Spiel

He used to give me this spiel.

He used to list off all the lessons he'd learned from the various hardships in his life. Like, boo hoo, you've suffered so much and the rest of us have silver spoons sticking out of our freaking mouths.

He used to say I should use my gifts to help people, like power automatically meant responsibility.

And I used to say, Maybe they oughta help themselves.

Then he'd give me this sad look, like I was a puppy who'd peed on the carpet again.

The truth is, he got on my nerves pretty bad, with his superior generosity of heart. But another truth is, I miss him. A lot. He was the best thing that ever happened to me.

That's the lesson I learned. That's my hardship. Boo hoo, right?

Draconian

Their rules are strict, and their back-and-forth is a game I don't want to play. Throw the meat into the ring and leave them to fight it out like dogs. I'll sit back and wait to hear what the final verdict is.

Too bad I get caught in the crossfire sometimes. Makes me wish I could retaliate. But that isn't the way this dynamic works. I'm here to serve. For now, anyway.

Hallowed

One foot on soil that didn't belong. One white toe across that red borderline. The chieftan smiled. That was all he needed.

His men gathered in the forests, their bows and arrows at the ready. They waited for the young man to venture farther into their territory, farther away from the safety of his comrades and their fire-sticks. They followed him like prey, stalked through the trees, making no noise, although even if they had he would have covered it with his own clumsy traipsing. His heavy boots destroyed the earth beneath it with his every step.

When they felled him, he shouted but made no noise. One of the arrows must have punctured his lungs. The chieftan did not laugh, but he did not feel sorry either. The horrors that those white men had committed against his kind could never be atoned. But this chieftan had vowed to do his part to even up the tally.

Putsch

The nation was united against this new enemy, but they did not know how to fight it. They tried tanks, but they couldn't find any targets. They tried guns, but they only shot themselves. They tried spies, but all they learned were lies.

With each failure their fear grew, until it formed a dark cloud over their proud nation, raining new drops of paranoia every day. The people hid behind their umbrellas like shields. They walked quickly, spoke to no one, shared nothing. They became a stagnant society of drones, building walls to keep their backs to because they trusted no one, building walls around themselves without even knowing.

Then one day the nation realized it was not united, but rather fragmented into individuals who had become so afraid of themselves that they had fallen apart rather than face their fears. They had overthrown themselves. The enemy had won.

Idée fixe

He couldn't get it out of his head. This was going to work.

There were risks involved, sure. There were consequences if he were caught, no doubt. But the payoff, the potential reward, that outstripped everything else in Robbie's mind. If he could pull this off, he would never have to worry about anything for the rest of his life.

--

As he lay bleeding in the alleyway, Robbie wondered where it had all gone wrong. Maybe it was when he let Alice in on the deal. Or maybe when that pesky security guard opened the door for him. He never should have let the guy see his face. Dammit.

He pressed his hand to the wound in his chest. Alice would be here soon. She would never leave him. She would make sure he was okay. God, even if she had to drive him to the hospital and dump him there, that would be better than bleeding to death in this alley. Jail was better than dying.

Shock shook his whole body, and he choked on what he hoped wasn't more blood. Taking deep breaths, he tried to calm himself down. It wouldn't be much longer now, he reassured himself. Alice would be here soon...

Vacuous

Her mind goes blank. She wills it so. She doesn't want to remember last night, doesn't want to know why she woke up here, looking this way, feeling this way.

She sits up, pulls her knees to her chest. He doesn't seem to notice her, and she's not sure whether that's better or worse. She stares at the carpet as he brushes his teeth, dresses. Will he say goodbye? Does she want him to?

They move in silence through their morning. No sunlight penetrates the blinds. It's too early anyway. Only the cold makes it in through the glass panes. Only the cold touches her.

She longs for touch.

Purport

What you say and what you do are not consistent. I thought I knew you, but now I know I never knew anything at all. What you portray as truth, is fiction. What you say is fact, I can find nothing to support. Don't you realize that all the things you hate, you are? I watch you become more like her every day, and I wonder how that poison found its way into your system.

Inveigh

Her fingers railed against the pressure she tried to apply, repelling the keys instead of seducing them. She grimaced in pain as she forced herself to play through the arthritis. Mozart's music didn't sound quite so lovely, but her desire was stronger than her agony. Piano was in her soul, and she wouldn't give it up simply because her fingers were brittle and wrinkled. "Mind over matter," she repeated to herself firmly. "Mind over matter."

Celerity

She flies by at a hundred miles an hour, and I just hope I can catch a glimpse. Enough to know her face, to recognize her form. To reproduce it, after a fashion. To mold her eyes, her mouth, her arms, her breasts, her legs. I want her to walk on her own, with me watching proudly and silently from behind.

She inspires me, but I give her life. That is the nature of a Muse.

Xenophobia

I'm sorry that I'm not afraid of the things you are. I'm sorry that I don't need to hide behind layers and lies designed to protect me from vulnerability. I'm sorry that I take risks. And I'm sorry that you might never know the kind of love we're capable of.

Internecine

Such a little thing, you think. Hardly more than cells, dirty genetic blobs, without brains, without feeling, without soul. What can they do to me? What difference will it make? I am strong, I am man. I am superior, and I am not afraid.

But they can devour you, strip you of that confidence, that arrogance, that life. That's the thing. Being small doesn't make you weak. That's one of man's many, many misperceptions.

Enjoin

He believes that this is love, and that she returns his affection. He does not understand that the strange force keeping him in place is the invisible fence she installed around him, reigning him in whenever he strays too close to her. His own swollen heart chokes him, keeps him from speaking up, inhibits him from asking the question:

Is this enough?

Excerpt from The Good Daughters

After she and Charles had made love for the first time, they'd gone for a walk in Schenley Park, and she'd spent the whole time smiling up at the sky. "What are you looking at?" Charles whispered in her ear. His breath tickled, and she couldn't help shivering a bit as she laughed.

"Big balls of burning gas."

"Oh, well, when you put it that way, it sounds so romantic."
He takes her hand. Even in the dim lighting of the park, her skin carries a pale luster, like pearl, peeking out between the cracks of his long obsidian fingers.

With his other hand, he points up through the tall trees. "That's Ursa Major."

Madeline strains her eyes and cranes her neck. "I can't see."

Charles pulls her through the shadows to a clearing called Flagstaff Hill and scans the skyscape now spread gloriously above them. "Can you see it now?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good. Then over there, that's Orion. And next to him, Taurus, the bull he's trying to kill."

Madeline smiles as he continues his stories. She is no longer interested in the stars, but in their keeper. She cocks her head at him. "What, the kid from the ghetto had a telescope?"

He nods. "I saved up for nearly a year. Wanted to be an astronaut."

Earlier in their relationship, she might have blushed, nervous about the differences between them, their upbringings, their opportunities. But his ease was contagious, and soon they were as comfortable with one another as they were with themselves. Now she can't help grinning at the thought of him as a young boy, one eye pressed eagerly against the end of a scope.

"So what happened, Charles Skywalker?"

He shrugs. "It was just a childhood dream. I grew up, and I wanted other things."

Madeline looks up to the skies once more. She has only ever wanted to be an artist, to create unexpected beauty and meaning that will affect others, maybe even change their lives. Feeling Charles' presence next to her, above her, she wonders if she knows what growing up means. Has she somehow stagnated, remained a child full of naïveté and dreams?

[...]

"How do you know the difference between growing up and giving up?" she'd asked.

He'd looked down at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes like the stars in the skies above them. "Maddy, that's the one thing I know you will never have to worry about."

Darby and Joan

Maybe no one else wants this. But if I hold on, if I grip with every bit of strength in my soul, can I be stronger than the whole world? Can I be strong enough for the whole world?

I think I can.

And I hope you'll stand by my side while I do.

Repudiate

Out of hand, you slip me my pill, and I'm crumbling into the starlight of my dreams, waking up too warm and without you. This is a fancy way of forgetting the past, flying away into the dark chocolate drudgery of the everyday. The game sends us tumbling like pins into the chute, only to be picked up, rearranged, and placed back in our formation, awaiting the next strike.

Backstairs

Those gremlins hide in the shadows of my lungs, stealing breaths like gems from a vault. They conduct their shady business without permission, but I lack the law to enforce the prohibition. Could you forgive me for letting them slip through the cracks? For you are the victim, and she is the collateral damage.

Simulacrum

I wrote once that your slow and quiet ways drift around me like smoke. I saved it in my journal, in my mind, for months. I let that smoke billow around me, let it fog up the windows until I couldn't see out.

Now I know the view that was blocked, and I'm pushing back against the smog. I will not be denied the sun. I will not accept that pale, ghosted version of what used to be.

I hope you know it's for both our sakes.

Métier

This is where I have to shine. This is my heart, my passion. This is my chance. This is what I want when I sleep and when I think, when I dream and when I hope. This is who I am. This is who I want the world to see, and know, and love. This is what's important.

Dunnage

The barge sludged slowly through the harbor. He tracked its progress by comparing the position of its bow to the gargoyle on the end of the bridge. It emerged through the beast's open mouth, being eaten in reverse.

His hands hid in his pockets, avoiding the cold air that became visible each time he let out a breath. He jingled the coins he found unexpectedly, rubbed them with his fingertips. He wondered if he could guess which coin it was based on the impression of the face. Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt, or Washington. Did it matter?

A bird flew overhead, distracting him from the barge. He followed it with his eyes, then with his feet. Over the bridge, to the cabin on the other side. She was inside, waiting for him. Thin smoke snaked up from the chimney, and he pictured her wrapped in a blanket by the fire.

He set the coins on the front porch, pulled a receipt from his wallet, and a pen from his front shirt pocket. He scribbled a note, re-crossed the bridge, and turned left, away.

Hours later, when he was undeniably late, not answering her calls, she put out the fire and put on her clothes. As she stood on the porch tying the laces of her boots, she noticed what he'd left. She picked up the coins, the hasty note.

"It's time for a change."

Advocate

We stand on opposite sides of this chasm. You look down into the abyss, and I stare obstinately at the sky. Were we ever friends? Sometimes it is hard to believe. But maybe that is how this works. By reaching out, across the divide, we grasp hands, and hold tight, and we bridge the two worlds. Your way, and mine. They do not have to be in opposition simply because they are opposites.

Restive

Like a horse pawing the ground, I will not budge. I found the place where I feel most at home, and I believe that a true heart knows no bounds. Time and space conspired against me, and I am restless to return. The change occurred from without, but I'm looking for the solution within. If I cannot find it here, I will have to begin my search again.

But I have faith.

Kafkaesque

Goin' back in time ain't what it seems. Like, most people think, Dang, that's cool! But shit, it's disorientin', is what it is. And bizarre. And not convenient, at all. I mean, shit, I got things to do! Groceries to buy. Homework to finish. (Or try to finish, anyway.) I cain't be runnin' around in history like there's no tomorrow. What do a whole buncha yesterdays get me anyway? Nothin'. Damn straight.

Thwart

She says it's a battle, and I can't help wondering how many scars she's got.

Bosky

You don't even know. You call them stupid, ignorant, but you don't realize you're more those things than any of them. They know what you are. They recognize you when you don't recognize yourself. They are the root of you, the core, the pure essence that you were corrupted from. You are their derivative, the lesser, the forgery.

I wish you wouldn't forget it. The problem is, you don't even know.

Mountebank

"A love potion for the sad girl?" the young man asked.

He was tall and handsome and not at all what she expected when she looked up from the dirty steps, her face streaked with tears. Self-consciously she wiped her cheeks and brushed back her hair. She was normally quite pretty.

"I-I-I don't need a love potion," she whispered. He smiled and took a step closer, peering at her intently. She stood and backed away.

"I suppose you wouldn't," he said suggestively. She wished he weren't so handsome. "Why are you crying then? No troubles with a boy?"

She shook her head.

"You can tell me. I can help."

She eyed him warily. "How could you possibly help?"

He winked. "Love potions aren't the only kind I have."

She considered for a moment, then shook her head again. "They're all hoaxes anyway. You're just a con."

He shrugged, playing the game, playing as if he hadn't noticed her hesitation. She would be willing, he knew. Only the fiercest could resist a chance.

He held out his hand. "Come with me and we'll talk." She pulled back a little more. "You don't have to try anything you don't want," he assured her. "I'll just tell you what I have to offer. What does it hurt to listen?"

She took the bait. Together they strolled off, and he talked quickly -- quickly enough to distract her, but not so quickly that she felt threatened.

What did it hurt to listen? Maybe nothing, he thought with a smirk. Or maybe a lot.

Desiccate

This is what I fear:

We will dry up. Like that little potted plant I always forget to water, then when I do, its pot overflows, and the soil is too damaged to perform, so when you finally notice that it's filled to the brim, I take it outside to dump out onto the grass, and I say that I will go to buy new soil, but it is still sitting out there, forgotten, neglected, drying up.

Tontine

An intrigue, they called it. He laughed while he stroked his chin. Well, he'd certainly never considered himself dull.

A waitress bent low over the side of the pool, smiling and showing her cleavage. "Anything to drink, sir?"

He allowed himself a nice long look, then lifted his gaze to her face. "No thanks, doll. I'm all set." He lifted his hand to show her the martini he had yet to finish.

She walked away pouting, but he didn't care. In fact, he rather enjoyed the view of her legs. And he knew she'd forgive him, anyway, tomorrow when he did buy a drink, and maybe a little something more. Money always made a woman forget those kinds of minor irritations.

And money was something he now had plenty of. After "taking care" of the rest of his business partners, he had easily escaped here, to Nevis, to enjoy the sun, the surf, and the single ladies.

He chuckled. Actually, why limit himself to the single ones?

Ambidexterous

I used to want to be ambidexterous. I used to practice almost every day. Right hand, natural; left hand, diligence. I improved, of course, because practice makes perfect. Only, I never got perfect. And like all things I don't become perfect at, I quit.

Philomath

Kelsey stared at the problem on the board and itched to raise her hand. She didn't always know the answer, but this happened several times a day, and always she stayed quiet. She read in secret at home. She stashed her graded homework in her folder quickly so none of her friends would see. She knew what they would say -- or worse, what they wouldn't say -- if they knew. If they knew she liked school, and was good at it. Being smart wasn't cool. And in Kelsey's world, being cool is what keeps you safe.

Herald

The boy walked slowly down the cobblestone street, staring down at his feet so as not to trip. Rome was quiet this early in the day, and he didn't want to interrupt. Not yet. The city needed her peace, what after such long days with such loud, busy people. The boy wanted to let her rest her eyes, and her ears, and her heart.

These last few minutes, before he pulled out his bugle, before he woke Rome and her children, were he favorite. He climbed the ladder to his little tower and looked out over the buildings. He had to squint to make out some of the roofs farther out, but the first rays of the sun broke against the cathedral domes and monuments. He loved that, loved to imagine himself standing in the shadows of those great buildings for the whole day, the shadows never diminishing, never getting washed away by the light or the people.

But then the clock tower sang, and with a sigh and heavy heart, he took out his bugle and blew. When he was done, he climbed back down and reminded himself that at least his next favorite moment was only a day away.

Macédoine

A confused mixture, a medley, a cocktail of thoughts and emotions and frustration and hope and love. Can you drink it up? Can you hold it down?

The essence of me pours out. I am leaking. I am wet. I am waiting for you to notice. I am waiting for you to mop up the mess. We both made it, after all.

I know you're getting tired of this. Don't you think I am too? What happened to the easier days? Maybe we traded them away for the longer ones, the extra time we spend together. Maybe those closeness isn't giving us room to breathe, to be. Or maybe we just haven't learned how to breathe and be in unison.

But I think there's promise. I think there is something here worth nurturing, worth compromising for, worth sacrificing for. I can't promise it will be easy, but I'm okay with going through the rough if I'm going through it with you. For you.

Can you say the same about me?



(You used to.)

Derring-do

It is bold to stand up for what you want, what you need. This is what she tells herself. This is what she says as she climbs the mountain, stands on the ledge.

Stand here. Make your stand.

And if you fall, keep your head up. It'll hurt less if you don't see it coming.

Craven

She wonders if silence is the better way. She has already kept her mouth shut so many times, along with her eyes and her legs. How long will the world keep up this torrent? How long can she resist?

Life isn't for the faint of heart, but she's never been accused of being a coward.

Incumbent

He is reluctant to give up his thrown. I see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, feel it when he pushes me aside. It's okay for me to do his work, but not to take the credit. Well, little prince, little golden child, that's fine. I don't need your crown. I can satisfy myself in other ways. This kingdom is big enough for both of us, and I don't even really want it.