Road trip with my Flemish giant rabbit along Route 66 east to west along the famous high day stopped over for some ice cream on a dusty road. Stopped by for a pee and stretched those legs on the restroom.

Uncle needed a donut Dunkin’ cos is addicted.

Traveling in the hot desert like sand with the window down stopping near Death Valley on the border between Nevada.

Talked to some guy in the lift who was gambling all night.

Sailing on a boat looking at emerald bay the green shining tree covered mountains sound and crystal emerald water.

w h o o s h

S w i s h

Of the cars passing by as if it were a movie.

But not the same sounds.

The first time he heard the whoosh it was calmer, and his hands were sticky. And wet. And red. And warm.

Now his hands are cold. But they’re still wet and red. But they’re terrible cold. The chill of the handcuffs making goosebumps on his pale skin. Pale and red.

“You okay back there?” Asked the officer. He was mildly surprised the officer even spoke to him.

He remembered their disgusted eyes, even fear in them. He remembered their anger. It was rather amusing.

They didn’t even know the dead people! But then again, neither did he and he laughed when their blood splattered his face.

He almost laughed at the question. Truth be told, he’s still on the high.

And he’d be on the high for the next few hours too. Maybe when they’d interrogate him he’d laugh! It was hilarious.

He was still on that sweet, sweet, sweet high. Oh yes. The high as he watched their eyes pale, the life escape them. As the thundering heartbeat quieted down. AND THEN IT STOPPED. Oh oh oh oh.

That last heartbeat. It started to weaken. It was quiet. Then one loud THUMP. He thought he did something wrong for a second. And then quiet.

oh that sweet silence, and the shaky, hesitant breath escaping their lips. maybe a tear would roll down if he was lucky.

But only if he was lucky.

Oh and luck was on his side, believe that. Even as he was on the back of a police car, but that was okay.

Luck was on his side when he found the couple, broken bikes, on the side of the road. Oh he tried so hard to contain his glee. He tried so so so so so so so hard. He almost laughed. Almost gave himself away. But he was better than that.

He was so much better. He killed her first, as not to kill her boyfriend first and let her suffer. He was not a monster! It was quick, fairly effortless. The tears were sure to come.

And they did they did they did.

He laughed maniacally. His body shaking with laughter. The officers almost stopped the car, hearing the gleeful laugh of the man with the blood splatters on his face.

“I’m fine officer,” said the man with a beautiful smile. “I’m more than fine”.

“Honey, honey you ok!?” “Dad!” “Rueben!?” Sepia turned blue my world turns upside down, I feel.. empty. My thoughts cleared with nothing. Like a shutter, just slowly- darkness then peace. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I remember waking up in a hostpital bed the sweet September smell mixed with sterile cleanliness. I couldn’t see. Darkness. No matter how hard I tried to open and close my eyes. Nothing. I could feel my wife’s hand her wedding ring engraved onto my hand “I thought… I thought you were dead.” She said her voice cracking with salt. I could tell I was shaking, “Rose, I can’t see” Footsteps neared close “I am sorry sir” said a commanding, feminine, voice “you are blind.” I remember crying, holding my wife’s hand to my cheek, my eyes flooding with tears spiralling into my cracked lips. Fuck…

23 months had passed, summer breeze knocking against my cheeks, I walked towards the kitchen and go to my usual spot. Opening the cupboard I retrieve a mug. ‘#1 dad’ chiseled into the side, I boil some water and get a teabag and biscuit and then I just sit in the garden my tea in my hand. The sunlight hits my face, the bristles of the wind brushing against my hair. Rose comes and sits beside me, Bernie sitting at my feet. As I stroke him, his Labrador fur brushed against my skin, his chest moving up and down. “You ok?” “Yeah” I smile She smiles back, my hands on her right cheek. “I got you something” I continue. She smiles and almost teasing me she says “Same” I pass her a present from my pocket and she hands me a rectangular box wrapped in wrapping paper. She opens her present “a necklace, with our names on it!” She smiles kissing my lips her hands trailing down to the wooden decking. “Now open yours” I do, carefully tearing off gift wrapping one by one. “I’m confused” I sit there a pregnancy test lying in my hand “it’s positive” she smiles as we embrace. “What does this mean then” “You’re a dad, again” I feel warm inside, but fuck I did not expect this to happen again.

8ish months pass. And we have a girl. I name her Harper Anne Stewart cradling her in my arms. Rose is asleep, her eyes heavy with eye bags. Parker is with his grandparents, my phone calling then tommorow. I look into my girls eyes, hazel mixed with green. Her face all scrunched up. We leave soon but for now we just wait.

Johnny felt cold. Even though the strange vanilla room was warm, Johnny shivered in his jumpsuit. Why was he barefoot in a smooth gray jumpsuit? He had been wearing Vans and khaki cargo shorts and a buttoned-down business shirt this morning. Steve had given him serious side-eye over Johnny’s idea of business casual, but Johnny didn’t care because Steve was a shit boss and he was never going to kowtow to some corporate stooge. His head tingled. Johnny shook like a wet dog. His thoughts splattered. Johnny didn’t know why but he knew this room was one of many and it was moving. There were other people sitting in the room, too. All strangers, all fit, all around his age, they all seemed familiar. Maybe it was the jumpsuits. They had the glazed looks of people on an endless Zoom meeting. Nat would call them Zoombies. Looking around, Johnny chuckled. Nat, his Natalie, could always make him laugh. She had been so bitchy lately. They had been so good together, effortless. The last couple of weeks their dance was out of step. Johnny felt she wanted something from him but wanted him to guess. Just this morning they had snipped at each other and it had boiled over into a fight of everything and nothing. She made him late for his train. He remembered running for the Elwyn, turning over his words in his mind. His heart raced and panic rose in his throat. Filling his head, the tingling returned. Calmness settled on his shoulders and wrapped him tightly. Beneath his feet the engines sped. Johnny rubbed his neck. He was warmer now. A nice lady, also in a grey jumpsuit but with little shoes on, began talking. She was Johnny could understand her individual words, experiment, colonization, genesis. Apparently Johnny was a part of something important like he was a soldier or a pioneer. Or maybe a farmer? He just couldn’t fit everything together and how he fit in it. He tried to concentrate as the nice lady’s words slid around him. A tone sounded. Johnny knew he was missing something, something vital. Without thinking he stood with the others and walked to his pod, heading into tomorrow.

Metal wings flittered in the cage beside her. Restless. Anxious. A ticking, agile heart, made to be free.

A black cloth draped over the bell-shaped enclosure; a hopeful distraction, nature's ploy.

Maeve peeked beneath the cover. Everything she'd done, all those lives ruined, was for the creature she now possessed. Not that the creature belonged to her. Something so ancient, so intelligent—so unique—could never belong to anyone but itself. But in that one moment, on that empty, endless road, when the moon smiled, and the inky sky winked with thousands of stars, Maeve couldn't help but feel a spark of pride. She had saved a life—their life—and that connection linked them... If only for that brief point in time.

She let the cloth fall. The rhymic trot of her horse's hooves and the turn of the carriage wheels lulled her mind to the edges of sleep. The worst of their journey was over, the horrors had happened, and the road ahead was clear. Still, if experience had taught Maeve anything, she knew even the best-laid paths could hold hidden potholes.

Heavy eyelids fluttered. Maeve’s hands became slack on the reins, and her head drifted back, falling against the carriages headrest... And back towards the beginning of it all.

                                   *                                             

“Are you listening, novice? Where did you go?”

Maeve blinked.

Light smeared the room's edges, and she wiped her eyes with the silk sleeves of her robes. She blinked again.

She sat in the library beneath the palace, her hand curled loosely around the shaft of her quill. Books surrounded her in worlds of green and brown leather. She could smell the scent of candle smoke, the weathered pages and feel the hard wood of the chair digging into her back.

Of course, she was in the library.

Noise crackled, and Maeve glanced at the woman standing above her. The young woman raised a sharp brow, and finally, the last dregs of confusion emptied Maeve's mind. She shook her head. “Apologies, Professor, I... I don't know.”

Professor Fei turned and returned to the chair on the side of the table. The leather squeaked as she sat and pushed the wire rims of her glasses back up her nose. She wore her hair short, black and slick, and to Maeve, it always reminded her of the feathers of a crow.

“No matter,” the Professor said, “you're back now. Perhaps,” she added, her tone stern, “I need to up the excitement during my lessons to keep those eyes and your mind awake.”

Maeve’s heart skipped. “I meant you no offence, Professor,” she said quickly, and her fingers tightened around her quill. “Truly.”

Flames popped in the golden holds of their sconces. A moment of thick silence passed.

Professor Fei smiled. “I know,” she said, “Now, if we may return to your studies.” She pushed forward a large leather book, and a creeping sense of déjà vu prickled along Maeve's skin. She flipped the cover to a page marked with a strip of gold ribbon.

Time had turned the thick paper a warm yellow. Maeve swept a hand over the double spread, and specks of dust and minuscule fibres came away with her skin.

Cursive flowed across the pages, the black ink sweeping between sketches drawn so intricately that Maeve wished she had a magnifying glass simply to appreciate it all.

It was the anatomy of a mechanical phoenix, THE mechanical phoenix, the first—and last—sentient machine ever made.

Thin, delicate lines angled the outline of the phoenix's body, its wings of intersecting alloys spreadeagled across the centrefold. Elegant cogs and thin rods linked the creature together, from the pinhead mechanism at the bird's beak to the gold, orange and red of the tailfeathers, each metal length coiling inwards at each end.

“It’s beautiful,” Maeve whispered. Her eyes drew to the centre of the diagram, to the fingernail-sized glass heart nestled behind a thin cage of gold in the bird's chest.

Even on paper, the heart seemed to pulse—a soft, rhymic tick-tick-tick bringing it to life, as though magic itself coursed through every line.

“Isn’t it, indeed?” Professor Fei mused. “A divine invention, and one, I'm afraid, that your father hopes to attain before the month's end.”

“It still exists?”

“That it does.”

“But why...” The feeling of déjà vu returned. She had said this before. Maeve blinked. “Why would father want it? Surely a creature such as this deserves its freedom?”

A sudden pressure pushed against Maeve's temples, and a high whine pierced the quiet of her ears.

“The properties of the Phoenix allow it to...” The Professor began to speak, but her voice sounded distant, far off—the crackle of an old record.

Maeve's body lurched, and something unseen cracked against her skull... The library spun.

This wasn't real...

                                   *                                             

Cold wind whipped at the loose strands of her hair, numbing her face. Outside, the world blurred. Moonlit trees raced by. The carriage's wheels bounced off the uneven ground, jostling Maeve heavily in her seat.

It was clear. Spooked, her horse had bolted, dragging Maeve and the cage behind it.

The cage.

Maeve thrust out a hand, slapping wildly in the dark. Skin met cloth, and she curled her fingers between the cage bars, pulling the object onto her lap. Maeve returned her grip on the reins, but rather than tugging—as instincts told her—she settled back and let the horse run.

Long and straight was the path, and after a few minutes, her horse slowed. Maeve called to it, her tone soft, and the steady trot calmed to a stop.

Silence fell like a curtain, severed only by her own panting breath and the short, sharp snorts of her horse.

Maeve swept the sweat from her forehead. An owl hooted in the distance. The creature beneath the cloth fluttered.

That dream—no, memory—felt all too real. The sounds, the smells. The sensation of the paper between her fingers. She hadn’t just imagined it—she’d visited it... Lived it again.

On her lap, the cage rattled, and Maeve lifted the cloth just an inch. Through the dim twilight, she could see much of the inside—a flash of gold, the spiralled tip of a tailfeather. She longed to let the creature out here, now, among the trees, the vast open sky. But even so far from the city, Maeve knew they weren't far enough.

Not yet.

She knew the greed of man, the lengths they were willing. Even those she thought were there to protect could hide sharp claws beneath lavish layers of silk.

Without prompt, her horse continued.

Sleep returned to her eyes, and Maeve found herself falling back once more, one arm wrapped securely around the cage.

                                  *                                            

Maeve blinked.

She was in the council chambers, back at the palace she thought she had long left behind.

Councillors and other court members settled in the centre of the room, the beginnings of war mapped on the circular table.

Curtains drawn, the candles did little to disperse the shadows, and the iron candelabra dripped wax from above, hard pools collecting like magma on the stone floor.

Soft murmurs filled the room but stopped as the doors opened, and the broad figure of her father strode into the room. A boy hurried behind, something large carried in his arms.

Polite inclines of the head greeted her father as he took his place at the last chair, the largest of them all. The boy placed the object on the table, his face red, and then scurried away.

The murmurs returned.

At the edge of the room, a few people stood, watching. Listening. Privy to the knowledge, but lesser enough to know not to speak. Among them, Maeve caught sight of Professor Fei, standing, hands clasped, her face a pinched picture of disapproval.

Their eyes met, and Maeve's mentor nodded towards the domed object.

Maeve suddenly understood, and her heart dropped. Her father, he'd found it: The Mechanical Phoenix.

Anger burned like wildfire in Maeve's chest. Her father was a good man... A just ruler, someone she had always been proud of. How could he?

Across the room, Maeve saw her expression matched equally with Professor Fei. Never had Maeve seen her mentor so unanimated. Horror had taken hold. Whatever her father had planned was worst than anything Maeve could imagine—for the Phoenix and the opposition.

Candles hissed. Wax spat onto the floor. Whispers and mumbles from the table choked the room in the chilling chant. Her father sneered, and as he waved his hand over the war plans, the cage shook.

The creature screeched.

Hands clasped over ears. Council members buckled in their seats. Maeve's father stumbled away, shock widening his features for only a moment; his sneer returned, sharper, deadlier than before.

The creature settled.

The room rightened.

But the peaceful forest inside Maeve had smouldered to ash. She damned her father and broke the rule. “Father, you can't!”

                                  *

Maeve gasped for breath. Her chin smacked the top of the cage. Her head pounded, and something hot oozed from her nose. She wiped it away with her sleeve.

On her lap, the cage vibrated, and without thinking, Maeve whipped away the cloth.

Whatever was happening had to be because of it: the memories, the pounding headaches, the sleep—all of it. But as she stared at the Phoenix, at the elegant glow of its body, the soft crescent of it beak, all her anger ebbed away. It was far more beautiful than any drawing.

The Phoenix angled its head. Eyes like fire burned into her, and Maeve couldn't look away.

Light flashes and Maeve is in her father's study...

Flash.

The cage in her grasp. Professor Fei helping her out of the palace...

Flash.

Her father's men, revolvers drawn. Blood seeping from Fei's mouth, her eyes open. Blank. Gone.

Flash.

Maeve stealing the blacksmith's horse, the tailor's carriage. The palace, her home, behind her. Everything gone. Fei...

The memory fizzled out, bubbling and charring like a damaged film reel.

Maeve blinked. She opened her mouth, but no words found their way through. The Phoenix tilted the crown of its head, and inside her mind, a voice spoke.

“I see now,” it said, crackling and low, warm like a welcoming fireplace. “You saved me—a heart, pure, true. I thank you.”

“I will find you somewhere,” Maeve croaked, “somewhere safe. Away. I promise.”

The Phoenix spread its wings and bowed. “I don't doubt that you will.”

Holding tight to the reins, to the cage, her horse carried on, their journey of freedom not quite at its end.

The startling sound of friction from the rubber beneath me and the purposely placed road strips snaps me out of a shallow slumber. Eyes half open, I shoot a quick glance to the responsible party for my abrupt awakening, my mother. She is seemingly unbothered by the movements of the wavering wheel and instead has given in to an ever so slight head nod (mostly on-beat) courtesy of the catchy melody of none other than “Fergie-Ferg.” I am sure my mother was not who Fergie had in mind as her target audience when she put pen to paper on her hit “Fergalicious” but here my mother was, fully engulfed in the tune.

Is it possible to preemptively miss someone you’re currently with? I shook myself out of my thoughts and instead let my eyes bounce until they landed on the mile marker rushing towards my window. Before I could think another thought, my eyes struggled to match the speed needed to let the numbers come clearly into focus. With a whiz, the mile marker was gone.

I try again on the next one. To be clear, I can read the numbers, after all I’ve had 20/20 vision my whole life, but I want to maintain clarity through the whole endeavor. From the first moment of recognition to the last possible moment of sight, I want crystal clear imagery. Whiz, another mile marker gone.

In what felt like half the time, a third whizzed past, and I swear at least half the oxygen stormed out of my brain in revolt. Better give the cranium cameras a break from their carnival ride. I get the revolt, truthfully I too get motion sick from sudden movements.

What does that sign say? I try to focus on the distance to Phoenix, but just for a minute, given I was operating at half-staff. Lucky for me, I had enough focus to make out we had 265 miles to go. Didn’t the sign we just passed say 702? How fast are we going? I ponder only for a moment, as I know the time my mother has even let the thought of speeding cross her mind has been equally as brief.

I wonder if my mother’s mother had driven her to college too? I didn’t think so, but it was pleasant to imagine. There was probably no one in the world who made me feel as comfortable as my mother, so it only felt appropriate to spend this car ride clinging on to as many moments of comfort as I could while en route to the unknown that is the rest of my life and my future.

“Mom, I fucking hate you!” I wince as I recall the bitter words forcing their way through my lips. I can’t even remember what the occasion was that prompted such anger but I do remember that I most definitely overreacted.

I catch a little finger dance out of the corner of my eye and now I can hear that she has moved on to joining in on a Fergie and David Guetta collab, though she is about a half measure behind. Earlier she asked me what the words were and I really wasn’t sure myself if they were saying pump or fuck, but for the sake of my mother’s continued joy I told her pump. Five hours later, I only partially regretted that decision.

Mixed emotions return as my thoughts revert back to the substantial page I was currently turning, the last four years of high school. There were some amazing days, and because of what I can only attribute to raging hormones and a lack of outside perspective - there were also days where I was sure I would never make it through.

Every day though, my mother was there for me. Every day, she made sure that on the way to catch the bus, regardless of which side of the bed I had the pleasure of waking up on that day, that my favorite breakfast and breakfast tea would be ready to go. Every day, because of her, I wouldn’t have to miss a beat from barreling down the stairs to out the door and headed for the taillights of my ride to school.

My smile shifted to scowl as I tried to remember, did I ever thank her?

“Here we are dearheart, this is your dorm.”

Dang 265 miles comes at you quick. All around me, hundreds of barely adults were hustling and bustling. A hopeful ache churned inside me. My whole life up to this point, I had contemplated thousands of thoughts in the form of questions and here, the answers awaited me. I was glad to have my mother there beside me in the car. It was as if with her there, none of the soon-to-be answers could phase me, even though they wanted so desperately to swallow me whole. In this car, with my mother, I could breathe. I took a deep breath.

The hug goodbye came too soon, and I watched as my mother’s now empty car slowly pulled out of sight.

Thank you, Mom.

Rain fall There’s no beauty Heaven sent But what’s the use

I always sing out of tune

But as the storm takes over The skies become clearer The end comes nearer Leave me to rest In where heaven sent me to

I never look in the bright side My temper is far to short to let that slide A bit of compassion Will make the shot go away

So don’t lay me to rest When I swear I haven’t done my best It’s all coming to fruition This blank transmission

Hate me I hope you hate me Cuz I’m not your friend I hope you choke on glass

My temper is more than tepid How can this needle be threaded Into the web we weave All the lies and grieve

You are here But I am there Tomorrow I’ll hate myself everywhere Give me an inch and I will take a mile No wonder you couldn’t stay a while

I slapped myself in the face. The sting was less effective than the last. Despite the fatigue that had now taken permanent residence behind my eyes, I had no choice but to keep driving, until daylight at least. My hands tightened around the pleather of the steering wheel as I looked up the check the rear view mirror making. Nothing but shadows chasing me. I turned my eyes back to the road. My muscles were fatigued from being on edge, wary of every new foot of road exposed. Out of habit I made sure my flashlight was charging and my extra battery was full.

I couldn’t remember what it felt like, but I knew that the desert hadn’t always felt this dark and ominous. Then again I was never afraid of the dark before. The moonlight which was once comforting had become a dim adornment in the sky. Now I truly knew the terror of what could be hiding in peripherals and shadows. As if in response a loud howl cut through the silence of the night.

I pushed my foot harder on the gas pedal. I had to remind myself this was a new world now and I had no choice but renounce memories of sunny days and carefree youth.

Must have only been a few months ago, but still they managed to creep into my vision, replayed in the midst of my constant worries.

“Sara! Don’t scare me like that!” Trina yelled as she slapped my arm with some considerable strength.

I laughed, the sound being overshadowed by the squeal of tires. She claimed she hated when I was reckless and did donuts in a parking lot or race people at lights, yet she was always laughing with me by the end of it. Her grin wide and free of worries, at least for a moment, hair whipping around her face.

“You always say that and I still always do it,” I gave her a pointed look and dramatically rolled my eyes, “Just admit I provide some much needed excitement and fun to your life.”

Trina rolled her eyes in response but I could see the corners of her mouth tugged upwards at the corners in an involuntary smile.

I shook my head in an effort to disperse the images. The remembrance of happier times made the feeling of loss all that more afflicting. A distance ahead I spotted a cluster of lights that made themselves out to be a fort of sorts. My options were grim at best. I had already had to face the consequences of trusting other people. That’s how I ended up haggard with just a quarter of a tank left and three hours til sunrise, my usual bedtime.

Almost hard to believe how quickly my shit got fucked.

After only an hour of sleep I was roused awake by rustling noises. I was suddenly grateful that I had shedded my naivety in exchange for paranoia as I gripped the blade in my clenched hand. I kept my eyes shut feigning sleep. They were searching through the bag at the end of my feet. The few words I could make out did nothing but validate my paranoia. I didn’t wait to ascertain their intentions for sure. I threw the sleeping bag open and lashed out at the closest ones legs. I was rewarded with a shriek of pain as he went down clutching his ankles. Taking advantage of my element of surprise I lunged towards the other one, missing the first ankle, but snagging the second; thrusting the blade harder to ensure their lack of mobility. I swiped my bloody covered bag and made a mad dash for my car around the corner.

It had been a miracle that I had been able to get in my car. I had been on the road since then, nodding off since sun down. Most monsters now a days dwelled in the darker hour of the day, but it was a death wish to forget about the monsters that were hard to discern from friend or foe, and had no such restrictions such as light. But at least my blades provided a semblance of protection for those kinds of beasts. With that thought I pushed forward slowing down in front of the tall wooden makeshift gate. The lights blaring down so bright I had trouble making out the faces of those walking toward me.

I rolled down the window, “Got room for one more?”.

It’s cold. The cool air streams out of the vent by my feet causing my toes to curl. 7 hours. That’s how much longer I have to sit in this metal cage on wheels. There’s empty chip bags and soda cans scattered across the dash. We’ve only been on the road for an hour. I pull my knees to my chest in an effort to warm myself up. Asking Darren to turn the ac down would only start a fight. Something I’d prefer to avoid given I’m trapped in his suburban with no hope for escape. God I hate road trips.

Not that I’d really even call this a road trip. Those are supposed to be fun and there’s usually a handful of planned stops for sightseeing. No chance of that on this drive. It’s been mostly quiet. Darren occasionally looks over at me, perhaps to see if I’m still breathing. Just kidding. He probably just enjoys the misery that’s so evidently plastered on my face. He knew I’d hate this. I haven’t touched the snacks he brought but he’s been consistently reaching into the backseat and grabbing various chips and Cheetos. Disgusting.

“How can you even eat right now?” I asked him. He keeps on chewing and before putting another handful of lays in his mouth he says, “Would you rather I starve?” That shut me up. He can be so dramatic. I wasn’t implying he shouldn’t eat but he’s not even hungry. He’s just trying to distract himself, or he’s simply gross. Either way I’m not interested in continuing this exchange so I turned my face toward the window and kept quiet for the next 3 hours.

We’re 2 hours out now. I guess he had to pee again so we’re stopped at a 7/11 right now. I stayed in the car. As soon as he got out I turned the ac off. Maybe he won’t notice and I’ll get to warm up for a bit when we leave. Doubtful. Crazy how he’ll notice the air being off but won’t notice a giant gash on my shoulder. I slipped in the shower and there was blood everywhere. He likes to keep his razor blades on the edge of the tub and somehow I landed on them perfectly. Sliced me up good. You’d think he’d freak and move them. Take me to the hospital and be so apologetic for his stupidity, leaving shit like that laying around. No. Couldn’t even be bothered to help me bandage myself when he got home and saw me in the kitchen struggling to wrap my shoulder in tape and gauze.

I don’t know when I fell asleep but I open my eyes and we’re driving again. The air is on. It’s cold.

“About 20 minutes,” he tells me nonchalantly.

I don’t say anything. I don’t even look at him. The dust on the road would be a better companion. Plus, knowing how close we are makes me so anxious I don’t think I could speak if I wanted to. Have I mentioned that I have no idea where we’re going? Yeah.

The shower incident was two weeks ago, but the kitchen fiasco was only last night. He got home late and found me sitting at the table drinking wine. For some reason that was just the worst thing he’d ever seen in his life because he walked over and shoved me out of my chair, spilling wine all over the table and floor. My glass was plastic, thankfully. But he still threw it across the room, probably hoping to break it. That made me laugh. And that’s when he said we were going on a trip.

Maybe he’s bringing me to some hidden shack where he can really lay into me without threat of exposure due to neighbors. I should just open my door and jump out. The road would end me sooner than he could, right?

Oh God we’ve stopped. Seems like we’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s a small house, basically a shack. My intuition is crazy good. We’re getting out and he gestures towards the door as if to say go inside. I’m not sure what I’ll find in there but if the pouring in my chest and the rocks in my gut know anything, it’s not looking good.

I step through the doorway. It’s rickety and old. Lots of brown and faded yellow. Empty. Literally nothing. The place is desolate. I hear Darren come in behind me.

Rain splashed from deep puddles in the mud as the kart crept along. It’s two horses hardly able to pull it through the muck. To the riders anger, he cursed to himself. Gaining the ears of the handful of men at his disposal.

“You shouldn’t use such foul tongue with a lady present “ His long senior man grumbled, sitting at his side on the cart.

“She’s hardly a lady Lord Cantor” one of the men on the right snickered. Wiping his long dirty blonde hair out of his face.

“The boy is right” The rider let a smile form on his lips, looking back at the long red haired elf girl. Not nearly clothed enough after the had captured her. “She’ll be a whore in the city once the king has her”

“Your king is not a raper savage!” Lord Cantor bellowed, smacking the riding man with his open hand. “Let me never hear that come from your boastful mouth again. She’s a prisoner not a sex slave”

“I have something she could slave over” One of the men to their right pulled his cloak away revealing his manhood to the elf girl. Peeing towards her and the wheels of the kart.

Lord Cantor leaped off the wagon, tossing up a mixture of water and mud as his boots found footing. His blade silver in the light as it sang into the night. Sweeping away the man’s head, while his hands still held his cock. Blood splattered over the sword and flew onto the elf girls pale flesh. Matching her hair against her skin.

“I will not tolerate this bullshit. If my son has in the past let it be known I will not” He rubbed the blood clean off his sword on the fallen man’s cloak. Looking toward his son and the other few men. “ You will treat her as any other lady of our city. If you even glance at her I will take your head” The old man’s words echoed into her ears.

His long white hair lay aside a gruff looking face littered with scars and laugh lines. Age had been kind to him while life had not. It pained her to know who had caused the old man’s death. Yet amongst the empty room she couldn’t help but she’d a tear.

A year had passed since she’d been whisked off to the capital city by a small band of troublesome boys. All who’s loyalty had been paid for by Lord Cantor’s son. Yet on the long journey across the land he’d taken two more heads after the pissers. One for trying to defile her in the night, the other for trying to cut her throat in their sleep.

He’d been her white night since the moment she’d been brought before him. Yet here he lay, her fathers men to blame. The elves hadn’t taken to kindly to loosing one of the royal family. Even their orc enemies had never climbed the sacred tree’s as Lord Cantor’s son and his men had done. Stealing her away while she changed for the night. Stealing glances and making comments about her sprouting womanly body.

The thoughts of the first nights journey caused her to shiver. Not just for memory of the rains pounding down onto her from the heavens in buckets while caged in the kart. But of watching all the men eyeing up her body.

“He loved you like a daughter you know?” A friendly female voice called from behind her, instantly sending her heart a flutter.

A young woman stood just inside the doorway, her grey eyes locked on the elf girls. White teeth of a childish smile played on her face. She bowed quickly to the young Lady Cantor, only to watch her smile turn to a devilish grin.

“To bad he never caught on to the fact that his daughter had been the only one to defile you” She giggled a bit, rushing to her elven lover. Sweeping her up into a light embrace.

“Why must you be so proud of that fact?” Niobi licked the nose of her white faced lover, rustling her dirty blonde hair.

“Mostly because of how much it pains my dear brother. Just thinking of you writhing in my bedroom out of shear bliss makes him want to toss himself of the castle walls” She continued to hold and passionately kiss the elven girl Niobi.

“Not here” Niobi batted away her grabby paws, turning back to the Lord Cantor’s eternal slumber. “Doesn’t it bother you in the least that your father died fighting my father?” A sadness fell across Niobi’s face.

“He died a most noble cause “ Her smile faded but only for a quick second, before it returned in glory. “So that his daughter could enjoy an elf princess “

Niobi glared at her giggling lover. Wanting to smack the light heartedness clean from her personality. Yet as she focused on the smile her anger quickly faded.

“I’d kill my father to save you” Her voice came before she’d even realized what had come out.

“Sadly he wouldn’t just let us marry and enjoy my fathers small castle “ Lady Cantor’s face got a bit flush at the thought of it.