No Reason to Whisper

Prove It

I got her letter in the middle of a meeting. It wasn’t signed but I knew the handwriting well. Only when she wrote privet letters to me did she dot her i’s with checkmarks, she was clever that way. The wording also tipped me off, short and to the point with just the right amount of coldness. We were having a lover’s spat, or at least that how I sugar coated the situation.

“Center of bush labyrinth, excuse yourself when most convenient.”

We might not be talking, but she knew were I would be. My father had been dragging me to royal meeting since we got back from the front to get me use to my future duties but I didn’t need to be there. I didn’t think I needed to be there, my place was with my wife, but my father insisted on getting me ready. One might think he was dying some time soon.

Waiting for an opening in the dull conversation about changes in the uniform color, I got up. “If you’ll excuse me, my wife needs me right away.” As soon as the words had left my mouth, I knew I would never live them down. It didn’t matter really, my reputation was sound and I was sure the likes of them would understand. They all had families and talked highly of them after all.

I hear thing in the likes of whip sound and laughter, but I didn’t care. Even my father put forth a comment about how I let my wife wear the trousers in our marriage. He’s one to talk, he prohibited women from wearing trousers five years before I was born. And the sad bit was that no one really opposed him, it was already a well common practice in our society. I didn’t think much of it either, women looked wonderful in skirts and dresses. My opinions had changed since my marriage, and I was determined to change things once I came into power, but in quite some time from now.

The labyrinth was conveniently place on the other side of the estate. It was immense and seemingly endless. That was yet another thing I didn’t give much thought into before, but she loved the damn labyrinth. I would get lost chasing after her in the walls carved out of bush, but once I caught her, my reward was sweet. I guess I must have stopped thinking about the way and just let memory guide me to her because I suddenly found myself walking into the center of the bloody labyrinth.

All I heard before a seemingly huge fist came knocking into my face was someone call my name. I lost my footing from surprise and landed on my hands and knees. I was a little disoriented and couldn’t quite place the face I’d seen before the punch.

“Get up.” The voice was almost a whisper this time, cold and hard. I didn’t want to obey, but I knew I had to get up and face my attacker. I took my time getting up. Still being a little out of it, I hoped my delay would show defiance, but I mostly just needed time to put myself together.

As soon as I got up to face my assailant, another fist came crashing into my jaw, knocking me down again. I’d gotten a good look at the individual throwing the punches and couldn’t stop myself from laughing. With each hardy laugh, a wave of pain shrouded my face. I could feel my left eye begging to swell, it would most likely be all sorts of colours in the morning. Hell, it would probably swell shut for all my luck.

“Let that serve you as a warning, Ezra, to never lie to your wife again.” Her breathing was quick and shallow, her cheeks flushed, and her knuckles bone white. I’d always known my wife would be a great queen some day, and she knew just how to prove it to me.

Winter Holiday Plus A Week

There, behind the opened fridge door, she stood, ready to start her day.  She was wearing her favorite dress, a purple, short thing with white pock-a-dots. The color and texture complimented her pale complexion without making her look sickly. I once thought that was her whole appeal, the paleness of her skin made her mismatched eyes pop, like an old mustard stain on a white dress shirt.

That was the other thing about her. Her left eye was green while her right was blue. She’s been born like that, but everywhere she went, people would ask if she wore contacts or had an operation. She didn’t mind her eyes, she minded the people that told her about the, like she wasn’t already aware. “Your eyes are two different colors!” she would mock the people that would walk by and shout the obvious statement at her.

I honestly thought that was all to her; her eyes, her pale skin, and her short temper. I thought this for far too long. I know it’s stupid, to think so little of someone you spend the majority of your life with. That just the type of person I was, ignorant and self-centered. I take comfort in knowing almost all teens are just that, and that it was normal of not to really notice my sister.

Closing the door to the fridge, Isis held a small yogurt container and sat at the kitchen table. When she noticed me, me gave me one of the trademark crooked smiles. “Are you going to see me off at the station, or are you finally going to start packing?”

Isis was heading back to Oxford. I wouldn’t see her again until summer holiday, and who knows if she would bring a bloke back to meet her family. I knew she wasn’t that type of girl. She was focused on her studies, but I of all people knew all too well that men are manipulative pigs. Dean wouldn’t be happy about it either, but he wouldn’t be upset in the same way I would be. Yes, he was Isis’s big brother too, he loved and cared for her, but I felt something more.

Just so we’re clear on things, Dean and I are twins and Isis is our adopted sister. No real incest is taking place in this story, even if that’s what it looks like from the outside in. Isis and I are not blood related, but we did grow up together, so there’s that. I guess that’s not as bad as actual incest, but it still felt wrong. 

It didn’t feel wrong for long, thought. “Run away with me, Isis.”

To Actually Care

Sitting at the edge of his bed, she slowly pulled up her stockings, thinking about what she was doing with her life. Final semester at community college, a shit job at ToysRUs, and still living with her parents, sometimes life overwhelmed her so much she thought about just leaving. All she really wanted was to pass her damn finals and get that scholarship. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to worry about tuition when she transferred, but David made that a bit difficult. He meant not harm, but she completely forgot about reality when he was around.

He walked into his room, a pack of Ho Hos on his left hand, wearing the pair of TARDIS blue boxers she’d given him for his birthday. David’s hair was a tangled mess, far longer than he had kept it in high school. Sitting on the bed next to her while opening the plastic package, he have her a hard look.

“Leaving so soon?” he failed to hide the hurt in his voice. He bit into the pastry, but didn’t chew it. It just sat in his mouth.

Olive guessed there was an upside to dating a stoner; he always had good food in his house. She took the Ho Ho that was still in the plastic and bit into it, savoring the outer chocolate shell, trying to remember the last time she had one of those little pastries. She honestly couldn’t remember, but perhaps it was before her brother moved away.

“I have to study for finals.” Olive finished the little roll of cake, trying not to feel guilty about leaving. She really did have to study, specially for her damn Statistics class.

“Statistics is a bitch.” David still had a mouth full of Ho Ho and his words come out a little slurred. The chocolate had melted and all that was left on his mouth was soggy cake. He swallowed and the Ho Ho was like water going down his throat, but it felt heavy in his stomach.

“Stop reading my mind, David, it creeps me out.” Olive turned to look at him, giving him the most sincere smile she’d given anyone in her life. It was truly remarkable how much he knew her.

Olive’s smile seemed to cheer David up. He’d always loved her smile, even back when they were just bodies in high school.

“Can I drive you home?” he shoved the rest of the Ho Ho in his mouth and swallowed without chewing.

Olive got up, putting on her sweater, “You’re going to choke some day if you keep doing that.”

“Will you cry at my funeral, Olive, if I choke on a Ho Ho?” David got up and started looking for his pants. Their whereabouts seemed to elude him.

Olive looked at him in amusement as he looked for his pants. They were on the bed, where he’d taken them off, but for some reason she thought might have to do with his gender, David could not find them.

Sitting on the bed again, she graved his pants and waved them in front of his face. “ I will cry at your funeral if you choke on a Ho Ho, David, for that is to actually care.”

Runaway

Blood covered hands placed the oversized headphones above Amelia’s ears. She looked through her iPod for a something loud to drown out Oliver’s voice. It wasn’t his fault, Amelia knew that, but that wouldn’t stop her from taking her anger out on him. He was just doing his job, after all, no matter how useless it seemed to her.

Stumbling over a bloody album cover, she knew post hard-core would do the trick. If anything was going to drown out the world, it would be some poor sap screaming about how life would be better or how some bitch broke his heart. Amelia turned up the volume up as far it went soon as she hit play. High pitched screamed words filled her ears. Her hearing was shit already, and she figured a little more damage wouldn’t really be noticed. 

Satisfied with the sappy wailing, Amelia made her way from the lavish bed she slept in every night. Witchcraft: A Complete Guide was sitting on the night stand next to the bed. Despite her bloody hands, she picked it up and opened it to a random page. Chapter 15; Casting a Proper Curse. A tinny smile spread across Amelia’s face but she wouldn’t let it fully bloom. Not with the task at hand. Maybe of she pretended to read for long enough, Oliver would get the hint and leave.

“Come on, Amelia, isn’t that the opposite of what you’re trying to do?” Oliver could hear the music coming from Amelia’s headphones, but nonetheless, he didn’t raise his voice. “This is counterproductive and silly.” He picked a spot on Amelia’s bed that wasn’t covered in blood and sat. “You’re getting blood everywhere! At least spare the book by whipping your hands.” Oliver leaned in, hopping the movement would attract her attention. “Your arm must be killing you. Please give up this silly tantrum and rest.” He leaned in a little closer and took Amelia’s headphones out. He was determined to reason with her, make her see this was no way for her to act.

Amelia pushed herself towards Oliver, wrapping her bloody hands around his neck, sending them both towards the ground. She used all the strength left in her to dig her thumbs into his throat. Staring straight into his eyes, Amelia sat on Oliver’s chest and squeezed. Her stare was cold and unemotional. She wanted to know what it felt to take a life. Using the pain that shouted in her arm as motivation, she began to squeeze harder.

“Hit me!” she screamed. “Defend yourself!” her voice went up an octave. “I will kill you, you useless twat!” her eyes began to water.

Oliver’s eyes were bloodshot, watery, but they never left hers. He was determined to see this through.

“Do something! Do anything, damn it!” a single tear rolled down her face.

Even now, as the girl he’d vowed to protect with his life was now strangling it out of him, he didn’t move. Oliver intended to honor the vow he had made before King Robert, his court, and most importantly, to Amelia herself. If he was to die, he preferred it to be by his mistress’ own hand. Oliver knew Amelia’s temporary moment of insanity was just that, temporary. It was her way of dealing with the bullshit that was commonly known as her father’s reign.

He kept looking her right in the eyes and mouthed “It’s gonna be okay”.

Amelia let go of Oliver’s throat, got up, “You don’t know that.” She walked to her bed and sat. “You don’t know anything.”

Looking at the staples running down her forearm, she cursed herself. “How did you know I’d use the south gate?”

Oliver coughed, but didn’t try to move. “Give me a little credit, your highness. I’ve basically been your shadow for the last three years.” His voice was hoarse and every word out of his mouth felt like hot coals down his throat. “I was bound to pick a few things about you here and there.” Oliver shot a weak smile to Amelia.

She avoided Oliver’s gaze as she spoke. “I guess you’ll have to find a new job. I hear the stable needs a new hand.” She tried to be funny but it sounded force. Almost pained. All she could do to hold back more tears was focus on her arm. 

Amelia and her father had made a deal. It wasn’t much, and she would ultimately have to yield to his will, but it gave her some “freedom”. She could run her own life, even if it was just for three years. Once she turned eighteen, Amelia had to marry.

Running away went against she’d been brought up to believe. One must always honor their promises, her father had always told her. Honer was for knights, kings, but not for her. Not for a woman. King Robert needed to keep his promises, even if it meant selling his only daughter for political gain.

Oliver got up, slowly, and sat next to Amelia. He no longer cared if the spot he chose was bloody. “Get some rest, Amelia. You can clean up tomorrow.”

“He arrives tomorrow.” she hadn’t bothered to look at him. She climbed under the bloody covers and waited for Oliver to leave so she could at least cry comfortably.

Sir Oliver of His Majesty’s Royal Knights never left Amelia, Princess of The Empirical Constellation of Chase. She was forced to sob quietly until day break.

Her Spirit

Artificial lights. Dimmed. A twin bed with silk sheets. All that’s missing is the beautiful damsel. Too bad she’s not use to the finer things in life. No, she sits in a corner of the small room, a pensive look on her face. She doesn’t look a day over 18 because she isn’t.

Dr. Quinn unlocks the door separating the ancient beauty and herself. The beautiful damsel rises to her feet, the motion smooth, as smooth as the silk sheets.

“It’s okay,” Dr. Quinn’s voice is small, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The damsel smiles, “oh, really?”

“Okay, bad choice of words.” The doctor comes in the room and shots the door behind her. “Well, I could hurt you, if you decided to make a wrong move.”

“UV lightbulbs behind the phosphorescent ones. Impressive.” the damsel moves to the bed. “What really took me back were the sprinklers. Holly water. Next you’ll be pulling back your lab coat to reveal a wooden dagger attached to your hip.”

Dr. Hellen Quinn smirks. “Maybe we made a mistake. You’re way to retro to be the real thing.”

Hellen doesn’t have to blink before the other woman in the room appears in front of her. The doctor isn’t impressed with the woman’s ability. She just takes a step back and reaches for the syringe in her pocket and a pair of gloves.

“It wasn’t my intention to offend you, miss?” Hellen snaps the gloves on, looking at the woman right in the eyes.

“Names are powerful things, Dr. Quinn.” The women seems to materialize on the small bed. She runs her hands seductively over the sheets. “You can call me Bobbles for now.”

“Is that your stripper name?” Dr. Quinn doesn’t try to hold back a laugh. “Bobbles? Even a stripper wouldn’t sink that low!”

Both women shared a laugh. Bobbles was a ridiculous name.

“Your kind’s been out in the open, as much as they can be, for decades now. What are you so afraid of?” Hellen sits next to the woman and rolls up her sleeve.

The women wasn’t wearing much when she got picked up. A black t-shirt with a washed out print of Jack Skellington and some very old pair of tan capris pants. She wore not jewelry, asides from a neckless of two intertwined leaves. Her hair is short and a shade of black that could have a name like “Nightmare Sleek”. No make up, but her face is flawless. The perfect model of this century’s idea of beauty.

“Old habits die hard.” The women doesn’t even flinch as Dr. Quinn pierces her pale skins to draw a blood sample.

“This doesn’t have to be harder than it already is.” Hellen finished up and rolls down the woman’s sleeve again.

The ancient beauty looks straight ahead as she talks. Her worlds hard, her tone harder. “You mean it can get worse than the chemical scrub down.”

Wearing a white uniform that can only be described as having it’s roots in the janitorial design, the woman looks at the doctor. “I don’t say another word until I get my leaves back.”

“Good, I need to take this to the lab anyway.” Dr. Hellen Quinn gets up and walks towards the door. Before she slips out, she whispers ever so softly. “don’t go anywhere now.”

A sinister smile spreads on the woman’s face, knowing she has her job cut of for her. She might as well have fun if she was being processed.

“I couldn’t imagine you having my spirit in stock, could I?”

Hellen stopped short of closing the door. She picked her head back in, “I don’t know. Do you have expensive taste?”

The beautiful, ancient damsel leaned back on the bed, silk entangling in her fingers.

“Underage virgin. Redhead if it’s not too much to ask.”

Remember

I don’t remember meeting her. I remember her brilliant green eyes, her crooked smile. Her love of horror movies and roller-coasters. 

I know I lover her, more than rainy days and good books. I know she loved move, in her own way. I know we went on a first date, had a first kiss, and had sex for the first time, I just don’t remember any of it.

I only have one memory of her. My favorite memory. Laying in the snow after making snow angles. Her red nose, her warm breath in the chilly January air. The way she looked at me, her eyes slightly covered by her bangs, which stuck out awkwardly from under her hat.

It took me years to remember the finer details of that afternoon after the pills. How her eyes got wide with surprise, and a bit of guilt, when she managed to hit me right in the face with a snowball. There’s just so many pills that fill the space between that afternoon in January and right now.

I know I have to take them, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them. Hate is strong word, but I hate the pills. Not only do they take my memories, burry them in the dark corners of my mind, but they make me feel less like me.

Even in the beginning, the pills covered me in a milky shroud. Covering everything, it makes it hard to think, feel, even breath. Everything is just a little harder when I’m on the pills. 

I’m all there, but the shroud makes it hard for me to show it. The pills keep my delusions away, but as a result, I’m trapped inside my self. No way of getting out, no way of letting the world around me know that I am here. Alive, whether my shell of a body shows it or not.

But in my mind, I try to remember the two great years I got with Gina before I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Two years might not seem like a lot, but I know they’re worth remembering. It would be easier to remember of Gina was alive.

Sunrise

One thousand, two hundred and seventy five days after their departure, things started to change.

The headaches where the first things to show up. They were mild, and easily forgotten or overlooked at first. But they soon became blinding, head slitting aches that got worse as time progressed. It was like the pain caused by high pitched squeals. The slightest light would cause her horrifying pain. Blinding her for most of the day. Causing blood to throb in her head, like someone pounding at a heavy, wooden door with all their might. Eventually, she had to sleep during the day, under heavy covers, to avoid discomfort. She had to become nocturnal, like the beautiful owls her father had told her about in childhood.

On day one thousand, three hundred and five, while drinking water, something more horrifying happened. Drops of blood swirled in her glass. Blood filled her mouth, her jaw ached, and her teeth started to fall out. One by one, they seemed to just detach themselves from her gums. She could no longer eat. After the seventh tooth left her mouth, she wouldn’t even open her mouth. All she could do was swallow her own blood. It was terribly hard at first, to swallow mouthfuls of blood mixed with saliva. And when a tooth come off, she had to swallow it as well. As repulsive as it was, the pain of moving her jaw was even more off-putting. The sharp, bitter pain would shot up from her jaw, into her face and down her throat. She imagined that was what drowning felt like.

Other things changed as well. Things that were unsettling in different ways.

Her breast began to swell. They were sore and would not fit in her old dresses. Her waist went in the other direction. It seemed to get smaller and smaller as the days passed by. She knew this was because she had stopped eating, but her stomach did not ask for food. It made no noise at all. And her hair did not dry out or became frail. As a matter of fact, it became thicker, darker, and it was as shinny as her mother’s ever was. She grew pale, her skin seemed to take on a porcelain glow.

 On day one thousand, three hundred and sixty-five, new teeth started to come in. The new teeth were sharper than canines, and by this time, her gums had healed over. Her mouth began to fill with blood again, but this time, it was from teeth coming in, cutting open her gums, not falling out. And fortunately, this new pain was numbing, less off-putting than the last.

One hundred and thirty five days letter, her mouth stopped aching, her breast no longer felt swollen, and her stomach stopped shrinking, yet still didn’t ask for food. She looked like a porcelain doll, now having to wear her mother’s more elegant dresses.

On day one thousand, five hundred and three, as she waited patiently by the door for her parents, the moon light streaming through the window, playing with the dust in the house, she remembered something her mother had told her before she and her father departed. That day now seemed so long ago, she wondered how she could remembered anything at all.

“One last thing, Grace,” her mother’s sweet voice echoed in the empty house. “If we don’t come back before sunrise tomorrow, don’t wait for us. Just carry on.”

No matter how hard she tried, how hard she concentrated on that day, she couldn’t remember anything else about it. Just her mother, saying those unsettling things to her before walking through the threshold of their home, closing the door to never be seen again.

It took Grace one full cycle of the moon to even admit it to herself. She’s lost count of the days since her mother and father left for the small town across the river to get supplies. 

She was sitting under the full moon when she finally said it out loud. “They are never coming back.” A single tear streamed down her face and a long forgotten feeling arouse from the pit of her stomach. It started as a small seed, but it grew with a fevered hunger.

Hunger. That was the feeling growing inside Grace. Hunger, a hunger like she’d never known before. A hunger that made her break out in a cold sweat, made her heart pound in her chest. A hunger that fueled a fire in her veins.

It was then, under the full moon and the cool breeze, that Grace remembered her father’s last words to her. She heard his cold, hard voice in her head. But there was something more to his voice. A warm smile after his words.

“Drown it in blood, Grace, but never, never, cross the river to feed”