Shades of Men: A Triptych

Blue

He was blue when we were children. Blue like a cheap polyester cerulean sweater. Like stained glass and butterflied and a clear sky on a summer day. Blue like the canvas in a fabric parachute pulled out at recess and sidewalk chalk and my favorite pen in the whole wide world. 

He was blue when we grew up. Blue like the ocean he lived beside. All-consuming, catching me in the undertow and forcing me down til my breath escaped in perfect pearls. Blue like navy cotton briefs. Like an oversized sweatshirt. Like a pool to be tossed into. 

Blue like the first color to ever make me smile, and the first to ever make me cry. 

Gray

He was gray the day he kissed me the first time. A soft gray like a kitten or a skein of yarn. Soft and fluffy.

The first few months I knew him he was a dark charcoal black. Burnt. Smelling of smoke and bonfires and gunpowder. His smile had an edge to it then.

He took me home and was a warm comforting black. A summer night with the stars out and the moon hiding on the horizon. Warm blankets in a dark bedroom.

The day we broke up he was a steel grey. It was cracked and jagged. It matched the sky outside where the rain fell in sheets. Hard and fragile and cold.

A year later he was the fuzzy gray of the sweatshirt he gave me. The worn and weathered gray of the clouds. The hard steel of a silver necklace and the presence of his gray shadow next to mine.

And now? He's the night that held stars I cried under. The glint on the silver rim of his glasses and the wispy smell of smoke from a blown-out match. The harsh edge of a knife and the musk of the woods in the dark.

Green

You, then, were green. Green like the light that filters through the trees, green like the flat-cap you wore and just fit right. Green like your winter coat and my favorite dress and the grass on the Fourth of July.

You were green like new growth coaxed up after a harsh winter and a forest burn. Green like a bud before it blooms, like a fresh branch without bark yet. 

There is irony then in the way all of my endings with you are when the world around us was finally bursting with color. That you lit a match and sent a hard-won garden into flames right when the flowers were finally blooming. 

Now? You're still green. You're green like...like an old tree. An old dead tree. You're green like the emerald that once hung around my neck. Green like the light in a psychological thriller, or the sky when a tornado comes. Like the surface of a river when the water is barely moving.

Like the color of my eyes when I've been crying.

Dear Ali in 10th Grade,

Dear Ali, 

I've gained weight. I've cut my hair, even though I promised that I wouldn't do that again. I've also gotten bangs again, even though we both agreed those were a mistake. They aren't now, they're cute. I've dyed my hair too many times to count at this point, although I have held my promise to never bleach it. I've dated several boys, and the one I'm dating now you won't meet for another three years. I wish you joy and more peace as you walk through the journey to get here with him. I am still stubborn, and I am so much louder than you were. I am actually loud now, and it is on purpose, and people notice. I no longer intentionally make myself small so that someone else can feel better about themselves. I fight to figure out why I feel my emotions, and even though sometimes I have a lot of them, I do not shame myself for them, nor do I consider myself "too much" because I have them. 
I spend money on my writing now. I spend $96/year on a subscription service that helps me remember to write and to write quickly because I love it. I have let people read my writing, and they like it. They pick it apart and help me make it stronger. I am working up to letting mom and dad read my writing. I have a man who actively works to convince me that my writing is good. Go to college as an English major, darling. Fight for your work and your voice. Find it. And then look at the emotions, collect them, turn them into ink, and use it to write your words. Bleed onto a page. And then do it again. Convince your professor that the words you say matter. Do it. And then do it again. Keep fighting your way through that first draft of yours, it will teach you so much.
I wish I could sit across the table from you and hug you. I wish I could wipe the tears from your eyes and do henna on your wrists and promise you that you are not as invisible as you think you are. I wish I could feed you, and give you tea, and promise that you will be able to eat all kinds of food again someday, and that you will stop being sick every day, and that your teachers do actually like you. I wish I could inject you with confidence and tell you that you will get there again some day. That the confidence and noise that you wish you had in you will come back and you'll be able to wield it wisely and well. I wish I could look at you and tell you that you don't have to live reactively and you don't have to cover yourself in order to survive. That you will find a foundation and be able to stand upon it strongly. 
You're a costume designer now. You spend all of your time looking at characters and asking them why they dress the way they dress and who they are and what their mother's favorite color was. You look at film students and tell them to do better at their jobs. You boss around people ten years older than you and gently support the freshmen under you. You're known for loving hard and loving well. You've made plenty of friends and several enemies and you're okay with that. The world does not revolve around the place you're in now, and it is so much bigger than you think it is. 
I wish I could look you in the eyes and remind you: You are not a mistake. You are priceless. You are a Daughter of the Most High who loves you, died for you, and will always be with you. You are loved. You are worthy. You do not need to hide yourself. People may not like you, but make them take you. Your worth is not defined by man or by a man. 
Courage, dear heart. The sun will come up tomorrow.

Love,

Aletheia

Senior in College

Queen of the Underworld

Do not weep for me for I have not gone.

I am the wind that shakes the mighty Oak.

I am the gentle rain that falls upon your face.

I am the spring flower that pushes through the dark earth.

I am the chuckling laughter of the mountain stream. Do not weep for me for I have not gone.

I am the memory that dwells in the heart of those that knew me.

I am the shadow that dances on the edge of your vision.

I am the wild goose that flies south at Autumns call and I shall return at Summer rising.

I am the stag on the wild hills way.

I am just around the corner. Therefore, the wise weep not.

But rejoice at the transformation of my Being. -Anon

I cannot bring a complaint against the gods like some have before me, as I am one. I cannot bring a complaint against Zeus, or Hades, or against their wrath and judgement, as most do. However, I can bring a complaint against my mother, the goddess Demeter. My story has been told for me, has been told as if her weeping was the most important part, my own voice silenced, even though I was the one taken away and married. So I put it before you to be the judge of whether my sentence to stay with my mother, to live with her months out of the year instead of in my own home with my husband is fair. If the complaints of a tired, controlling woman are worth listening to over the pleas of her sheltered child.

When I was a child, my mother was a joyful woman. She was the goddess of abundance, of harvest. She would call me Koré and take me out into the fields. With a wave of her hand, the wheat would turn golden. As she passed through vineyards, the grapes would form in bunches, waiting to be plucked. The grateful mortals would bow to her and wave, thankful. She taught me to be wary of strangers, and to be kind and fair to those I could try to help. I played in the flowers at her feet on the rare occasion Zeus would visit. My father. The one man she let anywhere near me. The parent who saw me and encouraged me to grow in learning.

I watched as the girls who would serve her grew up and married, starting families of their own. They would be replaced shortly later, and I was always passed over as my mother made it known that he who dared even to look at me would suffer. His crops would fail, his house would be overrun with weeds and all kind of poisonous plants. I took care not to pay any specific attention to anyone lest my mother's jealousy burn and they be cursed. It was a lonely life.

My mother kept me near her side as I grew older and as we walked in the fields, flowers would grow under my feet. I would often wander, tending patches of wildflowers. It was a charmed life for many, my mother and I among the few strong enough that Hera would leave us alone even though her husband had strayed. Even though he had sired a child with another. The world needed Demeter's good graces, her joy and bounty to survive. It needed her travels across the earth and the food and harvests that sprung up in her wake. The earth had accepted her and opened the secret knowledge of its bounty to her.

As I grew older, my mother grew jealous, suspicious, and unyielding. I was not allowed to leave her side, and her resentment towards anyone who showed me attention beyond herself had no bounds. The only person she could not refuse my affection was Zeus, and he came as he could to take me away for times spent alone. He never came often enough, but his encouragement to wonder about the world around me and care for its inhabitants never wavered. It was under Zeus I learned how to rule the land as he cared for the mortals all over the earth we would roam together.

It was on a rare visit from my father that I was introduced to Hades. He came out of the ground and I fought the urge to hide myself completely behind my father as he approached us. He was a tall skinny young man, and looked not much older than myself. Hades had been given the responsibility of ruling the Underworld and the strain of it showed on him. His face was pale and skin almost translucent like one who never saw the sun, and he looked mussed and covered in dirt as if he had been working and not seen a bathroom in a week.

Hades had come to the land of the light to appeal for Zeus's aid. A blight had taken the Underworld, and the dead were fading away. The systems to manage the souls of the dead were failing, his industries in the land below which provided for much of the glamour of Mount Olympus were grinding to a halt. As the men debated the issue I listened and held my peace. It became clear to me that Hades needed an aide, someone to delegate to and help him judge the souls that came to him to appeal their sentence, as well as a manager to help him with the production of materials for Olympus. I mentioned this quietly, expecting both of them to push me away, to call me foolish or slap me across the face as my mother had often done before. Instead, Zeus smiled proudly and Hades stared at me like I had hung the moon.

Thus began a new friendship that I was determined to keep hidden from my mother. Whenever Zeus came we would slip away to find Hades. He teased me about it, my father, but he aided our friendship, often following behind us as we walked, or sitting to the side to allow me conversations with another person, someone who was not afraid of my mother, who saw me as brilliant, who wanted my opinion. We passed many months with this arrangement. I watched as Hades grew worse despite the evident cheerfulness he had as soon as he saw me, and the attempt to brush aside his worries about his realm. Finally, as we left him one night, I turned to my father and asked what the reality of his situation was.'I am afraid I have given him too big a task for one so young.' Zeus looked after the young man sadly. 'His blight has not dissipated and in fact is now worse.'

I absorbed this and tucked the knowledge back away as we returned home. Demeter was not pleased that we had been out so late. She was not pleased that I rejoiced so at the time I was spending with Zeus, and though she could not fight him on his visits, she did everything she could to poison my view of my father, often going on acidic rampages before he came and after he left. Her jealousy of me knew no bounds, and my resolve to never mention to Hades only strengthened.

The next time I saw him, Hades truly looked like death. His vigor was gone, and even though he tried to hide the weariness, it clung to him. His clothes hung off of his skin, ill-fitting. When I took his hand to sit him down, I could feel all of the individual bones in his hand. It made me want to weep. I saw in his eyes the powerlessness that I felt deeply in my soul. I resolved then that if I could solve his powerlessness, I would give up everything of mine.

As Hades watched, I turned to Zeus and told him that I Hades was ill and I would be taking him home. Not to my own, no. To his. That I would go with him to the Underworld and do what must be done to save him and his people. That I could not stand by any longer and watch. Zeus nodded, and I suddenly knew he had been waiting for this declaration for a while. That he had seen what I was too shy to. That Hades would protest to. I was in love with him.

Hades of course protested to bringing me down to the Underworld. He could not believe that I would give up sunshine, give up life, clean air to join him. He ranted and yelled, reminding me that I would be surrounded by the dead, that I would live in the dark. That it was the land of the diseased. I simply nodded and held his cold hand and waited until he talked himself tired. Then I firmly informed him that I was coming and there was nothing he could do about it. That I was choosing to pick him up when he fell, that I would fight to make him well, that I would support him as he led his people. That I knew exactly what I was sacrificing and that I would do it anyway.Finally his shoulders dropped in a kind of defeat. He stood up and after hugging my father goodbye and one last look around, we went off to the Underworld.

The ground split open beneath our feet and instead of falling we walked along a path into the darkness. After all of the months of hearing him talk about his home, I had not realized how dark the world was without the sun and the moon. After we had gone deep enough for Hades to close the way behind us, he looked at me once more to confirm that I was insisting on this choice. I nodded at him once more, squeezing his hand. I would resign myself to total darkness for this man and the plight of the souls that had died. Some of those deaths had been my own fault through my mother's jealousy.

As soon as the opening behind us closed, the world lit up. It was dim, but it was there. The ceiling glowed with tiny pinpricks of blue light. Hades saw my question and told me they were glowworms. He led me carefully to the edge of a rushing black river and helped me into a boat that appeared in the mist that covered the river. 'It's the Styx,' he said. 'The river of oaths.' He held me in his arms as we crossed, careful not to get me wet. In the middle I made a silent vow to protect this man, his land, and serve him at all costs. A weight of purpose settled on my shoulders and I knew that my oath was final, nothing would save me from it.

We alighted on the other side of the river, Hades' strength beginning to return. I stared in wonder at the world around me. It was magic, albeit diseased. At our feet crystals lit up as we walked by, lighting our path. It was magic. I looked around in wonder as he shyly led me through his domain, quietly showing me all the places we had talked about; the Fields of Elysium, the Asphodel Meadows. We wandered through it all, and he guided me away from Tartarus and to his palace. As soon as we stepped into the gardens, he started coughing. I was with him, supporting him, holding him up, in an instant. I looked around the garden to see the blight all over it. The death I was surrounded by frightened me, the disease surrounding me odd and persistent.

When Hades looked up at me, his coughing subsided, his face was haggard. He begged me to leave, to return to the land above, to go back to my mother's table, to my father's side. I shook my head, kneeling in front of him and clasping my hands in his. I quietly assured him that I would stay, that I didn't miss the sun, and that I would see him better. He picked me up to my feet and stopped arguing.

Instead he led me the rest of the way to his palace. It was a grand building, full of dark marble with precious stones and glowing crystals embedded into the walls. He led me through it, passing souls in his service as we went. As we went, they said nothing to either of us, if occasionally nodding to their Lord. And so I passed my first night in the Underworld.

Time was hard to track in the world below. However, for what felt like the next several months, I worked from the time I woke until the time I laid down to sleep. I was out in the palace gardens, desperately tending it in an effort to fight the decay. I was in the fields of Asphodel, touring the Isle of the Blessed, visiting Cerberus at the gates to pet him and calm him down. Slowly, consistently, I quietly worked my way through the entire Underworld, not resting until I had seen it all and knew it's state. Hades spent most of his time working on getting goods out to Olympus, and I allowed it.

The only plant that sprouted after I tore the garden to shreds was the pomegranate trees. They alone grew rapidly, and so I planted row upon row of them. I hoped that the more I planted the more the ground would recover. The more life I could bring in to combat the disease, the better. And as I worked, it seemed to be succeeding. As I passed, wherever I went, a little more life seemed to bloom. The souls of the dead seemed to take attention and started nodding to me as I passed. Hades started spending more and more time with me in the evenings, and we would often stay up late talking. And so I spent my days, until the first pomegranate ripened on the trees.

Zeus came the day I harvested my first fruit. Until that time I had not eaten, not a morsel had passed my lips. I did not trust that the food was not the thing making Hades so ill and spreading the blight. My father seemed surprised when he found me in the garden, surprised at the world around him. He exclaimed and I flew to him, excited to show him it all. He stopped me, looking around. 'It is so bright and alive.' I was confused by his words.

Zeus did not, however, come bearing good news. Hades came to see us and when we were together, Zeus told us that he would be taking me back with him. How my mother had desolated the earth in my absence, how she had spent the time neglecting the people and weeping bitterly. I stared at him in panic. Go back? Go back to my mother who was controlling and manipulative? Leave the man I loved, leave all the progress I had made, never to return? I stared at him in disbelief.

Hades looked at me, his expression unreadable. I had been so excited to show him the garden, to show him all the improvements, all the work I had done. Instead, he just looked at me, and then looked at my father and nodded once. He passed me off to him and turned to walk away. I turned to my father helplessly, watching the man I had sacrificed it all leave me without a word. Zeus opened his arms to me and I fell into them, sobbing. He offered to stay for the night and we could leave on the morrow. I could not offer him food and he did not ask for any. Instead he said it was good I had eaten nothing, as the food of the Underworld prohibited those who ate it from leaving.

My father’s words spun around in my head all night. I thought about the fruit I had harvested, the fruit I had wanted to share with Hades, to show him that I had promise, that I could support him in his efforts. The fruit now sat on my bed in front of me, mocking me all night. As what would be morning began, I got out of bed and dressed myself. I went to find Hades, walking through the maze of walls that was our palace. I found him in the garden, waiting for me and Zeus before we would leave to return me to our mother.

'It is good that you go.' It was all he said when I arrived. I broke then. For the first time since I had arrived I broke completely and crumpled, sobbing. I asked him why he would say that, what I had done so to offend him. Why he would not let me stay, not ask me even. 'Because I love you.' Came the answer, quietly. I lifted my head to stare at him. To stare at the man I had followed down here, and studied him truly. He had grown strong during my time here. His health had returned as I weeded out the blight and did what I could to take tasks from him. His eyes, however, had never stopped holding pain.

'How can you love me and send me away?' I demanded, leaping to my feet and going to him, clasping his cold hands. They almost felt warmer than they had. He smiled at me, tears in his own eyes. Gently he tugged me into his chest, kissing my forehead.

'My darling, I send you away because I love you. I cannot bear the thought of you forced to live down here in the darkness. You deserve the light things, to run and play in the cool earth above. You deserve the sun warming you in the day and the moon kissing your skin at night.' Hades shook his head and stepped away. 'I can offer you none of those things. All that I have here are rocks that glow.'

'But I love you.' I tried to step into his embrace again. 'My place is here with you as long as you allow me to stay. No matter what happens on the surface, no matter what my mother says.'

'You never ate the food.' Hades shook his head. 'I thought you hated it.'

'The food was diseased.' I pulled the pomegranate out of my pocket. 'I did not trust it, but this, Hades. This I was going to share with you last night when my father came. I want this, I want you.'

I split open the pomegranate and held out half for him. He took it slowly. I scooped out a few seeds and ate them, their taste tart and tangy on my tongue. The juice reddened my lips. I had only eaten six seeds before Zeus came and joined us. He saw the pomegranate in my hand, the juice staining my fingers. He looked into my eyes and saw the fierceness in them.

'What shall I tell your mother?' He asked, looking from one of us to the other. 'Koré, you have to go back so the crops will grow.'

'And so she shall.' Hades nodded. I stared at him in disbelief. I had just-he had just. He stepped forward and wrapped his arm around my waist. 'She will go with you now. For six months, as she ate the six seeds. And then at the end of it, she will return here, to me, for the other six. And so it shall be, forever. For let none come between this woman who has fought so hard to be here and serve this place, to serve me, and her prize.'

Zeus nodded in satisfaction, looking between us with a smile, nodding his agreement. 'So it shall be done.' He turned away from us for a moment, and Hades hugged me tightly, kissing the top of my head. I lifted my face and kissed him. He smiled at me. 'I will be back and waiting when you return, my love.'

And so I followed my father back into the land of the living. And I was there for six months, living with my mother once more. I had outgrown the land of the living. I longed for Hades and the Underworld, longed to get back to my home, to get back to the man who had claimed my love. My oath tugged at me but I stayed and kept the harvest intact. The ground above that had been barren bloomed. As I walked the earth with my mother, flowers bloomed around my feet as I moved. I had brought the spring.

My mother? Demeter? For all the tears she shed when I was gone, for all of the weeping and sadness she had exhibited, she did not care that I was with her. She simply had needed my presence to reassure herself that she had control of something. That she would forever be more grand than I, forever have power over me and my life. I did nothing to dissuade her illusions. She no longer tried to hit me, so I said nothing, patiently waiting for the time I could leave.

When enough time had passed, I went back to the underworld. I walked to the bank of the Styx, and out of the mist he came in his boat. He picked me up from the bank and carried me back across the river. We landed and as soon as my feet touched the earth, the crystals glowed brighter. The ground turned green with grass. I stared at it in amazement, looking at Hades. He just smiled.

'The Underworld recognizes its queen. And Koré you are no longer. From this day on you must be Persephone, as you are no longer a maiden, and are instead the one to judge the destruction of souls.' A crown appeared from somewhere and he placed it on my head before scooping me up into his arms which had never been stronger. And so I brought spring and life to the Underworld.

So then shall you weep for me? Shall you forget that I come to you and bring the spring? Do not believe all you hear of Persephone, for I am strong, and I am never too far.

Works Cited

Anonymous. “Do Not Weep for Me - Funeral Poems & Readings.” Ford Mears, fordmears.uk/funeral-poems/do-not-weep-for-me/. Accessed 14 Dec. 2024.

Shades of Grey

 He was ashy gray the day he kissed me the first time. A soft gray like a kitten or a skein of yarn. Soft and fluffy.

The first few months I knew him he was a dark charcoal black. Burnt. Smelling of smoke and bonfires and gunpowder. His smile had an edge to it then.

He took me home and was a warm comforting black. A summer night with the stars out and the moon hiding on the horizon. Warm blankets in a dark bedroom.

The day we broke up he was a steel gray. It was cracked and jagged. It matched the sky outside where teh rain fell in sheets. Hard and fragile and cold. 

And now? Months later? He's the fuzzy gray of the sweatshirt he gave me. the worn and weathered gray of the clouds. The hard steel of a silver necklace, and the presence of his gray shadow next to mine.

Jar Between Worlds

 Clink-clink-clink, marbles into a jar. One marble per country per person. Ringed fingers drop them in, fingers with pink nail polish, fingers with cracked knuckles. Young fingers, old ones. Clink-clink-clink, dropping marbles into the jar.

There are two light blue marbles, representing a vibrant land with beautiful people and a beautiful language. Their food is spicy and their roads are full of motorcycles. Thailand, the diamond of South East Asia.

Several dark green marbles fall into the jar, calling homage to an island home with jungles and coral reefs. They carry the memory of small prop planes and eating rice in dark rooms lit by generators. Indonesia and PNG, the necklace of the Pacific Ocean. 

There's one white marble representing the place of someone's birth. It's a reminder of beach holidays, crazy bus rides, and fishing in the street gutters. Myanmar, glittering tower of Asia. 

At the bottom of the jar are a handful of dark blue marbles, the biggest amount in the entire jar. They called to mind bustling cities and sprawling farmland. A rousing national anthem is held in this marble, calling to mind eagles and aspirations of freedom and prosperity. America the beautiful.

Clink. A single yellow marble is dropped into the jar. It tells tales of a lyrical language, of hot tropical nights and rain drumming on roofs. Ecuador the bold. 

Two red marbles with gold swirls sit nestled into the rest. They whisper about helicopters flying through the Harmattan dust, and the little pieces of Africa it held. The echoes of drumbeats ring as they clink against the other marbles. Cameroon, Africa in miniature.

An orange marble sits alone and watches the others, listening to their stories. They see the similarities between themselves and the others, but added stories about dirt roads and seat-belt-less car rides to the mix. The little marble reminds the others of their beautiful currencies and the beaches that their people enjoy. Cote d'Ivoire, the pearl of Africa.

Clink-clink-clink. The marbles are mixed together, stirred until they combine and rub against each other.

A careful observer sees the differences. A wise one asks questions and listens to the stories as they are shared, tales of lands exotic and beautiful. 

When you travel in an airport alone

 You can get away with more when you travel alone in an airport. You're surrounded by hundreds of other people, talking, moving, breathing, smiling, crying. Their lives touch yours for a second, bouncing into your periphery and then out again, as you do to theirs. You've been traveling for days, for minutes, for hours. Time is fluid, it doesn't exist, not in a place like this. Your body clock is off and you don't know what time it is anymore. It could be breakfast time, it could be dinnertime, it could be high noon. The light coming form the window helps little. You've been traveling across time zones at this point, and who really cares, anyway?

When you're traveling alone in an airport, you can sit by yourself on the ground. You can put your iced coffee on the small table next to you, pull out your laptop, and type away. You can watch the mobile that outlines the history of flight as it spins over the sushi-bar. There are blimps, and the space station, a model of the Wright's airplane, and a blue and gold hot air balloon. You can listen to the pianist as he plays, wondering what song he's playing this time but feeling like maybe you should know it. You can smile with him from afar as his tip jar slowly fills from the generosity of strangers and get lost with him as he closes his eyes and his nostrils flare, trying to capture the emotion and drama of it all. You can watch the pianist covertly, when you're alone at the airport. You can simply sit without consulting anyone else or having to worry about someone else's amusement. 

The pianist's bubble is bigger than the others here. Certainly bigger than yours from where you sit in the quiet with your laptop. He's touching everyone who sits nearby, who walks past him, and especially those who stop to talk to him. His hair falls over his forehead and into his eyes while he plays, looking a little older than he is, but as soon as someone stops to talk to him, he looks up and smiles, his boyish face matching his light blue bowtie. He changes the landscape around him with every note, as people flow past him like a river, some sitting on the far bank listening, and others standing near by, being more honest about their enjoyment. 

When you're traveling alone in the airport, you don't have to worry about your younger sibling crying, or someone needing food, or making sure you find a bathroom for your companion. There is no discussion about what food to get, or where to meet up, or even if it is time to take a break, stand up, and stretch our legs. You are your own master when you travel in an airport, deciding where you're going, and how you get there. Whether you will rush through it all, head down, closed off from everyone else. Whether you will meander through with your head up, paying attention to the life around you, making faces at small children, and winking at their parents. Or maybe you decide to find a comfortable place to sit and work on your computer for after all, this trip is for business, not pleasure, and the airport has free WiFi. Maybe this trip is one that has you spending too much money at the airport bar as you wait for your flight away from home...or maybe back to it. 

It is too easy to miss the joy of life in the bustle, when you're traveling alone in an airport. It's too easy to dismiss other's business for their own, or feel isolated and alone in this cacophony of bright lights and voices over the intercom. But maybe that is the beauty of traveling alone in the airport. For once you might be safe here, the safest you've ever been. No one judges you, when you travel alone in the airport. So sit on the floor, sip the ridiculously overpriced coffee, watch the cute pianist, eavesdrop on the couple breaking up over the phone, and enjoy it.

A Companion

 Exploring is always more fun with a friend. Seeing the world with another pair of eyes alongside yours, getting to share the moment with them is magic. They may see a deer hiding in the forest or appreciate the way the light filters through the tree and hits the water differently than you do. Watching someone else find simple joy in the journey is almost more fun your own journey. You get to watch their eyes light up when they see a particular flower, or their head tilt back to take in the sunshine with their eyes closed. It is a beautiful thing. You drive down the wooded road, paying attention to how the light filters through the trees and trying to determine how on earth you would even begin to describe it. You roll down the windows when you hit the bridge over the lakes and drive slower, enjoying how the light hits the water. Some of it is covered in water plants, and small islands crop up a little way out. You wonder what it would be like to take a boat out to explore them. Or maybe just come back with some wood, a blanket or two, a thermos of hot chocolate, and some stuff to make smores so that you can build a fire and watch the sunset dance across the water before its replaced by firelight and fireflies. 

It's different again when you wander an old city with a friend. When you watch them absorb the old history all around them, the weight of the ages settling around their shoulders as they realize this building is hundreds of years old, and that one is at least a thousand. You watch them bend over a display, looking at an old cannon and the wall that housed it. You both gasp at the stained glass windows lining the ballroom in the middle of the town common, and they watch you with an indulgent smile as you dance along the colored light they cast in the midafternoon sun. Maybe if you're lucky they'll take your hand and waltz you through it for a minute or two. Your hair and clothes turning green then blue then yellow. They tell you fun facts as you walk through the streets and hold your hand when you get to the subway to keep you from getting lost in the crowds. 

Yes, a friend for the times you wander is good. A companion to see you when you smile, when you dance with joy and drag them into the sunshine they're missing. Because what is life without a chance to reach for the sun? A chance to run through a field of sunflowers in Kansas, or tulips in Holland, or poppies in France? To whisper to those that came before that you are here, and you remember them. To laugh with those in front of you about the here and now and the good things in the present. To promise to those who come that you will keep the light burning, plant flowers in the spring, and never give up hope. 

The Cathedral

             It’s old. Ancient, even. The pavers are worn and the covering they used to bear has come off. The stone benches still stand, somehow, but they bear the burdens and emotions of thousands of years. The stone pillars around the edge have outlived the trees growing outside it, through a few generations. Those who enter in come with hope. They come with prayers and in faith. They come with tears and chaos. They come in anger and frustration. The one who meets them there is willing to meet them with whatever they come with.

              I come in quiet. I come at night, or in the middle of the day. I come to see him, anxious for him to hold me up or to rest my head in his presence knowing he’ll watch over me. I run to him, burying my head in his shoulders and in his chest. It’s quiet here, peaceful, but never still. There’s a gentle wind in the trees, and birds singing. My feet cool on the scarred marble floors. My hair is warmed by the sunshine streaming in from above.

              He holds me in the chaos. He holds me in my pain. He sits beside me when I try to push him away. He smiles when he sees me, and gives me a hug. If I come in pain, barely standing up and hanging on, he scoops me up and holds me. He takes the weight of the world from my shoulders. He sits and listens as I cry, listens as I scream and rant. He watches as I pace and growl in frustration. He waits for me to wear myself down and then he speaks. He speaks so that I can hear. He reminds me of the truth.

              I have come with torn and bloody skirts. My legs covered in blood. My hair matted and full of grass. He cleaned me and gave me new clothes. He tended my wounds gently and healed them. I have come in my finest attire, my hair pulled up tightly into intricate braids and buns. My skirts sweep the floor with a whisper. He pulls me into a dance, then. He swings me around and laughs with me. We share in each other’s delight.

              It stormed and I left. The storm began and I kept saying I would go, but I didn’t. I wanted to wait for the storm to die, for the waves to stop crashing against the shore. The hail hurt my head and the winds whipped my arms too hard to be borne. So I hid. I avoided the courtyard, and I avoided him. I stayed far, far away. And I suffered.

              I suffered until he came to find me. He left his cathedral and came hunting. He chased after me when I ran, until he found me hidden under a rocky overhand in the soot and ashes. He bent down and crawled in after me, joining me in my tiny space. His robe ripped, and he ignored it. The cloth that had gotten wet with all of the storms I was stuck in now stained black from the soot and ashes I was sitting in. He didn’t give it a second glance. His arm went around my shoulders gently and he tugged me into him. My head rested on his shoulder as I sobbed. I sobbed and I cried. I ranted and I raved until I wore myself out. Until all that was left was the ache and pain in my heart. He stayed.

              Then he called my name and took my hand. He guided and pulled me out of the tiny spot I had found myself in. He took my hand and stood in the storm, waiting for me to join him. Waiting for me to let him become the calm in my storm. I stared at him for awhile, not moving an inch, expecting him to leave. Expecting him to walk away or say I was too much work, or laugh in my face.

              He didn’t.

              He stayed until I was ready to go, until I could step toward him. Then he picked me up and carried me home through the storm as it slowly calmed around us.

Wood Chips and Small Hands

So I totally forgot this piece existed...I wrote it for a class at some point. It's fictitious but based on memories I have from itty-bitty babyhood, back when my dad was still in the military and we owned a house with a playground at the end of the street. This was also one of the first pieces I wrote in college that I had a prof look at and say: "this is publishable" which meant a lot. Enjoy a piece from the archive that is my computer, and some pictures of itty bitty Spangler babies...also from the archive.

Pink ruffles on a sundress flutter through the air. The hot air ballooned under the skirt for a moment, holding the little girl in the air. Then she fell, her feet hitting the wood chips under the play set. She lost her balance and fell forward, splinters poking into her knees and piercing the heels of her hand. She grimaced and stood up. Another girl called to her from the top of the playground, drawing her up to the slide. She climbed the metal play set, careful not to burn herself on the dark metal heating up in the summer sunshine. She slips on one of her journeys up the stairs, catching herself with her hands. Her palms burn and fear fills her for a moment with the ground and metal so close to her face. But then with determination she stands herself back up and keeps going, a little more carefully this time. The deep rumblings of adult conversation didn’t disturb her play, didn’t distract her in her single-minded pursuit. Her giggles floated high in the hot hazy air as she climbed and fell once more. The only respite to be had from the stagnant heat waves. The cool breeze kissed her face every time she flew, until the heat smacked her once more. A happy smile alternated with a determined furrow of concentration as she continued in her goal.

Then one time, big hands caught her. She was swooped up by strong arms and thrown back into the air. A green and brown hat stared up at her, covering a grey uniform and boots. Camouflage and gear stood out against the pink, white, and blue of her play clothes. She screamed and kicked in the air, delighting in the feeling of terror. Then she was caught and she laughed, her giggles hitting his face like a fresh breeze. He pulled her close as she climbed up Daddy Mountain. Her knees scraped against the bare Velcro on his uniform, and her feet dug into his black leather belt. She smiled victoriously as she made it onto his shoulders and threw up her hands victoriously. She was on top now, and she was falling no more.

Times of Love

 I want a 2pm kind of love. A "lets sit on the couch and read or watch a show" kind of love. A ‘forehead kisses and goodbye kisses’ kind of love. I want warm company and picnics in the backyard on sunny days. I want to wake up from a nap on the couch to find a blanket tucked around my shoulders. I want a ‘looked up from my book to find you smiling at me’ kind of love. A ‘splashing in puddles in the summer rain’ and a ‘playing video games in the middle of the night’ kind of love. A "honey I'm home!" and a ‘baking cookies in the kitchen’ kind of love.

I want a 7am kind of love. A ‘warm hug under the blankets’ kind of love. I want sleepy good morning kisses and warm cups of coffee and tea. I want to enjoy the smell of breakfast and getting dressed. A ‘slow awakening and foggy brainpower ‘kind of love. A ‘fuzzy pajamas and stocking feet’ kind of love. A "lets get ready together" and a "can you brush my hair?" kind of love.

I want a 10pm kind of love. A ‘waiting up for our kids’ kind of love. A ‘fancy dinner’ kind of love. A ‘fuzzy blanket and arms around my waist’ kind of love. I want sneaking ice cream from the freezer after the kids are in bed, and laughing at shenanigans. I want to go driving at night and to go stargazing in the bed of a truck. A ‘dancing in the kitchen’ and ‘accidentally falling asleep on the couch’ kind of love. 

I want a 3am kind of love. A ‘wiping away my tears’ kind of love. A "come here, I love you" kind of love. A ‘cuddling closer’ kind of love. I want you to hand me our fussy baby to feed him, and to wake up briefly to see you pacing the floor with him. I want to both be up praying for people on our heart. A "the baby's coming!" and a "grab the hospital bag and get in the car" kind of love.

I want a 3:30pm kind of love. A "how's work going darlin’?" kind of love. A "how can I help?" kind of love. I want you to rub my shoulders while I work and listen to my frustrations with my characters. I want to go dance in the rain. I want flowers appearing on my desk with a cute notecard. I want to look up and see you smiling and wink at me over tiny children attacking me. A "can we have that family over?" and a "how can I join you in this?" kind of love.

I want a 6pm kind of love. A "you look good honey" kind of love. A "can you tie my tie" and a "can you zip up my dress?" kind of love. A ‘picking up the living room cause they'll be here any minute’ kind of love. I want help setting the table and carrying food. A "let's feed people" kind of love. A "bring people without a home into ours" kind of love. An "I'll help with the dishes" kind of love. 

I want a 5am kind of love. An "I'll hold your hair back" kind of love. A "come back to bed" kind of love. I want to watch the sun come up through the window and touch your face before falling back asleep. I want to hide from the noisy feet of our kids for the two seconds before they jump on us. A "go back to sleep" kind of love. An "I'll take care of the sick kid if you take care of the mess and sheets" kind of love.

I want a 1pm kind of love. A "lets go swimming at grandma's" kind of love. An iced coffees, sweet tea, and card games kind of love. I want to cuddle on the couch in the middle of the day while I read my book. I want to go fly a kite in the park. I want to go hiking and get you to carry my water for me. A "lets go on an adventure" kind of love. An "I love that swimsuit babe" kind of love.  

I want an all-day all-the-time kind of love. A "come join me" kind of love. A "let's do life together" kind of love. I want to wash our bathroom and to grocery shopping. I want to pack the car and to go visit friends for the day. A "are you ready to go?" and a "let me carry that for you" kind of love. 

Princess

 Shushing noises filled the hallway. Skirts and slippers brushing the stones as she walked. Her hands flexing and relaxing, pinching the sides of the fabric. Her head was high, her hair hung loosely down her back. The dress was soft to the touch, worn more in some places where her fingers picked when she worried. A thin bronze band was settled onto her forehead. It was weightless, and he'd worn it so often, she barely noticed it anymore. Today, however, it seemed to weigh more than it ever had before. 

The walls were lined in tapestries, displaying the achievements of the past. A war here, a hunt there. She kept walking, the thought creeping back into her mind, questioning the worth of it all. Questioning the worth of her own position. 

She stopped at the double doors at the end of the hall and adjusted her skirt. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and the nodded to the doormen. They opened the doors for her, pulling them inward and she stepped through them. Her pace was different from how it had been in the hall. Her face held strength and dignity, her lips carried the touch of a smile. She looked straight ahead as she walked slowly through the room toward the dais where her father sat. He nodded to her and waited for her to settle on the throne just below his. She adjusted her skirts, then looked up at him and nodded. He smiled at her, the smile comforting, proud, and full of love. She breathed it in, allowing it to fill her. 

The room began to fill with conversation and hubbub again as the first petitioner came forward. Whisperings lined the walls. They seemed to hang in the air, flitting from one ear to another before being absorbed by the walls of the throne room. She wondered what stories these walls held. The depravity they'd seen. The hope they'd witnessed. 

She reined herself in and focused on the man on his knee before her father. He was requesting aid at his farm. It had been raided by brigands the night before. They had taken a horse and a cow. He had had to walk here. She clenched her fists in her skirts. The injustice of it all filled her with frustration. She took a deep breath and released the anger. Her father nodded to her and let her answer the man. She apologized for his loss, and promised that the brigands would be tracked down. She also sent him to the treasurer to provide funds to help cover the giant hole this would leave in his livelihood. She prayed it wouldn't harm his family, and knew her meager offering would not be nearly enough, although the gratefulness that shown in his eyes told her he was thankful regardless. The frustration that emotion hid broke her heart, as she could picture his family in her minds' eye.

The next petitioner stepped forward, this time a monk. His request was full of pain and injustice. A story of fields burning, a chapel being burned to the ground. People dying. She took her time in answering this one, phrasing her response carefully. Her father's gaze was on her, and she knew it. She kept herself in check for the man, but her mind was already whirring. Someone needed to go look into this problem. The solution was tantalizing, but she couldn't slip. Wouldn't slip. 

Breathe. Keep cool. Answer and move on. Take notes for what will need to be done later. Done to help people. To get around the corrupt court that was still filling the room with whispers.

The next petitioner stepped forward.

Glances from the women. Cutting looks like glass. Lecherous looks from the men. Knights with eyes that linger too long. Ignore them. Breathe. Focus. Answer. Be kind. Move on.

The next petitioner stepped forward.

Guards shift change. Exchange acknowledgement with the new ones. Address this new problem. No fidgeting. No moving. Keep reactions to a micro level. Submit to the king. 

The next petitioner stepped forward. 

Listen. Comfort. Pay attention to the room at large. Participate in the dance between ruler and subject. Acknowledge their needs and offer what you can. Pass them on to where there is help. Address the next one. Keep it up until the line dwindles and the king rises to his feet, announcing dinner.

She stood after her father and accepted his arm. She joined him in walking through the side door below the dais. They left the room and entered the small hall between the throne room and the mead hall. He stopped her there as the door closed. They paused in the small room, only a handful of paces long. He held her at arms-length and smiled at her, kingly demeanor dropping for the moment they're alone. His smile is that of a proud father, and then he pulls her into a hug. He holds her for a moment, letting his daughter lean on his strength, before they break the hug and step back into their roles. He pauses her before they go into the next room, arresting her with a touch. 

"I know you've made mental notes on issues you will follow up on personally," he said quietly. "I learned long ago not to try to stop you, or to ask too many questions. As your king, I ask for no details and remain in ignorance. As your father, I ask that if you're doing this to be careful, to be safe, and trust carefully."

She nodded and hugged his arm a little. She would be meeting with her compatriots again after the meal. Her father knew it. She knew he knew it. It was the thing she could do to serve her people. If the best way to do so while she was in this position was grow to be the strong leader they needed, she would do that. If another way was to join the "reprobates" in the woods for another evening, then she would set her crown and gown aside, leave her slippers in exchange for boots, and strap her knife to her belt instead of hanging it in a secret sheath under her skirt.

Tigress

 Green verdant grass. The ground is a little wet, lush and beautiful. The grass is almost spongy, and the sunlight filters down onto it, creating a dappled pattern. In one sunspot is a drop of blood. Then a few feet later there is another. And then a little further on, another. And another glistens in the sunlight like a ruby on a princess's necklace. The next is inches away, and then there's a bloody pawprint. And then there's another. Then two. Then a small pool of blood. And finally you've followed long enough to see a wounded tigress, one foot caught in a trap. 

Her fiery stripes blaze in the sunshine, but in some places they are dulled and matted, sticky with stripes of drying blood. They've turned to a russet color, and under the fresh wounds, you can see scars from past battles. One ear is torn and it's attracting flies. She holds her paw off the ground. She stumbles and lets out a roar of pain as trap pushes further into her paw. Blood is dripping slowly from her sides and paw to the grass, and she stops, lying down and licking herself, trying to keep from becoming infected. 

She's exhausted. Her eyes are glassy and full of pain. She slumps, too weak to stand anymore, with no way to free herself from this new source of pain. Her scars and wounds tell a story. A story of many fierce battles. The stripes in the middle of her back tell another story, and you see very old scars where the skin has stretched with age. There is no fur growing over them, on her hind legs. It must have been a very old wound, and you wonder what caused it. You can tell it has affected her, pushing her to fight for what she has. She cannot receive help, she is too dangerous to be approached. There is no one to help her, and she cannot ask, there in the middle of the woods. There is no hope for her. Not even a little. 

Dancing

Dancing. 

Arms above her head, her hair flying out all around her. Rainbow flitted around, her head thrown back. Her smile filled the entire room, providing light for the space. She didn't stop, even when she was talking. Her hips swayed, her skirt swished against her ankles. Rainbow rocked onto one foot, popping the other into the air. Another step and she grabbed Rogue's arm, traveling forward. She tugged him along and towards her, sliding one hand around his back and the other gripping his shoulder. Hair scraped the ground and then she was upright again. He grabbed her, pulling her into his arms for a moment. A wicked smile, a mischievous grin, and then she was spinning, around and around. She laughed and spun back into his arms, her hair dangerously close to catching on his vest buttons. 

Music.

Her laugh was infectious and caught by Sunshine. Rainbow slipped under Rogue's arm and grabbed Sunshine's hand, twirling her in a circle. She dropped her hand and they danced together, pulling Valiant in alongside them. The steps changed. They kept time with their hands, creating a syncopated rhythm. Their feet drummed the floor and their breathy laughs provided harmonies. Sunshine reached and pulled Theo into the circle, away from where he watched in the corner. The music adjusted and played, filling the air full of light. The floor was bare, the walls nonexistent. Skirts flashed color, shoes tapped on rhythm. The circumstances were bare, but the warmth, love, and joy was contagious. 

Revel.

Precious joined the circle hesitantly, tucking dark curls behind her ear. Valiant spun her around, frolicking alongside Rainbow. Snickers followed shyly before surrendering herself to the music with abandon. Rogue caught Rainbow again, pulling her into his arms and trapping her for a moment. She rested and caught her breath before he twirled her around in front of him, bringing her giggles back to the forefront. 

Happiness.

Sunshine gently invited Elegance to the party, coaxing her out into the floor, out into the dance. Rainbow saw and joined them, gently showing Elegance steps to try, to put her own spin on it. Elegance pirouetted in a circle and landed with a smile. The other girls applauded and tugged her into the frivolities. 

Dancing.

Lost Places

 There are moments when the world is too big. Moments when it's too weighty to carry alone anymore, and the world presses down on you from all angles. One thing fell out of place, and your entire jenga tower came crashing down. So you look. You look for that person you run to with tears streaming down your face and your heart bruised. Or even without tears, you look for the person you can lean on, because even if they can't fix it, they will still kiss it and make it better. You run to go find them and then bury your face in their clothes, too small to do more than hide in their jacket. You curl up next to them on the couch, wrapping their arm around your shoulder. You snuggle up against them and sit in their lap because from there the world is normal-sized again. From the arms of safety there's peace even when the tears still fall. They're the wall you hide behind out of timidity, and the fortress you run to in pain.

And then you blink.

You blink and suddenly you're too big to come running to someone for safety. The deadlines loom over you, bad news wakes you up from a nap. One by one, the pieces in your jenga tower disappear until the tower falls and you're left alone in the rubble. So you look. You look around and wonder. Where is the person I run to with tears streaming down my face and my heart bruised? Where is the person who will kiss it and make it better, who's jacket I can hide in and who's arm will wrap around my shoulders?

And you realize you've grown up. 

Snowfall in Elinden

The day of first snow was a big one in Elinden. Half of the inhabitants of the tree had come from other parts of the world, and not all of them had had snow. Growing up in mostly the rainforest and desert, it had been a long time since Rebecca had seen snow herself. She watched tolerantly and helped Nicole organize snow chaos. She gathered blankets, made cider and hot chocolate, and had soup simmering on the back of the stove. Gloves and heavy cloaks came out of a big chest and were passed out as people ran outside to play. Rebecca stayed back a little, making sure everyone stayed warm. She was starting to set out decorations and put things in order for the frivolities after everyone came in and dried off when Chris came to the door. He poked his head in and glared at her. Cameron was right behind him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her.

"In or out," she commanded, shivering. "It's cold."

"It's not that cold," he persisted.

"Come on, Rebecca," Cameron came all the way in and threw a cloak at her. "Its snow. It's fun. Let's go."

"But its wet," Rebecca protested reluctantly.

"Let's go," Chris said impatiently. 

"Fine," Rebecca laughed and wrapped herself in the cloak. 

Then she was dragged out the door before she could grab anything else warm. A shout went up when everyone realized she'd come to join the fun. It was chaos around Elinden as people scooped up snow and threw it at each other. Rebecca joined in the fun for awhile, but as she grew a little more tired, she stole away with Chris and Cameron. Her head was bare and snow fell all over it and her face, but she didn't care. It was beautiful as they walked through the forest nearby. The snow fell softly and stuck to the trees and the rest of the world. They turned around before too long, cause Rebecca felt the need to get back before too much water was tracked inside the house. She walked a little ahead with Cameron, not noticing that Chris had lagged behind a little until he stopped. He paused at the edge of the treeline and stared at the sky and the trees, a small smile of awe on his face. Rebecca paused and went back to join him, resigning herself to the state of her kitchen. They stood in silence and watched the snow for awhile, enjoying the stillness. 

"I forgot how beautiful it is," Chris said quietly.

"It really is," Rebecca smiled. 

Little kid giddiness filled her as she watched the snow. She wanted to dance and romp around, kicking snow into the air. Instead, she held herself still and just enjoyed the feeling of snow landing on her face. She looked down finally to find Chris looking at her, a bemused smile on his face. She smiled at him and shrugged.

"You're covered in snow," he said, looking her over.

"So are you," Rebecca pointed out.

"No, you're really covered," he shook his head. "I at least have a hat."

"Fair enough," she laughed and then they started walking back to the tree. 

They entered the living room and were greeted by a scene of pure chaos. People were in wet clothes, wrapped in blankets, standing around the fire, and just generally laughing and trying to warm up.

"Alright!" Rebecca said, working now just to rescue her carpet. "Everyone out of the wet coats. Pile all the wet outdoor coats by the door. Then upstairs with the lot of you and into something warm!"

They all started moving, and she collected all of the wet gear relatively quickly. It would be taken upstairs to the small study where she would dry it all off. In the meantime, it all went into the large cast-iron tub, so at least her floor wouldn't be covered in water. Then as people began to come back downstairs, she poured hot drinks into mugs and handed them around, giving the ones who wanted it warm blankets to wrap in as well. 

Chris watched all of these goings on from where he'd stationed himself in the corner. Rebecca brought him over a warm mug of cider and smiled at him. "Go dry off, Chris."

"You first," he said, taking the drink. "It's all taken care of down here. You're a little more wet than me." 

Rebecca sighed and felt her hair. All of the snow had melted now and was wetting all of her clothes.

"Just get warm please," she sighed. "And keep them out of trouble. I'll be right back."

Rebecca ran upstairs and towel dried her hair, pulling it back and out of her face. She changed into a warmer outfit and then came back downstairs in time to find Hector and Chris bringing in a tree. She joined them to supervise, ordering Nicole and Cameron to move furniture out of the way so that they didn't run into anything. The tree was set up in the corner, and Rebecca put towels under it so that all of the remaining snow and water on it didn't make a complete mess on the floor as it dried. 

"What do you think, Becky?" Hector asked, stepping back and giving her a hug while they both looked the tree over.

"I think that both you and Chris need to go change and dry off," she said, hugging him back. She looked up at him with a laugh. "It looks good though, Hector. Thank you."

"Of course," he nodded and shed his jacket, adding it to the pile in the tub. "You were wanting it today anyway."

"The snow just made it perfect," she nodded. "Go change and dry off, then get a mug of hot cider. Dinner isn't for another hour or so."

"Yes ma'am," he nodded and looked at Chris. "Come on. You heard the lady."

Chris shot Rebecca a rebellious look but followed Hector upstairs. Rebecca laughed as they left and then took her mop and cleaned up the last of the puddles of water that were randomly around the room.

"What's the plan with all of this?" Nicole asked her, coming into the kitchen. "Are we decorating?"

"Yes," Rebecca nodded. "I need to get the wet stuff hung up first though. The laundry room fire should do a good enough job of drying it all, but it's just getting it all hung up."

"It'll be taken care of," Nicole nodded. 

She grabbed one of the heavy tub and she left, taking several boys with her. The noise level dropped a bit as they all left. It was quiet for only about ten minutes however, before the elves came in. Rebecca welcomed them, pointed them to the back to dry off their things, and kept working. She laid out cookies on platters, refilled the pot of hot chocolate, and began laying out the decorations on flat surfaces so they could easily be hung up. She would need the taller ones to do all of that. Her halfling height was unfortunate in some circumstances.

"It smells good in here," Hector commented as he came back in the room. 

"I've got stew cooking, cookies baking, and cider warming," Rebecca shrugged. "If it didn't smell good, I'd be concerned."

"It almost always smells good in here," Chris pointed out. "Becky knows what she's doing."

"Thanks," she nodded, not sure how to take that. "Wanna help me start hanging some of these garlands near the ceiling?"

"So any of these?" Hector waved his hand toward the tables.

"Yep. Just leave the glittery ones for Nicole," Rebecca nodded. 

They all worked together to get decorations up. The hilarity only grew as the evening wore on. The boys decorated Cameron like a tree. Nicole covered the house in glitter. Becky laughed as she watched her, quietly orchestrating the entire thing. Julia decorated the tree, making it look pretty and classic amidst all the rest of the chaos. 

Food slowly disappeared as the evening wore on, and cookies became decorated and laid out to dry. Finally the elves left and the boys went upstairs, probably to hide from the chaos. Julia and Nicole also went upstairs to work on making presents, and Rebecca began cleaning up all of the random shrapnel left over from the hijinks. 

"It looks like Christmas in here," Hector said, looking around the room with a smile. "It's pretty."

"You all did a wonderful job," Rebecca said, putting food away and wiping the tables. "I appreciate all the hard work."

"You know what's missing?" Chris asked, pulling a small green plant out from his pocket.

Rebecca's eyes widened as she realized what he was holding. "No," she shook her head. "Let's not breed chaos."

"It might be funny," he said with a sly smile. 

"Absolutely not," Hector ended the conversation. "Not with this group."

"I'll take it down and burn it if you hang it," Rebecca said firmly. "We are not hanging mistletoe up."

"Fine," Chris nodded and looked defeated for a moment and then shrugged. "It does look good in here though. Good job, Becky."

"You all did the work," she said even as she moved around quietly adjusting things and fixing things so that it was all tidied and neat. Her little touches made it look just that much better.

"Right," he rolled his eyes. 

"I'm going to head to bed I think," Hector said after a moment. "It's been getting colder earlier."

"Yeah, and it's snowed," Rebecca nodded, giving him a hug and some warm bricks. "Be safe big brother."

"Of course," he nodded. "Rest well, all." 

Dragon Short Story

 I took an old sketch I posted on here in January and revised it. Here's the completed (ish) short-story.

"Are you sure you want to go in there, Syretia?"  

I gave Aramis a short nod and squared my shoulders. His brown hair fell into his eyes. I'd need to trim that later, if I came back. No. Not if. When. When I came back, I would trim Aramis's hair. And maybe make him shave. He could use another shave before it got too cold and he was inflexible.  

"Syr. Let me rephrase this. There's a dragon in there. The last five people that have gone in were kidnapped and no one has seen them since. I'm not sure what a tiny adventurer can do at this point," his voice was concerned. "Especially one who's main role is a storyteller. 

"Oh right," I checked my satchel to make sure my writing materials were safely stowed. I nodded with a satisfied smile and mentally ran through all of the extra knives I had hidden on my person as well. I set my hand on the pommel of my sword and looked up into his eyes. "Look. I'm going in, we'll have a conversation, I'll come out. No one will have to get hurt." 

"You think a dragon is going to take one look at you and go 'Ah yes, I'll definitely be talking to the short warrior instead of eating her!'" Aramis crossed his arms and moved half a step over so that he was between me and the gaping hole in the mountain. "I thought you were smarter than this, Syretia." 

"It needs to be done, Aramis," I said, hefting my shield onto my arm and picking up a lit lantern with the other. "As I have mentioned ever time we've had this conversation, if you want to come with, you are welcome." 

"No, someone has to be able to come get you if you don't come out," Aramis shook his head with a sigh. "Or go home to tell your family what happened." 

"I thought you weren't going to be the one to tell my brother what I've been up to?" I asked him with a cheeky grin. 

"I never said that," Aramis shook his head. "Be safe, Syretia." 

"Always," I nodded and smiled at him. "I'm off." 

"Right," he stepped out of the way reluctantly and watched me as I walked away.  

I set my face toward the hole in the mountain resolutely and began the trek up to it. The forest all around it had been cut back and dying wildflowers filled the area. The weather was turning colder and they were struggling. I ignored the bad omen that implied, and kept walking. The last thing I noticed before stepping into the cave was that the world was quiet. None of the birds were singing.  

I shivered and lifted my lantern as I walked on. I blinked in confusion as my eyes adjusted to looking at things in a limited scope of light. The cave was immaculate. There was no evidence of spiders. No dripping pools of water or half-formed stalactites. No bones or dead bodies, which I had been warned about in the village below. The creative juices in my brain started to whirl even as I grew more alert. The cave was oddly clean, an illusion of the monstrosity it hid... 

The tunnel split and I paused, taking a small piece of chalk out of one of the pockets of my satchel. I bent on the floor and made a small arrow on the floor pointing down the right passage. Then I continued on in that direction. The ceiling began to slope down toward the floor at a rapid rate, and I was suddenly thankful I was so small. If Aramis had been with me, he would be complaining about hitting his head on the ceiling. The walls closed in as well, and I moved slower, taking my time to squeeze through small crevices and cracks. I left my shield behind at another junction, when it became clear that the tunnels were too small for me to get through. I vaguely wondered if I was going the wrong way, but pushed the thought away. I had time to find something still, and rumor had it you should always go right when looking for a dragon's cave. 

I paused as the cave tunnel opened up into a cavern in front of me. I blinked in surprise at the bright warm glow of the space. It was oddly full of people. Not that there were many, only about six. But that was still six more than I had been expecting, and after what had felt like far too long wandering through an empty cave, it seemed like a crowd. The floor of the cavern was tiled with a beautiful mosaic, and odd tapestries hung from some of the walls. What looked like a chandelier hung from the ceiling. The monster's lair was mesmerizing and opulent, reminiscent of a grand castle.  

One woman was at an easel in one corner, studying a painting as if wondering how on earth she could fix it. I knew the look. I'd studied my writing that way on many an occaision. A young lad sat at a spinning will, spinning hay into gold. I blinked in surprise. No, that couldn't be right. Only one man could spin straw into gold, and he was my friend. But there it was. A girl in a red dress was hummnig to herself as she danced across the floor, light on her feet. Her partner was a strong older gentleman, easily lifting her up over his head. One other man was in what could only be a kitchen, and that is a loose word for it, making some kind of food. Artisans worked in every space, perfecting their work. The beauty filling the room could have only come from them. 

What truly caught my attention, however, was the young man visiting each person, adjusting a posture here, pointing out the problem there. He tasted whatever was being cooked, laughing with its maker. He praised the boy at the wheel, mentioning something about golden cloaks being the most durable against the elements. I watched from the doorway in confusion, hovering in the doorway, suddenly quite unsure of myself. I longed to be inside the room, longed to be a part of the magic of that world. And yet...and yet there was a nagging worry I didn't quite belong. Some tiny part in the back of my mind whispered that it was an enchantment, that I was not creative enough, not bold enough to belong with the group in the room.  

The young man spotted me standing there, with my sword strapped to one half of my belt, and my writing accoutrements to the other. He smiled and crossed the room to me, not disturbing anyone else.  

"Are you lost?" his voice held the roar of a fire. 

"N-no," I shook my head and steeled my spine. "Or at least, I don't think so. I came to see the dragon." 

"Ah," he nodded, glancing at my sword again. His gaze traveled from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, taking in every inch of me. I got the sense he knew exactly where all of my hidden weapons were. "Well. Can I interest you in a mug of hot cider?" 

I warily nodded, following him to an empty table. I watched him as he waited on me, holding my chair like a gentleman. His movements bespoke of practiced grace. I was puzzled, and absently pulled out my journal, scribbling it all out, getting my thoughts onto paper. I am surrounded by geniuses and artists and magicians, with one man able to help them all. One man orchestrating it all, pushing them in their fields so they grow, and yet their friend. One mesmerizing being to help them succeed.  

"So which is mightier then? The pen or the sword?" the young man set down a mug in front of me. His tone had changed and sounded like pebbles running over each other. "As I can see you use both." 

"The pen will always be my first choice," I said slowly. "But in some cases, the sword is my only recourse." 

"Wise woman," he nodded, taking a sip of cider. "So. The dragon." 

"Yes," I nodded, eyeing my mug warily. It wasn't completely unheard of for cider to bear enchantment.  

"Your cider is untouched," 

I took a tiny sip, silencing the voice of Aramis screaming at me in my head. It was delicious, but it burned on its way down my throat. I didn't know what to think of that. 

"Why do you wish to see the dragon?" 

"The dragon, it is said, has the ability to amplify the gifts and abilities of anyone who bears one of his scales," I said slowly. 

"And you wish for a scale? You wish to challenge the beast, and slay it for its magic?" Fire rose in the young man's eyes. Fury hid there, but I could see resignation and a tiredness in his posture that hadn't been there before. 

"No," I shook my head. "Well. I would love a scale if he were to give me one, but I wouldn't slay him for it." 

His eyebrows raised and I saw tiny scales poking out from under the hair covering his forehead. I bit back a smile.  

"The sword?" 

"Insurance," I shook my head. "Sometimes I have no other choice. It is not wise for a woman to go around unarmed." 

"The world is still unforgiving then," the young man sighed, his voice changing to the quiet crackling of a campfire. "Then what do you wish from the dragon?" 

"I wanted to know why none of the five had returned," I waved my hand around me. "Although I see why, now. And I wanted his story. I wanted to know why he came here, and if the rumors were true. I wanted to ask for his wisdom, and I wanted to write it all down so it wouldn't be lost."  

"You, miss, are very curious," the young man told me. His tone was almost conversational, and I could tell that while I interested him, he wouldn't be talking to me. I played my trump card. 

"And you, sir, are very tired," I said gently. "Or perhaps I should call you Lord Dragon?" 

The fire in his eyes burned red and a puff of smoke squeezed between his lips. he seemed unaware. "How did you know?" his voice became the sound of a forest fire, raging, cracking, and snapping. 

"Your eyes betray everything," I took another sip of my cider, growing bolder. "You have skills with everything in this room, and everyone in here blossoms under your tutelage. And, well. You have scales hiding just under the hair on your forehead." 

"Well spotted," the dragon nodded, for so he was. "Shall you prepare yourself for the story, then? For it is a long one." 

I smiled and pulled out the fresh notebook I had prepared for this occasion. Oh, how I would enjoy making Aramis eat his words later. My plan had worked, without the slightest hint of danger at all.  

Hurricane

I was caught in the hurricane. The trees around me were bent in half, pushed down by the giant hand of wind. the lights of a car blinded me as it flew past my head. The air was oppressive, whipping and sharp. I shut my eyes and took a step forward. 

I felt myself claimed by water, rough and enveloping. It was dark and thick as motor oil. It clutched at my clothes, tearing them downward. I kicked out, fighting the water, trying to keep my head above the surface. Waves slashed at my face. My mouth opened in a silent scream and black water filled it. My body convulsed as I coughed, rapidly losing energy. My lungs were on fire and I kicked myself up to the surface once more. My hand reached out to the yellow and green sky.

"Help me."

A hand snatched me up, yanking me out of the water. I was pulled from the thick darkness and onto a rocky crag. The wind still whipped, the black and green water still crashed all around me, hungry for what had been stolen from it. I collapsed onto the ground, my skin pale from cold. I instantly bruised from where I landed, pieces of rock slicing at my old scars. I shook, not daring to look up at the one who had rescued me. I could do no more than watch the hurricane all around me. The wind striking my face the waves attacking the shore, the water in my body slicing me up inside. I shook as I coughed up water, my eyes widening and breath escaping as I saw the blood.

The hand touched my back as he knelt down next to me, his free one wiping the water, blood, and mucus off my face. He looked at me, love in his eyes. 

"I am with you no matter where you go. Be still and listen. You are my child. You are the one for me, and I love you."

The fear and panic did not disappear. The couching, hacking, and pain did not magically and immediately end. But slowly, my eyes focused only on him in the midst. Peace creeped in quietly, and the pain began to ebb. My eyes fell at times, unable to meet his gaze. Quietly, lovingly, he redirected my attention, repeating his promises over and over.

"I will always be with you, no matter where you go. Be still and listen. You are my child. You are the one for me, and I love you."

Found Family

A young woman bends over the stove, stirring a huge pot of food. There's several rows of pie pans on the table behind her, empty crusts waiting to be filled. A bowl contains more crust waiting to top the pies. She glances at the simmering pot again, wiping the flour off her hands with a towel. She brushes her bangs back from her face, the flour left on her fingers mixing with her light brown hair and the faded purple dye she'd added to the tips of it. She glanced out the window and smiled. People would be arriving any minute. She frowned, glancing at the clock. Some of them should have already been here. The door banged open and she smiled. Ah, there they were.

Two more young women and a young man all trooped into room, dropping their things by the door and near furniture. 

"Hi Mom," the young man said, coming over to give her a hug. "Food looks good."

"Hi," she squeezed him tight and then let him go. "When Cody gets here, I need you two to go get some things from the cellar for me."

"Just send me with him," one of the girls came over and gave her a hug. "I'm just as capable as Cody."

"Fair point," the mother sighed and then laughed. "Alright, then. I need some apples."

"I'll go with them," the second girl followed them out the door.

"Thank you dear," the girl laughed and shooed them all out the door. "Hurry please, I need them for dessert. I need to get these pies all in."

"Yes mother," the first girl called back behind her. 

More people came in through the door. "Hello little sister," one only barely older man came in with another one. He gave her a hug and she rested her head on his chest for a moment. "How are you faring?"

"Pretty good," she looked up at him and smiled. "I do need help though."

"Anything for you, Rebecca," he smiled and helped her ladle the soup off the stove into the pie crusts. 

The other young man had already pushed up his sleeves and was at the sink, washing up dishes. Rebecca snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He threw a disgruntled look over his shoulder at her and she laughed. "Thanks for the help. How's it going?"

"I'm less dead today," he shrugged.

She took a step back and appraised him. "You look a little less dead today."

"Mom!" Three young men burst in the door and one attacked her, pulling her into a tight hug. The other two waited their turn like sane human beings.

"Boy children," she laughed. "Clean up and then go check on your siblings and make sure the apples are coming."

They rolled their eyes at her and then obeyed. 

"They're a little more accepting of chores then they were last week," the man at the sink commented.

"I'm feeding them, Chris," Rebecca said dryly. "They will respect my rules cause they want the food."

"Ah," he nodded. 

"What do you want me to do with these pies, Becky?" the man with the ladle asked. 

"Help me cover them and get them in the oven," she said, turning back to the task at hand. "And then I need help cutting apples, if you don't mind, Hector."

"Not a problem," he nodded. "How was your day, Becky?"

"It was good!" she smiled. "I got a lot done."

"Writing?"

"On the desk," she nodded. Both men glanced over at the desk to see a thick stack of pages sitting neatly in the middle of the desk.

"Becky," one word was all Chris needed.

"They're single-sided?" she said helpfully.

"Still," Chris shook his head at her. "You need to calm down. Stop worrying so much."

"I'm not worrying!" she protested. 

"Uh-huh," he grunted, unimpressed.

The young people all burst on the room all at once, carrying many baskets of apples. The rest of Rebecca's scolding was lost in the mayhem of giving people work today. From the outside, the family almost looked normal, with parents and siblings. But when you looked a little closer, you realized that the young lady being called Mom was one of the youngest people in the room, and the young man being called Dad was, for all intents and purposes, her brother. The age gap didn't make sense, but the functionality did. Becky quietly circled the room, laughing and watching people, making sure that no one was getting hurt while food was cooked and sharp knives were wielded. Quiet words made sure that conversations stayed on an even keel, and she laughed along as all of her boys did their utmost to concern her, Chris included. With Hector around, however, it was accepted that the chaos would be a little less than the norm.

The long table was set and full. Rebecca sat in the middle, Chris across from her, the both of them participating in all of the conversations at once and trying to keep an ear out for trouble. Rebecca's girls were scattered, although they would occasionally glance at each other, or make comments to each other all the time. At one point, Chris commented something and Rebecca just glanced at Nicole, who obligingly smacked him in the back of the head. Rebecca smiled at the look Chris gave her, completely unrepentant. Despite the chaos, or perhaps because of it, there was love at the table, and smiles on every face even as they groaned at something someone said. It was homey and comforting. Rebecca felt herself relaxing, and as all of her people left the table and just sat in the living room, swapping stories and talking, she curled up on the floor between Chris and Hector's chairs, near the fire. They had her stack of papers and were reading them and passing them between themselves. She knew they would probably go on a walk later to discuss the contents. Both boys had opinions and cared too much to simply let her get away with writing all day and not say a word.

The chaos wore down as the night got later and the fire died. People started getting tired and she started kicking people upstairs to bed, though they grumbled as they went. She could hear them talking above her head and carrying on upstairs, but she shrugged. There was only so much an adoptive mom could do when her children were older than her. Finally it was down to just her and her brothers, and she took one of the seats her girls had vacated. They had both given her hugs and Julia had given her a stern reminder to go to bed soon. Rebecca had just smiled. 

She stared at the fire and waited for them to say something, but they were quiet. She finally looked at them and Chris smiled. She bit her lip and huffed a laugh. Her smile was embarrassed. 

"You need to worry less," Chris reiterated. "It comes out on paper."

"I realize that," Rebecca folded her hands around her knee too keep them from fidgeting. "So?"

"So...I'm going to hijack the children in the morning and you're gonna sleep in," Chris said. "And then you're gonna go on a walk and get some writing done or some reading done and act like a normal human being so that you don't worry."

"See that doesn't work though," she sighed. "I'm not sure I trust you to take care of them either."

"I-want to take offense at that," Chris said slowly.

"But you won't cause you know I'm right," Rebecca shrugged. 

Another shrug from Chris, "Doesn't mean that I won't take offence to that."

Hector looked at the pair of them with a strange expression on his face, and shook his head slowly. "Okay, well. I think the both of you need sleep. Especially you," he looked pointedly at his sister. "So, lil' sis, it's time for bed."

"I love that you call me out when in fact he gets less sleep then I," Rebecca grumbled, standing up slowly.

"Ah yes, but I will grumble at him later," he shrugged. 

"Right, because neither of you can seem to rest until I am taken care of," she rolled her eyes and picked up the papers, gathering them from the scattered chaos beside Chris's chair.

They were silent and she looked at them pointedly. They laughed. She put the papers away and put them on the desk, closing it up and locking it. Then she went to the kitchen and started tidying up, putting away the dishes that had been left to dry. The boys watched her, and Chris sighed. 

They followed her into the area, and Hector got the jump on her, stealing the rag in her hand and wiping down the counters. Chris just leaned on a counter and watched quietly. When she'd run out of creative reasons to not go to bed, Rebecca went back to the fire and was going to stoke that too. Chris stopped her and took the poker out of her hand. Hector turned her around and pushed her toward the stairs. 

"Bed for you, miss," he said firmly. 

"You act like I'm not going to just go read in my room," she said obstinately.

"You could," he shrugged. "As long as you're in the process of resting."

She sighed and turned around, heading back toward the kitchen. 

Hector followed her half a step behind, and Rebecca sighed.

"What? I'm grabbing a candle!" she eyed her big brother, annoyed. "I am allowed to do that, yes?"

"I'm not stopping you," Hector crossed his arms and watched her.

"Uh-huh," she nodded and lit the candle. She crossed the room to the stairs, looking around one more time. She stopped at the bottom, set the candle down on the last stair, and hugged both of the boys. "G'night gents. Try to stay out of trouble, would you? And sleep soon. It's awfully hypocritical of you to send me to bed if you weren't planning on it yourselves."

They looked at each other and shrugged. She sighed. "There's extra blankets in the oak chest if the barn gets cold."

"Love you sis," Hector called up the stairs after quietly. 

"Ya ya," she threw over her shoulder with a laugh.