19th Century Belief

Emmery never thought she’d see the day that she would wish to never see her beloved father again. When the cancer killed him, all she had wanted to see was his face, full of its trademark expressiveness, one last time. But now, four months later, she dreaded that very sight; begged the universe, and every deity, to never see it again.

It was always the same, he always looked heart-breakingly terrified and in so much pain. His banging fists; screams, pleads and yelling of her name, should have filled the house, but all Emmery could hear was complete silence. She’d watch, unblinking and unable to look away, as her father struggled, fought and broke mere feet away from her face. He needed her to help him, to save him. But she couldn’t, no-one could. She could never undo what had been done. She was powerless.

As the helplessness consumed her, Emmery’s nails dug into the wounds made every time her father appeared, her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white and her muscles ached.

As her father clawed at the crack in the mirror, the result of an attempt to save him, the only thing Emmery felt more than uselessness was her guilt. It was her fault. Her father’s soul was trapped and suffering because he had the misfortune of having sired a clumsy daughter.

They knew, the night he died, they knew his death was imminent. They’d taken the black silk and covered every mirror in preparation. They did everything they could to keep his soul safe. He deserved to go where he needed to. When it happened, Emmery was in the hallway, stopping the grandfather clock’s steady heartbeat. It felt wrong that it should continue even a second after her father’s heart had stopped. They were in mourning. Her mother had yelled for her to hurry, the time had come. In her panic, Emmery’s foot betrayed her, catching on thin air and sending her to the ground. As she pushed herself up from the floor, she felt something like material liquid under her fingers. Black silk. Looking upward, she saw her great-grandmother’s oil-on-canvas face reflected back at her. Emmery’s heart stopped.

A ‘no’, filled with distraught grief, shrieked down the hall. Emmery sprang to her feet, hastily throwing the silk onto the mirror. She yelped as the mirror became blistering hot and her hands, with the silk, fell from the surface. It was too late. She began to cry hysterically as the chestnut brown eyes, thrice broken nose and moustached lip of Edgar. E. Leons appeared in the place of his prudish grandmother’s painted features. Emmery’s tears turned to hyperventilating as it hit her what she had caused. She went to reach out to her father, but he was gone. Covering up the mirror, praying her grief had caused her to hallucinate, Emmery went to mourn with her family.

As the days, weeks and months passed, it had become more and more apparent that Edgar’s soul appeared only to Emmery. She believed it was due to her being responsible.

School work, chores and friends were all sacrificed for countless hours of reading, researching and trying out every suggested solution. All except one: breaking the mirror. Theoretically, Emmery would be breaking what was holding her father’s soul, therefore releasing it. She would also be sacrificing her fortune for her father’s. Seven years of bad luck for the slim chance of freeing him. Combatting the bad with an act of good. She would have tried it, her body fought to, but when she’d thrown a chair and cracked it, the image of her father disintegrated and the mirror became scorching. She couldn’t bear the thought of the book being wrong, of breaking the mirror and something worse happening.

Her father had stopped trying to extend the crack and had returned to beating his fists against the barrier. Before she could think, Emmery was at the mirror, her father’s petrified eyes boring into her. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her fists began banging against the mirror, in time with Edgar’s. Father and daughter’s hands seeming to connect through the reflective glass. Again, and again, they pounded, her hysterical and he terror-stricken. Suddenly, a crack ripped through the mirror and the otherwise empty house. Panicked, Emmery backed away. She looked at her father, checking her was still there, and she saw something in his face that stopped her breath: hope.

Emmery ran at the mirror, pounding her fists on the already weakened spots. Her father’s spirit did the same. Her hands bled, but Emmery didn’t stop until the mirror shattered completely. Breathless and bleeding, she fell to her knees, and, for the first time in four months, despite being haunted since his death, Emmery felt her father’s presence and a feeling of calm settled over her.

It was over. He was free.

Footprints in the Snow

‘Footprints in the Snow’

Liza woke to the banging vibrating through the house and the artic draught disturbing her cosy slumber. She followed the noise and the chill through the house, both seemingly originating in the same place. She whistled a few times, trying to locate the dog she had found on the tracks the night before, but there was no sign of the canine.

As she descended the stairs, she saw the front door wide open and swinging in the winter gales. Liza began to feel uneasy. She had locked that door, she knew she had, her paranoia wouldn’t allow her to forget. Ever. It didn’t matter how isolated or unknown she was in her hidden, hill-top cabin, she could never be too careful. What if they had found her? The enemy. No, if they had, she would be dead. Her heart stopped for a beat and her blood ran cold. What if her people had found her? She made herself calm down. If they had, she would have been captured and secured by now. The knot in her stomach remained, tight and painful as ever, despite her trying to being rational. The wind raging outside was still trespassing into her home and wrapped itself around her, trying to seep into her bones. As she closed the door, Liza saw them. Footprints. A single set leading from her door into the snow-covered expanses. Except for her sheds and outer-buildings, there was nothing but trees and open spaces for mile and miles. The sight stopped Liza cold. Those who knew who she was didn’t know where she was; those who knew where she was didn’t know who she was. No one ever visited her – no-one was welcome to. But someone had been in her house. What if one of the sides had sent a scout? She’d be as good as dead, or worse, captured. Still no sign of that dog, some guard he was proving to be. The dog! Of course! How could she be so stupid? She had let her guard down and now she would pay the price. The Liza’s resilience kicked in. She would not go down without a fight. So the scum shapeshifter the he could do this to her and get away with it. Did he not know who she was or what she was capable of? Well, he would soon find out.

Pulling on her thermal underwear and outerwear; snow boots and everything else to keep her warm, Liza marched out, determined, tracking the animal by the footprints in the snow. They didn’t seem that old and, without the proper clothing, the mutt wouldn’t get too far.

As the trail went on, Liza came across larger imprints in the snow: the animal had fallen, still in human form. His body wouldn’t be used to the cold. It had probably started to affect his muscles by this point. As she continued her pursuit, the larger imprints became more and more frequent. She couldn’t be far from finding him. He wouldn’t have lasted upright much longer. The question was: would she find a body or a corpse? Liza’s empathetic nature hoped for alive, but he survival instincts begged for a dead shapeshifter. She trudged on, the cold beginning to get to her despite her many layers, she would need to turn back soon, or do something stupid and risk exposure. As she marched on, she replayed the night before, frantically trying to remember if she had done anything in front of that damned dog that would clarify her identity. She didn’t think so, but couldn’t be anywhere near sure. It was natural to her, second nature, sometimes she didn’t even realise she was doing it.

That’s when she saw it, a huddled mass that shouldn’t have been there, about thirty yards ahead. She approached, angry and determined at first, but growing a little cautious as she neared. Liza could see his body shivering violently, he was in human form and completely naked. He had clearly been out here long enough to lose control of his body: a yellow puddle coloured the snow above is scrunched up thighs. The responsible appendage was a worrying colour. His hands and feet were a similar colour of blue; badly frost-bitten but still saveable, if action was taken fast. He was muttering under his breath and twitching – the hallucinations had started – this was bad. Very bad. He wouldn’t last much longer out here. It was decision time: leave him to die and save herself or save him and put herself in mortal risk. Liza knew there was no real question, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, add to the blood that stained her hands. Liza flexed her fingers, closed her eyes and sent warm air in her huddled enemy’s direction. Opening her eyes to check the progress, she faltered. The snow around the body had begun to melt and a tattoo right on his spine between his shoulder blades was slowly being revealed. A perfect circle with three claw marks cutting diagonally downwards from right to left. The mark of Ochinar. It was one thing to save a shapeshifter, but to save an Ochinar, was a whole new level of suicidal risk. Especially for her. Was she really going to be that stupid again? Had she learned nothing from the past?

His skin rippling and the pained look of concentration on his face dragged Liza from her thoughts. He was trying to turn, and he was failing. He must be truly far gone for him, an Ochinar, to not be able to shift. Pity and empathy seeped from her heart and infected her mind. She’d regret this, in the unlikely situation she loved long enough to. But, like last time, she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she let him die. Although, she currently couldn’t really live with herself anyway, but why make it worse?

Taking a deep breath, preparing to risk exposure to save this mutt, who would probably thank her by getting her killed or captured, she muttered under breath, aimed her energy at the now unconscious body, which slowly began to shrink and change shape. Eventually, lying in the snow, where once a full-grown male human had been, there was now a tiny, shaking Chihuahua. She smirked, knowing how insulted the proud Ochinar would be by his present form. Unzipping the front of her thick, insulated snow jacket, Liza picked up the pathetic pooch, nestled it inside the jacket then zipped it back up. Her arms cradled the small creature as she strode back up to the house. e H

One Last Time

“One Last Time”

She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady her hands.

“One last time,” she whispered to herself, “One. Last. Time.”

She closed her eyes, summoned up all the inner-strength she could and pushed away from the sink. She walked out of the elegant bathroom and into the expansive bedroom – sorry, ‘royal bedchamber’.

Seriously, how did she end up here?

She walked up to the ornate full-length mirror, that was a bit over that top and overly expensive for her taste, and checked herself for any undignified flaws. She pulled the long, luxurious ribbon of velvet to call Hemsworth to her aide. As usual, he was at the door almost immediately. After being given the instruction, Hemsworth entered and looked at the newly-crowned, unprepared but totally capable queen.

“I believe it is time, Hemsworth. Please prepare to announce my arrival. Thank you.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Hemsworth made a slight bow before excusing himself. Moments later, her handmaidens arrived to escort her. Isabella felt like she was walking to execution. But she knew she had no right to feel that way.

She could hear the crowds raging outside. Her people now. Her first four public appearances (not including her coronation) as their Queen and sole ruler, had made many hate her, and many more believe she would be the same tyrannical and merciless ruler that her late husband had been. Nothing could be further from the truth. So much of what her people believed of her was false. She hoped one day to rectify some of the more damning falsehoods.

As they drew nearer to the grand doorway that would lead out of the castle and into the courtyard, Isabella’s resolve tried to falter, the thought of what she had to do made her feel nauseated, like it had the other four times. But she had to do it. One last time.

They stopped behind the doorway, draped in luxurious velvet so that no-one would see her before they should.

“Announcing the arrival of her royal highness, Queen Isabella of Rosehill.” Hemsworth’s silenced the crowd. He always had such a presence.

Holding her head up and trying to emit a regal air of grace and poise, Queen Isabella exited the safety of the castle walls. Taking a deep breath, and with a heavy heart, she addressed the crowd, while trying desperately to keep her eyes off the platform at the centre of the courtyard.

“As you know, before my husband, your late King, left this world, he passed sentence on five members of this Kingdom, and decreed that they should be carried out, even in the event of his death. As his successor to the thrown, it has fallen to me to ensue the five men’s crimes do not go unpunished. Four have already paid the price, today the fifth shall complete the late King Fallon’s royal orders. Bring out the prisoner.”

At her words, six royal guards marched out of the tunnel leading to the dungeons, with a young man pinned in the middle of them. At twenty-one, Marcus was the youngest of the men sentenced by King Fallon, and the boy barely looked to be out of his teens.  Isabella knew that her first act as queen could not be to dishonour the King’s last. How she wished she could undo what that brute had set in motion.

Isabella heard a mother’s wail as Marcus was dragged onto the platform and was forced to kneel before a large stone and facing his queen.

Isabella swallowed the bile rising in her throat. One last time.

“If the prisoner has any final words, let him speak them now.” Isabella knew she had to stick to protocol one-hundred percent.

Marcus looked at the queen dead in the eye:

“The fate of King Fallon the Brute shall be the fate of any ruler who treats their people as he did.” Marcus then put his head on the stone, his neck exposed, refusing to show any fear or weakness, and waited for the sword to fall.

It was a threat, one that Isabella knew was not hollow. Five had failed to kill the brute king and many more would try if the queen followed in his ways. The threat was also not necessary. Her people believed that the five men caught making an attempt on King Fallon’s live had somehow still succeeded. It needed to stay that way, for the good of the kingdom.

Isabella gave the nod and the executioner’s sword was swung. Isabella fought back the urge to retch. It was done. Once last time.

The crowd went into an uproar.

“Now hear your queen.” Her voice rang out above the noise. So much stronger and more sure than it had been while following King Fallon’s orders.

“These men were guilty of treason in its most severe form, and were therefore sentenced to death. They were, however, given no chance to defend themselves. This will no longer be the practice of this kingdom. My people will be treated fairly. If suspected of a crime they will be given a trial and will not be sentenced until proven guilty. The sentence of death will be given only for the severest of crimes. The dungeons will hold the perpetrators of lesser crimes. This has been decreed by your Queen and ruler, so shall it be.”

The crown was silent as it sank in. The queen was merciful, she was fair. She would not rule as her husband had before her.

Isabella retreated to the castle as her people dispersed, and a broken body was wheeled towards the graveyard, flanked by his grieving mother.

None of them would ever know what their new queen had done for her kingdom and her people.

Colours of the Moon.

Prompt- Depending on the colour of the moon, monsters rise. But today, you are experiencing a solar eclipse. You, as a Hunter, have a very bad feeling.

Avery looked up at the sky and groaned internally. The moon would be out soon. I she hadn’t been dreading what was to come, she would have been amused by the fact that the ignorant referred to a lunar eclipse as a ‘blood moon’, when it was the night before the event when the blood-suckers rose. As it was, she watched the sun lower, and with it, her mood. Her ire was worsened by the racket coming from inside.

“Kai. I swear to fuck, if you do not hurry the fuck up and piss off to Steven’s, I will hunt you myself!” She heard a growl. Even with him in human form, the sound was pure animal.

“Kai.” Avery’s tone allowed no argument. A whimper sounded. She knew it was fake, an act of surrender, not pain, she knew she hadn’t upset him. Not that it would have bothered her if she had, she hadn’t been raised to be sensitive. After a few more minutes of Kai crashing around the flat sounding through the French windows, Avery, resigned to what she’d have to deal with tonight, returned inside. She was greeted, on entering, by the site of Kai sat atop his case, clothes over-flowing through the gap that should have been zipped up half an hour ago.

“Kai Asher, you are away for one night. You are not moving the fuck out. You sure as shit are not leaving me to cover the rent.” Avery would never admit that she would miss her high-energy flatmate, were he to leave.

“Steven might want to keep me.” Avery rolled her eyes at Kai’s cheeky expression and wiggling eyebrows.

“Him wanting to kill you would be more likely.” Kai stuck his tongue out at Avery’s retort, to which she quickly responded with a middle finger.

“Why are you taking so much clothes?” Avery enquired as Kai fumbled with the case’s zip while trying to stay firmly seated, holding it down with his body weight. “Judging by what you’ve been saying for the past week, you won’t be needing any clothes.”

“My boyfriend is a gentleman, I shall be wined and dined…”

“Before he fucks you senseless.” Avery interrupted teasingly.

“Exactly.” Kai nodded with a smug expression. Then his face changed as he continued to pack his already over-stuffed over-night bag: his features softened, a far-away look appeared in his eyes and a dreamy smile played on his lips. Despite her low emotional quotient, this look, and its meaning, did not escape Avery.

“You really like this one, huh?” Avery asked in a rare moment of actual humanity. Spending time with the Asher boys was softening her. Or, at least, bringing out whatever softer side she had inherited from her mother.

“If you are trying to draw me into some declaration of love so you can bitch all over it, you can fuck off. I’ll say something sweet about bae and the you’ll lecture me on how every guy has been declared to be ‘the one’ or ‘different’, and I will not give you the satisfaction.” Not being used to Avery taking an interest, Kai had completely misinterpreted her question and its tone.

“It is different with Steven though. You’re calmer with Steven, more settled. It’s like you’re spending less time showing off your relationship, and more time actually enjoying being in it. Basically, you are less fucking annoying.” Kai was still sceptical, but couldn’t ignore the sincerity in Avery’s words and expression.

“It does feel more…stable with Steven. More real.” Kai always knew this side existed in his flatmate but he didn’t really ever see it. Certainly, not this clearly. He wanted to see how long it would last, how far he could push it.

“I can tell. You seem happy, not just hyper. It’s good to see. Repulsive, but good.” The two laughed. Kai’s love for love had always mirrored Avery’s aversion.

“Have you heard from Straight Kai?” Avery kept her tone casual while not looking at Kai, acting like her attention was otherwise engaged, as she put on a show of tidying up Kai’s chaos.

“You know his name. I know you do, because I have heard you scream it.” Both knew in exactly what situations Avery had screamed the name.

“Yeah, he does piss me off a lot.” Kai looked at Avery, his eyebrows raised and his lips pursed, then rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“If you are going to keep fucking my brother – which still weirds me out, by the way - the least you can do is use his name.”

“Have you heard from him or not?” The was an edge to her voice, that was normal for her though. What wasn’t, what Avery hadn’t expected, was how frustrated she felt, how mad she was at not getting an answer right away. She felt a pang of desperation to know if Kai had heard from his twin, if Theo was safe.

“No. I haven’t. That’s like the third time you’ve asked about him, today alone. Do you, I don’t know, actually care about my clone? Is he more than just a sex toy to you?” Kai mocked.

“Fuck off. It’s just sex. But its fucking great sex so I cant have him being hunted tonight. I cannot be arsed breaking someone else in.”

“Sure, that’s all it is.”

“Kai. Shut the fuck up. Get out of here. And try to find out if you’re piece-of-shit brother is safe.”

“I’m going. I’m going.” With that, laden with his massive hold-all and dragging his case, Kai left the flat. Avery checked her watch. Kai still had plenty of time to get to Steven’s and lock himself in for the night. Theo had better have found some place to hide himself in too. She couldn’t shake the feeling of unease at the fact that she hadn’t heard from Theo in over a week, not since their fight. As couple of days, maybe three, sure, that was their usual after a screaming match, but they never went that long without one of them requesting a booty call. She’d messaged him for a hook up a couple of times but no response or appearance. Definitely not like him. If he was still mad, he’d have sent a ‘fuck you’ message, and if not, he’d always show up. Their last fight had been one of their more tame. Nothing was done or said to in anyway warrant this kind of silence. But he knew how important it was for him to be locked in somewhere and not leave at all for tonight. He was impulsive, but Theo Asher was not stupid or reckless.

The Myth of Fish and Birds.

The Moon lazily rolled his light across the waves lapping the shore, as he stared across the horizon at the distant Sun. Her rays shining on the parts of the Earth where he was yet to appear. She was always just out of reach; forever leaving as he arrived. For millennia, he had been deprived of feeling her full power, of being warmed by her rays. He knew she was as lonely as he, that the Earth had lost its appeal. The wonders of the world no longer amazed them, and the Moon could live forever this way in the dark, if he only knew that she enjoyed the light.

He had seen her watch the animals way below her burning body, and knew that he feeling of isolation grew as they frolicked in her rays. The Moon wished there was a way that he could bridge the space between the glorious Sun and the company she longed for.

So when the Lunar Gods and Goddesses convened in the Moon’s sacred crater, he asked, in return for his diligent service, if they would aide him in giving the Sun a gift. He told them of her longing for company, of her waning light and of their shared feeling of loneliness and lack of joy at the world. It was not the Moon’s words, nor the feeling behind them that tempted the deities to fulfil the Moon’s selfless request. The crashing waves mirroring the strength of the Moon’s plea and the wolves howling their support did nothing to move the powerful beings. They were convinced only by the challenge that it presented. The Lunar Gods and Goddesses rarely could resist a chance to show off all that they could do. They knew that it would be difficult, as nothing could get too close to the Sun, her heat was too intense. But an animal that could get closer to her than those on land; a creature that she could watch play amongst her rays and the clouds, not just under them. There was such a great and empty distance between the animals of the Earth and the Sun’s scorching surface, this knew creature could fill this gap and make her feel less removed. It would have to rest upon the Earth, but could live in the vacant skies.

The Moon’s gift would have strong, feathered limbs to propel it high towards the Sun, into the clouds, and allow it to soar through the air for the Sun’s enjoyment. It was decided that the creation would make it’s bed high in the trees, so it was always as close to the Sun as possible. It was silvery-grey to signify was sent by the Moon. The deities made many, so that the Sun had a flock to watch and the numbers would continue to grow.

When the time and place was right, and the Sun beginning to rise, the Lunar deities released the Moon’s wish and they flew up to meet her. They scaled the distance between the ground and clouds with ease, flitting through their white shapes. They climbed and hovered, casting shadows through the Sun’s rays. The Sun shone brighter and warmer that day than she had in centuries, such was her joy at the new link between herself and the world that she was eternally separated from.

As the feathered beasts danced through her light, the Sun saw the silver in their plumes and knew the reason behind the new animals. They were and gift for her, and they were from the mysterious Moon.

The Sun had noticed, and pined for, the Moon as much as he had her. She longed to hear his stories of the night and to see how dark his crater’s shadows would be in her strongest light. She would send as much light over the horizon as possible so that he could be seen as clearly as the stars. It was the only way she had of connecting to him.

AS night descended, she watched him go about his nocturnal duties of controlling the oceans. She saw his melancholy skimming of the waves, and how much he favoured the liquid depths the way she did the expansive land. She wanted to bring him the same joy that he had bestowed upon her, and knew exactly what to do.

When the Gods and Goddesses of the Sun visited, the Sun ordered them to create creatures that would live exclusively in the vast expanses of the seas. The Sun, with her fiery power, could command where the Moon needed to convince. In fear of the Sun’s wrath, the Solar deities quickly set to work and went above and beyond what was asked. Creatures with webbed tails and fins, breathing through holes in the sides of their heads, in every conceivable colour combination inhabited the waters of every corner of the Earth.

Having expected nothing in return, the Moon was surprised to find such beauty to intrigue him as he followed the Sun across the sky. He was fascinated by the fluid movements of the creatures that now filled the once empty oceans. The more joy the Moon felt, the stronger his power raged, the wolves howled until they were hoarse, the waves lapped every shore and, with avid interest, the Moon watched his new charges flurry and adapt.

Called by the Moon’s increased power, the Lunar deities convened once again, to witness the work of their Solar counterparts and resolved not to be out-done. They created hundreds of versions of the Moon’s original gift in varying sizes and colours. Out of spite at initially (they felt) being shown up, they made adaptions of their first design that would swoop down and feed on the Solar deities’ addition to the Earth. The Moon protested, but to no avail. As the Sun seemed to take no offense, he soon let it be.

Eventually, Man would name the Sun and Moon’s gifts and place credit in the hands of an idol of their own imagination. The truth of how birds came to fly through the skies and fish to swim through the depths, would be reduced to a myth at the end of someone’s pen.

Dark and twisted - inspired by a nursery rhyme

Jack and Jill went up the hill under the cover of darkness, powered onwards fuelled by all-consuming love. The full moon seemed to be highlighting the old oak three at the summit beckoning Jack to it. He knew she’d be there waiting, she was always early. When he reached the top, there she was, her chestnut hair loose and blowing in the midnight breeze; her delicate fingers tracing the initials they have carved into the old oak on the night they’d first kissed. He knew it was now or never: he’d lose her if nothing changed. Their love hidden, their whole relationship threated like some dirty secret. And for what? Because his agent and manager insisted the public – particularly his devoted fans – should believe him to be single, for the sake of his career.

The life that Jack Inglis was living was enviable, charmed and one of privilege, but it didn’t feel like his life anymore, not when he had to hide the part of his life that made it all worthwhile. Living his dream wasn’t complete if she wasn’t truly a part of it. He had loved that woman for fifteen years and had finally gotten her back, he was not going to lose her over movie roles. His hand tapped his jacket pocket, the rigid, square lump still there. He smiled. Watching her as she stood beneath the tree that had witnessed them falling in love: first in their teens and then again, now, over a decade later. Of course this is where he would ask her.

As Jack approached, he stood on a twig, causing her to turn and face him. Seeing him, her eyes lit up and she smiled. Jack’s heart skipped a beat, as it always did when she smiled.

Jill looked at Jack: his broad shoulders and chiselled jaw were drool-worthy, he was bigger now, bulkier, due to preparation for filming his next film role; his facial hair, which he always had between shoots, was trimmed but not overly groomed, hunky not primped. It did nothing to hide that jaw line. She watched a smile appear on his face, a smile that made many women across the world swoon. No matter how many times she had seen that smile, Jill swore that she was at risk of doing just that, right there and then. As incredible as his looks were, Jill knew she wouldn’t be quite as enamoured with him, if she hadn’t seen his kindness, his compassion and his gentleman like virtues. She loved him. It consumed her.

Jack held her in his arms, pulling her in tight. Kissing her gently but with deep emotion, he pulled back.

“Sweetheart, I know it’s been difficult and that we can’t keep living like this. And we aren’t going to. Tomorrow, I’m telling Arnie and Hitch that I won’t hide us anymore, I’m going to be open about this, about my life, about what really makes me happy. You.”

“Oh Jack.” Her wide smile and enthusiasm was short-lived. “But Jack, what if they are right? What if it affects job offers, your career?”

“Then we figure it out. Together. I won’t let you go again. I love you. I need to start making decisions based on that.”

“I love you too.” Her hands caressing his face, pulling him in to kiss her. She stopped suddenly.

“Jack, I’ve had this feeling I’ve been getting watched since I got here. When you got here, I thought it had been you. But I still feel it.” Jack could tell she was on edge.

“Honey, don’t worry, there’s no one there. It’s just left over paranoia from having to hide for so long. And even if there is, let them watch, I have nothing to hide.”

Jack picked up the love of his life and spun her around, as her giggling drifted on the night air. Putting her down, he dropped to one knee and pulled a small, square, red-velvet box out of his jacket pocket.

“I have loved you since I was seventeen. You have supported me and understood that I needed to get to where I am now, before I could be who you needed me to be. Even when it hurt you, you got that I needed to achieve those dreams before I could be someone’s partner, before I was ready for this. But I am ready now. You are my most important thing. That is what my life will be based around from this moment on. My life, my dreams, are not complete without you by my side. So, I ask you, under our tree, to marry me.”

“Yes.” Tears of pure joy rolling down her cheeks as the ring was slid gently onto her finger and she swept up into his arms. Sheer happiness radiated off both.

“No!” The crazed scream stopped the night dead. The betrothed couple, shocked, looked towards the figure, dirty and grass-stained, who had appeared from behind a nearby rock. “You can’t marry her. You’re supposed to be with me. We are destined to be together.”

“Jack, who is that? What is she talking about?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“Of course you know who I am. You got my letters, didn’t you, Jacky-Poo?”

“Jacky Poo? Like the letters. Jack, that’s her. She sent you all those letters, all those threats she sent to me.” Her gut was telling her to run, but she wouldn’t leave Jack. “Jack, let’s go home.”

The cogs in Jack’s head were turning.

“Jill? Right? Jill Samson? How are you here? How did you know how to find us?”

“See, I knew you knew who I was. You and I are meant to be, Jacky-Poo, I will always find you.” Jill began to approach the couple. “Now, explain to the skinny bitch that you can’t marry her, get the ring back and we can begin our lives together.”

“You are insane. He isn’t going anywhere with you. We are going home and you are going to jail. You violated the restraining order. You are psychotic!” Ellie raged, this woman had haunted her for too long with her letters, gifts and threats. Elinor Marie Epcott could only be pushed so far.

“Jacky-Poo, are you going to let her speak to me like that?” Fury and a crazed look contorted Jill’s face.

“Ellie, get behind me.” Jack knew that Ellie needed protecting from her own anger, as well as Jill’s.

Elinor clung to Jake’s side, standing slightly behind him.

“Get your hands off him!” Jill ran, crazed, at Elinor. At the last second, Jack pushed Elinor out of the way, and Jill ran, full force, into him. They both stumbled back. Jill tripped on a stone and landed in a patch of wild flowers. Jack, still off-balance and stumbling backwards, tried to regain his footing. His heel caught on one of the old oak’s roots and he went tumbling over the side of the hill, hitting boulders and bumps in the earth. The heart stopping noises of a neck snapping, a skull cracking and bones breaking sounded out, loud and clear, through the midnight silence. Jack pinballed down the steep decline, before landing, lifeless, across the large boulder where he used to find Ellie reading while she waited for him.

Ellie was frantic, her panic-stricken mind trying to figure out a way to get to Jack. She was about to run to him, when she heard a gun being cocked.

“If anyone is going to go to him, it is going to be me.” Jill had the gun aimed at Elinor, walking around her, eyes never leaving her face.

“You killed him. You don’t get to go anywhere near him.” Elinor stood her ground, unblinking and hating.

Jill stopped at the point where Jack had fallen.

“Wrong. Now, you will never have him, and I’ll be with him forever.”

Before Elinor could do anything, Jill put the gun into her mouth and fired. She fell, following Jack’s deathly descent, at least at first. Quickly, her path deviated from his. She landed several feet and further up the hill.

Elinor stood alone, her hand placed over a heart and two sets of initials carved into bark, as she let out the primal, gut-wrenching scream of a woman breaking completely. She was found the next morning, curled up under the old oak dirty, cold and mute. Her hands scraped and bleeding; her nails broken and missing and her body bruised and fractured. The bark that she had abused, taking her every emotion out on it, appeared untouched, as strong and permanent as ever.

The news reported that Jack fell down, broke his crown and Jill went tumbling after.

Only one in the universe

Dear Orion,                        

                                You’ve been gone twenty years and you haven’t come home once. Maybe you’ve been waiting for me to join you, like I’ve been waiting for you to come back. I know the plan was for me to join the Scouters when I turned twenty-one and apply to whatever expedition you were assigned to. But things changed. I had a son. Your son, Orion. You have a nineteen-year-old son that you have never met.  I tried to contact you, I swear O, but they wouldn’t let me. My contact requests were met with claims that you were out of range. I know it was because you might leave when you got the news. I know this letter, like all the others, won’t reach you either. I told him about his daddy, all the time. We have always kept up with where you are and your explorations. He grew up so proud to be your son. He looks so much like you, O. Clone like really, you’d love it. His name is Fawke. In just under two years, he’ll turn twenty-one, and, just like his father before him, he’ll be on the first expedition possible. He’s top of his class at Rho Ion Hirsch Academy. Just like his mum. Thank goodness he got my brains, huh?

I know the search for the other life-forms is ending soon. I hope it means you come home. I really want you to come home. I should have begged you to stay, to wait for me. I should have said to you all the words that have been have been suffocating me for two decades. Instead, I watched you dress, kissed you one last time, and spent over half my life wishing we’d had more than one night. I’m not the eighteen-year-old girl you left that day, but, Ori, I love you as much as she did.

Ori, why didn’t you come back to me? Or for me? That was the deal: us two, a team, exploring the galaxies. We could have been a family, if you had just waited three years. Or, at least, come back after you left. More than I wish you’d been her for myself, I wish it more for you. I wish you’d gotten to see Fawke grow up. You’d have loved our boy. You’ll probably bump into him once he graduates and leaves with the Scouters. If you do, Ori, you will know instantly who he is. I’m sorry you’ll find out that way.

Please, look out for our boy, Orion.

Love always,

                                Jinks.

632 Earth Days Later…

It was a detour, but as was custom, The Torque Scalar, rounded Pluto as a mark of respect to those men, women and children who lost their lives trying to settle on its surface. Every vessel crewed by the Planetary and Galactic Scouters adhered to this memorial ritual. Before long, Orion saw the surface of Earth, they were approaching fast. He hadn’t set foot on his ‘home’ planet for twenty-two years, and he hadn’t missed it. There was only one thing that would have tempted him to return over the years, but there was no way she’d still be there, so there would have been no point. She was too restless, too desperate to explore. It was her who dreamed of being a Scouter and leaving Earth, he’d caught the bug from her. He could see her now; teenaged and eager, pointing out stars and plotting courses for explorations, her eyes all lit up and smiling. Oh, that smile. Everyone always said only two things brought out that smile: talking about scouting and him. Orion never really believed the latter, until he kissed her the night before he left. It had hit him then; all the chances he had missed, what he could have had. Memories of his Jinks and that last night consumed his mind until the rough landing jolted him back to reality. Home. It had never felt like home. He’d been born on a ship, and as soon as he stepped back onto one, aged twenty-one, he knew why living on a planet never fit. He’d spent half his life looking for inhabited planets, and just like generations of Scouters before him, hadn’t found a single one. Proof of civilisations that had once been, but none that still were. The last pockets of the religious orders claimed the ‘once were’s had been failed consecutive creations of God, and Earth his victorious success. The extensive proof that several were inhabited at the same time quickly stopped any rational thinking minds believing such twaddle. The nutters continued because, who needs logic when you have your mutual imaginary friend and his two official biographies?

Disembarking and making his way through the crowd, Orion headed for the passageway to the debriefing room.

“Doctor Krims. Doctor Krims.”

Krims.

Turning to find the voice, he watched a scarred body limp on an apparently recently acquired prosthetic through the crowd until he reached the doctor.

Joelle Nova Krims.

She’s still here?

He hair was loosely pinned back, with wild tendrils breaking free; the curves of her body softer but still gorgeous, and due to the reduced gravity, she had aged incredibly well. By the time his brain had taken in what he was seeing, the man had left the doctor’s side.

‘Jinks. A doctor?  And, still on Earth? Why was she still on Earth?

Desperate to hear her voice, Orion lunged in her direction, needing to be near her. He lost sight of her in the crowd for a few moments. When he found her again, she was staring at a face he recognised as his own, but it wasn’t his face. Had someone cloned him? Orion shook his head.

Jinks was crying now, clinging to the boy. Saying goodbye. Again.

“Fawke Orion Krims.”

The name hit Orion like an Axon blaster. Looking frantically to the side of a ship for a name. The Mickey. That only meant one thing: Plutonian Settlement. Orion watched, frozen, as his son boarded the ship and Jinks crumbled.

As Fawke disappeared from sight, so did Orion’s chance to get to know his son. History was repeating itself, and this time it would kill Orion Saros Rigel’s only child.

31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 31 - 'Heavy'

Heavy

You ask “is it heavy?”

I say “Some days”

Some days it’s two back packs filled with stones.

One my front, one on my back.

Some days it’s someone in the mirror that I hate.

Some days I forget it’s there…

then I see a reflection.

Some days it’s guilt that I’ve ruined a group photo.

Some days it’s a zip across my mouth

When I want to talk to the subject of a crush.

Some days it’s the voice in my head telling me I’m not lovable

Because of this extra weight that I carry.

Some days it’s the pea in the mattress that stops me from resting comfortably.

Some days it’s the choking regret of every mouthful.

You ask “is it heavy?”

I say “some days.”

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 30 - 'Striped Curtains'

Striped Curtains

She knew that she was acting like a petulant child, that realistically, it wasn’t that big a deal. But, if she was being honest, she didn’t care. Her monster-in-law was getting her way, Sadie sure as hell did not have to act happy about it. Hell, exactly where Sadie wanted to send the mustard and pea-green atrocity that her mummys-boy husband was currently replacing her beautiful, carefully chosen, cream and dusty rose floral curtains.

“They don’t even go! The walls are salmon for fuck sake! Why are we redecorating for a woman who visits once a year?” Sadie’s lip was curled in disgust, matching her tone. “She’s going to point out that the room no longer matches the curtains.”

“which is exactly why you chose the new colour.” Connor smirked.

“Damn right. So, why are we changing the curtains?” Sadie’s brain was churning, trying to figure out if there was a way for a deliberately placed candle to ruin the curtains without damaging her living room.

“You cant burn the curtains without burning the room.” Connor stared her down, a note of mocking  in his voice.

Sadie was about to ask how he could have possibly known what was going through her head.

“We’ve been married for five years, honey, I know my wife. “ He chuckled, “Plus, I can see your mind churning and you keep glancing between the candle and the curtains.”

Sadie rolled her eyes.

“We are destroying them the second she leaves. I mean it. I’m cutting them up and burning them straight to hell. Where they belong.”

“Sade, my mom spent a lot of money on them. They were a wedding gift.”

Oh, she remembered that clearly. The “accidentally” left on; the moment she opened the precisely wrapped gift to reveal the ugliest pair of striped curtains she had ever seen. A clear and passive-aggressive comment on how Connor’s mother felt about his new wife.

Sadie had thought that once they were married, Connor would cut the apron strings once and for all, but he was still bending over backwards for the she-demon. Daily, hour-long phone calls, bringing out all the ugly things she had gifted them over the years every time s he visited, calling her after every fight and, worst of all, always discussing life decisions with his mother before his wife and valuing the former’s opinion over the latter’s.

Connor had never believed Sadie that his mother hated her, could not see a bad bone in his dear old mum. He found it entertaining. Just one of Sadie’s little quirks. But it was real.

And one of these days, Sadie wasn’t going to put up with it anymore.

31 Day Writing Challeneg #2: Day 29 - 'Inner Workings'

Inner Workings.

What do you do when everything that you do makes your own mother dislike you?

How do you deal when how you act and re-act to the world, angers someone who is meant to love you unconditionally?

Why does it feel like it is your fault that she doesn’t understand the inner workings of you mind and heart?

Can someone tell me what’s so wrong with how I am? With who I am?

And why is it only her that can see it?

It’s been twenty-six (and a bit) years and I don’t have the answers to any of these questions.

I’m not who she wants me to be. I’m not someone she likes. Or respects. Or wants around.

And it hurts.

31 Day Writing Challenge #2: Day 28 - 'Rough Cut'

Rough Cut.

We both know I’m different.

Cut from a different cloth.

I thought you knew, I thought you understood.

That when I was cut, it wasn’t neat, it wasn’t tidy.

My edges are rough, my corners are frayed.

I believed you when you said you loved me and my flaws.

I had faith that you would be the one to finish the job.

You were supposed to be the one to clean up my edges.

Help me shape myself into what I wanted to be.

I guess that was too big a job,

Not worth the work.

So here I lie.

In a worse state than before,

Because, you see, dear friend,

When you walked away, you had one of my threads still wrapped around your little finger,

And the further away you go, the more frayed I become,

The messier I appear.

And a part of my will always be your’s,

A part of my make up will always be tied to you.

You can move on with your life,

But I will forever remain waiting for you to come back.