My rational mind has abandoned me. I know that there is nothing there. And yet, I know that something is going to get me. Some unseen thing is going to snatch me away and make me a meal. I shiver, rub my arms, and walk a little faster. Just one more block, but that seems like miles.
I reach down and pat my back pocket, checking for the thousandth time for my phone. No one has passed me since I left the Lawson’s house, but I check again anyway.
The wind picks up; leaves scatter across the road. The sound is unsettling. I glance behind my back…twice just in case.
My mind wanders. A memory surfaces. An unwanted one. Two years ago, a girl walking home from a friend’s house, was attacked by a mountain lion. She didn’t survive. My breathing picks up. My pace picks up. I remember so thing else. When I was five I was playing four square in the driveway and a stray pit bull came up to me. I started to run away and it chased me down. Dogs chase when people run. I slowed down.
I look up at the black sky. Well not quite black. More navy blue, with little white stars. It’s pretty I’ll admit, but my mind is too focused on trying to get home.
“If I live,” I whisper to the dark, “I will burn all the witches at the stake.” I use an old promise that my mom used to say. She used to say the night time would let you live if you purged the evil of the world. Of course there were no such thing as witches, but I wanted to live the night. So hey, what are you gonna do?
“Uh? Is now a good time?” He shouts. Chopping off another soldiers head. His wild hair is flecked with red, and he has a gash on his cheek. Some would say he looks mad, but to her, he just looks, well… okay, maybe a bit mad. “I know I would regret it if I didn’t say it right now.”
But no one has the time to say anything. For at that precise moment—
“I’m not ready.” I’m shaking beyond normality. He puts his hand on my shoulder and lifts my chin with two fingers. Forcing me to look into his eyes. “Maybe not.” He lowers us down to our knees. “But you need to tell me.” I begin to protest. “So you don’t have to carry all that weight alone.” I shudder. I’m not ready. I don’t think I ever will. I buried it so I wouldn’t have to bring it back up again. I let out a hopeless sob and he pulls me against him. “Whenever you’re ready.” His voice is kind but stern. He’s not going anywhere until I tell him everything.
Tears trickle out of my eyes and streak across my cheeks. Just thinking about it makes my heart speed up and my hands sweat. That magic should’ve stayed forgotten. That’s why I buried the book. But then it came back to haunt me. Came back from underground to make its sound known.
I take a breath. The air catching in my throat. Hitching and bumbling out. Dante looks at me his dark eyes giving me strength. “I found words a couple years ago. Words that lit up the darkest night. Words that made the coldest day warm. Words that brought life in the face of Death.” Now that I have begun the story, I don’t think I will be able to stop it. “At first I felt that the words could save me. Make life interesting. That the words could make my dreams and wonders reality.” Dante’s eyes widen slightly. He knows where this is going. “Them a small part of me realized. Realized that this could be the destruction of me.” I pull out of Dante’s arms and sit cross legged on the ground. “I chose to ignore the words that called me. I buried the book. But the words still haunted me.” In most stories people are haunted by ghosts of lost enemies or friends. But to me the words were such things.
“I couldn’t erase the words from my mind. I whispered them to the Night, and drew them in the water clinging to my window in the morning. The words called— no captured me. Wrapping me in a net made of vowels and consonants.” I sigh. The sound full of regret. Dante’s expression becomes concerned, borderline alarmed. “Finally the net dragged me back to a meadow with poppys and dandelions. To a small mound with grass just barely growing on it. I raised the book from its roots grave…
and then I screamed the words out. Screamed for the whole world to hear”
“The flowers around me withered and died. The trees guarding the meadow cracked and fell. The sun itself hid its face behind monstrous black clouds. The winds ripped at my face and clothes. Cursing me for speaking the words.” Dante’s eyes no longer look concerned or alarmed. They look…hungry.”
“What did you do with the book?” I stare at him. Trusting him. “I buried it.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Where?” “Right where I buried it before. In a meadow of dead crispy flowers. And blackened murdered guardians.” Dante nods. Then he opens his mouth as if to say something. Then reconsiders. Then speaks Words.
The grass around us dies. My heart stops, my lungs freeze. Dante stands. His eyes full of sorrow and madness and ever bad thing.
“I want the Words.”
Have you heard? The tall tales telling themselves? The ballads of the sea The arrangements of ships
The wooden palaces floating by The kings and queens ruling the seven seas The very letters of their names inspire fear into their many enemies souls
The poor persons left to Drown The deep blue granted pardon for it killing spree Their spirits left to wander hopelessly
Now I ask again Have you heard? The tall tales telling themselves? For even the dead tell stories…
As I write, Artemis, I have slid your dainty paws off my notebook at least five times. I am trying to break through this wall in my head, but alas the only inspiration I have is you.
Your purring causes mini earthquakes across my written worlds.
The fur framing your delicate face is silver. Silver as the moon light coming in the window. Silver like the Greek goddess of ancient myth. Artemis. The name I chose for you. It fits. In all your grace and tranquility, you practically glide across the wooden floors of my writing room. As if you are the goddess herself, creeping through a forest hunting for an innocent creature.
Ones cat can be great source of inspiration. As I have so recently discovered.
(he’s got a British accent)
“What ten items would I bring to an island?” He rubs his chin. “Well, I would probably take a bed.” He thinks for a second. “This is bloody harder than I thought.” He chuckles. “Uuuuuuuum, a weapon of some sort. Oh, and some food…and water.” “What is that three? Okay. Um can I take a person with me?” “Ok then I would bring my love. Whether she likes it or not.” “I’m not going to a bloody deserted island by myself! I would go crazy!” He throws his head back and laughs. “I would bring a book, a writing utensil, ummm. How bout a boat? Can I do that?” “Several boats then.”
There’s that smile.
The one that kills me.
Every Single Time.
The smile that, somehow, makes you deep brown eyes bright. And makes your adorable dimples even more pronounced than usual.
You are unaware of my constant staring, and I don’t plan to make you aware anytime soon. Staring is the only thing I allow myself. Anything more and I would be destroyed. Because if I let myself fall. I will fall so hard and fast. So hard that when I hit the ground I will break into a million pieces.
I know I can’t have you. But the want— no, the need of you is stronger than my will. Sometimes the physical effort it takes to stay away is the most difficult.
Your easy words, and bright smile drag me closer. Pulling me even though I want— do t want to be pulled.
Why do you do this to me? Why?
The black cat takes it time walking across the sidewalk in front of him. As if it knows. Knows that he brings bad luck. The man had frozen, his fingers clutching his lucky rabbits foot. The cat stopped a little more than halfway across and sits down and begins licking itself.
The man creeps closer and sneaks past on the farthest edge of the walkway. He speed walks away as long as he can, then stops. He looks back, and the cat is little more than a tiny speck in the distance. It slinks off.
Whew. Maybe the foot saved him. He walks to the end of the sidewalk and clicks the button on the side of the pole. While waiting he happens to glance to his left. The black cat is standing not a foot away from his feet. He gasps and stumbles back. Tripping over the edge of the sidewalk. Landing on his back. In the middle of the road.
The man barely has time to scream before the truck is there.
Very unlucky.
