Secret Revealed

"Tell me a secret," Hannah whispered, nudging me in the side.

I looked up at her, "what kind of secret? There are so many different kinds and different levels of secrets. There are everyday secrets, and there are deeper secrets, secrets that you don't mind people knowing, and secrets that you would guard with your life," I said.

She blinked at me, clearly at a loss for words.

I smiled, "alright, here's a secret for you. One that few people know," I said, drawing out the suspense.

Hannah leaned in close to me, "tell me."

"I'm colorblind," I said.

(short but to the point. lol)

Never Will

I don't think I ever told him about that night. The night I first kissed him. We had talked many times since then, but I don't think he ever knew that it was my first kiss. He never knew how long I had waited to find someone special, someone that I could love enough to give that special moment to.

I don't think he knew how important he was to me, how much I had come to love him in such a short time. He probably didn't know how much it hurt to lose him, because I never told him that I loved him.

And now I never will.

You're on

When I sing, I sing only for her. I know that other women come to listen to me, stare at me in rapt attention, dreamy looks floating across their faces. They never see more than my smile, I make sure of that.

It doesn't seem to matter if it's in English, Italian or French; all my songs call to her. I can see it in her eyes, the puzzled look that creases her brow as of she is trying to puzzle something together.

I look out from the side of the stage, from that slight part between the curtain and the wall. I look out at her. Alastrina, sitting so poised and beautiful near the bar. I take in her figure from afar, her green dress swirling just perfectly about her knees. I can also feel the butterflies building in my stomach. Each time I sing to her it's as if it's the first time.

"You're on Partrick," the stage manager told me as he brushed past me.

I swallowed a bit nervously, and reminded myself why I was doing this. I was doing it for her. Hopefully I wouldn't need to keep secrets from her much longer. I stepped out onto the dark stage and found my place as the opening notes flooded into the room.


Hush now baby don't you cry
Rest your wings my butterfly
Peace will come to you in time
And I will sing this lullaby...

Silken Goat

"You look surprised to see me," Andrew said, reclining on a plush chair.

I blinked, still not quite sure what to make of the situation, "what are you doing here?" I finally managed to get out.

"Didn't you hear that I've been reformed?" he asked. He sipped at his cocktail, smirking like that cat that ate the canary. "I paid my debt to society and they let me out for good behavior," he said. "After all, I was wrongfully imprisoned," he put on a look of hurt, "and I was such a model prisoner. They never had any problems with me at all."

But all those people you killed, all the lives you destroyed. How could they let you out?" I asked.

Andrew stood up and walked across the room to the bar, glancing back at me, "come now Benjamin, I never actually killed anyone, and those so called 'lives' were barely worth calling lives anyway. It was a mercy to them."

"You might fool them," I said quietly, "but I know what you are. A monster. A cold blooded killer who will never change."

"But I have changed Ben. Your government even said so," he laughed.

I shook my head and stepped towards the door, "put silk on a goat, and it's still a goat," I said and walked out into the night.

(Not really what I had in mind for this. I think I will try this quote again later at some point. I really do like it.)

Silence and the Sound of Home

“But I –” Topher began.

Adelle cut in. “Do not speak unless you can improve the silence.”

Topher shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked. He raised his eyebrows and made a series of highly expressive and inexplicable gestures that indicated he was very agitated about the situation at hand, but Adelle was pondering a serious problem and ignored him.

A voice broke through Adelle’s brooding, and she spun, ready to deliver a sharp invective to the person who had dared act against a direct order, but it was just George, tall and golden and beautiful and so much a victim, standing in the doorway with a pleasantly passive expression on his face.

“ – Ready for my treatment.”

Topher, very deliberately not saying a word, gestured for George to cross the room and seat himself in The Chair. Adelle studied George, and remembered when she’d first seen him, a broken runaway who’d ended up past the other side of the tracks and almost drowned himself in the river of humanity that was Los Angeles. In his doll state, he didn’t have the accent that reminded Adelle fiercely of home.

Six more months on his contract, and his very wealthy parents would be pleased at the sane, healthy, confident young man who returned their vast estates in the Southeast.

Topher was distracted from his mime act by pulling up The Pipepline and parameters of the engagement. He’d done the work beforehand, but once Ivy, sleep-deprived and too afraid to confess it, had mixed up the imprints and the dolls, and Topher was one for leaning from mistakes.

He lowered the chair, and the light flared blue. Adelle didn’t even flinch anymore when George hissed, arched his back in pain, but then Topher was raising the chair, and George was no more.

George’s handler, Perry, was a slender slip of a thing, and underestimated by everyone who looked at him.

“Are you ready?” Perry asked.

“Of course,” George said, only he was someone else now, someone who sounded like home, and Adelle wished, for one moment, he could stay for a chat.

(350 words)

Cursed

The blisters on the bottom of my feet seared with pain, each step a fresh agony, every mile a torment. Remote hills marched ponderously closer and receded into the distance behind me.

I didn't know where I was going anymore. Didn't know where I had been or what the next rise would show me; I only knew that I had to keep moving forward. Forever wandering. This was my curse and my punishment.

It all seemed so long ago now. A curse placed upon me for an innocent mistake. I thought back on how I had come to be on this long road.

Nadya was as beautiful as the sunrise and as fair as the spring wind and I had made the mistake of falling in love with her. She was of the wandering people. The Romani, the gypsies. They were an old people. With old traditions and old magic. Nadya had been promised to another, but I didn't care. I foolishly persuaded her to run away with me. I was sure we would be happy together.

That was before her mother had found us out. I remember the coldness in her eyes, deep, fathomless eyes that seemed to burn even as they froze. She simply stepped between us. She looked me in they eye and said, "Poate tu rătăcească pe faţa pământului pentru totdeauna, niciodată de două ori dorm in acelasi pat, nu bea apă de două ori din acelaşi bine, şi niciodată nu cruce de două ori acelaşi râu într-un an."

From that moment on I have continuously wandered. Never resting more than a day and never in the same place. It was a long time before I found anyone that could translate the words that had been burned into my memory. And when I did, I finally understood.



May you wander over the face of the earth forever, never sleep twice in the same bed, never drink water twice from the same well, and never cross the same river twice in a year.

Speech in Silence

It was a long time before I realized why David was so different from other men, and people in general.

It wasn't the fact that he was gentle, I knew a few men who were just as gentle. It wasn't that he was extremely handsome, though he certainly was. It was simply the fact that he said nothing at all. Ever.

I realized it the day that I ran right into him. The boss had just bawled me out for turning in a project late and I was hurrying back to my desk to finalize the plans for the new high rise that our firm was building in the heart of the city. I wasn't looking where I was going, furiously making notes on my hand held about the specs that needed to be updated and the building codes that had to be checked, when I slammed right into someone, knocking the both of us down amid a flurry of papers.

"I am so sorry!" I exclaimed. I made a grab for some papers that were floating within reach. "I wasn't watching where I was going. It's all my fault," I said.

I finally looked up after gathering the papers and my eyes met Davids.

"David!" I gasped, "I... I didn't know it was you."

He smiled at me and made a calming gesture.

"Are you alright?" I asked, "Is anything missing." I reached out to take his offered hand and stood up straight. David nodded and handed me back my hand held. I could feel my brow furrowing in confusion, "David?"

David simply smiled at me and reached into his pocket for a small pad of paper and a pen. "I'm alright. Are you okay?" he jotted down in a neat hand.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't realized," I stumbled over an apology, embarrassed that I didn't know that he was mute. I felt my face grow red.

"It's alright," I read from his paper, "sometimes silence is also speech.”

A Garden in My Pocket

"Found one!" I called out in excitement.

I pounced in glee when my eyes fell on a pocket version of my favorite book, The Count of Monte Cristo. Ann and I were following our usual Saturday ritual of combing through old book stores for rare finds.

I thumbed through the slightly wrinkled pages, noting the slight water damage to the edges. The print was excruciatingly small, but I didn't mind too much. Not when I had the opportunity to carry it with me anywhere.

"Susan, are you finished?" Ann called out to me from the front of the store. I smiled in response to my friend, though she couldn't see me at the moment. I could always count on Ann to join me in a book hunt.

I stepped around the end of a shelf and spotted my friend. She was petite, with red hair and bright blue eyes. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose.

"What did you find?" Ann asked.

"A copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. And it's small enough to carry anywhere," I said with excitement.

"But you have at least four copies of that book already," Ann laughed. We quickly payed for our purchases.

"But this one I can take anywhere. After all a book is like a garden carried in the pocket," I said.

Beyond and Beyond

"Where are you going?" James asked. He stood to the side as he watched his friend packing an old leather backpack; the type you would associate with a long journey.

"I don't really know. Not yet at least," Brandon replied as he placed another item in the bag. Piled along side the bag was a long walking stick and a map, a rain coat and a pair of sturdy boots.

"I guess a better question would be why are you going?" James said.

Brandon mumbled something under his breath.

"I didn't quite catch that mate," James said and he leaned closer.

"Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea. And East and West, the wanderthirst that will never let me be. It works in me like madness to bid me say goodbye. For the seas call and the stars call, and oh, the call of the sky," Brandon quoted.

James blinked in surprise at the intensity. Not only of his friend but also of the poem. In those few lines he began to understand what drove his friend to travel.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" James asked after a moment, the words of the poem still echoing in he mind, reverberating with a hidden power.

"I wouldn't mind at all," Brandon said with a smile, "long roads seem shorter with a friend at your side."

Guitar and Drums

“So I hear you play the drums,” Will said.

Anna blinked. “You heard correctly. Why?”

“Are you busy?”

Answering a question with a question – a law student should know better. Anna said, “No.”

“Is it true you have a set of drums in your apartment?” Will asked.

“Yes.” Where was he going with this?

“Great. Can I come over?”

Anna glanced longingly at the next season of Spooks, waiting for her in all its Richard Armitage goodness and said, “Yes.”

Seven minutes later, Anna opened her door and saw Will standing on the doorstep, guitar slung across his back, amp in one hand.

“Where are your drums?” he asked.

Anna gaped. Will – proper, buttoned-up, Victorian Will – played the guitar? A gleaming red electric fender, no less. Will craned his neck and peered past her.

“Oh, they’re in your room,” he said. “Is there a plug in there for me to set up?”

Anna said, “Yes,” because it seemed that was all she was capable of saying, and she led Will into her bedroom. He spotted a power outlet and set up immediately while she stared, confused.

“Sit down and play a beat, any beat,” he said, so Anna, still dazed, obeyed. She grabbed her sticks, adjusted the hi-hat, and picked a beat from a song she’d been working on for a while. It was a beat for a Moffatts song, but then Will began picking a series of notes, a Chili Peppers song, and somehow it worked.

Will played the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

In Anna’s room. While she played the drums.

Wonders would never cease. Anna kicked into a filler and slid into a new beat, and Will followed her, this time with some Pink Floyd.

To top it off, he began to sing.

(297 words)

Anymore

Each tear is a searing needle
Digging deep into the soul
Every memory a traitorous
Tether, binding free will.

Lightest brush of the fingers,
Tingles remembered. Dancing.
Dancing across the skin.

Simple embrace,
seeking comfort.
Fitting together
Just like before.

A stolen kiss
Quiet whispers.

I can't do this anymore.

Gifts of Life

Give me life and give me hope,
New beginnings and
Springtime joys.

Give me air and light,
Bright days and
Starry nights

Give me freshening winds,
Dancing waves and
Soaring birds.

Give me majestic pines
Wooded hills and
Rocky slopes

Give me vast deserts,
Shifting sands and
Scorching earth.

Give me frozen ponds,
Drifting snow and
Misting breath.

Give me a world of wonder.
Each day a gift and
Each night a dream.

Shut Up

"We're lost."

"No We're not. We are exactly where we are supposed to be."

"Oh really? Since when did Utah have a great river running thorough it?"

"The Colorado River runs through Utah."

"That isn't the Colorado. It's to big. I told you we should have taken exit 251. But you didn't want to listen to me."

"Then what do you suggest genius?"

"Pull off at the next exit and turn us around. Duh."

"Fine. There's a sign coming up. It says.... Wyoming 120 Miles."

"I told you."

"Shut up..."

No Second Chances

"Just a minute," I called towards the door when I heard the knock. I could feel my brow crinkle with confusion. Nobody that I knew would be coming around in the afternoon; they all had regular jobs that kept them busy. 'It's probably some door to door sales person,' I thought absently as I quickly finished typing out the last paragraph that I was working on and closed the lid to my laptop. I pulled a sweater on over my thin shirt as I stood up; the weather had gotten chilly recently and I didn't want to get sick. I was way too busy for that.

The knock sounded again on the pale oak of the front door.

"Yes? How can I..." My words died on my lips as my eyes fell on the man standing on my doorstep. A man I hadn't seen in four years.

"John," I whispered in shock.

"Hello Chris," he said, his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. A smile that I knew as well as if it were my own.

I was too stunned to even respond. A thousand memories and feelings connected to that smile stampeded across my mind.

"Chris?"

It was almost as if I heard him from a distance, his voice faint, an undercurrent to the rush of blood in my ears. "Chris? Are you alright?" he asked when I didn't move.

I jumped like I had been electrocuted when I felt his fingers brush my arm in concern.

My eyes once again focused on what was in front of me, "What are you doing here John?" I took a step back so that I was firmly out of reach. I didn't know how he had found me or even why he was here.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said as he folded his arms across his body, as if to keep his hands to himself.

"So talk."

"Chris, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," he began.

"It's Christina," I interrupted him, "please don't call me Chris. Nobody calls me Chris anymore."

'Nobody since you,' I thought to myself.

"Okay, Christina," he almost stumbled over my full name, "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry, that I was completely in the wrong..."

His voice faded into the background again as the memories of that night so many years ago played across my mind.
********

Most of the memories of that day were fuzzy, distorted, and even missing, but what I did remember was that it had been raining that day, the moisture was thick in the cool September air and the sun was playing peek-a-boo in the clouds. I remembered waiting for him. He had promised to meet me, that he had something to tell me. I remember sitting on our bench in the park, my coat pulled tight around me, and waiting.

I was still waiting when the sun went down, and when the rain began to pound harder. I remember being puzzled, and then worried, and then angry. And I remember realizing that he wasn't coming. So I went home.

I expected him to call. He never did. And I never saw him again. Until today.

"Can you forgive me Christina?"

I focused on him again. "I'm sorry John, but it doesn't work like that. You don't get to destroy someones life and then get to waltz back in as if nothing had ever happened."

"Chris..."

"It's Christina!" I almost shouted. "Chris stopped existing a long time ago. She stopped existing the day you left," I finished quietly, barely more than a whisper. I could feel the tears beginning to pool, but I would never let him see them.

"I'm sorry John, but there are no second chances," I said as I slowly closed the door on my past.

(sorry this one ran a little long, but I rather liked the way that it was turning out.)

Henry

Henry was all angles. From his bony elbows and knees to the sharp angle of his chin. Tall, was what people called him when they were being polite. Fire red hair stood up all over his head in cowlicks and swirls, his bangs falling into his bright blue eyes. His deep quiet voice seemed to rumble up from the earth, or from the general vicinity of his size 18 shoes.

His movements were always slow and studied, as if he were afraid he would break something. And he felt awkward, as if he never quite fit.

Always out of place.

Dale

Screams echoed in his head. Screams from battles past, and not so past. Screams of the innocent as well as the guilty, of those he had killed and of those that he had simply stood aside and let die. Voices that lingered, reverberating inside his head, rising and falling with the rush of blood through his veins. They were as much a part of him as his own heart beat.

Dale pressed one slender hand to the side of his head, as if willing the voices to silence by sheer force alone. And when he opened his eyes, they were fathomless black.

Beth

Her skin was almost translucently pale; her hands thin and spidery, and she shivered in the stiff January wind that blew off of the ocean. 'Time's getting short,' she thought, and it wasn't just the sinking sun that crossed her mind. Eyes, the same color as the waves stared off into the distance; watching waves merge into horizon.

Beth wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her stocking cap closer about her bare head, the wind seemed to cut right through her as if she wasn't even there. Pretty soon she wouldn't be.

Soon enough, only the wind would remain.

(100)

News to Share

The nurses who were on third shift at the ER had the distinct pleasure of working with Dr. Carroll. They agreed he was the nicest doctor - he wasn’t stuck up like the others, and he was always polite to the staff, and he had a cute little country drawl that he said he got from his mama, who’d been a wild cowgirl back in her day. But for his lab coat and staff badge, most of the nurses wouldn’t have pegged him for a doctor. They did peg him for the sweetest thing alive the first time they saw him comfort a little girl who’d been injured while playing with her father’s nail gun. Men with children were irresistible, and everyone seemed to know it - but Dr. Carroll. Gina and some of the prettier nurses had tried flirting with him, because he didn’t wear a wedding ring, but he was always politely oblivious to their advances.

“He must be gay,” Gina said.

Lila shook her head. “No. He’s mentioned a theoretical girl of his dreams once or twice, but you have to admit - working the third shift doesn’t really make for a great dating life.”

Gina nodded. “Yeah. He’s such a nice guy. Any girl would be lucky to have him.” She hummed thoughtfully and was about to pick another topic of conversation when Sandy, the staff nurse called her name.

“You have a patient in exam room five. Bandage her up and call Dr. Hammond for a consult - patient may have a broken hand.”

Gina nodded and accepted the folder and headed down the hall. Broken hand usually meant some stupid teenaged boy who’d gotten into a dust-up. Gina flipped open the folder at the same time as she yanked open the curtain to exam room five, and she drew up short.

The patient was female, and small, maybe twenty-five at the oldest, and she had a bruise above her eye, a bloody nose, and a split lip. She was cradling her right arm close to her body, and her wrist was hanging at an awkward angle.

Gina blinked, then peered down at the folder. “Miss - Carroll –”

“You don’t have to call the cops. It’s not a DV,” the woman said. “Just bandage me up and give me some ice, all right?”

“Your hand might be broken,” Gina said. “We’ll have to get some x-rays to be sure. Let me page Dr. Hammond.” She stepped back and twitched the curtain shut, reached for the page phone on the wall, and Dr. Carroll came careening around the corner.

“Oh,” Gina said. “I was going to page Dr. Hammond, but if you can consult –”

Dr. Carroll flung the curtain aside. “Ashley! What happened to you?”

“Belt testing, remember? I made high brown,” she said. “Get out of here, Chris. You’re not allowed to treat me. Conflict of interest, remember?”

Gina blinked, confused at the scene. Then she glanced down at the folder, and registered - Ashley Carroll, Dr. Carroll. Doctors weren’t allowed to treat their own family members.

“You made high brown?” Dr. Carroll reached out, brushed a lock of hair back from Ashley’s face. The gesture was familiar, gentle.

Ashley nodded. “Yeah. It was worth every bruise.”

“Congratulations, honey. I wish they didn’t hit so hard.” Dr. Carroll sighed. “How do you feel?”

“Like three black belts tried to knock the seven bells out of me,” Ashley said.

“Right. Look, I can get off shift early –”

“No need, not on my account. I’ll get this x-rayed and then go home and you can take me out for breakfast when you’re done, all right?”

“All right.” Dr. Carroll stood up. “Dr. Hammond’s a good guy. You’ll be fine.”

Ashley smiled. “I know I will. Now go make sure that nurse doesn’t call in a DV or something stupid.”

“Right.” Dr. Carroll twitched the curtain aside, and Gina jumped guiltily, hoping she didn’t look like she’d just been eavesdropping on the biggest news to hit the ER gossip circuit since a nurse was arrested for fraud a year ago.

“Make sure my wife gets excellent care, all right? I have to attend a patient,” Dr. Carroll said, and he strode away.

Gina said, “Yes, Doctor,” automatically, and reached for the page phone. As soon as she was done paging Dr. Hammond, she beckoned for Lila. She had news to share.


(731 words)

No Self-Respecting Wizard

“Tech support,” Wyllt said in a crisp, professional tone. He settled both hands on his keyboard and began typing rapidly. Beside his mousepad, his cup of tea continued steaming. A muttered syllable and a flash of gold in Wyllt’s eyes and his teaspoon resumed stirring for him. “Have you closed all the other windows, madam?” Then he paused, sighed, and said, “No, madam, not the windows in the house - the windows on your computer screen. Yes, the frame-thingies.”

In the corner, Ambrose was curled up on his favorite over-stuffed chair, a human skull balanced on one knee, his grimoire balanced on the other. A chalk circle was inscribed on the hardwood floor around him while he attempted to animate the skull Lost Unicorn style.

“All right, is your computer successfully rebooted?” Wyllt asked. He cast a glance at his teacup, and the teaspoon vanished in a puff of smoke. Moments later, it clattered into the sink in the kitchen down the hall. He pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved another aggrieved sigh. “Madam, unplugging and then replugging your computer is not the definition of ‘reboot’. Look - do you have an internet connection? Once your computer is on again, you’ll need to open up the internet - yes, the blue and yellow e-shaped button in the bottom right corner of the screen - and I can take over remotely. Yes, from where I’m sitting. Yes, I’ll hold, Madam.”

“You know,” Ambrose said, “any self-respecting wizard would have made that computer explode by now, what with all the magic you’ve been using. And he wouldn’t know the definition of ‘reboot’ either.”

Wyllt sipped some of his tea. “Who said I was self-respecting? I do tech support.” He set his tea down hastily. “Yes, Madam, I’m still here.”

(300 words)

Family Dinner

“Ma, ‘m hungry.” The little boy reached up and tugged on the woman’s sleeve.

She sighed and pushed her glasses higher up her nose. “I know, darling, Mama just needs a few more minutes.”

The boy pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m old enough to get food on my own now.”

“No you’re not,” the woman said absently, flicking beads on her abacus with inhuman speed. “You’re still grounded from feeding off the neighbours’ niece last month.”

“She was O positive. I like O positive,” the boy said. He pouted some more.

“You can’t always get the type you want.” The woman wrote some neat figures in her ledger and turned the page. “Back when I was a little girl, we had to hunt people in the middle of the night, and we were glad for what we could get.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “I know - you had to sleep in sewers and abandoned graves and sometimes steal from blood banks.”

The woman glanced at her watch. “Your father will be home from work soon. He promised to help you work on your bat transformation tonight, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Go play some Castlevania until Daddy gets home, okay?”

“Yes, Mama.” The boy sighed and slunk away. He reached up and prodded one of his fangs - distended from hunger - and resigned himself to his DS until his father came home.

(234 words)