The Ring

The ring he had stolen at age 15 was still in his pocket today. It was always in his pocket, no matter what he wore. Even his pajamas, he made sure they had a pocket for the ring.

His father had no right to give his mother’s ring to another woman. Try to make him call her “Mother” too…

She was not his mother!

He had known it then. He knew it now. That had never changed.

At his father’s funeral, he toyed with the ring in his pocket. Stood as far away from the woman as he possibly could.

Mourned the loss of someone who had never loved him as he should. Now never would.

The man his father actually was… That was not worth grieving. But the loss of that final, stubborn, tiny drop of hope?

That was worth a little bit of sorrow, surely. So he let himself cry just a bit.

After the burial, everyone assembled at his father’s house. The house that had once belonged to his mother.

A house that woman had completely changed. Renovated. Redecorated. Torn down walls and changed the order of things.

Where his bedroom had once been was now a bathroom.

Where his mother had slept was butler’s pantry.

Nothing of the old house was as it had been.

Good.

So much easier to walk away from once again.

That woman tried to ingratiate herself to him there. Said how sorry she was that he had lost his father. That they should share their grief.

There was no grief to share with her.

There was nothing he wanted to share with her. Ever.

Then… Ah, there it was:

“You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to my ring, would you?” she asked. “My engagement ring with your father? It went missing about the same time as you disappeared. Only some few days after that.”

“No,” he lied. “I would not know anything at all about your ring.”

He looked her right in the eyes, defiantly. Toyed with his mother’s ring in his pocket even as he spoke.

She looked at his pocket then. He stilled his hand.

Had she guessed? Could she tell?

“You really should sleep here tonight,” she said. “After all… This used to be your home as well.”

“No. Thank you,” he said.

That night she showed up at his hotel. Inside his room.

She looked like her true self.

Gone was the beauty had fooled his father and all the world.

Gone was the porcelain skin. The brown curls. The classical features with just the right amount of tiny imperfection to make her look human, instead of something else.

Here was the creature he had caught a glimpse of in a mirror her second night at their house. His mother’s mirror that had always shown only truth to those with eyes to see it.

His mother always said he had her eyes.

The mirror showed her as she was: Gray. Crawling with maggots. With teeth and nails that were long, sharp, and cooked. Partly missing too. With eyes of burning fire. Five of them.

His father had given her his mother’s ring. Had placed it around her finger. And the mirror had shown him the creature’s smile of triumph.

He had known it there and then: He had to get his mother’s ring away from her.

His father had yelled it was “None of your business!!” when he had tried to talk about his mother’s ring. Hit him. Hard. Kicked him more than once.

So he crawled away and ran.

Came back a few nights later for the ring.

Crept inside all quiet from a window with a broken latch. Sneaked into the master bedroom. Slipped it off her finger as she slept beside his snoring father.

The most terrifying moment of his life. Until now.

That night he had succeeded in getting away unnoticed. Had never once returned until the funeral.

But now he was caught. Cornered.

“Where is the Ring??!!” bellowed the ghastly creature that had stolen his mother’s place so soon after she had died. “You have it! I know you have it! All these years… I’ve been looking and looking for it! Searching!! And you! You had it all along!!“

The ring was not big. It was meant to be worn by a woman who was small like his mother.

Luckily, his own hands weren’t all that big either. His fingers were slender and long.

While the ring was too small for his ring finger, it could be slipped halfway on his pinkie. And that was enough.

He had only tried it on once, but he knew its Power from that time. Could well remember it coursing through his veins.

So he put it on.

“No,” said the creature. “No!! You cannot!! You are a man! Only a female can use the Ring!!!“

“Yeah??” said he. “I guess for once it’s lucky I’m not cis.”

And he called forth the Power of the Ring. And he glowed with a light so bright it was blinding even to the creature whose own eyes were always aflame.

And from his heart and from his hands he sent a beam of concentrated Power to burn away this monster who had haunted his dreams ever since his father brought her to their home.

She was not the worst that would come after the Ring in his lifetime. Only the first he met.

Always he was helped by their assumption that he was nothing other than what he showed the world.

Becoming a Hero

She had saved lives before. Had rescued people from a burning building. Had put a stop to a terrorist attack.

She still bore scars from when her powers were almost enough to keep a meteorite from destroying a farmhouse. Her body slowed it down enough the whole family got out alive.

She had done so many things in her lifetime. Some she could be proud of, and some… not so much.

Certain things were best not thought about.

But never had she really believed it until now. Never had she felt it. Till now.

“Mommy!” he said. “Mommy! You’re a hero!!”

The kitten cradled in her arms purred. It would be fed. After days trapped underneath a collapsed pile of rubble, it was free, because she used the last of her power to get it out.

No more would be coming.

She was all human now. Same as anyone else. Just with some stranger stories to tell, if she ever reached a point where she was able to talk about things.

“Mommy! You’re a hero!!”

Yes.

Yes, she was.

A hero. Here and now.

Damn, it felt good to believe it at last. No longer acting only out of guilt.

Keleadkan

The way that energy beam made contact with his body. First nothing, and then… Bits of him flying everywhere.

I wish I could forget.

I kissed him under a Keleadkan. Its leaves made gentle music in the wind. The soundtrack of our love. 

I watched your eyes when I pulled the trigger. I know you understood.

Though they lied when they said I could keep one. Choose between the two. Our son and you. They lied, and I think we both knew even then that they would take him too, but we had to try.

Hope.

They took our son. Killed him moments after.

Would have taken our daughter too, had they but known. But they did not.

She had not yet shown.

I assumed they would kill me too. Me and the child I carried, unbeknownst to them. I thought: No way they’ll let me live. And I was ready.

Ready to join you and our son.

But they did not.

They chose to let me live so I would mourn.

Suffer from the loss of all I’d loved.

Those fools did not understand that mourning was not my way. My people’s way was vengeance.

It took me a long, long time to raise our daughter to fight beside me. To teach her the road of revenge.

Today we have killed the last of them. A great, great grandchild of one that was involved. A babe.

When I looked in its eyes I almost faltered in my resolve to see them dead.

Almost.

Now they are gone. Without an heir in the world they are gone. Without a seed to bring them back.

My people will be born again. Borne by our daughter. You and I shall return. As they will not.

I kiss my daughter. Bless her body that will bring us back.

Close my eyes and leave by a knife in my own hand.

In time, I cry as a newborn babe.

He picks me up, and carries me in his arms. Cradles me under a Keleadkan. Its leaves make gentle music in the wind.

The soundtrack of our love.

Isolation

It’s a solitary planet. Just circling its sun, with no other celestial body within centuries of travel.

I don’t know why my people came here. What they were getting away from is a mystery.

All I know is this: They built a magnificent civilization on this world. And then they died.

Little by little, all the bloodlines died out. Every dynasty. Every family. All dwindled down till it’s only me.

I was not the last child to be born upon this world. I even had a child of my own, once.

My son and his wife died in an accident on the Northern Mountains.

That was what..? Twenty five… twenty six years ago now… Something like that.

It’s been me all alone ever since then on this planet, as everyone else was already gone. We were the last people surviving.

Now I am.

I told him he should not have gone to the Northern Mountains. He and his wife should’ve stayed with me!

Would still be alive.

Them and that child of mine that she was carrying.

Should have stayed with me.

Would be alive.

Just me now…

Just me.

Son

“You were supposed to give me a son!!” bellowed the Beast.

“How am I to help it if your seeds only ever produce flowers?” replied a Foolish Fairy cowering in a corner of the room.

That evening, the Beast ate every fairy in the land.

Come morning, he finally pooped a son. A son who cut him into pieces with the first knife he found. Burned those pieces in a fire on a night with a young slither of a moon. Buried the ashes under a ghost berry.

Come full moon, the land was once again full of fairies. With one young Beast around to bring them seeds for flowers and no son.

Love

She tells me to “Hang on tight to the rope now. Don’t go anywhere,” said with a smirk.

I know the Woman means to kill me. I have to climb up. One hand atop the other.

If I don’t, the sudden drop of the rope will kill me when it happens, and my story will be much shorter than I’d like. Even if I do manage the climb, the drop may still kill me, if I fail to hold on to the rope. If it surprises while I’m still climbing. If I’m too tired to hold on.

I manage the climb before the drop comes. I’m somehow able to hold on.

I think she’s disappointed I’m still alive.

They help me down. Take me to my cell to wait for tomorrow’s challenges.

It will be the last day of this. I dread to think what they’ve come up with.

I put away my fear, and sleep.

In the morning I find it is far worse than I could ever have imagined.

I am taken to a room where there are two seats. On one of them is Elayla, bleeding. Tied to the seat with ropes. Tortured badly. All night, by the looks of it. The whole time when I was sleeping…

On the other seat, Gharez. My bestest friend since childhood. My only friend.

Gharez looks well. He has gold on him, and excellent food before him. He pretends to be enjoying his meal, though I can tell he’s troubled by what’s been done to Elayla. He knows what she means to me.

I am told to choose. Sit upon the seat of one of them. And share their fate.

I look at the Woman. Her. I know she means to kill me.

I look at Gharez. Catch his eye, and hold it for a moment. He understands. Caresses the gold bangles upon his arm. Takes his next bite of the food, and relishes it like never before.

I sit down beside Elayla. Wish that I could take away her pain.

They cut Gharez’s throat swiftly with the sharpest of knives. My childhood friend’s blood flows onto the gold and on the food. I watch him die. So fast.

“I like your choice,” says the Woman. If my eyes could kill, she would be dead.

Elayla and I are taken to a large room where two wooden X’s stand. Each on one side of the deepest pit between them. Tilted a little forward, but not too much. Not so as to keep us from seeing each other’s faces as we are tied onto these X’s. Just enough to ensure the blood flows nicely into the pit as they go to work upon us both. Cutting. With long-handled tools of torture. Designed for this.

I see the last light of sanity leave Elayla’s eyes. Half a painful eternity later, the light of life.

The torture goes on forever. Yet somehow strangely it also ends.

It is finally over.

“The Queen! The Queen is come! Death walks in the room!” I do not know if someone shouts those words for real, or if they are only in me.

All others are gone.

She, the Woman who wants me dead, is speaking. I hear her words from beyond the pain.

“We need a strong leader. Someone with no weaknesses at all. If you survive this…

(“please may you survive this…” But surely I imagine that only. She wants me dead.)

If you survive nine hundred and ninety nine cuts, both allies and enemy alike know that you were born to lead! Suffering makes strong. Pain… makes strong. We are survivors. We will live.”

She leaves.

Everyone is gone. I am alone upon the wooden X. Bleeding into the pit, but still surviving.

They will take me down in the morning. I know. Take Elayla’s body down as well.

Sometime in the night, in my delirium I speak. “Suffering and pain may make us strong, but Love… was what made life worth… living…

Mother.”

For the Love of Goodbye

“Oh, for the love of God, will you stop doing that?!!!” Harry bellows all of a sudden while waiting for the red lights to turn green. His booming voice fills the inside of the small, yellow car his son is driving to take his father home after a visit to his own new apartment.

“Stop doing what?” asks his son Thomas, pure innocence painted all over his face.

“That! That… thing you’re doing! The thing that’s making that sound!”

“What sound?” Thomas asks, still smiling innocent. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Well, of course not. You’re not doing it right now, now are you?!”

“Doing what? Honestly dad, you ought to get your ears checked if you think you’re hearing something. Or maybe it’s your brain. You sure your auditory cortex isn’t hallucinating?” Thomas’ face is full of concern for his father’s wellbeing.

“Damn right, I’m sure it’s not!” Harry shouts. “I don’t know what you’re doing that makes that noise, but you are doing it, and it has to stop!!”

“I can assure you, dad, I’m not doing anything. Nor have I been doing anything since the beginning of this drive to produce any kind of a sound at all,” Thomas says in all seriousness, honesty and earnestness.

The lights turn green. The drive continues.

For the shortest while, Harry hears nothing out of the ordinary. Then, there it is again, the most annoying sound he’s ever heard, and it keeps and keeps on repeating frequently at completely random intervals.

Intolerable! Yet tolerate it Harry must, as he dares not disturb his son’s concentration while he drives.

Harry grinds his teeth.

By the time they hit red lights again, Harry’s had enough.

“For the love of God, let me out right here! Stop at the curb after the crossing! I can’t take that sound one minute longer! I’ll walk home!!”

“What sound?” Thomas asks again, all innocent.

“Let. Me. OUT!”

“Okay, okay… Geez… There’s no need to get all upset. I’m just trying to understand what it is you think you’re hearing.”

As soon as the lights have changed and they’re clear of the crossing, Thomas pulls up at the curb and lets his father get out. Harry is muttering to himself the whole time, and continues so for quite a while as he walks towards his home.

When Harry gets out of the car, Thomas hears him say again “For the love of God…” As soon as his father is out of earshot, Thomas counters softly to himself “For the love of goodbye.”

“Is he gone yet?” someone asks.

“Almost,” Thomas replies, still speaking softly. He smiles, and waves at his father when Harry looks back towards the car. Harry is clearly still muttering cranky things to himself. He continues walking.

After a while Thomas says in a more normal voice “It’s safe now. He can’t either see or hear us anymore. You can come on out.”

A tiny red demon climbs out of Thomas’ shirt pocket and onto his shoulder.

The little demon has sharp, spiral horns upon his head. Incredibly green eyes. Long, curly black hair, almost to his knees. Two gold chains around his neck. One tiny diamond earring.

He is dressed in a fancy shirt with its sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular arms, coupled with a pair of Hawaiian shorts. On his feet, he wears rope sandals.

“Finally!” the demon exclaims. “You know your father was driving me insane since the moment he arrived at our place.”

“I know. Me too. I don’t know why he thought it would be a good idea to drop by unannounced,” Thomas replies.

“And expecting a ride home… Geez! What? He thinks his son has no life? No plans? No places to be going?”

“That pretty much sums it up, yeah,” Thomas replies. “Although, to be fair, I don’t exactly tell him about my plans and about my life…”

“And why would you? Such an annoying old grump. It’s not like he’d ever understand.”

“So true. Thanks for making him walk, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” the demon replies.

“What was that sound, anyway?” Thomas asks. “It was so awful, it took every ounce of acting skill I’ve got to appear unaware of it.”

“Oh, believe me, you don’t wanna know,” the demon grins.

“You’re probably right. Forget I asked. Now let’s get on with the task at hand.”

“Right,” replies the demon brightly. “Places to be. Creatures to kill. Drive on, my man.”

Thomas starts the engine of his little yellow car. Begins to drive, and swiftly pulls a u-turn. Heads back the way they came, and past his home, driving on.

But Not That Year

They would travel. But not that year.

They’d catch a ride to the stars, explore the galaxy. But not that year.

They’d travel to the farthest reaches of the universe and catch a falling diamond rain. But not that year.

Always, always he promised her they would travel. Always, always she asked him when. “Soon. Soon.” But not that year.

Not the year that they were living. Not the year that they still had before he died.

And never in the years that followed.

The years were hard. The times were difficult, to say the least. They always had been. From the moment of her birth until the day her father died, the years were bad.

And then when he was gone, the years were worse. The times were ten times harder still. They always would be.

She had son. He was born when she was too young for the burden of bearing. She bore him nonetheless. She raised him too. She had a son.

When he asked her about the stars, she told him they would travel to them soon. When he was older. Just a little older still. A little bigger. They would travel soon. But not that year.

And when he grew, when he was taller than his mom, she said that they would travel soon. But not that year.

It was not until she died that he could travel. It was not until.

Upon her dying day she gave him everything she’d ever scraped together. All she’d ever saved. She gave him all she had.

And together with all that he had, there it was: just enough funds to travel to the stars at last. But not that year. Not the year of mourning.

The following year, he married. He could not travel then. The next year they had a little baby.

His son was ill. They needed a doctor to save his life. He could afford one!!!

Their son was saved.

And when their little boy grew old enough to ask about the stars, he picked him up and carried him so high upon his shoulders and he said, he said that they would travel. They would travel to them soon.

Dripping Dreams

A donut is dripping its glazing all over the kitchen table. Damn this heat. There’s flies all over. Attracted to the sugar. Laying their eggs in the quickly rotting carcass on the floor.

He was a man.

He was a real man he was. Strong. Capable.

Quick to temper he was. He beat his wife and daughter time and time again. Oh, he was a man. Oh such a Man with a capital M.

The hell he was.

He was just a worm. A maggot like the ones now crawling in his body on the kitchen floor.

I sit in the living room drinking an ice cold soda.

The donut drips its glazing in my dreams at night long after it is gone all this is gone it will be dripping in my dreams. I know it will.

I stand in the kitchen doorway looking at his body at the flies and at the donut on the table growing mold.

I rush in to snatch another soda I rush out.

I haven’t liked to spend any time in the kitchen since the day he died.

I rush in. I grab another soda. I get out.

I buried her in the garden. Put flowers on her grave I made a wreath.

I buried her in the garden with flowers on her grave I made a wreath I will. I’ll make another wreath for her I will. I promise that I will.

She stopped him hurting me again. She got in his way and she stopped him. Slowed him down.

He killed her for it. He beat her to death and I… I killed him because of that. I killed him for killing her.

When he was drunk enough I killed him. When he passed out on the kitchen floor I took a knife. I killed him cut him open.

I buried her in the garden left him there on the kitchen floor.

He brought the donuts for my birthday. He never could remember when it was my birthday. He never did remember when it was.

He meant to bring those donuts for me. For me upon my birthday it was not my birthday then. I should not have said that. I should not have told him it was not my birthday. Shouldn’t have told him anything should have smiled.

He killed her when she helped me. For standing in his way. I killed him and left him to rot.

It is my birthday now. He never did remember when it was. My birthday is today is now. Today it is my birthday.

Today I am fourteen I miss my mom.

Lilies in a Vase

So beautiful this perfectly decorated room. So bright with sunlight. So simple and so calm.

The walls are white. The furniture is functional. There is nothing in this room that isn’t carefully considered and fully thought through.

No clutter. No mess. No unnecessary frivolous trinkets. None.

A perfect calm. A perfect peace. A perfect balance of all things simple and serene.

One single splash of color. Lilies in a vase upon a table. Perfect touch.

Slowly a petal falls. All balance broken.

They say he cut up their five-year-old son while the parents watched helpless, nailed onto the wall.

They say he took ten days before they died.

They say he delivered flowers to their home. They say he had flowers delivered to their funeral as well. Sent lilies to them all. That’s what they say.