It's Alive. -A DC snippet

Soundtrack--A Fine Frenzy, It's Alive

It was Tuesday. I glanced at my watch: a quarter ‘til 9:00, and I knew Aria would be due to come in a short while. I stuck my headphones in my ears and waited for the elevator to finish its ride down to the main lobby. I felt it slow down and backed up to the railing in the elevator, propping my hands on either side of me, letting room. Frankly, I don’t pay much attention to elevators. Too many crowded thoughts, smells, and nerves—makes me antsy. I hung my head down, tapping my fingers in tune with the music, and watched the silhouette of the doors slide open. My eyes glanced up through my glasses and noticed a man of average muscular build walk in. He looked up through his longish brown hair that hung over his eyes, glanced right at me, and gave a small smile.

He saw me.
I didn’t return the gesture and merely slid my arm back to my side. His finger went down to the panel, but when he saw it went to the lobby, he retracted it. He wore plain loose jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt and his ear length hair looked like he had just washed it. A pair of old headphones hung around his neck, looking small against his broad shoulders. He had haphazard stubble on his face as if he hadn’t bothered shaving for a week or so. He smelled like the salt air and rain scented soap and…

Stop.
Stop. What are you doing? I felt my pupils dilating.
Just. Stop.
My pulse raced and my hand went to my shirt angrily, wanting to stop my heart from beating.

The synapses in this brain were firing like a guerrilla attack. He pushed his hair back from eyes with his fingers, revealing more of his face. I straightened my body rather quickly and leaned towards the corner of the elevator opposite him. I felt extremely awkward, a voodoo ragdoll under someone else’s control, and judging from his body language, he confirmed my suspicion. My limbs were bent outward like I couldn’t stand casually and an attempt to hide them behind my back only led me to slightly hyper extend my knees and stick my hip out. One of my fingers entangled a long curl of hair and began twirling it unattractively. In my peripheral vision, I saw a small smile fighting at the corner of his lips. My eyes wandered to his throat next, then his chest as it heaved softly underneath the cotton, then…

I thanked Hades when the familiar ‘ding’ uttered through the speaker, breaking my incomprehensible reverie and the doors slid open. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that he was looking at me and wasn’t moving. “After you,” he said, extending his arm out towards the lobby. His voice was deep and reminiscent of an overseas accent lost through the generations.

“I forgot something, have to go back up,” I croaked, my hand clasping my throat.
He smiled softly and turned to exit, his eyes giving me one last glance before walking across the threshold. He barely took two steps before I rushed to the panel and maniacally pressed the ‘close door’ button. I pressed it so hard and fast that I was gritting my teeth and started to taste the acid dripping from them. I saw someone rush to catch the door, but thankfully didn’t make it in time. I let out an exasperated sigh and took off my sunglasses. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down between my eyebrows and I wiped it off in anger. I looked at myself in the reflection of the elevator interior and turned my head side to side. My cheeks were bright red.

Was I…blushing? I laughed, but with an air of nervousness. “No,” I muttered out loud.
But…. I pointed to my reflection sternly. “No.”
Okay, no. I was much more powerful than a silly human body…and yet…it did feel rather…good.
“Blech,” I yell out, feigning scratching my tongue at the possibility of the thought. “I’m not good. I don’t feel good, I’m supposed to feel not good…and now I’m talking to myself. Great.” This body was starting to wear out its welcome. I needed a cupcake.

Untitled Mermaid story--Prologue ::graphic content::

 Vailea opened her eyes; raven slits dilating with the sudden jolt of awakening. She looked at her sister, Nixie, smiling dubiously at her. "Good morning, dear sister," she called softly, almost too caring. Her violet eyes had a spark of mischief as she looked at her, as they often did. Vailea sat up in her bed and peered out the window. Light shone down from way above the surface; beams of light swaying haphazardly through the current. 

     "Good morning, Nixie," she stammered back. Nixie thrusted her hand out like the crack of a whip to grab Vailea's face, pinching the skin underneath her sharp nails. She smiled dangerously. 

     "You look a little flushed this morning, Vailea. A good sign of youth and purity," she inspected as she turned Vailea's face in either direction. When she was done, she let go forcefully, leaving small nail marks on Vailea's supple face. Vailea clutched her cheek and grimaced. Nixie rose and swam over to her vanity where she brushed her hair calmly. She hummed ceremoniously, her reflection staring back at Vailea with dark intent. She raked her brush through the thick strands, wisps floating at the ends as they left the bristles . "Get up, dear. You must look suitable for our guest." 

     "Nix, must I have to...?" Her voice flinched without even getting a reaction. Nixie whipped around at her rebuttal, eyes piercing her before she could finish. She put her brush down calmly, and swam back towards her. Vailea shrunk her neck into her shoulders, expecting a slap or strangle. 

     "Vailea, as your older sister, I expect you to do exactly as I say. When this kingdom is back to its highest form, you will thank me for everything I have done to help fulfill the prophecy." 

     "But Father..."

     "Father is a fool!" she yelled, her voice echoing in the bedchamber. She paused to collect her thoughts and tucked a piece of Vailea's hair behind her ear, clipping it with a beautiful nautilus shell. "Father is a coward, and no longer knows what is best to save us." 

     "He's sick, Nix, you can't expect him to rebuild when he's not at his best."

     "Vailea, he will be leaving us soon enough. It is time to take these matters into much more capable hands." She gripped Vailea's arm and tightened her grasp. "Masen, you may come in," she spoke out loud.

     The door opened, and the silhouette of a strong male made his way towards them. "Nix, please, I don't want this."

     "Shhh, dear sister, you will do this. Even a future queen must do things that she doesn't wish to do." She beckoned the male closer to them, and whispered in his ear, peeking glances at Vailea. "Take good care of her, she is worth so much," she said, finishing their hushed compromise. And with that, Nixie swam off, shooting another spiteful glare in Vailea's direction before closing the large doors behind her. Vailea swore she heard her cackle softly in the hallway before swimming away in song. 

     "You don't have to do this, you know," she tried to convince the man. She was nowhere near as coaxing as her sister. He gripped both her arms and pulled her closer to him, digging his face into her hair and collarbone. She tried to wriggle and writhe free, but he empowered her quickly. He pushed her back into her bed, and before she knew it, the screaming was of no use and she fell back into a dream of sun and the smell before rain. 

Child of the Garden

Soundtrack: Falling, The Civil Wars

The barn looked cherry red amongst the pristine white of the newly fallen snow. She hadn't really noticed the brilliance of it before that crisp morning. The cold wasn't bitter, but an incoming storm promised a change in the cold kiss that hit her cheeks. She followed his clean footprints to the edge of the clearing, up and down the small hills that eventually led down to the road. His navy blue coat almost blended in with the tree branches behind him. He turned his head slightly hearing her feet crunch in the snow. As she approached, she noticed his muscles tense, the worry in his eyes becoming more and more apparent. She stopped a couple of paces away from him, observing every little movement. 

She stared at his hair, the longer strands whipping across his forehead in the cold wind. He didn't want to look at her, but she silently begged for that contact one last time. She cautiously walked to him, lifting her hand up to his cheek. He slightly flinched, her warm touch raising his skin. He didn't say a word. She let out a small laugh under her breath and broke the silence. "Do you remember when you first came into my room all those years ago? The little boy from the garden." He didn't say anything, but closed his eyes at the fondness of the memory. It stung each synapse. 

The snow began to fall, blankets forming on their shoulders and hair. He was so still, as if he was frozen in time. She wished with her entire heart that it were true.

"Please..." she finally whispered, fighting back a choking cry. 

"You know that I can't," he finally answered gruffly. "It was stupid of me to come here, to see you. I need to go--the door will be closing soon." 

"That's you in there, don't you realize that?" 

"It's not me. I'm right here, flesh and bone and soul. I'm..." he paused to swallow the regret. "I'm just the boat stuck in your storm." He shook the snow from his hair, clouds of breath escaping his lips. Despite the strong scent of the pine, all she could take in was the scent of his world, a combination of cedar leaves and lightning. 

"I don't know what you want me to say. What do you want from me?" 

He squared his shoulders forward, masking the wound she just inflicted. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, holding the lapels closer to his chest. He stole a glance of her; her brown hair caught in the wisps of the north wind, her brown eyes glowing and prominent like a wolf tearing his soul apart. "I wanted you, that's all. That was everything." 

He turned away from her and darted into the clearing. She wanted to follow, but knew that she couldn't. Her time in that world had run out. 

Deathly Compromise--Excerpt #4

“Dee, Dee, listen to this one,” Aria is whispering to me, handing me an ear phone bud. We are both squeezed onto her small hospital bed, each of us wearing a pair of headphones. Only a few more days until they cut her open and stick their hands into her red filled cavity. I licked my lips in a Pavlovian response. My eyes flickered open from her incessant tapping and I removed my own bud. I listened to the flowing melody, the moving soul flowing from the trumpet, and felt my feet tapping over the edge of the bed.

“Louis? You’ve certainly upgraded, kid. I’m quite proud. That happens to be one of my favorite songs of all time.” She smiled satisfied, popping the bud back into her ear and wriggling back under the covers. She let out a wicked cough and my knuckles tightened with each grasp of air she took. There were only three more days until her surgery and while she tried not to show it, the worry covered her face like a smothering pillow.

“It’s really pretty, like flowers after the rain,” she whispers.

“I think of rain, too. But I always see a couple running through an empty street, trying to catch a train.” Aria let out another cough, but perked up, letting an ear bud drop from her lobe. She nudged my arm, afraid to ask for more but certainly not letting the curiosity evade her. “Well, if you must know…There’s always this man and this woman. They’ve just finished dinner…”

Paris, 1949

The rain was coming down. I looked over at him, laughing as the storm came down around us. The dinner had been perfect, the time passed so slow; and in that rain we saw each other in a way that seemed endless. He came towards me, his black coat covered in rivulets of rain passing through the creases like pulsing veins. His hand reached out towards me, his fingers slightly bent as if asking for permission. His face never dropped the smile, but there was a wrinkle of doubt in his laugh lines. He was searching for the world in my face; an answer that he would never receive. The faint sound of a phonograph in the cafe nearby playing La Vie En Rose whispered through the torrents. There were so many words, so many moments yet to steal, but I knew I could not take anymore. “You’re going to miss your train,” I yell, rain water dripping into my mouth.

“Then I’ll miss it,” was his only response.

“You can’t stay.”

“Why not? Why, when I have so much here?” He walks closer until our coat buttons are touching each other. “Give me one reason.”

“Because if you stay, you’ll regret it, and…I’m not prepared for that guilt.”

“You can’t see the future, nor can you decide it. I decide my own fate.” He lightly pounded a fist to his chest to emphasize his point.

My lips smirked up at his naivete, but it immediately turned into a frown. The rain would eventually mask my own tears. “Please Henry, please…”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you were trying to get rid of me so you would never have to see me again.”

“I swear to you, my intentions are pure, and I am incapable of lying.” If only he knew the whole story, I thought. If only I could tell him everything. Harboring a secret for millions of years is something that could wear a person down, even the most immortal of souls. I put my hands on his chest, feeling the wet tweed of his coat between my fingers and wondering how long this guilt would last. I had to say something. For him. After this long, after lifetimes of loneliness, I would have to deal with the repercussions. “Henry, I don’t know how to tell you this…” The whistle of a train blew nearby, and he was sure to miss it. If he missed it, I would surely lose him forever. The distant light from the train began to creep up on the tracks, the sheets of rain becoming visible. The air became so heavy, that it took every effort to bring words to my lips. “You really would stay with me? Forever? Until the end of time?”
“Until there is no more breath in my lungs,” he yelled happily over the noise. I let out a shaky breath and smiled. I held his coat in my hands tighter and rested my head on his chest. I heard his heartbeat pound heavy and beautiful in my ears. I felt the train vibrate, shaking the small pebbles on the ground. And through the rain, the cold, the undeniable tightness in my dark chest—it was a truly perfect moment. I felt his hand lift my chin, then both hands cupping my face bringing it to his. His lips were warm and like satin, pausing briefly to catch his breath. I felt the roar of the train pass through our mouths and when it was silenced, I felt a smile come through out of selfish happiness. Had I truly tricked Fate and been allowed this one joy? I embraced him tightly, feeling him shiver from the cold settling in. The rain through his coat, the chill in his bones, my mouth to his…

“And so they went inside and planned the rest of their lives together.” Aria’s face was wide eyed and attentive. Her short eyelashes fluttered as she smiled, her square teeth glistening in the whiteness of the luminescent bulbs.

“Yes,” she whispered softly, then leaned back onto her pillow. “I knew it.” She let out another cough and I felt the life starting to leave her. I looked at her sadly, thinking of this dream and the awful truth of it all. “Dee, will you be here for my surgery?”

“Yes, of course. I will be waiting on the other side for you.”

“Good.” I silenced myself with a concrete lump in my throat. “I’m scared, Dee. What if I don’t wake up?”

“People always wake up Aria. There’s way too much life out there to enjoy and too much waiting for you. When you wake up, you’ll be much happier than you were before you went to sleep. You know, you should listen to something really good and powerful right before. It’ll make you feel strong.”

“Can you pick it out for me?”

“Of course, kid. I’ll get only the best.” She smiled again, closing her eyelids softly like falling petals. Her breathing slowed and I felt her mind ease into the land of dreams. I got off of the bed and walked to the door, leaning in the door frame, watching her drift further away from the present.

Paris, 1949

I felt Henry take a gasp of air. For a naive moment, I thought it was in joy, but reality set in quite quickly. His hand gripped my own, trying to hold onto me as his body toppled to the floor. “No, no, no,” I uttered, more loud with each word. “Please, Kay, Fate, anyone…” I put his hand to his face as his eyes widened in choking despair and his skin turned purple from tightening veins. The rain had stopped, but the tears continued. “I tried to save you. Forgive me, please.” Something in my face frightened him. He swallowed all he had in his throat but I never got that resolution. I brushed back the hairs falling into his eyes and apologized with every spirit I had left.

He began to speak, softly muttering in my ear but I couldn’t understand. It wasn’t until his breathing nearly stopped when I heard him clearly say, “Monstre.”

I dropped him at that moment like something I couldn’t afford to touch any longer. His eyes were still open, but now empty. I closed his lids and apologized once more, softly and genuinely. I sat in the street, a wet monster blowing the cold air from my nostrils, feeling the fire burn inside me. My mind raced a mile a minute to the point that I couldn’t think coherently. I didn’t want to think anymore.

My hands began to burn.
I watched his body begin to sag onto the stone.
My face itched; the flakes of smoky ash beginning to fall from it. Wispy clouds of air still leaving my nose and mouth.
His hair fell back into his face.
My fingers snapped and stretched into dark talons as they reached out to tuck them back behind his ear.
The phonograph had long stopped, the scratch of the vinyl skipping endlessly in the dimly lit window. No one to be found.
I felt a little bit of life in him, lingering, wanting to fight off his destiny.

The fire in my eyes sensed it and beckoned it out. A dark hand touched his own once more, releasing the life like a gold ribbon in the air. I wrapped it around my talons like a piece of silk. The last of my tears evaporated. My free hand touched the pocket watch hanging from my neck, clicking it open. The life left my talons and into the watch, leaving it glow for a flicker of a moment until I clasped it shut. The lamp posts flickered in and out down the dark road, and as passersby began to come out after the storm, the mutterings began.

One voice questions, points.
Two check the body for a pulse.
A third shouts, screams.
More crowd the flooded street, puddles splashing across their legs as they all walk right past me.
I am invisible.
I am infuriated.
I know nothing of rational thought, longing, or remorse.
I only know the dark of night, the hunger for flesh and bone, and the thirst for souls to quench me.
Faces scour the area, looking for a culprit where no visible one can be found.
They will find me when they are ready.
They all do.

My cheeks felt flushed and wet. I brushed the tears away with the sleeve of my jacket and swallowed it down; put it on the back burner. Aria was asleep now, nestled away somewhere safe and away from me. “Take me with you,” I whisper. I clutched my pendant tight enough to sear my skin. I deserved every moment of pain. Another heart to break, another life to take.

Deathly Compromise excerpt: Flashback

April 14th, 1912

Cold air hit my face roughly, cutting through my skin and weighing down the fire developing in my throat. I walked along the slanted floor, against the crowd rushing and pushing through. My petticoat grazed the floor, picking up chips of ice; its blue velvet absorbing it instantly. A gun shot rang out and panic consumed the already desperate souls beside me. But I continued walking. 

In the distance, I saw her leaning against a rail, a grand petticoat dress adorning her body, a matching floral fascinator on her head with curling tendrils cascading down half of her face. Next to her, a man played a violin in sad earnest. She saw me and immediately began to smile. “My dearest sister,” she said as she spread her arms out for an embrace. I obliged her, softly kissing each cheek. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“I can see the stars perfectly out here,” I gazed, oblivious to those around me. “Much more bright than in the city.” I felt a shake beneath my feet, losing my pin point on the constellations. A little girl running fell down at my feet, her small hands touching the toe of my boot. She didn’t cry but her fingertips were blue and shaking wildly. I knelt down to steady her. Her head perked up but her eyes were blank and hopeless. I could have easily taken her, the desire in my stomach longing for her soul, but the emptiness in her face put a furrow in my brow. “Where is your mother, child?”

“She fell,” was all she could whisper. Her head slightly turned to gaze over the railing, giving her past away. Her eyes were as blue as the sea in the afternoon sun, but the flecks of gray smoked over them in the moonless night. They were rimmed with tears that she was aching not to fall. I stood her up, her hand steady on my arm. I felt Kay’s eyes glaring through my back. 

“You should be on a lifeboat, child. Do you know where to go?” 

She shook her head, her loose curls draped loosely from ribbons that had been holding them in place only moments before.“Dee, don’t. Let her be. She will find her way eventually,” Kay advised. I rolled my eyes, choosing to ignore her. 

“I will guide you. Just put your hand on my skirts here and I will take you there. Can you do that?”

She nodded quickly and walked around behind me, grabbing a tight grip on my skirt. “For the love of Fate, Dee…”

“Will you just shut your mouth for one goddamn minute?!” I retort. 

The floor creaked and cracked, and there was a shattering noise across the way that filled the atmosphere with pressure. The ship had cracked under the water’s edge, and the ship teetered even more upward. Kay and I seemed to adjust to the tilt immediately; our bodies knew nothing of imbalance. The young girl however, lost her grip on my skirt and began to slide on the wooden, splintered floor. I grabbed her arm reflexively and her eyes widened at the shock. The tears broke the surface, flooding the gray in her irises. “Dee!” I heard Kay’s echoing call. I squeezed my eyes, pushing away the nag, and looked back at her. “This is not why you’re here. You can’t save them.” 

The girl’s grip loosened as the tilt became more pronounced. The violin player had long since fallen to the water, many others falling in slow motion; snowflakes of long clothing and appendages. “Everything will be alright, child. You won’t feel a thing. I promise.” Her face quaked in fright, no response. “Just close your eyes, and when you wake up, it will all be a dream. Alright?!” I yelled out so that she could hear me. She nodded. I closed my eyes and pulled the tether of her life into my arms and chest. She let go of my arm, her body cold and empty, her body falling in the watery constellations of the Atlantic Ocean. 

Excerpt from Deathly Compromise

* Reference last post prior to reading *

A young couple who had gotten into a car accident came storming in on gurneys in the middle of the night. I had long abandoned the magazine doodling and was elbow deep in vending machine cookie wrappers and sugar coma when the slamming of the doors and medical alarms rustled me up. Both the girl and guy were attached to oxygen and nurses began swarming them as they turned into separate rooms across from each other. Their invisible tethers called to me. For a moment, I hung in the middle of the hallway, my boots squeaking along the tile, watching the life unravel around me. I stepped into the man’s room first. The smell of iron hit my nose like a hammer and the desire for sleep completely dissipated. I watched patiently as the nurses worked in a circle around the doctor. The sound of clothes being ripped echoed in the room, and drops of blood seeped down from the surgical bed to the cold floor. I found myself licking my lips instinctually, and flicked my eyes back towards the man’s chest.

            When his shirt came off, and the deep gashes in his side and abdomen came to life from the oxygen exposure, I let out a small gasp.

            The crunch of bone gritted in the air.

            For once I didn’t feel queasy.

            I was transfixed.

            I was entranced.

            I was hungry.

            I was…smiling.

            I walked over to the man, getting a close up of the damage. Internal bleeding, collapsed lungs, broken hip and collarbone, and a heavy blow to the abdomen; not exactly an easy fix. I felt for the girl across the hall, but all I could see was silent life there. I could tell she was already stable. The call came through and it was for him. When it pulled me in, I stuck my arm out between two nurses, and reached for his abdomen drenched in blood. The blanket of images enveloped me, making me let out an exhalation of relief. When it was over, there was nothing but static and emptiness. I stared at my hand for the longest time, turning it from side to side, fascinated by the staining of A negative. The crimson glistened in the luminescent light, thick with iron and gloss. It felt extraordinary, the overcoming of rapture, so much so that I found myself putting my hand up to my mouth, and licking each finger one by one like a cat bathing its self after a messy dinner. As the clean up began, I walked into the hallway, vaguely aware of the residue left on my face and hand. I sat in a nearby chair and contemplated, waiting for normalcy to return. It was achingly slow, but I started to get a grasp of where I was again.

            It had been ages.

            This body was starting to fail me, or my mind was. I couldn’t tell anymore. The lights in the hall flickered, and it was then that I noticed the rain had finally come, smashing like a titan on the rooftops of the building. 

Rough Draft--A Deathly Compromise Prologue/Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

I hate Jell-O.

With the fiery passion of a thousand hells, I hate it. It's not quite dry, not quite wet, and goes down your throat like a cold worm. Actually, I've had my fair share of worms in past centuries, and they tasted quite pleasant compared to Jell-O. I can smell the syrupy concentrate from a mile away; its sickening sweetness stuck in my nose. Suffice to say that being around the concoction all the time makes my day pretty stressful.

But not as stressful as Mrs. Williams.
I'm looking at her across from the hospital bed, from the guest chair in the corner. I'm laying back, my black Chucks propped up on the edge of the bed, giving her an annoyed glare. She's giving it back to me, tenfold. Her breathing becomes labored every few minutes, but she tries to stay as relaxed as possible. I cock my eyebrow and crack my knuckles. Her eyelids close half way in a menacing manner, and I notice her hand beginning to clutch the trigger for the morphine drip. I sit up. "Don't you fucking dare," I tell her.

She coughs and I see a small smile creep in the corner of her lips.
"I swear to Hades, Millie, if you press that damn button..." She presses it. Of course she fucking would. I throw my hands up in exasperation. "I hope you enjoy that morphine, like really enjoy it, down to your toes." I stand up and grab my sunglasses off of the counter. "I'm tired of this wishy washy shit, Milly. This is my 26th time being in here with you and frankly, I'm getting tired of it. You either want to die or you don't. Next time you call on me, you better be ready." I put on my wayfarer sunglasses and grab my jacket off of the chair back. I subtly hear a whisper coming from her lips.

"You're horrid," she tells me with whatever voice she has left.

"And you're kind of a bitch. Leaving all your money to your lover, but leave your dog to your son? That's low, even for me."

I walk out of the room into the hospital hallway. I hear the hustle and bustle of nurses passing, the beeping of heart monitors, visitors laughing and crying, nervous feet shuffling in the waiting room. The rain is really coming down outside; the drops pounding on the room, and thunder clapping, static hitting the hairs on the back of my neck. I grab a cup of coffee from the waiting room as I go towards a window. I haven't needed the necessities of food or drink for quite some time, but I enjoy some good sustenance every now and then. It keeps things interesting. However, whoever made the coffee today should be flogged because it is just piss poor, even for me. I hear a baby cry in the waiting room down the hallway and I curse under my breath. Seriously? Important rule of thumb: Unless it's coming out of your uterus or it's sick, don't bring a baby in a hospital. And never on a plane if you can spare it. They can sense me, and it drives me absolutely bonkers. I cringe at the high pitch scream and leave the cup of coffee on the window sill. Luckily, a call for me comes and it interrupts the wailing. Mr. Flock in the next ward...hmm...didn't think it would be today. A girl's work is never done.

I walk into his room, and he looks at me skeptically. He looks at me up and down, still in pretty good shape of someone of his age. "You?" he asks, surprised like most people. Obviously, he's seen me out and about.

"Yeah, what'd you expect?"

"Well, someone....in white?"

"Sorry to disappoint, Flock. Darker hues are more my ammo. You ready?"

"You're not going to talk me through this?" He coughs.

"If you just had to deal with Milly Williams, you wouldn't want to talk to anyone...ever again. Trust me on this."

"What's with the glasses?"

"It's the fluorescents. Make me all sallow looking." I wave my hand in a carefree manner, but take off the glasses nonetheless. "Satisfied?"

"Better. At least you're fairly attractive."

With a slight curtsy, I quip, "I aim to please."

He gives me a smile, but furrows his eyebrows in obvious pain. "So how does this work?" he asks, all humor aside.

"Well, I touch you and you pretty much fall asleep. You a Christian?"

"Nonpracticing."

"Phew, makes things easier. Okay, well...It all kind of feels like a dream. Whatever heaven you want, it'll be planned out for you. It's pretty fucking wonderful." I pause with concern. "You didn't kill anyone did you?"

"No."

"Alright cool, then yes, it'll be pretty great. You're gonna have a blast. Do you have any family coming?"

"I didn't have any children. All the others have passed."

"Well they'll meet you there, then."

"Oh god, I hope the hell not."

"Alright then, boss. Now, I'm going to touch your hand, okay? It'll be quick, painless. Just concentrate on something you love.....got something?"

"My dog, Bart."

I cock an eyebrow at him, teasingly. "Whatever floats your boat, man."

I walk closer to him, and smile, genuinely. Despite the prerequisite, it's fulfilling to see someone pass so they no longer have to live in pain. I reach my hand out to him, and with just a light touch, I see his memories. Some sad, some happy; a life mostly filled with empty smiles and regrets. And lots of women. Whoa. The later the life, the faster the flashes, in one fast forward motion, until it all fades to a white flash, then darkness. The darkness was soothing, an eerie calm down in the pit of my stomach, like a hot chocolate on a winter night. His monitor drones down to its long, low pitched tone, and I disappear before his nurse comes in. I put the glasses back on and stuff my hands in my pockets. I pull out my mp3 player and slide the ear buds in my ears. I have some Beach Boys to listen to. It's only 9:00AM, and I'm not happy about my first passing. Why is it always the semi-cool ones that go first and the damn annoying ones that last forever? This era is kind of shitty.

I'm Death, by the way. Everyone calls me Dee. Well, those who see me anyway. I like desserts, classic pop, and rainy nights. I also like awesome car accidents and cataclysmic events. But I hate Jell-O. I really regret not being available to kill the bastard who invented it.

CHAPTER ONE

I first transferred to this particular hospital in Seattle about 30 years ago. The rain's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be, and while most days are actually quite beautiful, I prefer the rain. It keep people in, keeps them safe; leaves less work for me to do than the routine hospital patient. There are only so many rain induced car crashes I can deal with on a daily basis. Come on, keep things interesting for me.

I chose my body a couple of centuries ago. It's been pretty sustainable. She was some rebellious daughter that was arranged into a Spanish marriage and hung herself the night before the wedding. I can commend a woman for sticking to her guns. Every new body I choose comes with certain memories...I see hers from time to time, not to mention her nature and urges, but we're pretty alike so I've come to see this thing as home for a few more years. Also, I think I look pretty decent. Black hair, light eyes, cream skin...can't really beat it; chalk one up to the Spaniards.

There's a half moon shaped lounge that I'm laying out in, feet up, reading a Better Homes and Garden magazine. This thing is absolutely terrible. How do women read this stuff? All these ugly flower arrangements and gross salads? And since when did making salads become as complicated as making a normal entree? I throw the magazine across the couch, missing the table on purpose.

"Dee, for the love of God..."

My head turns and my eyes peer over the top of my sunglasses. Not a lot of people can visibly see me, let alone call me by name, but The Duke is one of those exceptions. I give him a smile. "What's up, Gramps?" I pick up another magazine.

"I know you're some unearthly being and whatnot, but can you at least behave yourself? Some of the nurses get spooked."

"Eh...it's a slow afternoon. They need something to do."

"No, that's what my job is for, and right now, you're making it harder."

The Duke, aka Vincent Jacobs, was one of the hospital janitors. He was tall, African American, in his late 60's and was diagnosed with a terminal illness several years ago. That doesn't stop him--he works his normal hours amidst others who work half ass--and has comes to terms with his illness and death, hence being able to see me. He's not afraid of me, and I admire that. When I get his call, it'll be a bittersweet day. I never call him by his name. He reminds me so much of Marion himself when I met with him in California, that I had to bestow that upon Vincent. He doesn't believe me most days, but he goes along with it. I abide to his request, and go pick up the magazine. "How you doing today?"

"Well, I'm not dead yet."

"Me and you...we're gonna have fun when you're ready."

"You gonna take me on a hot date?"

"You better believe it, buddy."

He laughs under his breath as he empties a trash can near me. I watch him closely. He has a couple of more wrinkles now than he did a few weeks ago. He sweats more easily. I can smell his blood...he's been indulging in desserts lately which has risen his glucose but keeps him happy. He senses me inspecting him. "You keep your vulture eyes off me, Reaper. I'm not your lunch." I ignore the insult.

"Fine, just lay off those snack cakes. You've packed on a couple." I hit my stomach for emphasis and he lightly smacks my arm with a rag. "Hang in there, Duke. It's going to be a good day, at least for you."

"You may want to stay away from the cancer ward, then."

I let out a load moan. "Don't even tell me. Jones?"

"In all his splendor."

"Fuck." I straighten the sunglasses on my face, and jump over the corner seat, slipping The Duke a high five on the way out.

By then, it was lunch time. I can smell the nurses' lunches heating up in the microwave and another pot of coffee brewing in the nearby waiting room. It's still raining but I could sense the sun wanting to peek out through the cloudy barriers. Somewhere nearby, a visitor has opened a window in a room and I can smell the Pacific air. I'm pretty sure a homeless guy has just pissed in the street below as well. I have headphones tightly in my ears and walk towards surgery. Surely someone wouldn't survive there. I hear the bustle of someone coming down the hall on a gurney. Just from looking at her as she passes by, I can tell what's wrong. I can hear broken bones grinding against each other, a collapsed lung struggling to breathe. I can smell the iron taste of O negative on my tongue. She's trying to say something, but clots of blood just form at the back of her throat. The nurses are rushing while I trail behind casually. I have 4 minutes until I help her depart, according to the call. They finally reach the operating room, and pull away the sheet. The girl's abdomen is ripped open, glass shards speckling the site like sprinkles on a cake. I suddenly feel really nauseated. I cover my mouth. "Seriously?!"

I retch in the hazardous waste disposal bin in the corner. Like, really barf beyond belief. I see traces of yesterday's red velvet cupcake amongst used needles and bloody surgical gloves. Awesome. I wipe my mouth and look over at the table again. Suck it up, Dee.

I glance at the clock. The girl is beginning to flat line, and while the surgeon is trying his best to put Humpty back together, the others are trying to resuscitate. I still have two minutes, but this shit needs to be over with. I walk over, take a deep breath, and grasp the girl's hand. The memories flash, then the darkness. The flat line continues until the surgeon calls it. I could get in trouble, but I honestly don't give a shit. That girl didn't have an angel hovering over me, telling me to back off, and that thing was just too vile to deal with for a prolonged period. I did the girl a favor. I walk out of the surgery room feeling like I need an inhaler. My glasses, hanging crooked on my head, slip off and fall to the floor. I go to grab them, but my fingers are met by another's. "Dee, fancy seeing you here."

Ugh, his voice is like nails on a chalkboard. He's a seemingly attractive, okay gorgeous, male. Tall, blond, muscular, the whole bit. My host's body longs for him, which is sickening. This girl needs better taste. He wears a casual linen suit, like some sort of lost Beatles member, and he's glowing with that smile that I want to cut off his face. "I'm here every day, dickhead."

He tsks-tsks me. "Woke up on the wrong side of the ethereal space?" He stuffs his hands in his pockets and casually follows me. Why must he always do this? He's like that little dog that nips at your heels when you're just innocently trying to check the mail, and you want to secretly see him get crushed by the garbage truck. Twice.

"I've only had two passings today. I'm just a little aggravated."

"Hmm, I guess life has taken its fair share today. I've had 6 savings."

I mocked his braggart statement. "Then you have plenty of other people to bother."

"I like to check on friends from time to time."

I stop in my tracks, my shoes letting out a loud squeak on the tile. I face him, angrily, and I can feel the smoke of every underworld rise in my chest. "Listen, Jones. I am not your friend. As much as I appreciate your contribution to this world, I'd much rather appreciate you from faaaaar away. Got it?"

He smiles and bows his head as if he was in a yoga class. "I shall leave you be, innocent Reaper." I grab his linen suit. My fingers clutching the material cause it to start burning it immediately to ash. At that moment, despite my tall stature, I feel myself grow up to his height, then towering over him. I can feel flakes of ash chipping off of my face.

"That's an insult, Miracle. If you can't appreciate another by their true form, then you have no business being on this plane of existence. I am Death. My reapers do my bidding, but I am here on my own behalf. Don't forget that." I let go of his jacket arm and watch the material return back to its smooth, untouched state.

"I meant no degradation, Dee. I sincerely apologize." While his face and slight smile reeked of sarcasm, his eyes were genuine. Mine were filled with fire. I really did detest this guy.

"Get out of my face, Jones. You know where to find me if you need me." I shrink back to my original form, and turn my back to him.

"Dee," he called before I could completely walk off. "I really would like for us to be friends. We've had countless centuries to fight...we are in the same cause despite the manner in which it happens, can't we at least agree on that?"

"Jones," I pause to think. Yes, we've known each other since...well...the beginning of time, but the fact that he was so....perfect made me absolutely sick. And yes, we were in the same cause--to relieve those of pain. But little did he know that while he thought he was practically a god, I had the real power. I let people leave this forsaken place for their utopia. Or hell, sometimes. That's all in their head, though. I just give them the ticket to ride. Everything else was karma, baby. I wipe my sunglasses on my shirt and place them back on my face. I smile and give him a casual military salute. "I'd rather suck a nut."

A Father's Eyes

Soundtrack: Walk, Foo Fighters/Awake My Soul, Mumford & Sons

Alexia pulled up two houses away from his home and put the car in park. Her breath was shaky, and she gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white and the leather began peeling off into her palms. A bead of sweat appeared on her hairline, but she kept her steady and looked to the house.

It was different now. The weeds had overcome more of the plants outside; the combination of lackadaisical keeping and the harsh summer sun. The house itself was the same: a fresh coat of mint green paint on the outside perhaps, newer gates by the porch door, different bed sheets hanging on the line by the garage, but still in the same corner where he always liked to hang them. There was a child's tricycle by the front door, faded in color with rusty pedals. On the corner of the roof's gutter, hung a glass wind chime in the shape of small frogs and butterflies. In the back, stood a homemade wooden pen where a few chickens clucked softly. The mailbox was now rusted with weather residue. The numbers had begun peeling off long time ago, and had just recently started to fade away.

A lot of things were fading away.

She bit the skin around her thumbnail excessively until she tasted blood in her mouth, but it was all she could do to stop the shaking. She debated with herself for minutes upon minutes, wrestling with the confrontation in her mind. It had been so long, and she didn't want to mess it up. She had so many questions for him.

Him. She couldn't even say his name. Not in her mind, not in her breath or her voice. Her bruised soul pushed it in the bottom of her heart long time ago.

The wind picked up and she heard the familiar squeak of the tricycle handle bars as they turned with the gust. She returned to that sound a mere 20 years ago, when she sat softly on the seat and looked up into his eyes. Those familiar hazel eyes that she wished she had, but she had gotten her mother's. She reached her hand out to his face, and he pretended to eat up her fingers. She squealed in delight as he then picked her up, tricycle and all, and put her on the driveway, determined to see her fly. She let out another loud squeal, and felt her hands on the back of the bike as he started pushing her lightly down the little hill and onto the sidewalk, never letting go. Not even for a moment. She closed her eyes, trying to force the memory into the back of her mind but only opening a Pandora's box of others.

Nights in the hammock cuddled up to his side.

Watching him in her grandfather's shop, sanding a long piece of wood, the smell of cedar and oak enveloping her senses.

Him giving her a juice box out of the truck before he left for his job.

Her calling out to him from her grandmother's green house as he left again.

And again.

And again.

Her mother crying and throwing a ring across the room.

Herself crying in the corner with a bear that she scribbled his name on, clutching it tightly to her chest as the batteries in its heart died.

The evident smell of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath and clothes.

The palm of his hand blocking her presence from his.

Meeting her "brother" for the first time.

Doors slamming with every possible tone until she could play them in her mind like a piano.

Coming back every other year to see him, feeling the discomfort grow as much as their distance.

Until he eventually forgot, though she never did.

She gripped the door handle, and gave every strength she had to open it. She put on her sunglasses and pushed her way out. The wind caught her hair like a false hope, and as she closed the car door, she heard the squeal. The squeal of a girl laughing uproariously from the joy of being free. She felt the patter in her heart, and for a moment she felt like her memories were projecting out to the horizon. A small girl, no older than four, running with her arms outstretched as if flying. She tripped in the grass, and for a second as she looked up, she caught Alexia's gaze. Alexia felt her soul leave her body as she saw her face. And His eyes, looking right into her. The girl smiled as she pulled a blade of grass out from the earth, and her gaze broke as someone else ran out to get her. Him.

He looked different too. Time had strained him. As did the weather and the drinks. But his voice had that same tone of promise and haphazard honesty. He picked her up and swung her around until she held onto his neck. They walked back towards the yard and in that quick moment, it was all over. Alexia pictured it so differently. She would storm up to his door, pound until the walls shook and the glass cracked, and begged for an explanation.

Why he left.

Why he chose the bottle, his friends, anything over her.

Why in all those years, he just didn't want to try.

Why he didn't want to care.

Why he cared so much for any other child except for her.

Why he couldn't find her. Couldn't recognize her. Couldn't notice her...even on an empty street with nothing but quiet houses, a bright red car, and a tall, grown up woman standing outside watching as her heart broke for the hundredth time.

Why he....couldn't love her.

And she would sob into his arms, knowing that he would not know what to do but to just hold her head on his shoulder and wait for it to pass so he could get on with this better life.

The picture dissipated. Alexia knew it couldn't and wouldn't happen that way, as much as she wished it. She felt a small, throbbing pain in her abdomen and looked down at her protruding belly. She rubbed it softly, smiling between the tears falling on either side of her face. Another hand met hers, and she looked up to see him. The man she fell in love with and loved her in return; who loved the life inside her even more. He wiped her tears, and put her head on his shoulder as she felt the summer wind die went down to a whisper. As the sun moved down, he led her back into the car and drove past the house for the final time.

She didn't look back. She looked towards the horizon and waved her arm outside of the window, catching the last of the wind like a wave. She put the other hand on her belly, and with the steadiest breath she had that afternoon, she wished for the baby to have her eyes.

Set Fire To The Rain

Soundtrack--"Set Fire To the Rain"/"Turning Tables" by Adele

A tall, young woman with light, brown hair and graceful eyes sat with impatience. Her fingers tapped on the cedar wood of the bar table. The lanterns glowed a soft gold on her face, and she pursed her lips in anticipation. She looked out the window and saw the gray clouds rolling in. Several visitors walked in the door. She stretched her neck, but her visitor had yet to arrive. Her name was Selene, and while she waited, she let others wait.

A young man, with dark hair and dark circles under his eyes, loosened his tie as he walked in the door. He sat on the piano bench and lightly touched the keys as he searched for something to play. He heard the rain begin to splash lightly on the window across from him. He remembered back to their first year and recalled when he embraced her on a park bridge while the autumn leaves fell. His name was Nathan, and he while he waited, he dreamed.

Selene glanced at her watch. Time went by, but the storm prevailed.

Nathan pulled out his phone to make a call.

Selene's phone began to ring. She glanced at his photo as it buzzed loudly on the table, interrupting her reverie. She glanced around her as if in guilt.

Nathan doesn't leave a message.

A lean, blond man, wearing a black coat and headphones in his ears, walked briskly across the cobblestone street, heading towards the bar. He hummed softly, with a smile seeping from his mouth. He was two blocks away when a raven-haired woman brushed his arm and gave him a smile. They began speaking in hushed tones and cheap laughter. His name was Alex, and while he dreamed, he let others wait.

Selene glanced at the time again, and swallowed her second drink. She rubbed her arm from the cold wafting in. She thought about their first meeting and how his blond hair and smile spoke to her immediately. They kissed by the end of the night. The next night, a storm of sheets and stolen promises.

Nathan thought of seeing her for the first time. Glowing in the light of his friend's bonfire, he made her laugh hysterically. He also made her spill her drink. He kissed her two days later. He made love to her a month after that. And as priceless pictures and overnight bags became abundant, she came with boxes and he gave her a ring.

Selene wells up with tears at the bar as she glances at her phone again. She ignores the missed call, and glances at the time. He was very late.

Alex softly tucked the woman's hair behind her ear, and as he pulled back, she placed a wrinkled paper note in his palm. His smile is contagious and she walks away enamored. As the rain began to fall, he folded his coat across his chest as she ran off in one direction, and he, his own.

The storm broke and the rain began to pour. Selene walked out and began running from the bar back to her home. She shaded her eyes from the incoming pelts.

Nathan began playing the piano again. There was a wedding photo on the mantle. The thunder boomed and lightning struck with a power of an orchestra.

Alex ran to the bar door and walked in the warmth of the crowd. He looked over the heads of people, but couldn't find her.

Selene felt the cold of the rain down her neck, as the sheets of rain came down like fire in front of her. The water on her face and tears were indistinguishable. She longed for the comfort of a man and his piano. The lightning struck, lighting up the sky like the beginning of the world. She stopped blind, unaware of her solitary location. Another flash abrupted, softer and quicker, this time from behind her.

Car lights.

The sounds of squealing tires, cracking glass, and several thuds atop metal and pavement.

Silence among ruin.

The puddles of rain begin forming in the interior of Selene's jacket amongst mangled, feminine limbs.

Alex leaves the bar; the collar of the jacket turned up from the bitterness, clutching the wrinkled piece of paper in his hand.

Nathan turned the cover on the piano, finishing his song in silence, with nothing but thunder beckoning for an encore. He tried her phone again.

Selene's phone began buzzing on the pavement, inches from her fingertips, glowing with Alex's smile, but slowly drowned from the rain and fused out like a whisper.