Something Just Like This

It was well after midnight by the time he got back home. Julius, alert as ever, bless him, had the door open before he’d even made it up the deliberately dimly lit driveway. The house itself was dark and silent, the others clearly having had retired for the night.

Ruilian allowed the large man to take his thin coat off his shoulders, which he did as gently as he always did. The familiar gesture soothed some of the restlessness that had been clamouring in his soul all evening, and he almost sighed out loud. As much as he loved the Langs, he was glad that he didn’t have to deal with them right now. They’d helped him when he was at his worst, and he would never forget that. But Julius was the only one that knew who he used to be, before. Before his hands, and his soul, were tainted with this darkness that seemed to rub off on everything and everyone he came close to…

“Will you be wanting dinner?”, asked Julius, breaking Ruilian out of his rapid descent into melancholy. “Depends, are you planning to cook?”Ruilian’s tired and near automatic attempt at banter earned him an unamused look in return. Julius’ cooking skills, or rather lack thereof, were a common running joke in the household. “Lee already did. And Lin insisted on putting some of it upstairs for your friend too, since you were clearly running late.”

Ruilian picked up on what was being implied. He’d shown up two days ago with an armful of bleeding broken boy, and it was only Lin’s medical training that had made sure he hadn’t ended up dying on Ruilian’s living room floor. Afterwards, Julius had carried him upstairs and laid him on Ruilian’s bed – it being the only room fitted with electricity so far. And it was Lixin who had since been looking up and cooking up every kind of healing broth that he could think of. Ruilian might have been the one to bring the kid home, but it was too late for him to be asking the others not to get involved. Cop or not, he wasn’t just Ruilian’s problem anymore.

He expected the guilt, but not the accompanying rush of gratitude, and had to actually blink away the surge of emotions that threatened to suddenly overwhelm him. He cleared his throat, “Thanks, no, I already ate.” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of just how exhausted he felt. “How is he?” He wouldn’t dare be so candid in front of anyone else, not even the Lang siblings, but Julius didn’t even blink. “He was still asleep when Lin went up there. Though it’s been a few hours…”

Ruilian turned to the stairway, and Julius bowed, “If there’s nothing else…” “Yeah, I mean, no”, said Ruilian. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep.” One curt nod, a concerned glance that they both pretended hadn’t been leveled, and Julius was gone. Leaving Ruilian with nothing to do but go up and see how his newly acquired mystery charge was faring.

Dante, the boy had said his name was. Ruilian wasn’t sure if that was a fake name. And, frankly, at that point, he had hardly cared. The boy had finally woken up that morning, after a day and a half of teetering on the edge of a more permanent kind of sleep, even as Ruilian alternated between pacing the room and perching on the edge of the chair that a concerned Lixin had dragged upstairs, mentally cursing the Golden Tigers throughout. This kind of mindless brutality was precisely the reason he had never considered joining them, despite the obvious advantages.

What he tried not to do was wonder how and why he had gotten so involved. Fine, he could justify not leaving the boy to his death. But why did the thought of him never waking up again leave him feeling this cold inexplicable dread? He didn’t even know the guy.

In his years with the Company, despite playing a role that had him barely on the frontline, Ruilian had seen enough men die. Some mere boys, just as young or maybe even younger than the one breathing so shallow before him. But there was something about the way the boy had obviously fought through the kind of odds Ruilian could barely stand to think about, only to leave himself at the latter’s mercy.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about that smile.

The only rest he’d had was when he nodded off in that uncomfortable chair a few hours before dawn and woke up to Lin standing over him with fresh bandages and insisting he leave the room for a bit so that she could work in peace. He knew she was only trying to trick him into getting some real sleep, but he was tired enough not to argue. He’d stumbled into the newly delivered couch that was still lying at the bottom of the stairway and actually managed to sleep for a few hours until the morning sun climbed high enough to shine its rays through a high window and directly on to his face.

At which point he’d stumbled back upstairs, ready to argue with Lin if she tried to send him away again. Except she’d taken one look at him, quietly nodded to herself and gathered all her equipment, telling him that she had done all that she could and that the worst seemed to be in the past but that she couldn’t promise anything. It was the gentleness in her voice that had scared him more than anything.

So when the boy finally opened his eyes, only to squint them against the late morning sunlight streaming through the window, Ruilian found himself rushing about to draw the curtains and help him to some water, more relieved than he wanted to admit even to himself. And when the boy identified himself in a low groggy voice as Dante, Ruilian accepted it without question.

He had been prepared for all sorts of awkward questions himself, ranging from his identity to why Ruilian had decided to bring him to what was obviously his home instead of taking him to a hospital or, god, a police station, but thankfully the boy had had nothing to say beyond a quiet thank you. Worrying that perhaps he was worse off than he appeared (- as if that were even possible, said the voice in his head harshly recounting Lin’s clipped account of three broken ribs, a gunshot wound, all the accompanying blood loss and a concussion)- Ruilian asked if there was someone he could contact for him, family perhaps? Dante had sat there looking blankly into space, for long enough that Ruilian grew even more concerned, before shaking his head softly and then wincing as if even that little movement hurt. “No, there’s no one.”

Not knowing how to react to that, nor to the complicated tangle of emotions he was feeling, Ruilian had excused himself from the room, only to return with Lin and all the food he could carry. Introducing her as the doctor that had patched him up, Ruilian watched him shrink from her even as he dutifully repeated his thanks. Lin seemed to pick up on his discomfort and assured him that she only wanted to make sure that he was out of danger so could she please just check his vitals. Dante seemed as surprised as Ruilian felt – she had most certainly never asked his permission before poking at him – but assented. By the time she was done, he even managed a polite smile, though it was a shadow of the one Ruilian remembered.

“Well?”, asked Ruilian, following her into the corridor.

“He needs to eat. And rest. I don’t even know how he’s awake, let alone sitting up.”

“But he’ll be alright?”

She looked at him, exasperated. Then her expression softened. “Yeah, long as he doesn’t move about too much and lets the worst of his injuries heal. He’s a tough kid, wherever you picked him up from.”

A pointed pause. Ruilian smiled his sweetest smile at her. She waited another second before snapping, “God, Zan, tell me he’s not a Golden Tiger.”

“He’s not a Golden Tiger.”

She stared at him for a little longer, obviously trying to tell if he was lying to her. “Whatever”, she finally growled. “Get him to eat A-Shin’s soup. And then sleep.”

“Yes, doctor”, said Ruilian, giving her a three finger promise. “Any other instructions?”

“Yes. Be careful.”

Ruilian almost laughed at that. The boy was practically covered in bandages. Like some sort of mummy. “Of what?”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. “Never mind. Just… be careful.”

And, with that, she was gone. “How can I be careful when you won’t tell me what of??” he called after her. Of course, she neither paused nor looked back. Ruilian wondered if he should have told her her that she’d probably just helped save the life of a cop. Knowing her, though, it wouldn’t have made too much of a difference. Hell, she was so nice to him even when she thought he was part of the Tigers. Cops were better than tigers, even if only marginally.

He reopened the door to find Dante sitting up and staring at nothing. But his flushed face made his attempt at eavesdropping obvious. Adorable, thought Ruilian before he could help himself. And suddenly Lin’s parting warning seemed a lot more reasonable than it had moments ago. Making up his mind, he set the tray piled with bowls of soup and bread in front of Dante, and bade him eat up, retreating to the doorway and fully intending to leave after he was done chattering about how Lin was better than any doctor he had ever met and how certain she was that as long as he ate well and rested, he would be fine in no time.

Dante had sat with his long fingers wrapped around the wooden spoon that Ruilian had thrust at him along with the tray, listening without a word, until Ruilian finally stopped rambling long enough to ask what he was waiting for.

Dante’s face flushed. “I don’t like eating alone”, he’d all but mumbled. And despite the rational part of his brain telling him to walk away and to do it quickly, Ruilian found himself pulling up a bowl for himself and settling down on the chair by the bed. He spent the next half hour talking about the most absurd inanities, ranging from the weather to the antics of the short legged cat that had declared itself master of his overgrown garden. And was rewarded by the occasional smile from Dante that never failed to remind him of the one he had given him when they had first run into each other – literally. He was dying to know what that had been about, but knew no way to even broach the topic without all the dangerous context.

Regardless, it was worth it. By the time Ruilian had finally talked his way through one small bowl of pork rib and lotus stem soup, Dante had had at least three and was struggling to keep his eyes open. Gently tugging the dishes away, Ruilian had insisted he get some more rest and promised to wake him up for dinner.

Looking a lot less troubled and more human than when he had first woken up, Dante had given him another wan smile, the memory of which Ruilian safely tucked away with all the others, and fallen asleep almost before his head had even hit the pillow.

That, thought Ruilian, guiltily for some reason, was nearly ten hours ago.

Firsts

By the time Ruilian was done with his debriefing with the core committee, there were only minutes left to midnight. Walking out of the nondescript seemingly abandoned building, he paused for a decidedly casual moment before choosing a random direction to start walking in.

As much as he was itching to head straight home, he knew better. Especially now, when he had finally managed to save up enough to get a place he actually liked living in. With such a lovely garden too, even if he hadn’t yet had the time to do anything with it. Thinking of the garden got him thinking about the stray cat that had wandered in one morning as if it owned the place, and since refused to leave. And just like that, he was suddenly thinking about the boy again.

He tried reminding himself that he had left strict instructions with his small but loyal staff to make sure the guest sleeping on the top floor of his new little mansion was left undisturbed – but that was when he was expecting to be home in a couple of hours. Not six. The poor kid was probably starving.

He’s not a kid, the annoying voice in his head pointed out. He’s a man. And not just any man, but a POLICEman. What the hell are you even thinking?

Gritting his teeth against the burst of unwanted rationality, he turned abruptly into a narrow alley, where he discarded his oversized shabby coat in a lopsided bin in one fluid move, even as he pulled out a cap from its pocket and jammed it low on his head, all without breaking his stride. He already had a much thinner jacket on underneath, a little light for this time of the night, but as long as was walking briskly, he didn’t think he’d feel the cold.

He only hesitated for a second at the next crossroad, making sure to choose the darker street. The paranoia came naturally to him. The randomization of routine, not so much. Ruilian had always been a creature of habit. Which is why, he supposed, his bizarre actions over the last few days had him feeling so unsettled.

The job itself had gone off smoothly. The top brass was suitably impressed. A promotion was in the offing. Was it that heady mix of success that had led him to make the strange choices that he had?

Thinking of the cold pale boy with the tousled hair that had pretty much fallen into his arms two days ago, Ruilian didn’t believe that was it. Or, at least, not all of it.

Of course, he had had no way of knowing for certain that the kid was a cop, and not just because of how shockingly young he looked. But he would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn’t guessed. Then what was it that made him pick the boy up – surprisingly heavy for someone so skinny -and drag him to his car? And then take him home?

Ruilian couldn’t be sure, but he guessed it had something to do with the way the boy had blinked up at him before lowering his gun. Sure, it could have just been blood loss, for the boy had obviously been shot. And beaten up. Probably tortured. But Ruilian couldn’t help but think of how easy it would have been to shoot him in the moment they first collided. After all, Ruilian hadn’t even had his own gun drawn. But the boy had simply looked up at him, blinked twice, and then dropped his gun at his feet, giving him the smallest wan smile before crumbling next to it. And with only seconds to decide, Ruilian had decided.

And that was how he had ended up with a cop in his bed.

The first time, anyway.

Waking Up

The room was dark, except for the silver light of an oversized moon streaming in through a shattered window. A young child stood in its path, with tousled brown hair that rustled with the wind, his shadow looming ahead of him.

The boy’s gaze was fixed upon a single object on the floor. A woman’s shoe, white, but spattered with something that glistened red in a sudden flash of lightning.

Just beyond the boy, and his shadow, and the shoe, was a door, slightly open. Barely an inch. The boy knew he should go to it, but couldn’t seem to get himself to move away from the only source of light in that dark and empty house. Even as he stood there with his fists clenched, as if trying to will the very sun into rising in the middle of the night, the faint light around him began to grow even fainter. With terror writ large on his tearful face, he turned slowly towards the window, only to watch the last of the storm clouds blot out the moon, leaving him alone in the absolute dark.

The thought of crying out for help didn’t even strike him.

There was no one left to call out to.

Dante woke up with a start, only to let out a gasp-turned-hiss as the sudden move twisted something at his side. Heart thudding furiously, he tried to blink away the pain, his mind simultaneously registering the light of a soft lamp burning beside him. His first feeling was one of overwhelming relief. Quickly followed by confusion. He didn’t own a bedside table. Come to think of it, the bed he was in was a lot softer than he was used to as well.

He tried sitting up again, slower this time, exhaling gratefully when he managed to do so without feeling like his insides were tearing. Wincing at the returning memories of the previous evening’s encounter, and berating himself for his foolishness, he glanced about him, taking in the room that was both familiar yet not. Spacious, but still barely furnished, with the large bed he was occupying and two small tables on each side of it the only real pieces of furniture. There was an armchair by the window, but it looked like it had been dragged in from elsewhere. He then noticed the glass of water by the lamp, – what he assumed was water, anyway – and grabbed at it gratefully. He’d just finished gulping it down when the door opened (with an audible click, noted Dante), and Ruilian walked in.

“Oh, good, you’re awake”

“Hi”, said Dante, sounding just as sheepish as he felt in that moment.

“Hi, yourself”, said Ruilian, walking up to his side and shooting him a wry smile. “We have got to stop meeting like this.” He paused for a moment, forcing Dante to tilt his head up to look at him, before carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed so as to not shake it.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.”

Ruilian raised one shapely eyebrow before shooting a pointed look at his freshly bandaged side.

Dante flushed and waved it away. “It’s nothing. Just got into a scuffle. Umm, sorry for the trouble.”

“A scuffle”, repeated Ruilian, in a voice so mild that Daniel wasn’t sure if he was imagining the underlying fury. Damn. He couldn’t even blame Ruilian. Dante was quite furious with himself too. Of all the places he could have dragged himself to, why did it have to be this door? And it didn’t help that his memory of the previous evening was disjointed at best. The last thing he remembered was knocking on Ruilian’s door. He had been pretty certain he had passed out immediately after. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Yeah… I… Sorry, but I don’t remember much from last night…” He trailed off, suddenly feeling unfairly small, as he often did in the older man’s presence. I am a Police Officer, he reminded himself. Graduated with the highest score the Academy has ever seen. Promoted twice in a year. Have the highest arrests second year running.

But somehow, under Lian’s withering glare, none of that seemed to matter.

Something in his face must have reflected how he was feeling, because Lian’s face abruptly softened before he turned away, staring into the light of the lamp.

Dante followed his gaze. That lamp was lit for you, his brain supplied helpfully, even as he struggled with piecing together what had happened last night. He remembered how much you hate waking up in the dark.

“You showed up here, just after midnight, slurring. I thought you were drunk.”

Dante felt the blood rushing to his face. “Sorry.”

It was Ruilian’s turn to wave Dante’s words away. “Don’t worry about it. Makes us even.”

Dante looked up at him sharply. “How?”

Ruilian seemed taken aback at the intensity of Dante’s question. They stared at each other for a moment that slowly seemed to stretch out too long.

Ruilian was the first to look away, “I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in telling me how you got that?”

Reunion

He had just finished getting the evening’s blood off his clothes, and was pouring himself a much needed drink, preparing to head upstairs for the night, when he first heard the knock on the door.

So faint a rapping, that for a moment he wasn’t sure he had imagined it. After all, there weren’t too many people that would dare approach this manor. Especially not after dark.

And those that did weren’t the kind to knock.

Then he heard it again. A little louder than before, but still muffled, almost as if someone was pressed against the door even as they knocked.

Picking up the pistol that was still lying holstered on the table before him, he quietly made his way to the window, not sure yet if he was relieved that he was the only one home at the moment. He had briefly considered – then dismissed – the possibility that it was Julius or one of the Langs returning unexpectedly. Not only did they have their own keys, of the three of them, only Lin ever used the front door. And that was not the kind of knock he expected of her.

Using his free hand to slightly lift the heavy dark curtains from one corner, he peeked outside. It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the darkness, but then his eyes widened at the sight.

Swearing under his breath, he strode to the door in five long steps and yanked it open, only for the person standing outside, and apparently completely leaning on it, to stumble into his arms.

“What are you doing here, detective?”, he asked the brown haired teenage boy that was now blinking up at him, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

“Hey, Rui”, the boy said, voice slurring enough for a bit of his usually well suppressed accent to creep in to his voice. “No detective tonight. Just Dante. Suspended.” He pushed himself up straight until Ruilian was left holding just one elbow, no longer certain who he was trying to keep upright. Dante started as if to say something, but stumbled again.

Ruilian frowned at him, “Have you been drinking?”

It was then that he noticed the ever widening pool of something dark and sticky at their feet, dripping down his arm from where it held on to Dante’s. His eyes snapped back up to the boy’s face. Dante grimaced, now swaying slightly on his feet. “Something like that.”

Then his knees buckled and he fell, Ruilian barely catching him before his head hit the floor.

The Cursed – Excerpt: Nova

(c)

The ground trembled beneath them again. Yonas ran through the carnage, pushing his red hair out of his eyes as he craned his neck, trying to locate any of the Nine. To his right, he could see the brave Sir Richmond battling two creeps all by himself. He tried to catch his eye as he passed, but did not dare to linger. Ahead, in the mass of dust and sweat and blood, something bright and white caught his eye. The Queen of the Lost! He rushed forward, darting through the feet of men and beast caught up in a lust for battle that his young mind could not yet fathom.

He struggled to keep her in his sight, heart soaring with pride as he saw the Lord Shade and his young squire flanking her as she cast devastating spell after spell at the charging enemy lines, only pausing to summon up protective shields around her friends. The elven archer grinned as he spotted the boy, and yelled out to the Queen. But he need not have bothered, for she was already looking at him, a worried smile lighting up her tired features. She swayed, and the Knight and his squire simultaneously leapt forward to catch her, swords at the ready in their free hands, daring anyone around them to come seek a challenge. She smiled at them reassuringly and steadied herself on the forest floor, preparing to cast once again.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through his spine, and he dropped to the trampled grass, confused. He could barely make out the Queen’s distant screams as she lunged forward, only to be held back by Ether, even as Janek and Shgyar moved in closer and assumed defensive positions. Lord Shade and the Mhak man charged forward, but a tightening feeling in the pit of his stomach brought forth the sudden realization. He had been stabbed. And he was dying.

He could hear the Queen calling out to him, much like the first time he had met her on the bridge outside the town, her dark hair blowing about her pale face, even as Lord Shade spoke to her in low urgent tones. She had caught sight of Yonas perched on the tree growing on the riverbank, and she had smiled at him causing Lord Shade to turn about to investigate the source of her humor. For some inexplicable reason, he left his hands and hung upside down from the tree, reveling in her gasp and the pretty laugh that followed. She was the most beautiful lady he had ever seen. And, as he swung upside down on the tree, offering to pluck her some fruit for one of the pretty stones around her neck, he noticed the Lord watching her as she fingered the green gems about her neck, and when she screamed in delight at the berries Yonas tossed her, he saw that the Lord was smiling. Yonas had never before then even seen the Lord of Shade smile since he returned from the first Crusades.

But now she was crumbling to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing and pointed at him. He wanted to reassure her about his place in the palace of God, but did not know how to. He shivered violently, and felt rather than saw her helplessness and fear.

Another tremble took over the ground, and the last thing Yonas saw was the Mhak man peering down at him intently, even as Lord Shade cursed out loud. The trembling intensified, and the two sword wielding men turned just in time to see the burst of flames heading out towards them at a rapid speed.

“Nova”

Storms and Cottages

He woke up with a start upon hearing the heavy wooden door to the cottage swing open, drenched in sweat, and his hair all disheveled, yet instinctively reaching out for the sword. Before remembering that he had lent it to her.

It was hers in the first place, said a niggling voice at the back of his mind.

“It’s just me”, she whispered to him, the quietness of the cottage hidden away from the snowstorm outside suddenly too much to bear. Her eyes drifted to his slowly healing bruises and he looked away, scowling. He waited until she had knelt by the fire to stoke it before risking another glance at her. She appeared alright, he thought, as she placed the sword beside the door.

It was much too large for her anyway.

“Why are you smiling?”, she asked, curious. He blinked at her blankly for a second, before giving her a curt nod and gingerly laying himself down again, even as she turned to unpack the medicinal herbs and plants that she had been out collecting, wary yet hopeful that they would suffice.

“Did you run into any trouble?”, he asked, and her hands shook as she remembered the horrors of a nearby village she had stumbled upon, terrorized by a pack of vicious dogs, and their even crueler masters. They had followed her into the forest,barking and laughing as she had stumbled along with the village’s orphans. A year ago, they would have hunted her down and killed her, laughing as their beasts tore her apart. But the year had been a long one, and it had changed her.

Her voice was steady when she turned to answer him, “Just some hungry dogs. But I took care of it.”

The smile on her face was a new one.

One that hadn’t been there before. And he didn’t know what it meant.

Nevertheless, he nodded in a way she had begun to interpret as relieved, and in turn, she was glad that the darkening evening kept the blood spattered sword hidden from his sight. At least until she had had the time to polish it, and feel the sharp edge of its steel, light against her skin. Just once more, and then she would return it.

She was only its guardian. It was time to let go.

He watched her gaze drift to the sword by the door, eyes full of emotions he couldn’t begin to decode. He wondered if she had been living by this underground lake for the entire year that she had been missing. He thought of telling her how he had looked for her. How far and low he had searched. How desperately he had hoped and prayed.. How hollow everything in the world had suddenly seemed to be. How he had learnt what it meant to be drowning in despair, feeling insanity clambering on to the sides of his mind; the absence of her, a raw wound that never learned to heal.

But he was not the same.

And, neither was she.

By choosing exile, by choosing this, by leaving when the war broke out, she had made a choice. Abandoning him, but also saving him from having to make any sort of choice himself. They would have never trusted him as long as she was around. Her hair was too wild, and her skin wasn’t pale enough. She would never be one of them. He would have had to make a choice..

“I can mend your weapon, you know”, he said quietly, and watched as she whirled around to face him, body taut and disbelieving, eyes boring into his, searching him for any sign of deception, or doubt.

He showed none.

“You”, she whispered. “You can fix Estel?”

He nodded, then pushed himself off the bed, swaying as his feet hit the ground. She rushed forward, her small cold hands reaching around him, steadying him as he gritted his teeth and shook his head. The Winter had hit him hard. He would need some time to recover before going ahead with his plans.

He glanced down at her worried expression, before letting his eyes drift to where her pale hands rested against his bruised skin, causing her to blush and look away. He leaned forward and closed his eyes, taking in the scent of the forest from her hair and clothes, trying to figure out where exactly they were, and how he would get them out of there. His eyes snapped open and fixed themselves on hers as he smelt the blood on her clothes, not her own, and that on her scratched and swollen wrist, her own.

She looked back at him in a confused mixture of fear and raw, aching desire.

“I can fix Estel”, he said.

The Princess and the Blind

She walked up the narrow path, her long dark hair billowing in the wind behind her.

It was black once. But that was before the curse. And before everything in her life turned into the color of fire.

“Are you okay?”, asked the little blind boy. She nodded, and then feeling stupid, said, “Yes.. The path is just longer than I remember.”

And, it had been. The last time she had run up this path, she had been just a little girl, glad to finally be home, away from all of the horrors in the wide world outside. ..That was before she had taken the vow, and before she had worn the black. Now, she was just another passer-by. And the house was supposed to mean nothing.

“It’s time”, said the boy, and she nodded again, her gaze shifting to the ruins towering over them. It was.

~~~

The raven haired princess laughed delightedly as the knight pierced seven flying cards with his sword. And watching her smile set off a smile of his own.

“Would you like me to do that again, Princess?”

She nodded, and the knight watched her messy hair bob up and down with her head in rapt attention. Oh, how he longed to twirl a strand of that dark hair around his fingers. But, instead, he settled for piercing another seven cards of her new deck, losing himself in the tilt of her pale throat as she threw her head back and clapped at his boyish antics. If it were up to him, they would never march back into war. He had found himself a part of the heaven promised to them all in the name of their victory, and it was hidden somewhere along the contours of her narrow girlish waist.

~~~

“You still love him”, he said.

And she was surprised at the anger in his voice. Though she then realized that it was not so strange that he sounded so.. jealous. They had kept no company but each others’ in the last six months. Counseled none but each other. And the only time that she had gotten drunk in the last six months was in his company, when she had ended up revealing more than she ever intended.

“It does not matter whether I do”, she replied, wearily.

“He brings you nothing but pain”, he hissed, suddenly persistent.

She glanced at him sharply, and then turned away to watch the changing skies.

He dropped his gaze, and shuffled his feet forlornly, until she turned to face him again, the wind setting free strands of her tightly tied hair.

“I’m sorry, princess. That was out of line.”

~~~

He yanked her to himself, and laughed as she stumbled, his arms already enclosing her. She turned up to say something, but he had captured her lips in a searing kiss, and she wondered how she was going to walk away unscathed from this life lesson, even as his voice drifted into her aching mind.

“Are you okay, princess?”

“What– what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, princess. That was out of line.”

“But.. wait! You said you had something to say.. What was it?”

“I don’t like repeating myself”

“But what did you say”

“Does it matter?”

“It does.. to me.”

He smiled at her confused expression, before kissing her forehead gently.

“You will always be mine.”

~~~

“Don’t worry about it”, she said, as kindly as she could muster, fingering the scar he had left her, flinching as she remembered the night he had given it to her. Perhaps things were never golden.. except until she thought about him. And then, it didn’t matter what precipice she thought of; all were achingly beautiful to her.

The little blind boy felt the expressions change upon her face, and knew that if he knew how to cry, he would, for her. For himself, too, as the princess was clearly never going to think of him in the way she thought of the fallen knight. But, mostly, his unshed tears were for the princess, because they would never find the knight of her dreams, and he did not know how to tell her this. Especially when she whimpered in her sleep.

The knight didn’t want to be found by anyone.

And two lost children, one of whom called out his name in her sleep, would not find him unless he wanted them to find him.

And it was in this perpetual fear that the little blind boy slept and awoke; that she would find him, and he would take her away.

Forever.

~~~

“It’s cold, don’t you think?”

“Not if you come a little closer.”

“But you scare me.”

“No, I don’t. I only want to protect you!”

“From what?”

“Everything!”

“And what about you, yourself?”

“…No One can protect you from me, love.“

I Can’t Take it Anymore [said the Pied Piper]

The Murdering
The Raping
The Torturing
The Terror
The Violence
The inability to stop involving the children!

There’s this theory scientists are looking into that suggests that our Universe might just be a giant computer program. There’s another theory that says that human beings existed longgg ago, even indulging in Nuclear warfare. All over the world, unexplained, mysterious ancient artifacts have been discovered that at least point towards the fact that we don’t know everything about the past. To me, these two theories could co-exist, as could they with the theory bout aliens watching over our planet. The reason I bring this up is because I like to believe that some of our older tales and information have trickled down from these futuristic ancestors of ours.

For instance, take the story of the Pied Piper of Hamlin. Long story short, there’s a village of lazy, greedy people that get affected by a plague. Being lazy, they do nothing about the situation until it gets utterly out of hand. At which point in the story, the Pied Piper makes his entrance. He plays music for the people, but finds them super-stingy. It’s only the children that stop to listen to him. And, then too, they’re most often dragged away by their parents. Then, noticing a couple of reward-on-getting-rid-of-rats signs, the piper goes to the palace/mayor and claims that he can rid the city of the rats in 2 days (or something). The people smirk at him, and agree.

That night, the Piper gets up, and starts playing a soft tune. He plays in his room for a bit, and then steps out, his lips never leaving the pipe. As he walks through the village, slowly, rats start filing out of hidden nooks and crevices, falling into line behind him. The piper plays and plays, and the rats continue to pour out, as if in a stream, and slowly, yet surely, the piper begins to lead his absurd following towards the river. As he stands by and plays, one after the other, the rats leap off the stone bridge to their doom, and the few villagers awake to witness this, shudder and bar their doors.

The next morning, the piper goes up to the council/mayor and asks for his reward. “What reward?”, says the mayor, feigning ignorance.

The piper’s eyes grow cold. “The rats are gone.”

“Yes, and?”, asked the mayor, even as the greedy, stingy people looked on. “What had you to do with it?”

“I got rid of them, like I said I would.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” said the mayor.

“Are you sure?” asked the piper softly, head bent low so that his cap prevented anyone from looking into his eyes. “You’ll regret this.”

“Are you threatening me?!”, asked the mayor. “Guards!”

The pied piper raised in hands in a non-threatening gesture, and slowly backed out of the packed hall, which let out a collective sigh of relief. Something about that man was very unnerving.

…

That night, when the inhabitants of the town are fast asleep, a beautiful tune starts to sound in the night air, soft enough to not wake a soul. Except, one by one, in every house, the children start to wake up. Quietly, they drop out of their beds. Stealthily, they sneak out of their homes. One by one, every child turns around and bolts the door shut. The pied piper continues his song, and the children fall in line behind him.

By now, parents have begun to notice their children missing. At first, they worry. Upon finding themselves locked in their little houses, they begin to panic. The fear spreads through the town like wildfire. “Look! There they are!”, screams a little boy’s mother, pressed against her window and pointing out into the distance.

Faint strains of the piper’s song can still be heard by villagers.

“He’s going to drown them!”, sobs another mother, even as her husband falls into a faint.

But the piper turns away from the river where the rats had leapt to their end, and starts moving towards the nearby mountains.

By now, some of the parents have managed to free themselves. Soon, most of the town is free, and they rush up and down, collecting torches and horses to ride out after their children before the night swallowed them whole.

Meanwhile, the children hadn’t looked back once, their eyes focused on their leader with the strange hat and the musical pipe. If any of them had bothered to turn around, they would have been surprised to see how far they had come, certainly further than most of them ever previously had.

Except for one boy. The town’s only cripple, the lame child had fallen behind as the trail of children followed the pied piper up the winding mountain path.

Soon, he was the only one the search party that was sent out to find the kids could see.

The pied piper, along with all the children of the village – they just vanished into thin air. When the distraught parents finally reached the crippled boy,  they found him standing and staring at the side of a mountain, tears streaming down his face. “They didn’t wait for me.”, he finally said, sounding as if his world had shattered.

The parents of the village were inconsolable, and wished that they had done right by the pied piper, but they never saw him, nor any of heir children, ever again.

~~~ The End ~~~

Okay, so that was pretty much long story long, but, well, I like telling stories. And, since it has been forever since I last read the Pied Piper of Hamlin, it’s more like a cover than the real story. I’m sure I got a hundred things wrong. Just think of it as the modern retelling.

Anyhow, the reason I brought up the tale of the Pied Piper, as well as the theories about computers/aliens, is: What if this story isn’t just a metaphorical reference to the fact that children will leave you if you stifle their fresher spirits with your jaded talk of wealth while they still believe in dreams?

I personally think it’s an allegorical reference to Moses and his leading of the people into the desert in the quest for the promised land. Or the advent of Christianity after the Jewish community unfairly treated Christ, who dealt with it so well, that nearly all of their children “left” to “follow” him.

Either way, I think if Aliens are involved (or a supercomputer program, or God-like futuristic ancestors), the implications of this story would be a lot more straightforward.. and a lot more sinister.

Treat your children right, or we will take them from you.

If humanity doesn’t change its ways, the planet will either find a way to destroy us, or we, the planet. The virus will most likely affect our ability to reproduce, counting on the barbaric nature of man to ensure it’s spread across the globe.

And we will die.

Sometimes I think that is the only way to stop the screaming in my ears.

How can you stand it?

Sometimes I think that to die would be more of a relief than an adventure..
Especially when I think of the children.
Our descendants should be ashamed of us…
and if they are not, then we should be ashamed of them.

The Lost Spy

I used to be someone else at one point of time, she remembered thinking, a few seconds before she picked up her brush to smoothen out her hair. Her fiance hated it if her hair was all messy, as was its natural state of existence.

I used to be someone else.

We all were, whispered back the creepy old mirror he had insisted she keep, even though she’d tried to tell him about how it watched her at night. He’d simply laughed at her, and she had gotten nearly hysterical explaining to him the things it said to her. In her voice. When she had said that, he’d stopped laughing. But, the gleam in his eyes made him seem a hundred times happier, as if she had just told him that she was carrying his heir. Then a cloud blotted out the light from the sun, and she realized with a start that his eyes were hollow again. Hollow, like they had been the first time she’d met him, when he had wrapped his bleeding, broken fingers tightly around her narrow, chafed wrist, and begged her to let him die. She stood, frozen, and he watched her, curious now. Then she sniffed, and he was beside her in a moment. “Have I upset you? There, there. Don’t cry. You don’t have to keep it. I’ll take it back to my mother’s.”  And, glad that the spell was broken, she glared at him, informed him that she wasn’t crying, and stubbornly half-dragged the cursed mirror all the way back to her room.

At least some things stayed the same.

Like her hair, for instance, which was refusing to behave in any manner remotely lady-like. Sighing, she tied up the loose strands with a ribbon, her thoughts suddenly, and nervously, wandering to the man she never thought about anymore. The one who drank her up with his eyes so hard, fast and deep that there was  no longer anything left of her for all these hungry beasts. And they knew it, which is why they hated him. But they punished her for it all.

You, you have always been you. Even a thousand years before we ever met, she thought fervently, even as the doors to her bedroom chamber opened. She whipped around, trying not to look guilty.

He always knew.

Hours later, when he had finally fallen asleep, temporarily convinced of her loyalty and satisfied with her adulation, she would crawl to the narrow window and pray to the moon. The Moon, which was the only thing that had stayed constant in her long and insipid life. Everything was colorless. And, the only thing that broke the monotony of the gray was the color of blood, splashed across everything  that she had ever held dear to her.

They would pay, she thought bitterly, but quietly.

Quietly, because he always knew.

And he must never know you.