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Nightmares Waking

  • Posted on September 1, 2014 at 12:12 pm

My world is full of monsters. Everyone I pass is monstrous in one way or another. Some with single eyes, some with mouths too large for their faces. Some are different all together, put together like china dolls strung out too large over bones that don’t fit right. Some aren’t even remotely close to human-shaped, but instead are massive creatures with scales and teeth that hiss when I come too close. My world is full of creatures that look like nightmares, except my nightmares are only ever filled with pink-and-brown-and-yellow-skinned people like me, who have two eyes, and one nose, and one mouth.

The monster people are nice, most of the time. One helps me pick up the worksheets I’ve dropped, the claws scratching some of the answers out for my students. Later, one opens the door to my apartment building for me, with writhing tentacles covered in vein-y thorns. However, I shudder when the principal walks by, smiling at me with his thin lips, those normal straight teeth, the brown glasses over his wrinkled eyes. Something about him sits wrong with me.

In the mirror, I see only myself, my plain dark hair twisted into a bun, my shirt and skirt over my too-thick-body. My face is set in a frown, as always, lips plump if glossed, too serious. My eyes have dark bags under them, but not the way the monster down the hall has, with heavy lids hanging down. No, my eyes are normal, and dull, and human. Perhaps that’s why I hate them so. When everyone else is monstrous and hard to look at, why are my eyes alone human?

The bunny rabbit on my bed, a childhood treasure, tells me that I’m beautiful, and that I would look very nice in a coffin. He reminds me that there are sixty two pills in my pill-bottle, and that I should use the refill my doctor gave me, so that I have even more, just in case. I sigh, heavily, because going to the market is like trekking through the jungle. If someone talks to me, I’ll get that tight, taught feeling in my chest again, like someone has reached in, and is squeezing my heart with their ragged claws.

I leave for the supermarket. Every step is a painful reminder of how much my body doesn’t want me to go. I’m desperate and hungry, so I continue to push myself toward the market. I wait, nervous, as the woman with no eyes, and a mouth too large for her cheeks, filled with needle-sharp teeth, fills my prescription There is a frond dangling from her head, blinking in the light, like some subterranean fish. Her nails are lacquered pink and white with flowers when she hands the bag to me.  I pay with a debit card that I can’t remember the code to, until I think about the rabbit sitting on my bed, and then I remember.

Going home, I sit at the table, counting the pills once more. My rabbit sits next to me, it’s stitched eyes black and beady. I do not place any of the pills on my tongue. I count them, slow. I put the lid on the bottle, and pull up a notepad on my computer. Typing comes second nature to me now. I’ve been a teacher far too long, not to know how to type without looking at the keyboard. Who knows what my little monsters are up to, if I don’t keep an eye on them. Notes, and the like.

I type out an agenda. Tomorrow night is the night I do it. The night I end this all, before I can ruin the world anymore with my rosey cheeks, and my two hands, and two eyes, and two ears. I have decided. After work, I shall go, and find a new dress, and get my hair done, as if I am going to a wonderful dinner. Then, when I get home, I shall cook myself something nice to eat, and have a glass of wine. I type these all down with little bullet points next to it, and then print it out.

In class the next day, the Dulsey twins refuse to use seperate desks. And why shouldn’t they? Bound together from the waist down, their bottom half a spiderly amalgamation of doll’s limbs, their upper halves naked of clothing and doll-jointed. The brother’s face is cracked, one eye hanging from it’s socket plaintively, by some kind of ribbon. The sister is the one whom looks at me, her face pale as ice, and her eyes dull as mine when I look in the mirrors. Her long hair is limp and tangled, reminding me of a doll I had seen in a window as a child.

For once, I let them sit however they wish. The bird child, the one with the razor sharp beak, and a head too large for his shoulders, caws out how unfair it is, but I pay no mind. He’s always chirping about one thing or another. One of the monsters is odd, a swirling whirlpool of water, with little ballons floating tethered to it. Her face is on the balloons, and when she’s upset, she makes an odd squeaking noise. Today, she makes that noise, and I have to stop class, and ask her to come outside with me. She refuses to tell me what is wrong, and why she is squeaking. Her balloon face looks at me oddly, as if I’ve said something strange. She asks if I am alright. I tell her to go sit back down. I shall have to call Mr. Snyder, her father, later, and ask if anything is going wrong at home.

Ah, no… No, I won’t. I smile when I remember that, and sit back at my desk. The jack-in-the-box boy punches the back of the seat of the teddybear wearing chains, and I have to tell him to move back. I wish I had the strength to deal with the boy’s father again. An overbearing monster with tusks and a pig’s snout, wearing a uniform like a military officer, and I hate speaking with him. Never again, I think to myself, and smile again.

The Heller girl, an odd thing made of rusty metal curled into beautiful shapes, like a peacock, who’s heart is a cage, fidgets. Inside, a little girl sobs and cries, and I can never reach that little girl and get her to speak, only ever does the peacock’s beak splutter and shout. I ask if she needs to use the bathroom. She does, and I let her go. When she comes back, she elbows the bird boy in the head,  and I have to send her out into the hall. I make her leave her cell phone, so that she isn’t texting. That way, it’s actually a punishment.

Having decided to end it all, I decide to skip my normal lesson. I feel light, for once, the ball of worry in my stomach gone, and I invite my little monsters to give me ideas for games we can play. Someone says Heads Up, Thumbs Down, which was a delight from my childhood. I agree, and allow the children to play, heads down, or what passes for them, anyway, and watch Nathan White, the mass of black flesh, tied up in chicken wire, with no head but a cloud of dark dreadlocks falling to the floor, go around, tapping the bird child’s thumb. Victoria Kingston taps the finger of Brie Snyder, which causes her balloon head to wobble oddly. At the end, when everyone has guessed, I call for the next round.

The school bell rings, and for once, the little monsters are sneering and laughing, sharp teeth on display for who knows what reason. I still feel light, and take out my to-do-list. I read off my first stop. A dress. Walking to the shopping mall in town takes twenty minutes. I find a beautiful dress there. Red, like I would never wear to work, with long sleeves made of lace, and a beautiful bow in back. The hips and skirt of the dress are tight, which does wonders for my figure, so I get it. I see Skip, the birdchild, with his grandmother. His grandmother seems determined to put him in a dress small and frilly. I’ve never understood why. I pass them by, without a word from either.

Next is my hair done. In the salon, while the girl is curling and tying my hair back, I see the mother of the bear-in-chains who sits in the third row of my class. Mrs. Tinderfoot is in uniform again, a police officer, sharp and steady. She’s chatting with the woman who owns the salon. I wonder if she knows how much her son shakes when he’s in my classroom? I think, for second, about asking her if she knows. And decide against it. I’d rather not have a black spot on my otherwise perfect day.

Once done, I smile into the mirror. The woman looking back at me is beautiful and dangerous. Not a monster at all, and for that, she is terrifying. I slide a five dollar bill into the maw of the creature who was just cutting my hair, and thank her. She chitters at me with a beak that doesn’t fit her face. Monsters everywhere, and I walk right past them on my very last day. I will no longer have to suffer this place. Never again, and it makes my heart sing. But as I walk back through the park, a sort of sadness sings through me as well.

I will never again get to see the sun set through the trees the way it is now. I stop, and enjoy it, and the fresh smell of sunshine fading away. I enjoy the soft touch of the wind, and revel in the slow crawl of the storm clouds headed my way. The wind is rising, now, and so, I pass through, heading instead for my room. Locking the door, I pull off my shoes. The bunny rabbit greets me, and I smile for it. It tells me my hair will look beautiful surrounded by funeral flowers. I agree.

I set the food to cooking, and when I have a moment, I change into the red dress. It fits just as it did in the store, and I wrap myself in it like armor. I feel invincible in this dress, and that guides my hand to take the bottle and set it next to my glass of red wine. Taking a second thought, I pick up the wine, and sip it. It tastes like something died in the bottle, or like it might have been fruit once. I put the wine glass down. The timer dings, and lets me know that food is ready. I serve myself, arranging the food as prettily as I can. I take a picture, and upload it. It’s the first post I’ve made in months, and within two minutes it has three likes.

It tastes like heaven, in my mouth. Warm and thoroughly cooked, and for once, I don’t feel the gnawing emptiness of hunger in my throat, and I don’t want to. I love this feeling, of being warm, and eating, and chewing. Something about the slow sensation of growing full… Ah, there’s nothing like it. I think about the last sunset I would ever see, and realize that this is the last meal I would ever eat. I have seconds. And then thirds. Without thinking, I put the food away in tupperware, so that some lucky officer  will get to finish it off when they find my body.

Then, I sit on my bed. The bunny rabbit is next to me, and I can see the rain pattering against the window in the dark now. I halt, as the streetlights make the water shimmer on the dark asphalt as it falls. This was the reason I moved into this apartment, years ago. I’d seen a view like this no where else, and I’d wanted to keep it. The beauty of rain in the dimness of night, made into cold sparkling stars falling to the earth all thanks to the lamplights the city keeps on for weary travellers. It makes the world into a whole different place, and I watch for a moment, before the bunny’s voice calls me back.

I count out pills. Five, for a breakup that happened two years ago, after he said that he couldn’t stand my negativity. The bunny pushes my glass closer, as I swallow them down. I count out three. Three for my mother who went on a trip to Cancun on my birthday. She’d been planning it for years, so I couldn’t be angry with her. She had quite the time. The pills go down like sorrow.

Four, for the day that my skirt ripped just before getting to work, and when I called in, my boss told me that I might as well not come in that day.

Two, for the weekend that I just couldn’t get out of bed. Not for food, not for drink. I’d slept all weekend. It had been the best vacation I’d had in years.

Seven for the cat I’d run over the last time I drove the car. I don’t own the car anymore. Driving makes my breath choke, and my heart clench painfully.

I’ve lost count now, and the world is slowly turning fuzzy. The clock ticks so loudly that I think it sounds like someone knocking. But I have no friends. And my mother lives two towns over. Who would bother visiting me? Ah, that’s another three. I can’t count anylonger, so the bunny counts for me.

It hurts. I’m dizzy and hot, and cold, all at the same time. My head aches, so I lay it down, my pillows not soft enough. The agony inside my body is nothing compared to the swirling nausea biting my throat. I press a hand tight to my chest, right where my heart is beating, and tell myself to sleep. I close my eyes, darkness thumping behind them,  and obey.

Nightmares2

 

– This particular story was written a long time ago, as the opening for a videogame I had planned on making. I still have the entirety of the videogame’s story in mind, and am thinking of making it a series of short stories.  Don’t worry, the next section has her revival, and her new purpose. Please, look forward to it!

In the meantime, do tell me what you think in the comments! If there’s a way I’ve misrepresented something, let me know. If you find this cathartic, or in any way something that you relate to, let me know that too!

Is He or Isn’t He (Human)?

  • Posted on April 11, 2014 at 1:38 pm

Today we discuss that ever famous trope, the one thing that makes every horror movie ever awesome, the one thing that turns fairytales from fairy to Faery tales, and the one thing that I absolutely adore when done right. When in doubt, use this particular cliche, because honestly, it never gets old! On Tvtropes.org they call it the Tomato in the Mirror. Personally, I like the fact that it can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere. Including yourself!

Is he human, or isn’t he? This goes for women too, but too often, we forget that men exist in fairy tales as anything other than the prince, or the rescuer. Or sometimes both. As one-dimensional as this is, some of the best  scares in the world, come from the idea that the person you are with is not who he says he is. So here’s a quick guide to whether or not your beau is in fact, human!

1) Salt! It is your best friend!

In most societies, Salt is considered a purifying presence. (maybe because of what it does to slugs, who knows.) People consider it pure and useful. In the old days, there was a saying “Worth his salt”. This was because back in those days, people were actually PAID in… You guessed it. Salt. It preserves meat, adds flavor, keeps rot away, and best of all, salt lining a doorstep or a window keeps the evil from entering a home. Supposedly.

The Pearl Princess
A Fairy Tale of the Value of Salt
Once upon a time, there lived a woman on the top of a mountain that lived in a cottage and had geese. In the
large nearby forest, she would pick grass for the geese and fruit to carry home. One morning, a handsome
young count came into her presence. He asked if she had no one to help her carry her things. She told him
that she was poor and had no one to help her and asked if he would be so kind since he was strong and tall.
He agreed but soon he was groaning under the weight. “These are so heavy, can we rest,” he asked? “No.
Go on a bit more,” she coaxed. ” He tried and tried to take the bundle from his back and found he could not.
He began to think she was a witch. As if she could read his thoughts, she tried to console him by saying:
“Don’t get angry. I will give you a present when we get to my home.”
Soon they arrived at her little cottage. It was a bit run down though neat and tidy. There was another women
there who asked: “Kind mother, you have stayed away for so long. You were missed.” “I met with this kind
gentleman, who carried my burden,” replied the old woman as she took the bundles from the Count. “Sir, you
may rest upon the bench. And you, little one, go inside the house lest he fall in love with you.” The Count
was somewhat surprised at the old woman’s comment. The girl was homely and old looking and he thought
love was an impossibility unless she was considerably younger.
The Count fell asleep. When he awakened the old woman was there ready to give him his reward for his
kindness of carrying her bundles. She placed an emerald green box in his hand and admonished him to take
good care of it. He put the unopened box into his pocket and left. He was unable to find his way out of the
forest even though he had been able to before. Finally, after three days, he came to a large town. He was
greeted by a guard that was instructed to take all strangers to the King and Queen.
He respectfully explained his situation: “Your Majesties, I am a Count. I have lost my way.” The King asked,
“How can you prove what you say?” The Count began to search his pockets and found the emerald box and
presented it to the Queen. Upon opening it she gasped in surprise and fainted. The guards seized the Count
and the King helped the Queen. As the Count was being taken away she awoke and asked that he be
released for she wished to talk to him…. alone.
Once alone the Queen began her sad tale. “I have three daughters. The youngest was rare and wonderful.
When she cried, pearls fell from her eyes instead of tears. One day, their Father, the King, decided to divide
his kingdom so he called our daughters before us. ” He said: “All of you love me. But she who loves me best
will receive the greatest part of the kingdom.” The Queen continued. “Each child giggled and said that she
loved her father best but was asked to tell how much. “The first daughter said that she loved her father as
much as the sweetest sugar. The second daughter said that she loved him as much as her prettiest dress.
Our youngest was quiet. The King asked her….”How much do you love me.” She replied, “I know not what to
compare my love to, Father.” He encouraged her and asked her to think again. “I do not like even the best
food without salt. Therefore, I love my father like salt.” He became angry not understanding the compliment
she had given him for salt is worth more than gold sometimes. “Like common salt,” he raged! He had the
kingdom divided between the two oldest daughters and placed a sack of salt upon her back and she was
lead into the forest by two guards. I begged him not to but he wouldn’t change his mind. I wept. She also
wept and the road to the forest was strewn with the pearls from her eyes. After a few days, the King regretted
his behavior and the soldiers were sent into the woods to find her. They could not. We have wept since.” And
so ended the Queen’s sad tale.”When I opened the emerald box, I saw the pearl that my daughter used to cry. Where did you get it” the Queen implored?

“In the forest, I met an old woman and carried some bundles to her home. I didn’t see a
beautiful princess.” When the King was told of this, the three of them returned to the forest to look for the old
woman.
She was in her cottage spinning with the homely child beside her. An owl came to the window and the old
woman said, “It’s time to go to the well.” Off she went deeper and deeper in to the forest. She brought up a
bucket of well water and began to wash her face. As she did so, the homely mask soon came off and in the
moonlight you could see she was the beautiful princess.
Meanwhile, the Count had strayed from the King and Queen and climbed a tree to find them. But what he did
see was the girl, a beautiful girl. He edged out further on the branch to secure a better look but the tree limb
creaked. The girl heard the noise and placed on her mask as she ran from the well. He recognized her as the
goose girl from the old woman’s cottage. He climbed down the tree as quickly as possible but the fair maiden
had disappeared.
He found the King and Queen and said, “I think I have just seen your daughter. She probably went down this
path.” The three went hurriedly down the path and came upon the old woman’s house. They peered in the
window and saw the old woman alone at her spinning wheel. They knocked softly and heard her response:
“Enter. I was expecting you.” They asked the old woman if she knew of her daughter, the Princess. The old
woman rose from her stool and pointed a finger to the King and said, “Three years ago, you unjustly drove
her away. She who was good, kind and pure as salt! She put out her hand, which was filled with salt and
asked, “do you know the value of salt and therefore the love your child has for you?”
The King expressed his sorrow and beseeched the old woman to show him his daughter. A door opened and
the Princess appeared. Everyone wept tears of joy but only the princess wept pearls. The King asked her
forgiveness and said that he had no kingdom left to divide and that he had nothing of worth to give to her.
The old woman said: “This child needs nothing. She is as the salt of the earth, pure, life giving and watched
over. Her pearls are finer than those of the sea and she shall always have them.”
Upon this comment, the old woman put up her hands and said that for the years the Princess spent tending
her geese, the cottage was hers to keep. The kindly woman disappeared and the cottage changed into a
beautiful palace.
In all of the commotion, the Count was overlooked and he began to go. The Queen stopped him and asked if
there was any way that they could repay him for finding their daughter. The King offered his gold, the Queen
offered the pearls. He looked at the Princess and asked if she would marry him. The Princess agreed…..
And they all lived happily ever after.

The Salt Institute

2) Sage. See Salt, because it’s the same situation. Purification properties, protection from those who might harm you. Wear it as perfume, and if he flinches away, he is evil! Or maybe just in possession of a nose, because honestly, Sage has a really pungent odor. But it can be used to purify a home of spirits. Especially useful when one wants to avoid the situation poor Violet’s situation on American Horror Story. Just light a bundle of sage and let it’s fragrance touch every corner of your house, and put a small + symbol over each door and window with the ashes, and you’ve got yourself a safe home.

3) Tiger’s Eye. This stone has often been touted as protective. Just Google It and you’ll find a plethora of options. You see, it resonates with your own protective barriers, if you’re the type of person to believe that all people have these psychic protections, and strengthens them. Wear a tigers eye on the subway, or when dealing with people you don’t particularly care for. Wear it at work to avoid being noticed by the boss when s/he is on a rampage! Hey, there ya go!

So go forward, forewarned and forearmed, and meet your beau with a tiger’s eye around your throat, and some salt in your fist! Make sure that lover isn’t there just for your lovely insides!

Thinking About His Companions – A deleted scene from The Sorcerer and the Swordsman

  • Posted on March 21, 2014 at 2:51 am

((This scene was deleted due to it’s repetitive nature when combined with other scenes in the book. However, it was a unique perspective and look at the characters from Yumil, the Sorcerer’s, point of view. Have a look!))

That night, Yumil did not join the large group for dinner, sitting apart instead, and eating a summoned apple. The silver haired princess clearly disliked his separating himself, as she stormed over to him pretty quickly. Looking up, he realized she had a bowl of food in her hand. Raising an eyebrow, he muttered a quick spell, freezing the food solid. She made an indescribable sound, glowered at him, and huffed her way back to the group.

Good riddance. Yumil didn’t exactly want to deal with her anyway. The smell of the sausage and hastily cooked rice was making his stomach queasy. He wasn’t sure if it was hunger or sickness, and he wasn’t taking a chance. His summoned food was more than enough for him.

Watches were established, and luckily, they had enough people for three per watch, two if Dirk excluded Jorgan, Lette and Yumil. Nights were dangerous on the plains, if one was unaware. Usually, dangerous beasts avoided fires and the sounds people made. But at night, when the fire is banked, and no one is moving about too much, some get curious at the smell of food, and come closer.

They never did have that problem. Yumil knew it was because of the creatures sleeping inside him. No self respecting animal would attack something more dangerous than itself unless it had to. And in this case, everything under the sun could tell that he was far more powerful than he appeared.

For his part, Yumil was attempting to avoid as many of the group as possible. Large groups made his skin crawl, almost as much as being alone with someone. He much preferred solitude, and this was not the place to get it. Luckily, few of the warriors they’d brought wanted to speak to him, his atrocities too near in their memories. That didn’t stop the child from staring at him, during the long trudging walk the horses took them on. Yumil raised a raven eyebrow at the male, and the child ducked his head. He couldn’t be more than twelve. Perhaps younger, even. His eyes though…. Something about them was familiar.

Taking another deep breath, Yumil turned away from the green eyed child, and towards his book. He had taken up reading again. During his apprenticeship, his master had instilled in him a love of books and all things to be read. Yumil had always had a natural sort of curiosity, something that made his horrid existence worse and better at the same time. Knowledge truly was power.

He couldn’t help but notice the princesses looking at him as well. The priestess obviously shared her mother’s view on his personality, since she kept sending him pitiful looks, and attempting to feed him of all things. Princess Lette was beginning to become a sore in his side, and he was attempting to think up ways to make her life hell without actually harming her. A bit of honey on her skin was good for her, and it would also attract ants like nothing else. Perhaps a few layers applied to her skin while she slept. Yes, that would work.

Princess Eamon was a whole different story. She was dangerous. Warrior through and through, Eamon would not hesitate to kill him. The only reason she had not killed him yet was because he was useful. God how he hated that word. But for now, it was his armor, his shield. They would not kill him, and that would give him time to break this damnable binding. He would foil that God one way or another, and have his revenge.

The voices in his blood spoke whispers of tearing him from his throne and rending his godly limbs into dust. Another hissed that he should do the same with these pitiful mortals. A third reminded him that he was immortal, infallible. He would be doing them justice.

He quieted the voices, the demons he’d taken into his heart, and settled them with whispered promises for the end of the world, the destruction of all those wicked souls they craved so much. He remembered his master whispering so to the darkness that was darker than his skin, the shadow shapes that swirled across his thin limbs like wraiths. Yumil was too vain for that, so he kept them in his heart, his blood, instead of his skin. Master hadn’t liked that. But he was dead, so what did his opinion matter?

Catching Dirk looking at him however, that was unsettling. The large man held his fate in his hands, and honestly, Yumil wasn’t sure whether he should cozy up to the man, or if he should make him more of an enemy. One way, he could end up worse even than he was as a child. The other, he might end up losing every ounce of freedom he currently claimed. Either option was enough to send chills down his spine and make him retreat into books rather than think on it any more.

The only point in Dirk’s favor was that he was clearly still the innocent that Yumil remembered. He sighed, letting the breath out with a long sigh. He didn’t care that the man had grown up. He didn’t care that Dirk might have had bad experiences because of what he’d done. The male was an innocent, the same as the children that Yumil had spared. Yumil would never regret sparing him. Although for a moment, on the battlefield, he’d felt a sting of betrayal that Dirk would turn against him so.

He remembered the look of abject hatred that had lived in Dirk’s eyes, and realized that perhaps that wasn’t the case any longer. How could he feel betrayed when it was clear that Yumil hadn’t wanted to save HIM, but rather, had simply wanted something or someone to champion. He felt that realization become a heavy weight on his heart, and pushed it away as firmly as he pushed away memories and thoughts of anything but his future revenge.

A-To-Z Theme Challenge

  • Posted on March 21, 2014 at 1:29 am

I am here to announce my theme for this year’s A-to-Z theme challenge, which I know you all have been anticipating with bated breath! As you all know, for the challenge, each participant must choose a theme for the entirety of April, and then post once each day with a post related to their theme. So, without further ado, my theme for April:

Fairytales

  • A is for Alice (in Wonderland)
  • Beauty and her Beast
  • Cinderella
  • Darling Mother Dearest
  • Eggs of the Golden Variety
  • Fairy Godmothers
  • Greener Pastures (for Goats)
  • Hansel and Gretel
  • Is He or Isn’t He (Human)?
  • Jack and the BeanStalk
  • Kraken in the Deep (or monsters just out of sight)
  • Ladies Locked in Towers
  • Milk Maid’s Dreams
  • Nightmares in Human Shape (Villains who do not seem villanous at first)
  • Open Mic Night at Disney
  • Princesses Dancing (Twelve of them!)
  • Queens: Are they so evil?
  • Rumpelstillskin
  • Snow White
  • Tristan and Ysolde
  • Under the Bridge
  • Vassilissa the Fair
  • Why the Youngest Son?
  • X-Rated Endings (not always the sexy kind)
  • Your Best Friend (the Mouse)
  • Zoloft for Fairytales

So join us for a romp through the themes and practices of Fairytales, and the minds that created them. You might learn something from my musings, or perhaps you’ll find a few of my little retellings interesting! Please leave comments and make sure to subscribe so that you can keep track!

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