(Bro, it’s like these prompts know what I need. Here is when the cringe starts. I was really in a bad place last year—mum finding out about online boyfriend stuff—so I think I unconsciously made this story about me and him. I’m totally different now, and omg. It hurts!)

Chapter 3

Ballari returned to her room sweating and shaking, she leaned against the post of her bed as she lost her balance. Whether or not it was out of fear or horror she did not know. Maybe it wasn’t either. Maybe her heart was just acting up again.

Ballari opened the drawer beside her bed and pulled out a satchel full of glasses. She opened up one glass labeled _Tranquility _and took a sip. Her tongue was introduced to the taste of lavender and sage as it traveled throughout her body.

Her shaking stopped, her aching as well. She had enough energy to rise and sit up that moment, and used it to haul herself onto her rickety bed. The sweating ceased after a moment and was replaced with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Ballari’s heart even stilled, pumping like it was a normal human heart. But it wasn’t.

It was a pig’s.

It used to be a pig’s heart and it still was a pig’s heart. The only difference was that it was inside of a human’s body, though that hardly made a dent in her life at all, she was still treated like an animal. By the villagers. By the pigs—though they welcomed her full heartedly. She still didn’t know what MISS actually thought about her, but she was sure that she had at least a bit of hate for her in her heart.

Her _human _heart.

Ballari felt tears well up in her eyes and soon enough she felt them pouring down her cheeks like a fast waterfall. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep, but she had to wash herself or MISS wouldn’t be happy. She wiped her now red eyes and wet cheeks with the back of her hand before grabbing a nightgown out of her closet. A tiny thought of Alistarie greeting her again brightened her up a little and made her focus. She then thought to herself that a bath would be helpful to her own benefit, baths always made her feel better.

It did not.

Ballari felt even worse as she climbed into her stiff, old bed. She laid her head on a soft pillow, smelly from all the sweat she poured off whenever she had nightmares. Her blanket had several holes in it, but she would never throw it away. Never.

It had since faded to a dull pink, and the tassels at the end were beginning to go loose, but it had belonged to her birthmother. The one who brought her to this place in the first place. The one who wanted to fix her daughter’s faulty heart.

When Ballari asked why her Mother hadn’t taken her with her when she left, MISS said that she didn’t want a girl with a pig heart and that she left her here because she thought she was an abomination. When MISS had told her that, Ballari had cried and cried as MISS cradled her like a newborn baby. Though now that she was older, she knew not to trust everything that MISS said, she had more lies on her back than a serpent. MISS had told Ballari that Ballari’s mother never liked serpents.

So Ballari thought the opposite. She knew her mother had left, that was obvious, but if she didn’t love her child, why did she leave her beloved blanket behind? That was the only thing that kept Ballari moving in this world.

Now, she stared up at the ceiling, begging for sleep to take her over, but as always, it never listened. Ballari then decided to be honest to herself, it wasn’t like anyone was going to listen. Ballari took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and listened to the crickets of the night. Then, she began to speak.

“I want to find the place where I belong,” she whispered, “The place where my Mother is, the place far from here.”

She opened her eyes, now full with hope and longing. “I want to go home with her.”

Chapter 4

Early the next morning, MISS instructed Ballari to go out to the meadow and pick some flowers. Though Ballari really didn’t like to go alone to such open spaced places, she did want a little time to herself though, so she took it.

Despite herself, Ballari was having an amazing time. She wore a bright baby blue dress that stopped at the bottom of her knees, the rest of her leg was secured by white stocking, she even had buckled shoes to tie it all together, courtesy of MISS’s lovely shopping. Her dress was short sleeved, which was a very rare thing to find in her closet, but she was thankful that she had.

The air was hot, but not stuffy. A cool breeze swept through every now and then, blowing against the tall grass and flowers of every kind. Animals ranging from beavers to deers were in sight everywhere.

MISS had given her a basket for lunch, and given that it was around lunch time, Ballari placed down a checked table covering and sat down on one side of it, placing a basket near her crossed knees.

Ballari took a deep breath in. She smelled the wild grass, the soft flavor of the wind as it carried the scent of lovely flowers. She smelled poppies, cornflowers, goldenrods, and… The girl sniffed once more.

Pine needles?

Ballari turned toward the other side of the table covering and gasped.

“Hello, Ballari.” Alistarie smiled at her surprise, a sly crafty grin that looked perfect on his dimpled face. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Alistarie wore a pair of deep blue trousers with a neatly tucked in white button up shirt. He looked at Ballari with the same grin, until it disappeared. Instead he looked at her with a concerned expression on his face.

“What,” He cocked his head toward the side, “You’ve heard how I escaped the woods?”

“Yes?” Ballari was confused, about his sudden appearance, about everything actually. But soon that passed over and she was ready again. “Yes, I did...”

Ballari shrinked back as he sat down beside her, trying to put some space between their bodies. She was with a boy who MISS disliked, who might be using dark magic, who everyone in the town did not trust, but most importantly, he was looking for her. Why?

She still saw a hint of worry in the boy's eyes, but it all disappeared when she offered him a sandwich. She would question him; it seemed like the most logical thing to do.

She split it into two halves, giving one half to Alistarie, and keeping the other half to herself. Alistarie looked like a happy toddler as he munched and chewed on his sandwich, which seemed strange to his crafty and cunning demeanor. Ballari let out a small chuckle, muffled by the soft, chewy bread that was sticking to the roof of her mouth. She then brought out a pastry bread and gave it to the boy. Alistarie bit into it eagerly, his eyes opening wide. The filling, to Ballari, was the best part of some sweets, it seemed like that to Alistarie as well; he stuffed the pastry into his mouth after the first bite.

Eventually, all the food had been devoured fully and there was none left. Ballari felt like she was floating on top of the world, flying higher and higher until she couldn’t see the Earth; she ate too much. She lay down groaning, squeezing her eyes shut and clutching her full stomach, wishing the pain would go away.

Alistarie just sighed. “Today was fun, Ballari.”

Ballari let out a small laugh. “Was it?”

Alistarie nodded his head. Then he suddenly became serious. “Ballari, do you believe the rumors?”

“Oh, um…” she opened her eyes. Ballari thought that this conversation was already over when he first asked.

Alistarie turned to look at her, and Ballari thought that he was going to be upset with her answer. Instead he looked at her with a reasonable face, like he understood that she would indeed be one to believe in rumors. Ballari wanted to tell him how she really came to know of it, but she decided against it and let him continue. “They aren’t wrong, you know.”

“Huh!” Ballari was shocked. Alistarie really did use dark—

“They’re wrong about me using black magic though.” His eyes shined against the lowering sun, creating a strange glow around his body. The strange pine scent had been low and lingering, but now it was strong, washing the air around her with a relaxing aurora. He laughed, a dark scary sound, “It’s nothing like that.”

Her eyes felt strangely heavy at that moment, and it took her a few attempts to lift herself up from the ground. She straightened her dress and smoothed some wrinkles on it.

“I suppose you already know that I came looking for you, as well.”

Ballari nodded silently and hugged her legs to her chest, it felt more uncomfortable to hear that coming from Alistarie than it had with MISS. Perhaps it was because she now knew that it was true. Ballari yawned loud and exhausted as the fragrance of pine drifted into her every bone. It was muting all use of her bones and it was so, so very strong. How did Alistarie not smell the pine?

She flinched and stiffened as Alistarie pulled her onto his lap, but then the pine was around her again and she relaxed once more.

“Ballari.” Alistarie spoke low and soft, as though the loudest noise could disturb this peace. “Ballari, I need you to come with me.”

“Hmmm…” Both of the girl’s eyes were closed. Ballari was near the edge of sleep. It seemed hard to even focus on the boy's voice, but she still heard him, still heard his demanding whispers.

“Ballari, I need you to come with me.” He repeated again, a bit loud and harsh. “Will you come with me?”

Ballari groaned and fell into a deep, soft slumber.

💀💀💀 Whenever I read this, because I skimmed it as I spaced it out for your convenience, I just—I just cringe. I’m sorry, it gives me goosebumps to see how much I changed Alistarie (his name used to be Oswald btw, before I took the name and made a totally different story: Living Is A Strange Thing.) I fucking hate my old draft. Even though I wrote a bunch and really liked it back in my angst days, the drafts I have now are waaaayy better. But I have like 26 chapters in this old draft, sooo.

I was given that charm bracelet when I was five. I was told that with every year I grow, I would get a new charm to symbolize another year. I guess it’s not the same when your parents die and you move in with your rich aunt. She’s nice but always seems to be busy. To busy to notice your bracelet. Then you meet the neighbor boy. At one point you are best friends, then dating, then engaged, then married. But what I saw was more than just a boy. He noticed my bracelet. And he spent his allowance money to get it resized and added a charm for every year I had lost. And when we got engaged, he got a ring. And a ring charm.

“What is it, mom?” Adam nagged like a bee buzzing impatiently in front of his mother’s face. Christmas morning came quick that year, bringing flurries of snow along the coast of Goldmere island. _The wrapped box fell into his small, bony hands, opening in less than a second. _ _A toy carousel, adorned in gold and velvet, horses, embellished with saddles of silk and bells. It spun wildly, like it always would at every carnival Adam’s mother would take him to. _ _He smiled widely, revealing baby teeth and innocence. _ “I love it!”

Winter came again for Goldmere, rooftops covered in layers of snow that looked like sweet icing on gingerbread homes. The air was thick with the smell of hot cocoa and warm butterscotch cookies. Adam stuffed his now large hands into the pockets of his overcoat, tucking his reddened face into his scarf. This Christmas was a lonely one, with his mother growing ill. It was the first year he ever felt helpless. Advertisements for the world-famous Mystic Mayhem carnival hung about, the founder, Sir Xade’s handsome face staring at Adam. The glittering carousel, a relic from the depths of his childhood, was now sitting in his closet, collecting dust. But he still kept it. _Ridiculous, _He thought to himself as he strolled down Juno Avenue, the thin layer of ice coating the streets nearly making him stumble. He was nearly an adult now. There was no time for dwindling on childish dreams. When he arrived home, Adam found his mother, now frail and dreary-eyed, laid on the sofa, quietly reading a Leo Tolstoy novel, a vinyl record playing ambient jazz music playing in the background. “Welcome home,” Her voice was soft, eyes warming as they always did once he arrived home from school when he was young. If he closed his eyes, Adam could remember the image of lemon-rosemary pudding and tall glasses of milk that his mother had prepared sitting on the table after school, with her gentle smile welcoming him in. He kissed her on the forehead, heart tightening with nostalgia and mealoncholy. “Hi, mom.” Tears pricked his eyes. As always, he cooked dinner, placing peeled potatoes in a pot over the stove, along with steamed carrots and asparagus. “Adam,” His mother croaked out, voice faint. “Yes?” She hesitated for a moment, as if rethinking something. “There’s something I’d like to show you.” Adam raised a brow, helping her up as she directed him out the living room and down the hall to the closet. Inside, it displayed remnants of childhood memories stacked upon the warped wooden shelves, dust floating lazily through the air like fireflies. The old toy carousel from ten Christmases ago still sat amongst them, the eyes of the horses finding his, filled with sadness for being left behind. His mother reached out for his, quivering hands brushing away the thick layers of dust that coated it to reveal its once loving colors. “You remember this, don’t you, Adam?” She asked, eyes hopeful. Adam swallowed back the pain sitting at the base of his throat. “Of course. I loved it as a kid.” The two of them left the closet and sat on Adam’s bed, the mattress shifting with their weight. “You’re father was a reckless man, did I ever tell you that?” “Mm-hmm,” Adam’s father had been absent for most of his life since he was a newborn, lost to a horrific accident. His mother always told wondrous tales about him, and how they met under the golden light of a ballroom dance. She handed the carousel to Adam, who took it with care. The memories of it fell through, making his heart swell. “Your father never died, Adam.” The words clicked in his head, and suddenly, he felt his skin prickle. “What?” She shook her head, shoulders slumping with a silent tear rolling down her cheek. “It is true that he fell into a horrible accident, but . . . that’s not the whole story.” Adam waited for her to continue, the nausea growing acute. “Your father was the founder of a stunning carnival in the big city. Mystic Mayhem. He promised me the world,” She laughed then, as if recalling a faraway memory she could never return to. “Then I was pregnant.” Silence followed. “It wasn’t long until I found out they were twins. One was you,” She touched Adam’s cheek, pouring as much guilt into her voice as she could. “And Apollo.” “Apollo?” Adam whispered, body shaking from one revaluation to the next. “It wasn’t long until I realized your father wasn’t the man I fell in love with. He used cruel methods to bring a show, and hypnotized his audiences. I had to leave.” More tears pave roads down her face. “So he made a deal with me. He’d spare my life if I took one boy, and he kept the other, and left far away where I’d tell nobody about this. To be sure, he placed a hex on me where I’d vaporize to nothingness when I told his secret. You are the only one who knows now, Adam.” Her body hiccups with the rhythm of endless sobs. “He’s turned your brother into a monster. Go to the Mystic Mayhem. Find my Apollo. Please.” Adam reeled back from horror and shock as his mother vaporized before his eyes. Body reduced to nothing. It left a thin smoke clinging to the air, the scent of her rosemary perfume and caramel candies gone. He sobbed. He tried to desperately find traces of her through the air to hang on to. His mother. His dear mother. He took the carousel, the last thing his mother placed her caring hands onto, and held it close to his heart, mind spinning with fear, hatred, and confusion. Find my Apollo Please __ The name Apollo floated through his mind as he buried his face into the bedsheets. For what felt like days but was only a few flimsy hours, Adam weeped and screamed, searching for any sing of his mother only to realize that she was truly gone. Apollo __ He stood on quivering legs, knees buckling. The front door of the house swung open, Adam stepping out into the moonlit night with a leather-bound bag in hand. The carousel sat inside, the only treasure of his mother left.
His mother had one final wish. He had to fulfill it.

I still have my first rattle, gifted to me by my father when I was one. The toy has seen better days, but you can still make out what it was back then: pink and purple with a display of wings and sunflowers throughout. When you shake it, you can still hear the rattling within. I try not to shake it too much just incase what’s inside runs out somehow. What more is needed of a rattle? Now displayed on my entertainment set in the living room, I’ve kept it all this time because it reminds me of a simpler time, a time of innocence, and times with my mother. There are no teeth marks on the toy; I knew other kids who chewed theirs, and even see babies chewing them in their strollers sometimes, but mine is of a shape that does not allow for easy chewing. That’s good, because its kept its form after all these years. When my friends come over, they say things like, “That’s so beautiful,” and, “Whose is that?” And I am proud that I’ve kept it. I know my father would be proud, too.

Coming home from the crematorium today, they gave me another rattle. This one has my father inside, they told me. I didn’t shake it because the top was loose, but I placed it next to my first rattle. A pretty sight. A perfect familly.

Grif set the package down with more than a little strategy. He had chosen to label it “From Santa” to make it more enticing. And its placement under the tree, near the front but not in the front, was quite specific. He knew his son well enough to know he’d go for it first. Maybe second but that was a maybe.

When the morning rush came and little feet battered the stairs, Grif smiled into his coffee. Time to test the theory, not that it ultimately mattered.

Little Travis threw himself, after the requisite “Merry Christmases”, into the pile lining the fake tree in the corner. He grabbed up a box, shook it for a listen, set it down. Then another; same thing. Then he reached the special present.

It worked. He tore open the plain paper straight away. Inside the box within, he withdrew the present itself; a set of old, now discolored army men. The boy paused at their antiquity, puzzled. Then he looked to his father.

In the moment he wanted to explain the whole thing, mystique be damned, but no. Those little soldiers got him through a dark time in his own childhood and they would help his son through the same.

He opened his mouth to ask if he liked them and the boy, rather gently, set them aside and began to open another.

Grif once more smiled into his coffee.

“…you keep staring, you wanna know why I keep that old thing around?” Mr. Atwell didn’t raise with his voice but his eyes opened. Sitting across the towering desk from him was Evan.

He tore his guilty eyes away from the stuffed rabbit. He took a moment to answer, trying to form something diplomatic.

“If you’re willing to share with me, sir. Sure.”

“If you’re willing to share…” the words were parroted back with surprising immaturity. Like an actual child. Evan was stunned. “You sound like a fuckin’ shrink. Or a cop…” he let the word hang in the smoky air. “You wanna know or not? And don’t ‘sir’ me. I’m not your drill sergeant, your papa or your boss. You’re my guest.”

“Right… sorry. Yes. I’d like to know.” Evan chose each word carefully, remembering why he had come to see such a dangerous man.

“Rabbits paws are good luck, right? Was rhetorical. Of course they do. So if just the paw is lucky, what about the rest of it…?” He pointed, baiting Evan to investigate.

Just as he finally leaned in to do so—

“Haha! I’m kidding kid. That’s stuffed. Like a toy. What are you stupid? That look like a real dead rabbit to you? No, I keep it cause it was my me-ma’s good luck charm. That’s all. No magic. Well… who knows…?”

Evan took it all in with a smile, he prepared for his great ask, hoping the rabbit had luck to share…

…

The party had reach a fever pitch. The windows winced on the bass’ off-beat and the carpet, once white and spotless, now looked spotted from the blobs of sherry and merlot.

At least it was decent stuff, Lance thought, taking up his own glass. Only some of it missed his mouth.

The lions share of the partygoers had collected around the fireplace in the den and were enjoying a good laugh tossing…whatever they felt like into it. The room smell like boozy breath and the smoke of things that shouldn’t be set to burn. The plastic and shellac perfume made Lance cough when he entered to check.

“Still enjoying ourselves, are we—?” He caught himself with a sharp inhale and darted forward. Drew’s partner was about to hurl a small, wooden train car onto the fire. Lance took his hand as if he was disarming a gunman. He squeezed until the man dropped it. He was far too far in the bag too much care about the assault and simply laughed.

Lance took the wooden toy away, nearly cradling it. His thumb brushed over his grandfathers initials. Still safe. He found a new perch in his bedroom (the one room safe from the party’s wild antics) and placed it there with a silent apology.

Deon threw himself onto the mattress and nearly bounced off onto the floor. Considering that the bed itself was resting on the hardwood with no frame, it wouldn’t have been the worst outcome.

Still, his arms flailed wildly, pinwheeling for purchase. Once he was steady, he took hold of the nearest packed and not-shattered bong and hit it. As if summoned by the bubbling call, Jane entered the room. She had something in her hand.

“You all good bro?” She asked. “Sounded like you-uh-took a spill.”

Even if she said that, her eyes were on his weed. He ignored her. The hint probably lost on her, she cleared her throat and began to wiggle whatever was clutched in her yellow fingernails.

“Still waiting to hear back from Dusty about that… that thing…”

Deon looked up. Not because of her words; she was either lying or he didn’t care, but at the thing in her hand.

“Where’d you get that?” His question chopped through her vamping like a cane machete.

“This lil dude? He’s my buddy. You remember him?” She turned it toward him, revealing it to be a floppy stuffed basset hound.

Deon stood up. “Nah that’s Beem. He was mine.” He closed the distance in two steps.

“Woah bro. Step off my puppy.”

Deon saw this coming and held the bong up. Jane watched, understanding the silent trade being offered. After a moment, she took it. Her other hand dropped Beem to the filthy floor. She walked out of the room immediately.

Deon rescued the stuff puppy from the dirt and the hair and the toenail clipping, brushing him off.

“You’re good, man, I gotchu.”

The innocent, floppy ears seemed to hear him. He remembered many a night when this little dude gave him comfort while he was coming up. Remembered the Christmas moms had left him drooping out of the stocking for him to find.

Holding him there, in his ruined apartment, amidst his ruined life, made everything feel alright for just a second.

“Mom! I’m out again, I need another roll!” Drake’s voice carried quite nicely from his doorway, down the hall, down the stairs to his mothers ear.

She sighed audibly, even from such a distance then replied, “Then come get some!”

Get had some extra spin on it so he knew she was annoyed. He half chuckled, let it be. He might be the one leaving for college, but she’s surely the one who was stressed out.

He closed the next box sans tape and did a looping dummy check around his room. He knew for a fact he was missing a half dozen important things for starters but—hey, it was only a six hour flight away.

His ass hitting the bed sent his phone, perched on the far side, hurling into the air like an acrobat. Without a net he supposed, as it clattered to the floor.

Drake stretched up then down to grab it, spying something interesting under the bed. A lizard; stuffed and forgotten and unblinking in its upward stare. His name was Brink, and he was a zoo gift shop acquisition.

“Haven’t thought about you in…” Drake trailed off.

“Did you find it?!” Moms voice called up.

He took up the castoff lizard companion, held it, then, “yeah mom…” a little softer.

Then he gently placed the dusty thing in his box to go to college.

I kept that toy out of the lime light because I knew it would hurt my baby sister’s feelings. Only five years between us and how could I forget me teasing of her for being chubby. We’re still kids. I feel bad. Mom even said dad, who was hardly present in our lives, had no business buying that Jabba the Hut plastic doll, a large fat slug character from Star Wars, so I could give it to her for Christmas. She cried after opening the present. I’ll never forget it.

In an effort to hurt my mother, he probably found out that my baby sister has a different father whose whereabouts are unknown.