I linger in the darkness.
The sun is dying, casting long shadows in the city I have created. The horizon is stained with the color of blood and rust, fading to fiery orange and then the midnight black of space; speckled with the tiny lights of stars. A memory comes back to me, of looking up at the night sky with my father. He was pointing out constellations.
I don’t know why this memory comes to me. I am on a different world; the stars have changed… and so have I.
My wings rustle as the light finally dies. Inside my head I can hear the buzzing drone of my children, but I’ve pushed them into the corners of my mind. They can mind themselves for the time being, and I would like a quiet moment.
My feet step down into the soft purple creep that fills the landscape around me. It is a spongy substance, much like moss, but far more prevalent on this world.
My doing.
In my old life, I would be repulsed. Now I am comforted by the familiar feeling on my bare feet.
Momentarily.
Memories of my old life come flashing back. Metal, starships, guns, armor, men. I am suddenly uncomfortable with the creep below me. I look down at my hands and fight the urge to scream. They are longer, and covered with scales. My skin is a deep shade of green. I know, even though I cannot see, that my long red hair has been replaced with terrible snake like spines. The bat like wings on my back repulse me. I can see the burning red reflection of my eyes in glossy sheen formed by the sweat of the building next to me. I fall to my knees and vomit. The creep absorbs it silently.
Suddenly, the moment is over.
I rise from my knees to my feet.
Wipe the bile from my lips.
Run my tongue over the fangs in my mouth, reassuring myself that I am still the monster.
Well, at least on the physical side. I’ve been a monster for almost as long as I can remember.
Memories like that have been happening more and more.
My wings flash and flap and I rise. The voices I had pushed to the corners of my mind start rising inside and I pay them heed again. Whispering, cooing, possessing them again. They were such good little children while mother was away inside her mind.
The emotion I sense the most as I rise between the buildings of my city is anticipation. For five years we have waited in the darkness. Five years before this day my children and I cut a swathe of fear and death and destruction across the galaxy the like of which had never been seen before. My children and I planted the seeds of fear and terror and mind numbing horror in this galaxy.
Five years ago we were poised to end resistance in this sector of the galaxy. My children and I trounced Arcturus Mengsk, my old master, in a battle of fleets. Mengsk, in his own way, really contributed in this transformation of mine. I’d say he’s to blame for my delinquency during the last five years.
Fresh off of that battle we slaughtered the ill prepared Protoss forces as they attempted to take advantage of our disposition with Mengsk. My old lover, Jim Raynor, was with them. Poor Jim, I don’t think he’ll ever get over the fact that he couldn’t save me.
Finally the Terran Dominion played their cards, and was sent packing as well. I had my Guardians hunt the last of them down in deep space. You may not be able to scream in a vacuum, but you can certainly die.
Then:
I vanished, taking my children with me.
I’m quite sure they have no idea why.
My enemies have not yet fully recovered. I, on the other hand, never needed the time. My children have been aching to continue the chase for almost five whole years. They are so ready to play, it’s hard to control them sometimes.
As I take flight over my city of bone and flesh, what look like tooth filled maws with bat wings join me. Floating crab shapes as well as massive, dirigible-with-tentacles shaped beasts fill the sky.
My enemies have names for these beasts.
Mutalisks, Guardians, Overlords.
Beneath me I see roiling waves of monsters beginning to awaken from their hibernation holes. These are my children, creatures with tusks and teeth and spines. They slither and they crawl and they burrow. They act with one will, my own. Their voices sing in my head in a glorious symphony, and I sing back to them, telling them my desires, my hopes, my dreams.
They listen, and then they act to fulfill.
My name is Sarah Kerrigan, Queen of Blades. It is time for my children and I to return from the darkness of deep space.
And step into the light.
It is good to be the Queen.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Jasmine: Jasmine
“Where am I?”
Am I
“Is there an echo in here?”
In here
“Echo where are you?”
Are you
“Echo come on, we have to be somewhere.”
Be somewhere
“Get your ass down out here Echo.”
Here Echo
“I freaking portal here to find you, to take you to YOUR party and what do I get for my trouble?”
My trouble
“Fuck it.”
Fuck it
“I’m leaving Echo. You’ll have to find your own ride back.”
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m coming
“That’s right you’re coming, and don’t think I won’t tell mom what you pulled here.”
Pulled here
Am I
“Is there an echo in here?”
In here
“Echo where are you?”
Are you
“Echo come on, we have to be somewhere.”
Be somewhere
“Get your ass down out here Echo.”
Here Echo
“I freaking portal here to find you, to take you to YOUR party and what do I get for my trouble?”
My trouble
“Fuck it.”
Fuck it
“I’m leaving Echo. You’ll have to find your own ride back.”
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m coming
“That’s right you’re coming, and don’t think I won’t tell mom what you pulled here.”
Pulled here
Friday, September 25, 2009
Jasmine: Pay Attention
Things learned if you stop paying attention for a couple of days
- it’s hard to get to the bathroom at night without falling
- your kitchen starts to smell
- you start to smell
- homework piles up
- bills pile up
- kitten dies (just kidding. I would never not feed loki)
- plants die (that does happen, or it starts to then I remember)
- surfthechannel rules your life like the almighty god it is
- you stop talking to people
- you forget how to talk to people
- you stare at people curiously as they pass you by
- people look back worried cause the strange dirty girl is staring at them. They wonder if she’s homeless
- you discus the strange people with your cat
- he gives good advice on how to deal with them, suggests machete
- you take machete to school in specially prepared backpack sheath
- decide to wait till after organic chemistry test
- instead of killing the class you go home to talk to your cat about the organic chemistry test
- he tells you that you did amazing and you feel good about yourself
- someone finally does knock on your door out of worry
- you kill them with the machete and cook them into the eternal pasta
- you and your cat feast well for the next week
- eventually you need vegetables
- break into neighbors house and steal carrots
- they question you about the carrots
- you kill them with the machete and cook them into the eternal pasta
- you your cat and your neighbor’s cat feast well for the next week
- it’s hard to get to the bathroom at night without falling
- your kitchen starts to smell
- you start to smell
- homework piles up
- bills pile up
- kitten dies (just kidding. I would never not feed loki)
- plants die (that does happen, or it starts to then I remember)
- surfthechannel rules your life like the almighty god it is
- you stop talking to people
- you forget how to talk to people
- you stare at people curiously as they pass you by
- people look back worried cause the strange dirty girl is staring at them. They wonder if she’s homeless
- you discus the strange people with your cat
- he gives good advice on how to deal with them, suggests machete
- you take machete to school in specially prepared backpack sheath
- decide to wait till after organic chemistry test
- instead of killing the class you go home to talk to your cat about the organic chemistry test
- he tells you that you did amazing and you feel good about yourself
- someone finally does knock on your door out of worry
- you kill them with the machete and cook them into the eternal pasta
- you and your cat feast well for the next week
- eventually you need vegetables
- break into neighbors house and steal carrots
- they question you about the carrots
- you kill them with the machete and cook them into the eternal pasta
- you your cat and your neighbor’s cat feast well for the next week
Sarah: The Internets
So, I usually post stuff on my Sarah Buterblog, my internets project thingie, but it has come to my attention that perhaps I should post here, because I haven't in awhile, and because, while each of our lives are spiraling off in different directions, perhaps we all share at least a past which we should honor.
That being said, I recently read a conversation between two people that was more than slightly hilarious. I read it because I was alerted to the fact that I was mentioned in it. I want to comment that neither of the two people talking really know me anymore. They may have once, but they don't now. Thus, neither can actually speak for me, and both are wrong. In a humorous way however, they have pitted themselves against eachother. To have my say, I wouldn't slap you now, as for the past, its past, and I don't really care.
So, as for me now, here's poem, rest assured its not about anyone that reads this blog (or knows about it). It can also be found on the Buterblog:
Friday
I wish I held you in my hand
Sparkly, Glittery, on the mend,
But instead you hold me in your grip
At the will of your quivering lip.
I've been thinking in this time I set aside
Do I really want to sacrifice my pride
Sometimes you're crazy and you're right
Why is this a single-souled formidable fight?
I wish that I didn't have to doubt,
But am I taking the valorous route?
You never keep me in the loop
Are we together for the physical whoop?
I wish that I could talk to you,
But somehow I'm just too blue.
I haven't breathed in awhile,
I think some time will be a trial,
Where under your busy facade,
I can take a trip to my own aid,
And when I'm ready to talk about a "we" -
Then, then we'll see.
Sincerely,
Sarah
The past is strapped to our backs. We do not have to see it; we can always feel it. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960
Thank you for being my friends. And for still being my friends.
That being said, I recently read a conversation between two people that was more than slightly hilarious. I read it because I was alerted to the fact that I was mentioned in it. I want to comment that neither of the two people talking really know me anymore. They may have once, but they don't now. Thus, neither can actually speak for me, and both are wrong. In a humorous way however, they have pitted themselves against eachother. To have my say, I wouldn't slap you now, as for the past, its past, and I don't really care.
So, as for me now, here's poem, rest assured its not about anyone that reads this blog (or knows about it). It can also be found on the Buterblog:
Friday
I wish I held you in my hand
Sparkly, Glittery, on the mend,
But instead you hold me in your grip
At the will of your quivering lip.
I've been thinking in this time I set aside
Do I really want to sacrifice my pride
Sometimes you're crazy and you're right
Why is this a single-souled formidable fight?
I wish that I didn't have to doubt,
But am I taking the valorous route?
You never keep me in the loop
Are we together for the physical whoop?
I wish that I could talk to you,
But somehow I'm just too blue.
I haven't breathed in awhile,
I think some time will be a trial,
Where under your busy facade,
I can take a trip to my own aid,
And when I'm ready to talk about a "we" -
Then, then we'll see.
Sincerely,
Sarah
The past is strapped to our backs. We do not have to see it; we can always feel it. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960
Thank you for being my friends. And for still being my friends.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Jasmine: Club Faire
Die young and leave a good looking corpse.
It was just the kind of sign to catch your attention. To whip your head around and wonder what could that possibly mean? It was the kind of saying that made you stop at its booth instead of the one next to it. That one was handing out cookies, but they were sorority cookies, they came baked in shame. This booth had nothing but those words emblazoned in glittery letters on a black poster board and a row of clipboards. I and twenty other hands reached for one of these. There was something about those words that made us want to know more.
The piece of paper clipped to the board looked like an application. Clubs usually only had you write your name and e-mail and you were in. Maybe this club was more like the sorority than I had thought, maybe it was just elite. I pushed all thoughts of sorority out of my mind. They were upsetting enough without thinking about them. I thought about putting that clipboard down immediately, a club, a distraction, even an elite distraction wasn’t worth the hassle. But I was curious. I thought about asking the person behind the desk what this was about, but he was quiet, nodding and smiling serenely, accepting the filled out forms and placing a clean one on the table, never saying a word. Nobody asked him questions. What was this about, or who did they even represent? I had the distinct feeling that he would just smile at me instead of answer. The only way I was going to get answers was to fill out this form.
There was a pen tied to the clip board with a little piece of string. Kind of them. The application was like most job applications it asked for our name, previous employment, place of residence, blood type? That was odd, but everything about this was odd. I finished and handed my form to the smiling man, and walked away feeling vaguely unsettled about whether that had been the right thing to do. But even as I stepped away from the table another took my place and picked up a clean clip board.
I heard nothing for two weeks. I had forgotten all about dying young and good looking corpses. But when I got back from my evening class there was a thick envelope sitting on my desk. I turned it over in my hands, but the envelope was blank. I ripped it open to find a more extensive application and directions about where to deliver it. Again I thought this is too much work, nothing could be worth this. But my homework was done and it was a Wednesday night. Nothing in particular interesting to do. So I sat down and started to fill in the blanks. This time it asked for a complete medical history. Whatever this club was, it concentrated a lot on my health. Maybe it was a premed club. But it also had a personality quiz section. Questions like if you had to save either yourself or your mother would you eat the carrot on the left? I stuffed it all in an envelope that they had nicely provided. It was already addressed and stamped.
Another two weeks passed. I had mostly forgotten about the strange thick envelope and the long quiz. Every once in a while I wondered what had happened with it, who it had gone to, and why they had needed it in the first place. But I had a full course load, and very little time to worry about anything. I came home from my last class and once again there was an envelope waiting for me. Excited I rushed over and ripped it open. Inside there was a single sheet of paper.
414 Pine ST SE #3
9:00 Tonight
I pulled out my cell phone. It was seven thirty. There was plenty of time. I didn’t know exactly where that was, but google maps showed it to be barely a fifteen minute walk from campus. I tried to do some of the math homework that was due in a couple of days, but I couldn’t seem to sit still. I showered, and changed clothes. Then I changed them again. What were they looking for? Did everyone make it this far, or was I special? What if I wore the wrong shirt and I didn’t get in? And for the hundred thousandth time I wondered what I was trying to get into.
It was eight thirty when I started walking, following the directions I’d memorized. I was excited and made it there in ten minutes. Was early good or bad? Standing in the dark I stared at a large fat cat that had situated itself on top of a car. The cat stared back at me. My car, the stare said, daring me to object. But I had no beef with cats. 414 Pine was an apartment complex, a little dilapidated looking, but very much like the typical college student housing I would be looking for in the next couple of years. I wondered if I should go knock, but decided against it. The note said nine. I would knock at nine. It wasn’t cold at night yet, the cat could keep me company in the dark.
Apartment three was on the second story, it had its own staircase leading up to it. I had raised my hand to knock when I heard from within “Come inside it’s unlocked.”
I had to lean into it, it had rained last week and the door had swollen and now stuck when I tried to open it. I was shocked by what I saw. I don’t know what I had expected. But with the secrecy, the peculiar envelopes, I expected something more, exotic. Instead it opened on a typical college student apartment. The bedroom living room and study were all one room. I could see a kitchen and another door probably leading to the bathroom. There were five people standing and sitting about the room. They were five ordinary kids, but not. There were two boys, one short one tall, one dark, one light, one with tightly curled black hair, the other with military zeroed sides. There were three girls. Two blonde, one brunette, all different heights. They were dressed exactly like college students. Jeans, shorts, t-shirt. But there was something different about them. I stared at them going from hair to clothes to build to their eyes. Their eyes. They all had the same eyes. Not the same color. One girl had blue eyes, one boy had dark brown. But there was some essential quality to them that caught you up, you did want to look away, because you were safe in those eyes. You could live there forever.
“Welcome, thank you for accepting our invitation. Not many make it as far as you have.” It was the small blonde one who spoke. Her eyes changed in front of me, from an even grey to a brilliant emerald green. She blinked and I broke from my revere of staring.
“Thank you. But what exactly am I here for?”
“Why you’re here to finish the interview process?” the girl snorted.
“Will it be long?” I said thinking about the large packet of strange questions from before.
The girl smiled. “No, just one question really. Do you want to die young, and leave a good looking corpse?”
Now I was smiling. This I knew the answer to. “Yes.”
“Do you think he’ll make it?” The girl Sarah asked.
“No one really knows till it happens. He’s A positive. That will work in his favor.” Said the boy Abe.
The five friends worked to get the body quickly into its bag, and into the car. They drove it out to the mesa and buried it next to a juniper bush. In three nights they would return and see if the potential would rise to be one of them. Or stay a corpse.
It was just the kind of sign to catch your attention. To whip your head around and wonder what could that possibly mean? It was the kind of saying that made you stop at its booth instead of the one next to it. That one was handing out cookies, but they were sorority cookies, they came baked in shame. This booth had nothing but those words emblazoned in glittery letters on a black poster board and a row of clipboards. I and twenty other hands reached for one of these. There was something about those words that made us want to know more.
The piece of paper clipped to the board looked like an application. Clubs usually only had you write your name and e-mail and you were in. Maybe this club was more like the sorority than I had thought, maybe it was just elite. I pushed all thoughts of sorority out of my mind. They were upsetting enough without thinking about them. I thought about putting that clipboard down immediately, a club, a distraction, even an elite distraction wasn’t worth the hassle. But I was curious. I thought about asking the person behind the desk what this was about, but he was quiet, nodding and smiling serenely, accepting the filled out forms and placing a clean one on the table, never saying a word. Nobody asked him questions. What was this about, or who did they even represent? I had the distinct feeling that he would just smile at me instead of answer. The only way I was going to get answers was to fill out this form.
There was a pen tied to the clip board with a little piece of string. Kind of them. The application was like most job applications it asked for our name, previous employment, place of residence, blood type? That was odd, but everything about this was odd. I finished and handed my form to the smiling man, and walked away feeling vaguely unsettled about whether that had been the right thing to do. But even as I stepped away from the table another took my place and picked up a clean clip board.
I heard nothing for two weeks. I had forgotten all about dying young and good looking corpses. But when I got back from my evening class there was a thick envelope sitting on my desk. I turned it over in my hands, but the envelope was blank. I ripped it open to find a more extensive application and directions about where to deliver it. Again I thought this is too much work, nothing could be worth this. But my homework was done and it was a Wednesday night. Nothing in particular interesting to do. So I sat down and started to fill in the blanks. This time it asked for a complete medical history. Whatever this club was, it concentrated a lot on my health. Maybe it was a premed club. But it also had a personality quiz section. Questions like if you had to save either yourself or your mother would you eat the carrot on the left? I stuffed it all in an envelope that they had nicely provided. It was already addressed and stamped.
Another two weeks passed. I had mostly forgotten about the strange thick envelope and the long quiz. Every once in a while I wondered what had happened with it, who it had gone to, and why they had needed it in the first place. But I had a full course load, and very little time to worry about anything. I came home from my last class and once again there was an envelope waiting for me. Excited I rushed over and ripped it open. Inside there was a single sheet of paper.
414 Pine ST SE #3
9:00 Tonight
I pulled out my cell phone. It was seven thirty. There was plenty of time. I didn’t know exactly where that was, but google maps showed it to be barely a fifteen minute walk from campus. I tried to do some of the math homework that was due in a couple of days, but I couldn’t seem to sit still. I showered, and changed clothes. Then I changed them again. What were they looking for? Did everyone make it this far, or was I special? What if I wore the wrong shirt and I didn’t get in? And for the hundred thousandth time I wondered what I was trying to get into.
It was eight thirty when I started walking, following the directions I’d memorized. I was excited and made it there in ten minutes. Was early good or bad? Standing in the dark I stared at a large fat cat that had situated itself on top of a car. The cat stared back at me. My car, the stare said, daring me to object. But I had no beef with cats. 414 Pine was an apartment complex, a little dilapidated looking, but very much like the typical college student housing I would be looking for in the next couple of years. I wondered if I should go knock, but decided against it. The note said nine. I would knock at nine. It wasn’t cold at night yet, the cat could keep me company in the dark.
Apartment three was on the second story, it had its own staircase leading up to it. I had raised my hand to knock when I heard from within “Come inside it’s unlocked.”
I had to lean into it, it had rained last week and the door had swollen and now stuck when I tried to open it. I was shocked by what I saw. I don’t know what I had expected. But with the secrecy, the peculiar envelopes, I expected something more, exotic. Instead it opened on a typical college student apartment. The bedroom living room and study were all one room. I could see a kitchen and another door probably leading to the bathroom. There were five people standing and sitting about the room. They were five ordinary kids, but not. There were two boys, one short one tall, one dark, one light, one with tightly curled black hair, the other with military zeroed sides. There were three girls. Two blonde, one brunette, all different heights. They were dressed exactly like college students. Jeans, shorts, t-shirt. But there was something different about them. I stared at them going from hair to clothes to build to their eyes. Their eyes. They all had the same eyes. Not the same color. One girl had blue eyes, one boy had dark brown. But there was some essential quality to them that caught you up, you did want to look away, because you were safe in those eyes. You could live there forever.
“Welcome, thank you for accepting our invitation. Not many make it as far as you have.” It was the small blonde one who spoke. Her eyes changed in front of me, from an even grey to a brilliant emerald green. She blinked and I broke from my revere of staring.
“Thank you. But what exactly am I here for?”
“Why you’re here to finish the interview process?” the girl snorted.
“Will it be long?” I said thinking about the large packet of strange questions from before.
The girl smiled. “No, just one question really. Do you want to die young, and leave a good looking corpse?”
Now I was smiling. This I knew the answer to. “Yes.”
“Do you think he’ll make it?” The girl Sarah asked.
“No one really knows till it happens. He’s A positive. That will work in his favor.” Said the boy Abe.
The five friends worked to get the body quickly into its bag, and into the car. They drove it out to the mesa and buried it next to a juniper bush. In three nights they would return and see if the potential would rise to be one of them. Or stay a corpse.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Meghan: Kitty
“Mmmm…that was good.”
“God, were did you learn to cook?”
“Haha, you haven’t even had dessert yet.”
I clasped my hands under my chin and looked at him with shining eyes, only to be deterred by Sarah’s mock-glare.
“Mine.” She said, linking an arm around his waist.
“But you could make so much money renting him out…”
“No.”
“Just for—“
We continued to bicker over pricing arrangements as we gathered the dinner dishes and stacked them in the kitchen. Her husband, for his part, was used to our strange ways, and just continued with his peaceful collection of glasses while his wife auctioned him off. It had been strange when I had first met him, to be in the same room and not stare. But now the black feline ears that slicked up from his head were as expected an attribute as Jasmine’s hair, or Sarah’s eyes. If the fact that her man could turn into a pussycat didn’t bother Sarah, then it didn’t bother me; and there were probably stranger things out there.
He called into the other room as he brought a pie and a carton of ice cream into the dining room.
“Ah, it’s cold,” Sarah said as she took the pie from him, “Meghan, could you?”
“Sure.” I replied as I leaned over to rest my fingers on the dish. Heat grew beneath my fingertips and within seconds the pie was steaming.
“Thanks.” Sarah said as she began to cut sections out of it.
I felt a touch on my arm and nearly jumped out of my skin as I turned and saw Sarah’s daughter standing next to me. She was as silent as her father, and the ears she had inherited from him dipped in apology.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Can you make me something?” her sweet, childlike voice made me want to hug her and tell her over and over how cute she was.
“Sure.”
“Don’t burn anything,” Jasmine said warningly, “remember last time?”
I winced at the memory of ‘last time’ and moved my chair even further back from the table. Grinning into the chocolate eyes of the expectant girl in front of me, I held out my palms and concentrated on the flames that kindled there. The fire licked upon my skin and I cupped my hands together in a bowl. The two palmfulls intertwined to form a jagged stem, then petals unfurled from the top, one by one, until a full bloom was formed.
“Pretty!” The girl breathed. I laughed and clenched my palms together, sucking the heat back through me to where it belonged.
Sleepy and full of pie, Jasmine and I curled up on the couch, listening to Sarah and her husband wash the dishes and watching their daughter act out Macbeth with her stuffed animals. Jasmine had read it to her on one of the times we had been watching her, and she had taken to it quite fiercely.
“She’s going to die.”
Jasmine said it quietly, so I would be the only one to hear it. I started violently and turned to look at her, but whatever I had been about to say stopped when I saw her face. Her expression was peaceful as she regarded the child in front of us, but her eyes were swirling with color. Mostly blues, greens, with hints of purple and gold, which told me all I needed to know; she was having a vision.
“Tell me what you see.”
She touched a hand to my cheek and suddenly I was there, looking with her through the many pools of time and thought that she could swim through when the visions came.
“When the girl reaches the age of five, she will die.” The Jasmine back on the couch told me. I watched as the child that I had grown to love bled and suffered in the waters of the vision.
“She will have to make a choice. And her choice will be death to save her mother.”
The vision switched to Sarah, screaming, crying, grieving, but she was swirled with a Sarah who dying of the same things that were apparently going to kill her child.
I was abruptly sucked out of the visions when Jasmine took her hand away, and wasn’t surprised to find tears on my cheeks.
“Why? No… Isn’t there something—“
“It’s all right.” The Jasmine-who-wasn’t smiled angelically at me, “The girl will live. Her father’s blood will save her. In the ways of his tribe he has nine lives to spare, and thus, so does she.”
“Oh.”
“But I leave you with this warning; breathe not a word of this to the family, for if they find out the choice will not be genuine, and someone may be truly lost.”
With a sharp exhalation of breathe, Jasmine’s eyes rolled back into her eyelids and she slumped down. I smoothed back her hair to find her asleep, as she usually was after seeing. I pulled her over so she could sleep horizontally with her head in my lap, grumbling at her unconscious form for worrying me unnecessarily.
-Meghan
“God, were did you learn to cook?”
“Haha, you haven’t even had dessert yet.”
I clasped my hands under my chin and looked at him with shining eyes, only to be deterred by Sarah’s mock-glare.
“Mine.” She said, linking an arm around his waist.
“But you could make so much money renting him out…”
“No.”
“Just for—“
We continued to bicker over pricing arrangements as we gathered the dinner dishes and stacked them in the kitchen. Her husband, for his part, was used to our strange ways, and just continued with his peaceful collection of glasses while his wife auctioned him off. It had been strange when I had first met him, to be in the same room and not stare. But now the black feline ears that slicked up from his head were as expected an attribute as Jasmine’s hair, or Sarah’s eyes. If the fact that her man could turn into a pussycat didn’t bother Sarah, then it didn’t bother me; and there were probably stranger things out there.
He called into the other room as he brought a pie and a carton of ice cream into the dining room.
“Ah, it’s cold,” Sarah said as she took the pie from him, “Meghan, could you?”
“Sure.” I replied as I leaned over to rest my fingers on the dish. Heat grew beneath my fingertips and within seconds the pie was steaming.
“Thanks.” Sarah said as she began to cut sections out of it.
I felt a touch on my arm and nearly jumped out of my skin as I turned and saw Sarah’s daughter standing next to me. She was as silent as her father, and the ears she had inherited from him dipped in apology.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Can you make me something?” her sweet, childlike voice made me want to hug her and tell her over and over how cute she was.
“Sure.”
“Don’t burn anything,” Jasmine said warningly, “remember last time?”
I winced at the memory of ‘last time’ and moved my chair even further back from the table. Grinning into the chocolate eyes of the expectant girl in front of me, I held out my palms and concentrated on the flames that kindled there. The fire licked upon my skin and I cupped my hands together in a bowl. The two palmfulls intertwined to form a jagged stem, then petals unfurled from the top, one by one, until a full bloom was formed.
“Pretty!” The girl breathed. I laughed and clenched my palms together, sucking the heat back through me to where it belonged.
Sleepy and full of pie, Jasmine and I curled up on the couch, listening to Sarah and her husband wash the dishes and watching their daughter act out Macbeth with her stuffed animals. Jasmine had read it to her on one of the times we had been watching her, and she had taken to it quite fiercely.
“She’s going to die.”
Jasmine said it quietly, so I would be the only one to hear it. I started violently and turned to look at her, but whatever I had been about to say stopped when I saw her face. Her expression was peaceful as she regarded the child in front of us, but her eyes were swirling with color. Mostly blues, greens, with hints of purple and gold, which told me all I needed to know; she was having a vision.
“Tell me what you see.”
She touched a hand to my cheek and suddenly I was there, looking with her through the many pools of time and thought that she could swim through when the visions came.
“When the girl reaches the age of five, she will die.” The Jasmine back on the couch told me. I watched as the child that I had grown to love bled and suffered in the waters of the vision.
“She will have to make a choice. And her choice will be death to save her mother.”
The vision switched to Sarah, screaming, crying, grieving, but she was swirled with a Sarah who dying of the same things that were apparently going to kill her child.
I was abruptly sucked out of the visions when Jasmine took her hand away, and wasn’t surprised to find tears on my cheeks.
“Why? No… Isn’t there something—“
“It’s all right.” The Jasmine-who-wasn’t smiled angelically at me, “The girl will live. Her father’s blood will save her. In the ways of his tribe he has nine lives to spare, and thus, so does she.”
“Oh.”
“But I leave you with this warning; breathe not a word of this to the family, for if they find out the choice will not be genuine, and someone may be truly lost.”
With a sharp exhalation of breathe, Jasmine’s eyes rolled back into her eyelids and she slumped down. I smoothed back her hair to find her asleep, as she usually was after seeing. I pulled her over so she could sleep horizontally with her head in my lap, grumbling at her unconscious form for worrying me unnecessarily.
-Meghan
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Doug: The Architect
The ashes fell like snow.
Daniel stood on the edge of the crater where the heart of the city had once stood. Shattered shells of buildings teetered on the edge of the crater, ready to fall a thousand feet to the bottom. Every few seconds a piece of debris would fall, twirling crazily, catching the last few rays of the failing light as it arced into the eternity below.
It was not cold, yet a shiver ran down his spine. He had wrought this, his order had launched the weapon, and the weight of responsibility sat squarely on his shoulder.
Never before had he seen destruction on such a scale. Here, up close to the blast site, all the biological had been utterly obliterated, so he was spared the sight of the waves of bodies that could be found further out, but the gaping hole in the city and earth seemed to be an almost worse wound.
His head turned slightly at the scrabbling sound of one of his junior lieutenants approaching.
“General Mattis sends his regards sir, and requests you take a look at these reports.” The Lieutenant looked young, but after three days of clean up evaluation his eyes were timeless orbs.
Daniel took the papers and glanced over them. “They’re surrendering.” He glanced over at the crater. “Took them long enough.”
“I guess the Kaigani have difficulty accepting the concept of peace through superior firepower, sir.”
“I guess they do. You know, the eggheads told me there was a one in five chance that this particular device might set the atmosphere on fire.”
The Lieutenant showed little emotion at this, the possibility that Daniels order would have killed him and everyone else on the planet.
Neither of them said anything for a while.
“Sir, If I may speak candidly?” What Daniel had taken for nonemotion was really time to consider a response.
“By all means.”
“I work in operations planning. I saw the numbers. We would have lost more than 4 million men taking this city alone. I’m not talking countries or provinces, I’m talking cities. The Kaigani lost eight million here, and another six at Golan. I don’t know how many we’d have lost taking the entire nation. I know for a fact that using conventional tactics we would have had to kill every single Kaigani. Our best estimates put that at well over 50 million. Sir, we’d have still been fighting for another seven years. We have been fighting for ten. I grew up in this war. And sir, I’m so damn tired of fighting it.”
His eyes shone with the tears of a man freed from a great burden.
“Whatever history calls you for this, I know that to me, to my wife, to my children, to my mother and father, you will always be a hero for ending this. It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t humane or even honorable, but it was the knockout punch. My father once told me, ‘It’s not the guy who fights fair that survives; it’s the guy who wins.’ We won sir, and it’s not like we had any other option.”
Daniel was silent for a long time, staring into the crater that was the end of this chapter of humanity. Finally, he spoke. “Thank you, son. Give General Mattis my regards; I’m going to be here a little while. Tell him to accept their surrender, and to prepare a more formal ceremony. I think their capital building should suit the bill nicely.”
“Yes sir.” The Lieutenant was all business now; he clambered away through the surrounding debris.
The flecks of ash were beginning to cover up the damage, soften the sharp edges, blur the harsh lines of destruction.
“I do believe we’ll have to put a new city here.” Daniel murmured. “Fill in this crater. Make it a lake. Put a shrine in the middle… After the hurt comes the healing.”
He knelt down, and the destroyer of the city, who was an architect by schooling, used a piece of concrete slab and a burned chunk of wood to sketch the first outlines of Irenasgrad.
Peace city.
"Peace can mean the sight of children at play in a park. Or it can mean the absolute, perfect silence that follows a gunshot."
-Doug
Daniel stood on the edge of the crater where the heart of the city had once stood. Shattered shells of buildings teetered on the edge of the crater, ready to fall a thousand feet to the bottom. Every few seconds a piece of debris would fall, twirling crazily, catching the last few rays of the failing light as it arced into the eternity below.
It was not cold, yet a shiver ran down his spine. He had wrought this, his order had launched the weapon, and the weight of responsibility sat squarely on his shoulder.
Never before had he seen destruction on such a scale. Here, up close to the blast site, all the biological had been utterly obliterated, so he was spared the sight of the waves of bodies that could be found further out, but the gaping hole in the city and earth seemed to be an almost worse wound.
His head turned slightly at the scrabbling sound of one of his junior lieutenants approaching.
“General Mattis sends his regards sir, and requests you take a look at these reports.” The Lieutenant looked young, but after three days of clean up evaluation his eyes were timeless orbs.
Daniel took the papers and glanced over them. “They’re surrendering.” He glanced over at the crater. “Took them long enough.”
“I guess the Kaigani have difficulty accepting the concept of peace through superior firepower, sir.”
“I guess they do. You know, the eggheads told me there was a one in five chance that this particular device might set the atmosphere on fire.”
The Lieutenant showed little emotion at this, the possibility that Daniels order would have killed him and everyone else on the planet.
Neither of them said anything for a while.
“Sir, If I may speak candidly?” What Daniel had taken for nonemotion was really time to consider a response.
“By all means.”
“I work in operations planning. I saw the numbers. We would have lost more than 4 million men taking this city alone. I’m not talking countries or provinces, I’m talking cities. The Kaigani lost eight million here, and another six at Golan. I don’t know how many we’d have lost taking the entire nation. I know for a fact that using conventional tactics we would have had to kill every single Kaigani. Our best estimates put that at well over 50 million. Sir, we’d have still been fighting for another seven years. We have been fighting for ten. I grew up in this war. And sir, I’m so damn tired of fighting it.”
His eyes shone with the tears of a man freed from a great burden.
“Whatever history calls you for this, I know that to me, to my wife, to my children, to my mother and father, you will always be a hero for ending this. It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t humane or even honorable, but it was the knockout punch. My father once told me, ‘It’s not the guy who fights fair that survives; it’s the guy who wins.’ We won sir, and it’s not like we had any other option.”
Daniel was silent for a long time, staring into the crater that was the end of this chapter of humanity. Finally, he spoke. “Thank you, son. Give General Mattis my regards; I’m going to be here a little while. Tell him to accept their surrender, and to prepare a more formal ceremony. I think their capital building should suit the bill nicely.”
“Yes sir.” The Lieutenant was all business now; he clambered away through the surrounding debris.
The flecks of ash were beginning to cover up the damage, soften the sharp edges, blur the harsh lines of destruction.
“I do believe we’ll have to put a new city here.” Daniel murmured. “Fill in this crater. Make it a lake. Put a shrine in the middle… After the hurt comes the healing.”
He knelt down, and the destroyer of the city, who was an architect by schooling, used a piece of concrete slab and a burned chunk of wood to sketch the first outlines of Irenasgrad.
Peace city.
"Peace can mean the sight of children at play in a park. Or it can mean the absolute, perfect silence that follows a gunshot."
-Doug
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