Reeds rustle, day is shackled Crickets sing, coyotes cackle Blood red reflection from the small pasture ponds Yellow eyes glowing from the cattail fronds ‘Neath the blood red moon, ‘Neath the blood red moon.
Little masked devils Sneak through the corn To feast and to revel As night life is born The lonely howling ghost Gray, grizzled and grim Cries out towards the moon That paints the world sanguine ‘Neath the blood red moon, ‘Neath the blood red moon.
The green goblins croak From the pond like blood Chirping a summer tune From their lily pads and mud All while the silent banshee To whom belongs the yellow eyes Stalks unfortunate casualties Beneath the blood red skies ‘Neath the blood red moon, ‘Neath the blood red moon.
And the silent banshee On feline padded paws Finally screams her damning shriek As prey she quickly mauls ‘Neath the blood red moon, ‘Neath the blood red moon.
I see you and time stands still Crowds freeze and my heart does too But the slowing of time can’t fulfill That you’ll never notice me like I notice you
My life races by like fire on the field I can’t keep up with the breakneck pace But to you, the one to whom my heart yields The fires recede as time stands in place
There you are, across the way In this party of people where I stand alone And yet, as everyone else in place still stays You tilt your head to me, melt my heart of stone
You cross the room passed the all of the frozen Darts fly through the air, stuck in time For of everyone here, it’s me you have chosen I am now yours, and you are now mine
Time is ours now, so what if the world burns? If it’s stuck in place, we have each other to blame We dance to the rhythm of a world that won’t turn In a crowd full of people, all stuck, all the same But you know me, you love me, call me by name
Cyprus lept from bush to tree, melting into the underbrush, fading into the foliage, walking as one with the forest. This was home. Her fortress. She scampered up the tree with the claws and dexterity of a squirrel, ran across a branch without stopping, and soared to the next tree. There was an unfamiliar scent in the breeze today. She intended to track it.
Her heart raced with exhilaration. "Maybe it's someone, not something," she whispered to herself. Cyprus was ousted from the home when she was young; all spritelings were. As soon as you could care for yourself, you were expected to. Her parents seemed but a vague blur in her mind. She craved companionship, whether it was another spriteling or a human, elf or dwarf. "Or anyone, really."
She bounded from branch to branch, tree to tree. Her long, tufted tail wrapped around the bough of a branch as she leaned off the trunk of the tree, peering down into the forest floor. Nothing yet. She breathed in deep again. The scent grew stronger. Part of it the scent smelled like smoke--usually a cause for alarm in the forest, but it seemed... controlled. The other scent seemed odd. Musky. Unwashed. But unlike any creature of the forest.
Springing to a great white oak, she was able to amble and dance through the many branches with ease. The smoke came into focus. She found a particularly large branch on the opposite side of the trunk, peaking around to spot the source. And there he was.
At least Cyprus thought it was a man. Though she'd never seen this type of creature before.
He was far taller than any person she'd seen before. He wore hide armor; a large mace attached to his side. That was standard for travelers in the forest. Some of her forest friends were a little... aggressive. What stood out about this character was his skin, his face. He had a gray-green pallor and seemed rough as maple bark. His face featured pronounced lower fangs jutting from a massive jaw, cool eyes under a thick brow, and jagged, pointed ears. But despite his brutish features and warriors gear, he seemed civilized. Proper even. Currently, he sipped tea from a dainty cup, perching on a log while reading from a book.
Perhaps he could be good company. She contemplated the best way to creep up on him. Spritelings are notorious pranksters. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight. Something watched her.
"You can come down and join me." The voice, though deep as a bear's growl, was kind and proper. "I'd love some company, if you so please." His eyes never left his book.
Though Cyprus had always dreamed about meeting outsiders, reality kept her isolated. Yet, now that she was presented with the chance, she hesitated. What if he planned to harm her? Or deceive her? She almost jumped when he moved. He lifted his mace from the leather loop at his belt--and threw it across the fire.
"I promise, I don't intend to harm you." He lifted his eyes from his book. They were dark, but they were gentle.
Cyprus drifted down the trunk, taking ginger steps through the dead leaves and sat cross-legged out of reach of the strange man. "What are you?"
"Hopefully, a friend." He offered a roguish smile.
And she smiled back.
I'm gasping for air The skies of her affection Shine for someone new And the storm of her unfaithfulness Rages over the sea of my desperation
I'm drowning in my depression The ocean of my cold despair How could her sun refuse to shine for me Her blue skies replaced by her indifferent thunder
Blue waves roll over me I succumb to them, sinking, drowning And as I drown, so does the sound of her storm Of her absence of her infidelity
Silence was a priceless gift
"You killed me mum!" The wild, scraggly little man brandished a rusty knife from somewhere in his bedraggled trench coat. "Now, I's gonna kill you!" He shuffled forward with the speed of a racing penguin.
"Woah woah woah! I didn't kill your mum!" I showed my palms to display my innocence, my non-aggression. I continued talking, as it slowed up the mad squatter. "I don't even know who your mum was, mate!"
He shook his knife at me and barked, "Yeah ya did! Don't you deny it, Lenny!"
I had to think fast, before he could talk himself up again. It was my throat if I didn't. So I improvised. And I cut him off before he could keep talking.
"Lenny?! Lenny, that SCHMUCK! That's the one that killed my Pa!" I dropped my hands and balled them into fists. Maybe if I mimicked his anger but changed the target, I'd be the ally rather than the enemy.
"You isn't Lenny?" He cocked his head to the side.
"No, mate! I ain't Lenny, and it sounds like you have a bone to pick with the rascal as well!" I did my best to play the savory character. "Tell you what, you and I need to team up, seeing as we have a man to find." I walked toward him with a hand out to pat him on the back. He must have dropped his defenses; he hardly flinched at the weight of my hand. "Tell me what you know about this Lenny character, Bill. Can I call ya Bill? With your skills, and my wit, I'm sure we can sniff him out."
He walked with me, looking into my eyes rather than where we were going. "My name is Murray."
"Fine then, Murray. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I have a friend who knows how to find people. Let me give him a ring, and we'll give this Lenny character what's coming to him." I pull out my phone and call 9-9-9, still talking him through so he doesn't see the number. "And as soon as Jethro picks up, he can set us on the trail. Oh, Jethro? Didn't hear ya pick up, friend! Listen, my friend Murray and I have a bit of a problem. Think you can help us out? Stable? Of course Murray isn't stable, his mum is dead and he's wanting revenge! Well, he was waving a knife on me until he found out I wasn't Lenny. Yeah, of course I'd love for you to stop by. We're on the corner of Greene and Riperun. Yeah, the warehouse. Yeah, we can wait." I turn to Murray and ask, "He Murray, mind giving Jethro your last name?" He declares it Westerly. "Hear that, Jethro? Oh, you know of Murray Westerly, eh?! Small world! How long 'til you're here, mate? alrighty then, see you in five." I hang up, fairly satisfied with my performance. "He should be here soon, and we'll sus' out our culprit, sure enough!"
Murray nodded in bewildered agreement. "You're a right good friend, helpin' a soul ou' wit' 'is problems. Thank ye, mate."
Adrenaline in my veins, fear screaming in my ears, I still manage a calm, "What else are mates for?" I'll live to lie another day.
Why should she not return my love to me For mighty deeds on your behalf I’ve done Think you I’ve spoken in hyperbole I shall display I cannot be outdone
I’ve stolen brother’s car to come see you And stare at you from outside your window Remember dates from in your planner too To follow you wherever you might go
Reality is that my view’s distorted For to the cops my love you have reported
Felt like something goofy tonight, so here’s a Shakespearean Sonnet lol
They say it takes guts to leave Mars. I think it only takes common sense.
My parents weren't descendants of the first settlers here. Actually, they were descended from the most recent crew. Flight Omega 12. It was made up of peasants who could afford to scrape the money together to leave. Mars hasn't communicated with earth for the past two centuries.
By then, the classes were pretty well settled. My family have always been yam farmers here on mars. My parents were yam farmers on Mars. Lucia and I would have been yam farmers if Mama and Papa didn't die. Most people won't die from the flu, but poor people do.
Lucia was only ten, and I was seventeen. I did what was best--I sold the farm to some rich folk who would rent it out to some better-off farmer. We couldn't run the farm. I found a place to rent and found some work in the city, hoping I could find some opportunity to get ahead. I needed it.
Lucia needed it.
They just announced yesterday that they finished the portal back to earth. Lucia runs into our rented flat this morning, out of breath and a huge smile breaking on her face. She has the biggest smile I've ever seen on anyone, and she's always smiling. I guess she brings balance to our duo. I'm the serious one by nature and by necessity.
"Toni! Toni guess what?!" This was the typical beginning to most of our conversations.
"We're being adopted by a rich couple?"
"Nope, guess again!"
"You found another boyfriend I'll have to beat up in a week?"
"Toni, for real this time! This is huge!" She giggles despite her demand against my hazing.
"Fine, Yammie. Tell me." I'm always tired, but I always love when my sister is excited.
"They just finished the portal back to earth!" Her big brown eyes double in size. Her smile too, if that's even possible.
The lead scientists on the Mars settlement have been developing portal technology for the past 50 years. I don't understand how it works, but I understand why they're working on it. Ever since the Omega 12 landed, Mars lost all contact with earth. Satellites confirmed what a lot of Mars already knew. Nuclear fallout happened. That also means that all ports for ships have been destroyed. Mars has been the last stand for all of humanity for two hundred years. And supplies are low.
The cities around us are deteriorating. We all want out. Mars is dying. And humanity is dying with it. But I don't get my hopes up.
"They'll never take peasants on this trip, Lucia. We'll be last to go, if we get to go at all." I rub the back of my neck, head down. I hate disappointing her.
"That wasn't the big news though!" She literally starts bouncing in place. For a young adult, she sure does act like a little girl.
"Fine. I'll bite. Tell me the big news." I cock my head to the side and raise my brows.
"The first jump happens tomorrow..." She waits for suspense. "And they're only allowing peasants to jump!" She jumps to me and wraps her arms around me, fully expecting me to hold her weight without hesitation.
I bear her weight. I know what this is. The portal must be unstable. Or may not go to earth. Or earth might not be ready for people to live on it again. She pulls back from her great hug and gives her gigantic grin. I can't bear her disappointment.
Dying elsewhere beats living on this rock anyways.
We don't usually have breakfast--just a little bit of water each in the morning. Our only meal is at night when Lucia gets home. It isn't that we can't afford more. Selling the farm left us with a small nest egg most peasants could never save for. There just isn't any food available. Shortages of food, clothing, water, pretty much everything but space, plagues the Twin Cities. Work is long; Lucia only works about 10 hours a day, I work at least twelve. Muggings and riots happen all the time in the streets, especially at night. It isn't uncommon to leave the flat to see a member of the sanitation guild mopping blood off the sidewalk in front of the complex. Life is miserable.
Risking death would probably be worth it.
I hold Lucia's face between my hands, like I always do when I need to speak to her as her father instead of her brother. "How much are the tickets?" I ask with my most assertive voice. She often runs into a situation with enthusiasm, despite the desperate circumstances. I'm usually stuck cleaning up the emotional mess.
Her smile diminishes for the first time since she's been home. "It's... It's not as much as you'd think..."
"Lucia. How much." I say it more than ask it.
She crosses her arms and glances down. "*50,000. For each ticket."
I try my best not to flinch at the number. " We only have about *95,000 left from the farm, Yammie."
"*96,452 actually... I checked this morning." She was shrinking fast, and so was her smile.
I put my face in my hands and mocked rinsing it. I couldn't disappoint her. "You go to work. You're supposed to get paid tomorrow. Tell them you'll take half pay if you get it tonight." I walk to the door and grab my ragged jacket. "I'll call in some favors around town.
She screams and jumps to hug me again before I can even get my jacket on. I really hope this portal goes to earth. Please... please go to earth...
Tonight, I called every favor and borrowed every rivell I could. Lucia returns home, half her paycheck in hand. We have just enough to buy two tickets and a breakfast for tomorrow. Tonight, we sit eating our cold potato soup. I slosh the soup around the bowl. Despite not having eaten today, I'm not hungry. I'm too busy thinking. Worrying.
"Mano?" I look up from my soup to see Lucia's smile replaced by a furrowed brow. "You ok? You haven't said anything all night."
"Ya, I'm fine, Yammie." I shrug a shoulder and lift my head, trying to fake my best smile.
"You're doing that thing with your shoulder. I know you're not fine."
"What thing?" I immediately regret shrugging. She discerns people and their feelings so well. "I'm just fine."
She leans forward and smiles gently. "I'm worried about where the portal goes too."
My eyes widen. Not because she read my mind. That's normal. But because, for once in her life, she's looking to the future. And she's not completely optimistic. She can feel something besides happiness.
She twists Mama's ring on her finger, still leaning forward. "I know the whole thing seems crazy. But we don't have a life here. I'd rather be free or die trying than to be stuck here any longer. And I know you would too, Toni." She looks up to me with her big brown eyes. Waiting. Expecting my approval for the jump.
"When did you stop being little?" I rub the back of my neck and laugh nervously. "You're right. We're making the jump tomorrow."
She smiles and stares down into her soup. "Love you, Mano."
"Lova you, Yammie."
I worry as we prepare for the trip. It doesn't take long to eat our breakfast and pack all of our belongings in the morning. Everything fits into a sack for each of us. I look back into the flat for the last time. Even if the portal fails, we're never coming back. This has been home.
I turn off the lights.
It isn't home anymore.
We arrive at the Department of Technology and Advancement an hour early. Good thing, too. A line quickly gathers behind us, and only so many are allowed to make the jump today. I pay for both tickets with almost every rivell we have: first the bigger bills, then smaller, then start counting the change from the spare sock I store it in. Finally, our tickets are bought. I hand the rest of our money to the gangly old man behind us. We won't be needing it anymore.
"Mano?"
"Yeah, Yammie?"
"I'm scared."
I take her hand and squeeze. "Me too."
She squeezes my hand back.
We make our way to the docks. A strange man in a dusty white coat briefs us on how the portal works.
"First, you ascend the stairs. Wait behind the yellow line at the top. When the portal at the base of the cliff changes color from red to purple, you jump into the portal. Understood?" He rattles the instructions off quickly, as if this is common procedure.
"Did you say cliff?" Lucia's breath quickens.
The weird, spectacled white-coat doesn't even acknowledge her as he walks to the next passenger.
"Lucia, it's ok--"
"Toni, I can't do it! I'm afraid of heights, I know I can't, I--"
I grasp her wrists and reel her in to look at me. "Lucia, Lucia LISTEN to me! Breathe, breathe, calm down. Listen to me, ok? Just take my hand," I let go of her left wrist, "when we get to the top of the steps, just close your eyes. Just listen to my voice, Yammie. You can do this."
I talk to her without stopping as we climb the steps. When we reach the top, I speak in an even gentler tone. "Now close your eyes. Trust me, Yammie. Trust me."
But I'm having trouble trusting my own judgement at this point. The great buzzing in front of us clouds my thoughts. Red flashes glare from below the platform, as if fires blaze into existence and then extinguish in the same breath. Lucia trails just behind me, eyes closed, as I pace my way to the edge. About six stories below, a swirling pool of reds and yellows whirl into an endless center. The low buzz turns into a strong hum, and my heart beats harder against my ribs.
I try to bolster myself. Think of the life I'm leaving. Think of leaving the lack of food. Leaving poverty. Leaving a life without my parents. Think of never seeing my boss again. Think of getting myself off of this rock. I wince and my heart beats faster as a gust of wind shoots up from the great portal below. I can't do it.
I look to Lucia. She's squeezing my hand--and smiling. She's at peace. Because I'm here. I am her rock. I think of Lucia.
I can do this.
I loosen my grip and wait for the purple color to come into focus. "Lucia?" I have to raise my voice above the hum.
"Yes, Mano?"
"I love you."
Her smile grows. She trusts me. "I love you too, Mano."
The scarlet streaks fade into a slow whirpool of purple.
I grab my sister’s hand and pull her towards the edge of the cliff with me. She nods slowly in my direction. Then we jump.
The sun's first rays warm my exposed skin like a kind, gentle fire, caressing my face. Light blinds me more than darkness ever could--light from the vast sunrise, bouncing off the dunes as a mirror. I shield my dry eyes. These dunes, like an endless sea of waves frozen in place...
This is the Desert of the Lost.
This is my life now.
I must return to the Land Below. The old men of the crags always joke of exiles. They say that, should an exile live and return, that he'd earn his right to live. I'm expected to die here. The Desert of the Lost kills without, discernment, without mercy, and without exception.
I plan to end that pattern.
I've always read about the sun. The banned books always speak about the sun as a beacon, an illustration of truth and goodness. A necessity to life. But the books we're meant to read--the "right" books--tell us the sun destroys. I don't trust the right books. Surely the sun is dangerous, but people survived forever before the exodus underground. You just need to know how to survive.
They took my banned books. Took them and burned them. Luckily, I remember a lot of what I read. One of my favorites, "Modern Geography," told me all I needed to know about the old world. Whether the old world only exists now as a desert or not, I don't know. But I do remember reading about surviving in the desert.
The Overthrower always gives the same pack to exiles. I check my new bag, making good use of the early morning cool. I know deserts only heat up as the day grows long. I wonder what the night in the old world looks like? I pocket the idea. Time to survive. I open the muslin bag, sifting through the contents: a rope (probably 20 foot long), a singular knife with a bone handle, a blanket made of woven web, and a full waterskin. I grab the blanket and wrap myself. I think of how counterintuitive wrapping myself in the sticky fabric might be, but my book said keeping the sun off your skin was the second most important factor of staying alive.
Now my next order of business, finding the most important factor--water. I stumble into the sand, meandering directionless, hoping to find some sign of survival. I must be strong.
For Tilly, I must be strong.
I couldn't see him yet.
Not like this.
For as long as I'd known Jason, running has been his life. Sometimes running practice even took priority over our dates. Sometimes he forgot about our plans. Running came first. That's ok. I've always admired his dedication and his passion. He is wholly devoted to his passion. I've made changes in my life to be more dedicated because of him. He's changed me. For the better, I hope.
But now, he's lying there in the hospital bed. Hopeless. Kind of pitiful. I resent myself for not sitting by his side. He needs me right now. But I can't. I can't stand to see the man I love like this.
He has no passion.
He is unwhole.
When I first got to the hospital--I didn't even have time to put on my makeup--I thought I was a wreck. Then I saw him. He was laying on the bed, staring out the window. I don't think he heard me when I opened the door. I saw his legs. Or at least where his legs used to be. I couldn't go in. I couldn't be the one to bear his hurt.
I can't be the one. I'm not strong enough.
As I'm losing myself in my thoughts, an old man sits next to me. I try to contain myself. I don't have makeup to ruin, but I still have trails of dried tears down my cheeks. I steal a glance at the elderly man as I wipe my face with my sleeves--and noticed he had the same stripes running down his face. Fresh tears, actually.
Do I console him?
I don't know him.
Really I need consoling myself.
The old man interrupts my internal debate. "Being the strong one is hard, is it not?"
I stay quiet. I'm not sure if he's speaking to me. He has to be really. I'm the only one in the hallway, aside from nurses rushing back and forth.
"Is he your husband?" He didn't sound as somber as he looked. In fact, his tone was somewhat chipper.
"No. Fiancé." I know that my pinched voice would seize if I spoke too much. Still, I shouldn't be rude. "Who are you here for?"
"My wife. Brave soul. She's been battling lymphoma for eight years now. But she never stopped living." His smile widens. He stares up and to the left. Light glares off his circular, wire-rimmed glasses.
My chest is tight, but my curiosity grows. "What do you mean?"
"I mean she didn't ever let her condition stop her from doing what she loves." His eyes squint. The little crow's feet at the corners of his eyes grow deeper. "She loves to write poetry."
Jason loves to run. You can't do that without legs.
Silence falls between us for a few minutes. His presence distracts me for the moment. At least for now I can focus on looking put-together.
"As death tightens his grip round my throat And darkness surrounds my sight I see you, my dear Love See only you, my dear Light
As death pulls me under And blue skies turn black You remain true, my dear Love, My dear Light brings blue back
Though I leave this journey behind My dearest One helps me take flight You prepare me for the departure, my dear Love Please take my love with you, my dear Light."
The words resonate in my head. I forget about Jason for just a moment and turn the words over in my head. It seems so dark, but at the same time, there is so much hope and love seeping through.
The old man inclines his head toward me. "She couldn't hold a pencil for the passed three and a half years, so I had to write for her. But she never stopped. And I never stopped her. I did everything I could to help her. I wrote as she sang her sweet mind to me." He looks to me again, eyes freshly streaming behind his large spectacles.
I can't help myself. "Is she going to be ok?" I don't know this man. Or who he is. But I feel a part of his life now.
He lays his tender hand on my shoulder. "She passed just a few minutes ago, dear. But she wrote that poem for me last night." He sniffs, the waterfall never ceases from his eyes, and yet he smiles as if his world hadn't just ended. "She wanted to leave me with her love before she left. Because I gave her mine for our whole life together." His hand leaves my shoulder, and he stands with some effort. "You need to be his strength when he has none, dear. Be his light."
Without another word, he turns and leaves. I was stunned. A complete stranger entered my life, demanded strength from me that I don't have, and left just as quickly as he entered. I should be turned off by the whole ordeal. But I'm changed. I know what I need to do.
I knock on the door. Jason doesn't say anything, but I slip in and sit in the chair, scooting it to his bedside. I grab his hand, but he continues staring out the window. He's looking to the future. And his face remains cold as stone.
"Sweetheart."
He doesn't turn to look at me. He continues staring off to the future, just outside his window. darkness surrounds his vision.
"Jason. I know you hurt. But I'm not going to let you stop running." I steady my voice as best as I can.
His brows furrow.
"I don't know how, but we'll get you back on the track as soon as we're able. You're never giving up." My voice strengthens. I almost believe myself. "And I'm never giving up on you."
Jason stares out the window, at his future. And he reveals a slight smile.
I’m racing for the cliff. Hounds are hot at my tail, Mage Skinners behind them. I don’t have time to hesitate now. I need to jump.
At least if I fail, the rocks at the bottom will be more merciful than the Skinners.
More mercy in a quick end.
I close my eyes as I sprint. My brother used to tell me to picture vast emptiness, centered on a door. Moving through the door, I’d find my inner strength. I clenched my eyes tighter, blocking out all of the outside world except the uneven terrain beneath my feet.
I saw the blackness. I couldn’t picture the door.
“Your only limit is your own determination.” My brother’s words bounce in my head.
I push his words out. Even his words are a distraction now. Focus on the door.
The door.
I can’t see it.
The hounds howl louder. They’re at my heels. I picture the door. It’s there. I leap for it. And just as I leap for the door, I bound five strides forward in the material world—dragging one of the hounds with me as he latched onto my pant leg.
He tumbled on landing, but not without taking a shred of my pants in his teeth. I’m running, panting, straining to my limits to picture that door.
The door isn’t there.
It’s gone.
“Your only limit is your own determination.” Even if I can’t see the door, I can leap through it.
I can fly through it. Even if I can’t see it.
The cliff meets me. I don’t have time for indecision. I leap, flying for where the door should be. Eyes wide open, I fall from the edge of the cliff. In slow motion, I hear the dogs grinding to a stop at the precipice. I hear the shouts of the Mage Skinners muted.
There’s the emptiness in my mind.
I’m flying into nothingness.
And I fly into the door. I couldn’t see it until I passed through. But I’m flying through it.
I’m flying.
I leave the edge of the cliff, flying into the brisk night air. I must be the first mage to fly in centuries, since before the emperor executed mages in the Cleansing. James Blackblood, the greatest mage of my time.
The only one left really. I’m alone.
But I’m flying.
