This is my content blog! I go by either Badger or Socks, whatever you remember first. This is where I post my writing, drawing, and sewing. Personal account is @makeroftherunes
I wanted to do this yesterday, but frankly, it wasn't happening. I have had this idea for months but couldn't really confront actually writing it till this morning.
Technically this isn't WIP Wednesday, but I am really hoping that I can at least sometimes hold myself to writing weekly.
I think this will be called the Albatross :)
A content warning for war, the concept of death, and religious themes (also in the tags!).
Prologue
The barrier would not hold for long. Seren could hear the clashing of arms and the shrieks of the newly damned getting closer and closer. It clutched its sword with trembling hands, planting its feet firmly.
It wondered how dying would feel.
At least, it hoped it would die. It wasn’t sure that it could die, but Seren reckoned that dying would at least be a clean failure. It hoped that its thoughts were not the loudest thing to hear, over the sounds of war.
The barrier swirled, warping as the beings outside pushed against it. Seren felt the presence behind it shift, and it closed its eyes to concentrate. It took this time in darkness to mourn the eternity it might have spent here, the souls it could have saved, the prayers it could have answered, the worship it could have sang. Selfishly, it mourned its voice, cherished and nurtured. But mostly, it experienced grief as it imagined that felt to a mortal. It opened its eyes to see the barrier bulging nearly to its face.
A hand flickered through the barrier. Seren stretched its wings straight behind its back, and quietly began to sing.
The song began thin, as Seren was alone. There would be no more chorus to strengthen it. And yet, as limbs and swords and shouts broke through and the barrier weakened, its voice began to build. A lullaby grew, waking and stretching into a hymn, and as the barrier shattered and Seren was blinded by light, reached its fever pitch of a battle cry. Seren saw its brethren, its family and comrades, either burning in golden flame on the ground or aiming weapons at Seren itself. And in the center, taller than the rest, golden hair trailing along the ground, was the leader. Their Eldest.
Seren knew then that hope, for it, was lost. In truth, it had known this for quite some time. But it would not be destroyed in cowardice.
Silence descended, but for Seren’s voice. It was the sound of mothers wailing, soldiers shouting, horses screaming. Several figures in the army before it stepped back, looking at each other in doubt. Seren spread its wings and shot into the air, and at its crescendo, its first challenger flew to meet it.
An age passed, and Seren still floated, injured and softly singing. It sang a mourning song. It would not sing of victory while cutting down its kin. A fourth challenger rose to meet it, but the Eldest raised its hand. The eager contender stood down, its wings folding. Seren prepared itself to die.
The Eldest rose into the air itself. The sword in its hand glowed, holy light suffusing its blade. But Seren could feel something Wrong, something Dark, about the blade. It tasted of death and failure.
The eldest looked at Seren with pity, and with righteous conviction. Its blade swung faster than Seren could see, and thought it blocked the blow, its own sword shattered on impact. It rained down on the crowd below, in divine silver. Seren watched, and when it turned back to the Eldest, it saw its kin was smiling.
The eldest raised the sword again, and Seren resisted the urge to close its eyes. It would die looking in its Eldest’s eyes, singing.
And yet, it would not.
A crushing weight wrapped around Seren. The Eldest was knocked backwards, managing to stay in the air. Seren screamed in protest, as it was pulled backwards from the battle, its kin rushing away impossibly fast. It struggled, trying to return to its post. To protect. The presence refused to release it, and Seren heard the Word.
“My child, forgive me, and do not despair.”
And the next moment, it was falling.
It fell so quickly, it began to burn. Holy golden fire flared to crimson and white as it hurtled towards the Earth. Seren wept, its tears floating up from its face and turning to mist in the flames.
The fire began to consume it, its vestments burning away to its form. It could feel its wings singe, and its body began to catch. Seren could not suppress its shrieks, as it felt its spirit burn away, and in its place, the birth of a soul.
As the Earth rushed closer, and the trees and rivers began to show themselves, Seren began to lose consciousness. One last time, it looked towards heaven, and reached with both arms as it screamed.
((Reblog or Halloween won’t be celebrated. If you reblog this in 50 seconds, you’ll have the best Halloween and be blessed by the spoopy skeleton gods.))
((This skeleton will also break all chain mail or reblog or die posts and you’ll live a happy life.))
there is a surprising amount of research on the effects of music on plant growth and I find this subtle diss of country music to be absolutely hilarious
Okay, but also: if you see a Muslim praying in public and they have something in front of them, like a purse or a bag or something like that, you can pass in front of them, but pass in front of that object.
it’s called a sutrah, and it’s meant to act as a physical barrier between the person praying and someone who might happen to pass in front.
Also, if you did this and didn’t know, please don’t beat yourself up over it. Now you know! Muslims aren’t supposed to pass in front of Muslims praying, either, because prayer is communication with God and you don’t want to break that connection.
Similarly, if a Jew is saying the Shemonah Esrei prayer (whispered, moving only the mouth, standing facing east with legs together) don’t go in front unless there’s a barrier.
y’all saying BLM for one situation just don’t sit right with me, it goes beyond police brutality!!! it’s Black women dying at a higher rate during childbirth. it’s Black people being exposed to COVID-19 at a higher rate. it’s Black people being forced into low income communities. it’s Black people being denied job opportunities due to the name on their applications. it’s Black people being denied into higher institutions despite having the same qualifications as their non-Black counterparts. it’s Black people having their creations and ideas stolen without being given credit simply because a good percentage of society still believes in 2020 that Black people are not creative enough or smart enough or skilled enough. this isn’t just about police brutality. this is deeper than that.
Created from a story prompt; The old Gods are dying. Part 1 soon to follow!
No one is trying to hide it anymore; I am a dying breed. The old gods are disappearing. We are fading into our stories, regressing into bedtime stories and sensational (albeit excellent) pop culture releases. The old gods are washing away, my brothers and sisters choosing to blend in with human society or retreat to any existing wilderness and abandoning their temples and pantheons. It’s true, and I should say it to remind myself. The old gods are lost.
The humans would refer to my current position as “job security.” Mine is the only kingdom that remains intact. Zeus’ lightning has been coerced into every home in his old domain. Planes fly freely through his territory, humans parachute through his air. Hera’s sacrament of marriage has become a plague to her. She weeps for herself, cursed to remain with her wild-eyed husband, and for her children who have been banned from her sacred rite. Iris made a rainbow cloak for her, light as mist, and if you look closely at the pictures of Pride, you can see a blurred female face in each of them, crying softly. Ares’ war has become a war he doesn’t understand. He understands the battle, the meeting of enemies and the clash of swords. He cannot rule over computer generated plans and drones, and he cannot protect his soldiers from IEDs and their own superiors. He does not understand war, as occupation.
Even my wife’s realm is not untouched. Seasons still come and go, but humans have done their utmost to manufacture a Forever Spring. She still lives, with the home gardeners; celebrating a first successful garden, reviving flower beds with her rain. But sometimes, when the crashing of trees and the oiling of oceans becomes too heavy, she goes to sit in our garden for days. She sits with her flowers and fruit, and picks pomegranates. All I can do is bring her some ambrosia tea, a cat from the high levels, and hope she knows how much I love her. And I do love her, my queen, Persephone.
Beside her, I reign over the largest kingdom the gods ever created; the Underworld. Death. Hades. Hell. I am Hades, and I am the keeper of every soul we have created.
Many regard me as a devil. I don’t mind. They are angry and afraid of death, but I will see them in my halls one day. Persephone and I focus on the living, strangely. It can become lonely and boring, to be a god. So, in this chrome and asphalt age full of young people and their whims, we decided to busy ourselves among them. We wanted to be where lives are happening and people are giving way.
Super excited to (very suddenly - whoops) announce that the intro and Part 1 of my new story will be up tomorrow! Thank you to everyone for their kind words about the end of Wild West, and for reading the Sun Lantern. I love you guys :)
YES, A SHORT STORY, SHE SAID. IT WILL BE QUICK, SHE SAID. Anyway this is that short story, I had so much fun with it. @g10-gaming Sent me a post about “everyday magic” and I filed it away ages ago. I love this story, I hope it makes someone smile today :)
Nothing is ever more jolting than your alarm going off during REM sleep. I practically flew out of bed. Smacking around on my bedside table for my phone, I wondered if I could call in sick today. No way would my boss not see through that.
I sat up rubbing my eyes. My room was almost too small for one person; my bed took up most of the space, with the dresser shoved into one corner and a tiny desk in the other. I couldn’t open my door all the way because it hit the desk, but that didn’t matter as I always kept it closed. My plants floated above my head- lavender over my bed, english ivy weaving itself across the windows, jasmine blooming every day over my desk, kokedamas of succulents and ferns drifting around, all hopefully giving off serotonin and dopamine amplifiers. Supposedly helping my mental state.
My current mental state was foggy, distantly awake, and apathetic. A fairly good start. I hauled myself out of bed, snatching up my jeans and hopping into them to the door. I opened it silently in case any of either of the human girls I lived with were asleep. No one was in the living room. It was 4:30 AM, so this was expected, even of the vampire. He got home from the immunology lab at 3, and did reports and studying shut up in his room. Night shift, of course; I heard the other shift workers loved him. I went to pour some tea leaves in the kitchen, and mindlessly scooped at an empty can before remembering I’d run out yesterday.
“Fuck me,” I mumbled, doing my best not to stomp as I made my way to the bathroom instead. As I brushed my teeth, I assessed how much work I wanted to bother putting into my hair. I used to straighten it every morning, but that took so long I eventually gave up. Besides, my mama said natural black hair was beautiful anyway, and if it was good enough for Mama, it was good enough for me. My makeup sat optimistically in my drawer of the cabinet, most of it having expired untouched several months ago. I did the bare minimum; my hair was a mess of corkscrews, longer than it had ever been. I looked like a hyacinth, a smaller face surrounded by an explosion of adornment.
I washed my face and checked my watch. I had more time than usual, so stopping to get Cassie’s tea wouldn’t be a problem. I texted Daphne, my boss, asking if she wanted anything. I zipped up an old canvas jacket and locked my front door behind me.
It was a brisk April morning, alright for a run. The cold air was sharp in my lungs as I started to jog downtown. I didn’t like public transport and couldn’t afford car payments. Males of every species tended to be too...grabby in a bus or metro carriage, and besides I had no issue with running. Nymphs are known for being fast runners. I hear Apollo learned this the hard way. Idiot.
I ran through the street lit morning, the city already humming around me. I passed Merl’s Auto, with Merl himself opening his roll door. Jessie, his familiar currently presenting as a dalmation, barked happily at me as I waved to Merl.
“Alright, love?” He called to me.
“Still going!” I shouted back. Jessie leapt up and ran to the end of the block with me, I turned onto Main, heading towards the heart of downtown. The main drag was lined with huge oak trees. The dryads had petitioned to put them in to “beautify” downtown about ten years ago. As dryad decisions go, it was a fairly good one. I slowed as I neared Cassie’s, pulling out my wallet. Cassie waved at me as I approached the windows.
Cassie’s Coffee was a larger storefront. Windows wrapped around the front, exposed brick warming the inside. Everything was “natural” looking inside Cassie’s, without crossing over into the “vegan anti-vaxxer” style. Live edge tables were lit by simple elegant pendant lights, the different shots and enchantments lined the walls in glass jars, and the best coffee money could buy came in huge mugs. This morning, in the middle of the week at 5 AM, no customers were laughing in the windows. Cassie stood at the grinder, pouring in beans. The chimes above the door announced me.
“Morning, love!” She called out without turning around. “Right there on the bar for you!”
“Thanks, Cassie.” I pulled out my wallet as I approached. Two take-away teas were steaming there; one oolong, extra shot of focus and honey, and one chai with two calm and one vanilla. You could taste the magic in them. Focus tasted bittersweet, something to snap you back. Hope tasted like honey, not too sweet but enough to notice. Calm and confidence were similar, warm and spicy, but the latter with a slight tang. Both were excellent with chai. I wrinkled my nose. I hated chai, but Daphne drank it like it was going out of style. “Wow, how’d you know?”
“Oh, a joker, so original.” She wasn’t facing me but I knew the eye roll just the same. The scorn of a seer over a joke, I tell you.
I was about to remind her that I had to pay when the swinging door to the back room opened and suddenly my lungs forgot how to breathe properly. A girl walked into the room, the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. She was perfectly proportioned, like a sculptor had agonized over the exact full curves of her hips for weeks. Her hair, shining silvery white, was pinned in an elegant low ponytail swishing past her hips. Carrying a box, she walked to the other end of the bar, away from me. Her hair pin caught my eye; it seemed to glow, emitting its own light. It even flickered. There was something unmistakably magical about her, but not any magic I knew of. It was mysterious. It felt like seeing a fantastical painting scene, where it seems unreachable tranquil and mystical. She was-
“Tea! Right!” I was sweating bullets. The girl turned to look at me and smiled. Fuck. I handed Cassie her $6.00-with-tip-total and booked it out the door.
“I am a disaster,” I muttered to myself as I walked as fast as I physically could to Daphne’s, angrily sipping my tea. This did nothing to assuage my annoyance, but it did distract me by searing the shit out of the roof of my mouth. I turned the corner onto Garden, trying to salvage the morning. At least the focus shot was already starting to work.
Daphne’s Flowers was a hole-in-the-wall shop, literally. When the city was established and a town center founded, buildings were far apart so as to allow for carriages to deliver between them. Some were filled in, especially those along the riverfront. But about 25 years ago, a water main burst between the two, severely damaging one building and destroying the decaying courtyard between the two. Daphne offered to buy the land between for her flower shop, had the concrete removed and began restoring the underlying soil. Now, it looked as I saw it; a Dutch door at the entrance, latices of vines creating a living building, and a soft glow breaching through the leaves. The vines could be opened up if it was warm, or if it was raining lightly. Behind the door lay a calm, lush oasis of Daphne’s wonderful imagination.
Daphne had known me since I was born. She’d been a friend of my mother’s since childhood, and Mama had worked for her since my father had left. Daphne offered me a job and her when I showed a proficiency for magical and ornate flowers. Daphne was a nymph, just like my mother and I. She had general plant and flower manipulation, whereas I, an anthsousia, specialized in flowers. When I was old enough, Daphne developed a wedding wing of her business, which I worked almost exclusively in now due to my talents with the fancier flora.
Today, as I worked the gate open while balancing the cups, Daphne was starting on the local orders of the day. She was wearing her usual uniform of a t-shirt and overalls. Her long black hair was in a braid, streaks of grey weaving almost to her waist. She smiled at me, barely a line in that beautiful face. She stood as I came in.
“Good mornin, hon,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag and accepting her tea, “Oh, how lovely.”
“Morning,” I said, going around the counter to find my apron.
“How’re you doin today?”
“Alright.” I shrugged.
She looked at me for a moment longer than was necessary, as though she might debate this. She was older than my Mama was and yet neither of them ever seemed to have a discernible age. They had just seemed to be. It had been just the three of us, running the shop; three magical black ladies, sipping tea and growing plants.
“Okay then,” Daphne said, in a tone that said she didn’t believe me but wouldn’t admit it. She patted my cheek. “Lots to do.”
I grabbed my orders clipboard, cracked my knuckles, and plunged my hands into the soil.
It rained the whole month Mama was sick, but it was sunny the day she died. It seemed, at the time, to be so unjust as to be criminal. Who could have seen this woman and give her nothing but clouds as she slipped away, never to see sunlight again? It was two years ago, nearly to the day, but I remember vividly the anger I felt at seeing the sun. I’m sure Apollo heard my grief that day. I’m sure every god, regardless of region or religion, was blamed for taking my mother back. I would like to tell you that I let go of that anger, that I had a fairy tale story of rebirth and growing stronger. But instead the anger faded, and nothing replaced it. Nothing at all. It was like I was the one buried in soil, like my plants; aware of the world above, wishing to join, but not strong enough to break through. It was at least a month before I could even grow a daisy.
Now, my magic was full again, and as it was all I had, I put my whole life into these flowers. I grew them slowly, each getting its own care and time. Nymphs can’t grow a whole shop’s inventory on the spot. Well, we could, but the drain on our power and energy would cause any normal nymph to lose consciousness. We grew our flowers little by little. For large orders, we carved out days. For others, like daily deliveries, we could do it in an hour. Sun lanterns, bluebells with soft chimes, and the roses with built in charm enhancements were the biggest magical sellers, my personal favorite flowers being sun lanterns. Vibrant yellow pods, they were essentially immortal. Like Lazurus plants with water, they would remain dormant and shriveled until placed in sunlight for an hour or so; then, they would uncurl and float up in the air, illuminating a room for up to about a day. Natural solar lanterns.
We had all sorts of succulents, flowers, ground cover, and shrubs. We delivered to local businesses and events, especially weddings. These could be an all day affair, when I stayed at the venue to constantly maintain the freshness of the blooms. It drained me, but I got to keep all the tips and Daphne always gave me one or two days off after. Today, we had a delivery to two hotels and two cafes. As I scanned my clipboard, I noticed Cassie’s was the last stop. From under the soil, I felt a little sun break through as I considered that girl would be there. I immediately shook myself. I was being dense. I was just curious; she certainly wasn’t human, but she wasn’t any kind of magic I knew.
In thinking about this, one of the lilies for the first hotel came out slightly pink rather than white. I quickly fixed it, the annoyed feeling from earlier starting to seep in. I was getting distracted and I never wanted to mess up an order due to just being distracted. I got all the lilies cut, added the appropriate greenery we kept handy, wrapped up the package and left for the hotel. I managed to put the girl out of my head until I’d delivered the second to last order and headed back to Daphne’s to get Cassie’s flowers. Her order was easy: six bunches of Santa Barbara Daisies, some filler, and some spray roses. Except for the sprays, we had them all on hand. And the sprays were so easy Daphne did them while I was gone. I quickly wrapped them up, thinking about the girl’s hair clip. The way it glowed was impossibly delicate, and the golden light seemed to contrast her hair beautif-
“What’s the smile for?” Daphne asked, cutting some roses for display.
“What? Nothing. Nice day.” I took off out the door before she could accuse me of another blatant mistruth, nearly smacking into the doorframe in my haste.
I arrived at Cassie’s right on time at 8am. I slid the carrier off my back, taking out the packages of flowers and setting them on the counter. I looked around the cafe, casually. Or almost casually. I leaned on the high counter lining the pickup bar, hoping and not hoping that I could get out of here quick.
“Can I help you?”
I jumped and spun around to the bar. Unfortunately, given spatial relations and Murphy’s law, my hip jammed itself directly into the corner of the bar. I yelped and clutched my hip. “Fuck!”
“Oh my god! Are you alright?” I looked up through squinted eyes and almost swore again. Of course it would be her.
“Uh, oh, yeah, just fine.” I stood slowly and leaned on the bar again, a little more heavily this time. “I’m just delivering the flowers.”
She stared at me for a second, then realized the packages were in front of her. “Oh! They’re lovely!” She had a nice voice. European, maybe Spanish?
“Oh excellent” Cassie emerged from the back room, carrying a stack of boxes. The top one began to slip, and the girl ran over and took it from her. “Ah, thank you Llana dear.”
Llana.
I realized I was staring. I busied myself unwrapping the flowers, and signing the invoice. Cassie winked at me; I was sure she knew why I was so nervous. I coughed a goodbye and somewhat limped my way out the door.
Her name was Llana.
This routine happened every day for a week. I can’t say I was feeling any more positive, but at least my hip didn’t suffer anymore. I was absolutely terrified to say anything more than “Morning” to Llana. But at least I had something nice to think about.
One morning, I woke up with my alarm but laid there for a few minutes. The morning was very quiet, with sounds of a barely stirring city. For some reason, it was a little easier to get up that day, it was easier to look in the mirror, it was easier to run. It was easier to look in the mirror, and the shop windows blurring past, and see Mama’s face in my reflection. And it was easier to walk into Cassie’s and say,
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Llana replied, handing me the teas Cassie had already made. “I’m glad it’s a good one today.” I knitted my eyebrows. “You usually just say ‘morning.’ Today you said good morning.”
I opened my mouth, but my brain hadn’t decided what was going to come out. It was too slow, apparently, because instead of “thank you” or “You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen upon this hellscape of an earth,” what I said was “You too!”
We stared at each other for a moment as the steam rose from the tea in my hands, and my brain finally caught up. When it did, it suddenly decided, wow, this is the worst thing you’ve pretty much ever done. I decided the best course of action was to spin around, nearly slinging tea all over myself, and leave IMMEDIATELY.
“You too?!” I berated myself as I strode with rage down the street. “What the fuck.” I was irrationally angry, and I know it wasn’t really about “You too.” It had been such a good morning. All I’d had to do was go with it and be a functioning human.
Daphne looked up as I stomped in. I practically threw her tea to her and slammed mine on the desk. She leapt up and grabbed my shoulders. “Oh no, we are taking this bad energy OUT.” She pushed me back out the door and onto the promenade. “What is up with you, girl? You’re spacey, then I can barely get you to talk to me, then you’re happy for a hot second before you come blazin in here with the fury of a thousand suns. Now, I don’t care if I make every order and customer we have today late, you are gonna tell me what the hell is going on.” She folded her arms, and stood as though I was going to charge her.
I glared at her, my hands shoved deep in my pockets and screwing up my mouth. I didn’t want to admit that I was angry over something so stupid, even though I knew it wasn’t just that. I didn’t want to say that I felt like I’d messed up a good day. I didn’t want to say that I’d messed up the last year of my life. I didn’t want to talk about stuff that hurt. But Daphne glared right back.
“I like this girl who works at Cassie’s, okay? And I fucked up talking to her this morning. And I hate waking up and thinking its going to be a good day and then I fuck it up. And I feel like I can’t do anything right and I’m always on autopilot, and I was to actually choose how something goes but I guess fucking not and I just wish I had-” I stopped. My throat tightened. Daphne had one hand on her cheek, her eyes gently gazing at me. “I wish I had Mama,” I choked out. I squeezed my eyes shut and shoved the heels of my hands against them.
“Oh honey.” I felt Daphne wrap her arms around me. “Oh honey.”
Do you ever think you can hold it together as long as someone else doesn’t actually show you any emotion back? Like if they just stand there silently, you can pull it back and be fine and not completely dissolve? The moment Daphne got hold of me, I burst into tears. I cried for a few minutes. It felt good. It felt like I was opening the tattered box in the attic of my mind and letting the bad stuff out for a walk. Daphne rubbed my back. She didn’t say anything else, just let me cry.
I finally caught my breath and pulled away. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” I hiccuped a few times.
“Why are you apologizing?” Daphne asked. “It’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to feel, especially if you’re angry. But I can’t tell if you’re more afraid of crying or of feeling, girl.”
In the back of my internet brain, I knew that was a Quotable Moment™. I often wondered if Daphne had some seer in her, Like Cassie. But in any case, I took a deep breath, and followed her back inside.
Usually, after work, I get home around 5. I go water my plants, toss a meal into the microwave, and slump on the couch with a hyperfixational book or show. Maybe some grocery shopping or stopping in for a drink somewhere. After Mama died, I stopped seeing friends and going to parties. I think they were relieved, honestly. How do you invite the girl whose mother just died to anything fun? With sudden free time and almost no relationships outside of Daphne and Cassie, I went dark. I packed up the house, packed all Mama’s stuff in boxes, sold the furniture and moved away. Mama was the nymph in the family, my dad was human. His family was some rich snobby family who refused to acknowledge the “stain on the family name,” or so they said in their letter back from the funeral announcement. No support from them, then. Daphne let me keep my job and paid me more, now that there were only two of us. I found my apartment, but it’s just one room that’s mine. So I put what I had of Mama into storage, shoving all my memories into that attic.
But tonight, after I got home from work, I didn’t sit down or water my plants. I paced for a while, holding my phone in one hand and tapping the other against my leg. I don’t know whether you’re more afraid of crying or of feeling, I heard over and over again. I flipped my phone over a few times, staring out the window. Yeah. Okay. I took a long breath.
I called the storage company, and then an Uber. I grabbed a jacket, brushed dirt off my jeans, and jumped into the backseat of my White Corolla ride. The nice diver, about my age, was a human girl. She was very chatty, playing the local pop station. I tipped her as much as I could and walked very quickly to my container.
I hadn’t had much to store. They gave me a small one, more like a shed, near the front. It was cheap, as units go, so they told me. I flipped through my keys for the one to the padlock, the wind starting to kick up, whipping the dust off the gravel. I fumbled with the lock for a few minutes before suddenly realizing I was trying to use my apartment key. After a moment of reflection, I managed to get in. I was strangely nervous, as though I was meeting someone else’s mother.
I looked around. It was mostly her clothes and jewellery packed in vacuum bags (As Seen on TV!) and wrapped in fabric. My mama had this love of bangles; one whole box was dedicated to them. I never wore any, they were too hard to keep on, but Mama wore four on each arm, all the same set. She’d loved t-shirts, too. Every concert, every school either of us went to, she would get a new one. I opened the box on top. It was filled with vacuum bags - sweaters. I dug through boxes until I found the packs I was looking for; her oldest, favorite shirts, older than me, so long in her closet she’d forgotten where she’d gotten them. A black long sleeve with glittery thread woven throughout. An a bright yellow halter with a daisy pattern. A faded baseball tee with dark green edging. And the one I loved most, a green t-shirt with a velvet star in the center of the chest, about the size of my hand. I held it for a moment, then grabbed the whole bag and shoved it in my knapsack. I closed the box back up and looked at the shelves.
Up to there were plastic containers of cards and pictures. I reached up, barely able to slide them off with my fingertips. One held all the cards I’d gotten from her and vice versa over the years. The other held all the photo albums and loose pictures from frames. As I reached for it, I saw the picture pressed against the edge.
It was of Mama and I, taken with Daphne’s old film camera. We’re laughing, arms around each other, and Mama is wearing her star shirt. It was my 18th birthday, right before I went to college. I don’t know what made us laugh or what was happening, but it was Mama through and through.
For a moment, I hesitated. I could put it back, put it all back. I could lock up and go home and go to sleep, forget and just ignore. Ignoring was better than remembering, right?
“I don’t know whether you’re more afraid of crying or of feeling, girl.”
I locked up and called another rideshare. A large car this time, enough for a few boxes and a large backpack, and my decisions.
The next day, I dragged myself to work. I hadn’t slept at all. My hair was untenable, my eyes were puffy. But underneath my jacket, I had on that baseball tee. I changed my phone screen to that picture. Baby steps, I told myself. And baby steps felt okay.
I stopped at Cassie’s. Cassie herself wasn’t there, just Llana. She looked up as I came in. She raised an eyebrow in askance.
“Good morning,” I answered.
She smiled. “Good morning. The usual?”
“Yes please.”
That was all. And that felt okay too.
I walked to the flower shop, where Daphne had the heater on. I took off my jacket, and called to the back to let Daphne know I was there. I tucked my shirt into my jeans and reached for my apron. There was a small gasp from behind me.
Daphne stood in front of the office door, her eyes the size of dinner plates. She blinked a few times, and gave a shaky laugh. “My lord, girl, you look just like your mama.”
“I know,” I said, giving her an equally unsteady smile. I told her about going to the storage room as we started work. I told her how I’d gone home and the vampire roommate had helped me carry my boxes up the stairs, and offered to make me some coffee. I told her how I’d actually made myself a real drink and after politely thanking him but refusing, and looked through everything I’d brought home. I showed her the picture on my phone and told her I saved some cards. Daphne was smiling so big I was afraid she was stuck.
“This doesn’t mean I’m like, magically better, you know.” I warned her. “It’s a step, and there’s a whole mile of steps ahead of me.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, still grinning like a cat. “But you took a step, and that’s big, hon.”
I nodded, and we moved on.
The next week or so passed, and nothing changed. I didn’t go back to the storage room, but I made sure to bring out the things I’d already gotten. I put up the pictures on my wall, and the albums on my bookshelf. The shirts went in my dresser. I looked at one card every day; I was a Valentine’s Day one. Mama and I had our own tradition. We would get each other coffee and a bag of mystery chocolates, then come home and watch bad romcoms and eat it all. Mama had written in the card, “There is a lot to love in this beautiful world, but you are the most beautiful, and the most loved. I love you big, Mama.” Love you big was our thing. It was on every card, every night before bed, before every hangup. I looked at this card every day, and I started to get an idea.
In the meantime, I started talking to Llana more. She was from Spain, and she was, in fact, not human. She avoided the specifics, though, and I didn’t push it. She, in turn, asked more about me, always gauging a Morning from a Good Morning first. On the Mornings, I like to think my tea tasted just a little sweeter than normal. Not too much, but noticeable. But maybe it was psychosomatic. In any case, she always smiled at me through the window and I always nearly collided with something in front of me. I nearly dropped my cup when she laughed at a bad joke I made. Her hair clip, beautifully shining, bathed her face in a warm glow. I began to notice that even when the lights in the coffee shop were dim, and the sky was dark and cloudy, it still glowed and shimmered. It was too bright to be reflecting anything.
The next week, I went back to the storage room. I got some of Mama’s sweaters, and her old books. Curled up in an enormous sherpa jacket at home, I read through as many mythology books as I could. Nothing in any of them mentioned anything like Llana. I did steer clear of Greek though. I knew all about that anyway.
The weather, while in springtime, suddenly took a chill. I found myself wearing the sherpa to work one morning, over the lucky star shirt. I had been up most of the night, turning over the same idea from a week or two ago. I’d been putting the pieces together.
I got to Cassie’s as usual, and Llana smiled as I came in. “Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning! The usual?”
“Actually,” I said, “could I get an extra shot of courage in mine?”
“Courage?” She asked, measuring tea leaves. “Sure, what for?” She slapped a hand to her mouth. “Shit, sorry, that’s inappropriate to ask.”
“No, it’s okay,” I mumbled into my collar. “I’m taking a baby step today, but it’s actually maybe a big step? Like, it’s a good thing, but...but I gotta make sure I can get myself there, y’know?”
Llana gazed at me for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, one Oolong with a shot of focus and a shot of courage, and one chai with a shot of calm.” She dropped in the strainers and turned back to me. She leaned on the counter, and her fingers kept touching her thumb in a pattern. Nervous habit. “So,” she said, “Cassie says you’re a nymph. So you have a specialty?”
“Yeah, I’m an anthousia. Specifically flowers. That’s why I work at Daphne’s.”
“I would love to do that.” She sighed.
I smiled at her, glancing around. “What’s your favorite flower? Magic or not?”
“Hmmm. What’s that golden one? It floats, kind of looks like a bell? It’s magical, obviously.”
I almost choked on my own spit. “Sun Lanterns?”
Her face lit up. “Yes!”
I shook my head a little at the odds, then held up my hand, palm up. A sun lantern seemed to grow from my skin, twisting into being from the light around me. Llana watched with huge eyes as the little flower rose up to her eye line. I smiled at her astounded expression. She looked like she might take a step back when I held it out to her.
“Really?” She asked quietly. I nodded. She tentatively reached out across the counter and the sun lantern floated into her hand. She held it close to her face, letting out a small laugh. She sounded thrilled.
“Here.” I reached out, and touched the bloom, closing my eyes. “There, now it’ll dooooo…..that.” The lantern had floated up to rest just behind her ear, as though it were pinned in her hair.
“No way!”She ran to the other side of the bar, the length of the room. The sun lantern whizzed along with her, keeping its place. She laughed again. God, I could listen to that sound till the end of days. She looked so happy, I could feel her enthusiasm reflected in me, , and I began to feel lighter, like I would really be fully-
What, had she said something?
“Ah, what?”
“I said, I think your teas are done,” she said, pointing to them on the bar.
“Oh, right.” I shook myself. Grabbing the cups, I went to leave, but suddenly, just at the door, I turned back. Llana was holding the sun lantern in her hands again, gazing at it with something like...well, a really good something.
“Hey Llana?” I asked before my brain engaged. She looked up, her face lit equally by the sun lantern and her clip. “Do you want to meet me for a drink tonight? Or a bite to eat?” I was grateful that I managed to ask with a surprising amount of composure, though admittedly at an octave higher than normal.
She didn’t move for a moment. I began to panic. But then, the most amazing thing happened.
She burst into a smile as though she was made of sunshine. She looked as though she’d been given a drink of water after a drought, finally free of uncertainty.
“Yes, oh my god I would love-” She stopped short and coughed. “I mean, yes, I’d like that. Does 6:00 work okay?”
“6 is just fine. Meet you here?” 6pm had never seemed like a better time of day.
“Okay.” She raised her hand in a wave. I gestured with a cup, backing into the door a bit too hard. Half winded, I made my way to Daphne’s in a daze.
Daphne told me the order for the day as I came in, which I barely retained. I concentrated on all the flowers (we had a wedding tomorrow, but we were dropping them off tonight, mercifully) a concoction of lilies, baby’s breath, and forget-me-nots. The bride had been very gracious and accommodating, but the mother was a nightmare. She was adamant that there be ABSOLUTELY NO MAGIC in her baby’s flowers. Some humans were wary of anything magical. A few thought magic was “dirty,” some just didn’t want to pay for the extra labor. The majority of the sticklers just wanted “normal” flowers because it was more....familiar, I guess? These humans were always very courteous and nice. This Mother of the Bride was not one of these humans. Luckily Daphne had a very thorough contract.
I took my time. All these flowers were very delicate, and took a lot of care to get just right. It was easy to overgrow them. You could shoot right past “tomorrow is peak bloom” and straight into “honey the flowers are made of fruit flies” if you weren’t very careful. Daphne made calls all day in the office. We were hitting peak wedding planning season for the end of summer through fall. She was constantly on the phone with brides, planners, and venues. I was set to deliver the flowers at four, and head home from there.
We took lunch at 11:00, and as we ate in silence I turned my question over in my mind. I could feel myself overthinking how to ask it, so when Daphne finished her salad and leaned back in her chair, I just blurted it out.
“I’m going to get a tattoo.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “A tattoo?”
I jerkily nodded.
“What happened to baby steps?”
“Honestly, this feels like a baby step. Well, maybe a little bigger than a baby step, but not a real big one. It feels...good. Natural.” I rubbed my palm with a thumb.
Daphne laced her fingers over her stomach and tilted her face to the ceiling. She was quiet. I picked at the last of my lunch. I told myself she would be the best judge of my actions, and tried to wait patiently.
After the longest 30 seconds of recent history, she finally looked back at me. “Well, it seems like a big step to me, but I’m not you. If you think it’s right, and you’re sure, then it’s right.”
I let out my breath. “Thanks, Daphne.”
“At least you’re sensible. Unlike this client! Lilies?! Half her daughter’s guests will be sneezing their eyes out! And no magic? The day before?!” She shook her head. “When you get married, girl, you better keep a sane head on your shoulders.”
“Alright, who’s taking big steps now?”
I stepped into the Cat’s Cradle, the nearest magical tattoo shop. The walls were covered in pictures of their art and clients. A cat trotted out from behind a desk, meowing assertively.
“Cleo!” A woman called, running out from a closet at the back. She was small, but her muscle tone when she picked up the cat indicated she was deceptively strong. She had a young, confident face framed by a beautifully simple hijab. “Sorry, she got out of the office.”
“It’s okay.” I held out a hand for Cleo to inspect. She gave me a sniff and a small lick
“My name is Soñia,” the woman said, depositing Cleo behind the front desk and firing up the computer. “Cleo’s a comfort cat, she helps calm our clients. Walk in or appointment?”
“Um, walk in.”
“Alright, we could fit you in in about half an hour, around 4:45. Do you need to look at a design binder?” Her tone was brisk, but not impolite.
“Actually do you guys do handwriting?”
She frowned a little. “We can do both magical and non-magical handwriting, but I have to warn you that we cannot guarantee that there will be a perfectly identical match-
“How close can you get?” I cut in.
Her frown disappeared. “Damn close.”
“Good enough for me.” I pulled out the Valentines card, pointing at the line. “How about this, magically?”
Soñia waved her hand and made a pfft noise. “Simple. The same size as the card?” I nodded. “It will take an hour, possibly an hour and fifteen for the magical freeze to set. We freeze the magic so that your skin can heal. It will activate in a day or two.”
I confirmed I’d be back in half an hour and went to get a snack. It was overcast out, but it wasn’t supposed to rain until tomorrow. I sat on a bench, eating my power bar, contemplating. What a day. I did not have these kinds of days. These kinds of days happened to other people.
“Stop it.” I said to myself. “It’s just a day. Let yourself have a day.”
I got back to Cat’s Cradle at 4:45 on the dot. Soñia was rolling up a prayer mat. “Perfect timing,” she said, leaning the mat against a corner and rubbing her hands together. She picked up a stencil that was somewhat glowing. “Shall we?”
I’ll spare the details, as I didn’t watch most of it. I’ve never been a huge fan of needles, so I focused on petting Cleo. An hour and nine minutes later, I was bandaged up, part of the inside of my forearm unsettlingly numb. We’d taken an old style Polaroid of it, and I paid Soñia (with a hefty tip, because her confidence had paid off).
“It’s beautiful handwriting,” she said, printing my receipt.
“Yes,” I said, half smiling, “It was my mother’s.”
Soñia nodded, handed me my receipt, and I left. My arm around the numb part ached, but the bandage was lighter than I had thought. I still had maybe 40 minutes to get home and ready. For my date. With Llana. I almost laughed. “Wow,” I said, as I broke into a jog, “Wow.”
We met casually outside Cassie’s at about 7:01 and 29 seconds (vaguely). Llana had a pretty red peacoat on, and dark jeans and sneakers. My heart seemed to expand when I saw the sun lantern I suddenly felt underdressed somehow, even though Mama’s sparkly long sleeve and high waist green corduroys were perfectly matching the look. A confident, cool outfit. I was desperately hoping it worked.
We went to a small bistro down the street. Luck was with us, and we were shown to a table in front of the window. Our server was a nice guy, took our coffee and tea orders and bustled off.
“So,” I said as the espresso machine blasted, “How long have you worked at Cassie’s?”
“About 3 months ago. I started with closing shifts, but I’m more of a morning person, She drank some of her water, looking at me closely over the rim. I noticed her hair clip was silver now, still strongly lit. “I like it here. This city is so…” she gestured widely, “Open? That’s not right. I can breathe here.”
“I know what you mean.” I glanced down at the table, tracing the line of the napkin with my finger. “It seems like it’s built to be comforting.”
“Yes!” She pointed at me. “Precisely. I used to live in New York, in Manhattan. If you breathe there, you get like 5 years of second-hand smoke and carbon emissions.” I laughed. “Are you from here?”
I nodded. “Yeah, born and raised. My mama was from LA, but I’ve been here my whole life. Daphne and my mom were old friends, so she gave me a job. Besides, growing flowers is easy for an anthousia.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Llana said this in a way that seemed touchingly interested, not concerned or condescending.
I thought for a moment. “You know, I don't really know. I went to school for web design, but I haven’t taken it anywhere since-” Don’t drop the dead-mother bombshell on the first date - “since I graduated. But working at Daphne’s is peaceful, and it pays well.”
“Web design is complicated, yes? Computer code and all that?”
“It is. It’s absolutely maddening. But when you get it to work and look just right…” I shrugged. “So satisfying.”
She leaned her chin on the heel of her hand, drumming her fingertips on her cheek. “I never went to college. What is it like?”
For the next half hour I explained everything: semester versus quarter systems, dorm life, majors and minors, all of it. I told her I shared a room with three other girls and she wrinkled her nose. “That sounds so cramped!”
“It was, but we all got along, more or less. Can I ask why you didn’t go?”
She waved her other hand dismissively. “Oh, the village school would never have given us college as an option. We were in the middle of nowhere, many families had been there since before Isabella and Ferdinand. We made our living off the land. And my family in particular wanted nothing to do with the outside world.”
“Village? Not New York?”
“I grew up in Spain, the region of Asturias . I probably should have said that,” she said, rubbing her neck. “Sorry. I’m kind of nervous.”
“Don’t worry; me too.” I smiled and held out my hand. She smiled back and tentatively took it. Her hand was warm. “You don’t have to go into it, if you don’t want to.”
“Thank you.” She breathed out audibly, as though she had been holding her breath. Her hair clip seemed to get brighter. “What were you thinking of ordering?”
“Hmmm,” I hummed, casually glancing over the menu as though my stomach wasn’t eating itself.
I found I liked to learn things about her. I liked her explaining something while showing parts of herself. I learned she held her coffee cup (by the handle, not the body) in one hand while gesticulating with the other. I learned she liked bacon in her potato soup, and that she treated waitstaff with the utmost respect when she said thank you at least three times. I learned she loved portraiture, because her eyes crinkled from her slight smile when she talked about it.
The whole evening was nice. She asked if we could split the bill, and that was perfect to me. We paid and she finished her water and we got up to leave.
“I can walk you home if you like,” I said as we stood outside and she buttoned her coat.
She smiled. “I would like.” Her eyebrows knit together for a moment. “I’m trying to think of a smooth way to ask to hold your and again.”
Oh my god. “It’s all yours,” I said, offering it. She grinned so big I wanted to laugh.
She lived just outside downtown, on the opposite end from me. We walked for about 5 minutes, looking into shops on our way. As we turned left off of the big street, I finally had the nerve to say, “Your hair clip is really beautiful.”
“Mmm,” she said. She was quiet for a minute. I was on the verge of apologising for bringing it up when she sighed. “Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude. I suppose you ought to know.”
Now my eyebrows were the ones knitting. “Know what?”
“Well, I don’t usually tell people what kind of being I am, because there are a lot of people who...who would rather we didn’t exist at all. People who listen to rumors with their eyes closed.” Her eyes were fixed on the sidewalk.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a Xanas.” She said this as though flinging the word from around a barricade.
I blinked. “I...I don’t know what a Xanas is.”
Llana jerked her face up to look at me. “Really?” I shook my head. Relief flooded her face. “A Xanas is Asturian magic. We’re all women, all blonde, and we manipulate fortune. There are ugly stories of us throughout the ages. Switching human babies with our own changelings, stealing money, seducing men to their deaths, killing human women in our way. In Spain, we are persecuted. My village is one of the only safe places left. We are deeply tied to the land, so many of us will never leave. But all we do is manipulate luck and fortune, and make things beautiful: art, nature, ourselves.”
I turned this information over in my mind. I knew that story, my father’s actions had told it to me a thousand times. I squeezed Llana’s hand. “I don’t put much stock in rumors, and my eyes are wide open. Besides, stealing a child? In this economy?” She laughed, and I was proud. “But what about the hair clip?”
“Oh, right. All Xanas have them. They’re made of sunlight and moonlight.”
“Can I?”
She tilted her head. I waved my hand, my fingers passing through the beams. They danced and flickered against my skin. “Incredible,” I whispered.
“Thank you,” she whispered back.
We’d made it to her street, and arrived at her house. It was a small brick townhouse, with red stairs, a small porch, and a white door. I must have looked surprised, because Llana grinned mischievously at me. “A Xanas does have a way of running into good fortune. An eccentric aunt of mine left Spain when I was ten. She owned this house, and passed away right before I turned 18. She left it to me in her will. We were always close. It’s why I moved here.”
“Damn,” I said. “I’ve just got an apartment!”
We looked at each other for a moment. “It was really lovely,” she said as I blurted out, “I had a great time.” We laughed nervously, and she squeezed my hand.
“Can we do this again?” She asked.
“I’d love that.” I’d almost never wanted anything more.
“Tomorrow! Here. I’ll cook.”
I was smiling so hard my face was sore. “Tomorrow is perfect.”
She ran up the stairs with a sudden burst of nervous energy, and I turned and walked back towards downtown, and home. But just as I reached the end of the block, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Llana running up, skidding to atop in front of me.
“One more thing,” she said breathlessly, and suddenly we were kissing, and everything was alright. Everything was cool and calm, and for one moment, I forgot everything in the world except this. Except Llana. And when we broke apart, and everything began again, I found it was brighter, and more valuable, just for having Llana in it.
Nothing is ever more jolting than your alarm going off during REM sleep. I would’ve flown upright, had my arm not been securely trapped under a sleeping girl. I gazed at her sleepily for a minute, soaking in her light.
It had been two years since that kiss. I still worked for Daphne (hence the alarm), but with her and Llana’s help I had also secured an internship as a local web design company. Llana was taking fine arts classes at a studio. We were busy and exhausted. We were so happy.
I carefully shifted Llana off my arm, grabbing a sweater as I eased the door open. I’d moved in with Llana six months ago, and now I boiled my tea in a decent kitchen and drank it in front of beautiful windows. I’d had the picture of Mama and I framed, and it sat on the end table of the couch. Llana loved that picture. I’d told her about Mama on our second date, and about how I was (not) coping. Llana asked gentle questions, and held my hand. And when I went to the burial plot on Mama’s birthday, I found bright yellow flowers and a note - “To Delphi, from Llana. Thank you.” I cried my heart out for an hour.
Now I leaned against the window frame, whispering to the picture. “I know you’re watching, Mama. You love her, I hope. Maybe you do, somewhere, where you are. I hope you’re proud.” I paused, thinking of the little box hidden in my sock drawer. “It’s two years, today. I got it all worked out. Simple, though, I’m not overthinking. Daphne keeps teasing me about baby steps.” I looked at my face, happy in a black past, and now. “I miss you, Mama. I love you big.”
I looked quickly down at my tattoo, Mama’s scrawl appeared, writing out, “I love you big, Mama,” the ‘big’ underlined for just a moment. It only happened once in a while. Soñia had explained to me that sometimes, a person’s magic can influence a tattoo of them. I smiled, Mama heard me, somewhere, and she was happy.
I heard shuffling behind me. Llana came out of our room, clutching her favorite blanket around her. Her hair was a mess, but as the early morning light fell on it, it began to straighten and unknot. She was so beautiful in the early, foggy light. Any light.
“Hey, you,” I said, holding out my arms. Llana shuffled into them, snuggling against my shoulder. “Good morning.”
She smiled up at me, eyes half closed, and my stomach swooped. I thought again of that little box, and the ring inside, and was more decided than ever. I wanted to get coffee after work with her every afternoon and hear about her class. I wanted to make her breakfast and dinner, and sun lanterns every day. I wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of my life to hear her say;
“Good morning, Joy.”
--
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Yes, a short story, she said. It’ll be quick, she said. It may take a while but a new long scribble will be up soon
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For more Content, check out @contentcreatorshaven or www.contentcreatorshaven.com! We are a creator collective dedicated to helping each other make it in this very crazy world.
I was driving home tonight. It was a normal thing, only 30 minutes or so. But that night I felt different. It was foggy and I was singing with the music turned way up, and I had just come from dinner with friends and goddamn I was happy. I was so full. I was full up with happy and not calm. Not wild but not calm. I drove through your city and I felt like I could scream out the windows, “I’m finally fucking free!” because I have nothing to tie me to you anymore. And you would hear my yell and know it was no longer a battle cry but a victory scream, a winners yell, a conqueror’s declaration, and you have been lost to me, driven out of my soul and my body. My music is loud, and I am loudly happy, and I am home. I am finally home, and my mind and my body welcomed me back with cheers and cries, where have you been. I realized just how much I missed me, when I left her for you, and I cannot wait to catch up, as the last time we talked I was too young to know we could lose touch. And the first thing I said to myself, on that foggy drive of half an hour with my loud music and my soul of happy;
“I love you, and I am home.”
Buy me a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/badgerpride
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For more Content, check out @contentcreatorshaven or www.contentcreatorshaven.com! We are a creator collective dedicated to helping each other make it in this very crazy world.
Hey Everyone! This was a story prompt sent to me by a good friend. I hope I did it justice! It was his idea, too, and I adored it. It’s unedited right now because I’m pretty exhausted, but I will edit when I have the chance!
You can also read it here on my website!
The field stretched out before me. Or, at least, I assumed it did; the snow covered everything. The grass stretched taller than my head, blocking out almost all but the sky. It was akin to being underwater.
I forced myself onward. I hadn’t eaten in 3 days, had barely slept at all - it was too cold. It seemed another life ago that I had woken to an empty castle. The giants that lived there, ruling over their part of the world, had all left me alone. I didn’t know why (and still do not). I was a faithful guard, I helped in every way that I could: sweeping the floors, watching the children, working the livestock. And still, I was left behind.
I waited. I waited for the castle to fill again, for the children to run and the floors to be dirty, but no one came. Finally, I gathered myself and left the only place I had ever known as home. I had been born there, served that family for my whole youth. I had loved them, and protected them. But they had not loved me, it seemed. I did not know what to make of that.
Now, as my legs dragged me to the edge of the field and no further, as I collapsed and felt my eyes closing, I knew I was lost. I lay at the border of field and forest, my ribs heaving, and saw a hand larger than my head coming to reach for me as I closed my eyes. I saw nothing.
When I woke, I was lying in a deep cocoon of warmth. I was encased in wool quilts. A fire was crackling near me in a brick hollow. I slowly looked about me, too weak to raise my head. There were stone walls, reaching high, high above me, laced with heavy oak beams. The smell of meat roasting was heavy on the air.
I finally lifted my head, becoming alarmed. Where was I? How did I get here? I twisted around as much as I could. I couldn’t find my bearings. I listened closely, over the crackling flames.
A faint crunching noise was beyond the walls. It came closer, them suddenly, a loud thumping noise somewhere behind to my left. A door opened.
“Oh, you’re awake!” Boomed a deep voice. I caught sight of its origin.
A Giant, one I had never seen before, only this was a true giant. Far larger than my previous owners, who had been imposing enough. He was built like a tree, the large ones I’d seen patrolling my old home. His eyes sparkled beneath a heavy cap, and an enormous wool coat and scarf, which could not contain the magnificent beard he sported. Snow tumbled from his frame like an avalanche. He thundered away from me, deeper into whatever structure I was in. “Roasts about done, too.”
More thundering, louder and above my head, took up. More Giants appeared; a woman and two children. “He’s awake!” The girl squealed, running towards me. I shrank back, shivering. The first giant came back in, catching her up in his arms.
“Hold on now, he’s awful scared. Let him be, my love.” The girl looked up at him, and then back at me. She stilled, and smiled at me shyly. I relaxed slightly. She turned back to her little brother (little only in comparison to their parents). The woman, who I figured was their mother, was as slender as the father was sturdy. However, I never underestimated a female giant. She smiled at me too, and ushered them into the kitchen
The family ate in another room. I cautiously crept around the fireplace, looking about myself. There was an enormous and well loved couch, and a short table made from the raw edge of a tree. The floor was covered in a thick carpet, and there were toys and books spread all around. Now that I had turned with the fire to my back, I could see the staircase on the opposite side of the cavernous room, and the kitchen doorway to the left. But my legs were very weak; I had to lie down again on my woolen nest after only a moment.
The father came back into the room with a small plate in his hand. Several beef ribs, still warm, rested on it. “Here,” he said, putting it on the hearth. I slowly went up to it, and sniffed. I immediately began eating as the scent hit the roof of my mouth, starving as I was. “Slowly, slowly,” he said, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. I slowed. “That’s it.”
That is how I came to live with the Giants.
❂ ❂ ❂
It took a dismally long time before I could feel my strength returning. The children got bolder and I would play with them for as long as I could. I would try to do the sweeping, but Mother laughed and shooed me from the kitchen. When I was strong again, Father began to show me how I could help him. I stood watch as he chopped wood, and helped load kindling onto the sled. I would watch the new castle, just as I had before. However, unlike before, I slept inside by the fire every night. I was able to come and go through a small gate in the back of the castle. I let no one enter if Mother did not know them, or the children were afraid. Other giant’s children visited, and I would stay near them while their mothers talked.
There was another rescued soul in the house. Slim, much smaller than I, with watchful eyes. She was elegantly judgemental, and treated me at first as a complete nuisance. “You’re absolutely filthy,” she’d say as I returned from the woods. I would always try to engage her in conversation, but she seemed wholeheartedly against the idea. Eventually, however, she relaxed slightly. She would help me sweep, and I noticed she would swiftly check on me while passing as she did with the Giants. We did not speak much, but she would ask me if the thaw had come every day.
It was long understood that when the weather became slightly warmer, and the snow could be easily moved, The Giants would leave us for a time. This was explained to me as Father showed me how to pull the sled.
“I’m sure you’re loyal - the good sort,” He said to me. “You’ve seen some things, eh?”
I shrugged. I had, after all, been a guard.
“I thought so.” He gave me an appraising glance. “We will have to go out when all this (he gestured to the frozen field) thaws a bit and we can get to the main road. It will be a while, but really not so long. I need a good guard, can you do that?”
I was overwhelmed. I wanted a purpose again, and I loved this family already. But I couldn’t bear the thought of being left again. I would not make it. I would not wish to.
He seemed to sense something I was feeling. He leaned down, took my chin in his hand, and solemnly promised, “We will always return. You need never fear, we will always return.”
I agreed.
❂ ❂ ❂
It was quite a time before the road could be reached. I practiced my guardianship; besides watching the small castle closely, I developed a trail of territory that I could patrol. It surrounded the whole field, running along the fence there, down to the main road, and along the hiking path in the forest. I patrolled twice a day, not that anything ever happened. The snow provided an issue and made the whole process arduous, but I was growing quite strong. Back in the house, I finally learned the elegant shadow’s name was Jane. When I would sit on the large porch, watching the small road up to the castle, she would often sit with me. We never spoke much. She seemed to enjoy the quiet.
Finally, the day came when the snow could be rightly shovelled, and a path was cleared to the main road. The light had barely filtered through the forest when the family began to leave. Daughter dressed in a clean, bright outfit with new ribbons; Son was quite reluctant to find his good pants and jacket, and flatly refused to wear his hat until Mother promised him a chocolate. Father brought in all the wood the pile would allow, and Mother made sure Jane and I would be well fed in their absence. “They can always hunt,” Father assured her, but she insisted that was ridiculous and left us many dishes. Finally, the cases were loaded into the wagon and the family hugged us goodbye (I saw Jane squirm out of the corner of my eye). Father nodded to me, and I nodded at him. With this gesture, they rumbled away.
Jane sighed, sitting down on the cushions adorning the porch. “Well that’s that then.”
“How long will they be gone?” I asked, sitting on the steps.
“I don’t know. They found me on their travels and brought me back with them.” She gave me an appraising look. “They will come back,” she said softly. “I’m sure.”
We sat quietly for a while; it seemed too heavy a moment to augment with chat. I finally worked up the nerve to ask, “Did it happen to you, too?”
She nodded, gazing out at the snow. “My old family left me. I was born there, and they seemed to love me. But one day, a new Giant started showing up and courting the Mother. And he grabbed me one night and dumped me in an alley in town. Thankfully it hadn’t snowed yet when this family found me.”
I shivered. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“What happened to you?”
“My old family just left. I woke up and they were gone, doors locked and no food.”
“Just gone?”
“Just gone.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We were both left for dead. What a world.” I agreed with her. I liked this turn of character in Jane. Though we were discussing unpleasant things, I was grateful she seemed to trust me.
Eventually, I stood and stretched. “I’m going on patrol, I suppose. A bit early, but I might as well.” Jane rose as well, and circled round to our gate as I started off. I hurried up around the perimeter; just the normal tracks, maybe a few more than normal. Nothing amiss. I headed back in the back to the castle, where Jane was keeping watch at the window. She brushed off my coat and nodded to the plate of food. We quietly passed each other, taking care our footsteps didn’t echo in that empty place.
We went on like that. I would sleep in front of the fireplace, Jane pacing around the castle. Then, we would trade, I would pace and she would rest. The fireplace was never lit, as neither of us could do it. Jane would go to eat while I was on guard, and not otherwise. She refused to leave her back unprotected. I had been right, I thought proudly the first time she did so; she trusted me. There it was, our little routine, round and round, for so long I thought it would be the end of time.
❂ ❂ ❂
The weather, I thought, might be warming. There was still snow, of course, but the sun began ever so slowly to show through the windows. In the beginning, it was only light. But gradually, as the time passed, it began to warm as well. This phenomenon was especially dear to Jane. She loved to sit in the patch of sun, humming to herself as she watched the grounds. I enjoyed it too, and Jane even allowed me to sit with her provided I didn’t capitalize on the space. During the times we shared that patch, we would discuss the little things about our lives. She was only twenty and five, and yet seemed so young, as though she’d aged far slower than I. I chalked it up to my size, and relative exercise. I told her about my having 3 siblings, but of course I hadn’t seen them since we were very young. She told me about her mother, who lived with her old family until she got sick.
Despite the talks and the warm moments in the sun, Jane and I were lonely. It seemed as though our work would outlast us. We found ourselves listening hard for the crunch of wagon wheels, but the Giants did not come. Jane was steadfast; she did not droop or moon about as I did. I tried to be cheerful, but I dearly missed them and their steady calm. I missed the children, and warm food, and a fire. And most of all, I was afraid. I was greatly afraid I was doomed to watch those I cared for simply disappear. Jane told me not to whine, and I did my best. I made sure I did my job well, as that was all I could do.
And even that was not enough. I was finishing a lap, the sun just starting to near the treetops, when I suddenly became aware of the presence of someone else in the yard. I crept closer to the house and was about to quietly warn Jane when I heard her scream and yell. I barreled in the back door.
Jane was wrestling an intruder to the ground. I had been right to be grateful I was on Jane’s side; though the intruder was bigger, she was absolutely fierce. Had I not crashed into the kitchen, she would have him dead to rights. As it was, he was bleeding badly. When he saw me through Jane’s attack, he quickly disentangled himself and raced away in the snow. I yelled at him as he ran, and I did not think he would be back any time soon.
I ran over to Jane. “Oh I’m alright,” she said, her eyes ablaze. She had a few scratches, but nothing serious. I helped her patch herself up, and sent her to rest in the sun while I investigated. He had gotten in through the back door, so I made sure to check there every patrol hence. He must have spread the word, because that was the only time we ever had an intruder.
I had no idea how long the Giants had been gone, but we guarded their home as though it were ours. And it WAS ours. A furrow remained in the carpet where I slept in front of the fire. I knew every inch of the property. The castle itself seemed to say, “You were meant to be here, and here you will stay, safe and sound.”
And if walls could talk, they told the truth. For finally, finally, under a night sky a rattling arose from the road. I was in the back, checking the grounds, when I heard it. I ran full pelt through the gate, and encountered Jane racing down the stairs. We got to the door just as it opened.
There they were; the children laughing, Father rumbling on about the cold, Mother usering them all inside. The children ran to us, squealing and hugging us tightly, and then raced upstairs to collect their toys. Mother called after them to stop running indoors, and conducted Jane into the kitchen. Father patted me on the back and said, “Well, boy, shall we have a fire?” and went to light one. It was as though they had never left and nothing had changed. And, for a time, nothing did.
❂ ❂ ❂
Yet, though it was a long time, it came to an end. Again, coats were buttoned, goodbyes were said, and silence descended. Jane and I stood at the window, knowing the Giants would be gone for too long, and they would be back.
They have always repeated this cycle, these Giants. Sometimes it was longer, or one of them would stay behind for sickness. Sometimes, it would be an extended stay; the warm weather, the long days, or in the winter, the whole family home at once. The children are gone far longer than this, now, and their parents stay at home. But always, they return.
Jane and I are old now. Our legs no longer run to the door, but we stand guard just the same. My patrols take longer, but I keep this place safe. We will wait, as long as it takes. The Giants leave, and come back, all in a day. And though our fur grows grey and my bark may be frail, I was born a guard dog and will always remain - with Jane the cat by my side.
I wasn’t asked to a single dance in high school and didn’t have a serious romantic relationship until I was 22. And like, yeah that shit hurt when I was younger. I had a lot of fears that I was unlovable and that I didn’t deserve to be happy. And every time I would try to talk to anyone about it, the conversation became, “you’ll find someone”, when it should have been, “you don’t need a relationship or a date, you’re lovable & complete & beautiful on your own”.
So yeah, please normalize young people not dating, and please stop shaming them for it. There’s more to life than romance, despite what the media wants us to think.
Santa is on strike due to global warming. All presents this year will be delivered by Sasha the Christmas Tiger. Milk and cookies may not be sufficient.
Note: To everyone who has read this all the way through, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You’re amazing. And to all the real characters in Haven – this literally would not exist without you. I love you guys.
“Two or three?
“How many cups are you making?”
“Three.”
“Three then. Heaping.
“I know, I know.”
“Careful, careful!”
“This is,” Sass said for the fifth time, “utterly ridiculous.”
Lilly glared at him. “You see here, just because Walter allowed you to even appear here doesn’t mean you can evaluate my teaching.” She turned back to Owen, who was (carefully) pouring the steaming kettle over the tea leaves in the largest teapot available in Haven. “Very good!”
“Smells lovely, Owen,” Kelly said from the beer taps. “Elek, tell Owen he’s doing well.” Elek grumbled. “Good enough,” she said with a shrug.
Elek sat in a rocking chair he’d requisitioned from the porch at the end of the bar. His shirt was loosely laced in front, to give room for the hefty dressings around his entire torso. A cane leaned against the bar itself. Kelly hovered near him, while trying to appear as though she were not. It seemed to Gio, who was occupying Owen’s usual seat at the bar, that she was afraid to stray too far from his friend.
Three months had passed since the dust had settled on the small battlefield. Walter has arrived at the scene to find Gio and Kelly barely conscious from blood loss, wavering over Elek. He and Sam managed to somewhat treat them on the ground, dust settling around them as a hot wind finally died and Walter tried to save the three of them. Eventually the three of them were housed in makeshift beds Walter had set up in his office. Gio and Kelly were bandaged and still weak, but only required monitoring and dressing changes. Kelly’s side had been restitched, and Gio’s arm was in a strap. Walter forced them to drink so much water that Gio accused him of trying to drown them. Elek was flitting between comatose and feverish dreams. When he was animated, they could get him to eat and drink, but only just.
All three of them had been put in the same room. Sam’s mother, acting nurse, had tried to move Kelly to her own room for the sake of propriety. The newly cleared outlaw had disagreed so violently Gio made her apologize for her language. Sam’s mother was shocked, but did relent. Kelly flatly refused to leave either Gio or Elek.
“Walter,” she said when the doctor tried to tell her she could go home, “I will be stayin until this here sheriff arrests me for loiterin, or until Sass himself ejects me from his bedside. I will do whatever I can to help, but I’m not leavin.”
Gio needed much longer to recover than Kelly did, and Elek even longer. Gio was dozing when Elek finally woke up after a week of treatment. Kelly was holding his hand that night, in a chair by his side. The only light in the room was a small lantern on a table between Elek and Gio’s beds. Elek’s eyes slowly flickered open, and Kelly’s gasp jerked Gio awake. He sat up halfway, adjusting his glasses and taking in his two best friends smiling at each other in the dimly glowing light. The flame in the lantern held steady.
Gio smiled now, watching Kelly waver around Elek. She was running the bar while he was out of commission, with Owen’s help. Kelly had enlisted Lilly, the widely acknowledged tea expert in Haven, to start procuring a lineup of leaves for early afternoon patrons who didn’t need a beer (yet). Elek had been uneasy about this venture, as tea could be expensive. In the last month, however, his profits had risen by at least 10%.
Gio was back in sheriff’s office. He still needed a new deputy; Jones had agreed to stay until his sling came off, and that was scheduled to be tomorrow. Luckily, he already had a new deputy in mind. And while Haven had never had a female deputy before, he was sure that wouldn’t be a problem.
He had asked Sass about for his opinion. His friend agreed with his choice wholeheartedly, on the condition that she still be allowed to work in the bar half days. Elek had also asked Gio a question of his own. Gio had told him he’d be a fool not to go through with it. He also knew that Elek had written to Kelly’s parents, to ask them what they thought.
Mary had greatly approved of Gio’s choice in deputy. She had been extraordinarily worried over her husband, and needed him safe. Her pregnancy had caused her to become anxious; Gio’s injury had exacerbated that. With a strong deputy, she would feel safer knowing he always had backup.
Kelly herself had been busy. She had written to her parents to tell them all that had happened. Their town had received an official report from Gio regarding the shootout, Thomas’s death and her vindication. News had spread quickly, and they were overjoyed. She told them about Haven, Gio, Mary, and especially Elek. They wrote back directly, saying they were preparing to come for a visit (her father snuck in a postscript, as to whether there were any properties available for an “extended stay”). She also wrote to Annie Stafford, with Elek’s approval, to offer her an empty room above the Goose. Annie was so overcome that she cried for days. She was moving into her new rooms next week.
Haven rebuilt itself after the shootout. Gio’s brother, a former Captain in the army turned glassmaker form the next town, came with new windows for several buildings. He and the Admiral were now chattering away in the bar, reliving old war stories and finding friends in common. Woodworkers from all over had helped rebuild houses and porches damaged by bullets, as well as selling tables and chairs to townspeople who had sacrificed their last set to building cover. The story of the Outlaw’s Justice, as the event came to be known, was a favorite in the bar.
The doors to the Goose opened to the sunset. A rush of cool autumn air rushed in, bearing a dusty traveler into the bar. Kelly turned turned from the tap, raised a beer to him and called out above the happy chatter of friends to be;
