Take a Walk
I want to take you on a walk.
I'm not going to tell you that it gets easier with time. That's bull. There will always be something inside you, begging you to do it, something dark that wants to spill over your eyes.
So I want to take you on a walk.
There will always be a part of you that cringes when you see a razor. You'll always have those scars. That drop of blood on your pajama pants probably won't come out.
So I want to take you on a walk.
Instead of showing you what you could be, I want to show you what you already are.
So I want to take you on a walk.
I want to show you something you won't see in the shower. You can't understand if you're still in your closet.
Follow me outside. Squint at the sun. Let the sidewalk burn your feet. Let the wind blow your hair out of your eyes. Climb a tree. Swing your feet. Watch the sun paint the sky red and pink.
Wish on the North Star. Listen to the cicadas. Try to find the house that's still having a cookout. Bark back at dogs.
I want you to take a walk.
The Kokkle Hat
I knew a man with a kokkle hat
And a podden on his cane.
Each night he let the misty grat,
And hurried to his haine.
No one who saw him knew
What he did at night.
We heard the sounds of geridoo;
A podden coffers' flight.
He taught me sensy dance
And a sweeter style of dress.
Often, he'd give me a juints jance
And never look at less.
The Warthings
"Sometimes, my love, Death picks budding flowers and we never see their blossoms.”
-letter to Adila Kastani from Gadi Kastani, c. 534; translation by Gregory Strout-Friar
Casimir Alecto Belynneda
The Utrad Wastelands, Utrad
Novembre 23, 646
He brushes snow from his hair. The train is no more than a twisted mess of smoke and metal. The front three cars are on fire, leaping high into the otherwise crisp air.
The other passengers are screaming, bumping into one another, herding children like cattle and crawling over the train like ants.
He's alone. Unharmed, cold, and alone.
Casimir starts down the crumpled train. He counts off down the cars. The seventh is mostly devoid of people, the able survivors trying to stop the fire before it alights the coal.
The metal walls are sharp on his hands, all jagged edges and high peaks. Blood wells over a scratch on his arm and drips onto his boots. Sounds are static and his nose aches with the smell of burning bone and a bruise spotting his cheek.
“Oh, Casimir!” He recognizes Kiyoko’s voice. Her hood is tattered and ripped back onto her shoulders, exposing her hair that shines more pure than the gray slush they call snow. Nasim is with her, his sword dangling at his hip and a few lone sparks stitching a cut across his lip.
“We need Kouki and Acacia,” Nasim says. “You haven't seen them, have you?”
“No. Ghouls, the Regulus Force crashed a train!” He laughs. “If Vailisa Miloslavskaya doesn't get fired, I don't know what to do!”
“Who?” Kiyoko asks.
“She heads the Regulus Force.”
“And,” Nasim offers, “isn't she Carson Fallsway’s superior?”
“Bingo,” Casimir grins. “Now let’s look for the rotting, disgusting corpses of our twins.”
Kiyoko gasps. “They- They cannot be dead, right?” She turns her bicolored eyes desperately to Nasim.
“They’re children of gods,” Nasim assures. “It will take much more than a train crash to kill them.”
“Besides, if I know Caci,” Casimir throws a grin over his shoulder as he tosses a jagged bit of metal into the snow, “and I do, she loves you too much to leave so easily.”
“I love her too-”
“You’re Amarata,” Nasim interrupts.
“I love everyone.”
“We’re both ghouls, yes.” Casimir grunts as he pulls on a length of collapsed wall.
“Amarata is supposed to love everyone.” Nasim steps forward and helps Casimir drag the wall a safe distance away.
Kiyoko peers into the empty space, curling her arms around herself and shivering. “Casimir?”
“Yes?” Casimir trots over the wall. It makes a clanging noise under his boots.
Kiyoko leans down and plucks something from the ground. It spins slowly just under her wrist, all glittering pale silver and flashing ruby eyes. A silver snake on a silver chain.
Instinctively, Casimir reaches into his shirt and untucks his matching one from over his heart.
“We got them on our seventh birthday. Our little sister saved for months-” he cuts himself off, panic settling in his throat. “She never takes it off.”
Her brows knit together behind her wind-whipped hair. “We need to find them.”
“Help me lift this, Nasim,” Casimir calls, tugging on a sheet of corrugated metal. Nasim offers his own strength, and together, they pile it atop the last one.
Kiyoko collapses into the gray slush. Nasim skids forward and presses a palm to her cheek. She jolts to life and Nasim slumps sleepily over her head.
“What in Death’s army just-” Casimir laughs, but Kiyoko sits up. Her mouth falls open.
Casimir is almost scared to look.
The sludge soaks into the knees of his trousers.
Is this what people have felt when they come home to find his victims strung from the ceilings like the playthings they were? Dripping blood and twisted, spotted with bruises and crisscrossed with slashes from his knives.
But she's a hero. She's a ghoul, Brekess, she caused this whole wreck in a way.
Acacia is sprawled across Kouki, his head framed in her small arms.
Nasim lifts his head and lifts them both from the bed of hard metal. Her head lolls over Nasim’s shoulder. Her mouth hangs open and her hooded eyes are murky.
A plaything.
“Nasim?” Casimir asks. “Let me.”
“That isn't a good idea.”
His hand instinctively draws his knife. Nasim yelps and drops them both when Casimir buries the blade halfway into his arm. He lets Kouki drop to the ground and crumples under his sister’s weight.
Kouki wakes up.
Acacia doesn’t.
*****
"So tell me, why do you fear Death? She is our only escape.”
-Alexandra, by William Calypso
Acacia Megaera Belynneda
Death’s Realm
Novembre 23, 646
My eyes snap open. I'm in a chair, or rather, a throne. The room is dark and still, an eerie balance. Nothing but neutral. The silence is tense, like a stretched strip of dried tangrope, frayed and easy to cut.
“Brekess.”
I assumed she was a statue. She looks just like one. Her skin is pale and her dark curls tumble to the floor, disappearing into shadows. Her mouth is blood red and her eyes are the color of water moss. Her robes are purple, the color of impurity. She looks exactly like me.
“Death,” I greet.
“You have finally come home. I am so glad to see you.” She rises from her throne next to mine and walks slowly, evenly. “I have been waiting.”
“I'm dead then,” I state, settling back into my chair. “That's unfortunate. How did I die?”
“Life wanted to take you, but I would not let her.”
“I was going to get a second chance?” I laugh. “Why?”
“You saved the angel Regenade’s life.” Her blood red lips quirk down. “You gave your life for him.”
“Kiyoko would have been sad if Kouki died, yes?”
Her frown deepens. “You have grown to love Amarata, Brekess. I cannot have a repeat of last time you went to the surface.”
“Last time?” My ears start to burn and I reach for one of my knives to play with it.
“Yes. When you locked me down here so Life and her angels could rule.” A brief flash of anger passes quickly. “Where is Sulstel? I expected to see him too.”
“Alive, hopefully.” I stand from my chair. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you, but I have to go now, yes. Where’s the exit?”
“You cannot leave me so soon.”
“Watch me,” I taunt, drawing my other knife and breezing past her. “I'm half of the best fighter Kiocrostas has to offer.”
“Who do you think granted you that power?”
I stop pushing at the huge double doors and turn to face Death. “What do you mean?”
“When I sewed your body together, I gave you a drop of my blood so you would not be bested in physical combat.” Death folds her hands in the sleeves of her robes calmly. “I created you, Brekess, and I can take away your power.”
“I’m mortal,” I argue. “Life created me from stone.”
Death clicks her tongue sympathetically. “If you want to pretend to be mortal, I will not stop you. The exit is on the other side of the ocean.”
“You're letting me leave that easily?” I ask, not able to manage more than a mutter.
“There is one condition.”
I groan.
“You must bring Sulstel with you the next time you visit.”
“Fine, okay,” I brush her off. “I'm leaving now.”
I lean all of my weight into the seam of the door. It opens with a huge bang and I fall through it onto a railed balcony.
Death’s tower looks high over a stout city bathed in sulfuric yellow light that doesn't seem to come from anything. It's not cold, or hot, not dark or light, not loud or quiet. It's neutral, a perfect balance.
Ocean. I'm looking for an ocean.
It hangs above me, a dark cotton gray. It's quiet, and dark shapes crisscross the empty space. I spin around. The spire of the tower just brushes the glassy surface.
I sheath my knives, and with a deep breath, I start to climb.
The tower itself is littered with elaborate trimmings and statuettes. I climb past a crouched dog, a cat with wings, a life sized horse. There are humans too, an Utradish woman with long hair blowing in an imaginary breeze, a little Seij boy with amber set into his eyes.
When I reach the top, my arms trembling, I am looking into my brother’s face. Brekess and Sulstel stand back to back, their fingers intertwined behind them, and each of them holding a knife above their heads, as if holding up the still ocean.
Casimir. I made a promise I would kill him.
I sit on Sulstel’s head and use his arm to steady myself. When I stand up fully, my head dips into the water. I take a moment to catch my breath before taking another deep one and jumping.
The ocean is cold and dark. As I kick, something starts to drag me upwards. The dark shapes send bubbles swirling into a nonexistent current. My chest never gets heavier.
I see more of them as I continue, until it seems they’re accompanying me to the surface. The water almost disappears completely as the dark shapes close in.
Something hard and cold hits me flat in the back. My breath finally fails, and I fall forward into darkness.
I open my eyes expecting to see the gray ocean. Insidesd, I see Casimir, dripping tears onto my neck.
“Hi there,” I laugh, burying my face in his shoulder.
“Ghouls!” Casimir swears. “Acacia?”
“Bingo.” I squirm in his arms, but he doesn't let go, so I settle for twisting around and sitting in his lap. “Death said Life was going to take me because I saved Kouki.”
“You- what?”
“Your eyes are leaking.”
“I wonder why,” he sneers at me. Casimir takes one long look at me and lets his head fall onto my shoulder. “Acacia, you died.”
“I escaped.” Casimir’s shoulder starts to shake. “I'll tell you about it later.”
“You crashed a train, saved Kouki, and escaped Death’s realm?” He laughs, muffled by my hair. “If I didn't know you were a ghoul, I'd swear you were Life herself!”
I look around while he’s laughing off his stress. We’re sitting in what looks like it may have once been snow. The train is crumpled like an old scarf and smoking at one end.
Nasim looks like he’s just seen a ghoul crawl up from under six feet of dirt. Kouki is laying in the slush, his chest moving erratically. Kiyoko looks awestruck.
“You saved his life, Acacia,” Kiyoko says, the wind almost whipping away her quiet voice.
On Glory
There are differences among people. Some of us lie, some of us cheat. Some of us are honest and good and others are both and neither. Men and women, black and white, bits of both or neither.
While there are infinite differences among people, only two kinds of people or their deeds will be remembered in the end when they are less than dust.
The best of people and the worst of people. The dreamers with morals to put a spin on their lives and make it a reality. The schemers with enough malice to get them by.
The best of us and the worst of us will be remembered. In the end, it doesn't make a difference which side of the scale a person falls on.
While a grave may stand upright for a century, we truly remember those we are taught to love or hate.
When Fate crushes us all under her boot, we have nowhere else to go if not where memories fester like the sores they are.
The one big lesson life has taught me is that fame and infamy are, in essence, the exact same thing. It doesn't matter if you're the best or the worst, but to live life ultimately remembered is the most glorious goal a person could have.
Scene Cliche
"I'm sorry for dumping this on you," Love Interest stammers, running a hand through her mousy brown hair.
"It's fine," Protagonist laughs at her shyness. His smile makes her heart pound.
"No," insists Love Interest, "Detailed Tragic Backstory probably doesn't matter to you anyway." Heat rises to her face and he pushes her hair behind her ear. "I mean, an Overpowered, Handsome Protagonist like you doesn't care about a Shy, Stuttering Supporting Character like me anyway. Sorry again for-"
Love Interest is cut off when Protagonist is suddenly kissing her.
End Scene.
The Demon (Poe’s “The Raven”)
Once behind bars of steel, there I was forced to kneel,
Under women clad in hellish snowy white.
While my spirit slowly buckled, from Hell itself rose a chuckle,
And shadows birthed in place of sputtered candlelight-
And the monster drove out the candlelight
And cast the madhouse into night.
Often humans are deplorable heathens, but little do they summon demons,
Even whence they equaled all the pain I bore.
She set my soul to churning, and her crimson eyes were burning,
She smirked, and offered me rapport-
Why did I accept her hideous rapport!
Perhaps, she murmured, "Vieni, amore."
"Did you cry for a sinner?" I swear, she set my heart to quiver!
I looked to her face, her figure red and stained with gore.
"No, I cried for a savior," and my strength didn't waver,
"So be an angel, that is all I dare implore.
"Take from me anything you dare implore."
She smirked, and murmured, "Yes, amore."
She had serpent fangs and an angel's face, ruby eyes left to trace,
A girl as she was bruised and bloodied on the floor.
She held a virulent smile, a charmed smirk laced with guile,
And extended a hand, nails red with blood and gore-
I took her hand, mine stained red with blood and gore.
Her words entranced me, "Yes, amore."
Much to my later disgust, I realized I was forced to trust
A demon, though I had no faith in humans ever before.
I had paid a humble price, only my soul and claim to paradise,
But what use have I for that any more?
What use have I for a life any more?
Since she murmured, "Yes, amore."
Yet, I grew to harbor affection, and with it, somehow, feared rejection.
Was I to her only what I swore?
Did she kneel of obligation or did she bow of adoration?
No, I had no thought to be her paramour
Nor the time or love to be her paramour,
Despite her sultry, “Yes, amore.”
With each word so softly spoken, for a year I still had no more token;
Did she have eyes only for our rapport?
Still, she sets my soul to churning and her crimson eyes kept burning
So, of course, I wouldn't dare deplore
For how could I possibly deplore,
Her quiet vow, “Yes, amore.”
One night in the lull of summer, the sky bellowed rain and thunder,
And she came through our own front door.
Although not my beloved savior, she was of the same behavior.
I did not recognize the holder of our rapport.
Why did I not recognize the holder of our rapport?
She never laughed, “Yes, amore.”
Our comfort broken by a stranger who revealed herself to be an angel
And left the demon lying dead upon the floor.
I sincerely tried to revel, since she was merely devil,
Yet, I cried for our hideous rapport.
I had never had eyes for only our rapport.
Especially when she murmurs, “Yes, amore.”
My demon, though she was iconic, still her death was so ironic!
My heart still equaled all the pain I bore.
Still, she sets my soul to churning, although, her eyes no longer burning-
Have I felt this pain before?
I believe I've felt this pain before
After her last, “Yes, amore.”
I was not there to see her death, or to witness her final breath,
But I know what she’d have asked me for.
I learned she kneeled of adoration, and she bowed of obligation.
She is my savior nevermore,
And will be mine forevermore.
Her truth was uttered, “Yes, amore.”
Eight Ways to Live
First, I am a baker killed in a protest.
Second, I am a witch burned at the stake.
Third, I am a boy drafted for a war and doomed to death.
Fourth, I am the executioner who's house was burned in spite.
Fifth, I am the technician unlucky enough to be caught in the room as the floodwaters rose.
Sixth, I am a mangaka who didn't look both ways when crossing the street.
Seventh, I am a young mountain climber with a faulty clip.
Eighth, I am a firefighter who couldn't handle the heat.
Now, I am a girl wondering what's next.