[Note: this is entirely imagined from the Hawaiian myth of the goddess Pele, the deity of fire and the volcanoes. Legend has it that she did something to upset her sister Na-maka-o-KahaŹ»i, the goddess of the ocean (in some stories, by sleeping with her husband, Aukele-nui-a-iku, whom Pele later marries anyway). Namaka drives Pele away to the Hawaiian islands, where every time Pele tries to make a home on one of the islands (in geologic order of the volcanoes erupting) Namaka destroys with the ocean. My question is why Namaka would do this. Really. Oh sod off.]
And there she stood, her dress as dark as the midnight depths, her eyes as blue as the clearest, calmest waters, her hair as white as the frothy waves, crashing about her seashell face and strong shoulders. I could almost feel her take a breath as the waves retreated over the pebble beach, with the whooshing whistle of the pores in the lava rock. She needn't even use her magic on me; I was spellbound by simply watching the waves break behind her, a cacophonous tumble of azure and turquoise smashing into the purest white as they met the impossible spikes of blackest basalt, themselves splashing forever to the overcast sky. She smiled at me, her lips a ruby red koi in the most tranquil of ponds. She was fantastically spectacular, enchantingly unobtainable, and oh-so gorgeously, physically, actually, here. I stumbled forward, scraping my hands and knees only to stand back up again, unwilling to take my eyes away for fear that she would wash away again, like a footprint on the sand, fade back into her underwater bliss. She turned, and the ocean turned with her, the currents rushing around rocks and swirling in tide pools as she slowly, vaguely changed her focus.
“Namaka!” I found my voice, weak against the thunder of the surf. “Namaka, no!” I fell again, feeling the A'a slice deep into my arm. I didn't care. Warm blood oozed over my elbow, dripping off my fingertips into the salty spray. She froze as the droplets of red eddied in the clear blue, as if she had heard something familiar and couldn't quite place it. I almost laughed, half leaping, half sprinting the small distance between us. I grabbed her hand in both of mine; it was small and pale and comfortably tangible. I squeezed it, hot blood filling the spaces between our fingers.
“Namaka,” I said quietly again, one tear streaking down my cheek, of happiness or pain I did not know. “It's me, Aukele. Don't you remember?”
Her tropical sapphire eyes were seeing past me and her voice was distant and indistinct. “I am the ocean. I remember nothing but the waves upon my shoulders.”
“No,” I said forcefully, clenching her hand in mine. “You are Namaka.” I reached up to lightly cup her face. “I love you. Remember that?”
“I remember nothing.” Her eyes locked on to mine with all the strength of a riptide. “I am the ocean and the ocean is me. I am forever stretching to every last little island. I am the crushing unknown of the deep. I am the waves, curling and breaking and coming again. That is all I know.” I watched her crystal blue eyes spill over with tears. “That is all I am.” A tremendous splash behind her punctuated her sentence.
I gripped her fragile face with both hands, keeping her aquamarine eyes locked on my muddy brown ones. “Namaka. It's me. You know me. I used to pick you flowers, the ones you couldn't reach, to tie in your hair. You would gather shells to line your garden, and I would steal fruit from it before it was ripe. You would stare at the moon and tell me she was smiling, even though I never saw it. Namaka, think! You know me.” She squeezed those divine eyes shut, my crimson fingers staining her ghostly cheeks. I pressed my forehead against hers.
“I promised you all the stars in the heavens if you would make me poi and show me how the moon smiled. You know me. I know you do.”
She opened her teary eyes, now turned the beautiful brown color I loved when she was mortal. “Aukele?” I sighed, a half sob, and nodded. “You're hurt.”
“What?” I checked my hand, painted red, smearing on her flawless face. “It's just the rocks. Namaka, come home with me.”
She shook her head, tears cutting tracks on her sandy face. “The ocean. It's in my head. It's too overwhelming, I can't escape it.” I hugged her, pressing my stinging eyes into her unearthly white hair. “I can't think. All waves.”
I released her enough to examine her brown eyes again. “It's all right now. You can do it, you've made it this far.”
She sniffed, wiping at tears with one too-white hand. She looked down at her fingers, seeming to slow down, like time was not important enough for her. “The rocks cut you,” she repeated in an ethereal tone, rubbing my blood between her fingertips.
“Namaka, no.” I tried to connect with her again, but her gaze was fixed.
“Pele,” she all but growled. The waves crashed mercilessly on the rocks, somehow soaking me but leaving her spotless.
“No, NO!” I grabbed her shoulders with sopping hands. “Namaka, remember me! Remember the moon and the flowers and the stars, poi and your garden! Don't go back there!” Her immortal blue eyes snapped up to meet mine.
“Pele did this. She must pay.” Water rushed and retreated around my ankles, leaving little silver fish darting in a forgotten pool. A great wave, bigger than all the ones before it, exploded skyward in a spray of salt, wind and sunshine. It slammed down, hurling me to my knees and ripping her from my arms. I felt about in the crush of water, knowing it was too late. When the waves retreated, rolling back into their peaceful dance of green and blue off the fortress of lava, I was alone, the vast ocean empty before me. The glittering sun shone like a jewel off the rippling surface, the clattering of rocks on the beach echoing in my ears. The brine and spirit on the wind filled my chest as the azure and turquoise tumbled to cloudy white on the dark, dark rock. The waves retreated and returned, an endless lapping on the beach and battering on the sharp cliffs. And although Namaka may always forget, I will always remember.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
The Legend of Red Mountain
“I've always loved the story of that mountain,” she nodded at the darkening silhouette on the edge of their panoramic view. Dusty red rocks stood stark against the green tangle of pine. “Have you ever heard it?”
He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the small box open between his fingertips. She sighed softly, watching birds swoop over the river, fighting noisily in the cement foundations of the bridge for a roosting spot.
“Red Mountain. My favorite story as a kid, although I forget where I heard it.” She twisted her hands in her lap, slowly cracking each knuckle. “Anyway, as the legend goes, the Mountain fell in love with the Dawn.”
He exhaled disbelievingly, raising his head to watch children skip across the bridge, dragging parents by the hand as the traffic roared overhead. She continued to stare at the mountain, the clouds behind it blushing lemon and lavender.
“Mountain loved the Dawn with all his heart. But she was too high in the sky to notice him. Mountain vowed to have her heart even though he was so far on the earth far below her.”
Behind them, neon signs flicked on, buzzing with insects. He turned his head with a slight smile, watching couples wander past on the cobbled street, hand in hand. Her eyes flashed to the box in his hands and back up to the bruising sky.
“Mountain tried to get the Dawn to notice him. He gave her wildflowers, blue and violet and yellow, and they would open their petals when she arrived and smile with all of their glorious colors.” A bicycler raced past, the wind whipping a single second of labored breath and flapping jacket into their ears as he flew by.
“What color would you call the sky right now?” he asked, joining her distant observation.
“I don't know, purple or something.”
“I would say it's more like salmon and robin's egg.”
“Although the flowers were very beautiful, from up high they were nothing more than little pinpricks of color in the forest, and the Dawn couldn't see them. And so, she did not notice Mountain.” There was a shout of disgust and amusement as teenagers paused to spit off the bridge into the river. She watched to see if the drops made a splash in the torrent of murky water, he smirked as the teens playfully slapped at each other. “Mountain decided that his flowers were not enough of a show of his love for the Dawn. So he gave her birdsong, so that the sparrows and jays could fly up high into Dawn's warm embrace and sing of her great beauty.”
Both started in surprise as soft piano music picked up from one of the bars behind the bench. “Nice timing,” he nodded at her lightheartedly.
“This song is overplayed,” she retorted dryly. He let his gaze drop back to the box, salmon and robin's egg twinkling in the velvet. “The birds, although they sang with all their voice, could not fly high enough, and thus the Dawn did not hear of their song, or of Mountain below.”
A small family wandered past, the father juggling a bubbly toddler, the mother smiling softly as she stroked her swollen belly. Behind them, two girls with shocking hairstyles and various piercings linked arms and shared a secret look between them.
She picked dirt out of her fingernails. “Mountain was becoming distraught that the Dawn would never see him. In vain, he cut out his heart for her, using the river as his blade. The water ran red with his blood.”
He watched an elderly couple hobble past, the man never pressing ahead as the woman took painstakingly slow steps with her walker. She paused with her story until the couple had passed.
“Mountain gave his heart to a cloud to send up to the Dawn. The cloud took it, for Mountain had often sheltered him for sleep. But as the cloud carried Mountain's heart higher and higher, the blood began to stain the cloud a bright crimson. By the time the cloud reached the Dawn, he was drenched in Mountain's blood.”
He closed the box with a silent lament. A train thundered past, splitting the dusk with a piercing horn. The sky darkened, the pink and blue growing dusty and gray as the sun dipped behind the mountains. She cleared her throat quietly as the rumble of the train was replaced by cars on the bridge overhead. “The Dawn was enraptured with the cloud's gift and fell in love with him instead. Each morning she paints the clouds red to show her devotion before the Sun can bleach them white.” He cast her a mournful frown, tucking the box into his shirt pocket when she did not meet his gaze.
“What happened to the mountain?” he asked, his voice rusty.
“Mountain left his chest open and bleeding, for his heart belonged to the Dawn and no one else. You can see it, the mountain is shaped like someone carved out a piece, and it's all red inside,” she concluded tersely. Both watched the moon crest elegantly over the river; an icy eyelash in the deep sky. “I guess it's an adequate poetic description of an alluvial fan colored with iron oxide.”
He stood wearily, shoving his hands roughly into his coat pockets. “I guess it is,” he muttered, stepping carefully around the bench to let her watch the moonrise alone.
He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the small box open between his fingertips. She sighed softly, watching birds swoop over the river, fighting noisily in the cement foundations of the bridge for a roosting spot.
“Red Mountain. My favorite story as a kid, although I forget where I heard it.” She twisted her hands in her lap, slowly cracking each knuckle. “Anyway, as the legend goes, the Mountain fell in love with the Dawn.”
He exhaled disbelievingly, raising his head to watch children skip across the bridge, dragging parents by the hand as the traffic roared overhead. She continued to stare at the mountain, the clouds behind it blushing lemon and lavender.
“Mountain loved the Dawn with all his heart. But she was too high in the sky to notice him. Mountain vowed to have her heart even though he was so far on the earth far below her.”
Behind them, neon signs flicked on, buzzing with insects. He turned his head with a slight smile, watching couples wander past on the cobbled street, hand in hand. Her eyes flashed to the box in his hands and back up to the bruising sky.
“Mountain tried to get the Dawn to notice him. He gave her wildflowers, blue and violet and yellow, and they would open their petals when she arrived and smile with all of their glorious colors.” A bicycler raced past, the wind whipping a single second of labored breath and flapping jacket into their ears as he flew by.
“What color would you call the sky right now?” he asked, joining her distant observation.
“I don't know, purple or something.”
“I would say it's more like salmon and robin's egg.”
“Although the flowers were very beautiful, from up high they were nothing more than little pinpricks of color in the forest, and the Dawn couldn't see them. And so, she did not notice Mountain.” There was a shout of disgust and amusement as teenagers paused to spit off the bridge into the river. She watched to see if the drops made a splash in the torrent of murky water, he smirked as the teens playfully slapped at each other. “Mountain decided that his flowers were not enough of a show of his love for the Dawn. So he gave her birdsong, so that the sparrows and jays could fly up high into Dawn's warm embrace and sing of her great beauty.”
Both started in surprise as soft piano music picked up from one of the bars behind the bench. “Nice timing,” he nodded at her lightheartedly.
“This song is overplayed,” she retorted dryly. He let his gaze drop back to the box, salmon and robin's egg twinkling in the velvet. “The birds, although they sang with all their voice, could not fly high enough, and thus the Dawn did not hear of their song, or of Mountain below.”
A small family wandered past, the father juggling a bubbly toddler, the mother smiling softly as she stroked her swollen belly. Behind them, two girls with shocking hairstyles and various piercings linked arms and shared a secret look between them.
She picked dirt out of her fingernails. “Mountain was becoming distraught that the Dawn would never see him. In vain, he cut out his heart for her, using the river as his blade. The water ran red with his blood.”
He watched an elderly couple hobble past, the man never pressing ahead as the woman took painstakingly slow steps with her walker. She paused with her story until the couple had passed.
“Mountain gave his heart to a cloud to send up to the Dawn. The cloud took it, for Mountain had often sheltered him for sleep. But as the cloud carried Mountain's heart higher and higher, the blood began to stain the cloud a bright crimson. By the time the cloud reached the Dawn, he was drenched in Mountain's blood.”
He closed the box with a silent lament. A train thundered past, splitting the dusk with a piercing horn. The sky darkened, the pink and blue growing dusty and gray as the sun dipped behind the mountains. She cleared her throat quietly as the rumble of the train was replaced by cars on the bridge overhead. “The Dawn was enraptured with the cloud's gift and fell in love with him instead. Each morning she paints the clouds red to show her devotion before the Sun can bleach them white.” He cast her a mournful frown, tucking the box into his shirt pocket when she did not meet his gaze.
“What happened to the mountain?” he asked, his voice rusty.
“Mountain left his chest open and bleeding, for his heart belonged to the Dawn and no one else. You can see it, the mountain is shaped like someone carved out a piece, and it's all red inside,” she concluded tersely. Both watched the moon crest elegantly over the river; an icy eyelash in the deep sky. “I guess it's an adequate poetic description of an alluvial fan colored with iron oxide.”
He stood wearily, shoving his hands roughly into his coat pockets. “I guess it is,” he muttered, stepping carefully around the bench to let her watch the moonrise alone.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
White Petals (A Modern Fairy Tale)
Issac plucked at his mini-tuxedo with pride. Being the ring bearer at your own mother's wedding was a big responsibility that only a six-year-old could handle. He grinned up at his soon-to-be father, who ruffled his hair so enthusiastically Issac felt his knees rattle.
“Big day today, Scamp,” The large man rumbled, shoving a little red pillow with a rather unglamorous ring pinned to it into his chest. “Don't screw it up.” With one last clap on the head, he pushed Issac into the hall and snapped the door shut.
Issac looked around awkwardly; no one seemed to be paying attention to him but instead commenced rushing up and down the narrow hallway. The only one apparently not in a hurry was an inexplicably creepy little girl crouched beneath a battered desk with a flower basket in her lap. Ring-pillow clutched tightly against his chest, Issac picked his way over to her through the stampede of secondhand suits and thrift-store ball gowns.
“Selena,” he scolded, leaning down next to the desk, “You're getting your dress all messy. Flower girls are supposed to look pretty. You look ugly and dirty.”
Without looking up from her basket she muttered, “I look better than any old cow here anyway,” she glanced at him. “Including Mommy. It's just a dumb old wedding anyway.”
Issac bristled. “You're dumb,” he countered lamely, glaring at his identical-as-a-girl-can-get sister. She smirked at him through a curtain of black hair, then turned her focus back to her flower basket. Issac scrunched up his face into a frown.
Selena picked out a single white rose petal and stared at it intently. “Do-on't,” Issac whined. The petal flickered in a non-existent breeze and abruptly turned into a small white spider which scuttled across her hand. Selena watched it's journey tranquilly; Issac stamped his foot in frustration. “Those are for the wedding. Stop it!” he fussed as she drew out another petal and proceeded to transform it into another spider. She repeated this four more times, before Issac wailed, “I'm telling!”
Selena stopped pulling out petals and played with a spider, letting it race across her hand and up her arm, then scooping it into her other hand. “No one would believe you.”
Issac pouted as she let the spider march up her sleeve and held out a petal for him to observe. He watched as another spider wiggled into existence and fall from her fingers on a fine thread of silk. She wound the thread around her finger at the same pace the spider was descending, forcing the arachnid to climb endlessly without moving anywhere. “I'm telling that you're mean and filthy and I hate you,” Issac announced spitefully. Selena offered the spider on the thread to him. “Gross!” he objected.
“You're just scared,” Selena taunted. Issac shook his head vigorously. “C'mere,” She shifted to give him room under the desk. Issac crawled under carefully, trying his best to keep his tuxedo clean and precious ring pillow safe. Feet thundered past as Selena positioned the basket between them. They both took out a petal with one hand and held it close to their faces in concentration. Selena's morphed into a spider that took a flying leap onto her nose. Issac's didn't change.
“I liked it the way it was,” he pouted, dropping the petal back into the basket. Selena grinned malevolently at him, the white spider blending with her cheek.
“Here,” She put the basket in his lap while burying her whole hand in the fragrant petals. The basket seemingly exploded with white and pink spiders, thousands of tiny bodies surging over the edge and scampering in all directions. Issac gasped and held his little pillow over his head, scraping the ring on the underside of the desk. Little feet tickled up his arms and neck.
“Selena!” He wailed as spiders flooded his mouth and trickled webs over his eyes. He heard her laugh behind the cobwebs.
***
Selena placed a chair in front of her bookcase and sat it in placidly. Her books loomed in front of her, mocking her. They were in for a surprise. She pulled the first book within her reach off the mahogany shelf and opened it somewhere close to the middle. With a tilt to her head and a smirk in her eyes, she tore a page out with a satisfying, crackling rip. The page drifted to the floor, helpless to halt the murder of novels occurring above it. More pages followed, making paper waves on the carpet.
In the next room over, Issac heaved a sigh and dragged himself out of bed. He could hear the tremendous tearing sounds coming from his sister's room and knew that if he could hear it, his stepfather certainly could. Hoping to stop another outburst in time, Issac silently opened his door and tiptoed over to Selena's room. Poking his head in, he hissed “What are you doing?!” He snaked his body in and quietly closed the door. Selena did not acknowledge his presence, she just sat and demolished her books page by page. “Your books! Are you crazy? Cut it out!” He blew out several black candles next to the door and frantically waved his arms to disperse the smoke.
Selena pulled a fresh book from the shelf and started shredding it, ignoring her identical-as-a-boy-can-get brother fretting all over her room. Every page she ripped out was effortless, like plucking wings off a fly, and she enjoyed dismembering each book.
Issac was fluttering over by her bed, flapping his arms in the light of a lamp he had apparently just turned on. “...Nearly nine years living with this guy, you'd think you'd realize by now that he doesn't like candles, but it's not like you ever listen to me!” he whisper-screamed at her. She tore out several pages at once with an extra flourish. Issac briefly tugged at his hair before snatching the book out of her grasp. “Stop it! Do you like getting screamed at?” His voice rose to almost a conversation level, and out in the living room he could hear grumbling. Issac froze; Selena reached for another book. Issac grabbed her hand before it reached the bookcase with a nervous glance towards the door. Selena turned to look at him for the first time that night, unleashing an eerie, wide-eyed glare on him. Thoroughly used to this creepy look, he just rolled his eyes at her until the door crashed open.
“What the Hell!” came a drunken roar, and Issac felt his arm holding the destroyed book caught in an iron grip. He let go of Selena in surprise. “What the Hell!” his step-father roared again, twisting Issac's arm behind his back, forcing him to drop the book. Issac squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
“Sorry!” he pleaded. “We were just-- it's a project for school-- I mean--”
“Look at this!” his stepfather bellowed. “ All of your damn books I had to buy! You stupid kids!”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Issac yelled, attempting to squirm out of his stepfather's hold before his arm broke.
Selena was still seated in her chair, her back to the entire incident. Amazingly, she started to laugh. Issac's stepfather loosened his grip on Issac's arm in confusion and Issac shook himself free, rubbing his shoulder protectively. Selena's insane giggling reminded him of a cartoon villain, and he stared at her worriedly.
“You. Stupid girl!” His stepfather lunged at Selena. Acting on instinct, Issac knocked him off-course with his hurt shoulder. Both stumbled awkwardly, and Selena stopped laughing and just grinned ghoulishly at her stepfather.
Issac's stepfather looked between the two almost-identical twins; Selena smirking ominously at him, Issac hugging himself with tears drying on his face. He narrowed his eyes and shrieked with rage, charging at Issac this time. Issac closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact of his stepfather's fist; Selena let the smile drip off her face, glaring at her stepfather with unlimited hatred and hostility.
Stars exploded in Issac's eyes as his stepfather struck him and he painfully dropped to the floor. He stared up at his stepfather, feeling like a frightened mouse. At a glance over at his sister however, and he became all the more frightened.
Selena looked like evil itself manifested, a malicious abomination intent on destroying their stepfather. The room grew darker, not from a dimming light, but rather from an excess of shadows. Issac's eyes went wide; his stepfather's were about to pop out of his skull. Selena held out her arms grotesquely as the shadows condensed around her.
“Don't touch my brother,” she intoned poisonously. Her stepfather shook his head, trembling slightly, either from the amount of alcohol in his system or from being truly frightened. Selena tilted her head, her ink-black hair spilling over her face. “Get. Out,” Her stepfather backed out of the room slowly, almost whimpering. Selena dropped her arms and turned back to her bookcase. The shadows melted away, and Issac found it was easier to breathe. Selena delicately plucked a book from a shelf and sat down.
“Thanks,” Issac whispered, scrubbing his face and getting to his feet.
“Don't mention it,” She began ripping out pages again, one by one.
“That was brilliantly scary, you know. I wonder if he'll listen to you. Did you see the look on his--”
“I said, don't mention it,” She punctuated this sentence with and extra violent rip, then continued her calm destruction of her books. Issac smiled at her back shakily, then tiptoed back to his own room.
***
Issac sprinted through the neighborhood, heart pounding. He tried to call out, but the freezing air left him gasping and choking. He vaulted the back fence of the school yard like he always did and jogged across the soccer field clutching his side. A girl was sitting on the one rusted swing left untouched on the whole playground, it was twisting slightly. Issac limped up to her, wheezing and coughing.
“Hey,” he panted. “Selena. There you are. Glad I found you.”
She twisted her swing around to glare at him. The chains appeared to have thorny vines snarled in them; one thorn left a deep gash on her arm that was slowly oozing blood. Issac opened his mouth to comment on it, but she let the swing spin itself back to normal with her back to him. Issac slumped his shoulders sadly and plopped down in the gravel next to her.
“You know,” he said conversationally, picking idly at a headless pigeon lying next to him, “It really wasn't your fault. Dad's just a jerk--”
“He's not my dad,” she growled, narrowing her eyes at nothing.
“Yeah. Well. I read this book once about how kids like to blame themselves for their parents' problems. Mom was just...” Issac trailed off, pulling feathers off the headless pigeon and flicking them at his shoes. “It was an accident... I mean, anyone could cut themselves...” He picked up the whole bird and threw it at the wall of the old elementary school muttering, “No one's fault...”
“I know who's fault it was,” Selena piped up darkly.
Issac flopped on his back, ignoring the chill of frozen ground soaking through his sweatshirt and lacing his hands behind his head. “Oh stop it,” he snapped, sneering up at the starless sky. He exhaled a plume of mist. “Sorry,” he added a moment later.
“I'm not going back,” Selena said meditatively somewhere over his head. The swingset creaked.
“Me neither.”
They both went silent; Issac sprawled on the ground and Selena hunched in her swing, both searching the night sky for any light other than the orange city glow.
“I'm cold.”
“Ditto.”
Neither of the almost-identical twins moved. Issac watched his breath fogging in front of him for a long time. “Where should we go?” he asked, more to himself. Selena said nothing. Issac hadn't expected and answer. “I guess lets just start with somewhere warm. C'mon,”
He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to Selena. She looked at it questioningly, hesitated, then let go of the swing and grabbed his hand. Her hand and forearm was scratched and bleeding from the thorns in the chains, but both Issac and Selena were too numb to notice. They started to leave the playground, hand in hand, when Issac noticed something shining on the wall of the school. A bird was painted on the wall in crimson, frost white on the edges. It had its dripping wings spread and was flying into a bleeding sunset. Issac glanced at the half-bald, headless pigeon at the foot of the wall and wondered what the little kids and teachers would think of it later.
“Pretty,” he said, and the two walked off, blood freezing their hands together.
***
Selena stood on the verge of the unfilled grave, picking apart her bouquet and dropping the pieces into the dirt. The wind picked up and blew dead leaves in with the petal bits, swirling around her and making her coat flap around her calves. Issac slouched up behind her and kicked the 'Beloved husband and father' carving on the gravestone.
“'Beloved' my ass. Now he can finally stop fucking with our lives. Hi,” he said distractedly to her. Selena looked up at him, still tearing apart her flowers and tossing the pieces in the grave. “You know,” Issac teased, “Once upon a time you turned those into spiders.” He grinned at her.
She reached up and put a petal in his hair, a smile playing in her eyes. He could feel the little feet tickling across his scalp, and he reached up and pulled the struggling spider out. He handed it back to her; a smooth white petal. She took it with surprise. Issac raised his eyebrows at her.
“Been a long time. Nice to see you,” He said sincerely, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She gave a small snicker and threw her whole bouquet into the grave. Spiders overflowed as the two left the graveyard.
“Big day today, Scamp,” The large man rumbled, shoving a little red pillow with a rather unglamorous ring pinned to it into his chest. “Don't screw it up.” With one last clap on the head, he pushed Issac into the hall and snapped the door shut.
Issac looked around awkwardly; no one seemed to be paying attention to him but instead commenced rushing up and down the narrow hallway. The only one apparently not in a hurry was an inexplicably creepy little girl crouched beneath a battered desk with a flower basket in her lap. Ring-pillow clutched tightly against his chest, Issac picked his way over to her through the stampede of secondhand suits and thrift-store ball gowns.
“Selena,” he scolded, leaning down next to the desk, “You're getting your dress all messy. Flower girls are supposed to look pretty. You look ugly and dirty.”
Without looking up from her basket she muttered, “I look better than any old cow here anyway,” she glanced at him. “Including Mommy. It's just a dumb old wedding anyway.”
Issac bristled. “You're dumb,” he countered lamely, glaring at his identical-as-a-girl-can-get sister. She smirked at him through a curtain of black hair, then turned her focus back to her flower basket. Issac scrunched up his face into a frown.
Selena picked out a single white rose petal and stared at it intently. “Do-on't,” Issac whined. The petal flickered in a non-existent breeze and abruptly turned into a small white spider which scuttled across her hand. Selena watched it's journey tranquilly; Issac stamped his foot in frustration. “Those are for the wedding. Stop it!” he fussed as she drew out another petal and proceeded to transform it into another spider. She repeated this four more times, before Issac wailed, “I'm telling!”
Selena stopped pulling out petals and played with a spider, letting it race across her hand and up her arm, then scooping it into her other hand. “No one would believe you.”
Issac pouted as she let the spider march up her sleeve and held out a petal for him to observe. He watched as another spider wiggled into existence and fall from her fingers on a fine thread of silk. She wound the thread around her finger at the same pace the spider was descending, forcing the arachnid to climb endlessly without moving anywhere. “I'm telling that you're mean and filthy and I hate you,” Issac announced spitefully. Selena offered the spider on the thread to him. “Gross!” he objected.
“You're just scared,” Selena taunted. Issac shook his head vigorously. “C'mere,” She shifted to give him room under the desk. Issac crawled under carefully, trying his best to keep his tuxedo clean and precious ring pillow safe. Feet thundered past as Selena positioned the basket between them. They both took out a petal with one hand and held it close to their faces in concentration. Selena's morphed into a spider that took a flying leap onto her nose. Issac's didn't change.
“I liked it the way it was,” he pouted, dropping the petal back into the basket. Selena grinned malevolently at him, the white spider blending with her cheek.
“Here,” She put the basket in his lap while burying her whole hand in the fragrant petals. The basket seemingly exploded with white and pink spiders, thousands of tiny bodies surging over the edge and scampering in all directions. Issac gasped and held his little pillow over his head, scraping the ring on the underside of the desk. Little feet tickled up his arms and neck.
“Selena!” He wailed as spiders flooded his mouth and trickled webs over his eyes. He heard her laugh behind the cobwebs.
***
Selena placed a chair in front of her bookcase and sat it in placidly. Her books loomed in front of her, mocking her. They were in for a surprise. She pulled the first book within her reach off the mahogany shelf and opened it somewhere close to the middle. With a tilt to her head and a smirk in her eyes, she tore a page out with a satisfying, crackling rip. The page drifted to the floor, helpless to halt the murder of novels occurring above it. More pages followed, making paper waves on the carpet.
In the next room over, Issac heaved a sigh and dragged himself out of bed. He could hear the tremendous tearing sounds coming from his sister's room and knew that if he could hear it, his stepfather certainly could. Hoping to stop another outburst in time, Issac silently opened his door and tiptoed over to Selena's room. Poking his head in, he hissed “What are you doing?!” He snaked his body in and quietly closed the door. Selena did not acknowledge his presence, she just sat and demolished her books page by page. “Your books! Are you crazy? Cut it out!” He blew out several black candles next to the door and frantically waved his arms to disperse the smoke.
Selena pulled a fresh book from the shelf and started shredding it, ignoring her identical-as-a-boy-can-get brother fretting all over her room. Every page she ripped out was effortless, like plucking wings off a fly, and she enjoyed dismembering each book.
Issac was fluttering over by her bed, flapping his arms in the light of a lamp he had apparently just turned on. “...Nearly nine years living with this guy, you'd think you'd realize by now that he doesn't like candles, but it's not like you ever listen to me!” he whisper-screamed at her. She tore out several pages at once with an extra flourish. Issac briefly tugged at his hair before snatching the book out of her grasp. “Stop it! Do you like getting screamed at?” His voice rose to almost a conversation level, and out in the living room he could hear grumbling. Issac froze; Selena reached for another book. Issac grabbed her hand before it reached the bookcase with a nervous glance towards the door. Selena turned to look at him for the first time that night, unleashing an eerie, wide-eyed glare on him. Thoroughly used to this creepy look, he just rolled his eyes at her until the door crashed open.
“What the Hell!” came a drunken roar, and Issac felt his arm holding the destroyed book caught in an iron grip. He let go of Selena in surprise. “What the Hell!” his step-father roared again, twisting Issac's arm behind his back, forcing him to drop the book. Issac squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.
“Sorry!” he pleaded. “We were just-- it's a project for school-- I mean--”
“Look at this!” his stepfather bellowed. “ All of your damn books I had to buy! You stupid kids!”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Issac yelled, attempting to squirm out of his stepfather's hold before his arm broke.
Selena was still seated in her chair, her back to the entire incident. Amazingly, she started to laugh. Issac's stepfather loosened his grip on Issac's arm in confusion and Issac shook himself free, rubbing his shoulder protectively. Selena's insane giggling reminded him of a cartoon villain, and he stared at her worriedly.
“You. Stupid girl!” His stepfather lunged at Selena. Acting on instinct, Issac knocked him off-course with his hurt shoulder. Both stumbled awkwardly, and Selena stopped laughing and just grinned ghoulishly at her stepfather.
Issac's stepfather looked between the two almost-identical twins; Selena smirking ominously at him, Issac hugging himself with tears drying on his face. He narrowed his eyes and shrieked with rage, charging at Issac this time. Issac closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact of his stepfather's fist; Selena let the smile drip off her face, glaring at her stepfather with unlimited hatred and hostility.
Stars exploded in Issac's eyes as his stepfather struck him and he painfully dropped to the floor. He stared up at his stepfather, feeling like a frightened mouse. At a glance over at his sister however, and he became all the more frightened.
Selena looked like evil itself manifested, a malicious abomination intent on destroying their stepfather. The room grew darker, not from a dimming light, but rather from an excess of shadows. Issac's eyes went wide; his stepfather's were about to pop out of his skull. Selena held out her arms grotesquely as the shadows condensed around her.
“Don't touch my brother,” she intoned poisonously. Her stepfather shook his head, trembling slightly, either from the amount of alcohol in his system or from being truly frightened. Selena tilted her head, her ink-black hair spilling over her face. “Get. Out,” Her stepfather backed out of the room slowly, almost whimpering. Selena dropped her arms and turned back to her bookcase. The shadows melted away, and Issac found it was easier to breathe. Selena delicately plucked a book from a shelf and sat down.
“Thanks,” Issac whispered, scrubbing his face and getting to his feet.
“Don't mention it,” She began ripping out pages again, one by one.
“That was brilliantly scary, you know. I wonder if he'll listen to you. Did you see the look on his--”
“I said, don't mention it,” She punctuated this sentence with and extra violent rip, then continued her calm destruction of her books. Issac smiled at her back shakily, then tiptoed back to his own room.
***
Issac sprinted through the neighborhood, heart pounding. He tried to call out, but the freezing air left him gasping and choking. He vaulted the back fence of the school yard like he always did and jogged across the soccer field clutching his side. A girl was sitting on the one rusted swing left untouched on the whole playground, it was twisting slightly. Issac limped up to her, wheezing and coughing.
“Hey,” he panted. “Selena. There you are. Glad I found you.”
She twisted her swing around to glare at him. The chains appeared to have thorny vines snarled in them; one thorn left a deep gash on her arm that was slowly oozing blood. Issac opened his mouth to comment on it, but she let the swing spin itself back to normal with her back to him. Issac slumped his shoulders sadly and plopped down in the gravel next to her.
“You know,” he said conversationally, picking idly at a headless pigeon lying next to him, “It really wasn't your fault. Dad's just a jerk--”
“He's not my dad,” she growled, narrowing her eyes at nothing.
“Yeah. Well. I read this book once about how kids like to blame themselves for their parents' problems. Mom was just...” Issac trailed off, pulling feathers off the headless pigeon and flicking them at his shoes. “It was an accident... I mean, anyone could cut themselves...” He picked up the whole bird and threw it at the wall of the old elementary school muttering, “No one's fault...”
“I know who's fault it was,” Selena piped up darkly.
Issac flopped on his back, ignoring the chill of frozen ground soaking through his sweatshirt and lacing his hands behind his head. “Oh stop it,” he snapped, sneering up at the starless sky. He exhaled a plume of mist. “Sorry,” he added a moment later.
“I'm not going back,” Selena said meditatively somewhere over his head. The swingset creaked.
“Me neither.”
They both went silent; Issac sprawled on the ground and Selena hunched in her swing, both searching the night sky for any light other than the orange city glow.
“I'm cold.”
“Ditto.”
Neither of the almost-identical twins moved. Issac watched his breath fogging in front of him for a long time. “Where should we go?” he asked, more to himself. Selena said nothing. Issac hadn't expected and answer. “I guess lets just start with somewhere warm. C'mon,”
He pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to Selena. She looked at it questioningly, hesitated, then let go of the swing and grabbed his hand. Her hand and forearm was scratched and bleeding from the thorns in the chains, but both Issac and Selena were too numb to notice. They started to leave the playground, hand in hand, when Issac noticed something shining on the wall of the school. A bird was painted on the wall in crimson, frost white on the edges. It had its dripping wings spread and was flying into a bleeding sunset. Issac glanced at the half-bald, headless pigeon at the foot of the wall and wondered what the little kids and teachers would think of it later.
“Pretty,” he said, and the two walked off, blood freezing their hands together.
***
Selena stood on the verge of the unfilled grave, picking apart her bouquet and dropping the pieces into the dirt. The wind picked up and blew dead leaves in with the petal bits, swirling around her and making her coat flap around her calves. Issac slouched up behind her and kicked the 'Beloved husband and father' carving on the gravestone.
“'Beloved' my ass. Now he can finally stop fucking with our lives. Hi,” he said distractedly to her. Selena looked up at him, still tearing apart her flowers and tossing the pieces in the grave. “You know,” Issac teased, “Once upon a time you turned those into spiders.” He grinned at her.
She reached up and put a petal in his hair, a smile playing in her eyes. He could feel the little feet tickling across his scalp, and he reached up and pulled the struggling spider out. He handed it back to her; a smooth white petal. She took it with surprise. Issac raised his eyebrows at her.
“Been a long time. Nice to see you,” He said sincerely, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She gave a small snicker and threw her whole bouquet into the grave. Spiders overflowed as the two left the graveyard.
Blink and You'll Miss It
Tuesday was the first day Emile could remember since her childhood that she looked up at the clouds and actually saw shapes in them. There were five or six fluffy, downy ones swimming gracefully across an oceanic sky, clearly shaped like sea turtles. They floated artfully in time with her music playing softly on a boom box next to her, gently paddling their clearly formed fins to the rhythm. She rested her book (An anthology of faerie creatures) slowly in her lap without taking her eyes off the turtles. A breeze tousled her hair and seemed to lift her spirit slightly off her seat on the low wall. For a wonderful, wind swept moment, she was a kid again, and if she tried hard enough maybe the currents would sweep her up and she could fly away. The clouds really were sea turtles, not cumulus. It had been so long since she hadn't looked at the world scientifically and critically that the pure childish joy of shaped clouds made her want to smile and laugh and cry all at once. Instead she turned to the boy sitting next to her (but not really next to her as he was at least two people-sized seats away) and pointed out the turtles.
“What, you mean the cumulus ones?” was his reply.
This lead to a philosophical discussion on a child's view of the world as compared to young adults (such as themselves) which lead to a brainstorm of magic as a scientific possibility and then out to a pondering on the universe and the Meaning of Life. By the time the unavoidable Douglass Adams quote had been pulled out, the sky was an overcast gray and the clouds looked like nothing, save for a potential for rain.
“What, you mean the cumulus ones?” was his reply.
This lead to a philosophical discussion on a child's view of the world as compared to young adults (such as themselves) which lead to a brainstorm of magic as a scientific possibility and then out to a pondering on the universe and the Meaning of Life. By the time the unavoidable Douglass Adams quote had been pulled out, the sky was an overcast gray and the clouds looked like nothing, save for a potential for rain.
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