eyes closed as he played.
She stood silent in the doorway, unwilling to intrude yet wanting to remain. Unable to make a decision, she hovered, watching and listening. The man was stooped somewhat, indicative of his height, and his long, slender fingers delicately pressed the keys, caressing them as if they were a lover.
Alaine closed her eyes again, letting the music wash over her. As she listened, her feet moved her forward of their own accord, until she knew, without ever looking, that she was mere inches from the piano.
A long-buried memory surfaced, and music tumbled out from her lips, giving voice to the melody the man played.
The snow falls on quiet plains
A heart encased in cold
But at the core, the love she feels
Will make her heart of gold
The man's voice, rich and deep, joined her own in counter. She faltered briefly, her eyes fluttering open only to lock with his, two strangers caught in the music.
Two hearts and souls of sorrow
A life of blood and tears
Two hearts and souls of trouble
Their cries of shame and fears
A wind blows on desert fair
His soul buried and lost
Don't be afraid to dig a well
No matter what the cost
Two hearts and souls of sorrow
A life of blood and tears
Two hearts and souls of trouble
Their cries of shame and fears
Waves crash on empty beach
Two loves shall meet again
Cold and warm, so beautiful
The souls we find within
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," she said, her voice soft, apologetic.
"Oh, my dear, don't apologize. You didn't intrude." Her voice caught as his smile broadened. "I've been waiting for you."
12 June 2015
Too Late
Ka-thunk.
He ran, feet barely touching the ground as he raced toward the sound.
Ka-thunk.
He was closer now. There was an odd sound, like a hiss.
Ka-thunk.
His breath came in quick gasps. He'd been running at full speed for far longer than he was used to.
Ka-thunk.
He could see his breath condensing in front of him. The air around him was cold.
Ka-thunk.
He heard another hiss, and a creaking groan, like a machine that badly needed oiling.
Ka-thunk.
He felt vibrations beneath his feet; the windows and doors along the street rattled with the reverberations.
Ka-thunk.
He could see spotlights ahead, trained on a city block that was wreathed in smoke.
Ka-thunk.
His muscles ached from the shock-waves that rolled around him.
Ka-thunk.
He was so close; there was no way he could stop now. With renewed vigor, he ran faster.
Ka-thunk.
He winced, close enough now to hear the whine of machinery; the groaning of metal was louder and more clear now.
Ka-thunk.
He had to get there before it was too late.
Ka-thunk.
He heard the distinct whistling of a mortar; a cry ripped itself from his parched throat.
Ka-thunk.
His hands reached out, as if grabbing for someone. Thunderous booms from military weapons shook the air.
Ka-thunk.
His face twisted in agony as windows shattered around him, shards of glass slicing his skin.
Ka-thunk.
He ran on despite the pain and the blood; it wasn't too late; it couldn't possibly be too late.
The very earth shook as an explosion lit up the sky, lifting dust and debris and scattering it in a wave of sound and pressure.
The next step never came.
He ran, feet barely touching the ground as he raced toward the sound.
Ka-thunk.
He was closer now. There was an odd sound, like a hiss.
Ka-thunk.
His breath came in quick gasps. He'd been running at full speed for far longer than he was used to.
Ka-thunk.
He could see his breath condensing in front of him. The air around him was cold.
Ka-thunk.
He heard another hiss, and a creaking groan, like a machine that badly needed oiling.
Ka-thunk.
He felt vibrations beneath his feet; the windows and doors along the street rattled with the reverberations.
Ka-thunk.
He could see spotlights ahead, trained on a city block that was wreathed in smoke.
Ka-thunk.
His muscles ached from the shock-waves that rolled around him.
Ka-thunk.
He was so close; there was no way he could stop now. With renewed vigor, he ran faster.
Ka-thunk.
He winced, close enough now to hear the whine of machinery; the groaning of metal was louder and more clear now.
Ka-thunk.
He had to get there before it was too late.
Ka-thunk.
He heard the distinct whistling of a mortar; a cry ripped itself from his parched throat.
Ka-thunk.
His hands reached out, as if grabbing for someone. Thunderous booms from military weapons shook the air.
Ka-thunk.
His face twisted in agony as windows shattered around him, shards of glass slicing his skin.
Ka-thunk.
He ran on despite the pain and the blood; it wasn't too late; it couldn't possibly be too late.
The very earth shook as an explosion lit up the sky, lifting dust and debris and scattering it in a wave of sound and pressure.
The next step never came.
11 June 2015
Reflections
She was barefoot beneath the hem of the red dress; her toes curled in the grass and sank into the earth, bringing a slight smile to her lips. Long black hair spilled over her shoulders, strands blowing in the soft breeze, reflecting the moonlight.
The hilltop she stood upon overlooked a large lake, its surface still save for the occasional ripple caused by the breeze. There was not the slightest hint of fish nor turtle nor fowl. She inhaled slowly, one hand gripping an elaborately painted mask, and began to make her way down to the lake. The water spread out before her, disappearing over the horizon, appearing as if a small sea in the midst of the green hills.
She came to the edge of the lake, the sand gritty, cool, and damp beneath her feet. The moon, full and bright, shone brightly overhead, its mirror in the lake a dimmer yet still beautiful reflection.
On impulse, she leaned over to stare at her own reflection. A gasp escaped her lips, and she scrambled back a few steps, heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she calmed herself down and made herself look again.
That was the same black hair, the same red dress, but the reflection's skin was dark where her own was pale; its eyes were red while hers were golden; its teeth, when it grinned at her, were sharp and pointed, like fangs.
Was she really this monster staring back at her? Was it a trick, some evil magic in the water?
The reflection stretched its arms out to her, beckoning. She resisted, pulling back, uncertainty in her eyes. Movement caught her attention, and she sneaked a peek, only to see her reflection was still beckoning for her.
After what felt like eons, she gave up, and went into the water.
The hilltop she stood upon overlooked a large lake, its surface still save for the occasional ripple caused by the breeze. There was not the slightest hint of fish nor turtle nor fowl. She inhaled slowly, one hand gripping an elaborately painted mask, and began to make her way down to the lake. The water spread out before her, disappearing over the horizon, appearing as if a small sea in the midst of the green hills.
She came to the edge of the lake, the sand gritty, cool, and damp beneath her feet. The moon, full and bright, shone brightly overhead, its mirror in the lake a dimmer yet still beautiful reflection.
On impulse, she leaned over to stare at her own reflection. A gasp escaped her lips, and she scrambled back a few steps, heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she calmed herself down and made herself look again.
That was the same black hair, the same red dress, but the reflection's skin was dark where her own was pale; its eyes were red while hers were golden; its teeth, when it grinned at her, were sharp and pointed, like fangs.
Was she really this monster staring back at her? Was it a trick, some evil magic in the water?
The reflection stretched its arms out to her, beckoning. She resisted, pulling back, uncertainty in her eyes. Movement caught her attention, and she sneaked a peek, only to see her reflection was still beckoning for her.
After what felt like eons, she gave up, and went into the water.
09 June 2015
Fox and Lion
He sank his teeth into hot, wet flesh, his fangs ripping and shredding, peeling the tender meat from the bone. Those around him looked on, some in horror, others in anticipation. None wanted to disturb his meal. Blood dripped from his lips, staining his muzzle, and he snarled at them when one dared get too close.
Slowly, the group dispersed, sure that the mighty feline was not going to share his bounty with them. They left, one by one, until only one creature remained.
She looked at him with intelligent eyes, her mouth gaping in a silent grin, almost as if she were laughing at him. The tiny vixen remained where she sat, her bushy tail slowly swishing from side to side, creating tiny clouds of dust that puffed and blew away in the breeze.
He stared at her, growling low in his throat, but still she sat, calm as could be. He shifted his attention away from her, returning to his meal, and she inched forward, going still when he looked her way again.
Eventually, warily, he ignored her once again, and once again she inched forward, still grinning.
This repeated several times, until he looked up and was startled to see that she was sitting right beside him, her eyes bright and amused. He snarled at her, trying to make her back off, but she did not flinch. Instead she laid down, slowly, gently, until her nose was just barely touching his paw.
The vixen gave a small yip of amusement, much to the lion's consternation. He backed his paw away, but did not strike at her. Her tail thumped the ground slightly, sending up another puff of dust.
He sat back, growling but unsure. She took that moment to scoot forward again, gingerly taking a bit of loose meat into her mouth. When he made no move to stop her, she swallowed it in just a few bites, then licked her chops, grinning at him again.
He huffed at her, shaking out his mane, but allowed her another bite, then another after that. She didn't eat much, and when she had her fill, she simply laid down and let him continue his meal.
Eventually, when he, too, had eaten all he could, he laid down beside her.
Slowly, the group dispersed, sure that the mighty feline was not going to share his bounty with them. They left, one by one, until only one creature remained.
She looked at him with intelligent eyes, her mouth gaping in a silent grin, almost as if she were laughing at him. The tiny vixen remained where she sat, her bushy tail slowly swishing from side to side, creating tiny clouds of dust that puffed and blew away in the breeze.
He stared at her, growling low in his throat, but still she sat, calm as could be. He shifted his attention away from her, returning to his meal, and she inched forward, going still when he looked her way again.
Eventually, warily, he ignored her once again, and once again she inched forward, still grinning.
This repeated several times, until he looked up and was startled to see that she was sitting right beside him, her eyes bright and amused. He snarled at her, trying to make her back off, but she did not flinch. Instead she laid down, slowly, gently, until her nose was just barely touching his paw.
The vixen gave a small yip of amusement, much to the lion's consternation. He backed his paw away, but did not strike at her. Her tail thumped the ground slightly, sending up another puff of dust.
He sat back, growling but unsure. She took that moment to scoot forward again, gingerly taking a bit of loose meat into her mouth. When he made no move to stop her, she swallowed it in just a few bites, then licked her chops, grinning at him again.
He huffed at her, shaking out his mane, but allowed her another bite, then another after that. She didn't eat much, and when she had her fill, she simply laid down and let him continue his meal.
Eventually, when he, too, had eaten all he could, he laid down beside her.
03 June 2015
It's Dark on the Other Side
There comes a time when a person must simply ask themselves what, exactly, they want out of life. While most everyone wants the same basic thing - happiness - everyone has a different idea of what that word entails. For some people, it's money. For others, it's a loving spouse, maybe even children.
For me, well, it was knowledge. The day I had to ask myself that question, it took me a good long time to come up with the answer. Money was good and useful, but beyond that it never really meant much to me. I had close friends and friends I considered family, so I was all set there. But the thing I craved the most, desired the most, needed the most, in order to feel truly complete in my life... well, that was always knowledge.
What else can I learn? What mysteries lie out there in the great big wide world? How do different cultures live, how do other people think and feel and act when confronted with certain situations? I wanted to know everything. The world was my oyster, and knowledge was its pearl.
And boy did I want that pearl.
That's probably what got me into the heap of trouble I found myself in, truth be told.
It was a day just like any other. I'd found some tidbit of information that intrigued me, and I followed the bread crumbs left on that fancy invention called the Internet. Hell, I followed those crumbs all the way down the rabbit hole and hadn't even noticed that I'd gone clear through to the other side.
Let me tell you, the other side is not the best place to be. I felt like Alice when she stumbled into Wonderland, only this side of the looking glass was a hell of a lot more dangerous. You think the Red Queen was bad? She was a breath of fresh air compared to the monster on the other side.
Those crumbs of knowledge were so enticing to me that I ignored every warning sign and kept going despite my body screaming at me to turn back, and turn back now.
It's funny, in a sad way, the kinds of things you'll do for what you desire the most...
For me, well, it was knowledge. The day I had to ask myself that question, it took me a good long time to come up with the answer. Money was good and useful, but beyond that it never really meant much to me. I had close friends and friends I considered family, so I was all set there. But the thing I craved the most, desired the most, needed the most, in order to feel truly complete in my life... well, that was always knowledge.
What else can I learn? What mysteries lie out there in the great big wide world? How do different cultures live, how do other people think and feel and act when confronted with certain situations? I wanted to know everything. The world was my oyster, and knowledge was its pearl.
And boy did I want that pearl.
That's probably what got me into the heap of trouble I found myself in, truth be told.
It was a day just like any other. I'd found some tidbit of information that intrigued me, and I followed the bread crumbs left on that fancy invention called the Internet. Hell, I followed those crumbs all the way down the rabbit hole and hadn't even noticed that I'd gone clear through to the other side.
Let me tell you, the other side is not the best place to be. I felt like Alice when she stumbled into Wonderland, only this side of the looking glass was a hell of a lot more dangerous. You think the Red Queen was bad? She was a breath of fresh air compared to the monster on the other side.
Those crumbs of knowledge were so enticing to me that I ignored every warning sign and kept going despite my body screaming at me to turn back, and turn back now.
It's funny, in a sad way, the kinds of things you'll do for what you desire the most...
The Light-Thief
The small figure crept down the corridor, crouched low to the floor. Bare feet padded softly against cold stone, making almost no sound at all. She darted between pools of shadow, avoiding the circles of light cast by torches whenever possible.
At this late hour, there were only the guards on patrol. Even the night servants were in their rooms, getting what rest they could.
The small female hid behind columns or tapestries whenever the distinct footsteps of a guard began to near. Her highly sensitive ears twitched slightly, picking up the soft rustle of cloth, the clink of chain shirts, and the steady scuffing of heavy boots against the stone floor, the sign of a tired guard.
Perfect.
The room she needed was down another corridor, which meant the guard would have to be passed in order to get there. Holding to the shadows, dark clothes and darker fur hiding her from sight, she waited. When the guard, yawning, wandered past, she made a run for it, darting behind the guard and turning down the next hall.
The castle was not a sizable one, being the winter palace. It was the summer right now, and so staffed mostly by guards and servants and nobles who were out of favor with the crown. She had to be extra careful; after all, what better way to earn one's way back into court than to capture a thief?
Especially a thief as... unique... as herself.
She slipped into a dark alcove, straining her ears to listen for the next guard. When one could not be discerned, the small being crept forward, her bushy tail brushing the stones. She was close now, she knew.
The little thief reached the room she sought with no incidents. As soon as she opened the door, light from within blinded her, both expected and yet still surprising. In that moment, she could hear a startled cry, and then all hell broke loose. Soon she saw nothing but darkness.
In retrospect, it had been far too easy to reach that room.
At this late hour, there were only the guards on patrol. Even the night servants were in their rooms, getting what rest they could.
The small female hid behind columns or tapestries whenever the distinct footsteps of a guard began to near. Her highly sensitive ears twitched slightly, picking up the soft rustle of cloth, the clink of chain shirts, and the steady scuffing of heavy boots against the stone floor, the sign of a tired guard.
Perfect.
The room she needed was down another corridor, which meant the guard would have to be passed in order to get there. Holding to the shadows, dark clothes and darker fur hiding her from sight, she waited. When the guard, yawning, wandered past, she made a run for it, darting behind the guard and turning down the next hall.
The castle was not a sizable one, being the winter palace. It was the summer right now, and so staffed mostly by guards and servants and nobles who were out of favor with the crown. She had to be extra careful; after all, what better way to earn one's way back into court than to capture a thief?
Especially a thief as... unique... as herself.
She slipped into a dark alcove, straining her ears to listen for the next guard. When one could not be discerned, the small being crept forward, her bushy tail brushing the stones. She was close now, she knew.
The little thief reached the room she sought with no incidents. As soon as she opened the door, light from within blinded her, both expected and yet still surprising. In that moment, she could hear a startled cry, and then all hell broke loose. Soon she saw nothing but darkness.
In retrospect, it had been far too easy to reach that room.
02 June 2015
To Be Afraid
What is fear? she wondered.
She knew the things of which others were afraid. Death. Loneliness. Heights. Spiders. Some people were afraid of other people, and some people were afraid of all the people, and some people were afraid of there being no people at all. There were myriad reasons to fear, and she knew them all. Even, she knew, the ultimate: being afraid of fear itself.
But she had no idea what any of it felt like.
She had great respect for things that could kill her, but that wasn't the same as fear. She could fall off a cliff face, her bones shattering into a million tiny pieces insider her body, and all it would take was one slip. She could be mugged on the street - or worse - at any point in her life.
To counter those potentials, she simply either didn't climb cliff faces, or triple-checked her gear when she did. She avoided walking alone and unarmed at night, especially down side streets or back alleys. Not out of fear, but out of pure common sense. This is something that could happen if you did this thing, so don't do this thing. Simple.
Never in her life had she felt pure fear.
Now, it coursed through her. Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud she was sure it could be heard clear across the room. Her breathing was ragged, coming in short gasps and explosive exhalations. Is this fear? she asked herself. Her skin felt hot, and she was sure she would be dizzy at any moment.
Is this what fear feels like?
She knew the things of which others were afraid. Death. Loneliness. Heights. Spiders. Some people were afraid of other people, and some people were afraid of all the people, and some people were afraid of there being no people at all. There were myriad reasons to fear, and she knew them all. Even, she knew, the ultimate: being afraid of fear itself.
But she had no idea what any of it felt like.
She had great respect for things that could kill her, but that wasn't the same as fear. She could fall off a cliff face, her bones shattering into a million tiny pieces insider her body, and all it would take was one slip. She could be mugged on the street - or worse - at any point in her life.
To counter those potentials, she simply either didn't climb cliff faces, or triple-checked her gear when she did. She avoided walking alone and unarmed at night, especially down side streets or back alleys. Not out of fear, but out of pure common sense. This is something that could happen if you did this thing, so don't do this thing. Simple.
Never in her life had she felt pure fear.
Now, it coursed through her. Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud she was sure it could be heard clear across the room. Her breathing was ragged, coming in short gasps and explosive exhalations. Is this fear? she asked herself. Her skin felt hot, and she was sure she would be dizzy at any moment.
Is this what fear feels like?
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