Stick your javelin into the sky
And feel the blood run down it
That soaks blue in the sleeve as
It tries to keep up
Go ahead
And shrug off the armor
That sticky red set
It's rusted immobile and
You've got to keep up
Carry on
In the host-beating march
With eighty-nine sticks
That javelin the sky
It's all drained gray, but
At least it kept up
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The Tag Team
The dragon recoiled and limped toward its cavern. Baxter followed it, shield raised and every step hesitant, knowing he could have easily gotten this far entirely by luck. His sword, bloody from the tail, was beginning to cost precious strength to hold outright. At the mouth of the cave, Baxter watched the retreating monster drag itself into a crevasse, and it disappeared. The knight waited. After what felt like a sufficient time, he surveyed the damage from the battle. Bits of fallen trees were still burning, but didn't look threatening to catch the rest of the thick wood. Baxter took off his helmet. He'd need someone to help take the rest off. Plenty of fine maidens in the nearby town, he mused. He noticed torn bits of the wings caught in a tree branch. Large pieces had fallen off and adorned the rocks. He bent down to inspect the golden shine. It'd take a long time for the beast to heal, if it ever would. Oughtta sell nicely, in the meantime. He folded the larger few fragments and tucked them in his bag. And look! A tooth! It was almost hard to believe he was the first knight to come back home from this particular breed. Baxter had never felt so lucky.
The dragon, after it had crawled through a hideous maze of limestone, found its nest. It snarled. And then, on cue, the next dragon began its ascent to the outside world. Knights never left quickly.
The dragon, after it had crawled through a hideous maze of limestone, found its nest. It snarled. And then, on cue, the next dragon began its ascent to the outside world. Knights never left quickly.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Expiration Date, 2
A few things have changed from chapter one. For example, there is no old man that wants to find Lance, and that dude, 'the master' does not know his plot. Although things have changed, don't make the assumption that an inconsistency is one that I noticed. Go ahead and note them all. And rip it all apart! YAY!
Lance jerked awake, searching through the darkness wildly. His body was drenched in sweat, and his breathing came in quick gulps. His heart raced.
“Mom!” he yelled. His voice echoed off the walls. Walls? He didn’t remember any walls.
Lance stood shakily and tried to find light. He was surrounded by utter darkness and silence. Silence except—was that snoring?
Lance began to remember the events of that night. They had come by boat to a secret place. A secret tunnel that Hiroki and his master called a ‘subway.’ They said that no one else knew about it.
Lance, exhausted, fell back onto the soft bedding he had been provided. For the first time in weeks, he could sleep. He slowly drifted off…
He was wrenched awake by the sound of a man screaming. From somewhere in the labyrinth of tunnels and tracks, quick footsteps echoed.Other footsteps followed close behind. Lance thought he could hear labored breathing.
He leaped up and joined a small clump of men holding lams. They muttered to each other, fear on their faces. Most of the women and children of the community huddled in crumbled areas of the tunnel. Some women, dressed in rough tunics, joined the men.
No one moved toward the noises.
“Shouldn’t we help the man in trouble?” Lance asked, sliding his hand into one of his pockets nervously.
The men eyed Lance oddly.
After several seconds, one of the men spoke up in a raspy voice. “No point.”
“Why not?”
“Creatures,” the man said simply.
The other men reacted in various ways to the word. Most crossed themselves, others fingered crude clubs at their belts. Some whimpered or touched scars.
The man being chased screamed again. He sounded further away.
“I’m going to help him,” Lance said, squaring his shoulders.
The master spoke up. “We did not save your life just to have you throw it away.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“So,” the master continued, “you should take Hiroki. He is very skilled at stick fighting, hand fighting, and even head fighting.”
Lance nodded and began jogging toward the sounds, and Hiroki followed reluctantly, grabbing a leather pouch first.
“Wait!” the man with the raspy voice said. “You’ll need this.” He threw a lantern at Lance, and Lance caught it.
“Thanks.”
“And this,” a woman said. She handed him a long stick with sharp, metal scraps sticking out the end.
Lance nodded his appreciation and broke into a sprint.
The Creatures were not hard to find. Following the sound of screams and strangled roars, Lance and Hiroki made good time. They could tell the Creatures were close by the rancid smell of pus and ammonia.
The victim screamed again, but this time his scream was cut short. The Creatures—it sounded as if there were four or five—screamed victory with bloodcurdling cries. Lance’s hairs stood up on end, and he ran faster. Here he was, worried that the Rebels or the Empire was going to kill him, and yet he was running straight into an apparently hopeless situation.
Hiroki and Lance rounded the corner. Hiroki wasn’t even breathing quickly, but his eyes darted nervously as they came into the tunnel. Four monsters looked up.
The monsters were twisted. They looked as if they had been made by Dr. Frankenstein’s apprentice: multiple arms that stuck out at random. Huge, green eyes that bulged out of the head that looked like a tumor. Bloody claws crusted from many feasts.
Lance screamed and charged, Hiroki following close behind. Hiroki also yelled.
Lance raised his weapon and passed a small intersection in the tunnels. He thought he caught a blur of movement to his right, but he was too focused on saving the severely wounded man. Was the man dead already?
Lifting his weapon high over his head, Lance ignored the shooting pain in his shoulder. He began to bring the weapon down in a powerful arc, but before he could smash it into the head of a creature, something ran into him from behind.
Strong claws tore into Lance. He spun in the air as he fell, propelled by the Creature’s strong claws. The movement to his side—the four monsters—
The fifth monster reached for his head, but before it could grab hold, Hiroki stabbed it in the back with his own stick. The Creature’s eyes bulged, and its breathing stuck for a moment. Just as Lance was about to turn toward the other monsters again, the Creature straightened and whipped out at Hiroki. Lance started forward to help, but he found himself surrounded by the other four monsters.
Rattling in its throat, the largest of the monsters opened its mouth wide, revealing sharp black teeth. Bits of red glistened on them in the light of the lamp which lay cracked on the cement. The man behind it whimpered.
Lance reached into his pocket again, but there were no more Numes, and he was far too exhausted to do one in his head. The largest monster lunged, reaching out with long claws, but Lance stood still. He was trembling. At the last moment, he dropped to the floor. The monster flew over him, scraping him with its feet. Leaping up, a stream of blood coming from his forehead, Lance faced the others.
Hiroki’s monster wailed and hit the ground in a cloud of dust, but Lance barely noticed. He stood on the balls of his feet, and watched everything as if it were on the Tube.
One monster leaped. Another lunged. The others followed, surrounding Lance from all directions. He breathed in. He breathed out.
Lance deflected the first monster to lunge and was battered backward by the force. The next creature grabbed hold of his arm with its jaws, and dragged him to the ground. He barely felt the pain, and he barely noticed that time was passing. It all felt unreal.
The things piled onto him. He could smell their panting breath, could feel their claws biting into his skin, could feel one getting closer with its unnaturally humanoid face, getting into a position to bite his neck. Lance struggled, but he could not move.
The monster that wanted to bite his neck struck out with his mouth, but before his teeth made contact, he flew backwards. The creatures lunged at someone else, but in a matter of seconds, all of them were whimpering and running away.
Lance realized he had wet his pants. Shaking, paralyzed with fear, he stared up at the ceiling. Hiroki crouched next to him, looking at his eyes.
“He’s in shock,” he mumbled.
“T-they were going to kill me,” Lance said in a halting voice. He slowly reached up and rubbed his neck. “They almost had me.”
“They prey on the weak and inexperienced,” Hiroki said, shrugging. He took the leather pouch from his belt and pulled out some gray leaves. “Eat these.”
Lance pinched them, but they quickly fell from his grasp.
“Too shaky,” Hiroki said to himself. “Alright, open your mouth.”
Lance did so, and Hiroki dropped the leaves in. Lance gagged and tried to cough them up, but they turned into syrup in his mouth and dribbled down his throat. He doubled over and threw up, but only a portion of the syrup came out.
“Feeling better yet?” Hiroki asked.
Lance stood, wobbling slightly, and nodded. “Let’s check up on the man.”
He started forward but stopped when he saw the man moving. The man propped himself up painfully and looked straight at Lance.
“Boy, come closer,” the bloody man said in a weak voice.
Lance stepped forward and knelt respectfully. The man appeared to be in his fifties. His dark hair was peppered with white and flecked with red. He wore the coat of a scientist, but that had been dirtied and nearly ripped to shreds.
“I’ve been looking for someone like you,” the man choked, pointing a crooked finger at Lance. “And you,” he coughed, this time looking at Hiroki. “I have minutes left before I leave this miserable world, and I want you both to listen.”
Lance nodded and saw Hiroki do the same.
“I am an Astronomer—or I was.”
Lance’s expression was blank, and the man noticed it.
“I study the stars,” he explained, “and distant planets. I used to hate the Empire, I used to want to kill the Emperor myself, but I was too weak and cowardly. But now I love the Empire.”
“Love the Empire?” Lance said, his fists clenching.
The man lifted his head to look Lance directly in the eyes. “I love the Empire,” he said, “because its much better than what’s coming from the stars.” His head collapsed onto the ground again. “You must promise me something. Do not fight against the Empire. Prepare to fight the incoming threat.”
“But if we don’t fight the Empire,” Lance said, “then the world will stay the same.”
“Good,” the man croaked.
“Millions are murdered by the Emperor every few years! And you say I shouldn’t fight against it?”
The man looked saddened. He closed his eyes, and for awhile, Lance thought he was dead. Finally he opened them again, and tears glistened in the corner. “You don’t have to believe me,” he said at last. “But take this.”
He slid an odd sphere with glassy spikes protruding out of its surface from one of his lab coat pockets. He pressed it into Lance’s hands.
“You may fight against the Empire now,” the man said, “but you will soon see your error. Then, in those days, you will long to have the Empire back. When that time comes, it is up to you to save the world. You are the ones with the Exponent; you are the only ones who stand a chance.”
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
“Wait!” Lance said, grabbing hold of the man’s hand. “What does it do?”
The man exhaled, and his hand went limp.
Hiroki and Lance knelt near the old man for a long time. His body went cold, and his face became pinched and pale.
“We should take him back to the community,” Hiroki said, standing, brushing the dust from his tunic. “He needs a proper burial.”
Lance nodded absently and picked himself up off the ground. He didn’t bother to brush of the dust.
What is an Exponent?
He shrugged, sliding the device into his pocket. It pressed against his leg, cold and warm at the same time. It felt good and bad—completely balanced.
“Help me pick him up,” Hiroki ordered.
Lance nodded again and helped Hiroki pick him up. Together, they dragged him back to the community.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
My Death, 8
That next morning was Saturday and pretty. There was something to be said about the flowers and bees and tiny rainbows in dew droplets, but no one said it. Robin, was too busy balancing her laptop on top of Thanatos in one hand while she pushed the screen door open with the other. She didn’t worry about the bang it made when it swung shut behind her. It would take more than that to wake up Tom.
He usually slept late right after finishing a house, but Robin had poked her head into his room just to be sure. The stench made her withdraw immediately and slam the door shut. Either he was sick or drunk—neither of which happened very often, so Robin couldn’t be sure.
“Alright,” she muttered from behind his shut door, “Be a louse, for all I care.”
Pretty that day may have been, but it was also unwelcomingly hot. Robin pulled her thick brown hair over her shoulder to get it off her neck. Phew! She walked around the house, toting her scribbled notes, book, and computer with her. She didn’t stop until she hit the northern most spot, which was deliciously sun-free for most of the day, and set up shop.
Facing the hedges (South, as prescribed by Thanatos), she dropped into a cross-legged sit. Her computer lay propped on her left knee, Thanatos on the right, and ripped-out notebook pages in the middle. Let’s work some magic, she told herself.
She’d gone outside because she was afraid of Tom discovering Death inside his house. If he was drunk, she could later convince him it was a hallucination, but he might not be—Robin wasn’t exactly an expert on the smell of drink. Besides, Tom was sort of a black hole when it came to romance. Just ask Hilda, she thought bitterly and leaned over Thanatos.
It was the same spell as when Robin first met Isaac. Remembering that day, she sort of felt stupid for not realizing who he was right off: the Horse, the robe, the scythe. Or even after that, on the Other Side, didn’t the Hounds give him away? Yes, the Hell Hounds—she sort of cheated, actually. She had to look those up online, searching demon dogs.
Robin shut her eyes in preparation for the incantations as Thanatos instructed. However, every time she attempted to speak the Greek words, Isaac kept popping into her head. His wide, mischievous grin when he brought her back in time, his patient way of answering not-questions, his raised eyebrow. He’s just a dork, Robin told herself. Then smiled. Never mind! she yelled in her head. Just say the words.
The wind came first. It pushed the dead leaves past and made her hair dance about her head. Then it brought crows. Five landed on the tall picket fence behind her, ten on the roof, and one on the ground by Robin’s knee, which picked at her loose-leaf notes. They were followed by drifting clouds, thin wispy ones: the kind that drift in front of full moons. The first thing Robin noticed, however, was his voice.
“Ah,” he said with mild surprise, “Here we go again.”
Her eyes flipped open. “Oh!” she stuttered. She wasn’t aware she had spoken the spell already. “I didn’t know, I mean…”
Isaac was standing over her, impatiently twisting his scythe with his fingers back and forth so it appeared to shake its head at Robin. She noticed with relieved curiosity the absence of a doleful white horse.
Robin bumbled for a second as she pushed her computer and book onto the ground and stood up in a flutter of notebook paper. The nearby crow startled and joined its brothers on the roof. Isaac watched with a smirk.
“I’m just…” she stared at his face and fumbled through Stacey’s repertoire. All the cute, flirtatious one-liners crumbled to ash inside his great brown eyes. Finally, she huffed, “I wanted to see if it would work again.”
The brown eyes blinked at her. “If what would work?”
It was her turn to blink. Didn’t he know? “The spell,” she stated. “You know, like when I accidentally summoned you last week. At the cemetery…”
“Spell?” he said, furrowing his brow. “Summon? I rode here.”
This was going nowhere fast. “Yes, spell,” she said, talking as if to a three-year-old. “Magic. I summoned you using the spell in a book.”
He scowled at Robin, who couldn’t help fidgeting while she waited for understanding to dawn on him.
At length, he said slowly, “You do know magic doesn’t exist, right?”
Robin was thrown off guard, but struggled to not show it. “What? Well, of course I know that! But don’t you… how…” But Isaac was laughing at her. “Well?” she said finally. “You use magic! You sent me back in time yesterday.”
“Oh that,” he gloated, putting a fist on his hip and craning his neck higher. Robin knew he was glad she had brought that up. He thought she was impressed. It only made her angrier that she very much was. Unwilling to let him know it, she sniffed at him.
“I wouldn’t call that magic, exactly.” He continued loftily. “Time only exists to silly mortals so you can count the seconds until you die. It’s so you can say whether someone died young or old. Not that it makes much of a difference. In the end.”
“Then how do you get between Worlds? Hm?” She quipped, craning her head in turn. It wasn’t until he smiled, condescendingly silent, for a few moments that she realized it was a question. “I mean,” she added hastily, “You should have to use it when you…do whatever it is you do.”
“Right,” he returned. “And you’re a witch, so you must eat children and ride a broomstick. Same logic!” Robin could only gape as the blood rushed to her face. Huffing, he continued, “You mortals are all the same.”
Isaac turned, and to Robin’s sudden dismay, began to walk away from her into a tunnel that ripped open as he stepped. The air around it wrinkled like fabric to let Isaac through. It didn’t stretch across the grass, through the bushes, and into the house, like Robin thought it ought. Isaac merely shrunk as he walked in place—as if he were going a long distance very fast—into the 2-dimensional hole. Robin blinked her watering eyes at the wavy, not-there-ness and caught a glimpse of gray dust on the other side.
“Wait!” Robin called, shaking herself out of bewilderment. His tiny figure paused and with his back to her. His voice softly echoed back to her, saying, “Why should I?”
“I—” Robin swallowed her breath and tried to take her pride with it. Do it! She screamed at herself. Do it for Gordon.
“I’m. Sor-ry.” She sighed with relief when he turned around.
“Are you really?”
Robin jumped at his mocking voice behind her. The void she had been staring into disappeared and her eyes crossed from focusing on nothing. She whipped around. Isaac was leaning against her wooden fence with his arms folded, his scythe next to him as usual. He always needs something to lean on, Robin thought.
“How’d you get—” she started, but caught herself. “Um, I didn’t, er, call you here just to insult you.”
“Surprising,” he interjected, but she ignored the harshness.
“I wanted,” she said with slow deliberateness to give herself time to think, “to apologize. For, you know, wandering around your house.” She was glad to hear real awkwardness in the words. But he didn’t look convinced. “And,” she pressed on, “Thank you. For taking me home.”
“Don’t,” he said sharply. “I didn’t have any choice. Where would I be if I let young girls strut about my Domain for eternity?”
“I do not strut.”
He gave her a look.
“You’re the one who sent me there with your dogs in the first place!” Robin shouted, losing the battle against her own frustration. I have to be friendly, I thought desperately. Don’t make him leave again. Just like Stacey said: make a connection.
Robin waited for his sarcastic answer, but he was silent for a minute.
“Actually,” he started, “I had to deal with something first. Before I took you back here.” He added, scowling at his bare feet, “Although I don’t know how you got there in the first place.”
Robin sighed, “I don’t know, either. I thought I used another spell.”
He shook his head and laughed: a warm breathy laugh different from his patronizing chuckle. Robin laughed, too.
“Usually,” he said at length, “only bodiless spirits and immortals can pass through to the Other Side. Yet, there you were, body and all.”
“It’s a mystery.”
“That you are.”
Neither of them spoke for while. Robin hadn’t really thought the conversation through this far; it hardly fit in with her plan. This was getting her nowhere closer to Gordon, and the silence was awkward, besides. Nothing Stacey had said had helped so far. Robin was left to her own devices and feminine wiles. She was doomed.
“Ahem,” Isaac broke into her thoughts, “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but you can imagine how busy I am.” He said, though not entirely unkindly, “So stop making up excuses. You don’t seem like the generally grateful type anyway—no offense. So why did you want me?”
Robin, who had been all square shoulders and folded arms the whole time, sort of deflated, inside and out. She dropped her hands to her sides and drooped her shoulders. She didn’t care if he noticed the long pause while she thought of what to say: Hey, Death, do you think you could take me to see my dead brother? Mind letting him out of your book? He’d never buy it, she thought, while he still thinks I’m a strutting, ungrateful brat. She shook her head with exasperation. He probably saw that, too, she thought. He tapped an impatient foot.
“I guess I just wanted to see you again,” she blurted. He jerked his head back and looked like he had choked on air. He then eyed her face from one end to the other. He thinks I’m lying, she told herself. Am I? Wow, is he actually sweating?
Robin watched him watch her for an age. Finally he smiled the familiar mischievous, narrow-eye smile. Meanwhile, she heard his voice in her ear whisper, “I’m glad.”
Robin looked over her shoulder. He was still by the fence when she turned. When she looked back, his voice was back inside his body. “Next time,” he grinned, “Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”
Robin stood in the shade of the house, staring at the fence. It was like yesterday, when Isaac vanished into smoke, only this time, there was no white smoke, since his horse wasn’t here. It had been faster, too. The crows, many of which had been perched placated on the fence or roof, took off at once and were gone in a flutter of black feathers. Robin was squinting in the sun, which had reemerged from behind the retreating clouds when Tom called to her from behind the door. She turned around. Instead of looking at her father, she stared at something on the ground.
“What’s the matter?”
“Huh?”
“Why did you shout?”
“Saw a bug,” she mumbled, still fixated by the grass.
“Well, yeah, Robin,” said Tom, seeing Robin’s open computer where she had pushed it to the ground. “They live outside. That’s what happens when you do homework outside. Come inside and have lunch.”
“Sure, Dad.”
She picked up her computer from where she had abandoned it and started to follow her father indoors. When he shut the door behind him, however, she looked back to the spot near the bushes where the grass lay trampled by a large hoof print.
He usually slept late right after finishing a house, but Robin had poked her head into his room just to be sure. The stench made her withdraw immediately and slam the door shut. Either he was sick or drunk—neither of which happened very often, so Robin couldn’t be sure.
“Alright,” she muttered from behind his shut door, “Be a louse, for all I care.”
Pretty that day may have been, but it was also unwelcomingly hot. Robin pulled her thick brown hair over her shoulder to get it off her neck. Phew! She walked around the house, toting her scribbled notes, book, and computer with her. She didn’t stop until she hit the northern most spot, which was deliciously sun-free for most of the day, and set up shop.
Facing the hedges (South, as prescribed by Thanatos), she dropped into a cross-legged sit. Her computer lay propped on her left knee, Thanatos on the right, and ripped-out notebook pages in the middle. Let’s work some magic, she told herself.
She’d gone outside because she was afraid of Tom discovering Death inside his house. If he was drunk, she could later convince him it was a hallucination, but he might not be—Robin wasn’t exactly an expert on the smell of drink. Besides, Tom was sort of a black hole when it came to romance. Just ask Hilda, she thought bitterly and leaned over Thanatos.
It was the same spell as when Robin first met Isaac. Remembering that day, she sort of felt stupid for not realizing who he was right off: the Horse, the robe, the scythe. Or even after that, on the Other Side, didn’t the Hounds give him away? Yes, the Hell Hounds—she sort of cheated, actually. She had to look those up online, searching demon dogs.
Robin shut her eyes in preparation for the incantations as Thanatos instructed. However, every time she attempted to speak the Greek words, Isaac kept popping into her head. His wide, mischievous grin when he brought her back in time, his patient way of answering not-questions, his raised eyebrow. He’s just a dork, Robin told herself. Then smiled. Never mind! she yelled in her head. Just say the words.
The wind came first. It pushed the dead leaves past and made her hair dance about her head. Then it brought crows. Five landed on the tall picket fence behind her, ten on the roof, and one on the ground by Robin’s knee, which picked at her loose-leaf notes. They were followed by drifting clouds, thin wispy ones: the kind that drift in front of full moons. The first thing Robin noticed, however, was his voice.
“Ah,” he said with mild surprise, “Here we go again.”
Her eyes flipped open. “Oh!” she stuttered. She wasn’t aware she had spoken the spell already. “I didn’t know, I mean…”
Isaac was standing over her, impatiently twisting his scythe with his fingers back and forth so it appeared to shake its head at Robin. She noticed with relieved curiosity the absence of a doleful white horse.
Robin bumbled for a second as she pushed her computer and book onto the ground and stood up in a flutter of notebook paper. The nearby crow startled and joined its brothers on the roof. Isaac watched with a smirk.
“I’m just…” she stared at his face and fumbled through Stacey’s repertoire. All the cute, flirtatious one-liners crumbled to ash inside his great brown eyes. Finally, she huffed, “I wanted to see if it would work again.”
The brown eyes blinked at her. “If what would work?”
It was her turn to blink. Didn’t he know? “The spell,” she stated. “You know, like when I accidentally summoned you last week. At the cemetery…”
“Spell?” he said, furrowing his brow. “Summon? I rode here.”
This was going nowhere fast. “Yes, spell,” she said, talking as if to a three-year-old. “Magic. I summoned you using the spell in a book.”
He scowled at Robin, who couldn’t help fidgeting while she waited for understanding to dawn on him.
At length, he said slowly, “You do know magic doesn’t exist, right?”
Robin was thrown off guard, but struggled to not show it. “What? Well, of course I know that! But don’t you… how…” But Isaac was laughing at her. “Well?” she said finally. “You use magic! You sent me back in time yesterday.”
“Oh that,” he gloated, putting a fist on his hip and craning his neck higher. Robin knew he was glad she had brought that up. He thought she was impressed. It only made her angrier that she very much was. Unwilling to let him know it, she sniffed at him.
“I wouldn’t call that magic, exactly.” He continued loftily. “Time only exists to silly mortals so you can count the seconds until you die. It’s so you can say whether someone died young or old. Not that it makes much of a difference. In the end.”
“Then how do you get between Worlds? Hm?” She quipped, craning her head in turn. It wasn’t until he smiled, condescendingly silent, for a few moments that she realized it was a question. “I mean,” she added hastily, “You should have to use it when you…do whatever it is you do.”
“Right,” he returned. “And you’re a witch, so you must eat children and ride a broomstick. Same logic!” Robin could only gape as the blood rushed to her face. Huffing, he continued, “You mortals are all the same.”
Isaac turned, and to Robin’s sudden dismay, began to walk away from her into a tunnel that ripped open as he stepped. The air around it wrinkled like fabric to let Isaac through. It didn’t stretch across the grass, through the bushes, and into the house, like Robin thought it ought. Isaac merely shrunk as he walked in place—as if he were going a long distance very fast—into the 2-dimensional hole. Robin blinked her watering eyes at the wavy, not-there-ness and caught a glimpse of gray dust on the other side.
“Wait!” Robin called, shaking herself out of bewilderment. His tiny figure paused and with his back to her. His voice softly echoed back to her, saying, “Why should I?”
“I—” Robin swallowed her breath and tried to take her pride with it. Do it! She screamed at herself. Do it for Gordon.
“I’m. Sor-ry.” She sighed with relief when he turned around.
“Are you really?”
Robin jumped at his mocking voice behind her. The void she had been staring into disappeared and her eyes crossed from focusing on nothing. She whipped around. Isaac was leaning against her wooden fence with his arms folded, his scythe next to him as usual. He always needs something to lean on, Robin thought.
“How’d you get—” she started, but caught herself. “Um, I didn’t, er, call you here just to insult you.”
“Surprising,” he interjected, but she ignored the harshness.
“I wanted,” she said with slow deliberateness to give herself time to think, “to apologize. For, you know, wandering around your house.” She was glad to hear real awkwardness in the words. But he didn’t look convinced. “And,” she pressed on, “Thank you. For taking me home.”
“Don’t,” he said sharply. “I didn’t have any choice. Where would I be if I let young girls strut about my Domain for eternity?”
“I do not strut.”
He gave her a look.
“You’re the one who sent me there with your dogs in the first place!” Robin shouted, losing the battle against her own frustration. I have to be friendly, I thought desperately. Don’t make him leave again. Just like Stacey said: make a connection.
Robin waited for his sarcastic answer, but he was silent for a minute.
“Actually,” he started, “I had to deal with something first. Before I took you back here.” He added, scowling at his bare feet, “Although I don’t know how you got there in the first place.”
Robin sighed, “I don’t know, either. I thought I used another spell.”
He shook his head and laughed: a warm breathy laugh different from his patronizing chuckle. Robin laughed, too.
“Usually,” he said at length, “only bodiless spirits and immortals can pass through to the Other Side. Yet, there you were, body and all.”
“It’s a mystery.”
“That you are.”
Neither of them spoke for while. Robin hadn’t really thought the conversation through this far; it hardly fit in with her plan. This was getting her nowhere closer to Gordon, and the silence was awkward, besides. Nothing Stacey had said had helped so far. Robin was left to her own devices and feminine wiles. She was doomed.
“Ahem,” Isaac broke into her thoughts, “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but you can imagine how busy I am.” He said, though not entirely unkindly, “So stop making up excuses. You don’t seem like the generally grateful type anyway—no offense. So why did you want me?”
Robin, who had been all square shoulders and folded arms the whole time, sort of deflated, inside and out. She dropped her hands to her sides and drooped her shoulders. She didn’t care if he noticed the long pause while she thought of what to say: Hey, Death, do you think you could take me to see my dead brother? Mind letting him out of your book? He’d never buy it, she thought, while he still thinks I’m a strutting, ungrateful brat. She shook her head with exasperation. He probably saw that, too, she thought. He tapped an impatient foot.
“I guess I just wanted to see you again,” she blurted. He jerked his head back and looked like he had choked on air. He then eyed her face from one end to the other. He thinks I’m lying, she told herself. Am I? Wow, is he actually sweating?
Robin watched him watch her for an age. Finally he smiled the familiar mischievous, narrow-eye smile. Meanwhile, she heard his voice in her ear whisper, “I’m glad.”
Robin looked over her shoulder. He was still by the fence when she turned. When she looked back, his voice was back inside his body. “Next time,” he grinned, “Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”
Robin stood in the shade of the house, staring at the fence. It was like yesterday, when Isaac vanished into smoke, only this time, there was no white smoke, since his horse wasn’t here. It had been faster, too. The crows, many of which had been perched placated on the fence or roof, took off at once and were gone in a flutter of black feathers. Robin was squinting in the sun, which had reemerged from behind the retreating clouds when Tom called to her from behind the door. She turned around. Instead of looking at her father, she stared at something on the ground.
“What’s the matter?”
“Huh?”
“Why did you shout?”
“Saw a bug,” she mumbled, still fixated by the grass.
“Well, yeah, Robin,” said Tom, seeing Robin’s open computer where she had pushed it to the ground. “They live outside. That’s what happens when you do homework outside. Come inside and have lunch.”
“Sure, Dad.”
She picked up her computer from where she had abandoned it and started to follow her father indoors. When he shut the door behind him, however, she looked back to the spot near the bushes where the grass lay trampled by a large hoof print.
The Winter Moon~ 2
Three class periods later I was sitting with my friends at lunch. As usual, we all had something to do whether it was math homework, history test quizzing, a book, or, as for me, just a notebook for songs that I love to write. I was so absorbed in the lyrics that I wasn't even aware of what I was putting in my mouth. Suddenly, I felt someone sit beside me. I finished the line I was writing and looked up. I was caught off guard, and yet, not completely surprised to see Josh sitting there. Confused, I said, “Hi?”
Maybe I shouldn't have said it, it looked like encouragement for him, expressed in his eyes. “Hi,” He gave a tentative smile that was very unlike him. “Uh, so, what would you think if instead of the bonfire, we went to dinner, or something?” He tried to seem, calm, cool, collected, and casual, but his very essence felt of awkwardness.
I glanced at my friends and gave them a silent, “What?” face. They all look shocked and confused too, and I turned back to Josh. “Why is this so important to you Josh?”
“Because, I, um.” He cleared his throat and said, “Well,”
“Josh, I'm not going out with you. I don't understand why you are even trying. I am me, and you are... you. We live in two different worlds Josh.”
His face was solemn as he stared into her stubborn gaze. “But they do say opposites attract.” he said, emotionless.
I sighed and said, “Josh, I don't understand you, and I have no intention of trying to. So lets just drop it, okay?” And with that I stood up and walked out of the lunch room, successfully resisting the urge to turn and look at Josh sitting there, probably watching me walking away.
I took a deep breath and pulled out my iPod. I plugged in the earbuds and put it on shuffle. As a song came on, I started mouthing the words along. Meanwhile, I walked to the south end of the high school, where the music department was located. Here, things made sense. Music had the perfect balance of rules and wide open boundaries that left so much room for discovery. Here, I didn't have to worry. I had a place here.
I walked into the choir room where the music department's main piano sat. I paused the music pounding in my ears, extracted my headphones and took a seat before the grand piano. My fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, bouncing up and down, finding a beat before I started playing. The strain which I played streamed from the vibrating metal strings to me, where the melody coursed through my soul. I took out all my emotions on the keyboard, all of the confusion and frustration, and soon enough it all went away. Nothing existed except the music and I.
As my fingers flew, so did the time. Before I knew it, the bell rang for students to return to class. I quickly closed the piece I was playing, stood and left the room.
At the same time I stepped outside the double doors my eyes landed right on Josh. He sat on the floor across the hall from the choir room. His eyes were watching, searching me silently. I stood there, frozen in his gaze, and returned it with my own icy blue stare. Students began passing between us, crowding through the hallway to get to their next class. Josh and I's fixed focus on each other did not break though.
Josh stood and finally broke the connection by turning and walking away. I lost sight of him in the crowd. All the emotions I had just worked out on the piano came rushing back. Why was Josh acting so oddly? This was the apex of his peculiar behavior. I thought back on the past couple of weeks, trying to see if I had overlooked something. I realized that Josh had been less argumentative and more conversational in the recent past. Not too noticeably so, but enough that I wondered what was going through his mind. He seemed so much more cryptic than before. I had always been able to read him well before, but now, I had no clue.
I suddenly realized that I had to hurry to class, or I'd be late. As I dashed to history, my mind skimmed over all the things that filled it; historical facts, musical melodies, Josh, and my dream from the night before.
Maybe I shouldn't have said it, it looked like encouragement for him, expressed in his eyes. “Hi,” He gave a tentative smile that was very unlike him. “Uh, so, what would you think if instead of the bonfire, we went to dinner, or something?” He tried to seem, calm, cool, collected, and casual, but his very essence felt of awkwardness.
I glanced at my friends and gave them a silent, “What?” face. They all look shocked and confused too, and I turned back to Josh. “Why is this so important to you Josh?”
“Because, I, um.” He cleared his throat and said, “Well,”
“Josh, I'm not going out with you. I don't understand why you are even trying. I am me, and you are... you. We live in two different worlds Josh.”
His face was solemn as he stared into her stubborn gaze. “But they do say opposites attract.” he said, emotionless.
I sighed and said, “Josh, I don't understand you, and I have no intention of trying to. So lets just drop it, okay?” And with that I stood up and walked out of the lunch room, successfully resisting the urge to turn and look at Josh sitting there, probably watching me walking away.
I took a deep breath and pulled out my iPod. I plugged in the earbuds and put it on shuffle. As a song came on, I started mouthing the words along. Meanwhile, I walked to the south end of the high school, where the music department was located. Here, things made sense. Music had the perfect balance of rules and wide open boundaries that left so much room for discovery. Here, I didn't have to worry. I had a place here.
I walked into the choir room where the music department's main piano sat. I paused the music pounding in my ears, extracted my headphones and took a seat before the grand piano. My fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, bouncing up and down, finding a beat before I started playing. The strain which I played streamed from the vibrating metal strings to me, where the melody coursed through my soul. I took out all my emotions on the keyboard, all of the confusion and frustration, and soon enough it all went away. Nothing existed except the music and I.
As my fingers flew, so did the time. Before I knew it, the bell rang for students to return to class. I quickly closed the piece I was playing, stood and left the room.
At the same time I stepped outside the double doors my eyes landed right on Josh. He sat on the floor across the hall from the choir room. His eyes were watching, searching me silently. I stood there, frozen in his gaze, and returned it with my own icy blue stare. Students began passing between us, crowding through the hallway to get to their next class. Josh and I's fixed focus on each other did not break though.
Josh stood and finally broke the connection by turning and walking away. I lost sight of him in the crowd. All the emotions I had just worked out on the piano came rushing back. Why was Josh acting so oddly? This was the apex of his peculiar behavior. I thought back on the past couple of weeks, trying to see if I had overlooked something. I realized that Josh had been less argumentative and more conversational in the recent past. Not too noticeably so, but enough that I wondered what was going through his mind. He seemed so much more cryptic than before. I had always been able to read him well before, but now, I had no clue.
I suddenly realized that I had to hurry to class, or I'd be late. As I dashed to history, my mind skimmed over all the things that filled it; historical facts, musical melodies, Josh, and my dream from the night before.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
ramble
It seemed so out of context
For one with a small dog complex
And that anyone nearby could be
someone with an eye for me
then you set out to prove
That my feelings deserve to move
My heart with its hope set
on the one that it first met
or have you been listening?
Because your forehead's glistening
with thoughts of bloody mutiny
cursing the love you had for me
and sailing into its sunset
as soon as it found an outlet
for its messy implication
and affair with our whole nation
but it seemed so out of context
for one with a small dog complex
because apathy will find you
when you finally learn how to
chain a runaway emotion
and lose yourself in an ocean
of people still to know
until I strike the final blow
that lifts up the blindness
that I'm doing you a kindness
by leaving
For one with a small dog complex
And that anyone nearby could be
someone with an eye for me
then you set out to prove
That my feelings deserve to move
My heart with its hope set
on the one that it first met
or have you been listening?
Because your forehead's glistening
with thoughts of bloody mutiny
cursing the love you had for me
and sailing into its sunset
as soon as it found an outlet
for its messy implication
and affair with our whole nation
but it seemed so out of context
for one with a small dog complex
because apathy will find you
when you finally learn how to
chain a runaway emotion
and lose yourself in an ocean
of people still to know
until I strike the final blow
that lifts up the blindness
that I'm doing you a kindness
by leaving
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