Fixing Things

If there is one thing that I understand, it’s that things break.

It happens. Things wear out from use. Improper use wears pieces out. Weather, dust, and even sunlight can wear down things. There’s nothing wrong with things breaking, you just have to know how to fix them. That’s my job, fixing things.

And you should always try to fix broken things.

This world is not without limits, so we should make the most of what we have. Repair and replace and fix whenever we can. Almost everything can be fixed.

So, when society breaks, it should be fixed too.

Think of society as a machine where every person is a tiny piece. Every piece is important, though not essential, to making it run. Every piece serves a purpose. So long as all of the pieces are working, the machine can work well too. Even if some of the pieces don’t work completely perfectly, if they’re not hurting the machine’s ability to function that’s just fine.

But sometimes a part just…breaks.

In a machine as complex as society, when a piece truly breaks it can hurt the whole machine. You can try to fix the part, but some pieces are simply beyond repair. In any other machine, you could just take out the part and replace it. In society, the parts come back and they keep trying to hurt your machine. In society, you have to be willing to really remove that piece. You have to be willing to destroy that piece for the sake of your machine.

But all is not lost.

If you must remove a gear from your machine and you can’t use it as a gear anymore, it’s not junk. Everything can be re-purposed. Everything can have its place. One simply has to get creative. I am very creative.

That’s my job, fixing things.

Even the Stars Sing

The cool autumn breeze was a welcome reprieve from the summer heat as far as Amber was concerned. She sat, wrapped in a soft blanket, on the steps of the front porch. The night sky was clear and full of stars; the moon not yet full but still making an effort. Amber had lost track of how long she had been staring up at them.

The warm smell of cinnamon and nutmeg brought her attention back down to earth. She turned around as the screen door squeaked open and blinked at the Captain, his skeletal hands holding out a plate of pumpkin squares.
“The icing is melting,” she said.
The Captain looked down at the plate, as much as Amber could tell with his skeletal face. He replied, “aye, suppose you’re right.” He held out the plate and she could feel his smile. She nodded, taking it from him and setting it on her lap.

“You’re getting better at this,” she said. She took a deep breath, taking in the full sugary, spicy scent. She smiled. The Captain chuckled. “Thank you,” she said.

They both looked up as Scarlet pulled into the driveway on her motorcycle. Amber’s smile lingered as she watched.
“Lass?” The Captain asked. She turned and looked at him somewhat expectantly. “Did ya ever think this is how it would turn out?” She shook her head. He nodded. They looked back over to the now quiet driveway for a moment. “I’ll leave ya be, lass.”

The Captain headed back inside and as the screen door shut behind him, Scarlet sat down beside Amber on the porch.
“Welcome home,” Amber said, proffering the plate of sweets. Scarlet took one.
She took a bite and, mouth still full replied, “everything alright?”
Amber blinked at her then set down the plate. Scarlet smiled. Amber leaned her head onto Scarlet’s shoulder.
“Yes.”

Convergence: Part 1

At long last, she had found it. It had taken eons of searching but there was no mistaking the massive crystalline structure in front of her. She let her body materialize completely from the shadows and took in the sights with a true sense of awe. The crystals formed a palace of sorts, whole and round and protected. It sat alone, floating in an endless void. Pandora smiled and slunk back into the darkness.

Tabor woke up in a cold sweat. He rolled over and checked his alarm clock, relieved to find he hadn’t overslept. He had an hour or so that he could sleep if he wanted, but while the details of the nightmare he had awoken from were fading fast, the feeling of dread they had brought with still burned. His body felt heavy and exhausted. Had he even slept at all? He closed his eyes.

“It’s Tuesday,” he muttered. He stretched his jaw and forced a yawn. His mouth felt sticky. He sighed.
“Mrow,” called Bruiser from the other side of the bedroom door.
Tabor nodded. “Tuesday,” he said again. He let himself fall back asleep.

Epilogue: A Hard Truth

Marian picked a direction and started
walking. She didn’t care where she was going and she certainly didn’t
care what anyone else thought. They didn’t matter, at least not right
now.

The last day alone had been a lot to
process. Time blended together; nothing felt like it mattered. The
bloodstains on her clothes certainly didn’t.

Maybe she didn’t either.

It certainly didn’t feel like it. All
of the greatest people in Creations history was really a single
person, so why did anyone else matter? But at the same time, what a
torturous existence. Marian had a hard enough time with Sherwood’s
memories; she couldn’t imagine so many others. But all that separated
Merela, the Empress, and so many others from herself was that
eventually they remembered who they had once been. And if that was
the case, how could she have any sense of who she was? Even without
memories, old doubts had crept up into Marian’s head. Who was she
really? Should we be held to the responsibilities and the actions of
our pasts selves whether we remember or not?

It was too much. It would always be too
much.

She felt bad for the Empress, reliving
so many lives seemed like torture; the expectations felt like
punishment, at least to Marian. She wasn’t sure if she felt worse
about that, or about wishing that she could die and stay dead. That
perhaps she could find real peace and Creation could find a new way
to deal with the chaos that threatened it at every turn.

It felt unwise to rely on a single
soul. It felt unfair to anyone who earned their power and control in
the meantime.

She couldn’t make sense of her
feelings. Jealousy? Envy? Guilt? Fear? Anger? Sorrow? She wasn’t sure
if it mattered. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel worse or
better. Her stomach turned into a mass of knots. She wanted to lean
over in the snow and vomit, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She didn’t know what she wanted
anymore. She felt used and lied to. She felt broken and tired.

She wanted the best for her family, but
she no longer understood what that meant.

“This is stupid,” she finally said
to herself.

Twin Hearts

It is said that Lumethrys tricked her siblings into her own creation. She brought light and darkness together, cast them apart, inspired their games of hide and seek, and in all of this created herself: the sky.

She was her own canvas, awash with color whether day or night. She brought forth her brother’s pure light and turned it into something entirely new. And every day, she lay up in her domain, creating.

She stole from Dusamoore and sculpted the clouds. She stole light from Kaaos and dotted Erasil’s night with pictures and pinpricks. But most importantly, at least to Dutriss, she stole Dutriss’ heart.

Dutriss, small and quiet, drowned by her cousin Dusamoora’s beauty, had to take her joys where she could find them; and find them she did in all of Lumethry’s antics. From her lands she looked up at the sky in awe at the Majesty of it. Hers was a world of grey. Taendara, trying to help, painted her body with flowers, but such things were not truly hers. And she feared that Lumethrys would never notice her.

Even Dutriss’ stone, her heart of hearts, was dull compared to the other Gods. It was dull and colorless Quartz. It was “everywhere and meaningless” Dusamoore had claimed. “The best souls are coveted and rare.” Dutriss felt herself sink.

“She will never find you if you hide,” Taendara said. But Dutriss could not bring herself to listen.

Despite her tricks, Lumethrys was loved by her siblings. Erasil felt much less lonely at the addition of the stars to their sky, and Kaaos found the games to be quite fun. On one day he bestowed upon his sister a special light. “For your art,” he said. It was the brightest star she had ever seen and it filled her heart with joy. She hung it in the sky for all to see.

Until one night, it fell.

No one can agree on how, but Lumethrys blamed Dusamoora, claiming jealousy. The two fought, and storms raged over the world.

But Dutriss had found the light. It had fallen onto her in the night, but her voice was so quiet she could not tell even Dusamoore let alone Lumethrys. She took it, gently, and tried to call out, but the storms drowned out her cries. She stretched and reached and called out, but still could not be heard. She looked down. She had never been so high up. She held the light close to her heart and pushed herself upward, piercing through the clouds and crying out for Lumethrys.

The thunder quieted. Dusamoora paused in awe of Dutriss’ feat. Lumethrys paused in awe of Dutriss, her body aglow in a rainbow of colors. Pockets of quartz, once dull, shone with a thousand colors.

The rain stopped and Dutriss move her hands from her heart, holding the light out to Lumethrys. The colors stayed, much to everyone’s surprise, save for her heart: a clear crystalline quartz. Without taking her eyes off of Dutriss, Lumethrys apologized to Dusamoore before casting away the clouds and forcing the Goddex back into the sea. She moved forward and took the light from Dutriss, her own body shimmering into a rainbow of color.

“Thank you,” she said.
Dutriss stammered out her name. Lumethrys giggled.

And from then on the world had mountains, places where Dutriss could reach up and touch the art of her love. The earth became rich with color and the sky, in a show of love, would send new stars down to the earth.

The Adventure of Ippswitch

My friends, I have a tale for you
Of four young heroes, tried and true;
Of war and flame and fear
And of those who are no longer here.

When half the party left to fight
A lich who swallowed up the light
Three members stayed behind to check the town for clues
They stopped inside a seedy bar in the hopes they’d find some news

Unfortunately,

A brawl they met when someone asked
To buy this little redhead’s ass
And then the dead outside came fast
And so they ran away

They came across a little inn
And once they were inside,
They saved the people ‘t were within
(The barkeeper, aside)

A greater battle now ensued,
Defensively they fought
A chanting voice the rogue pursued
As the Inn became distraught

The Wizard did as they do best
He summoned up some friends
While others fought, they took the rest
And many undead met their ends

The bard? She knocked some zombies out
while checking on a friend
But soon she’d find without a doubt
That he would meet his end

A fire soon began to rage, the wizard getting worried
A demon from below escape, and out the heroes scurried
The bard, by now, was filled with spite
Her friend and fan now dead
She set out then to set things right
(And rid the zombies of their heads)

From house to house the heroes marched
In each one saving many
The fires made the town grow parched
(Repairs would cost a pretty penny)

The war pressed on when who should show
But one who was thought dead
The Paladin some news let know,
And our crew was filled with dread

The friend, a bard and man of death
The team then deemed their foe
And since ‘twas her fault was his last breath
My heart was filled with woe

But such a mourning was cut short
Another foe approaching
A goblin bard with his cohorts
Signaled a war encroaching

The heroes from this battle ran
Too many there to fight
When the goblin brought surprise to all
And tried to set things right

With zombies gone a silence fell
And I must apologize
But…tentacles made things…unwell
(no doubt for my small size…)

Our big finale you all saw
The rioting and spite
An argument then followed on
On what was wrong and right

And now you know the tale, good friends
Of that long, noisy night

Morning Routine

It was, perhaps, frivolous to spend her earnings on corals and seashells but to go without her morning ritual felt wrong to Joanna. She had lived inland for years, but the sea had never left her heart.

The Earth has lent thee thy body, the Ocean thy soul. To both thou shalt return. Words spoken during her childhood drifted like whispers as she ground the ingredients and the water into a fine pink paste. The sound of the pestle against the materials and the mortar felt like a strange sort of music. She hummed. The candlelit shadows of her bedroom danced.

Once it had smoothed, she placed the mortar down to set the paint, and cleaned her brushes. The first light of the sun began to pull away the dark of the sky; her clouds painted in familiar pink hues. She dipped a tiny brush into the soft pink paint, pulled her hair out of her face, and watched herself in the old, blackening mirror as she painted the tiny, delicate shapes onto her forehead.

“The sun brings forth the warmth and light, so that we might learn to grow,” she said, painting a circle. “But it is the moon who guides the sea, and through the see guides us along our path.” She painted a smaller circle within the first. She paused and took in a breath, placing the brush down in favor of a smaller one. Above the concentric circles, she drew a small triangle, pointed up. Beneath them, two small vertical lines. She let out the breath and swapped brushes again. The sunlight began to drift in from the window, drowning out her candles one by one.

“In this life,” she continued, “we are blessed with the drive to move forward.” She painted a small arrow at the bottom of the lines, tip up. She paused and moved her head around, checking the balance of the image in the mirror. The bottom of the painting rested just below her brows and was centered enough. She nodded and dabbed more paint onto the brush. “With the flexibility to change course.” She painted a line on either side of the circle, curved parallel to the shape, neither end quite touching any other piece.

“And the means to reach out and uplift others.” A pair of diamonds, small and almost insignificant, where the curved lines came to meet the dashes. She placed the brush down and examined herself again. The emblem resembled the skeleton of a fish, abstracted out. She smiled.

Joanna scraped the rest of the paint into an empty vial and placed the brushes into a cup of water. The sun’s rays filled the small bedroom, and Joanna took the time to extinguish her morning candles.
“In this life,” she began again. She blew out the last candle and inhaled the soft smell of smoke as it drifted through the room. She paused and let herself feel the warmth of the sun against her skin. “We are blessed,” she continued, making her way back to the mirror. She took a seat on the wooden stool and jumped, only a little, when it shifted, legs uneven. “With the opportunity to grow.” She took a piece of her hair and separated it out from the rest. She started to braid.

“With strength of body.” A bird chirped outside her window.
“With strength of heart.” Joanna closed her eyes.
“With strength of mind.” The door to the bedroom creaked, just loud enough to distinguish itself from the bird.
“And with strength of spirit.” Joanna opened her eyes and paused to look at the reflection of the room. The door was closed. The room was no more occupied than it had been when she had sat down.

“And so it is our duty,” she started. She took the small braid and draped it across her forehead, careful not to let it touch the still drying paint. “To spread our fortune; to bring a better life to all whose paths we may cross.” She tied the braid in place and held it away from her skin, a facsimile of a halo, or at least a partial one.

“Amen!” cheered a voice. Joanna, still focused on her reflection, watched the young girl fall with a giggle onto the bed. Joanna smiled.
“Yes,” she said, “Amen.”

“You’re not dressed yet,” said the girl. She pointed at Joanna’s nightgown.
Joanna retorted, “you’re not supposed to be up yet.” The girl giggled and Joanna spun herself around in the stool. “I hope you haven’t worried Sister Azalea.”
The girl waved Joanna off. “She’s fine,” she reassured.
“And brother Marcos?”
“Is cooking breakfast in the kitchen,” the girl replied without missing a beat. Joanna nodded.

“Alright then, just give me a moment to get dressed.

A Sense of Deja Vu

Maddie watched Void’s mother’s car head out of the parking lot and was turning to go back inside when the blonde man passed her. He wasn’t much taller than she was, and his face was young. She hadn’t seen him pull into the parking lot; but sure enough, a small black Cadillac was parked haphazardly in the nearest lot. She scrunched her face; she was sure that hadn’t been there before.

A thought tickled in the back of her mind.

The man had rushed into the school and was headed up the stairs when Maddie felt her phone buzz in her dress pocket. She paused and pulled it out. She didn’t recognize the number, but she opened the text anyway.

“Wait,” it said.

She considered texting it back, but her phone buzzed with another text. This one was from Hollie. “Maddy, you might want to come back, I think we’re going to time travel.”

What?

Maddie heaved a heavy sigh. When the adventure had started, she had loved it; but she had found herself shaken by the pixie incident. It had been too easy to discard consequences up to that point. Therapy had helped, but finding herself suddenly facing an uncertain future did not. She headed up towards the classroom anyway; there was no sense in being left out.

She couldn’t stop glancing at him; the blonde man. His name, apparently, was Doyle though that didn’t ring any bells. But something about the sound of his voice, his crooked nose…something felt incredibly familiar. She caught him glancing a few times as well, little looks of drunken curiosity.

He took advantage of Hollie getting into a distracted conversation with one of the heavily armored women to sidle up to her.

“Madeline,” he said, “Knew a lass by that name once. Saved my life.”

She couldn’t place his face, but she knew he had to be talking about her.
“Oh?” was all she could manage.
He nodded. “Aye. Got shot in World War Two. Field Nurse ran right out like a bat outta hell.” He chuckled. “Kept talking to me, tried to make sure I stayed with her.”

Madeline smiled. She remembered that. Shot had been something of an understatement, but she had smelled the life lingering on him. His uniform had said “Mcready”

Doyle gave her a knowing smile. “Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Just nice to know ya share a name with a hero like that, eh?”

She chuckled. “Yeah…I guess that is nice.”

Self Reflection — noitcelfeR fleS

“What happened to your husband?” Doyle picked up one of the Precious Moments figurines from what he could only refer to as a living room display table. He had considered the word altar, but that indicated a devotion to something. The only devotion Bianca appeared to have, in regards to the cluttered table, were for kitschy nick-knacks.

Bianca shot Doyle a look and he gently set the tiny statue back down. The sad eyed little girl stared back up at him, half echoing his own question. Bianca sighed. “I don’t like to talk about it,” she said.

Doyle looked at her for a moment, his face carefully neutral. She looked like her grandmother. He could see the same shadows on her face; the way her shoulders sloped and her nose curved up just slightly. More importantly, she shared the same sorrow in her eyes.
“The rumor is you offed him.” He spoke like one might speak about the weather.

Bianca let out a short, breathy laugh. “Is that so?” She looked down at her hands. A strand of graying hair, loose from her messy bun, slid down to her face. She was half smiling. When had she gotten so old? “Well, you’re the Time Traveler, Doyle. Surely if anyone could find out, you could.”

Doyle shrugged. “I know you’re not Adelaide, but you have her heart.” Doyle looked back at the figurines on the table. He turned the staring girl away, then crossed the room to Bianca, eyes focused on his feet.

There is a particular silence that lingers in the afternoon light; the sound that accompanies the almost whimsical sight of dust captured in window light. The sound that carries through dark houses lit only by the passing sun. The sound extinguished as soon as the clouds obscure the far away bright. It hung there then, both Bianca and Doyle concerned with keeping their eyes somewhere else.

“Did you love her?” The clouds broke the silence and Bianca filled the void that followed. She still couldn’t look at him. He stopped, a foot or so in front of the couch she was sitting on. She could see one of his hands out of the corner of her eye; they were young and scarred.

It was his turn to laugh. “Not like you’re implying,” he said. He turned on a heel and plopped down beside her. The plastic cushion covers squeaked. “But she was very dear to me….so yes. I suppose I did love her.” He took a focused breath; labored and long. He felt Bianca’s eyes. He smiled when she sighed. “Did you love him?”

“You really need to stop getting shot,” she said. She tapped his shoulder and he took off his jacket.

“Funny, she said the same thing.”

Desperate Times

“Are you finished?” Maddie asked, her face scrunched in general displeasure. Chris kept laughing. Maddie fidgeted in her seat; she was sure it wasn’t safe to laugh this much behind the wheel of a car. He stopped at the stop sign and his laughter quieted.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” Chris managed to say. He wiped tears from his eyes.
Maddie huffed. “You won’t be laughing if those trashy goth kids summon one of your father’s toadies.”
Chris shook his head. “There’s no way.”

“Christopher, a gym teacher turned the football team into werewolves. A science teacher nearly killed me and a swimming pool full of students to create a Frankenstein monster. Do not assume a weird group of Hot Topic delinquents cannot summon a demon.” Maddie crossed her arms and turned to stare out the window.

“So what?” Chris said, but his voice betrayed his choice of words. He was worried, just as Maddie was.
“Chris, I’m sorry, but you can’t hide from your dad forever. I’m trying to protect you, I really am.”
“You don’t need to do that…”
“I promised you I would. That’s the deal.”