I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. I saw venomous green in her and she saw cold blue in mine. I remember her eyes all too well for they used to be a kinder color, one that would laugh during dinner about the dumbest things. My older sister always would beat me in everything, grade, swordsmanship, runs. You name it she beat me. But always told me to get up and run it back. I didn’t intend to get up for this fight, too much mattered.
“James!” She yelled, “Get out of my way, this is not your fight!”
Keeping a straight face I slide my silver katana out of its sheath. Initiating a fight.
Groaning, my sister pulled out hers, a bright steel sword, with a red hilt, showing where her allegiances lay. With the rebel group who called themselves the Burning Night.
“I don’t want to do this” she pleaded “your not my enemy”
“But you are mine” I coldly say.
Rolling her eyes, she lifted her blade in the acceptance pose, and our blade glowed a warm orange. Now one of us had to die for the other to live.
She then rushed at me, sword cutting through the air, slashing upwards towards me. Parrying the blow, I strike again. The blade clinked pathetically off her chest armor. My blow was then mirrored by hers as I felt the steel blade cut my undefended lower chest.
Warm blood seeped out from me, as the world began to spin. I clutched my stomach and fell to the ground. The orange hues of my sword faded as my life came to an end.
My sister walked passed me muttering “That fool, he should have just run.” She grabbed my sword planning to break it, as it’s an honorable death. She looked at the blade, edged with gold and my name inscribed upon it. She threw it to the ground in disgust, letting me die slowly instead of mercy. Her boots clipped the stones behind me.
I have to get up
Get up
Get up
My sword glowed again, brighter gold than I had ever seen.
In its sheath, my sister's sword began to burn, pulling her back to the fight. Gripping my sword, I slowly get back up and reposition myself in the acceptance position.
My sister ran at me once again, the blade sailed upwards, but as if it were in slow motion, I dodged the blade, stepping to my left, and placed my sword on her throat. She grimaced and jumped back.
I pulled a second sword from its scabbard, my youngest sister’s name used to be inscribed on it, but it faded, just as her life faded. I would advise her.
Holding the blades up. My sister had a flash of reconditioning. I charged her, catching her sword between mine. With a quick movement, I disarmed her, casting the blade off to our right.
She turned to run. I chased her until she tripped. Falling to the ground, I saw a slight movement from her hand, when suddenly a dart rope revealed itself from her pocket. Directed right at my face.
Her wits were no match for my blades, as I slashed the dagger out of the air and brought my blades down on her.
Tears were hot on my face as I choked out “I'm sorry”.
On that day, 2 blades were broken. My sisters' blades, and now their souls may live in peace.
Rocks clink across the pavement. Hitting the ground, then with everything reaching for the sky, only to fall. I give to rocks another shot, letting them clink on ahead. I continued on my path, the one less taken by the folk of our town. By the shops, where the kids gleam at their new toys and admire the first gems of snow.
Through the beauty of the day, a soft gleam of gold caught my eye. A small coin about the size of my thumb radiated in the snow. I picked it up, flicking it. An angelic sound rang and the coin flew up.
Tails I hear the stomping of boots in the distance. The sound of her, with her sharp breaths and fake excitement. I hoped she didn’t notice me but she always does. She loves him.
“Frank!” She’ll yell. Happily running up. I know she’ll lock her arms around him. He will try to act tough and shrug it off as it, is momentarily shocked. Then go in for another. He does love her, I flip the coin again.
Heads My arms are locked around Kate, the soft breaths rising her chest against mine, warming me on the beautiful winter day. She pulls away slowly, excitedly telling me about her day. I try to listen but all I can think is how lucky I am. The snow was coming down in clouds when we finally made it to her home. She pecks me once before she goes in. I pull the coin out of my pocket once more. Flipping it to hear its chime.
Tails My legs are cold, my heart iced, and the door behind me closed as I’m finally free from her. I don’t know how he keeps up with her. He is a love-sick fool, but I know, like always. He will be back with me. A creak cries from the door as her father comes out. “Can I get you a ride Frank?” he asks. I reply under my breath “My name is Graham”. Then I’ll form lies like I always have to. Saying how I can do it by myself. But we are never by ourselves.
We, Frank and I, Graham and Frank, walk up the street, letting the gems and chill of winter be shown. Loving and hating Kate. Frank takes a step with his left. Graham mirrors him with his right. The two shadows reach out from a single body, walking through the snow. The one in the shadow on the left fights against the burning lights and just let them consume him.
But as opposites commonly are, they end up just being 2 sides of the same coin.
Fairy tales: The Glass Slipper, the Dragon Slayed, a magic castle in the mountains, the Ever After All. That what how it’s supposed to go.
Supposed to be
For me
Not me
I worked hard to pull out the sword, day after day. Learning growing. Learning growing. Learning growing practicing. Learning, growing practicing, rehearsing, and going the extra mile. Giving it all and then some. Burning both ends of that magic rose, just to live up to my vision. Of what I gotta get to, of what I gotta be.
When the clocks struck 12, my big moment was at hand. The music rose as my hands tensed and gripped that handle. Inhale pause exhale pull. The sword yanked out like butter, just like in practice. Lifting it, my smile beamed, but inside I was dark.
Now onto the quest, the classics: a damsel in distress with a beast to slay. I was “finally ready”. But that was all for today.
My tale: just scraping by, Fridays, Saturdays, and a holiday or 2. I left the studio looking around at the muddy j light streets. Fires lit in barrels lined the streets, and the more unfortunate were huddled around them. One couple was curled up on a bench, with a coat, being the only thing to keep them warm during a brisk night like today. A cardboard sign lay on the sidewalk next to them, soggy and worn by the years.
I buzzed the ringer and walked into my 1 room “palace”. The papers that ended my happily after Lay scattered on my floor.
I gave her the horse-drawn carrier, the ring with a gem, the whole fairy tale shit. But I was just a stop on the way to her Prince Charming.
Leaving me alone.
Where the hell is my Fairy Tale
The sun scorched burns into our necks as the horn rang. A low guttural roar of anger and hatred. The cracking of guns and the stomps of horses filled the air. I was there in the pack, so blinded by the atrocities that the enemy had done, that I didn’t care what we did to them.
Our horses easily jumped their measly trenches as we charged their camps. Gunshots followed by screams filled the early morning air. I took part in the pleasure, of seeing the enemy, get what they deserved. My finger moved and the enemy didn’t. Smoke began to fill the afternoon air as our campaign continued. Burning those devils back from where they came from.
We didn’t let anyone leave, we made every single one of them pay. Every. Last. One. No one could stop our righteous revenge. It was late afternoon when we had finally rid the world of that plague.
I was riding back towards camp when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Just the slightest bit. Could’ve been a squirrel or some other rodent, but I walked over there regardless.
It was the enemy.
He was bleeding profusely from his leg, he was suffering from an atrophy. I pointed my rifle to the back of his head. His body when ridged, and he started crying. served him right He was moaning and crying in a language I didn’t understand, but I knew it was demonic. He pulled out a picture from his pocket, the man with his arm wrapped around a woman. His wife I assumed. And between them was a little girl with auburn brown braids falling down her shoulders. The girl looked a lot like my daughter, who just turned 7, this past month.
The man was still sobbing profusely, trying the crawl away. I pressed my finger to his head, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. I demanded myself to shoot this man, I mean the enemy. I put my finger on the trigger, yet my body refused to hurt the man. I put my gun in the air and shot.
The man huddled and closed into a ball. Then I walked away, leaving my gun behind. I walked through the burning village, our “trophy” for the victory. But it didn’t feel like a victory. Thousands upon thousands of human bodies were being pilled up.
Another atrocity that the “heroes” committed.
The man in a dark suit slid a dark leather binder towards me. It was filled with x-rays, MRIs, receipts, and the lawsuit. He had gotten a serious concussion, and the medical bills on their own would cost me a fortune. Then came the other costs: emotional damages, and the loss of their job. With 7 numbers and not a single decimal sign.
“It was an accident!” I plead, “Sir I can’t afford this!”
…
It had been a warm summer day, and me and some buddies were just fooling around with a basketball in the local park. I had met some random guys there and we decided to play a quick game of HORSE. We were down to the final two, me and a guy named Warren, it was HOR to HORS. Just then the basketball ball hit a nail that some jackass had left there. The ball began to deflate with a path.
We were about to call it a day when Wareen picked up a rock that where scattered around the park. It was light gray with black spots and was about the size of my cupped hands. Warren then threw it up and miraculously got it in the net.
“Ha! Beat that!” He exclaimed.
I picked it up, it was heavier than I expected. I tensed my muscles and launched up into the air.
Time seemed to slow down and it sailed. It arched up and up, but then in a sinister twist of fate, began to fall. Falling falling falling and then hitting Drew right in the head.
He just stood there for a second before his legs collapsed, and he fell slowly to the ground. The rest of the guys scattered running away. I looked around hopelessly. Eventually, I pulled out my phone and called 911. All I could do was stand there and stare as the red and blue lights flashed. Carrying him away. It felt like hours before I ever moved. I just stood there. Looking at the rock stained red with blood.
…
Tears fell to the table as my life savings drained away.
And that’s how paper always beats rock.
If a friend jumped off a cliff, would you? That’s the question I was facing, staring at the dark ocean below me. The water was rippling out from where James had fallen in. Other than that it was quite calm.
Ba’cock! Shouted some of my friends. “Don’t be chicken! Jump already!”
James was no more than a dot below me, but I vaguely saw him wave his arm. He was shouting something but the crashing of the waves where drowning him out.
I looked around at my friends who were looking expecting at me. I slowly began to take off my shoes. One and then another. Peeling the socks off, one and then the other. The waves were going restless, coming stronger and stronger.
“Just GO!!!” Yelled out someone in the crowd.
I looked down as my stomach churned. The ocean seemed farther and farther away from me. I took a step back as vertigo hit me in waves. The ocean swirled like a tide pool, drawing me in further and further. I felt a hand on my back and after a quick shove, I felt myself falling. I heard the ocean bubbling with excitement.
Then I heard what James was yelling “No! There are rocks down here!”
I sharp pain erupted in my leg, digging deeper and deeper.
I heard them laughing as the next one was pushed forward.
How it shimmers how it shines, and guess what? It’s all mine. Mine mine mine. The slight amber hew all its glows brilliantly in my house. The slight sparkle it gives after my servants polish it.
People come from far and wide, to ask for “donations”. But I KNOW, It’s not the “hungry children” or “homeless veterans” they are after. They are all after my wealth. My golden tubes of toothpaste give an extra sparkle and twinkle to the better of my teeth, the golden ones that are (the dentist wouldn’t let remove all my teeth, but it’s ok, I dealt with him). They want my luxury Au tables, made from golden leaves. I know what they want, yet they call me a greedy old Scrooge. Well, it doesn’t matter cause it’s all mįñę!
I know what they are, how they look at me, how they eye my shiny lubricated vessels of wealth. All of them are the same, my son, my wife, even my mother. But it’s ok, they have been rętūrñęd. They can’t bother my nuggets anymore.
Hell, even the government is trying to take it away. Well, fuck taxes. Cause ït`ß äłł mįñë¡ âñd ït wīłł bê føręvër!¡!¡!
My family and I have been called many things: Witches, Pagans, Demons, and one guy called me a Necrophiliac (I don’t think he knew what that meant). This is because my family is Recallers we can talk to the dead. Not in the weird possession way, where we start to float and our eyes turn white, but much more a call with bad Wi-Fi. Also, it’s not everyone, it’s our family’s eldest and youngest. My abuela and I are the current Recallers. Tonight is Dios Los Muertos - The Day of The Dead. This is when our power is strongest, at the time of change from summer’s life to winter’s death. We always have an important role during this day, we help the ghosts return and comfort their families. So there I stood, in a path with no end or beginning in sight. From my backpack, I pulled out an ebony black ring, and a gold candle with silver patterns etched into it. I lit the candle and it flowed a soft white glow. I put the ring on the wick and concentrated. The ring began to expand as it spanned faster and faster.
Pop
The first ghost appeared, pulling himself out of the ring, as one may do when getting out of the pool. Now ghosts aren’t your traditional silvery spirits, who are see-through and can pass through walls. They look and act like they did when they were alive, except shadows and darkness are always hanging over them. Like an aura or a smokescreen.
Pop
Pop
Pop
More ghosts were appearing quicker and quicker. Soon the pastor was filled with the ghosts, creating a hazy cloud of gray and black all around. The mode that knew the drill was already gliding away (cause they can fly, thrillers got that part right). But there were the first timers, who had no idea what was going on.
“hey, kiddo what ya doin' out here alone” asked one.
“How did I get here and where did my rope go i thought I did the noose right this time”
“donde esta”
“Como te llamas”
“where did my family go all i was just taking a small nap”
I cleared my throat. “Hello! Everyone listen up! You all have died.”
I got a few gasps, some “Wait I’m dead”s, and one or two “Is this heaven”.
“Well, we know that,” said one ghost with a bullet hole through their chest, “the real question is why do ghosts love elevators it lifts their spirits”. That got a few muffled laughs.
I groaned “Jerry!” The ghost looked at me, “Will you please leave them alone this year!”
“Sure but you have to tell me where a ghost buys its clothes at the boo-tique”
“As I was saying! You’ve died but on a day like today you let back in to help comfort tryout families, simply follow the candles and they will lead you to your family. Be safe everyone!” On that note, the ghosts flew off. Until I was left I. The field with some babies that weren’t fully matured and of course - Jerry.
“so best for the deathly,” he said following me back to my house “What are we doin' tonight how about a slumber party”.
“Leave me alone, Jerry!” I said walking through the back door. My abuela was sitting in her chair when she looked up. “Oh hi, Jerry. How are you doing tonight”
“deathly ill in fact, I think it’s my SKULLious”
My abuela chuckled politely. I marched up to my room and got into bed, tired from recalling the spirits.
“so how’s life” asked Jerry
I rolled over and put a pillow over my head. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. Every year I feel bad for him. He still believes that no one wants him, but I’ve seen his family and how much they cry. I tell him it but he still doesn’t believe me and I doubt he ever will.
Sad don’t you think? That someone who puts on such a brave face and is always laughing can feel so lonely inside.
The early blooming flowers decorated the air in a thin sweet mist.
Shaking hands were nervously clutched, and grasping the flowery white dress.
The drink was simply “For my nerves”
It was the perfect day, the perfect walk, and the perfect man.
I saw one of the flowers fall, falling to the stones, all shriveled up and dead.
Another flower had taken its place.
My stomach churned, as I grasped it, falling to the ground.
Through the blood spitting out of my mouth and my eyes glazing over,
I saw that look.
Between my man and her.
She may have been hunting for my husband, but I’ll be hunting for her.
Drip…Drip…Drip… The rain Dripped…dripped..dripped on the concrete street. A lone man in a black suit walked through it, with an umbrella muffling the drip…drip..drip. His face was a hellish green, and the man was so thin he looked like a skeleton.
Drip..drip..stomp
The man walked through a puddle, letting the mud splatter about. A black and white car rushed past him. Screaming its red and blue lights out into the night. Another followed and then another. The man just stood there watching them pass as the rain continued to fall.
Drip Drip Drip
I blue butterfly landed on the man’s hand hiding from the furious storm. The man looked quizzically at Nature’s sapphire.
Drip drip drip
Then he crushed it. He let the rain fall and the sirens wail, as he stood there. drip drip drip…
