The Dragon King: Part Seven

Waking up, Aysel saw the cave split asunder like an over-sized geode.

The Dragon construct lay, shattered, a small distance off. Its underbelly was torn open revealing the inner-workings and beside it lay the body of Emyr.

The land was scorched beyond repair, the caverns shattered. She stood to look over her realm, her damaged wing fluttering as she righted herself. For miles the ground was strewn with bodies; goblins, faeries, woodland creatures. Limping, she moved toward the cavern opening.

Beside a Faery body was a ruby eye and a tiny flower, the only living thing for miles.

The Dragon King: Part Six

After they had traveled a day, they stopped to rest. All was quiet in the camp and Aysel could not sleep. She wandered the camp, her wings twitching with nerves.

"Milady," said Faolán. "Ye must rest. We have a long march ahead of us."

"Aye, Faolán, thou art right. Yet, I feel Emyr's approach in my bones and I am wracked with fear that we have traveled in vain."

Before Faolán could reply, an arrow tore through the tent beside him, setting it ablaze. Over the crest of a landing, poured the goblin horde, Emyr at the front.

Grabbing their weapons, the faeries moved to attack.

"Hide in one of the tunnels!" cried Faolán, withdrawing his sword and flying to the attack.

"I am no delicate butterfly, Faolán." replied Aysel, hefting a battle axe and joining the fray.

Spying the queen, Emyr loaded another arrow. Taking aim, he released, sending the arrow through one of Aysel's wings. The wing ripped, sending her tumbling. Barely able to stop the free-fall, she found herself above the abyss with nothing to save her. Fighting against the pain in her wing, she struggled upward, flitting, drunkenly, toward Emyr.

"You thought you would call upon the Dragons for aid, Aysel? Where are your Dragons?" he barked, chortling.

"You will not speak to my Queen in that manner!" cried Faolán, darting toward the Goblin King, his weapon held high to strike.

Quick as a snake, Emyr shot Faolán, his arrow hitting with a sickening thud. The Faery knight looked shocked for a moment before tumbling into the black chasm.

"Faolán!" cried Aysel, moving too late to catch him.

Turning toward Emyr, Aysel held her battle axe aloft, her undamaged wings fluttering frantically to keep her balanced. The glow of the sconces seemed to set her wings ablaze and her apricot hair seethed like raging flames about her alabaster face. Her damaged wing hung, limply, at her side, throwing her off kilter no matter how she tried to steady herself.

The Goblin King smiled, his teeth gleaming, and lifted his bow again.

"Aye, ye look the radiant Queen, and fierce too. But I will have you, Aysel, and your whole court as well. You cannot frighten me with mythos and old wives' tales."

"Nay, good Emyr, I'll have none of thee, nor thy ilk, to sully my court. Mythos, say thee? I awaken no myth." Raising her face toward the unseen ceiling, Aysel lifted her voice in a scream to shake the very halls of the city.

He roared with laughter, lowering his bow to clasp his ribs.

"You think I'll be unnerved by howling in ancient halls? I have drawn wails the likes of which would set your pretty hair on end. Scream away, Aysel. You will be mine if I have to tear the wings from your body."

Without warning, the earth beneath his feet gave a jolt. Emyr looked down, into the abyssal labyrinth below him, before looking back into the plum hued eyes of the Faery Queen. She smiled as the whole cave began to tremble and the stone floor began to roll. From the belly of the old city rose a roar and Emyr was tossed back as a mighty wind rushed upward and out. Swept up in a surging tidal wave of motion, Aysel foundered and was thrown upward. Unable to right herself, she tumbled back down.

Coming up out of the chaos, a clawed hand caught her, holding her in a loose grip as it moved toward the mouth of the cavern. She saw only a glimpse of burnished gold, polished ivory and the frightened face of the Goblin King before she was taken by a swoon.

The Dragon King: Part Five

In the dark, Kiri could feel, rather than see, the voice of Uduak. Sounds took on physicality and her heart throbbed in time with the words.

"There must be a dreamer."

The shape rising out of the darkness was that of a Dragon.

"Please," she begged, trying to crawl away. "I have only desired to return to my grove."

"There must be a dreamer." replied a chorus. A million eyes opened, lighting the crypt. Hands took hold of her, dragging her toward Uduak. He appeared to be made of stone, a part of the tomb. His onyx eyes seemed to pin her to the ground. Before him lay the fabled Prince of Dreams, Prince of Dragons. The chorus whispered his name in the darkness at the edge of her vision.

"Arman."

The chassis gleamed ivory, beneath the sheen glowed red and blue circuitry. The dead eyes were emerald and, though he was magnificent, he was dull. A shell.

"Awaken, my son." said Uduak, his voice tender. His claws reached out to caress the construct and the eyes suddenly came alive.

Her screams reverberated through out the crypt, sending the waves above into white-capped frenzy and roaring up past the marching faeries.

Faolán looked down into the winding maze of darkness, and shivered.

The Dragon King: Part Four

When the Faery knight and the sorceress returned, they immediately pulled up the camp. The troupe followed the dryad into the hexagonal room, the Eyes all closed, and down the sparsely lit tunnel. They marched through the cloying dark for what seemed like ages. The torches sputtered, threatening to gutter out, making their shadows dance wildly. Pushing forward, they began to hear the faint roar of an ocean and the taste of salt tinged the stifling air. When they emerged from the passageway, they looked out over glowing waves.

Fluttering to the ground, the Queen approached Kiri, jerking her off to one side.

"Ye will awaken the Dragon King, witch, or ye will perish." she hissed, the fear in her eyes was overwhelming and, though she acted otherwise, she was shaking. Her hands fell to her sides in, what resembled, defeat and her eyes looked at Kiri, pleading.

The guards led her toward the water, undoing her bindings. She rubbed her wrists, gingerly, and stepped into a wave. The tide would be coming in at any moment, large crystals illuminating the cavernous ceiling and small water phos flowers glowing beneath the water. It had to be done according to the legends, according to all the stories, or it would not be right and she would have to wait until the next lunar cycle.

The water was warm and thick with salt, clinging to her skin in an unpleasant way. She waded in until she was waist deep and could barely touch the bottom, lifting her arms above her head. With her arms lifted, she began chanting, all of her tattoos becoming bright white against her skin. The water began to swirl around her and the waves began to bubble; slowly at first, building into a roiling boil so that she was almost lost under the waves. The ruby eye on her forehead flung open and began to pulsate, radiating pain, and pleasure, through her skull. The royal court was thrown off balance as the grotto began to rock and the waves crashed into the gem spangled ceiling.

The dragon rose from the water slowly, his enormous wings stretching out and beating lazily. When he opened his onyx eyes, they came to rest on Kiri, boring into her soul. She shivered, watching the pearls of water drip from his red and white scales, his massive wings pumping the heavy air. Taking several steps back, she knelt before the Dragon King, lifting her hands toward him.

"Oh, great Uduak, we come to ask for help and to awaken the Prince of Dreams."

Lowering his head, so that he was on eye level with the dryad, the Dragon snorted. The blast of air knocked her off balance only a moment, but she felt a fear rising within her.

"What aid would you desire, child of the wood?" his voice was soft, but it was deeper than the ocean in which they stood.

"I seek no aid for myself, Mighty King." she lowered her eyes, desiring to hide the wishes building within her.

His ancient eyes drifted over the Faery Queen, her gossamer wings trembling with fear and defiance. Her curly-haired knight stepped in front of her, raising his sword and covering her with his wings. The Dragon, amused, returned his gaze to the witch, the ruby eye on her forehead blinking wildly.

"To awaken the Prince of Dreams, there is to be a price. Are you willing to pay it?"

Kiri's henna skin paled, her bones trembling. She had made a promise to the eyes. She had made a promise and the weight of it suddenly fell to her very marrow.

"I am." she whispered, feeling sick and small.

"Let it be so." said Uduak. Beneath him opened a staircase, the water receding until they stood on dry ground.

Aysel stepped forward, pushing past Faolán. She halted a step away from Kiri, her eyes lit with fire.

"What price dost thou intend to reap, Uduak?" she asked, her wings rustling in agitation.

"Ah, Aysel, though you were a child, surely you have not grown so old that you do not remember? Take your court and return to the world above. The price will be paid and you will receive your aid."

"What of me?" cried Kiri, the weight of promises and fear becoming nigh unbearable.

"To awake the Prince of Dreams there must be a dreamer. You swore to pay the price and you are the strongest dreamer."

Out of the watery staircase shot a snake-like rope, coiling itself about the enchantress and dragging her into the dark. The water quickly swelled, the unseen door closing tight. Uduak sank back into the waves, his scales glowing until he was completely covered. Aysel, her stomach turning somersaults, felt her breath escape in a whoosh. She smiled, then, and retreated to her company, ordering their immediate return to the surface.

The Dragon King: Part Three

Faolán and his scouts made their way through one of the smaller tunnels on the western side of their bivouac. Within the tunnel they found a dozen pools of fresh water, unspoiled and cool. They filled jugs for the camp before retreating back to their tents, wary of unknown creatures that might be lurking in the dark.

They did not rest long, quickly returning to their task of exploration. They did so with little zeal, as they were exhausted from marching and longing for fresh air. As children of Naira, the Moon Goddess, they felt a growing uneasiness the further they were from the moonlight. Though they adored their queen, they questioned her judgment and, silently, pondered returning to the surface, with or without the prince of dreams.

As they explored, they came to an abandoned oasis, which had become overgrown with malum flowers and carrion trees. In the humidity, and frondescence, was a rather large pool of stagnant water shadowed by the skeletal remains of a dragon cousin, the drake. Smaller than a dragon’s, the skeleton seemed poised to strike at an enemy and the foliage around it appeared as though it had risen up to prevent it. It was a startling sight and the men stood in awe of the scene. As they stood, agog, Kiri crept into the passage. She drew near to Faolán, her teal eyes glowing. She did not touch him, her gaze bound to the view.

As if rising from a dream, Faolán felt her presence and he turned to look at the sorceress. She stood as still as a statue, at first, her face unusually pale. Half in fear, and half in wonder, he reached out to touch one tangled strand of beryl hair. She turned to look at him and his mouth went dry.

Slowly, she moved toward the remains, whispering. No one moved to stop her, watching in shock as the vegetation parted for her. The drake's bones began to tremble, as though a great weight was pressed upon it. The witch lifted her hands, almost in reverence, and her mumbling became chattering, growing louder and louder. It grew until her voice was as deep as the ocean and as brutal as the winter winds. The drake began to sway and the overgrown forests fell back, releasing it.

"Show me." she demanded, her hair rising as though in the grip of a building storm. She began to glow, her tattoos suddenly vibrant and her whole being vibrating under some unseen strain. An illusory storm burst inside the tunnel, bending the overgrowth to its will and building in pressure until it seemed that they would all be destroyed. Several guards fell into a swoon, collapsing like flowers in a hurricane.

"Kiri," cried Faolán, throwing himself against the swirling magic. "Cease! Thou wilt destroy us all!"

Without turning, she threw out a hand and he was ensnared by snake-like vines, twisting themselves into his clothing, almost to his skin.

Tangled, he watched in wonder as the drake's skeletal wings began to beat, lifting it up and revealing a hidden room. It hovered for a moment, blazing as brightly as a torch, waiting for some signal. Then, gently, the drake landed, settling like an over-sized dog before a fire, its long decayed snout pointing toward the door. Just as quickly as it had risen up, the witch storm surceased and the whole passageway fell into an unearthly silence.

The scouts watched, gaping at the scene in something resembling reverence and horror, as Kiri neared the wooden archway. The door opened slowly, an eerie light illuminating an ivy draped frame and a glimpse of glowing runes. She seemed entranced, her body moving almost mechanically, still pulsating with the effects of magic.

Faolán, still twisted up with vines, tried to reach his sword to hack his way out. The vines, however, suddenly offered no resistance and fell away. Sprinting toward Kiri, he tried to grab her and pull her away from the entrance. Too late, his fingers grazed her henna skin as the heavy oaken door slammed in his face. No matter how he beat against it, he could not enter and, when he pressed his ear to the timber, he heard nothing but his own heart pounding against his ribs.

Kiri glanced back at the door, Faolán's touch against her wrist fading and her heart pounding in her ears. She should be unsurprised, the unseen thread drawing her to the center of the hexagonal chamber. The voices of ghosts bubbled in her blood, warnings and secrets, hooking into her subconscious and dragging her to her knees. The walls were carved with shimmering crystal eyes, each shining brighter than the next and blinking out of time. They observed her, kneeling as though she were rooted to the floor.

"Why have you come, enchantress?" asked a soft voice, resonating long years and deep scars.

"I have come as a prisoner of the Faery Court." she replied. The weight of years settled upon her shoulders, like a heavy cloak, pressing her against the rough hewn floor.

"What do the Moon children desire to find within these caves?"

"We come seeking the Dragon King and the Prince of Dreams. The Queen of Faeries is under siege by the King of Goblins and she is in need of an ally. No ally is as powerful as a Dragon."

"The Dragons have long faded from this world," said the voice, all the eyes closing in unison, leaving the room in complete darkness. "You will find no allies here."

Struggling to her feet, Kiri took a step toward a large crystal, the color of a swan's beak, fighting down the overwhelming terror she felt as all the voices within her went silent.

"Please, she cried, her hands outstretched, imploring. "There are myths, stories passed between the goddesses as they bathe, that say that the Dragon King, Uduak, still lives. That he can be awakened by one, such as I, and that he will grant aid to one who is in desperate need."

The eyes flung open, the room suddenly bursting with a light brighter than the moon and the sun, focusing on her. She covered her eyes with her arm, crumpling to her knees in pain.

"What makes you believe that you are in desperate enough need for such as Uduak to help you?" boomed the voice, shaking the room.

"I have no proof of desperate need," she cried, tumbling over and attempting to shield her eyes. "I am only one, and small, but I feel the calling of my trees in my blood and I will beg on these knees before you. I long only to return to my grove and that the Goblin King shall not have the Faery Queen to wife."

The lights dimmed a moment and Kiri looked up, afraid and hopeful. The large crystal, the color of a swan's beak, blinked at her.

"Give us a promise, witch." said the voice, speaking in time with the blinking eyes.

"What would you have of me?" she asked, tense and weak.

"When the Dragon King asks for a price, give him whatever he may ask."

"I will do this." she replied, though she was afraid. What "price" might Uduak require?

Satisfied, the eyes closed, one by one, and another door was revealed in the stone wall. The voices returned, whispering the way to the King's chambers, and she felt it like a sizzle in her blood. At the same moment that the voices drifted into the background, the opposite door opened, allowing Faolán into the chamber. He said nothing, his weapon partly unsheathed, looking at her in open astonishment.

Inscribed upon her forehead was a small ruby eye.

The Dragon King: Part Two

The dragon city was a breathtaking display of the ingenuity of its creators. A spiraled staircase, carved with runes in the wyvern tongue, seemed to be the only way down, as well as the only way to reach a network of tunnels which traversed more than two realms and went down just as many fathoms. The walls, along the stairs, were ingrained with shimmering crystals that eerily resembled eyes and the steps, themselves, were encrusted with gems as well as symbols.

Faolán, the queen’s champion, taking note of the sconces hanging from the walls, put his torch to the tinder and watched in amazement as the abyssal labyrinth came alive. Sconces, at least three levels below them, began to twinkle with star-like bursts of light. The company marveled at the beauty of the ancient city, breathless in their awe. It was unlike anything they had seen before and it was far less than what they had been told in the legends. The queen fluttered down to stand beside her favored knight, her small hand resting on his shoulder as they gazed out over the immensity of it.

Spanning the chasm were golden bridges connecting the myriad of landings. Each bridge opened the way to new tunnels, and with these channels, were alabaster cities trimmed with sapphires or rubies. Every passage seemed to hold a wholly separate kingdom, utterly abandoned and all more beauteous than the next. The darkness beneath them shone like the starlit heavens and every entrance held a beckoning new world.

At the forefront, prodded by blunted staves, stumbled a dryad witch, a captive of the faery court. She looked up with wondering eyes, wishing for even a glimpse of light from the outside world. Her henna coloured skin was smattered with bruises and tattoos. The bruises were, by far, the most noticeable, a result of the poking staves and the leather straps used to bind her at night. Her hair, chartreuse and wildly unkempt, was braided with feathers and wilting flowers. Her teal eyes darted nervously, searching for any chance of escape and her cracking lips mumbled prayers to unknown gods. Though it was unnaturally warm within the old city, she shivered, hugging herself as she walked, thirsty for just a flash of golden sunlight.

When they had traveled for a day and a half, the ocular stones judging their progress, they came to the first of many large landings. Consulting with her companions, the queen called for camp.

“Halt.” Cried the melodious voice. The company came to a full stop, a guard jerking the dryad to a standstill and turning her so that she faced the voice.

Aysel, the faery queen, slowly floated to the ground, the hem of her orchid petal gown brushing against the basanite floor. She waved away an attendant and stalked toward the witch, her plum coloured eyes blazing with fear and anger. Her wings, pale pink gossamer and as delicate as a butterfly’s, flowed behind her like water and a strand of her apricot hair slipped from its place in her intricate styling. She grasped the dryad’s chin in her hand, forcing her gaze upward.

“Where shall we find the dragon king, sorceress?” She asked, her grip tightening, slightly, on the dryad’s chin.

“If we find the underground ocean, milady, we will find the dragons.” Twisting, she tried to escape the fierce grip of the faery queen. Aysel tightened her hold, like a vice.

“If I find that ye have lied to me, Kiri,” she said, ominously. Within the caverns something seemed to echo the unspoken threat beneath her words, startling her into letting go of the witch’s face. Glancing into the sparkling void, she shivered and retreated to her stewards. As she went, a look passed betwixt her and Faolán, then quickly vanished. Yet, it did not go unnoticed by Kiri or the crystal eyes.

“We shall make our encampment here,” said the queen, holding herself very straight and aloof. “When the hourglass has emptied thrice we shall depart and continue along this path.”

Following his lady toward where the guards busily began to create a makeshift tent, Faolán glanced around. The landing provided a crossroad, of sorts, but it left the company open to an attack from all angles. He bit his tongue, reminding himself that they need only fear attack from above. It was clear that nothing kept residence in the caverns, not anymore. Bearing this in mind, Faolán approached his queen and gently pulled her aside.

“Your majesty, ‘tis not the wisest judgment to encamp here. ‘Tis nigh indefensible. T’would be better to take up residence in yon corridors.”

“And be trapped with no hope of escape? Nay, good Faolán, we shall camp here.”

“My lady, we are out in the open, entirely unprotected.”

“Aye, we be in the open, but we have room if we are to run.” The queen turned away, looking over her people and sighing. Taking her hand, the champion pulled her toward a dark corridor, out of sight.

“Aysel,” he began, but she waved her hand to silence him.

“Nay, I shall hear no more. We have been marching, nay, fleeing, for almost two days, Faolán. The men are exhausted. I am tired. We must rest. And I would have us rest where we have at least a chance of escaping if there be trouble.”

“Pray, Aysel, what wilt thou do if we find the fabled ‘prince of dreams?’” He looked down at her, his black curls serving to accentuate the dark look in his vibrantly blue eyes. He was troubled. The desire to serve, to protect his queen from any harm, was at war with his disbelief in tales of old.

“I know not.” She replied, the words leaving her lips in defeat and resignation.
Taking her in his arms, the faery knight held his queen, burying his face in her sweet smelling hair.

“Ah, my sweet, Aysel,” he sighed, breathing her in. “Ever shall I protect thee with my very life.”

They stood there for only a moment before he was forced to let her go. Distantly, he could hear a voice calling for her. As she walked away, he asked her,

“Wouldst thou have a small troupe of men, and myself, to scout our position?”

She did not look back at him, only nodded her acquiescence. Retreating to a small pavilion, hastily erected by her men, Aysel began laying out the maps of the Caverns of Omra. She studied the tracings, feverishly searching for any short-cut or secret passage that might lead her to the dragon king. All the while Faolán’s words, and the threats of Emyr, played war with the fear racing through her veins.

It had been a week’s time since Emyr had stalked into her court and commanded her to be his wife or suffer his wrath. It had been, at least, that long since she’d had the dryad witch kidnapped and brought to court as prisoner. She looked down at her locket, a gift from the goddess of the moon, and paused before opening it. Immediately the locket began to glow, showing only a sliver of silver. It had been three days since Emyr sent a missive demanding her surrender by the end of the lunar cycle. She had one more night, before her time was up, and she did not doubt that the goblin king was already on his way to retrieve her.

The Dragon King: Part One

The faery knight stood guard at the mouth of the cavern. The entrance of the abandoned dragon city glowed, eerily, in the moon’s pale light, causing the young chevalier to nervously flutter his iridescent wings. As a man-at-arms in the court of Lua, it was not the moon that unnerved him. Rather it was the things that could lurk in the shadows, and escape the moon’s wandering gaze, that caused him disquiet.

It was folly to be here, he thought. The whole quest was lunacy. He would never express such doubts to the Queen, but her obsession with awaking the dragon king was bordering on insanity. He was not the only courtier whispering behind their wings about the queen’s odd behavior, either. The court had been buzzing with rumours, for at least a season, and the capture of the dryad witch had only increased them. Sighing, he leaned against the polished jet archway, his wings rustling, in a slightly irritated way, in the cool breeze. Who was he, after all, to question the actions of his queen?

Out of the darkness came a low, menacing, growl, snapping him out of his thoughts and to attention. Dropping down, he edged against the wall, slowly drawing his weapon. His wickedly curved scimitar slid slowly from the sheath, the sharpened edge faintly glistening. The growls grew louder, followed by the sound of teeth gnashing and the war cries of goblins. From the silver-leafed trees strode Emyr, the Goblin King, his obsidian bow drawn and arrow nocked. He was followed, closely, by a horde of goblin warriors, many of them astride the hairless wolves of the Cristal Mountains, carrying the meticulously honed bones of fallen enemies.

The goblin king stopped, raising a long fingered hand to halt the army. The moon hid behind dark gray clouds, as if she were frightened, blotting out the stars and casting the earth into shadows. Emyr’s long, colourless, hair seemed to glimmer in the sudden, and complete, darkness and his eyes gleamed like icy gold. He raised his bow, aiming into the lightless void of the cavern’s mouth. His keen sight fell on the frantically beating heart of his prey and he smiled, wickedly.

“The queen expects to awaken the dead and defeat me?” he hissed, his nocked arrow glittering green with poison. The faery chevalier said nothing, believing himself hidden from view. He held his weapon in front of him, as if it would shield him further from the horde. His wings spread out, fully unfurling, their colour shifting to the black of the cave’s outer walls. Thinking himself still concealed, the knight crept toward the inner corridor of the dragon city.

Again Emyr smiled, his jagged teeth capped with sharpened gemstones, and let the arrow fly. Moving too late to escape, the dart embedded itself in a muscle, betwixt the heart and shoulder, of the target.

He looked surprised for only a moment before he began to convulse from poison. He clawed at the arrow, choking and spewing pink flecked foam. A small trickle of blood dripped from his eyes, as though he were crying, and he collapsed in a twitching heap. Nonplussed, the goblin king strode forward, stepping over the fallen carcass, and entered the Caverns of Omra.

The Gasp

He held her down, kissing her passionately.
She rocked against him, hands frantic.
He pressed himself into her and delighted in her gasp of pleasure.

Carousel (9/19/2013)

Georgia walked further into the abandoned apple orchard. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the twisted branches and a summer fog began to settle.

The sound of carnival music, drifting through the night air, seemed to announce her entrance. In the middle of the meadow, lit up like the fourth of July, stood an old carousel.

The horses rose and fell to the carnival music. The lights twirled and danced, illuminating the grassy meadow with pink and gold sparks.

The air bristled as she stepped toward the carousel and a great wind seemed to blow the lights out. She gasped, suddenly surrounded by shadows.

Phantom laughter sent shivers up her spine.

Her body was never found.

Android (9/18/2013)

Julia stepped out of the neon pools of light into the shadows of an alleyway. It seemed darker in the alley, as if the glittery psychedelia of the bar signs were being swallowed up. There was something else off about this particular alley, but she didn't turn away.

She felt drawn in, the fear and the curiosity driving her further and further into the dark. She reached a dead-end, almost close enough to kiss the white brick, and sighed. Gingerly, she caressed the brick, half expecting to find a knob or opening.

When an android, his synthetic flesh torn on his chest and face, walked through and grabbed her, she did not have the breath to scream.

Basorexic

I want you to kiss me.

I want you to cradle me in your arms, your lips pressed to mine, just holding me close.
I want our breath to mingle, our soul's trading spaces in our lungs to give us a taste of where we really come from.
I want to taste your whiskey soaked tongue, I want to savour your words, rolling them about in my mouth to get the flavour.
I want to be breathless, all the air rushing out of my lungs in sweet anticipation.

Wrap your arms about my waist, pull me close to you. Your eyes seeing into my windows, flung wide open to embrace your visit. Your heart, is it beating as fast as mine? Is all this sweet disillusion? Shall I regret this in time, or will you return all the feelings that are threatening to bubble over? I am so stuck on your mouth, your hair in my fingers, your body pressed to mine.

This is burning at the back of my throat. I am so out of breath, drowning in my own thirst, out of my mind for just one touch. Please, tell me, do you love me? Would you dare to take me in your arms, or will you leave me standing here, empty-handed? I am gasping in anticipation, begging for some sign or answer to this ill-written prayer. How is it possible to be this dizzy, this dazzled, over you? How is it that I am so lovesick over what you might do?

Kiss me as though there were no other girl, but me. I am so thoroughly disgusted with myself for being so desperate over your mouth, but I cannot escape the thought. I have no desire to stop. Just kiss me, once. Once and I shall float, I shall fly, I shall dissipate into a million sparkling pieces. Must I plead? Must I beg? If so, I will fall on these two knees and give you everything just to hear you say you will.

I want you to kiss me, but I know you never will.

The Tenacity of a Lion

I have a problem with hanging on to the things that hurt me.
No matter how small, no matter how inconsequential, I cling to those things.
No matter how hard I try to let go, no matter how I shake my hands, it sticks like glue.

I hold those things, with the tenacity of a lion, the ferocity of a tiger.
I cradle them and sing them to sleep, as though they have done anything to deserve it.
No matter what I tell myself, there is a difference between knowing and doing.

The scars, I hold them close. I reopen them to see my insides, see how they look.
I muck about with my emotions, playing with my heart strings, bruising my ribs.
I carve out the mistakes, make them deeper so that I don't forget.

If only I could forgive myself. If only I could let those things go.
If only I could love myself with the tenacity of a lion, the ferocity of a tigress.
If only knowing and doing were no difference at all.

Instead, I replay the scenes, crush my own hopes and dreams.
You're undeserving, you've done nothing right, you are nothing.
You're ugly, you've failed, you are worthless.

With the tenacity of a lion, I destroy myself, attacking as though I am the enemy.
With the ferocity of a tiger, I shred myself to bits, dragging myself down and down.
With the whimper of a child, I wish I could let myself go and forget where I've gone.

Waiting for Superman

The saddest thing is that Superman never comes.
No matter how long you stand at the phone booth.

Every taxi that passes makes you lonelier.
The myth of Mr. Perfect lingers, despite reality.

Clark Kent got stuck in traffic.
Superman got drunk on the ether.

Waiting for Superman to rescue you, still waiting.
Standing all alone on the boardwalk, sun setting.

He won't come. There is no saviour this time.
The water looks so lovely from here, glittering.

How much longer do you plan on waiting?
Another day? Another year? Another decade?

Its obvious he isn't coming. Not after all this.
Superman never shows up on time.

No matter how long you stand at the phone booth.
The saddest thing is that Superman never comes.

The Boundaries (Trigger Warning)

I have no sexual boundaries. No idea what a healthy sexual relationship entails.
So when you touched me, sliding your hand up my leg, I told myself that I was...
Overreacting
Being stupid
You're my friend
If I didn't want it, why didn't I get out of the car?

My stomach clenched. I felt sick for the rest of the day.
You told me you were just teasing me. You meant nothing by it.
You said we were just friends.
I tried to establish a boundary; this far and no further.

I told you,
"I'm married."
"You're sweet, but you are a little out of my age range."
"Even if I were free, I wouldn't be interested."
But I didn't tell you "No," and I didn't get out of the car.

The worst thing in the world was realizing that my body was reacting,
in ways I never wanted it to,
in ways that make me feel sick to my stomach,
in ways that it shouldn't have.

You said it was an accident when you poked me in the breast.
You called me out on putting my hand in the way of yours.
You asked if I was nervous about being in the car with you.
You said it was all fun and games.
You were the one who said that "No" meant "No."

But I didn't say "No," did I? I tried to say it in ways that wouldn't hurt.
I tried to say it in ways that made it clear.
I tried to avoid hurting YOUR feelings, while you invaded my personal space.

And it was my fault, because I didn't say "No."
You took my silence as consent, when it was really no consent at all.

I have no sexual boundaries, I belittle myself into thinking its all in my head.
Because that's what I've been told my whole life.
My silence is taken for a "Yes" while my heart keeps screaming "No."

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

I sit, behind the counter at work,  morosely involved in a tepid novel that I really don't feel like reading. The tea is probably cold, I certainly am. I feel absolutely no motivation to do anything, which is bad when you are at work. The phone rings and I fight the urge to ignore it.

"The Wilde: Rare and Used Books, this is Abra, how may I help you today?" I say, as cheerily as I can, into the old-fashioned rotary phone.

"Yes, I'm looking for a book on mythology. Particularly mythology surrounding humanity's creation." The voice sounds vaguely familiar to me. It tickles at the back of my mind for a moment, like a feather against the base of my skull.

"We have several of those." I remark, flipping back a page in my novel and book-marking it. "Were you looking for one in particular?"

"Do you have anything related to Aristophanes's mythology of three genders?"

"Are you referring to a work by Plato?" I ask, the feather tickle sensation increases.

There is a silence on the other end of the phone and I hear a soft click. I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it quizzically. I put it back to my ear a moment, hear the dial tone and then hang it up. The tickling sensation turns into more than aggravation. Laying my book down, I go in search of Plato. I find him, nestled between Socrates and Hypatia of Alexandria, and before I can pick him up I hear the bell for the door.

"Hello," I say, rounding a corner and almost smacking into someone. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

I look up and into the lime colored eyes of Jae. He smiles, his cupid's bow lips seeming to shoot arrows into my heart and I immediately step back.

"Hello." He says, still smiling.

"It was you on the phone?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," he has the gall to look a little sheepish. "I wanted to make sure I had the right book store."

I feel awkward. I don't know what to do. I lace my fingers behind my back and look everywhere but at Jae. He lets me feel awkward, just smiling down at me. After a moment I pluck up my courage, finding it beneath my pancreas hiding, and just start talking.

"Would you like some Nana tea? I have some brewing." I gesture toward the counter and begin moving before he responds.

"I'd love some." he replies, falling in step beside me. I feel wracked with nerves. I step behind the counter and begin pouring the tea. Some of it splashes on my hand, burning it and I drop my cup. Quick as can be, he is behind the counter and pouring some ice water onto a paper towel, pressing it to my hand. He then cleans up the mess I made, leaving me in shock.

"Why are you always here when I need you?" I ask, watching him pick up bits of my broken cup. He doesn't answer at first, merely dumping the shards into the dust bin and wiping up more of the spilled tea. When he stands up, he looks me in the eye and just smiles.

"Why do you always run away from me?" he asks, re-wetting the paper towel for my hand.

"I don't know you that well. You could be a serial killer for all I know."

"Don't you think that I would've killed you by now if I were a serial killer?" he asks, laughing.

"I never said you were a good serial killer." I retort, following him as he goes back to the 'customer' side of the counter.

"You act as though I've never tried to let you get to know me. The complete opposite, m'lady. Every time I try to know you better you run. Why?" He turns toward me and I feel those beautiful eyes as though they were inside of my head.

"I'm afraid." I mumble, looking at my hand. It is only a little red now and barely stings.

"Why are you afraid?" he asks, taking my chin in his hand and lifting my face toward him. I don't resist and look at his ribbon of a mouth.

"Because... I don't know why. I'm just afraid. I'm afraid of your attraction to me. I'm afraid of myself. Afraid in general, I guess. What does it matter to you anyway?"

"You said it yourself, I'm attracted to you. I have some very strong feelings for you. Feelings that I don't fully understand, but are there nonetheless."

"I don't understand." I murmur, my chin still in his hand. My gaze drifts down so that I just stare at his throat. He lifts my chin a little more and my eyes sweep up toward his eyes.

"You don't have to understand it. I see something you don't see." He lets go of my chin and I hear the bell over the door again. I scurry off to greet the newest customer, pretending that I can just forget he's there, waiting. After I direct the customer toward the section they were looking for I return to the counter. I throw the soggy paper towel away and avoid his eyes.

I pick up the book I was reading and carry it back over to a randomly stocked shelf. I continue to avoid any direct eye contact and shuffle back toward the tea pot. He comes around the counter, again, and pours the tea for me. He then goes back to the proper side and looks at me, expectantly.

"What exactly is it that you want?" I ask, irritated that he can make me so flustered.

"Would you be willing to go out for dinner after you get off work?" He sips his tea so nonchalantly. How does he manage to seem so unruffled while I feel like a cat who has been rubbed the wrong direction?

"I don't know. I have plans." I lie. I look up and see something in his eyes before it is gone. He looks at his tea, drinks it down in one go and carefully sets the cup back on the counter. He begins to head toward the door and I come around the counter as if I am going to chase him down. He turns and looks at me, his head tilted slightly to one side.

"I'll come again, some other time." He says.

"When?"

"I always know when you need me, so I suppose the next time you are in need of a friend."

"Wouldn't giving me your number be much easier?" I ask, trying not to sound too eager. He turns and looks at me, his smile suddenly turned devilish.

"I don't have a phone." With that, he winks at me and walks out the door, leaving me with my mouth dropped open.

I go back to the counter and flop down onto my stool. I see what he did, lying in response to my lie. I silently kick myself and then get back to work. It won't do me any good to mope about. He'll either come back or he won't. And I suppose that is an answer in, and of, itself.

Fortunately for my sanity I don't have to wait too long for Jae to come back. He comes in on a Friday morning, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. I look up from my book and give him a questioning look.

"I thought you might like some coffee." he says, scooting a cup toward me. I must look surprised, because his smile widens. "Believe it or not, despite your efforts, I'm trying to court you and that includes bringing coffee to you."

"Why are you trying to court me?" I ask, picking up the cup of coffee and bringing it toward my nose. The smell of vanilla hazelnut makes me drool a little and I take a sip.

"Why do you question it?"

"I question everything." I reply, somewhat haughtily, placing my book on the counter.

"Have you ever seen yourself?" he asks, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving my face.

"Of course I have!"

"I mean in person. Not in a mirror, not in a photograph."

"No, of course not. How would I be able to do that?"

"Exactly." he says, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Exactly what?" I ask, puzzled beyond all belief.

"You will never understand what it is I see in you because you have never seen yourself from the outside. If you did, you might recognize what it is in you that draws me to you."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just step over to a random book shelf and begin straightening it. I hear him set his coffee down and move toward me. He steps up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. My nerves begin to jump, my heart twirling inside my chest so fast that I fear it will burst. He is like a jolt of electricity, cycling through my blood stream, snapping my synapses.

He gently turns me toward him, his face mere inches from mine. I look up into his vibrantly green eyes and my throat tightens. I want to kiss him. I want to let him love me. I'm so tired of fighting a losing battle. I am wildly attracted to him. I have been since we met that first time at the bar. I want to see what it is he sees in me. I want to know him better than I do. I am shocked to discover that I don't just want to sleep with him, even though there is a very strong desire there as well.

"Tell me you want me to kiss you." he whispers, against my lips.

"What if I don't want you to?" I murmur, my eyes never leaving his.

He pulls back a bit, not in anger or hurt or even disappointment. In fact, he smiles at me again.

"Then I won't and I'll wait until you say 'yes.'"

"What does that mean?" I ask, confused and slightly surprised by this reaction. I had expected him to just kiss me anyway, with or without my permission.

"It means I'm willing to wait for you. It means I want you to say 'yes.' I want to know for certain, not just guess. I want you to be comfortable and actually interested in me."

"What if I was to just kiss you? Would you pull away?" I ask, closing a small amount of the distance between us.

"Would you like to find out?" he brings his lips closer to mine, but he continues to hold back. He is so infuriatingly close and, yet, so far.

I don't hesitate in that moment and I kiss his mouth. Something I've wanted to do since we met. He kisses me back, his arms wrapping around me so that I am securely pressed against him. As far as kisses go, this is by far the most amazing I've ever had. When he pulls away, I almost whimper.

"Kiss me," I say, my eyes locked on his. He smiles and obliges me.

After a moment, I pull away, remembering that I am, in fact, at work and my boss might frown on me making out with customers. He smiles at me, he is always smiling, it seems. I take another step back and begin organizing the shelf again. He goes back to the counter and sips at his coffee.

"Would you like to grab a bite to eat after you get off work?" he asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

I don't look at him, but my face is flushed at the thought of spending more time with him and my heart is beating like a high-powered drum. Still not able to look at him, I nod my head. The soles of his shoes scuff the floor as he comes back up behind me. He doesn't try to turn me around, simply holding me from behind. He wraps his arms around me and I feel so completely safe for a moment. He rests his chin on my shoulder for a moment and I turn my head slightly to look at him. He isn't smiling, though he doesn't look unhappy. He seems thoughtful.

Distantly, I hear the music we have playing over the store speakers. I smile at the very last line, the girl asking if his name rhymes with her own, and, for some reason, it makes me giddy. I look at him and wish. Wish for what, I don't know. I just wish. Looking at him, I think of having two faces. I search his to see if I recognize anything of our former incarnation. I don't know if it is my imagination that makes me believe that there is something that I recognize. Not in his face, but in him. Something I recognize and am drawn to.

"Why am I so drawn to you?" I murmur, glancing at his lips and then looking into his eyes. He looks at me, just looks, not speaking. He then looks at the book shelf and I follow his gaze. There are at least five different books he could be looking at and I don't know if he is even looking at the books or if he is just staring off into space.

"I can't speak for your attraction to me," he says, softly, still staring at the books on the shelf. "I can only speak for myself. And I am drawn to you because there is something in you that I recognize. You are someone that I want to be a part of, even if all you want from me is friendship. I want to be close to you, because there is something within you that pulls me in."

He looks back at me, his face mostly somber, though there is a tiny lift to the corner of his mouth. He seems so serious right then, as though he just gave me a promise. I search his face, again, my eyebrows furrowed and I must look just as serious as he does.

"Do you truly believe that I could be your other face? Or is that something you have said to many girls before?" I ask, even though I know that my phrasing is cruel. I bite my lip after I say it, as if I could take it back now. I see the sharp words embed themselves, like so many invisible knives, into his face. I see the moment that it registers in his heart because there is a subtle shift in his eyes and I regret opening my mouth. I start to apologize, but am interrupted by him speaking.

"I have never said that to anyone else. And, if we were to say goodbye today and never say hello again, I would not say it to anyone else, true or not."

He lifts his chin off of my shoulder and there is almost a tangible ache at the sudden weightlessness. As if some piece of myself just separated from me. He goes to grab his coffee and I watch him walk out the door, the chime sounding hollow in my ears. I feel like a bitch and an idiot.

I go over to the counter and find my cell in my purse. I punch in Noah's number, head to the door and flip the "Back in Ten" sign. I pat my pockets, as if I expect to find cigarettes, but quickly stop doing that because I gave up smoking. On the fourth ring I'm about to go and find a gas station, I'm that desperate for a smoke. So much for quitting my self-destructive habits. On the sixth ring I'm about to pitch the phone. On the eigth ring, he answers, sounding very tired.

"Hello?"

"Noah, I'm an idiot." I say, pacing a bit, probably looking like a complete crazy person. Which, I am, but that's beside the point.

"Tell me something I didn't already know." he says. I hear him yawn and I can picture him stretching. I look at my watch, 10:15. I'm supposed to be here until three, this is going to be a long day.

"Were you still asleep?"

"Yes."

"I would say I'm sorry, but you called me an idiot." I can't help but smile, considering how many times he has done the same thing to me.

"To be fair, you set me up for it. What did you do now?"

"I insulted Jae." I can practically hear him perk up through the phone at the name.

"Jae? Who is Jae? Please tell me you aren't starting up another self-destructive sexual binge again."

"I'm not! Well, I'm not trying to anyway. Jae is the really cute Korean that kissed me in the cafe. You remember, I asked him about a pizza and a fuck."

"And you insulted him? How and why and was it deserved?" Noah sounds more and more awake by the moment, I can hear the sounds of coffee percolating and fuzzy slippers shuffling.

"It wasn't deserved. It was by accident and I opened my mouth. Honestly, I have no idea where it came from."

"You've become jaded." He says that so matter-of-factly that I am speechless for a moment.

I glance at my watch again and wish I'd just closed for lunch. That would've been better. But who eats lunch at 10:something in the morning?

"Well, I think I'm going to be alone after work, do you want to go grab a bite to eat? I need to talk about this more, but I need to get back."

"Yeah, what time?"

"Meet me around 2:45? I am trading off with another girl at three, but she's always early."

We confirm our plans and I hang up, heading back into the store. Nothing to do now, but wait until three. There's nothing I can do about Jae right now.

Ocean Speaks Peace

The ocean always spoke to her in ways no human voice could. It spoke to the parts of her that descended from mermaids and myth. It spoke to the depths of her azure colored soul and the breadth of her white-capped spirits. With her toes dug into the sand, she drifted out to the place where only the ocean knew her name. It rocked her to sleep, it dressed her in green and silver, it loved her. It constantly ran to kiss her feet, her hands, her face; it wrapped her in its salty embrace and carried her down into water softer than satin.

Unsung

Your songs are left unfinished, your coffee left un-drunk.
You left in such a hurry, your cigarettes are still un-smoked.
I am left grasping the straws, wondering where you drifted.
I don't know how to cope, so I sit on the floor and smoke.

Your cigarettes will not be wasted, your coffee will not grow cold.
I will leave all of these things just as they are, hope beyond hope.
Hope that you will return, though they say there is no way.
Your hospital bed is lonely when your mind is so far away.

I drag my fingers across piano keys, playing notes to call you home.
At night I sit by your bed, hearing your heart beat through wires,
listening to your breath rattle in your broken lungs.
I kiss your fingertips with my tears and I beg you back to life.

You've left so much undone, my love. You are too young,
too beautiful, too impossible to hold, too impossible to let go.
How am I to battle angels I can not see? I grip your hand fiercely.
The nurse tells me that I have to get some sleep, to go home.

I have no home without you. Where would I curl up if I lose your heart?
If I scream will it make you wake up? What can I do to keep you here?
If only for a moment longer, I would do anything to hold you again.
The nurse doesn't scold me when I curl up beside you on the bed.

You have too much left undone, my love, to leave me so soon.
Your songs are unsung, your words unsaid. I twine our fingers,
rest my head on your shoulder and watch your chest heave a sigh.
If I let you go, who will I sing for? Who will I love?

Your songs are left unfinished, your coffee left un-drunk.
All that remains are the memories stored in boxes with your name.
You left in such a hurry, I barely caught your name. It was a kiss,
a whisper against my lips. You tasted so bitter-sweet, my darling.

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

"That's the last of it." says Clark, carrying a box marked "kitchen" into the living room of my new apartment. I glance up from a box marked "bathroom" and smile.

"You're a peach, Clark." I say, standing up and stretching. "Its a little smaller than I anticipated, but its a nice place, don't you think?"

"Are you sure this was a good idea? I feel like you're so far away. What if something happens?"

"I appreciate the concern, but I'll be fine. I'm fifteen minutes from you and twenty minutes from Noah. The police station is down the street and I can walk to the hospital. I'll be fine!" I give him a hug and, when I got to kiss his cheeck, he gives me a kiss on the mouth. He holds me there for a moment and I wish, not for the first time, that I could fall in love with him. Our mouths disengage and I rest my head on his chest.

"I still love you, you know. I wish you felt the same." A sigh rumbles up from his chest and I can't help but sigh too.

"I wish that wishing made it so," I say, gently pulling myself from his embrace so that I can look into his eyes. "I care for you, Clark, and I value our friendship, but I am just not in love with you. I keep telling myself to, but I can't force feelings that aren't there. And its unfair to you if I pretend."

He is quiet for a moment. Perhaps internalizing what I said. Once the moment passes, he gives me a, slightly wilted, smile and then begins to open random boxes. I follow suit and pick up a box that says "bedroom" before going down the hallway of my new apartment.

Once in the bedroom, I set the box down and flop onto my queen sized mattress. Snuggles is still at Clark's until everything is set up and I miss him dreadfully at the moment. Am I an idiot for not falling in love with Clark? He has a good job, he is a sweetheart, he knows me better than any other guy I've dated, including David. Since we broke up I've introduced him to everyone as my friend and my family approves of him. Hell, Noah loves him. If he were able to be persuaded to that team, I wouldn't have the option to be in love with him or not, Noah would eat him up.

"Hey, Abe, where do you want this box of 'miscellaneous'?" Clark calls down the hall.

"Give me a moment, I'll be right there." I call back. I sit up and push up off the bed. Looking around, I feel like I am beyond all the self-destruction. Or so I tell myself.

I return to the living room and plop down on the floor in front of an unmarked box. I begin sorting out the miscellaneous bits my existence, trying to sort out myself in the process. Clark is quiet and just puts dishes in the dishwasher.

"The king of unpacking has arrived!" says Noah, as he glides into the apartment. Clark and I look up and smile. Clark less so than me.

"Don't you two look like a pair of gloomy gussies." says Noah, plopping down next to a big box marked "books."

"Well, we'll be rays of sunshine now that you're here." I say, feigning happiness.

"Obviously not all is well in Brokenheartsville. What's the matter?"

"This isn't 'Brokenheartsville.'" I say. "Its 'Get-your-heart-backsville.''

Before Noah can say anything else I jump up and decide to make some lunch. I smile warmly at my friends and then decide to make something extra special.

"How about I make lunch while you guys open some of the boxes?" I ask, dusting myself off.

"Sounds great!" says Noah. "What are you making?"

"Don't know yet, but it'll be delicious." I reply, smiling.

"Picasso of the kitchen." says Clark, beaming. I feel myself blush a bit at the obvious pride in his voice. I knew he always admired my cooking, I just didn't realize he was that proud of my abilities.

"Let's just hope its as good as a Picasso." I say, winking at him.

For lunch I make, what I call, a pomme and pomegranate fruit salad, spicy beef lo mein and mini passionfruit tarts. Before handing them out, I generously top the tarts with whipped cream and even spray a little on Clark. He roars with laughter and tries to reach the bit stuck on his nose with his tongue. It doesn't work and we all collapse in a fit of giggles before finally straightening up enough to eat. We all gather around my coffee table, seated on pillows and eat.

Once all the furniture is arranged and the TV mostly set up, Noah and Clark decide to head to their respective homes. Clark promises to bring Snuggles over later on this evening and gives me a peck on the cheek before leaving. I stare at the door for five minutes, as if I expect it to do something. As if I expect Annabelle to walk through the door, smoking her fancy cigarettes, the words of her story written in the scars on her body. I suddenly crave a cigarette. My skin crawls with the thought, my stomach threatening to purge all the delicious food and I run to the bathroom.

Annabelle comes up my throat and the little notes she left me beat against my skull. I close my eyes and I can see her pale face rising up behind my eyelids. I'm not okay.

I feel incredibly alone. More alone than I have felt in a long time. I block it out by emptying all of my boxes into the middle of the floor. My life, scattered, all over the floor seems almost symbolic. If I wrote poetry I might pause to take this moment in and pack it up in a notebook on a dusty shelf. Instead I sit in the midst of my created chaos and wonder why I do these things to myself.

When Clark stops by with Snuggles, he discovers me still sitting in the midst of my mess. He sets the cat carrier down, mindful to free Snuggles first, and comes over to me, concern written into every pore of his face. I've become maudlin in my insanity.

"Are you alright?" he asks, dropping to one knee, just outside the circle of wreckage.

"I'm fine." I sigh, letting my voice tremble a bit more than I intend to.

"You are not." he says, pushing stuff out of the way. He makes a path to me, as though he were Moses parting the red sea. I let him scoop me into his embrace. I let him worry over me like a mother hen. I don't protest when he picks me up and carries me to the bedroom. He doesn't try anything sexual, though I know he would like to. I know he misses me. I miss him too, in my own pitiable way. Instead he curls up with me and I say a lot of the things I've been trying so hard to keep inside.

"What am I going to do, Clark?" I ask, avoiding his eyes and staring at his lips.

"Maybe you should get into therapy. It would do you good to talk about these things in a professional setting."

I prop myself up on one elbow and finally look into his lavender colored eyes. I know he is right. I still haven't spoken to anyone about what happened with Liam or Annabelle. Adam didn't even know all that happened with Liam, only what he stumbled upon at the club. I don't say anything. I just stare off into the space between his eyes. He doesn't try to reclaim my attention, though I can feel him studying my face. He runs his fingers through my hair, before he hugs me tightly.

After a couple of days, once I have my apartment completely situated, I decide to go out. I find myself standing in front of "Alice's Wonderland," like I have so many times before. My breath hitches somewhere in my ribcage, a feeling I've become far too used to. However, very unlike my previous self, I do not trip on the way into the bar. Instead I almost strut, letting a false sense of pride fill my chest. I order a cocktail and sip at it for a moment before I decide to dance. I don't see anyone I recognize here. I almost wish I did. I search for Jae, but don't see him anywhere. Perhaps that was too much to hope for.

After my third or fourth drink I am approached by a cute guy. He gives me some name that begins with "J" and asks me to dance. I take his profered hand and we dance for a little while before I invite him back to my place. I'm not sure how we make it there, but we do and we collapse into my bed for a less than stellar romp.

I wake up feeling disgusting and overwhelmed by my actions.

Crisp sheets, clean and white, that's what I want. The sterile feel of hospital or hotel sheets. Sheets that don't smell like cologne. Sheets that aren't rumpled from sex. Sheets that are devoid of memories. Sitting on my own bed, I hug my pillow and wish I could be wrapped in those imagined sheets.

Looking around, I realize my room is a disaster, I am a disaster, even Snuggles seems to be a bit disheveled. Well, as disheveled as a cat can get. My floor is littered with condom wrappers and a couple bottles of vodka. The guy next to me snores, loudly. I run my fingers through my "sex hair" (or is it more "bed-head?") and take a second look around.

My bra and panties have been thrown onto the vanity and they are hanging, like haphazard Christmas tree ornaments, on the mirror. Last night's dress is in a crumpled heap of pink and white, topped with a muddy shoe like some neopolitan dessert. His clothes are just as scattered; his belt is hanging on a chair, jeans in a pile by the bed, shoes God only knows where.

I drop my head into my hand, not for the first time, questioning my judgement. Hell, questioning my sanity at this point. I don't remember if we had sex or if we are just naked for no reason. Do I even remember this poor fool's name? Straining, I try to think of it. Was it Jake? Josh? Jay?

At that last, I think of Jae. I think of him kissing me in the cafe. How long ago was that? I think of the time he rescued me at the bar and I think of him at the graveyard after Annabelle's funeral. When was the last time I saw him?

I remember then, with painful clarity, the cafe he took me too. I remember him saying I could be his other face. I remember walking out and getting wasted. That's how I've spent the past year or so of my life. Getting wasted. Getting fucked. Getting more and more obsessed with the belief that I am somehow worthless because the man I loved for ten years never really loved me.

I flop back onto my pillow, startling the man next to me into a bleary-eyed state of awareness.

"Hi." I say, looking at him casually.

"Hey." he murmurs, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm Abra, in case you had forgotten. I hate to admit this, since you are in my bed, but what is your name again?"

"Jared." he replies, nonchalantly. He rubs his eyes again and stretches.

"Nice to meet you. I knew it began with a 'J.'" I stand up and begin pulling on clothing. I try to do so in a nonchalant manner, but I am really wishing that we weren't in my house and that we had gone to his place instead. I could make a fast get-away and not worry about him knowing where I live. I wonder why I've never worried about this before, shaking my head.

He sits up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. He smiles and runs his fingers through his hair. He has a nice smile, but that doesn't make me any happier with myself.

"I don't mean to be rude," I start. He holds up a hand and smiles again.

"Its cool. I don't mind leaving." He gets dressed and I walk him to the door. He kisses my cheek, winks at me and then heads down the stairs toward the main entrance. I close the door slowly and try to imagine breakfast into being. I give up after a moment and settle for a cup of strong tea.

Constellation Hands

I have the constellations on
my fingertips, a galaxy
drawn on the dark side of
my moon colored eyes.

My mother used to say,
in her sunset way, "The sky
is a map to lead you to the
treasure of one heart."

I could never grasp her
meaning in my constellation
hands, they drifted into the
black holes of my imagination.

The Balloon Letters: Anna

"I feel almost guilty for doing this, considering this balloon is probably not biodegradable, but I feel... I'm not sure what I feel. I hope someone reads this and it isn't lost or eaten. I pray it isn't eaten.

"My name is Anna May. I live in California, in the United States. I love strawberries and my father died today. His heart gave up while we were cloud-watching in our favorite strawberry patch. He sighed as the sun turned a burnished shade of gold. I asked him a question and, when he didn't respond, I thought he'd fallen asleep.

"I will never eat strawberries again."

She slipped the note into the balloon and slowly filled it with helium. She glanced around, guiltily. She wasn't supposed to be here, but she had used her key to sneak in with a tiny white balloon.

Her mother had always said white was the color of mourning. The color of sorrow. The color of death. It was why she had worn white for a year after her mom had left. It was why she had picked this particular balloon.

The moon was a large, cream colored, disc in the ocean of the sky, reflecting into the endless mirror of the ocean of the earth. It seemed fitting that the moon would be full on this night, the same color as her balloon, as if all the world was in mourning as well.

She had lain beside her father's cooling body for an hour, in shock. He had gone so quickly, as if he had simply fallen asleep and slipped away. She was so bewildered and shocked that she couldn't even cry as she had called the paramedics. She'd ridden with them, in the ambulance, to the hospital, holding his stiffening hand. Her eyes kept trying to force breath into his lungs, imagining his chest rising and falling. She could almost imagine he would sit up and laugh at her for falling for such a silly prank.

It was amazing all the little details one notices when faced with a crisis. She noticed the light red of strawberry juice staining the corners of his bluing lips. He had forgotten to clip his fingernails and they looked slightly ragged. His hair was thinning, when had that happened? His glasses had a crack in one of the lenses. His eyes were closed and he looked so young to her. Too young to have died in the middle of a field of strawberries.

The kind paramedic, the one with the purple gloves and the orange tipped braids, gave her a bucket when she became sick. Once she started throwing up, she found she couldn't stop. And, even worse, she couldn't stop sobbing in-between heaves. The paramedic rubbed her back while she tried to purge all the hideous reality out of her body. Her father was dead. Her mother had left them, in the middle of the night, when she was twelve. She was alone.

She stepped up to the edge of the water, the waves tasting her toes, her balloon appearing like a second moon in the mirror of the sea. She whispered a prayer to the sky before she let the balloon go. It drifted, slowly, over the water, out to places she had never been. She sat down in the sand, pulling her knees up to her chest, and watched it disappear over the blackness of the horizon. Long after it had disappeared, snuffed from her view like a pinched candle flame, she watched the horizon.

The first edges of dawn reminded her of strawberries.