Sunlight. Real, unfiltered sunlight. Was this how it’s supposed to feel like? How had Liz gone for so long without it?
Her fingers ran over the wooden wall, catching on every divot and tracing through each grain. Not a single one of her friends had supported this. Eva had started crying, bawling incoherently about how this was the worst betrayal she’d ever experienced in her entire life. Sandy had raised an eyebrow and said nothing, but the disapproving frown spoke more than enough. And Claire had made attempts at excitement, but she was the worst liar of the group.
“Does the place even have running water?” Sandy asked.
Liz shrugged.
Sandy let out a long, long sigh. “Whatever makes you happy, Liz.”
And she was. Happy, that is. Outside, she could hear frogs croaking. Frogs. When was the last time she’d any animal sounds besides the flapping of pigeon wings outside her window?
n.b: all i could muster up tonight
***not a poem!!
“Emily!”
I look up from my phone and catch the tail end of the barista placing my coffee on the counter before hurrying to make the next customer’s drink. My bag slips from my shoulders as I stand and I let it, setting it on the worn leather couch without bothering to worry whether someone will run away with it. The shop is nearly empty, with the exception of two teenage girls giggling quietly over their frothy drinks at a table in the corner, an elderly man sipping on his mug while silently scanning the newspaper in front of him, and a man waiting in a line of one–himself–to make his order.
I weave around the empty wooden tables to reach the counter and pick up my drink–an iced americano in a tall, cold-to-the-touch glass.
“Emily?” an unfamiliar voice says.
My head turns in the direction of the sound, to the lone man standing in front of the register. Black hair, which had clearly been styled neatly at the start of the day but was now showing signs of being tousled to a point beyond saving; round, brown eyes framed by lashes that curved naturally, delicately, upward; cheekbones and a nose bridge dotted with a smattering of faint freckles that looked as if they’d been painted on with a flick of a brush; a chin with a tiny, faded, scar just off-center to the left that she’d made herself; and lips, parted in shock or amazement or disbelief or a combination of all three after seeing her.
And together… “Noah?” I say, the word tumbling freely off my tongue, as if it had been waiting all this time, all these long years, to finally be released.
The memories rush in.
Tiny, little Noah, with constant teary eyes and wobbly chin, doing his best to blink back tears that were already pouring down his cheeks. Easily excitable Noah, who expressed his joy by clapping his hands and hopping in a circle with glee. Annoying, mean Noah with fingers that hurt when he pinched my arm but a laugh that I could place from across the playground. Shy, awkward Noah who suddenly wouldn’t look me in the eye unless I clapped my palms to his cheeks and forced him to look my way. Quiet, careful Noah who trembled the first time we secretly held hands in the alley behind my house—
And that was where the memories stopped.
It’s as if he snaps out of the same reverie I just watched play through my mind. The new Noah, the Noah I know yet don’t know at all, smiles tentatively. His hand lifts and waves, awkwardly.
“...Hi.”
Something warm and familiar blooms in my chest.
“Hi, Noah.”
i woke up alone in my bed and to hushed, familiar voices.
“are those the only instructions?” lacey murmured.
“the wounds aren’t as severe as i feared. whoever bandaged them last night did a fine job of it. she will recover without a problem.” this voice belonged to the physician.
i could hear the crackling of the fire, but i still felt cold. i hugged the sheets tighter around my shoulders and opened my eyes. “lacey?”
she turned to me immediately, eyes searching every inch of my face before settling on my own eyes. “your holiness,” she breathed, her shoulders lifting and falling with.
“i shall take my leave—your holiness.” the physician bowed deeply before hurrying out of the room, and i heard the doors thud shut behind him.
“how are you feeling, your holiness?” lacey asked, face severe.
“a bit cold,” i said. she nodded and turned to feed more wood to the fire.
“the physician suggested multiple days of rest in conjunction with replacing your wrappings twice a day, once in the morning and once before bed,” she said while stoking the flames. “he also gave me a recommended diet for the next week, consisting of warm stews and plenty of greens…”
i wondered when gabriel had moved me to the bed. when had he left? he had to, of course. it was far beyond his responsibilities, to keep guard the entire night—that was the reason for the night guard. but it had never been the night guard’s responsibility to sit by my side, murmuring into my hair each time i startled awake, tracing patterns and letters into my back to lull me back asleep until i woke from another fit, holding me just a little tighter to signal that he was still there, still tracing the same patterns.
“your holiness?” lacey was staring closely again.
“what did you say, lacey?” i asked, attempting a smile.
her shoulders relaxed. “i was wondering who helped wrap your bandages, your holiness. the physician said it looked like the work of someone skilled.” and though she hadn’t insinuated a thing, i felt the weight of her gaze on my skin.
“i… i had some help.”
“i see,” she said. and i could tell she was doing her best to vanish her curiosity, but i couldn’t tell her. what had happened should never have. but even though i knew that, even though i knew the risk of angering the clerics… i wanted him here, again, providing a warmth that not even the fire could offer.
“where is gabriel?” i asked her.
she pursed her lips. “a temporary guard reported he will be arriving later in the day.”
something fluttered in my chest and i hid a smile into the sheets.
“but the clerics have called for your presence, saintess.”
and the fluttering dropped, stone cold.
—
they dismissed me, faces hard and unmoving. my hands hung limply at my side as i was escorted out of the room.
a familiar gold flashed at the edge of my vision and i looked up from the cold marble floor to find gabriel waiting outside the doors.
there was so much i wanted to say to him, so much confusion that i needed to talk with him about—the woman, her message, if he knew what happened to her—
“gab—“
“i am to escort you back to your rooms, your holiness,” he said, bowing slightly before rising and staring past me into somewhere far away.
i felt the words die on my tongue, and something within me curled up into itself.
i nodded, and we walked in defeaning silence, only the sounds of our shoes on the marble between us.
n.b: ooh kinda long and slightly off-prompt
“oh dear.”
the heads turned to me, one by one. had i spoken aloud? the speaker was looking at me strangely, his hand still raised midair and pointed at the screen, so it seemed i had.
“did you have something to say, mr. clock?” the speaker asked.
well i had to say something now, didn’t i?
“i guess i do. i’ve just realized that i was supposed go convince george washington to accept his presidency today.” i pulled out my stopwatch, a simple thing made out of aztec gold. vintage, as the kids these days would call it.
“i’m sorry?”
i shook my head ruefully. “so am i, darius. i hope i won’t be too late to the dinner or else none of you might exist in a few moments!” i twisted the knob on the stopwatch located precisely 37 degrees clockwise of the 0000 exactly four and a half times.
“mr. clock, i’m not sure what you’re saying—“
“yes, of course you don’t. well, good luck with everything, everyone!” and all was sucked into a pinpoint located somewhere in the distance ahead, and i closed my eyes for the ride.
dragons exist.
or at least, yuri knows people used to think they did. now people question whether they were even real to begin with.
but her questions are more grounded—what will her family eat for dinner? will her older brother be able to walk today, or fall back into his ever-burning fever? which villagers are going to aim rocks at her bad eye this time?
dragons? she doesn’t have time for such nonsense.
but when yuri loses her way in the bamboo forest while on the way to the capital, she encounters a strange vision—two dragons, one black and one white, entwined in a complicated dance before killing each other. shook, she pretends it never happened. but when strange people and occurrences crop up left and right, she begins to slowly discover what it is the universe is calling her to do.
n.b: VERY much a work in progress..
it hit at once.
conversations, three of them—no, four—five now—were being spoken into my ears all at once, all belonging to distinct voices, some deep and some husky and some hurried—it hurt my head to distinguish each one—below it all was a constant clamor of shouts and laughter and chatter that was impassively barreling into me, past me, through me—the press of their energies, so many of them, packed into a density that i could physically feel on my skin, the weight pressing itself into my chest—heavy, it was too heavy—
a piercing cluster of squeals flew past in front of me, accompanied by the stamping of little feet, and i stepped backwards to avoid their path but jostled the shoulder of someone behind me, someone that i realized much stronger than i was. i felt my foot catch on the uneven stones and braced myself for the fall—
a hand—rhea’s small and strong hand—gripped my forearm and pulled me upright, and suddenly the overwhelming din muted.
her palms cupped my ears. i reached up to touch them lightly, making sure.
her left palm lifted itself a fraction. “better?” she whispered, close. i nodded, actively catching my breath.
“good. i’ll get us to somewhere quieter, okay? you cover your ears and i’ll hold onto your arms. just keep looking at the ground.”
“okay,” i said shakily. i switched her hands with my own, the sound defeaning for only a moment until they muffled once more. her fingers wrapped around my wrist and she set a quick pace, winding us around passersby.
he had a memory from when he was four, of a large, pale hand reaching for him from above. it drew closer and closer, its palm coming within millimeters of his nose, when everything went dark and he found himself unable to breathe. his mouth was open, yet no air entered or sound was emitted.
small spaces were a bit of an issue for him now—elevators were only necessary if he needed to climb more than five flights.
the next occasion had been at 12, when he’d been climbing the rope in gym during their tumbling unit. he was surprisingly adept at the activity, hands and legs finding a comfortable grip on the rope, and had gotten higher than any of his classmates. especially jerry, who’d clambered onto the rope and within five seconds flat fell straight on his butt.
“isaac, you can come down now! great job!” his gym teacher yelled from below, waving her clipboard at him. he looked up. there were still a few feet of rope left, the top most height marked by a black ribbon. he was currently at the red ribbon—the highest sixth graders were allowed to go.
he glanced down at his classmates. he saw jerry, arms crossed in fury that someone had actually beaten him in gym. usually he’d be strutting around, gloating about his unbeatable records in everyone’s faces, especially isaac’s.
he climbed.
“isaac, what are you doing? get down this instant!” his teacher yelled. a few of his classmates cheered him on. he ignored them all and kept pulling himself up. his thighs were beginning to burn. but he could do this. he would do this, and after he came back down he’d see jerry’s face of defeat at finally being beaten. it was only a little further, a few feet more and—
he fell.
one moment his hands had been gripping rope, and the next they had nothing between then but rope-less air. his eyelids shut, as if they couldn’t bear to be subjected to the sight of what was about to happen and his body curled in on itself, bracing for impact, and then, isaac assumed, death. yeah, he’d probably die from that height. his mom was always saying how underweight he was, that it looked like his bones could snap at any impact.
well, she wasn’t wrong, he did break a few bones. one had come dangerously close to piercing his left lung. it was a miracle he hadn’t died on impact, the doctor said. but all isaac could think about was not being able to laugh right in jerry’s smug face because he’d finally won.
*not a poem.
“and what does a sunset look like to you?” elowen asked. the edge of his pinky brushed against mine. the tips of my fingers twitched in response, shifting the blades of grass underneath.
i hummed, letting the question wash over me. no one had ever asked me this before, what something looked like to me. maybe because i couldn’t see what they did, they assumed i couldn’t see anything at all.
“i see… a cascade. it’s slow at first. have you ever noticed that nature comes alive the most at sundown?” i looked towards elowen, already expecting his answer.
“no, i haven’t.”
i smiled. “all the creatures come out to soak one last time in the waning light, singing their last hurrahs before scurrying to safety. and when the sun dips closer to the earth, it carries those goodbyes, gathering weight in its rays. sometimes i can feel it filtering through my fingers.” i held out my hand, holding the rays in my palm, letting them fall between the spaces of my fingers.
“this is when the sun feels warmest, kindest. it’s tired, too, from shining so brightly all day, but it can’t go until its work is done. that’s when the cascade rushes through, the final splashes of light, before it dissipates into the night and the moon tips over our heads.”
“a warm farewell,” elowen finished.
“yes. until tomorrow.”
n.b: description is so. hard.
ines hadn’t been born with one. no particular marks, other than the freckles dotted here and there on her tiny body. her parents fussed, needling the doctor as to why their daughter was missing her mark.
she shrugged, not bothering to spare them a glance from the documents at hand. “it happens sometimes.”
that didn’t go over very well with her parents. but no matter which expert they asked, it was always the same—yes, there were cases (though not many) of people without their marks. no, it didn’t make them any different from those with. no, they could not genetically engineer a mark to appear on their daughter’s body.
after a few years of fruitless searching, her parents gave up. they had more pressing matters at hand, like the fact that her older sister (who, thankfully, did have a mark) was enrolling in her first team sport. it had to be the perfect sport—something unique, something that she could eventually excel at, that she would look beautiful doing—never anything so vulgar as, say, hockey.
they chose gymnastics. the type of gymnastics would be decided once she’d gotten a few years under her belt.
ines loved watching her sister at practices. she herself was too young for sports yet—only four years old. so whenever her nanny suggested leaving a little earlier to pick up isabel from practice, ines agreed with enthusiasm. she’d sit there, staring wide-eyed on her nanny’s lap, as her sister manuevered her body into shapes and positions she’d never seen before. but her favorite was when isabel danced. it didn’t matter with what—the ribbon, the ball, the hoops—she was good at all of it. isabel could do anything. ines knew it, her parents knew it, and everyone that knew isabel knew it.
n.b: a practice in creating a backstory
everything looks better from further away. cities, pores, relationships. things and people are so much easier to appreciate when you don’t have to walk the trash-lined sidewalks, take close-up selfies, or find their flaws.
maybe that’s why i can’t seem to keep a boyfriend around for too long. my friends call me a “serial dater.” i guess that’s a nicer label than “deathly afraid of commitment.” or something like that. but i can’t help it when people just don’t live up to my expectations.
take matt. beautiful, blonde, matthew. i usually don’t swing for blondes, but something about his hair combined with that killer jawline made me bat for a home run. there was nothing to complain about in bed, either. a perfect little package, wrapped nicely in designer labels and smooth cologne. that was until i learned 4 months in that he only brushed his teeth every other day. sometimes every two days. and even when he did brush, it was only once a day, at night. my mouth refused to go anywhere near his after i found out about that little tidbit.
you think i’m too picky? maybe you should give your dentist a visit. but fine. let’s take a look at raoul.
god, he’d been one sexy hunk. i couldn’t tear my eyes away once they’d landed on him in that dingy, little bar. seemed he felt the same way, because we had some of the most spine-tingling sex i’d ever experienced that night. i still feel a little flutter when i think about it sometimes. and ladies, he was an absolute gentleman. always held the door, made dinners that could’ve come from 4 star restaurants—the whole package.
we were together 5 months until he kindly divulged that one of his hobbies was hunting. deer, mostly. the occasional woodland animal, nothing of the endangered type. the dealbreaker was that he saved all the eyeballs of his kills and preserved them in glass jars. every. single. one. i never went back.
