catstark

Theraphose: An Origin Part 3 of 3

Done with his story, Theraphose lowered himself to the ground and gracefully advanced on Attalla. He bowed to her and waited for Martal to return. She went to Theraphose again and leaned against his body. He lowered himself and urged her to climb his back. She did so and leaned over and hugged him hard.

“Is there anything other then your voice that you desire?”

Yes. I would like to be able to eat. I miss that. And perhaps to see better? I can’t always see all the dangers around me.

“Give him the ability sister. He deserves it. And we’ll need him.” Martal was striding toward his throne, three of his generals following him. He didn’t speak again until he was seated. “The small gates are closed. I am sending people to guard the main gate. I would like you to go too, Theraphose. Attalla, give him the ability to defend himself and his realm.”

Attalla nodded to her elder brother and slid off Theraphose’s back. She went to his head and placed her hand on his head, much as Martal had done. The energy she used surrounded them both in a blue halo. It warmed Theraphose; Martal’s spell and energy had not. Attalla was more heart then Martal was, therefore the warmth did not surprise him. The halo expanded momentarily and then dissipated. When it was gone, Theraphose felt his fangs and the poison that coursed through his body. He was glad for it. He could help Martal and perhaps gain favor with his brother again.

He opened his eyes and saw the throne room through fragmented eyes. Disoriented, he closed his eyes and breathed slowly, until he understood. Attalla had given him eight eyes in order to see fully around him. He looked to her and bowed, awed at her power and her ability.

Thank you.

She hugged his leg, which was the closest part of him. “You are welcome.”

“You will help us then?” Came Martal’s concerned voice.

He bowed as he could. Yes brother. For our safety and for our realm, of course I will help.

“Go with Veeran to the Gate of the Weaving World. Protect it from the Dark King and I will give you two more gifts.”

One of the generals came to him and bowed. Theraphose bowed back and followed when Veeran turned and left. The two left the castle to meet with many more. All went to the Gate to protect it and fight the Dark King. Many had been here before in the same situation. But this war lasted longer then most, as The Dark King had not expected to be stopped. He was surprised to find all the smaller gates closed and brought all his forces to the main gate.

The war lasted many human generations and had repercussions that lasted long past remembrance of the war. No human lives were lost to the war, but they were changed and became fiercer and more war loving themselves. When the humans calmed down, more came and took them over, for their gods were preoccupied with keeping their own realm safe. And when the Dark King finally left the Gate of the Weaving World to lick his wounds and gather his troops for his next chance, the gods of the Sons of the Weaving World found that they had lost most of their humans to other gods.

“It doesn’t matter.” Martal, Attalla and Theraphose were standing on the deck in the throne room, looking out at the world. “We were here before they knew of us and we will be here long after they forget. Our role in this realm does not change. We weave the world around them as they wish it to be and will continue to do so until the end of our days.”

“Our strength will diminish.” Attalla was sitting on Theraphose’s back, her now favorite place to sit.

“Not if Theraphose agrees to help us.”

How so?

“You weave stories, but you can also weave the world. Your threads are strong enough to hold everything together. And if there were more of you, you could do a lot more.” Martal turned to his brother. “Do you wish to help keep this world together?”

Will I be able to weave tales?

“It would upset me if you didn’t. With each web you and your kind create, you will be creating a story. If the web is not meant to hold part of the world together, it will fade in one day, with the story. If a human should see one of the story webs, they will remember it in dreams.”

And the ones that hold the world together?

“Those will last until we have all faded from human memory.” He turned and smiled at the newest arrival. “And perhaps she will help us from fading into memory.”

Theraphose turned and scuttled back in surprise. He bowed low, trying to shrink back into himself. The newest arrival was his maiden of long ago. Marisol. Daughter of a female human and male god, she was immortal only as long as she stayed in the castle. He shook as he tried not to look at her, remembering the love he had felt for her. She was giving him a loving look, a kind look. One hand was stretched to him and the other – Theraphose was so surprised he nearly backed over the edge of the balcony.

What is this? His voice sounded panicked, even to his own thoughts.

“Your heirs.”

But…but…it’s been years…since…

Marisol stepped to him, placed a hand on his leg. She stared deep into him and saw him as he had been, tall and lanky with blond hair and dark eyes. She still loved him, was glad to see him again and was happy to be bearing his children.

“You forget brother, that time here is irrelevant. Although many years passed on the human realm, only a few months passed here. And Marisol has been waiting for your return to have your children.”

More then one? His foreleg swept around his old love and he held her as best he could, allowing her to lean against his leg.

“Twins.” Came her soft voice.

“They will be your legacy; our hope.” Martal sounded as if he were keeping back tears.

Theraphose simply looked at his brother for an explanation.

“One is human. You will create a world between the human realm and ours. The human child will rule there and mate with other humans. They will have special abilities and will be your other child’s protectors. The second child decided to take your current form. It has all the power the first does not possess. It will be the ancestor of all like you and will help you to weave the world and protect it from the Dark King. If you accept.”

How can I not? He understood the implications of having humans as protectors. It meant that his family would always have believers. His family would not fade away, and his kind would be there to continue weaving stories and weaving the threads that held the world together. Happy to once again be part of his family he beamed with joy. He felt a spell in the air and looked to the mother of his children, then to his legs. She had turned some of his hair blond.

“I miss your blond hair.” She admitted, blushing.

His laughter filled their minds, and all were reminded of how much his laughter had been missed. Moments later, Marisol went into labor and Theraphose left to create the world his children would inhabit. He created it just off the path of the Gate of the Weaving World and made it so only his descendants were capable of seeing it. Once the world was created, he returned to Marisol and took her to see it. Her human child, a girl, grew older before their eyes and was of childbearing age before they could stop the growth. Attalla, named for her aunt, kissed her parents and left the area to look for a husband, knowing her role in the world. They watched as she left, knowing it was the only thing they could do.

Attalla had many children, knowing it was necessary. All her children would be raised in the in between world, but would leave to find mates. As Attalla was part god, she had the ability to speak with all her relatives, including her sister’s children. She was also granted the ability to heal them, should they need it. Both these abilities she willingly passed on to her children and they to their offspring, as they understood the need to communicate with each other.

Marisol’s second child scuttled out of the castle before her mother could see her and attached herself to her father before he could notice. She stole his ability to have children and had many of her own, populating the human world with her children. Being a descendant of a god, she had some small abilities and changed her children’s look and shape as the area decreed.

She understood that having children far away from her home realm was a danger, but made sure her children were able to have many children, to safeguard themselves. She also made sure they knew to weave stories and protect the world, and showed them how to identify those that would protect them.

The second child eventually returned to her mother and father and gave back his ability to have children. Upon seeing her and her rose colored hair, he smiled as best he could and named his daughter Theraphosa. And, eventually, when humans started naming their kind, she was able to convince the human of her true name and of her father’s true name. She allowed the humans to name the rest of their kind as they saw fit. Names did not matter to them, only their mission. Both sides vowed to complete their mission and protect the world and each other for as long as necessary.

Hope and Fear

Fear cannot take hope
only hide it.
When fear leaves,
the hope is still there,
gleaming brighter for you to see.

Theraphose: An Origin Part 2 of 3

The next few decades were hard on him. In his brother’s castle, his new body had been about eight feet long. On Earth, he was barely eight inches. He became used to his new legs as soon as possible, but it didn’t matter. He could race away from humans, but there were always more. And he could chase his food all he wanted, but he could not eat. Martal had not given him a mouth. Food did not matter, as gods did not need sustenance, but he missed the act of eating. It had always made him feel alive. He guessed that was why Martal had taken the pleasure away. And as he was the only of his kind, he had no one to talk to. Martal had denied him company, another of his pleasures.

The greatest pleasure he was denied, though, was the pleasure of spinning tales. His father had created him to be a storyteller. Martal had taken away his voice, making storytelling impossible. And without a voice, he could not gain an audience. Martal had left him as impotent, as his innocent story had left Martal.

The loneliness started to feed off him long before he realized it and soon, it made him blind to his whereabouts and deaf to his sister’s call. Attalla was looking for him, but he didn’t want her help. If she helped, Martal might harm her. In the beginning, he ignored her. Then he simply didn’t hear her, wandering about without thought, needing so much but unable to have any of it.

Centuries he wandered the earth, running from humans and hiding where he could, until, finally, long after he had forgotten his true form, he wandered into the Caves of Sorrow and found a quiet place to sleep. Tucking his legs in close to his body, he closed his unchanged eyes and fell asleep.

How long he slept is uncertain. Time passed and Theraphose slipped from the memories of man, and away from the Halls of Reality. But gods are immortal, and when humans forget them and stop praying to them and lay their rituals to the side, the god grows weak and fades away, until all is left is the shell of the god. Theraphose chose to spend his time sleeping, in order to contain whatever strength he had left. He felt that one day, his brother would forgive him and wanted the strength to travel home when Martal called him back.

So he slept and the Caves of Sorrow shifted, as they were prone to do. Eventually, without his knowledge, Theraphose, youngest of the Sons of the Weaving World, found himself waking to the sound of dark laughter, and knew fear again. But the fear was welcomed, as the emotion helped him find his mind, for fear cannot change to courage in an empty mind.

As memories of himself came back, the voice and the words it formed continued to terrify him. He knew the voice and knew the thing it was connected to. He scuttled closer, one insect among many and listened to the plans his family’s greatest enemy was hatching. War was coming, or had already come to the universe and he was stuck here. But he could be useful. Theraphose sat and listened, staying as quiet as he could.

Some time later, when the Dark King had quieted and gone to bed, Theraphose lifted his body and slowly crawled out of the caves. It took a good long time, as he had forgotten the way out and nothing was as it had been. But he took his time and followed the insects.

Cold, tired and old beyond knowing, he finally found the sun again and sat at the entrance of the caves and allowed Martal’s glorious other form to warm his body. Sighing a deep heavy sigh, Theraphose continued on his way, calling to his sister as he traveled to the entrance of his family’s realm.

Traveling took less time during the night, as Attalla wished for his return. She lit his path for twelve days straight until he begged her to be carefully. She followed her brother’s wishes and grew thin, going back to her normal cycle. Theraphose continued on his way, staying away from humans and other predators, going as quickly as he could. Attalla offered him entrance through her gate, but he refused, knowing he had to tread carefully. He wanted to see Martal first and beg his brother’s forgiveness first. If Martal refused, he would give The Dark King’s plans to his sister and let her give the King the news.

Time became meaningless again, as travel was hard for the small creature. Theraphose continued, growing in strength the closer he came to the Gate of the Weaving World. The Gate was in a forest, hidden amongst the trees and leaves. A shaft of sunlight was the pathway in, the arching branches of two ancient trees its gateway. Afraid but calm, Theraphose set one foot on the path. When he heard nothing, he set another, then another, then another, until all eight of his well used legs were touching the sacred path.

When no guard stopped him, he continued on the path and passed under the sacred arch. When his first foot touched the other side of the gate, he experienced vertigo and almost passed out. When he opened his eyes again, he was in the throne room, and Martal was standing before him with Attalla at his side. When he appeared fully, Attalla ran to him and threw her arms around one of his legs.

“You’re here! I’ve missed you.”

Theraphose felt tears coming to his eyes as Attalla’s tears wet his hairy legs. He sent his thoughts to her; unable to voice what he was thinking.

“Why are you here?” Martal was looking at him with disdain, as if he were nothing more then a speck of dust on his otherwise spotless floor. Theraphose pushed Attalla away gently and bowed in the only fashion he could. He lowered his head before his brother, trying to seem subservient.

To speak with you. To give you news.

“And why should I listen?”

Theraphose tried to tell his brother the tale, but found that without his voice, he could weave no tale. He bowed lower. Impossible to relate with no voice.

Martal felt hands on his arm. He looked to the side and found himself staring down into his sister’s green eyes. “Give him his voice back Martal, please. I saw were he came from. He has much to tell.”

Martal sighed heavily. It was time for truth. “I cannot, sister. I was so angry with Theraphose for ruining my first night with my intended that I made the transformation permanent. I cannot give him his voice back.”

Theraphose shrieked louder then when his voice had originally been taken away. He reared back on his hindmost legs, spreading his forelegs wide. The shriek continued long and long, causing Attalla to fall to her knees. She cried for as long as her beloved brother did. Martal, still stoic and unmoving, glanced around the room and cleared it with a look. When just his brother, his sister and he remained, he fell to his knees in front of Theraphose.

“Forgive me brother. I was angry. I didn’t know how much I would miss your tales. I have regretted the act every day since. I cannot give you your voice back, but I can give you a new one, if you allow.”

He had spoke through the shriek, knowing his brother would hear. Theraphose stopped when his brother did and lowered himself to the floor. He looked his brother in the eye. I need my voice. Give me what you can.

Martal stood, nodded and walked to within touching distance of his brother’s head. Placing his hand on Theraphose’s massive head, he bowed his and spoke the words that would give the storyteller back his voice. A shudder ran through both their bodies as the spell took hold.

Theraphose fell to the ground, his legs unable to hold himself up any longer. He let everything go and let the transformation take over. A wave of energy surrounded the brothers and then faded to nothing. Martal stepped away as Theraphose stood. He was still on eight legs, which was fine by him. He enjoyed moving his large form on eight small points. It made him feel light as a feather, and made him quiet as the wind.

An odd feeling came over Theraphose, so he closed his eyes to allow the thought fruition. When he opened them, he knew how to spin the tale, and knew that his family would be able to understand him. Theraphose turned and went to the far wall. He climbed into the rafters and spun his tale with the fine sticky silk his brother had given him power to create. He took his time, making sure to show everything he had seen and everywhere he had been. Then when he had shown his travels, he showed the plan the Dark King had spewed from his mouth of tangled teeth.

Attalla, too young to remember the last war they had fought with the Dark King, cowered near Martal, taking comfort from his always stoic form. Martal slipped an arm around Attalla and held her close. He knew what the story showed, and knew there was only truth in his brother’s tale. He could no longer weave falsehoods. Theraphose was warning of war. The Dark King would be trying to come through some of the smaller less used gates. Before the story was completed, Martal turned and went for the doors of the throne room. He bellowed for his advisers and ordered all but the main gateway closed. All the gates were to be heavily guarded.

Theraphose: An Origin Part 1 of 3

“Theraphose!” The melodious voice rang down the hallway, catching in his ear and making him turn. The tall lanky blond man smiled warmly at his younger sister and embraced her as she reached him.

“Attalla! I’ve missed you. How do you fare?”

His sister pulled away, brushed her dark hair away from her face and gave her brother a worried look. “He’s very upset with you. Have you seen him?”

Theraphose frowned. “Not yet. The throne room was my next stop.”

“He’s furious with you.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Theraphose shrugged. “It’s just a story. He knows it’s not true, as does everyone else.”

“You made him look a fool.”

“In a story that had no bearing in reality. Sister, calm yourself. He’s probably not as angry as you think.” Theraphose placed his hands on Attalla’s shoulders, brought her close and kissed the top of her head. He pulled back and looked deep into her bright green eyes. “I’ll go see him right now. You’ll see, this will blow over, it always does.”

*****

“HOW DARE YOU!” Martal was not so much yelling as he was bellowing. His voice, generally strong, reverberated against the stone walls, making those in the room cringe in sympathy for Theraphose, who was standing stoically before his older brother. Attalla was standing quietly next to the throne, sending her favorite brother good thoughts.

“Martal, in my own defense, those who listened have heard my stories before. They know I fabricate to entertain. And well, it wasn’t the best tale I’ve woven.”

Martal stood at his throne, tensing as his brother spoke with a light, almost mocking tone. “It would be wise to try and appease me, brother, not anger me further.”

Theraphose frowned, confused. “Martal. This was a joke, nothing more. My jokes have never bothered you before. Why suddenly, do you take offense?”

Martal was in front of him in a second, grabbing him by his shirt, bringing his face within centimeters of his brother’s. “I am King. It does not bode well that my court laughs at me behind my back.”

“You’ve lost your humor since father’s death. Perhaps you should find it again. You were more fun when you knew how to laugh at yourself. And me.”

“You never did this to father.” He gripped Theraphose’s shirt tighter.

“Yes I did.” Now angry, Theraphose knocked his brother’s hands away from his shirt. “He took great pride in telling me he created me to be this families laughter; the court jester; the one to keep things light when everything else seemed bleak. The stories I tell, I tell because it is my nature. Do you expect me to stop?”

Martal tried to stare his younger brother down, but it was difficult. Martal was the shorter of the two and knew his brother was right. He had over looked Theraphose’s stories before, knowing it entertained the family and court, but this time, “ You stepped out of line this time, brother.”

“How so?” He was thoroughly confused. But Martal wasn’t answering, so Theraphose thought back to his last story and let it unwind in his mind. He saw the ball, the crowd gathering around him as he started the tale, the maiden that had caught his eye. And the tale unfolded completely. He snickered as he remembered the story. The maiden had been so impressed; she followed him to his bedchamber, and had been there for the past week. He gave a slow smile as he thought of her again, but the smile faded when he caught his brother’s look.

“Do you remember what your story stated?” He was speaking through clenched teeth.

Theraphose felt the blood leave his face. “Oh, you can’t be serious.” When his brother said nothing Theraphose continued. “I was trying to impress a maiden. All listening saw this.”

Martal stared his brother down, still silent. Theraphose backed up a step, surprised at his brother’s emotions.

“You can’t be serious. I was trying to impress a maiden, but she was more interested in another. I told the tale to turn her head to me and it worked. She’s still in my bed, in fact. This is why you’re angry? Because I may have insulted your manhood?”

“You did insult my manhood.” His anger made his voice thick.

“Other then a little more laughter, has it really affected anything? Have any women rejected you since I wove the tale?” He only asked as he was sure none had, but the look on Martal’s face revealed the truth, and Theraphose finally understood his brother’s anger. They joked of many things and insulted each other on a regular basis, but the one area that was off limits was women. They had made a pact long ago, never to interfere with each other’s conquests. Theraphose fell to his knee, hung his head, and allowed a pleading tone into his voice.

“Accept my apology, brother and King. It was not my intention to keep a woman from your bed.”

Martal fell to his knee as well, getting eye to eye with his brother. There was pure hatred in his set expression. He spoke so only his brother would hear. “You didn’t.”

“Then why-” And Theraphose suddenly understood. Martal had taken a maiden to bed, but because of the innocent story, had been unable to please her. Blood rushed back to his face in a hard blush and he tried to contain his laughter, but failed. He fell backward, gaining some distance between himself and his beloved brother. He didn’t want to laugh, but it was too much. Martal was the one the women always swooned for. To think that a story had made Martal impotent was too good to be true.

Theraphose’s laughter rang in Martal’s ears, and it was the last straw. Snarling, he bent and once more grabbed his brother by his shirt. Still snarling, he brought Theraphose’s face close to his. “That was your last laugh, brother.”

Martal picked Theraphose up off the floor and threw him across the room. Theraphose landed on his back, still laughing. It was too ridiculous a situation. Martal watched as his brother laughed, growing more and more angry as whispering and snickering erupted around the room. The throne room was generally filled with members of the high court: family, friends and potential enemies. Theraphose’s laughter was lowering the courts’ opinion of Martal, making it easier for others to think about taking the throne. Martal could see their thoughts. It was his gift.

Anger blossomed and exploded in his mind. He barely heard Attalla from behind screaming for her brother’s mercy. Power surged through the King; power given by his father and intensified by the throne and crown. Martal pointed his hands at Theraphose and the laughter in the room stilled. Theraphose’s laughter turned to screams as his body reacted to the transformation spell coursing through his vulnerable limbs. New screams joined his as Theraphose’s body bucked on the floor and extra limbs started to grow from his sides. His body became fat and shrank, while the limbs elongated and hardened.

Theraphose, pain clouding his existence, still had the presence of mind to flip over onto his stomach. He felt that his new form would be defenseless on its back. His last thought as the transformation grew too painful to think through, was for Attalla. He sent out his last thought to her, ordering her not to interfere. He didn’t want Attalla suffering for his mistake. He stared at her as his body shook and continued to transform. Pain faded and he was able to look through his new eyes.

The throne room looked the same, but larger. He was seeing it from closer to the ground. He could sense eight legs, but didn’t know how to use them. As he didn’t want to stumble, he stood where he was and carefully lifted one leg and placed it back in the exact place. He did the same with the seven others. When he felt ready, he turned and faced his brother.

What have you done to me? He tried to speak and couldn’t. He had no mouth. But his family could speak telepathically when they needed to and Martal chose to listen.

“I have given you a new body. One of a creature that can only exist in this one form. Because that is what you are, brother, a creature not worthy of further thought. For your troublesome ways, I am banishing you to walk amongst the humans. See how they like your kind. Now get out of my castle.”

Martal turned with a wave of his hand and went to his throne. Theraphose, incapable of speech, screeched in Martal’s mind, begging for mercy. He looked to his sister and knew she was of no help. She had fainted long ago, and was lying by the throne, unconscious. Banished and alone, Theraphose faded from his brother’s castle.

The Guitarist

I feel like I’ve been silent longer than a week, but I have not. Thanks for your continued readership. For your reading pleasure today, a poem inspired by a guitarist in my favorite band.

He steps on stage, unaware

Of the affect of his music on my soul.

His fingers caress the strings,

bring forth

Sounds only angels have heard.

As the song intensifies,

his fingers move faster and faster

and with a different type of intensity.

Long toned digits moving with a flourish

only time can bestow.

He plays on and on, glancing occasionally

In my direction.

He knows nothing of the affect of his music on my soul.

The music surges

and his hands weave a spell

on the strings of his guitar

and he knows nothing

of the affect of his music

on my soul.

Petocalypse

This story was inspired by the people who like to predict the Rapture and by the fact that I had to take my cat Hazel to the Animal Emergency Clinic at 1:00 AM on May 21, 2011 a day that was toted as the Rapture.

It started harmlessly. One lone voice on the radio warning of the Rapture. The low rumbling voice seemed to sooth as it terrified. We were all doomed. The End Was Coming and sooner than we thought. Of course most of us didn’t pay any heed. The believers and non-believers alike felt it was something to laugh at. No one could predict the end, the Bible said. Others felt it was no longer up to God: that Man in his own stupidity would destroy the world long before the true Rapture came. Most shook their heads and went about their business.

The day came and the preacher’s soothing voice screeched into our ears.

“Today is the day heathers! We can pray for your sins no longer! Believers rejoice! We shall see the end of our suffering!”

As the time approached we celebrated the end of all things as we saw fit. Some partied and laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Some prayed for forgiveness but most simply went about their lives. Rapture? What Rapture? What did it really mean?

6:00 PM May 21, 2011. The end came but most forgot. Shelter workers were the first to notice. The sounds of barking ceased as the second hand hit twelve. Dogs and cats vanished off operating room tables, out of caring arms, out of cages. Vets, vet techs, volunteers grew very worried as they slowly started to realize that all the dogs and cats in their care had vanished, leaving nothing to indicate their former presence but their collars.

Those with pets noticed next. They wandered about their houses, calling names, offering treats, checking windows and doors to make sure Fluffy had not escaped. Checking yards and fences to make sure Fido was not in the street. Owners scratched their heads in wonder when they found flea collars, name tags and other pet clothing laying on the floor or ground as if discarded.

In the next few days, it became more and more obvious. All the cats and dogs were gone. The pets, the strays, indoor, outdoor, purebred and mutt. All were gone. The Rapture came as foretold, but not for the humans.

Jason

This is long and may be depressing. If you read it thank you, if not, I understand. It is non fiction. I was going to post this in a widow’s page on Facebook, then couldn’t as someone else had just posted something I felt was in direct contradiction to what I am trying to get across. Then I realized, I could post it here, as this is my page and I can do with it what I want. So here it is:

For the past three days, I’ve felt relatively ok. Not good, but ok. And I can live with ok. Sunday was 7 weeks since Jason passed and I didn’t think the ok feeling would last this long. I thought for sure I would crash on Monday. Didn’t. Then I thought I would crash on Tuesday. Didn’t. Now, it’s after midnight Tuesday to Wednesday and I can’t sleep. Really need to not drink caffeine like that, but I might have had a restless night anyway. Not convinced caffeine does that to me, but whatever.

So here’s my story. In 1994 I met Jason. He asked me to marry him almost right away. We stayed engaged for a while, but that’s jumping ahead. In 1996, after only 2 years together, Jason’s kidney failed. He only had one, we found out, and it was no longer doing its job. At the time, it was the scariest thing I’d ever gone through.

Jason decided on treatment. He had 6 years of peritoneal dialysis. (7 peritoneal infections.) It was a tough time for both of us, but we made it through. Not going into the details of that, just want to write out the basics. In 2002, Jason’s dad gave him a kidney. Though he did feel better, he wasn’t 100%. He never would be after his kidney failed in ’96.

In 2004, we were married. Yep, 10 years later. Didn’t matter to us that we weren’t married. We just wanted to be together. A piece of paper couldn’t change what we felt for each other.

In late 2012, Jason found out the transplant was failing. He had three choices: hemo dialysis, kidney transplant, or refuse treatment. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but figured it out in his own time.

In April of 2013, Jason told me that he had decided not to continue treatment. He was done. I cannot tell you how much that hurt. I wanted to be able to fix him, but there was no fixing him. It wasn’t just the kidney issues any more. He felt that his mind was slipping.

Jason had in incredible mind, was creative and seemed to relish in telling people, “Sure, I can do that,” even when he didn’t know how. If he didn’t know how to do something he was asked to do, he would figure it out. And often did things better because of it.

I loved that man. I wish we had had more time together, but we knew it wasn’t forever. After his kidney failed in ’96, we would talk about the fact that he would probably die before I did. It was never a scary conversation, just matter of fact. I felt we would have longer than 19 years, 2 months, but I’ll take it.

I feel that since we knew it wasn’t forever, part of my mind was ready for it, my emotions as well, and perhaps that’s why I’m ok.

I know that I’ll probably continue having some bad days, but I don’t know if I’ll have too many more. I am reluctant to tell too many people this, as I don’t want to come off as cold. I am hoping that this committee, or at least a few of you, (maybe even one?) will understand what I am going through and let me know. I feel kind of alone on this and don’t want to be.

I hope that all of you have good days, and I hope that if you don’t, you have someone that understands.

Old Cross Bridge

Sixteen year old Sally paused for a moment, looked down the road and clutched at the plastic container full of food in her arms. The half full moon made it a dark night. It always seemed darker when she crossed this bridge. Her boyfriend Greg lived on one side of Old Cross Bridge and she lived on the other. The only other way around was a mile trek upstream on a well-lit path to the modern concrete and steel bridge. Of course, a mile walk up meant a mile walk back. This late at night, Sally just didn’t see the point.

She sighed again and started walking across. Heights didn’t scare her; this bridge did. If someone walked with her, they talked to distract her. By herself, she had to concentrate on not looking down. Some of the wooden boards had spaces in between them exposing the river flowing by underneath. Though dark under the bridge, the moon, low in the sky, cast beautiful diamond sparkles on the babbling surface. It was picture perfect, unless you were afraid of what was under the bridge.

Sally shook her head, sighed and started across. She kept her eyes on the end of the bridge, trying to remember where the spaces where. Her flip-flop caught on the edge of a board and she nearly tripped. Cursing, Sally knew she had to look down at the boards. She shook slightly as her gaze slipped through the crack and fell to the water below. She gripped the plastic container a little tighter and took a very deep breath.

Continuing slowly and deliberately, Sally faced forward and lifted her foot high enough to stop her shoe from catching on a board. By the time she heard the footsteps behind her, she had nearly calmed herself down. The footsteps scared her a little, but needing help with keeping her mind off the underside of the bridge, Sally called out.

“I can hear you behind me. If you want, we can walk together. I’m a little afraid of” how could she easily explain this? “Heights. If you walk with me, I won’t be scared.” She looked behind her then, trying to see into the shadows, trying to find who she had called out to.

From the dark, a squat little man with black clothing and unkempt hair emerged. Sally smiled at him and he nodded in greeting.

“Hello. Did not mean to scare you.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t. Thought whoever was following me might like a companion.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Sally. I live on the other side of the bridge.”

He approached her, giving her an odd look, as if trying to remember her. He gave her a confidant handshake as they appraised each other. He was short, about as tall as Sally, but heavier. His unwashed wild hair and beard were salt and pepper grey. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, a map of canyons. His eyes were dark, and he had dirt stains all over his tattered clothing. He wore loose pants, shirt and a long, well-worn overcoat.

Sally wore jean shorts, a tight t-shirt with the name of a local band, flip-flops, and carried a plastic container. She had a pink pixie hair cut and green eyes. Her face was clear of worry: soft and young. Her smile was quick and genuine. His was a little wary.

As he shook her hand, he tried a better smile. “Most do not shake my hand. Think I’m a vagrant. I’m Kross.”

Sally frowned as she returned the friendly handshake. “Your name is Cross? Like this bridge?”

He laughed softly then let her hand go. “Yes. Like Old Cross Bridge, except with a ‘K’.”

She smiled at his voice. Though he had no accent, he almost sounded British: very polite. “Hello, Kross. Do you want to walk with me or did you have something else going on?”

“I’m rather hungry. I was looking for spare change to possibly purchase some dinner.”

“Oh! How about fried chicken, corn and mashed potatoes?” She looked down at the container, removed the lid, and revealed the meal. “My boyfriend’s mom cooks extra for me to take home.”

“If I eat this, what will you eat?” His voice had an odd quality but she didn’t catch it.

She shrugged. “I already ate tonight. I’ll probably go back tomorrow night. I might not eat this.” She kept the lid, but handed Kross the rest of the container. “Please take it. There should be a fork in there. I don’t know why she gave me one. Consider it a ‘thank you’ for helping me across. ”

He frowned at her and gave her a very concentrated look. “What are you afraid of?”

Sally shook her head.

Kross took the container and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Tell me how you feel.”

She took a shaking breath. “Um…”

“Sometimes it helps to speak of your fears.”

Her next breath was a gasp. The phrase sounded too true to be denied, and echoed slightly off the bridge. The light seemed to run from them, throwing them deeper into shadow and Sally could swear she saw something else standing before her. She took a step back as he dipped he fork in the corn and mixed the nibblets with the mashed potatoes. It broke the near spell. Sally took another breath and shook her head as he started to eat. Thinking her fears were showing their ugly light, she laughed nervously.

“Um… It’s not heights. This bridge scares me. I look over the edge and see the river, but some times, I see something different. Like something is waiting for me and I don’t know if it’s friendly. I get vertigo and everything seems to swirl into a tiny pin prick of light and I feel like I’m falling even when I’m not.”

The poor girl looked terrified. She trembled; her eyes were darting back and forth, to Kross then to the end of the bridge, as if she were deciding whether she should curl into a fetal position or just dart to the other side before anxiety caught up with her. Kross stuck the fork into the corn, reached out and touched her arm to calm her. She jumped a little when she felt his hand on her bare skin. She laughed nervously.

“Sorry.” She laughed again. “I’m…”

His voice was soft and soothing. “No need for sorry. I did not mean to startle you.” He nodded and indicated the other side of the bridge with his head. “Shall we start?”

Sally smiled a relieved smile. “That would be great.”

Kross nodded and they started walking. He ate as they spoke. “What caused the fear, Sally? What caused you to fear this bridge more than anything else?”

She shrugged as she shook her head. “I’m not sure. We’ve lived in this house all my life. Mom told me that on a few occasions, when I was just starting to learn how to walk, I would race across the yard toward the bridge. I would be laughing the whole time and mom would have to pick me up before I got to the bridge. One day she heard me screaming. She ran to me. I was on my stomach, near the riverbank, crying and carrying on as if something scared me. After that, I was afraid of heights and never went near the bridge unless someone was with me.”

“No idea what scared you?” He knew her story. Kross recognized her now, but could not let on. He hid his reaction by talking around a bite of chicken. They were walking slowly, only halfway across the bridge. It wasn’t an overly long bridge. They should have reached the other side by now. Sally seemed not to notice.

“No idea. When dad heard about it, he told mom it was probably for the best. Didn’t need me running across the bridge getting hit by a car or falling into the river.”

“Wise father.”

She shrugged and smiled as she realized he was almost finished with his food. “Did you enjoy the food?”

He looked at the near empty container, then turned to smile at her. “Yes, quite. Thank you.”

Sally looked to the end of the bridge and realized they were but a few feet away. She slowed her steps a little and looked down at her feet. “I wanted to thank you for helping me. I’m still afraid of this bridge, but I don’t feel as silly.”

“Talking helps sometimes.”

“When I talk to other people about it, they laugh at me. Tell me to get over it.”

“Sometimes strangers are kinder when it comes to our fears. We are less likely to hide our own fears.”

“I’ve heard the exact opposite.” They took three more steps and were off the bridge. Sally visibly relaxed. “Thank you for walking with me.”

He handed the container back to Sally, holding her gaze. “Ask me, Sally. I can see the question in your eyes.”

She nodded. “What are you afraid of?”

“Of unkind people and of being hungry.”

Sally’s view on the world grew a little darker. “You get that a lot don’t you? A lot of unkind people and unkind words.”

“Yes, but once in a while, a kind person comes along and shows that the world is not as dark as it may seem.” He indicated the container with his head and smiled as Sally took it. “Thank you kindly for the food and the conversation. I do greatly appreciate it.”

She closed the container and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you for walking with me and for listening. I hope you…” she frowned as she thought of a way to say it, “find more light in this world.”

He bowed his head and started to turn back to the bridge.

“Kross?”

He turned back and smiled.

“I eat at my boyfriend’s house every night. I can leave you food if you want.”

Kross shook his head. “I thank you, but that is not necessary. If you find yourself needing companionship please, call my name and I will come to you.”

She smiled and stuck her hand out. He took it, but this time bowed and kissed her hand gently. Sally giggled with surprise. When he stood tall again, she smiled warmly. He returned the smile, let go of her hand and walked onto the bridge. In the low light, she lost sight of him long before he reached the middle. Taking a deep breath, Sally smiled again and went home.

*****

The meal was good; the conversation, the best he had had in a lifetime. He hadn’t expected her, hadn’t expected the kindness. The spell he threw at her when she was young should have made her afraid of him, should have made it impossible for her to hear and see him.

As he settled in for the night, the sounds of the water beneath him, the wooden bridge settling in all around him, he thought of her. Kross wore his real face, one more lined than what he showed Sally, but his body was roughly the same. Short, stout and bulky, with great strength in his limbs. If a different person had found their way onto his bridge alone, he would have shown them his true form.

The bridge creaked as a car passed over his home and Kross sighed. He looked forward to walking with Sally again. Though it was best if he did not interact with her too much too soon, he hoped she would call out to him again. Smiling, Kross sighed and settled in for a long sleep, wondering when he would have a real meal.

*****

The girls made a racket as they walked close to the old wooden bridge.

“I don’t want to go across this bridge. It’s haunted!” Marisa’s shrill voice insisted.

“What are you talking about?” Elaine’s voice was even shriller and sounded authoritative. “I’m not walking to the other bridge!”

“This is haunted. Do you know how many people have died on it?”

Gasps emitted from the mouths of the others. A chorus of ‘I’m not walking on this bridge! It’s creepy and old!’ rang out.

An argument broke out until finally Elaine’s voice broke through the chatter. “I am not walking one mile down the river and one mile back just to avoid this bridge! You can do what you want, but I am not wasting my time! I’ll see the rest of you back at my house in an hour!”

She started walking across quickly as Marisa called out. “Oh my god, she’s so mean! I’m going this way!”

Elaine continued walking as behind her the others laughed and walked away. The twitter of young girls dissipated to the sound of one lone set of heels trouncing across the bridge. Elaine didn’t care. She’d show them. In a few minutes, she’d be at home. By the time the others arrived at her house, she’d be in her comfy clothing relaxing on the couch, watching “My Mistresses” the new reality TV show she loved. As she thought about the show, she stopped and turned her head. She frowned into the darkness as the odd scraping noise came again. Fear gripped her mind and she started to run.

She heard footsteps on the bridge behind her running to catch up, but she didn’t look back. The footsteps were heavy. Afraid now that her friends were right, Elaine ran even faster. She felt hot breath on the back of her neck then knew nothing but darkness as something descended upon her and swallowed her whole.

*****

Sally stood on the edge of the bridge, trying to decide what to do. It was late and she once again faced walking on the bridge alone. Not really wanting to, she nevertheless started across, straining her ears to hear anything that might signify Kross was out and about.

It had been a while since she had seen him. Almost a year. Since then, she had either crossed with Greg, or convinced him to come to her house. Now that it was spring again, Greg preferred to be at his house, as his mother worked later and he prepared dinner.

Sally sighed heavily and tried not to look down. She often felt that Kross had been a dream anyway. No one had come to walk her across the bridge, it was all in her mind: the imaginings of a sixteen year old. Now, a year older, she felt it best to wear shoes that didn’t catch in the old boards, that way she didn’t have to look down. Only a quarter of the way across, Sally looked up, into the shadows as someone made a noise.

“Kross?” She said in too soft a voice.

A tall man in dark clothing came out of the shadows on the far side. He had a wild grin on his face, which terrified her. Her defenses came up and she spoke rudely.

“Who are you?” Her voice held fear.

The grin kept fading and coming back, as if he was trying to decide if he wanted to look happy or menacing. She turned to run, but he was suddenly before her, his hand around her bicep in a vice grip.

“Let me go!”

“What brings you out here on such a lonely night?”

She looked into his face and felt nothing but terror. His eyes were too wide, his grin too wild. Without thinking, Sally opened her mouth and yelled. “KROSS!”

There was a brief wind, then an elegant voice spoke just loud enough for them to hear. “Let her go.”

Both turned to see a small man in dirty clothing standing not two feet behind them. Sally sighed his name. “Kross.”

He looked to her with kind eyes. “Run, Sally.”

She did and found her assailant no longer had her arm. She ran all the way home and didn’t look back.

“You took her from me.” The man didn’t sound too happy.

“I am sorry to take your meal from you brother, but she is protected.”

“Brother?” The man faced Kross, frowned and pulled a knife out of his belt. “I’m not your brother.”

Kross took a good look at the man in front of him and bowed. “I see. My mistake. In that case…”

The tall man shrieked as the small man in front of him turned into something out of his nightmares. The man turned to run, but the thing reached forward, tripped him and gobbled up his legs. As the tall man watched, more and more of his body disappeared into the thing’s mouth. When his hands were close enough, he used the knife to slash at the head. The knife made an odd noise and bounced off its skin as if it were metal. The man shrieked again and was gone.

Kross gulped down his meal, burped then turned and headed to the edge of the bridge. He hoped that Sally hadn’t seen nor heard too much. He enjoyed her company, even if he saw her but once a year.

*****

Sally looked out her bedroom window and tried to see the bridge. Her bedroom, at the back of the house, faced the river. It was impossible to see the bridge from here. She worried about Kross. The shrieks had echoed in the house, terrifying her. She was a little too scared to find out about Kross, but also afraid not to find out. He was a nice man. What if the other man hurt him? Sally frowned and looked at the clock.

Her mom worked the night shift again. It paid more money therefore she always worked those. Sally sighed heavily and decided. She needed to find out if Kross was all right. Not wanting to waste any more time and possibly change her mind, she stayed in her pajamas, but slipped on her tennis shoes.

Sally grabbed a flashlight and headed downstairs. Sooner than she wanted, she was on the edge of the bridge, peering into the darkness. The moon was full, and no longer hidden by clouds. Instead of using the flashlight to see, she gripped it one handed as she would a bat. Gathering her courage, Sally walked across the bridge and called softly.

“Kross?” She waited a moment, and a few steps. “Kross?”

Finally, toward the middle of the bridge, she heard a noise. She looked to the shadows. Kross appeared to be emerging from the darkness itself.

“Kross! You’re okay!”

“Of course I am, Sally.” He sounded as if there was no other way for him to be.

“I was afraid for you. I heard the screams earlier. They worried me.”

The smile on his face was the kindest she had ever seen, on any person. “Sally, thank you. You needed worry about me.” He stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You should go home though. It is rather late. No school in the morning?”

She shrugged and it made him remove his hand. She wished he left it there. It was warm and comforting. “I have school, but I wanted to make sure…”

“Thank you, Sally. As you can see, I am quite well.”

She smiled, nodded and looked as if she didn’t want to go home, as if she were waiting for something more.

“Good night, Sally.” He said to encourage her.

“Good night.”

He turned and headed back to the shadows. Before the dark could envelope him completely, she cried out.

“Let me come with you!”

He turned to see her standing on the edge of the shadows. There was a terribly lost look on her face that Kross recognized. It’s too soon. How could she know to ask that now? Surprise entered his eyes and he walked back to Sally. Kross looked into her green eyes, into her soul and saw the truth.

“It is too soon.”

Sally frowned at him. “What?”

“It is too soon. We do not take the young.” He placed one hand on her hip, near her waistline and moved her pajama pants down just a touch, until his bare hand touched skin only. She didn’t stop him. He whispered a few words, causing her to inhale. When he was done, she looked to her side.

“What did you do?” She did not sound scared.

He looked into her eyes as he moved her pants up to hide the odd mark. It was more scar than mark, a dark pink that marred her otherwise perfect pale skin. “I am sorry, Sally. Your true self has to hide for a little longer.”

She frowned, not understanding. Sally shook her head and stated again her request. “Let me come with you, Kross.”

He looked sadly into her eyes as one of his hands went to her cheek. “You can’t, Sally. You are too young.” Pain entered his eyes. “Much too young. One day you will return to me and remember, but for now you must forget.”

The last word he spoke held power and made Sally close her eyes and collapse. Kross caught her in his arms and carried her to her home. He found she hadn’t bothered to close her front door and walked right in. He took her up the stairs to her room, laid her down on her bed and with a gentle hand, caressed her light hair. Last year it had been pink. He liked it natural.

“When all else is forgotten, you will remember my bridge. Then and only then can you come to me. Sleep well, child of the forsaken.”

He turned and left, knowing he wouldn’t see this one again for a long time. She wouldn’t remember to call to him, but he would keep an eye on her when she crossed his bridge, in case she needed him.

*****

Time Passes

The old woman stared at the bridge. Her left arm shook slightly from holding on to the cane too tightly, and perhaps from the memories coursing through her mind. She hadn’t been here in a long, long time. At the age of eighteen, she ran away, to find her life, to find happiness, to find something that she couldn’t seem to find here. She took odd jobs and did everything she could to keep running. A few times, she fell in love, or thought she did. The relationships all ended badly. She always seemed to be searching for something else.

Somehow, she managed well, always having more money than a woman in her position should, and she used it to travel the world. Everywhere she went, she learned something new about the people on this Earth, but not really about herself. Oh, she knew more about her own mind than most people did, but she could never find that one thing that she was looking for, that one thing that would make her happy. And she tried. She looked in all corners of the world, until her body ached and she had forgotten all she ever knew, including her name.

When there was nothing left within her except pain, she came here. She came back to where she started, and everything was different. The houses on both ends had long since been torn down. The Historical Society had restored the bridge, despite all the terrible things that people said happened here. Over the many years that Old Cross Bridge spanned this river, there were many disappearances, many unexplained noises and many tales to tell around the campfire. It didn’t matter though. It was an old bridge, had been here a long time and people wanted it to stay there.

The old woman sighed. If they had removed it, he would have been forced to find a new home and he would have been lost to her. But it stood, and she knew he had to be here. Since it was daylight, she knew he wouldn’t come out on top of the bridge. She descended the embankment slowly, carefully. When she started to slip, she stopped, dug the four feet of her metal cane into the dirt and took slow breaths. Once she had her footing, she continued.

It took many moments to reach the bottom and when she did, she looked around and smiled for the first time in a very long time. Being here felt like coming home.

The sunlight came through the far end and down the slats in the bridge. The clear water babbled incoherently and sparkled in the sunbeams. She could hear frogs and crickets nearby with birds a little further off. The green grass gleamed invitingly. Even the rocks looked tempting.

The old woman took a deep breath of the crisp air. “Kross.”

The noise cut out immediately. The rocks looked sharp and dangerous. The quiet river no longer looked quite as safe, or as shallow. The hidden pools lurked and the unsuspecting would find no end to the pools, should they step into one. Sunlight vanished on the other side, to be replaced by darkness so deep, not even the midnight sky would challenge it. The air smelled of rotted things, and the old woman felt at home. She called out again, knowing he would hear.

“Kross. I’ve returned to you. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me.”

He stepped out of the deepest black and came toward her. Not dressed as the old man, but in his true form. His size hadn’t changed much: short, squat and rather bulky. The skin on his face, arms, and legs were filled with wrinkles. She supposed his torso was as well, but his long shirt hid that part of him. His eyes, deep and dark, stared out through half closed lids. His teeth protruded like tusks from his mouth, both upper and lower. His nose was flat against his face, like a pig. He had thick bushy eyebrows, and hair grew out of his ears. Kross looked to the old woman in front of him and sniffed. He smiled a kind smile and his eyes showed nothing but happiness.

“Sally. You’ve come back.” His voice was as eloquent as always, and just as lovely.

“It was time. It’s been a long, long time.” She stepped closer to him and tried not to grimace in pain. Everything in her body hurt…well, almost everything. The only spot on her body that never hurt was her birthmark near her waistline. As she grew older, the mark grew and the pain in her body seemed to miss that spot. She came to think that if that area were to start hurting, all would be over for her. Standing here, the mark seemed to radiate pleasant heat. She smiled to Kross. “Too long.”

He shook his head and came forward. He stopped in front of her and placed a gentle hand on her cheek. There were thick nails on that hand, but against her old cheek, it was rather pleasant. “You had to be old, Sally. The young are not welcomed.”

A stray thought occurred. “Some take the young.”

“Our kind does not.”

“I tried to come to you when I was young.”

“I remember. You were too young. I wove a spell to keep you away from the bridge. I did not mean to leave you terrified of my home.”

She shook her head carefully. “It was nothing. I overcame that some years later after you pushed me away the second time.” She sighed. “You sent me away for too long.”

“We do not take the young, even if they were once ours.”

“I am too old, and my body is broken.”

He smiled and she knew she would believe anything he had to say. He placed his hand on her hip, over the scar before he spoke. “You have forgotten much, my dear. I marked you to make you forget. You were already ours when you were born. Had you not been, you would have never seen the truth under this bridge. I hid what you were in the only way I could.”

The heat in her side sparked and grew quickly throughout her body. She inhaled sharply as her true nature emerged. The pain and soft skin were replaced by thick skin. She felt strength in her limps and in heart. She took a deep breath and stood, not with a bent back, but with renewed vigor. She looked exactly like Kross, with wrinkled skin and hair in places that would make a human cringe. Their kind all looked the same, to outsiders. Sally could see the difference in their wrinkles.

When Kross took his hand away, she knew the truth, and smiled to Kross. She was like him, not a human, but a troll. She looked to him. “You hid me amongst the humans.”

“It was that or allow you to be destroyed by our enemies. Though our elders agreed with my actions, I was banished to this bridge because of it.”

“And now that I have returned?”

“If you forgive me, I can enter our world again.”

There was a twinkle in her eye. “And if I don’t?”

“I am banished, forever to guard this bridge.”

She smiled to him. “Come Kross, it is time to return home.”

He bowed to his beloved and held his arm out to her.

She took it and he started to walk her under the bridge. As they walked, a light appeared deep under the bridge and grew as they came toward it.

“It must have taken a great deal of magic to have me born again into the human world.”

“You are worth it.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Everyday, my heart. Everyday.”

Naked Chocolate Torte

The wedge sits on the plate unadorned by distractions, such as over sweet chocolate syrup or powered sugar. Plain, dark, slightly shiny on top, sides rough where the knife separated it from the rest of the torte. The end shares the slight sheen of the top, but only a bit. The wedge teases the fork, yielding with just a touch of pressure. The fork parts the small section and is brought closer to the lips. Turn the fork upside down, placing the tines to the roof of the mouth, the torte to the taste buds.

Instantly the chocolate melts with the warmth of the tongue. Flavor explodes, filling the senses with profound experience. The gods knew of this ambrosia and gave it to the humans as a reminder of paradise. As the fork is slid out of the mouth, the temperature of the body continues to melt the piece. And one must ask, ‘Why does the world not stop to allow the complete time needed to savor the intensity of the dark, luscious, bonbon like quality of the flourless torte?’