The week after was the hardest.
At least by day three after we’d put you in the ground, they’d stopped talking about you.
But me – I couldn’t forget.
Jenica. Jenica. Jenica.
Your name pulsed through me like it was the only thing keeping me alive.
Jenica. Jenica. Jenica.
I had all my AP Science classes in the morning, which usually kept my mind off of it.
Jenica.
I had my courses at the community college this afternoon, where Mrs. Turnblat would drive me over in the school van. Which would also keep my mind off of it.
But not today.
I was trying to remember just what class I had, what I was going to – I stood in the middle of the high school hallway by the lockers, numb.
“Jenna!”
Jenna. Jenica. Two sides of the same coin, you’d said. Your long, brown bangs falling, drifting down over an eye just so. Just right.
“Jenna, what are you doing?” Clarissa Ochoa stood before me, arms laden with books. Her hand popped up and pushed her glasses back up her nose.
I ran a hand through my short, blonde hair. Short, cropped, efficient. “I – I – I don’t know.”
And I didn’t know. I was off. I’d gotten the body parts last night, you see. Dug them all up. And no one had to know, did they?
“Well, geeze, don’t just stand there. Come on! Mr. V’s taking attendance already.” Clarissa grabbed my arm, pulling me down the hallway to Advanced Biology.
You see, it wasn’t your fault.
None of it was.
Most of it was mine.
I was the one who couldn’t think fast enough, work hard enough, solve, get results.
You. You were a crazy, glimmering star that shouldn’t go out. You always insisted that was me.
That I was the smart one. The best one. That I was going to cure leukemia one day. But I didn’t want to cure leukemia.
What I wanted to cure was you.
And it would have been fine.
It. Would. Have. Been. Fine.
I’d run all the tests that you thought were extraneous; I’d taken all the blood samples that you called redundant.
I’d run them all. And I was so close.
I thumped my science text down onto the black polyurethane table in Mr. Veeson’s room. I didn’t have time to be here. I had things to do.
Jenna Fitzpatrick didn’t have time to be here.
“Jenna. Jenna!” I looked down to see Clarissa looking up at me like I’d lost a neuron. “Sit down.”
I realized I was still standing, hands on the table, and sat. Above all things I needed – I needed to keep calm. Be normal.
I was deep into problem #56, section E when she asked. I knew it was inevitable.
Someone would ask.
“So Jenna, are you going to Homecoming?”
Are. You. Going. To. Homecoming.
The very bane of my existence for the last three months of my life.
The look I gave her must have told her as much, because she stumbled, words choppy and erratic, “I – I mean, you don’t have to have a date or anything. You could go with friends.”
Friends. Jenica.
You were my only friend.
“Oh crap. God. I am screwing this up so bad… I just – I just meant that, well, I’m going with a bunch of the guys from Chess Club and I’m sure you know them, so I mean, you could come along with us, too. If you wanted.”
I gave her a longer look before turning back to my word problem. I heard Clarissa sigh.
I waited until the last bell rang to leave and go home. Hard as it was, it had to be done. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to draw attention.
At home, I quietly opened the door. Noise was already blaring through the stereo. Something about being born in the back of a Greyhound bus or something equally as idiotic.
As you know, I don’t put too much stock in my parents. If I’d had to guess I would say I had been adopted. There was no way the combination of the two of them could make up someone as intellectually superior as myself.
I immediately headed down into the basement, just like always. My rooms. My sanctum. And then I turned on the music.
It was a habit I couldn’t quit.
A hanger-on of my upbringing that I just couldn’t seem to switch off no matter how hard I tried.
Partially in defiance and partially because it was the only thing I liked – the music was always the same. A two-disc set I had discovered in sixth grade. “Nothing Has Changed” by David Bowie.
It was exactly two hundred and thirty-four minutes long and comprised of fifty-one songs, and I knew every single word, tone change, and timbre.
Listening to it was the only way I ever got any work done.
Bent over my laptop, I opened my iTunes library – it was the only thing in my iTunes library – and hit play. Start at the beginning.
Always the beginning.
As the first strains of “Sue” hit, I headed into my pristine bathroom to scrub up. I found myself mumbling the words as I soaped up.
I dried my hands and put on my apron and gloves then headed over to the Deepfreeze. My parents didn’t know I had a Deepfreeze. And they were probably too stupid to look at the electrical bill. I’d bought it with money they’d given me for my advanced course books. I already had enough of my own saved, so no one noticed a thing when I used their money to help buy it.
When I bought it for you. The lid cracked open with a satisfying crunch of crystallized ice. Carefully, I removed my work for today. Something easy, uncomplicated. I walked your leg over to the table, cradled in my arms. Well, I guess you could say your new leg.
I worked tirelessly, suturing, cutting, affixing. Only interrupted when mother called down the stairs – at least one idea about leaving me alone had sunken into her dense brain – announcing supper.
When I returned I was nearly finished.
The next day at school was torture. All I could think of were the million more stitches I needed to add. The array of chemicals I’d amassed on my nightstand, ready to use, the plethora of electrodes I’d –
“Jenna! Hey Jenna!” Clarissa bounced down the hall interrupting my concentration, as she was wont to do.
“Clarissa.”
“Have you decided if you’re going to Homecoming with us?”
“Can’t.”
“Can’t why?”
“I have a date.”
“A date?! You’re bringing an actual date?!” And at the same time it was and it wasn’t what I’d meant. It was an ephemeral ideologue and a stolid, hefty truth. I left her with no response.
And by now I know what you’re thinking. Exactly what you would say. About the promise. About our promise.
But out here in the real world things aren’t always about you, are they? And sometimes things happen differently than you’d planned. So I want you to think of it this way – as a deviation in the plan. A detour, if you will.
I know what you told me that day in the hospital. I could never forget a word you said, every word of yours etched so clearly into my heart that they shine in the silver moonlight. But the thing is, even though I said what I said – even though I promised – and such a promise! I hold those binds high in my mind, steady as the sun and you know this, but what you made me promise that day – what you made me forsake, give up – I couldn’t do.
There was no way I could honor your words and I knew it as soon as I said them. I should have reneged. I should have told you.
But at the time, I knew those poisonous words coming from my mouth would give you peace.
And so I said them.
And let you believe them.
I hope you can forgive me.
Two months prior:
Jenna walked into the hospital room, clutching a small spray of brightly colored daisies. She was ill at ease here, everything there was familiar, well loved, but now – now just behind this door, behind the hanging plastic curtain was something new, something she didn’t want to see.
She swallowed and crept around the light blue curtain. A girl with long brown hair is lying back against white pillows, watching the autumn sky outside of the windows.
“J – Jenica?”
Jenica turns on the bed; her face is both serene and pale. She smiles. “Jenna! It’s good to see you. Daisies? You know I love daises.” Jenna shyly moves toward the hospital bed. “Could you put them in the vase over there?” Jenica weakly raises an arm pointing toward the gathering of flowers and cards in the windowsill. Swallowing, Jenna walks over and places her small bouquet in an empty vase. “Thank you. Come. Sit.”
Jenna moves to the bed and carefully sits just beside the small lumps in the sheet where Jenica’s legs are.
“Jenna, don’t look so sad. You’ll make me sad.”
Jenna swallows again; she still hasn’t looked at Jenica. “I can’t, I can’t help it.”
Jenica laughs. “If there’s anyone I know who can shove a bunch of analytical thinking into a situation and not emote about it, it’s you.”
“But I – but I can’t!”
Jenica sucks in her lip and reaches out. She can’t quite reach Jenna and her arm falls to the sheets, inches short. Jenna notices and reaches out to her hand. Jenica squeezes it.
“I’ve been trying, Jenica, really. I’ve been looking, and working and I just can’t – I can’t find anything to help.”
“You don’t need to help me,” Jenica smiles.
“I do! Don’t you understand! I do! If I just had more time, just a little bit more –”
“Jenna, there isn’t more time. This is it.”
Jenna looks at Jenica, eyes wide and scared. “But it doesn’t have to be! I’ve been so close!”
“I’ve had plenty of time, Jenna. More than others, and it’s been filled. It’s been lovely and wonderful.” She squeezes Jenna’s hand again, “you’ve been wonderful. And I’m so proud of you, so proud of everything you’ve done, everything you will do. But I don’t think this was in the cards.”
“But – ”
Jenica smiles sadly.
“But, Jenica! If it wasn’t for the accident, I could have – I could have…”
“There was nothing you could do.” Jenica’s eyes drift down to her leg beneath the sheets. “There was nothing –”
“There was! I don’t understand why you even went with him! Why you got on that stupid – that stupid four-wheeler! If you’d never had an accident you would have been fine, we would have had more time!”
“Jenna, we’ve talked about it. Many times. It doesn’t matter. We both knew this day was coming, we both knew this was how it would end. I’ve been sick. The whole time, I’ve been sick. The accident, it doesn’t matter. It’s in the past, I just want you to come and live with me here, in the present, for a while. Be with me here, Jenna.”
Shaking, Jenna turns away, her head down. She sniffles, but refuses to turn to Jenica.
“Jenna, I need you to stop looking in the past, stop going there. It’s done. Keep the good memories and stop over thinking. Maybe the accident sped things up, maybe it didn’t. It doesn’t matter. I need you here. And I need you to move on.” Jenna turns back, her eyes red and desolate. Jenica squeezes her hand again. “We knew we’d be here.” She smiles, “I need you to promise me something, Jenna. I want you to promise to let this go, if you love me, let it die. You need to let me go. I can’t be here just because you say so.”
Jenna’s face falls, “Jenica, I –”
“Promise me. If you love me, promise me, you’ll let this go. I’m not the only reason for your experiments. I know you’ve got it in there. There are so many others who could benefit from what you can do. I don’t blame you for not being able to help me.”
“Jenica, I –” Jenna’s breath hitches, “I promise.”
“You promise?” Jenica leans back against the pillows as if exhausted from a fight.
“I promise.”
The night of Homecoming:
I just want you back. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to have you back. And you must know that.
“Space Oddity” sang through the speakers. Outside, the world was dark and quiet. Even my parents had for some reason decided to go out for the evening.
“Ground control to Major Tom,” I lifted the large needle and it glinted in the lights. I pulled the thick, black thread taunt. “Take your protein pills and put your helmet on!”
“This is ground control to Major Tom, you’ve really made the grade! And the papers want to know whose shirts you weaaar!” Clipping the last thread I moved away. Making my way over to the generators I had lugged down here earlier.
“For heeeeeeeere, am I sitting in a tin can, faaaaaaar above the worrrrrrrld!” Just as the song reached the clapping part – my favorite part – I clapped and move over to the wall plugs. On the fourth clap I shoved the big plug into the wall, flipping the switch. The generators began to hum and shake on the floor. Everything was connected, everything should be working. I notice my hands are shaking. A feeling that had never affected me before surging through my system.
The generators clack. You lay on my worktable. Well, most of you. Due to decomposition and the ravages of disease, I’d had to scrounge for parts across a few counties. But I feel that you’ll like each piece I’ve added.
I step toward the worktable. You lie covered with a blanket, the blue one with Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man on it that you always liked. It seemed fitting.
Your head had lolled back again, and your eyes still surrounded by that deep purple bruising, and sunken, even after I had scraped out all of the glue and the props from the funeral home. I’d like to apologize also because I’m sure you’ll notice right away that those aren’t your eyes, you may not know, but the gelatinous parts are usually the first to go – and just, well, there wasn’t enough to save. I hope you like the new ones, I tried to get as close to your favorite color as I could.
I make one last check on the electrodes before striding back to the generators, singing, “your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong. Can you hear me Major Tom?”
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?” I flip the switch on the last generator and it surges to life. Sparks fly, scattering against the floor, which I’d already been ready for, it was just concrete after all.
“Can you hear me, Major Tom?” I danced over to the table. You shook, jumping as the cables and electrodes filled the room with a smoky smell. The clapping part came again and I twirled, clapping as you jerked again against the table’s restraints.
I wanted to reach out and touch you, comfort you, but it would have been volts upon volts of electricity, so of course I couldn’t. You jerked again, brown hair spilling over the table. I didn’t really know how to put it up how you liked it, and it had sprung from the ponytail I’d put it in.
You lurched, teeth clacking, your head jerked up and slammed down.
“See, Jenica? I won’t let you die. I’ll save you,” I whispered.
You thrust forward, mouth flying open, eyes wide. Air rasped into your lungs with a sound like shredding paper and I ran to the generators, ripping the plugs from the wall. You lay gasping, a fish out of water, as I scrambled to release the restraints.
“Jenica? Jencia!” My fingers trembled with the buckles. Behind me, on the doors of my closet hung the dress – your dress, the long, pink, fluffy one that I’d helped you pick out months earlier.
I struggled with the shackles around your feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw you sit up. I turned to face you. “Jenica!”
Your face rotated to me, the bit of grave rot I still couldn’t remove from your cheek clinging like a diseased black fern underneath your eye. Your skin pale, as it had been in life, but tinged now with a green like curdled milk. And in your eyes I saw something I would never have imagined – horror.
Your mouth opened, the sound of your gasping like breath scraping over bones, emitting as you spoke, “Juh – juh – ehn –nah.”
Songs:
Let It Die – Starset
Space Oddity – David Bowie
Everything was a game when we started.
Well, what passed for a game – what I thought was a game.
Lizbeth had always been bringing back creepy, homespun stories, black books stuffed with magic, rabbit’s feet. And I, I observed as she presented these offerings to the pyre of my disbelief.
When Lizbeth bounded over after school, hand fisted, I knew she had another secret.
“Geana! Geeeee-na!” she called, bodily smacking into me, even though I had watched her entire approach. Her dark skin warm against my cold, paleness.
“What?” I stepped back, removing her curled, ebony hair from my face.
“You are never going to guess.”
I was already tired of guessing.
“I know you’re not going to guess, so I’ll tell you!” she smiled, ebullient, the twist of her lip into her left dimple a thing of rapture.
I waited for the inevitable. A ghost. A bigfoot sighting. A golem. A vampire on the internet.
“I’ve got…THIS,” Lizbeth waved a small, tattered paper in my face.
This, as far as I could tell, consisted of a piece of paper that looked like it had been torn out of Jacob Smythe’s crusty, desicated notebook. “And it is?” I asked.
“Mirror magic!” she whispered, eyes wild with holiness.
After school on Friday, Lizbeth had acquired the paper on Thursday, we met at my house. We usually met at my house, partly for convenience, partly because Lizbeth couldn’t fathom ever telling her Episcopal mother how far she’d slid into the bowels of witchcraft.
Not that we actually got any witchcraft done. Usually anything Lizbeth discovered was a complete dud. And so we knelt on the mottled wooden floor of my room, the paper spread before us: Lizbeth euphoric, I, much less so.
“It’s really real this time, I’m sure of it,” Lizbeth crouched by the paper, quietly holding her breath as if the mere suggestion of her own mortality might ruin the paper’s desired effect.
“It looks like something you dug out of a trash can.”
“I did not!” Lizbeth replied, her hand flying to her chest, “I told you I found it in one of Ms. Holstead’s books.”
I glared at her over the paper some more. Not that her answer didn’t seem legitimate, Ms. Holstead had a lot of books in her room, and a lot of them seemed quite ancient. I’d spent many eighth periods in there trying to loose myself in those dusty covers while the rest of Drama class pretended they knew what dramatic re-enactment meant.
“Well, okay, whatever,” I rolled my eyes, trying to play cool, but the fact was, something about that yellowed paper unnerved me.
“Oh come on, get with it, G. We’ve got magic to do,” she good-naturedly jostled against my shoulder, scooting in front of the full-length mirror hung on the back of my closet door.
“Fine, fine,” I settled in for the inescapable boredom of crap, made-up, fake magic.
Lizbeth cleared her throat, eyes closed, before squaring her shoulders and turning a solemn face to the mirror. Her hair only slightly frizzed out from the thick braid trailing down her back. “Merry mirror, merry-”
I couldn’t help it. “Oh god, Lizbeth. This is stupid.”
Her eyebrows dropped angrily before her dark chocolate eyes found mine. “This is not stupid, Geana.”
I flopped backwards onto the floorboards, “Yes, it is. When has this ever been actual magic? When has it ever actually worked?”
“It works,” her voice spiked, before falling, first-snowfall soft, “maybe if someone believed in it.”
I made a condescending noise from the ground.
“Well?” she sounded cross.
When I looked up, she glared down at me like I was the entire problem. Not that fact that we weren’t witches, or that magic didn’t exist, or that her magical words were written on a scrap of bathroom tissue from 1978.
She continued, “if you don’t want to do it, we don’t have to do it, but Jesus, quit acting like you’re my Aunt being denied her welfare check.”
I leveled her with a gaze, but she looked equally, if not more, pissed off than I, so instead I propped myself up on my hands. “Look, Lizbeth, I-”
“Save it, Carter.”
She only called me Carter when she was really mad. I looked at her forehead, the set of her hands – she was really mad. “God, I’m sorry, Lizbeth,” I let out a heavy breath, “okay, let’s do this. I’m in. I’m here.”
“You sure?” She asked, an eyebrow quirked.
“I’m sure.” I scooted back into position in front of the closet mirror. It was old and cracked, spattered blackness beneath the surface where the mirror had been shattered and worn. The outside edge was covered with stickers of fat, cherubic, fairies – something my younger sister and I had done one afternoon years ago. Even looking squint-eyed at the mirror couldn’t make it any more magical.
Lizbeth cleared her throat again, situating herself. I got halfway through an eye roll before I caught myself. I sighed and stared straight ahead, watching our normal girl reflections in the normal mirror, surrounded by normal winged, fat baby stickers.
“Merry mirror, merry mirror,” Lizbeth intoned, eyes darting from the mirror’s pedestrian surface to the faded paper unrolled on the floor in front of us. “Show us how we truly appear.”
I managed to wait a full two seconds before going “wooo” and waggling my fingers in her face.
“Oh god, Jesus, Geana, stop it!” She swatted ineffectually at me.
I sat back, laughing. “Dude, chill. It’s not like it worked, anyway,” I leaned back on my hands, watching the way her braid shifted over the back of her sundress. I noticed a pile of dirty clothes shoved into the corner of my room. “None of these things work, man. We’ve been doing this forever and has any single one of those things worked? No. N. O. I mean-”
“Geana, shut up,” her words were clipped, said through clenched teeth.
That startled me enough to lean closer, “Lizbeth? You all right?”
“Geana, I said shut up. Look.” Her eyes were hooked on something in front of her.
I looked. When my eyes came up, the world was dazzled with colors. The picture frame of the mirror before us infused with them as they ran, oil slick across the mirror’s surface. I couldn’t help but stare. “What? What is it?”
“Magic,” Lizbeth breathed.
Before us the mirror rippled and pooled, a lake of water tipped impossibly onto its side. Rainbows spilling light into my bedroom.
“Lizbeth, I-”
“Shh!”
The rainbow slick stilled, became a mirror surface once again, cool and clear, crystalized water. When we saw them, I first thought they were our reflections. But the longer I looked, the more apparent it became they were not. Their shadows shone, filled with light, their bodies a muted version. Crisp. Flawless. One reached out a hand, a perfect, ivory statue of Lizbeth, yin to her yang.
I watched, dread filling my stomach, as she leaned forward.
“Lizbeth! Lizbeth, what are you -?”
But she was gone, as quickly as she had stretched toward the mirror, the shadow had somehow snatched her and vanished.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I looked to the floor where she had sat, moments before. Then back to the mirror.
Inside, an ebony replica followed my movements, just enough off so I knew it wasn’t me. Its moved neck slowly, a sensual stretch, looking, searching. As if it knew I had no choice. It knew there was only one way to go.
When the pitch black monster that wore my face stretched our her hand, I grasped it.
Leaning forward, I took my first breath of glass.
Viola was on her way to give out the last ring, the seventh, when she found herself having thoughts.
Or rather, she had been having these thoughts since about the fifth ring, but they hadn’t really coalesced and smashed into her until now.
She didn’t want to give away the ring.
Viola worked for a man named Dr. Pritchard. Supposedly he was one of the Chemistry professors on Meadowford Campus, but in all actuality, Viola wasn’t sure what he was other than her boss. She knew the plan, she had known the plan for a long, long time. Almost nearly as long as she had been helping Dr. Pritchard as his teacher’s aide. She was supposed to be earning her college degree, instead she was beginning the apocalypse.
There were seven rings in total, one for each high level demon, or so Dr. Pritchard had told her. She was to dole out the rings over the period of a month, just enough time for no one to become suspicious, but not enough that it would take too long.
And the process was quick.
Dr. Pritchard would give Viola a ring, a name, and one piece of advice.
Do not put on the ring.
Which was harder advice to follow than it seemed. Each ring was beautiful in its own, terrible way. One had vines that twisted and curled like snakes, but when you looked closer, you would notice they had never moved. Another bore a large opaque jewel. This one had especially attracted Viola, until she had noticed the jewel winking at her.
And so she gave the rings away.
Seven rings to seven unsuspecting souls.
Except she couldn’t find the seventh.
Part of her wondered if she was just not looking hard enough. The rings had started their dirty work of “cleansing” their host bodies so when the demons came they would have nice, pristine, human suits waiting for them. Each ring flashing like a bright red label to the demon of choice.
After she had given the fifth to a third year boy, Clarence Booth, she had ended up close enough to see the effects of the third. Perhaps it was a coincidence that the first ring bearer had been in the same building at the same time as Clarence. Perhaps not, but when the small girl doubled over retching bright green bile and black, viscous sludge; Viola had found herself horrified. The sight haunted her. As days passed, more and more she heard tales of students buckling over to puke their intestines out onto the floor. And the thoughts chilled her.
All the rings had gone to students at the college. For some reason though, Viola was having trouble finding one person - Elizabeth Burton.
Viola dutifully made her way into the small brick science building. The inner corridor was not spacious, but the way the ceiling soared up into the second floor made it seem larger than life. She quickly went up the set of stairs to the second floor and down a long hallway past doors of heavy, dark wood to find Dr. Pritchard’s office.
She tapped the door with a knuckle and eased it open. “Dr. Pritchard?”
“Oh! Viola! Come in! Come in!” Dr. Pritchard sat behind his desk, rifling through a filing cabinet. He was a rotund, elderly gentleman with small round glasses and a short beard. He stood on his tiptoes to reach into the drawer and pull out paper after paper, only to decide they weren’t right and place them back in. “And how are things going?”
Viola wasn’t sure what to say. She brought all of her limbs closer together in an effort to appear smaller. But what good would that do? She was already small and she had obviously been seen. There was nothing left to do but speak. “I - I can’t find her, Dr. Pritchard.”
“Can’t find her? Can’t find her?” Dr. Pritchard had a habit of repeating himself in conversation every time he was otherwise occupied.
“The girl, Elizabeth.”
“What? Are you sure? Viola, I’ve never had any of this trouble from you. You’re such a quick, intelligent assistant, nothing like that last one. Damn ingrate.” Dr. Pritchard was still burrowed in the cabinet as if her revelation wasn’t important. Wasn’t the biggest happening. Wasn’t the final, seventh ring. Wasn’t the one key left before they cracked open the world. “I’m sure you’re just confused about her schedule or something like that, maybe stop off at the registrar and see if she can get you - um, me - a copy of it.”
“I’m telling you, Dr.Pritchard. I’ve looked everywhere. I already have her schedule and she’s not on it. I don’t know what’s wrong!”
Dr. Pritchard finally turned and let the cabinet fend for itself. “You’re sure?” His voice was low and tense.
Viola’s eyes were wide, she could feel her face making an expression she wasn’t familiar with. “I’m sure! I don’t know where she is! I’ve looked everywhere! Talked to her friends! I’ve even tried to get her phone number -“
“And you’re sure she’s not here?” Dr. Pritchard’s hard gaze was worse than him raising his voice. “You’ve looked everywhere?”
Viola nodded hastily, not sure she could trust her voice.
With a deep sigh, Dr. Pritchard slumped into his desk chair. When he spoke it was slow and deliberate. “You do know - you do realize - that this is very important, Viola? You do realize that Elizabeth is supposed to be ready for Samael in less than five days? Five days, Viola. Five days and he’s going to blaze up here and not have a vessel!”
“I - I know.” Viola said.
“Viola.” Dr. Pritchard said as his eyes bore into her face. “I’m going to need you to put on the ring.”
A jolt of shock zipped up Viola’s spine. “What? What do you mean? It’s not my ring, its Elizabeth’s. The ring is only for her, she’s the only person who can wear it. She was handpicked!” She could feel her voice becoming shrill with panic the longer she spoke, so she quickly stopped.
“I know.” Dr. Pritchard rubbed a large hand over his face. “But we’ve got to do something and we’re going to run out of time.” His firm gaze again found her. “You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, you’re smart and strong, I know you can do this. Samael is going to need someone strong. I need you to put on the ring.”
Viola stumbled out of the science building, her head swimming. She reached out a trembling hand to steady herself as she sat down on the concrete steps.
The ring. She was supposed to wear the ring.
She brought it out of her pocket and studied it. The ring was plain, a little larger than what most women would choose to wear. It looked more like a man’s wedding ring than anything else. The outside was tarnished, but in the middle she could see the dull shine of metal once brilliant. She shivered.
Half of her had hoped that this would have been the end, that somehow Dr. Pritchard would just say, ‘okay! That didn’t work, so I guess we’ll have to cancel all the demons and the razing of the humans after all!’, but deep, deep in heart where she was afraid to look, she knew he wouldn’t.
And now she would have to wear the ring.
She would put on the metal and a few days later curl over in agony to puke out green and black slime until she could barely stand up. After days of sickness, everyone would assume she had died, because technically she would, and then be taken to the morgue. Somewhere along the line, someone - she wasn’t sure who else was working with them - would come along and bring her corpse back to the science building. And there - there in the deep, dark hallows of the basement - something inhuman would crawl in and take over.
She’d seen them afterwards and they’d always startled her. Bodies she had met a few days or weeks earlier, now walking around with something else glittering inside. Of course, Dr. Pritchard always made them call whoever was important and suddenly reappear in society as if nothing had gone wrong. She didn’t know how he did it. But there on campus, she could see them, a few monsters walking among the humans, waiting for their chance to strike.
There were others, too. Smaller, lesser demons. Some were here already, some were not. They didn’t need as much help and care in their entry. They zoomed in whenever they pleased and seemed to take whoever they pleased as a vessel. The lesser demons weren’t anything like the big seven. She knew most of them: the smaller, lesser demons. They treated her with slightly less respect than Dr. Pritchard, but they left her alone and for that she was thankful.
Viola turned the piece of metal over in her hands.
There was no way she was going to put it on. A sharp icicle of fear shot to her core when she thought about what would happen if she didn’t, but she had seen enough to know she didn’t want that ring on her hand.
A few days later, she was helping Dr. Pritchard prepare one of the seven for the new demon. His name was Garklingel or something, she had been so worried about hiding her naked hands she hadn’t taken time to commit it to memory. Besides, she was fairly sure she wouldn’t need to, her insubordination had already put her on the fast train to not being around for the ‘big celebration’ after the world burned. She felt safer now after she had pulled on lilac plastic gloves so she and the doctor could scrub away at the corpse’s limbs. The naked body of a boy was laid out on the table in front of them.
“Viola, how are things going?” The doctor’s voice was muffled by his beard and the paper mask he wore over it.
“Hmm?” Viola’s eyes flashed up from the arm she was cleaning.
“The ring, dear. You’ve been wearing it for nearly three days now. I was wondering how you’re doing, I’ve never actually had someone I could talk to go through the process. I must say, my scientific mind is terribly excited.”
“Oh…” Viola’s voice quavered as she realized she would have to lie. Again. She’d been such a good girl before. Such a good helper. Good ol’ reliable Viola. And now her life was lies. “Umm…. it seems to be going fine? I guess I felt a little queasy this morning?”
Dr. Pritchard nodded, his eyes still on the corpse on the table. With a finishing flourish, he drew a last line on the boy’s chest. “There.”
Viola stepped back, her violet gloved hands held awkwardly behind her thighs. Dr. Pritchard raised a hand and slapped it down on the dead flesh. With the slap of his impact, the corpse’s eyes flew open to reveal inquisitive, slightly animal eyes.
The naked boy sat up, his eyes roving the dank basement.
“Hello, Garkool.” Dr. Pritchard said.
“Heh-low.” The boy said, as he fumbled to make his vocal cords work.
“Welcome to earth!” Dr. Pritchard was grinning, Viola could see it even through his paper mask. The dead boy’s head turned extremely slowly until he was looking right at her.
Viola held still against the wall as the boy’s empty gaze searched her to decide what she was there for. His eyebrows lowered and he emitted a low growl, moving on the tabletop toward her. She saw the corner of his mouth hook up in a snarl.
“Oop! No, no, no!” Dr. Pritchard hurried around the table to stand near Viola. He pulled his paper mask down. “Not her, sir. This is my assistant Viola. My most important advisor and now - Samael’s vessel!” Dr. Pritchard grinned and slipped an arm about her like that last part had been some big accomplishment. The boy’s snarl faded a bit but he still looked at Viola in a way that made her feel uneasy. “Come! Come!” Dr. Pritchard said, walking right up to the naked boy. “Let’s go get you something you can actually eat!”
Viola watched the two of them walk across the basement to another room. She slowly lifted her hands and realized they were shaking.
Viola returned to the science building three days later triumphant. The sun was high in the sky, bright and warm. She had spent the last few days chugging ipecac and food coloring in an attempt to look like something was happening. It had certainly made her puke, but Dr. Pritchard seemed more disgusted by her sickness in his presence than excited. All that time, the heavy, metal ring remained safely in her pocket.
Today, she whizzed her small car into the closest parking spot and ran around to the other side. She hefted an unconscious woman out of her passenger seat and began to drag her toward the science building. Excited and frenzied, she remembered just before she reached the door to reach into her pocket and remove the ring. She jammed it onto the first of the woman’s fingers she saw close enough. Grinning like a fool, Viola pushed open the door to the science center.
The sight that greeted her was not familiar.
The building itself was the same. It was the same dark wood, the same ceiling soaring upwards into the rafters. However, the inside of the building looked faded. Darker, as if everything lay coated in a shadow of dust.
Greeting her at the door was someone she had seen before. “Gar-Garkool.” She stumbled over the name, panic rising in her throat. The boy continued to stare at her as if she was merely an annoying bug. “I’m here to see Dr. Pritchard. I - I found Elizabeth!” She hefted the girl’s limp body. Garkool only sneered as if he smelled something rank, but he moved out of the way so she could enter.
Once she was past him she could see that the entryway was littered with people, all of them with the same half-dead eyes - demons. They were packed in shoulder to shoulder, so close some of them could barely move. She continued forward, avoiding looking around her. When she finally looked up she saw Dr. Pritchard standing at the top of the stairs, flanked by five of the seven. Garkool closed the door behind her.
“Dr. Pritchard! Dr. Pritchard! I-“ found her. The rest of the sentence died in her mouth when she saw his expression.
“Viola, I have a question, and you will answer me truthfully.” Dr. Pritchard’s words were clipped, angry. Viola stood quietly, the weight of the other girl beginning to drag on her small frame. “I deliberately told you to wear the seventh ring, have you worn the ring?”
Viola swallowed and held up the girl’s limp hand. “But I found Elizabeth! I found her! She’s the true vessel!”
“Viola, you did not answer my question.”
Viola quaked. Around her stood tens, hundreds of demons, all waiting for word from someone or something. She had been the trusted advisor, the diligent assistant, all that time she was off limits. But now? “I - I … doctor, you have to understand, I -“
“Viola.” The doctor said her name like a curse. “I cannot believe that you would do such a thing, preform such a betrayal.” The darkness in the room somehow intensified. Almost as if the air itself was angry. It seemed as if the blackness in the room would coalesce into a raging thunderstorm. “Samael has been here for three days!” Dr. Pritchard angrily gestured to the ceiling where the blackness swelled and ebbed. “And he tells me there is no where to go! No one was prepared for him!”
“But I found - I found Elizabeth!” Viola let the woman’s body drop to the floor. Blonde hair spread out like a fan.
“It does not matter!” Dr. Pritchard spat the words. Walking to the very edge of the stairs as he shook his fist. “What matters was that I trusted you! I put my faith in you - a person who has never once let me down - and now, here we are with two unprepared vessels and a very important lieutenant without anywhere to rest! The apocalypse is today! TODAY, VIOLA!”
Viola shrunk under his vitriol.
Dr. Pritchard thundered down the stairs and touched Elizabeth’s outstretched arm. “I suppose she will have to do, perhaps I can hurry the process along. But you!” He turned to Viola, rage twisting his friendly face into unfamiliarity. “You will not be joining us! You will be going with Mr. Jory here and I expect to never see you again.” Dr. Pritchard stooped to gather Elizabeth in his arms, turning at last to Viola, he spat. “Good riddance!”
Viola stood rooted in shock, until she heard a scrape from behind her. When she looked she saw a middle-aged man step from the ranks of demons, his grin already curled up toward his eyes in a way that wasn’t humanely possible. Then she noticed his fingers had all lengthened into sharp, blade like claws.
“No…” She whispered. “NO!” The word ripped from her mouth and her feet were moving faster than she knew they could. Viola flew up the stairs, underneath the reaching arms of demons and humans. “DR. PRITCHARD! DR. PRITCHARD!” She screamed as she dove and thrashed through the unwieldy human bodies of six of the seven. She watched as Dr. Pritchard slowly carried Elizabeth down the hallway.
She slipped, skittering on the floor, narrowly avoiding the drooling mouth of Garkool, and skated, wheeling her arms. She ran after the doctor screaming. When she arrived at his office, the door was closed. She wrenched it open and threw herself inside, slapping back against the door to hold it shut. Outside animals growled and gnashed their teeth, she could hear claws scraping the wood.
“What?” Dr. Pritchard asked turning, seeing her, his face darkened. “Viola, I have no more need for a traitorous advisor, please see yourself out.”
“But Dr. Pritchard! I can explain.”
Dr. Pritchard shook his head, disappointedly. The room began to fill with a thin fog, the door behind Viola’s back bucked with the combined effort of the demons outside.
“I CAN EXPLAIN!” She screamed. The door smacked against the frame, the crunch of wood horribly audible. “I didn’t wear the ring! Yes, yes! I didn’t wear it but that was because I couldn’t! I couldn’t! Don’t you see? The ring was for Elizabeth, she was chosen! I wasn’t! I wasn’t ready, I wasn’t the chosen one! If I would have worn the ring do you really think we would win? Do you think we would stand a chance with my second-tier body holding the most powerful demon in the world? Shouldn’t he have the chosen? He deserves the best!” Viola gasped. The door shook and cracked ominously behind her. The fog had thickened to become a black soup, becoming almost unbreathable. She looked across the desk to Dr. Pritchard, her eyes pleading.
“Viola…” Dr. Pritchard looked at her, a mixture of sadness and anger warring on his face. Before he could finish, the wooden door shrieked as it was torn from its frame and Viola was sucked out into the hallway.
An hour later, maybe more, maybe less, Dr. Pritchard quickly stumbled into the basement. His small feet were almost no match for his girth. “Stop! Stop!” He yelled, coming to rest behind a lengthy demon with long, razor sharp fingers. “You have to stop!” He panted. The demon turned to look at Dr. Pritchard with unfeeling eyes. Finally he moved away so that Dr. Pritchard could see the huddled shape in front of him.
Dr. Pritchard sunk to his knees by the form. “Viola! Viola!” He scraped ineffectually at her outfit, grabbing aimlessly to find something to prop her up. The form on the floor remained silent and limp. The doctor finally leaned the body against him. He reached to turn her face towards him. Then drew back with audible shock.
“doctor…?” The voice was small, coming from blood encrusted lips. Above her nose and lips, two blood filled orbs gazed.
“What? What? Oh god…” Dr. Pritchard recoiled in horror, yet held onto the girl tenderly.
The clawed demon spoke, obviously displeased. “I only had enough time to get to her eyelids so far, but she went blind half-way through.”
“Oh god… Oh god… I’m so sorry!” Dr. Pritchard began to rock back and forth uncontrollably. His hands scrambled over Viola’s hair, a stilted action of comfort as he tried to avoid looking at her gore smeared face. “I’m sorry! You were right! You were right!”
Viola stood near Dr. Pritchard on a stage of some sort, she could tell they were above others, but not what they were on or where it was. A breeze blew hot against her cheek and she brushed stray hairs away from her white eye bandages. She knew the demons were there beside her. Since losing her sight, she had learned she could smell them - a nose-wrinkling odor of sulfur and burning wood. As she stood near one of the seven, she could hear Dr. Pritchard speaking and also the demon known as Samael, now safe inside Elizabeth’s body.
Viola sighed heavily. As she thought to herself, at least now I won’t have to watch the world burn.
Well, I’m dead.
Literally, dead.
When word gets out about this it will be all over, literally and figuratively, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it.
Maybe I should start at the beginning.
My name is William, but I go by Will. And when I first met Amy, it was in the graveyard. Yes, you read that right. I met her in the graveyard. Which was not on purpose and was not me being a weird stalker. Well, okay, it is kind of more of the last one… Anyway, I was crouched there, sitting on my favorite headstone. If you’re anything like my mother was, you’re going to be all “William! What are you doing seated on that headstone!? How disrespectful!”
But really, I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, Mr. Mathieson’s headstone is the comfiest thing in this place. It’s also my favorite. It’s got a tiny little etching of a saxophone on it. I never knew Mr. Mathieson, but I imagine him being a pretty cool guy.
Anyway, off topic.
I was in Graceland Cemetery. It was afternoon, dusk starts early in the Midwest somewhere around the end of September, first of October. It was probably only five or six p.m., but there were shadows stretching out, curling their fingers through nooks and cranies. The sky was tinged a brilliant orange. Just over the horizon it looked like the whole world was burning. I’d seen so many sunsets it was impossible to remember them all, but I wished I had a camera to take a picture of the blaze.
The trees had just realized summer was gone and were regretfully offering their crinkled, crunchy leaves to the earth. There was a smell of fire and smoke. Possibly there was actual fire and smoke. A lot of people have those metal fire pits now. As I watched everything fade into the deep purples of sunset, a cloud of crows took to the sky. Their ragged voices calling out over the expanse of silence. And that’s the first time I saw Amy.
Amy was weird. I hadn’t even met her yet and I could tell from thirty-some feet away that Amy was weird. She was wearing some kind of giant black duster. Like she was John Wayne or one of those guys on the front of Jim Butcher’s books. It was swirling around in the wind. God, there was always wind. And frankly, if she had been any smaller, the coat probably would have balloned her from the ground and blown her to Kansas. Despite this, she was crunching her way forward. Her whole body screamed determination. When she reached her destination, a tombstone on the edge of a hill, she dropped. It was as if everything was sapped from her at that particular spot, she fell like a stone. I wondered who she was visiting.
Those are the only people who come in here. Visitors. No one comes to stay. To hang out, to chat. There’s nothing alive in a graveyard. The graveyard sometimes appears to even take something from the people who come here. I waited until she’d left, her coat billowing up to carry her out of the gates, to go read the inscription. Phong, Jeep and Marcie. A couple, and both on the same death date. If that didn’t make for a depressing visit, I don’t know what does.
She returned the next day just as I was finishing up dinner. It was a bit old, and quite frankly tasted like McDonald’s, and I despise McDonald’s; so I was glad for the distraction. This time she had left the duster home. The peacoat was a big improvement, as she knelt again at the grave I could see she was wearing a short skirt and some ripped up tights. I didn’t quite get the tights, but the outfit was better overall.
She sat silently, much as she had before, but this time I sidled up to her. I didn’t usually do this. Didn’t want to be a creep, but something about her just stood out to me. If you’ll excuse the expression, she was like the light at the end of the tunnel. I just couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. I tried to position myself in a way as to make myself less threatening and creepy, even going so far as to skirt the hill to walk up in front of her. But there’s just really no way to pick up girls at dusk next to the grave of someone they know that isn’t creepy, you know what I mean?
So I feigned nonchalance and loped up the hill. I approached her from the front and called out right away, so at least she’d know I was there.
“Hey!”
Her head popped up over the grey stone. Her eyes were raccooned in black. Oh, she was one of those girls. I wondered briefly if the grave was even someone she knew. She continued to stare at me silently, so I had to keep up the conversation myself. “Um, hey, I saw you over here and I just had to, um, say hi?”
I would be lying to you if I said that wasn’t the lamest thing that has ever come out of my mouth. I thought she wasn’t going to respond, she seemed intent on staring me down. Finally, she stood up, hands jammed into her pockets.
“Hi…” She let the word trail like she wasn’t sure of the best way to untangle herself from this situation. Some weird lanky stranger hitting on her in the graveyard.
“I, uh, like your outfit.” I gestured to her skirt and tights combo.
“Thanks.” She said, eyes still wary.
I wasn’t really sure what I had come over to accomplish. I didn’t have any sort of end game in mind. I had met her, but now what? “My name’s Will, Will Abernathy.” I stuck with neutral, offered my hand.
She slowly removed a gloved hand from her pocket. “Amy. Just Amy.”
“Nice to meet you, Just Amy. I’ve seen you around in here a couple of times.” Play it smooth.
“You in here a lot?” Her demeanor wasn’t threatened, but her face was twisted into a sneer.
There was no way I could reply to that truthfully. “Some.” I shrugged my shoulders, stuffing my own hands into pockets.
Her black-rimmed eyes found mine. “Well, Will Abernathy, this had been riveting, but I have to get going.”
There wasn’t anything I could think of to keep her there so I had to let her go for the moment. “Okay. I’ll see you around, Amy.”
She waved a black-gloved hand as she headed back through the cemetery.
Over the next few days, she continued to come to the cemetery. She continued to stare at the Phongs’ headstone and I continued to try and continue our conversation. It was Friday when she surprised me by speaking first. I was hanging out with Mr. Mathieson again, sitting cross-legged checking out the cars whizzing past. Everyone moves so fast these days. Like there’s really anything out there you need to get to that quickly. But in a way, I can understand it. You only have so long to experience the world, you know? Better cram in what you can, while you can.
I was jerked out of my philosophizing by a jab to the back. “Hey.”
I whipped my head around to see Amy standing below me. Today she had on a hooded cape. It was something I would have imagined Red Riding Hood wearing, except it was black. “Isn’t that disrespectful? Should you be sitting on there?”
I slid down the cold granite. “Mr. Mathieson and I have a mutual understanding.”
“Oh yeah?” Her tone dripped sarcasm.
“Yeah.” I dusted off my jeans. I actually didn’t have a clue. Had never met the man, so I left it at that.
“I brought something.” She hefted a large backpack. “I thought we could watch a movie.”
“A movie?”
“Well, sort of, it’s a TV show.”
It turned out she had brought along “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”. Was a die-hard fan. Knew almost all the lines, even sang the songs when we got to the musical episode in season six. That first night we sat between some large headstones, leaning against one of my personal favorites, “Bruce Wayne”. She offered me some flavored popcorn. I declined. It was cheddar, of which I’ve never been a fan, and I could never get the kernels out of my teeth.
She even went so far as to cuddle in close to me. I could tell she liked me; for what, I didn’t know. The whole experience just left me feeling like there was a hole punched through my chest. We met, night after night, and watched our way through the characters’ lives. I felt for them in ways I thought I couldn’t feel again. And all the time, her soft, warm body pressed closer and closer to my own.
After we had watched our fill for the night, we always sat talking underneath the cold autumn skies. The stars blazed down. One night she asked me what my favorite movie was. It had been ages since I’d seen one. I wanted to tell her my favorite was “Sweeney Todd”, but that could have gotten awkward. Especially when she saw me drooling over Johnny Depp about half-way through. So instead I told her it was “Heathers”. She showed up with a copy of it the next night and we plugged it into her portable player.
She said she enjoyed my dark sense of humor. I told her I mostly enjoyed Winona Ryder.
She punched me in the arm, and while I was still reeling from the shock of it, she kissed me. She was like warm sunshine, or butter on toast. Warm and melty. I wanted to drink her in. But she must have either scared or embarrassed herself. She was gone almost as soon as I registered the press of her lips. And so I spent another night, cold and alone.
When I saw her next, it had snowed. I still owned only a sweatshirt, no winter coat, so I shivered in the cold. I was sitting by a marble angel adorning one of the oldest residents of the cemetery. The headstone was so worn I couldn’t even read the name, but the angel was friendly. And near the small duck pond.
It had frozen over and small piles of snow were whisking their way across the mirror mask of it’s surface. All the ducks and geese were gone. Everyone left when the weather got bad. I shivered again. The Midwestern wind cut through the thick fabric of my zip-up hoodie like it wasn’t even there. Amy trudged up the hill covered in more layers than I had ever imagined she owned.
“Hey. So, we should maybe go inside today. Did you know it’s negative fifteen with wind chill?”
I hadn’t. I shivered again. I could feel the cells in my face starting to solidify and crack. I was fairly certain that wasn’t going to happen, but it sure felt like it.
We hot footed it about six blocks to the mall. We practically ran into the welcoming doors of Barnes & Noble. The warmth surged over me and I saw a red flush spread over Amy’s cheeks. She was so beautiful. So fresh and cold. She giggled. “You look like you’re about to die.”
I laughed nervously and flicked a hand through my hair. We made our way to the small coffee shop. Amy ordered us drinks, a hot chocolate for herself, a plain latte with soy milk for me. I couldn’t stand the regular milk right now, it would be too thick. Remind me of too many things.
She held my hand as we walked through the store. I had never felt so happy. She made me feel things I thought had died long ago. There was a traitor here in my chest. And I couldn’t help it. The whole world sparkled.
Everything was dripping with Christmas. Decorations hung from the rafters, huge boughs laden with evergreen, ribbons, and large christmas globes. Ribbons festooned storefronts and in the middle of it all, a huge Santa’s village where sticky children could get their pictures taken with a Saint Nicholas impersonator.
We passed stores where I saw things I never believed would become fashionable, and styles I was sure would have died out long ago. I made her go into the leather store, even though she protested and told me she couldn’t stand the store, she was a vegan. The smell of the store was overpowering. It was almost too much like sweat and blood, but I needed something to keep out the cold. I bought a thick leather duster. Amy seemed to appreciate the final effect, even if she didn’t appreciate the store itself.
We had to go back fairly soon after that. It was all the fluorescent lights. I couldn’t take it.
Back at the cemetery I showed her how to sneak into one of the mausoleums. I used this one quite a bit, so there was some of my stuff in there, but not enough for anyone to notice. But all the same, it was the closest thing to feeling like I was home. I pulled out a few candles and we sat talking. Amy scooted her way over to me, her eyes grazing the inside of the mausoleum. It was to be expected, not many living people had ever been inside one. She kissed me and leaned against my shoulder looking around our small space. She tasted like honey. My fingers were twining through her dark, straight hair; my mouth inches from the languid pulse of her neck when she stiffened.
“Will?” She whispered.
“Yes?” I hissed into her ear. I wanted to lick her skin, to taste her.
“What’s your middle name?”
Her pulse was speeding up now, I could almost feel it throbbing through her neck. She smelled like Dove soap and something fruity I thought might be raspberries.
“James.” It was out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. She was out of my arms and scrambling towards the door before the thought had fully descended on me. I hit the dusty floor, face to face with it.
William James Abernathy
Beloved son, taken too soon
1972- 1988
She slammed through the crypt door and I rushed after her into the white silence of the snow.
I yelled for her. My voice ringing through the snow-blanketed silence. I could smell her even now, she was still here.
I yelled once more but she didn’t reply. I couldn’t believe I had been so stupid. I could have picked literally any other mausoleum in the cemetery. I could have taken her to the Jorgenson one up the hill, or even the LaFluer’s. I could get into all of them. But instead, I’d picked that one. The family plot. Take her home to meet Mom and Pop. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid.
I crouched in the soft snow, the black duster swirling to disturb the snowflakes into a whirling miasma. I had to catch her. There was no other way now.
I leapt headstones until I found her curled up behind “Bruce Wayne”. Like he’d do anything to help her. Everyone here was dead.
Seeing her crouched down and shivering in the snow made my heart break. Even without beating, it could still break. But my mouth was full of saliva, it was almost running down my chin. Soon I’d look like a slavering idiot.
“Amy!” I called to her from the top of a nearby grave. She flinched and crunched herself into a smaller ball. She was shaking, from the lowering temperatures or fear, I couldn’t tell.
I jumped down to touch her and she flinched away. I knelt down by her. “Amy, I -”
The words were ripped from my mouth as she slammed me across the face with a piece of wood. Somewhere she had picked up a large stick. She scrambled to her feet above me as I touched my mouth and wiped away the blood. She held the stick out like a sword.
“You stay away! STAY AWAY!”
“Amy.” I moved towards her, took the thick branch from her like a child’s toy. I reached out to her and she started to cry, her mascara running down her face in black rivers. “Amy.” I was so close to her now, could smell every piece of her. The soap. The blood. The fear.
She began to struggle again. I held her fast and in the heat of the moment, I sank my fangs into her neck. She thrashed against me, I could feel the blood pounding through her veins. I couldn’t tell why I was doing it. I hadn’t meant to do it. If only she could have calmed down. But she tasted just like honey and sunshine.
As her body fell lifelessly to the snow, I knew they’d come for me.
I stood over her, watching a few small drops bloom across the snow.
She was so beautiful.
And all I could do was harm.
I always thought it was just one of her quirks. Like how she always used big words I didn’t know, or when she laughed too hard she would start snorting, or even how she often told me about her theory about how all the other dimensions were stacked on top of ours. Like you could just be walking on day in the park, and at the same time invisibly stepping through someone’s refrigerator, a deserted wasteland, and a galaxy far, far away all at once.
The first time she’d told me we were in study hall. I was pen to paper trying to finish my English assignment and stop noticing how her hair shone in the cafeteria lights. How her skin glowed. She didn’t have homework. She never had homework. “If you believe,” She said. “If you believe, you can do anything.”
I grunted some sort of assent, trying to find a past participle.
“I’m serious.” She said. Her hair was like waves of honey caressing her tanned shoulders. I wanted to touch it, curl my fingers through it. “If there’s something, anything, you can believe so strongly your faith can’t be shaken, you can do it.”
I believed. I had believed for a long time. It had gotten me nowhere. Her lips pursed like bubblegum as she tilted her face to the ceiling.
“Anything is possible.”
“Like what?” I chewed the end of my pen. Past participle.
“Anything. Levitation. Mind reading. Flight.”
“Hmm.”
I was noncommittal. The bell rang.
We always walked home together. Had since grade school. She possessed every piece of charm that small blonde hellion had first met me with. She swayed, her arms flowing in a ropy, crocheted sweater. Dancing to a song I couldn’t hope to hear.
“Anything! Just think, anything! I could fly in the sky. Can you imagine flying?”
I imagined it would be akin to holding her face in my hands.
“Can you imagine spreading your wings and jumping? Nothing to hold you back?”
Her lips would taste of caramel, I was sure of it. Her honey-colored hair would flow over my fingers, cascading into my arms.
“Jack? Can you hear it?”
Her body against mine would create a heat unlike anything I’d felt before. Her skin would burn against my own, a heat deadly and perfect.
“The train.” She said. Yes, I nodded, I could hear the train. We were at the railroad crossing. “I believe, Jack. I believe.”
“Believe what?” I surfaced from drowning in her freckled skin.
“The train, Jack. I can do it. I can make it.”
My eyes wouldn’t focus. I was caught somewhere between dreaming and waking. My throat was thick. “What? Jennifer.”
“The train. I can jump. I’ll make it.”
“What? No. You can’t!” The train rounded the corner. I could see it streaming. Hammering. A million pounds of fast. “You can’t jump the train. Jennifer!”
She raised her hands to the sky. Her eyes were hooded. Her breath left her in a secret gasp, too intimate for the pebbled track we stood on. “I can make it. I believe, Jack! I BELIEVE!”
She jumped.
The train slammed through the crossing.
And all I saw was her soul, the brilliant shining white of her.
Speedo mower
Why do you do this?
Flabby rolls, and old man wrinkles
Out for all the wolrld to see
Dread the summer, dread the heat
Not you
You’re out there in your vinyl seat
Green grass flying high in the air
You look like you’re wearing only underwear
People drive by, stop and stare
Good thing we’re not along the freeway
You could get arrested for indecent exposure
Not that it would ruin your composure
When the sun goes down
You go inside
Thank god, we can finally let the children out.
Ugh…. Summer. You’ve killed me. Hopefully I will be able to have a little more time once all the kids get back in school.
