dribble drabble - nano 13 being updated

[eden .]

the first part of a story that I'm planning on writing, but I haven't figured out the complete plot for sure, yet. I'm basically posting my drabble in short story parts, therefore, because I have no idea what else I'm supposed to do with them.

It must've been the summer of 1956 when I first met him. I was a tottering, teetering, awkward four year old child whose hair was to big for her head and couldn't find the dexterity needed to walk in a straight line. Mama had taken me to the park to play with all the other nice children in polka dot skirts and smartly ironed pants. I never liked going because I didn't like standing at the side of the swings while the other children screamed in delight without me. Hide-and-seek, tag, cops and robbers...I knew of them, but I never experienced them first hand. Mama like it very much, though, because she got to talk to all the other mamas about her problems, so naturally I ended up going, too.
He was standing next to the empty bench farthest from the playground. It was shrouded under a huge oak tree, its leaves casting him in a cool, well-welcomed shade, I'd imagine, in the shimmering heat of that July fourteenth, 1956. I remember watching him because of how badly he stood out in the park. He was incredibly tall--especially to a four year old child whose mother seemed like an absolute giant to her. He must have been, by my estimation, an inch or so over six feet. Underneath his slate hat, his hair was steel gray and peppered with black and white. Despite the sun that we had been getting that past year, he was as pale as a sheet. And all he did was stand in place and watch the children run without rhyme nor reason. But why he had my childish attention, however, was because he looked out of place, like me. It was because of this strange connection, perhaps, that I wobbled over to him under the oak tree. He did not turn to look, acknowledge, or ask who my other was as others would have, although I could tell that he knew I had approached. He continued to watch the children run about and squeal like piglets. I followed his gaze but failed to see anything incredibly engaging, so I finally asked curiously and shamelessly in the way children do, "Do you want to play, too?"
Regardless, I remember feeling strange asking this question because I was addressing a towering mass that did not seem to betray any sort of emotion. He turned his head to consider his pudgy form for a moment as if to check if I was serious before he smiled a little, finally bringing brightness into his deadpan eyes. He had the smile of a man that had seen many things. The slight wrinkles in his face became deeper and his almost colorless eyes seemed even more tired. He looked haggard, worn, and almost as if he was lost and searching for something essential to his very existence. Why was he alive? Why was he standing there at that very moment? Who was left for him? Those were the sort of questions his eyes held.
But as a child, of course, I failed to recognize these things. All I saw then was the sparkling laughter that arose onto his face as he said with amusement, "No, dear, but thank you for the offer." He had to stoop over almost half his height to come even close to eye-level with me without completely crouching down.
His voice was always something I could never quite place to this day. It was rich and heavy, very pleasant to listen to and easy to fall asleep to, and mixed with such a variety of accents that it was impossible to tell from whence he came. Some parts lilted and rumbled with arcane aura while more predominating timbres made his voice go up in tone at strange places. It made his "th"s slur into "z" and his "r"s throaty. If I were to try and label it in modern dialects, I would claim it to be French in some areas, German in others, distinctly Spanish for these parts, and incredibly Eastern Asian for the remaining ones. It was the sort of tongue that had spoken so many languages in his lifetime that they had all blended together into something exotic. It was obvious then, even to a four year old, frizzly haired child, that he had seen and been to many places.
"Annie?" mama called me then. I turned to give her my attention and eagerly gestured to the man beside me, excited to show off my new friend. Her face, however, was stony and pale as she approached me. I abruptly dropped my grin and my grin as she extended her own, glaring at the man at my side.
"Didn't I tell you to stay at the playground?" she scolded me as she seized my hand. She had not told me to stay at the playground.
"Yes, mama," I said as I allowed her to drag me away, staring over my shoulder at the man watching me leave, his back now straightened.
"Don't leave like that," she was saying to me, shaking my arm a little and making it wobble. I did not tear my gaze away from the man's.
"Annie Banbury!" mama suddenly snapped, squeezing my chipmunk cheeks in one hand and whipping it around to face her's. "Pay attention when I am speaking to you. Do not talk to strangers. Do you understand? That man might've been dangerous!"
I had no idea what sort of "dangers" mama could've been referring to, but nodded as best I could in her vice-like grip. She gave a heavy, regretful sigh as I did so and continued, "If you don't listen to mommy, we can't come to the park anymore. Do you understand?"
I nodded because that was the answer she was expecting, and I even partially feared never coming back to this place ever again. The children, in my mind, were no loss to me, but where else was I to meet this mysterious stranger? My reasons, of course, were kept secret. Mama's expression softened as she tried to flatten out my unruly hair.
"Don't be mad, sweetheart," she begged me. "Mommy's just doing this because she loves you."
"I know mama," I said to appease her. She smiled and rose, taking my hand in hers and leading be back to the other children. I looked back, hoping I could steal one more look of the man once more, but he was gone.

[eden .]

the second part of a story that I'm planning on writing, but I haven't figured out the complete plot for sure, yet. I'm basically posting my drabble in short story parts, therefore, because I have no idea what else I'm supposed to do with them.

It wasn't until 1959 when I saw him again. I had given many names to him, scribbled messily next to drawings and doodles of an absentminded grade school student. "Man in Suit", "Lonely Man", "Alone Man", "Watcher Man", "Looking Man", "Suit", "Man", "Watcher". My teachers always assumed him an imaginary friend, for he could not have been my father. On the contrary, I was and am about the opposite of imaginary--hence my less than creative titles for the man I eventually settled to refer to as "Watcher". It sounded mysterious.
I know it was January ninth, 1959, because Watcher would tell me later that Fidel Castro had successfully invaded Havana the day previous. Of course, at the time I was blissfully ignorant of the world beyond the confines of my neighborhood.
It was a chilly day, but there was no snow when I was standing outside the school for mama because she was late. It was not a strange or rare occurrence, and I had long since taken to packing two extra snacks and gloves and a hat during the colder months, anticipating long waits. I spotted him across the street as I sat on the curb, under a tree again, staring at me.
At seven, I had a better sense of what situations were "dangerous" an which were "safe". I didn't know why each case might've been safe or not, but I knew when they could be applied. Such was the extent of my young and underdeveloped self-preservation instinct. For whatever reason, I branded the situation as "safe" quickly and easily, and subsequently raised a hand above my head in jovial greeting. After what looked like a moment's hesitation, he too lifted a hand. Exuberant at his response, I waved all the harder. He only put his hand down, so I dropped mine as well, crestfallen, when mama arrived and we had to leave. This time, Watcher stood there until I must've been out of his sight.
There was something to be said of my determination, however. On the next day mama came late--the day after the following one--I hurriedly crossed the street, the tip of my nose pink underneath my scarf and my wild curls scratching my ears as they swung back and forth. I sniffed a little when I got to the tree, but no one was there waiting for me. I pouted and stubbornly sat on a cold root, my slight arms crossed in a tight knot and my backpack serving as my makeshift headrest as I waited for him.
Eventually, Watcher arrived, stepping out from the brushes. The snow crunched under his feet. He stared at me almost apprehensively.
"Hello," he finally said when neither of us broke the silence. I gaped, amazed he was standing before me and looking just as I remembered. I pinched myself.
When I was sure this was no dream, I jumped to my feet and embraced Watcher around the waist. He stumbled a little when I collided with him and stood frozen. Eventually, he patted the nest that everyone called "hair" on the top of my head.

[eden .]

an avengers oneshot thing [yeah, I do FF sometimes. not often, and I steer WAY clear of smut >>]. it's heavily based on the movie, not the comic, arc. it's that one old guy when loki when to germany that was like "not to men like you".
I wrote this in, like, summer. it's pretty old, but it's been gathering dust in my hard drive, so enjoy?
I don't own any Marvel merchandise or names or anything, btw.

The old man hobbled through the streets of Stuttgart, the late fall winds cutting through his thin jacket like knives. She shivered, pulling the material tighter around him, making his way to his home.

A few cars smoothly slid by on the damp road, and the old man stepped aside to let them pass. He caught a look at who was inside: a man and woman both smartly dressed, obviously invited to the grand party inside that grand building. The old man considered the notable piece of architecture, its bold, Corinthian-style columns shooting skyward. It was so declaratively Roman, so proudly supporting something that might’ve belonged in an empire, that it was hard to believe that only a few decades ago, this land was in ruin. But the old man knew quite a bit about the history of Germany—perhaps much too intimately. He swallowed and narrowed his eyes to try and stifle the memories before they surfaced, again. The perpetual guilt weighing on his shoulders and heart each and every day was bad enough. He didn’t want to relive all of the moments, as well.

But now that he was thinking of them, there was no way to hold back the flood of images, of fragments and flashes that came together in one broken, shattered whole. The smell of fire, the cold, sickening sensation of mud, standing in the harsh, cold rain, looking someone in the eye before putting a bullet through their head, nonchalantly guiding crowds of ignorant people to their deaths…they all came back, playing like some old movie on his eyelids. It went frame by painful frame. No detail was spared from him.

The old man felt his shoulders sag, and he paused in his walk home. He blinked tiredly at the brick sidewalk, disgusted with himself. Why, he wondered, was it he that survived while all those others didn’t? How was it possible? Was it God? Was he punishing him by letting him live a life where he felt like he was perpetually dragging his feet through putrid, poisonous muck weighing him down?

Suddenly, screams split the night air. The old man whirled to find people streaming out of the grand white building before him. He felt his eyes widen as the crowd engulfed him and the other pedestrians innocently on their way by. There was a mad, harried rush and jostling of bodies. It was all the old man could do to stay upright. Back and forth he was thrown and, coupled with the screams, he was taken back for a moment to the more frightful days in his history where the very ground shook as men rushed across the battlefield and the very air seemed to hold its breath. He panicked, unsure of where he was—or when—until a commanding voice brought order to the chaos.

“Kneel!”

And on impulse, the old man did, staring at the shimmering images of some man dressed almost comically—no, hilariously—and the old man would’ve laughed if it were not such a dire situation. The twin golden tusks mounted on this man’s helmet seemed much more menacing than ridiculous right now, and the scepter in his hand did not look like some toy but a weapon of destruction.

The old man listened to this man speak, imagining what he must look like. Triumphant, no doubt, and reveling in his power. The Roman building rising up behind him, the lights of the party still aglow. All eyes would be on him, entranced with terrible, trembling uncertainty, the crowd’s beliefs wavering. There was truth laced in his poisonous words, and that was what made them swallow it so willingly.

But he had heard this before.

“In the end, you will always kneel.”

Oh, he had heard this so many times before.

The aches of his bones washed through him. The blurring in his vision flickered. Indeed, he had heard this before. A man drunk on power and of need. A man so enraptured by the seat of authority that he lost something on the way…

The old man had heard this many times before, and each of those times, he had knelt willingly. Obediently. Because he was in awe of the man that lost everything. And because the old man had been afraid. He had been afraid of what he might lose as well.

He wasn’t afraid anymore.

He felt himself rise. His joints creaked. His bones cracked. His fingers and legs trembled and rattled. But he was not afraid.

“Not to men like you,” he heard himself say.

“There are no men like me,” the man grinned devilishly. The old man watched him with a sad, remorseful gaze full of sympathy and regret. In this young man, the elder saw all of the things that were unforgivable and gave him little to expect but divine punishment on his fast approaching day of passing. If he could take it all back—wipe his slate clean—if God were to give him one last chance of redemption and make up for what an arrogant, childish fool he was back then…

It would be more than a blessing. More than he could—and should—ever ask for. And he knew it well.

“There are always men like you,” said the old man quietly and evenly. His voice was infused with knowledge and knowing that went beyond just his age. What, the people around him wondered, had he experienced to say such a thing with such utter conviction and faith?

The old man felt his heart pound as the younger raised his weapon to strike a death blow. He reflexively stepped back, his eyes widening, but somewhere in between, a humble acceptance overcame him. He was ready.

And then there was a streak of blue and white. The old man started as he stared at the back of his savior. That outfit. That man. The shield was different, but…

There was an unshakeable assurance that this was indeed the famed “super soldier” he had heard about. He had seen pictures, seen small flashes of him through slender branches and over the crests of snowy hills. And here he stood before the old man, as youthful and alive as ever! Saving him! The very enemy the soldier had once sworn to defeat! Did this man know of the older one’s crimes? Did he know who he had just allowed to live? The irony had not eluded him. The divine poetry was not missed! How determined was God to keep him alive to suffer life?

But perhaps, a small voice inside the old man whispered, this is not a symbol of punishment of all.

But dare an old man hope?

[eden .]

yup.

The third time I saw Watcher was in 1974. I was a senior undergraduate at Berkeley University in California. I was enjoying the beginning of winter vacation and the end of the last final exam of the semester by walking about the city with a few friends. As per usual, my hair was frazzled and unruly. I had taken to pulling it back into a bushy tail at the nape of my neck for sake of convenience. I had long since abandoned the quest for taming and making my pelt in any way attractive. My nose had grown longer and my face had molded to fit around it, giving me a peaky, almost stretched out look, and compared to my friends, I was simply gargantuan. I stood at nearly five feet and ten inches, but my pallor was so pale and borderline sickly that I had a distinct resemblance to a string bean. My face was splattered with freckles, and my eyesight was so poor that I wore thick glasses wherever I went. I remember that I never much minded, though.
At twenty-two, I had dismissed the notion that Watcher would ever return many years ago. For the first few years after the second meeting, I kept the small hope that he would come back for me--although for what, I couldn't be sure. That was the extent of my ten year old imagination at the time. But I knew with infallible confidence that Watcher had seen things and been places that I would only be able to dream of. When the years, however, turned into a decade and more, I slowly resigned myself to accepting the quickly solidifying fact that Watcher was not returning. I remember that by the time I entered college, I had decided "Watcher" was nothing more than a childish fantasy created to sustain the small, unspoken wish to have a romanticized adventure like the heroes in books.
It was chilly and damp that day, but there was no snow. The sun had been going down and my friends and I had been returning to the dorms. I was laughing uproariously at a joke Bonnie had made when my nose ran into a man squarely in the chest. I yelped before scrambling backward, holding my nose and trying to see through my hair while I felt the heat rise and flush through my translucent skin.
"I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, removing my glasses and rubbing away the marks. Behind me, I could hear Bonnie and Caroline giggling. I glared at them reproachfully, although I doubt I looked at them directly. Without my glasses, I was blinder than a bat.
"There's no problem," the man told me. there was very little dramatization in his voice, and he turned and began to walk away easily and casually, but his voice made sparks course up my arms. I hurriedly tried to put my glasses back on and adjust them, but in my haste, they clattered to the ground. I blindly snatched them up, my fingers fumbling, and shoved them onto my face, my nose shouting in complaint, as I bounded forward towards the sidewalk corner.
"Annie?" Bonnie called after me, unsure whether she should be amused or concerned. Caroline, for one, was still holding her sides. I paid neither of them mind, however. I rounded the corner and saw the receding back of a heavy leather jacket and slate hat.
"Watcher!" I shouted, about to run after him. My friends, however (and perhaps prudently), pulled me back.
"Annie!" Bonnie cried. "What's wrong? What're you doing?"
"You can't just come back!" I screamed at his back, ignoring her and fighting against Caroline's vice-like grip. "Not just like that! You can't just appear, Watcher!" I swallowed to try and wet my sore throat and called again, "Watcher!"
"Annie!" Bonnie shouted at me, coming to the front to block my view. I struggled, trying to see around her to keep an eye on him. If I lost him, I'd lose him again. I couldn't lose him again. He'd slipped through my fingers, he was back, and now he was walking away again. I wasn't sure what was worse: that he'd returned or that he was leaving once more.
"Annie!" Bonnie gripped my shoulders and pressed me onto the ground. I collapsed onto the pavement and glared at her.
"Calm down," Bonnie implored me. "What's going on?"
"That man," I demanded. "What did he look like?"
"What?" Bonnie frowned.
"The guy I ran into!" I said impatiently. "His looks! What did he look like?"
"Tall, pale, old," Caroline giggled into my ear. "Isn't he kind of too old for you, Annie?" I didn't reply. I saw Bonnie glance at Caroline over my shoulder before turning back to me.
"Are you okay?"
"No." I rose from my sitting position and said, "Let's go back to the dorms." I refused to spend the rest of the night searching for someone that was only going to disappear again. For all I knew, the man may have not been Watcher at all. No matter how detailed a description I received, the simple truth was that I had not seen the man, myself.
But his voice had made me so confident. Who had a voice like Watcher's? How many voices like his existed in this world?
I dismissed this thought. Once I started thinking about it, I knew I wouldn't be able to settle down before I stayed out in the cold waiting for Watcher. He was not coming back. This is the truth that I had to accept.
Caroline and Bonnie nervously considered me and then each other, but when I calmly and coolly proceeded to the university. The pair of them trailed after me, unsure, apparently of whether I was going to bolt or not.
Eventually, when we had returned to my dorm, Caroline bid us goodnight and exited for her own room while Bonnie and I prepared to go to sleep, ourselves. I lied in the top bunk, staring at the ceiling that was inches from my nose and the bottom of the bed brushing the soles of my feet. Below me, Bonnie murmured softly, "Are you awake?"
"Yes," I said. Even though I didn't want to explain myself, I thought my best friend had the right to at least ask the question.
"What was that all about?" Bonnie asked quietly. I'm no sure if it was because everyone else was asleep or if she was being meek.
"He's someone I know from a long time ago," I told her. I had rehearsed this conversation many times while I had been brushing my teeth.
"What, when you were a kid?"
"Yeah."
"But you called him 'Watcher'?"
"That's my nickname for him."
"What's his real name?"
"I don't know." Bonnie had no response to his. It is no wonder. What do you say to a friend that has admitted to you that she has no idea what the first name of the man she had screamed after is? I waited patiently for her next question. I thought that if I tried anything else, I would just seem insane.
"How do you know him?"
"I've talked to him a couple of times."
"When?"
"Once when I was a kid. I don't remember how young. The other time was when I was probably seven or eight."
"You've only seen him twice?" I could hear Bonnie's dubious tone from below.
"Thrice, if today counts," I said stiffly. Bonnie was silent for a moment before she told me reasonably, "Well, we don't know if it's him."
"It's him," I said confidently, although I also had my doubts. Bonnie did not agree, nor did she disagree. She simply lied on her bunk and stared up at the bottom of mine. Finally, she sighed, "I don't know, Annie. What can I say?"
"I don't know." I wasn't sure what I was to say, myself. There is more silence until Bonnie tells me, "It'll look better in the morning. Let's get some sleep." I murmured my assent. I heard Bonnie shift below me, making the entire bunk creak and shudder. After a minute or two, the movement stopped. I could hear Bonnie's easy, slow breaths a few moments after that. I could not fall asleep, however. Instead, I watched the spider on the corner of the ceiling spin its web.

[eden .]

idk I felt like doing something supernatural over vacation. this is the first part of many. probably.
edit 1.2.13. apparently I didn't censor stuff even though I thought I did ??? anyways, stuff is blanked out, now.

The double concentric circles had been hastily drawn over the grainy wood floor with chipped white chalk now strewn haphazardly underneath two collapsed chairs and a pile of books of random girths and shades. Symbols in the outer ring of the circles was filled with jaunted, jagged symbols, the chalk strokes spilling over the sides of the circles. The circles and dots were uneven and crookedly aligned. More than half the runes were malformed and badly written. Piles of ripped pages flew across the floor, ink smudged and edges flayed. The room was dark, lit only by the white light streaming through the small windows near the ceiling, and it was frigid. Eden shakily brushed back her matted hair and turned the brittle pages of the crumbling novel in her shaking hands. Flakes snapped off under her fingertips as she stumbled to the edge of the outermost circle and ran a hand over the latest page. She swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump lodged in her throat, before she mumbled the incantation, stumbling over the simplest words and butchering the more complex ones. The runes spluttered and popped with orange-purple sparks, fizzling like failing electric bulbs. Eden sniffed and rubbed the sweat away from her nose as she continued to read the words, settling her pace to something more reasonable. The symbols reluctantly began to glow with more confidence, fading before flaring and becoming brighter. Eden's heart was galloping in her chest, each thump rattling her rib cage as she continued to read. Just read.
The glows swelled to harsh light. Eden squinted but managed to keep her eyes open long enough to let the last few words roll of her tongue before she scrambled to the farthest corner of the room. She settled in the smaller circle of a single circle she had drawn for herself and stared with wide eyes at the larger one. When the light became too intense, she shut them, cringing against the heat. She swore she heard something scream, something echo through the air, but it didn't seem tangible. It was like an imagined sound: seemingly there, but it couldn't be determined if it ever happened. The floor trapped in the concentric circles gave with a dry crack. When the light no longer burned through Eden's eyelids, she cautiously peeked through one of them, gripping her shirt sleeves to keep her hands from shaking too badly.
Eden desperately scanned the space in the circles before freezing. It wasn't there anymore.
The body wasn't there anymore.
"Shi-!" she hissed, tripping over herself in her haste to rise. She spun in her circle a few times. "God, sh-t!"
"Looking for someone?" a new voice garbled. Eden whirled in place, coming face-to-face with the contorted, pale, pallid face curling its thin, colorless lip. The hands were raised and were pressed against the air against some invisible force. With a grunt of frustration and a hard pound into the barrier, the person abruptly snapped away and stormed through the room. "Witch," she heard him say with disgust. She felt a small shudder wrack her.
"Sp-Spirit!" she finally summoned the courage to say. Her voice was pitiful. Puny, really. Like a mouse. The man snapped around to glare at her.
"Under the Natural Law," Eden squeaked, "you are obligated to serve the person or persons that summoned you back to the Plane. Do you know this?"
"Know it?" he repeated with malice, advancing again. "Know it? Of course I damn well know it you idiotic child. Just who do you think you've summoned?" Eden stared at him.
"You don't even know who you've summoned?" he said in disbelief. "Do you know anything about what you're doing?" Eden stuck out her chin and said with minimal voice-wobble, "I knew enough to bring you here, didn't I?" He sneered but did not argue, whipping to pace around the basement with more zeal than before.
"Fine," he finally spat, raising one petrified hand and waving it over his head impatiently. "What do you want me to do, then? Give your rivals a scare or two? Be your Halloween decoration for the night? Be the obedient servant and do your petty chores for you for the rest of your ephemeral life?" He said it with such scorn and condescension that Eden nearly stepped out of the circle to punch him. But she didn't take the bait. Even though all the references she checked said that he wouldn't risk killing her, she couldn't be sure.
"I need you to do something for me," Eden began. He rolled his eyes at the ceiling and massaged his face with two hands.
"That much was already implied, sweetheart," he snarled. Eden ignored the gibe.
"I need your protection," Eden told him. He paused to consider her, although the severe "V" shape of his eyebrows did not let up.
"Protection from what?"
"Good question," Eden said dryly. He blinked before a vicious smile split across his face.
"No killing," she immediately ordered. The grin faded almost instantaneously into a sulk.
"Not unless it's necessary," Eden added. He sighed and shrugged in a surly way, as if he was too proud to agree but had to admit that the deal was probably as good as it was going to get. He glanced her over once before saying, "Why are you still standing in that?" Eden glanced at the white chalk circle she was still in.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said dismissively. "I didn't know you summoned me, before. Sorry about that, by the way. You are the one that summoned me, right?"
"Haven't I already told you that?" Eden asked tersely, taking one tentative step closer to the edge of the circle but not stepping over it.
"Just double checking, sweetheart," he smiled blandly. He looked at her bare feet. "Honestly, I'm not going to kill you. It won't do either of us good with you dead." Eden swallowed and felt sweat slip down the back of her neck, but she took the jump anyway. She left the safety of her circle.
With a rush of wind and a sharp whistling, he was right in front of her, a hand gripping her shirt collar to keep her from returning to the circle. He was grinning, the color returning to his face. He dragged her closer until they were almost nose to nose before sliding down to her neck.
"Just kidding," he chuckled onto her collar bone. His breath felt chilled and fake. He straightened out and smoothed out the tuxedo jacket he was wearing. "It was kind of you to clothe me."
"Actually, the body already had that on," Eden said between the heaves of her stomach, trying to calm herself down. His gaze flickered over to her and her distress, and he snorted a little in dark amusement. "You really have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Eden did not reply.
"Do you have any blood?" he asked when it was clear she was not going to answer. She snapped to attention and saw that he was pressing the inside of his cheek idly with his tongue. Probably the fangs.
"Yeah," Eden said hurriedly. "Yeah, it's...um..."
"You forgot to get some, didn't you?" he sighed wearily, putting his forehead into his hand.
"I'll get some for you," Eden promised. She started for the door, but he beat her there. She was still jogging the perhaps three foot distance between them as he put a hand on the knob.
With a snappish, almost indignant blue shimmer, the surface shifted and molded around his fingers so he could not grip the metal. He blinked once before trying another time--to no avail--and snorted. "Really?"
"I charmed the entrance," Eden told him. "You can't get out."
"That's a rather optimistic approach, sweetheart," he mumbled under his breath, studying the rickety door before raising a foot and kicking it down right off its hinges.
"Oh, my--!" Eden began to exclaim thunderously, but she was cut off as he casually stepped right over the threshold. He grinned.
"But...the charm..."
"You have a lot to learn, sweetheart," he shook his head at her. "Just because the knob is charmed doesn't mean the entrance is." He tapped his temple before disappearing.
"Sh-t!" Eden muttered to herself before stumbling after him. Of course, she was considerably slower than he was, and had poor senses, so when she was out of the entrance and up the concrete stairs that led to the dubious entrance in the small pit in the ground in the darkening forest, he was gone.
"Sh-t!" Eden snapped, stomping a foot into the ground. She paced, unwilling to go in a direction because she was hopelessly directionally handicapped, but she was also strongly against letting him run amok by himself, especially when she hadn't set any rules. That was the first thing in the book, and she hadn't even done it! She had forgotten everything, even though she must've drilled the rules and incantations for a month...
Eden tried to calm herself down. She said for him not to kill...unless necessary. God, she was such an idiot! She wondered how liberal he was with the word "necessary". For someone like him, she bet that killing someone to survive was something that went under "necessary", although most technically, he didn't have to kill the victim.
Before she could make a real, conscious decision, however, he was back, the wind trailing after him ruffling Eden's hair and shawl. She squinted in the darkness and could barely make out his silhouette.
"Shall we go inside again?" he asked cordially, sounding in much better humor than before. Well, that was to be expected. Eden nodded stiffly before turning and going back down the stairs again, carefully maneuvering each step. Dead leaves crunched under her sneakers.
Once they were back inside, he replaced the door in the entrance (although it still let a draft in) and readjusted his cuff links. His neck, chest, and mouth were completely clean. Experienced, clearly. God, how old of a Spirit did she summon?
"Whose body is this, by the way?" he asked curiously, looking over his hands with the same curiosity a scientist would have about a new exotic species discovered in the Amazon. He passed them over the slicked back black hair that had been combed by the family prior to the burial, the tips coming past the shoulders. Because there was no mirror to be found, he could only see by touch, passing a finger over his thin eyes and long, straight nose and a too-wide mouth. The jawline was smooth like a child's or a woman's, but the body was clearly male. It stood past six feet in height, which meant that, compared to Eden's measly five foot two, he was an absolute giant.
"I'm not sure," Eden said honestly. "I didn't want to use one that I knew."
"How did you choose this one then?"
"I went to a random State and read the obituaries until I saw someone that didn't have Alzheimers." He snorted.
"What shall I call you?" It was Eden's turn to ask a couple of questions. He seemed to seriously think about it, staring up at the ceiling.
"Naming myself was always the worst part," he frowned.
"Don't you have your own name?"
"I'm not telling you my real name," he snorted.
"I'm not interested in possessing you or something."
"That's what they all say." He paused and considered the ceiling. "While I'm waiting, what is your name?"
"Eden Jones."
"Your last name is 'Jones'?"
"I'm not making it up, I swear."
"How unfortunate for you, then," he scoffed.
"It's not that bad," Eden shrugged. She wasn't quite sure what point he was trying to make.
"Well, if your name is 'Eden'," he smiled a little, "then perhaps it would be appropriate for me to have the name 'Eve'?" Eden did not find this funny.
"Fine, fine. Adam, then. I'll be Adam."
"Are you a girl or a boy?" Eden asked.
"I was born male," he told her, "although I've been in a woman's body before, if that's what you mean." With a waggle of his eyebrows, Eden felt herself blush.
"Then you should be used to the body," Eden said crisply as if she was unruffled, but she could tell he knew she was embarrassed. Adam laughed a little before he remarked, "This hair is disgusting."
"Sorry," Eden apologized on reflex.
"Not your fault," Adam replied cordially. "Is there a mirror anywhere?"
"The hotel I'm staying at does, but not this place. I removed all of them."
"Smart girl," Adam nodded in approval. "At least you can read."
Eden did not bristle, nor did she try and reprimand him. She had read that the Spirits were very temperamental sometimes, and if they were very old then it was likely they didn't expect much out of modern day summoners. That didn't surprise her.
"So you said you needed protection?"
"Yes, I did."
"But you don't know from what?"
"No."
"Then how will I protect you?"
"You can be my meat shield," Eden responded without even thinking about it--a habit she'd picked up from fighting with her two sisters all the time. Comebacks and vaguely offensive statements just rolled off her tongue. Thankfully, Adam wasn't offended. He actually laughed out loud, throwing his head back and grinning at the ceiling. He shook back his long mane and scowled, his good mood banished. "This hair is troublesome."
"Yes, I know. Sorry." Adam glanced at her.
"Are you always apologizing?"
"Not always." Adam shook his head. "If you're ready, we should get going."
"If you say so," Adam shrugged, approaching the door again and casually moving the slab of wood to the side before walking out. Eden jogged after him, his long strides easily double her shorter ones. He slowed down a little to let her catch up, although she could tell it wasn't out of pure politeness. Eden kept her burning face turned to the ground as she passed him at essentially a power walk. His pace was so comically slowed that it looked borderline ridiculous.
"How did it start then? Why do you say you need protection?" Adam asked.
"I don't know why," Eden said irritably, although she wasn't annoyed with him so much as she was with the world, in general. "I didn't even know I was a witch until a week and a half ago."
"Really?" Adam said in a clearly surprised tone. "Then I suppose you have some talent."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Eden asked reproachfully.
"Summonings usually take at least a month of training. Longer, depending on how powerful a Spirit you want. Although," Adam added dryly, "I suppose you're more desperate than the others."
"I guess you could say that," Eden shrugged, although she was pleased that she was apparently better at this than others were--assuming Adam was telling the truth. "I know that whatever's after me isn't human."
"That much I could tell," Adam rolled his eyes, "since I'm standing here speaking with you."
"People have been really friendly to me lately," Eden ignored him, "but half of them I don't even know--as in seen. As in: I'll have random strangers come up to me and talk to me and introduce themselves. For the first few days, I was like 'Whatever', but after a while it got kind of creepy. And then there was a break in at my house where at least two things of mine were stolen--"
"Something of yours was stolen?" Adam repeated. "Was anything else taken out of the house?"
"None of us think so," Eden frowned, the "us" encompassing herself, her parents, and the authorities. "Why?"
"If they knew you were a witch," Adam grimaced, "some of your belongings could be a very nice edge. Did they have much sentimental value?"
"Well, I said that I don't know if they took anything or not, so what does that tell you about the value?"
"There's that, at least," Adam sighed. He was silent for a while after that, so Eden prompted him, "Do you have any ideas?"
"I've been stuck in the Plane for the better part of two hundred years, sweetheart," Adam said somewhat testily, "and was only let out during the nineteen forties. I know about as much as you do in Underworld politics." Eden felt herself sulk but did not complain. Between having an experienced, ignorant Spirit and a green, well-versed in current events Spirit, she'd take the experience. There would be plenty of time to learn what's going on later, but as for power...that only came with time.
"Do you know why people might want you on their side, so much?" Adam asked. "No one's actually tried to kill you, have they?"
"No, no one has," Eden admitted, "but a couple of days ago, I was tailed by this one guy for about half an hour, which consisted of me leaving school, going to the library, and driving--driving--down the interstate. I could still see him the entire time, though, which--"
"What's an interstate?"
"Sorry. It's like a long stretch of road. You saw roads in the forties, right?"
"Yes, I did," Adam said dryly.
"Okay, sorry. Well, interstates are more straight and efficient because they get you from one spot to another in less time. Other roads that aren't interstates or highways are more roundabout. They're really commonly used."
"Then I suppose I'll see one soon."
"Yeah, probably."
"Then continue."
"Sure," Eden nodded, glancing around the dark forest. The leaves covered up the small sliver of white moon that managed to peek through the clouds, and the dead earth molded around the pair's feet. It was damp and cold and Eden couldn't see two feet in front of her. She realized she'd been following Adam through the forest the entire time. She gripped the back of his tuxedo, trusting that his instincts would get them back to civilization. He started at the sudden contact.
"It would do you well to be a bit more cautious with someone who has recently come back to life."
"You can't kill me, right?"
"Well," Adam said, "if you want to be technical--"
"I found out I was a witch about two weeks after the stalkings," Eden cut him off. "I went to the police and everything, but whenever they tried to keep an eye on me, all of the people disappeared. And I could never describe any of them, so they thought I was just wasting their time. And then, right out of the blue, a guy that couldn't have been older than twelve comes up to me in Whole Foods and says that I can do magic, shoves a grimoire in my hands, and walks away like hunky-dory." Eden bounced a little to illustrate, even though Adam couldn't see her when she was behind him. Still, he got the message, she thought.
"Are you sure these occurrences are of malignant intent?" Adam asked suddenly. She paused, still gripping his jacket--which forced him to stop too--and stared at the back of his head. He turned to look at her and sighed. "As in: are you sure that what's happening is actually ba--"
"I know what 'malignant' means, for Christ's sakes," Eden pouted. They began to walk again as Adam gave an offhand "well you never know" shrug. "And I guess I don't know they're all bad guys, but I'm nervous, okay? I want some undead backup."
"I suppose that's fair."
"It doesn't matter what you suppose," Eden tried to assert her authority. "I summoned you, so you have to listen to me." Adam glanced over his shoulder and raised a vaguely challenging eyebrow at her.
"Then what is your first order, my lady?"
"Get us back to civilization. I can't see for sh-t," Eden muttered vehemently. In one fluid motion, Adam grabbed her around the waist and swung her over his shoulder like someone would a sack of potatoes before rushing off in some random direction that was definitely not the way they had been going for the past twenty minutes. Eden stifled a scream into Adam's shoulder as she felt the world pass by at breakneck speed, glad that she was wearing jeans.
It all lasted for perhaps a second before Adam unceremoniously pushed her onto the packed earth. With a small "oof!", Eden landed on the ground and rubbed her back to massage away the dull pain.
"Next?" Eden followed Adam's bland gaze down the slope, where a gas station shone its dull yellow lights a few blocks away from the real city some distance away. Eden recognized the glowing sign of her hotel and sighed.
"It would be awesome if you could take us closer to the hotel actually. And!" she exclaimed as he reached for her again. "Don't sling me over your shoulder like a meat sack. And put me down nicely at the end."
"See, you can learn things," Adam smiled sardonically. He lifted her and put her in one of those Prince-Charming-sweeps-up-Princess poses, where she was basically sitting and leaning against his chest, but because of her size, it was more like he was holding an over sized baby. In one blink of an eye, they were in front of the Mariott and Eden was wishing she had brought a jacket or something.
"Okay, come on," Eden beckoned him towards the doors. He frowned.
"Where are the--?"
The doors slid open at Eden's approach. She paused and looked at him curiously.
"Ah," Adam waved a hand, "never mind." He cautiously followed after Eden, jumping a little when he heard the doors swish to a close behind him and the second pair slide apart.
"I can just enter your room?" Adam asked dubiously.
"Well, technically, yeah. I booked the room for two."
"And you can just reserve a room for two people without raising an eyebrow?"
"Honestly, there are worse things."
"And what will they think of someone bringing a man up into their room in the dead of night?"
"I think you just described every night in American history since at least the last decade," Eden laughed a little. "Don't worry. People might be disapproving, but no one is going to outright stop us." As if to illustrate this point, the receptionist glanced up as Eden and Adam entered the lobby. She took in Eden, who waved cheerily, and Adam, who shuffled in behind her, gangly and awkward, before turning back to her computer screen and tapping in something. Eden poked Adam in the side as if to say "I told you so". Moments later, they were in an elevator, and Eden allowed Adam to press three extra buttons before making him stop. She didn't want to stop on all forty floors of the place. She tried to explain the pulley system to him, but she was pretty sure that one: he already knew about basic physics, and two: she was doing a terrible job explaining. He had another break down when they went to the room and she opened the door with an electronic keycard, however; she was basically forced (or perhaps obligated is a more accurate word) to allow Adam the chance to open the door himself. It took him five times to get it, and another seven to really get the hang of it. By the time he had walked into the room itself, he was convinced there was no obstacle of this new century he couldn't conquer.
"Slow down," Eden told him. "you don't know anything about this place, yet."
"Like what?"
"Like how, I don't know, like twenty percent of this world's money is physical? It's all electronic, nowadays."
"What?" Adam frowned. "Then what's the value of it? How do you even trade electricity for other products?"
"Well, beforehand, you were trading green slips of paper for bread," Eden shrugged. "And, I mean, I don't know about all the mechanics, but like, you have this thing called a credit card and--"
"Explain later," Adam dismissed her, recognizing this as a concept he would have to learn on his own. He began to explore the small bathroom and the somewhat larger bedroom. There were, mercifully, two twin beds.
"I didn't buy you any clothes," Eden said apologetically, following him inside and sitting on one of the beds. "I wasn't sure what size you were going to be."
"Are there scissors, at least?" Adam seized his long locks.
"Maybe. Actually, I think I brought a pair with me." Eden got up and went to the closet, digging out her single black bag and unzipping it to find the small baggie of small essentials she always kept with her: pencils, pen, ID, safety scissors, rubber bands, paper clips, Post-Its, mint gum, pocket-sized tissues, and five dollars worth of quarters to only be used in emergencies. She pulled out the scissors and said, "I'm not sure if it'll be sharp enough." Adam grunted his recognition and retreated to the bathroom. Eden trailed after him for lack of anything better to do.
"So, is this, like, army cut you're going for, or...?"
"I had enough of that during war time," Adam snorted, taking a fistful of hair and slicing it off without regard for consistency or evenness. Multiple threads fluttered to the floor.
"Maybe you should do it in the bathtub," Eden suggested. Adam wordlessly stepped inside the tub while she asked, "What wars?"
"Eighteen-twelve," Adam said brusquely as he shredded off another chunk. "Second World War."
"Did you die in the War of 1812?"
"Under Napoleon?" Adam clarified. As he lifted another knot of hair, Eden stepped forward and took the scissors and began to cut with a bit more formality. He had to basically sit in the bathtub so Eden cut reach his head. "I did. During the invasion of Russia. Starvation."
"And you know how it ended?"
"I was summoned in the forties, remember?"
"Right. So what side were you on, in the forties?"
"Nazi." Adam squirmed uncomfortably as hairs stuck to his collar. "They lost, of course."
"Why were you fighting in that war?"
"Some coward didn't want to do his part," Adam said disdainfully. "So he summoned me to be his guard while he ran, although it ended up that I took his place, really. I won't give you the gory details."
"Please, don't." Her dad's side was Jewish. She brushed off the last bits of hair from his shoulders as best as she could before saying, "That should do it. Since you pretty much butchered your left half, I didn't bother fixing it; we can get it done tomorrow."
Wordlessly, Adam took off his tuxedo jacked and shook off the hairs from it before scowling and throwing it randomly onto the floor. "Are there still hairs on my neck?"
"Many."
"Fantastic." Adam simultaneously unbuttoned his shirt while seizing a towel from the rack near the shower and turning on the faucet, putting the towel under the water while giving the shirt the same treatment as the jacket. He deftly began wiping off the hairs from his neck. He hissed a little as the towel passed just under the vertebrae at the nape of his neck.
"Sorry," Eden cringed sympathetically. "That'd be the Seal."
"Fantastic," he said again. Adam twisted a little to try and take a better look at it, curious, obviously, about what Eden's personal brand was.
"I can redraw it, if you're really that curious," Eden sighed in exasperation.
"You might lie about it."
"Why is it so important?"
"I want to be able to recognize the symbol of the person that brought me back from the dead."
"Okay, well. Fine. I'll take a picture then, okay? Hold on." Eden exited the bathroom and snatched up her phone sitting patiently on the desk at the back of the room before returning.
"Observe." She spun the phone around in the air a couple of times for Adam to see before unlocking the screen and showing him the camera. "See? No alterations from the original," she said as she snapped a photo of the pair of them, her face strained and bags gathering under her eyes and his gaunt and white, openly fascinated.
"This is a camera?"
"Actually, it's a phone. It just happens to have a camera built in. It's digital. Look, I'll explain later, okay?" Eden promised as Adam opened his mouth to ask something else. He nodded as Eden retreated behind him.
"Hold still." She took a nice picture of her symbol before passing her phone back to him.
"This is your symbol?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"It's supposed to be a Tree of Knowledge," Eden admitted, "but it didn't really work out well." On the phone was a black circle with one thick vertical line passing through the center and continuing down nearly off of the screen. Two separate "branches" on either side of the line angled towards the same point on the line before dropping off, parallel, down the screen, making for five distinct branches. The circle was meant to be a sort of glow.
"I was going to add an apple there," Eden said as she pointed to the rightmost branch, "but I thought that'd be too tacky."
"You made your symbol the Tree of Knowledge?"
"I didn't have any better ideas," Eden shrugged. "Besides, a lot of people have used trees, before. I had to check that people didn't do exactly my design. For example, a lot of people did squiggly branches..."
"Well, I suppose my name makes even more sense--and irony--now, then," Adam remarked. Eden frowned.
"I'm not sure if that sentence made complete sense."
"Forgive me," Adam snorted as he wiped the last of the hairs from his shoulders.
"How often do you need to eat someone?"
"I think the generally accepted term is 'feed'," Adam corrected her. "And usually once a day. More, if you make me work."
"Why's that?"
"Maybe you don't read, after all," Adam considered serenely. Eden kept appropriately silent for a period before Adam continued, "We need the blood for the oxygen, right? And for the blood itself. If you make me run around all day at full tilt, then I'll need some sort of reimbursement."
"I guess that makes sense."
"It makes perfect sense," Adam said. He picked up his shirt and glowered at the hairs stuck on the collar. "Annoying. You can't take these off?"
"You're the first spell I've actually tried."
"First spell and you went for a Summon?" Adam asked. "Are you suicidal?" He sounded serious.
"No, I wouldn't say so."
"I suppose that's good," Adam remarked. "I can't have my witch actively trying to kill herself."
"We can get you more clothes tomorrow," Eden told him. "I have some money saved up, but not a ton, so nothing too super nice. We might just have to go to Target or something. Maybe a thrift store."
"What?"
"Nothing." Then: "What's it like in Limbo?"
"I'm not supposed to tell you," Adam replied. "That's a bit of an unspoken rule when you go there: you don't tell people in the Plane what Limbo is like. The mystery of Death and all."
"And Death told you all this?"
"Not me personally," Adam scoffed as if the very notion was ludicrous. "But you hear things. Besides, I don't think I'd want to ruin the surprise for you, anyway."
"Thanks," Eden sulked, slumping as she shuffled out of the bathroom in disappointment. "I'm going to sleep."
"Enjoy yourself," Adam called after her as he began to inspect his new body in private. For someone who'd only gone through his second Summoning, he was taking all of this extremely well. Eden had thought that he'd been summoned at least five times, maybe, over the course of his time in Limbo. He didn't strike her as someone that hadn't experienced Summoning less than that. Maybe he was in his last body for a long time.
Deciding that it would be easy to ask Adam about the details of his past lives later, Eden retired to bed, snuggling under the covers and turning off the lamp beside her, leaving Adam's side the only place that was still lit. It was only then when she allowed herself a small, internal squeal of triumph. She had Summoned a Spirit! On her first try! This must've been considered momentous in the Witching community, right? She hoped so. She read that Summonings were supposed to have a lot of after-effects, but so far, she hadn't felt any different. Maybe the book was wrong. It also said that the Spirit was unquestionably loyal to the witch to the point of killing themselves if they had to, but somehow Eden couldn't see that happening with Adam. She gave him orders and everything, but he actively tried to find loopholes. She doubted he would die for her. Which was a good thing. Eden didn't like dogs. She was more of a cat person.

[eden .]

I had this plot idea like a year ago but I abandoned it to let it sit for a while. it's set during WWII where there are seven people with abilities from different sides of the war. unfortunately, I wasn't able to fit one in for the African rebellions. I was very adamant there were seven...
anyways, I'm getting my feet wet with the plot, again. I wanted to explain their powers but I didn't feel like taking notes so I just made it into a drabble. I'd actually love some feedback, you know.

Minori glanced at Andrei, whose breathing was steady and muted in the chilled, quiet, and heavy night air. His dark eyes flashed in anticipation as he gave a small nod that Minori almost missed. The two soldiers breathed in to steady themselves before Minori rose from his crouching position in the brushes and approached the decrepit cabin a few feet ahead. He could hear Andrei creeping behind him, exceptionally better at this than he. Minori's boots seemed to let off a firecracker of explosions with each step into the gravelly earth. Minori's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to focus, but at this point, it hardly mattered if he was shot at or not. Although, he admitted, he'd probably want to avoid any dangerous, reckless moves. Sophia had told him that the stitches in his side were on the verge of tearing if he kept at the pace he was going.
When the pair of them reached the door, they bent at either side and leaned against the wall below the windows and out of sight unless the person inside opened a window and looked straight down. The night air seemed fuzzy and grainy to Minori, but he searched the deserted landscape anyway. Xi-Wang was waiting for them, blatantly standing in the middle of the landscape and staring off at the moutain ridges in the black horizon. Minori silently clicked his tongue in reproach but didn't dare call out to him. If Xi-Wang wasn't worried, then there was nothing for Minori or Andrei to worry about either, and anyway, Evelyn didn't see anything of dire importance happening for the next few days at the very least.
Andrei and Minori exchanged one quick glance before the two of them slid to standing positions, Andrei readying his rifle and stepping back a few feet from the door, the end of the rifle pointed towards it with cold accuracy as he nodded, indicating he was ready. Minori shook himself out a little, not bothering to grab his gun, and went in front of Andrei, staring at the door.
With a harsh intake of breath, Minori kicked down the door and casually stepped inside. The night instantly became alive with with light and painful, driving pounds into Minori's chest. He exhaled a little at the impact, gritting his teeth but forcing himself not to cry out as he forced himself to continue to step forward, hoping that the man wouldn't be smart enough to shoot at his legs. He squinted his eyes against the violent bursts of light, stepping towards them unsteadily as more and more bullets were shot into his torso and stomach. One even caught in his skull, but thankfully it didn't go through. Brain injuries took months to years to recover from completely. Minori impatiently dug it out, hissing at the pain as he dug out the bullet with his fingers. Blood snaked down his face and into his eyes as the attacker paused to get more bullets, swearing in a language Minori wasn't familiar with.
The pause was all they needed. Instantly, Andrei jumped inside and shot into the darkness. How he knew where he was shooting, Minori didn't know, but he didn't need to. He collapsed onto the floor and worked on extracting the bullets lodged in his skin while the attacker howled in pain.
"William Strator?" Andrei chuckled darkly. He approached the person and vanished as his body blended into the dark. There was a thump and another shout of pain. Minori's jaw jumped a little, but he ignored it for the most part as he felt around his shoulders and chest for more bullets before moving onto his stomach.
"I think I asked you a question, Yankee," Andrei said in a low, ominous voice. More shouts. Minori was about to speak up with the last bullet rolling onto the floor when the man cried out, "Yes! Yes, I'm Strator."
"Terrific," Andrei said with what seemed to be sincere joy. There were dragging sounds as he pulled the man behind him by the collar of his shirt, threatening to suffocate him.
"That saves us a lot of trouble," Andrei continued pleasantly. Minori stepped to the side as the two of them passed, Strator's pants soaked with blood at his knee.
"We need him alive," Minori quietly reminded Andrei.
"And for the love of God, don't choke him so!" Xi-Wang shouted from out front, his voice strained.
"Sorry," Andrei muttered almost sarcastically, but he let up his pressure anyway. Strator gasped and coughed as soon as he was released, crumpling further into the ground and wheezing.
"You'll have to come with us, Strator," Minori said, crouching to look at the man in the eyes to see if he could detect something--anything--there.
"I won't tell you anything," he spat in Minori's face. He didn't blink as he wiped the saliva off his cheek.
"You don't have to," Minori reminded Strator before nodding up to Andrei. With a snort, Andrei hefted Strator without any regard for his wound (or perhaps much regard, as Strator yelped with more pain than what should've occurred). He slung the man over his shoulder as if he was just a sack of potatoes.
"Let's go," Andrei nodded his head down the nearly invisible dirt road. "We've got a long walk ahead of us."
Minori grunted in agreement as he tried to take the first step forward before groaning and leaning heavily against the door frame, hand pressed against his bleeding side.
"Don't tell me you need to be carried, too," Andrei said impatiently.
"Xi-Wang," Minori summoned him, "your shoulder."
Xi-Wang approached with an unreadable expression. Minori watched him cautiously, wondering how he was reacting to a Japanese man ordering him around, but Xi-Wang wordlessly extended an arm. Minori gratefully collapsed into him and dragged his feet through the dust. Many times Andrei had to wait with a screaming and kicking Strator on his shoulder...until he punched his wounded knee and he would stay silent for another hour or two.

"So this is him?" Malachi murmured, circling the man that was strapped down into the chair. Strator struggled and made the chains rattle, but it was Andrei that bound them together. No one else was ever going to break them. No one human.
"Ask him yourself," Andrei suggested testily. Malachi glanced at him with his sunken, gaunt expression, but he did as Andrei said, asking the man, "Are you William Strator?"
The man, to his credit, stayed quiet.
"Fine, there are other ways to test." Malachi straightened up and glanced around. "Where's Chun-Ae?"
"Probably in a corner trying to block out the static with Evelyn," Sophia called from her operating table, her somewhat shaky hands threading thin string through Minori's wounds.
"I told you the stitches would rip, didn't I?" she muttered.
"Sorry," Minori apologized.
"Will someone get--?"
"I'm here," Chun-Ae interrupted Malachi, padding in barefoot in her shift from the hallway leading to another part of the warehouse. Minori risked a glance towards her, but she didn't look his way. She stepped towards Malachi and the others, glancing at the man.
"What did he do?"
"Well, I'm not sure," Malachi blinked blandly, "but if he's done something wrong, we'll know."
"Looks like it," Chun-Ae sighed wearily, pushing up her sleeves a bit further and coming nearer to the man. "An eye for an eye, sir? Or a tooth for a tooth? You can decide."
"What are you doing?" he yelped as her fingers approached his face.
"I'm helping you repent for your sins," Chun-Ae said without inflection. "If you're not going to make a choice..." She began to press her fingers around his eyeball.
"Wait!" he shouted. "Alright, alright! Yes, I'm William Strator!"
Everyone's gazes flashed back to Malachi, who stared at the man before shrugging, "Well, he's not lying."
"So it's time to give us a bit of information, Mister Strator," Andrei smiled tightly. "It's time our questions were answered."
"I won't tell you a thing!"
"I think you said that about six hours ago," Andrei pointed out, coming to Strator's other side so he was boxed in by two people.
"I'm a lot more brutal than Chun-Ae, you know," Andrei whispered. "It's because she can't hurt anyone that doesn't deserve it. Did you know what, Mister Strator? Or the fact that one of us is immortal? Or that I can hit a bird from fifty meters away with a good rifle? Did you know that, Mister Strator?"
"Yes, yes, I knew that," Strator cringed away from Chun-Ae and Andrei, shrinking into his chair.
"Good. Then that will make things much easier. Everyone, out. Malachi, stay."
Immediately, everyone but Malachi and Andrei exited the main chamber of the warehouse, parading into the hallway Chun-Ae had materialized from and crowding down it as the first crack whipped through the air and a shout echoed down the hall. Chun-Ae and Xi-Wang, who had exited as fast as they could, shuddered as the sound reverberated through the walls, clutching each others' arms to keep the other from running until small beads of blood pooled at their fingertips.
"It's necessary," Minori reminded them.
"I know," both of them snapped at him around gritted teeth before stumbling down the hall again.

"There have been more of us in the past," Malachi said as Andrei rubbed his hands on a rag he found sitting on the cement floor. The blood had clotted on his clothes, as well, but there was little he could do about that; he didn't bring anything but the clothes on his back. None of them did.
"If you followed it in history," Malachi sighed heavily, joining the other five on the floor, "and if you were looking for it, then you'd see it."
"So there will be more of us, too?" Evelyn asked quietly. Malachi's gaze flickered towards her with a tight expression before nodding tartly and looking away as he intoned, "Yes, that stands to reason.
"In any case, there have always been seven of us that appearing during times of great peril. I suppose this war counts," Malachi added bitterly. Even in three layers and the shawl he kept with him, he was still shaking from cold.
"So, what, are we blessed then? By the gods?" Minori questioned in a hushed voice. Malachi shook his head helplessly. "He didn't know that one. But he knows who can do what--specifically. Although I think most of us have a good grasp on what we can do."
"List them anyway," Andrei ordered. Malachi stared for a moment to regain his control before he went on, "The first is Evelyn, who Strater called 'The Prophet'."
"Appropriate," Evelyn said.
"The ability is sight of significant events in the future," Malachi ignored her. "Secondly is Sophia, 'The Creator'. Immense knowledge and ingenuity.
"Third is myself. 'The Judge'. I can tell when someone is lying--obviously, we all knew that--and my word is final."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that when I speak, people listen."
The room was silent.
"Fourth is Chun-Ae, 'The Avenger'. The more emotions there are, the more powerful you are, essentially. Fifth, Andrei. Sixth--"
"Don't skip over me, Judge."
"'The Warrior'," Malachi said without any sign of being bothered, "is the best fighter. Sixth, 'The Martyr'. Xi-Wang, you have the strong need to protect anyone that's in danger at the risk of your own life, if need be. Seventh is Minori, of course, and you are 'The Savior'. You're immortal."
"I'll live forever?"
"Well," Malachi murmured, "you'll age, so I expect that eventually your internal organs will stop working...eventually."
"Right, so we know our purposes in life now," Andrei broke the uncomfortable silence. "Time to get going. It's nice to meet you all. Oh, Malachi, I have a friend that will probably be willing to take you in..."
"Wait, you mean you're going back there?" Chun-Ae exploded, jumping to her feet. "You're making me go back?"
"Well, where else are we supposed to put you? Malachi is one thing, but I'm not sure how my friends will react to a Korean."
"But--"
"You're rejoining the war?" Malachi asked.
"Shouldn't we?" Evelyn questioned, also rising to her feet and staring at Malachi, who glared at her with unadulterated hatred. "I remind you that three of us are soldiers bound to our countries. We can't just walk away. Not now."
"What, fight for a side of evil?" Chun-Ae nearly shouted. "Fight with them?" She threw an accusatory finger at Minori, who felt himself shrink before expanding and exploding, "I'm fighting for my country! How can you tell me that's wrong?"
"Don't talk to me about what's wrong with you and your country," Chun-Ae hissed, beginning to advance. Sophia stepped in between them and meekly flicked her gaze everywhere.
"Let's be fair," she whispered nervously. "This is war. No side is right."
Chun-Ae glared at Minori over Sophia's head, but she let it go with a snort...for now.
"Thank you," Minori muttered.
"I didn't do it for you," Sophia said simply before going over to join Malachi. "I'm sure I can find you a place to stay in America."
"What's wrong with the Soviet Union?" Andrei asked innocently.
"Your leader is insane," Sophia said bluntly. Andrei shrugged, not completely disagreeing, and cheerfully strutted around the room before creeping towards the exit.
"Why are you all so anxious to separate?" Sophia questioned.
"What, you don't seriously think that we'll be able to work together, do you? Work together with her?" Malachi threw a hand at Evelyn.
"We have something that transcends alliances."
"You haven't been through what I've been through--at her hands!"
"Not her," Sophia reminded him.
"No," Malachi snorted, "just people under her command. I'll come with you to America, but I want to make sure I'll be safe."
"I'll try my best."
"Then I should leave, as well," Minori finally sighed. He joined Andrei at the exit, glancing at the tall, imposing man.
"Perhaps I'll see you in the field, yeah?" Andrei chuckled darkly. "I'll be sure to run if I see you."
"I think I could say the same for you."
"Yeah, but out of the two of us, who's the one that can't die?" Andrei patted Minori on the head with another small laugh before departing. It wasn't long before Evelyn followed after him, saying to Malachi, "I won't apologize for my actions because they were for the sake of my own country. But I am sorry that it happened to you."
"Tell that to the rest of my people," Malachi growled. "Didn't think of letting them out of the camp when you got me out, did you?"
"Would you have preferred to stay?" Evelyn asked evenly. Not expecting an answer and receiving none, she too disappeared.
"And then there were five," Sophia said sadly. Malachi glanced towards her and shook his head.
"There's nothing we can do. We have responsibilities. Lives."
"But we're not normal. Normal things don't apply to us. Not anymore."
"We can pretend," Xi-Wang finally interjected. He cautiously sidled up to Chun-Ae and said, "My family might take you in...I'm not sure how willing they'll be, but--"
"Yes," Chun-Ae automatically said, "anything. Anything's better than..."
Xi-Wang inclined his head and lead Chun-Ae out, who stiffened as she passed Minori but didn't say another word or a goodbye.
Three. Minori turned to the other two.
"The harbor," Sophia suddenly asked, "in December. Were you there?"
"...Yes."
"Did you do it?"
"I did."
Sophia closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. "Thank you for your honesty." She looked up at Malachi and asked, "Are you ready?"
Malachi began to stride out, Sophia jogging to keep up. "There are regulations about Jewish immigrants," she was saying as they disappeared. "They denied ships of them before America entered the war..."
Minori cast one glance around the warehouse when he was alone, aware that this was the only place that he'd ever felt the warmth of company and camaraderie, before he too departed, leaving no trace that any human--or otherwise--had stepped foot there.

One year later, the war ended.
With a bang.

[eden .]

there's a writing contest that I want to enter with the prompt "write about a love that is dangerous". and everyone was doing like violence and everything so I wanted to do something subtler, but I'm not sure if I did it well. Therefore, if you have any comment on this, please, please, please tell me, because I really need some criticism before I enter the piece.
there was a word limit of 1 500 words. if my counter is right, this is about 1 185 words. so I have a few to spare, if you think additions are necessary.
this is not necessarily what will happen in "Watcher" the actual novel, but it was something that I felt like doing.

His hands gripped my shirt, shaking and trembling with a desperation that I hadn't realized he could have before. His forehead rested on my abdomen.
"Can you do it?" he asked me hoarsely. "Can you stay with me?"
I took one long, shuddering breath. I cast my eyes to the ceiling before closing them tight.
Say no, I told myself. Say no. I knew then that I had to refuse. I could not risk wasting my life away with a man that would never stay. If I was smart, then I would walk out of the door right then and there and move on with my life. I had lingered over him for too long, now.
I raised my hands and placed them on his. His grip tightened at my touch. I glanced down to consider his hair--like pepper--before closing my eyes once more to hold back my tears. I loved him. I loved him so much. I loved this man that was sitting on the only chair in the room that had fallen as far as he ever had.
"I didn't think you'd come back," I murmured into his head. He shuddered and choked out, "I'm sorry."
"I let you go."
"I know."
"I have a life."
"I know." For a moment, his voice bled from tacitly controlled to painfully selfish. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come back."
I began to untangle his fingers from my shirt. I looked away, distracting myself by taking in the single room we were in. It was unlit, and the sky was gray outside. There was a white-blue tinge in the cold, heavy floor as rain slid down the large, chilled windows.
"Let go," I said thickly when he did not release me. If anything, he only held on harder. He pulled on my shirt. I could feel the tension bringing me down from my shoulders. My fingers fumbled over his fist, and I began to quiver.
"Let go!" I repeated, my voice rising. My chest began to rise and fall with more anxiety as I struggled to keep my composure. My legs began to wobble and I squirmed. I shook my head and shut my eyes and still continued to try and work his hands away from my sides. I shook my head some more even though I didn't know what I was denying. I could feel him pulling me closer and closer and his shaking escalating into a rattle.
"Let go!" I cried, balling my hands into fists. I abandoned his hands and began to pound on his broad shoulders. I choked and sobbed. I wheezed and heaved. It was as if I was having some sort of seizure.
"I can't be with you!" I shouted at him when he did not release me. "I can't stay with you! I will not stay with you!"
"Ann--" he began, his voice ragged and strained.
"I will not waste my life with a man that will most surely outlive me!" I declared. I stopped hitting him and went back to straining against his arms, pushing against their iron grip. "I am no longer a child! I am not such a simple woman, Watcher!"
"I know that!" he finally burst out, suddenly rising and placing his hands on my narrow shoulders. He shook me a little like a child would a rattle, his steel eyes burning into me. "You think I don't know that?" His eyes flashed across my stricken face. I wasn't sure what to do under his aggravated glare.
Without warning, he pulled me to his chest. His arms pinned mine to my sides and he said into my shoulder, "I've lived for two thousand years and I've fallen in love with exactly four people."
I did not say anything. I did not return his embrace. My hands hovered over his back for a moment before I forced them back down again.
"I have outlived all of them," he continued in a hushed voice. He kept me close, silently imploring I listen. "But I never left them. I stayed by their side as they grew up. I watched over them. I took care of them. I remained until their dying day."
"I can't do that," I said as firmly as I could. I hated that my voice still shook. "I can't be with you for the rest of my life."
"I'll make you happy," Watcher began. "I won't leave you."
"Yes you will," I stated dully. "You always leave."
"What can I do, Ann?" he cried into my sweater. "How can I help how I was born?"
"You shouldn't have come back."
He did not agree nor deny it. He only held on tighter. "I know it's risky. I know it's risky for you."
"If I agree, I'm completely dependent on you!" I said. I felt like pounding my foot. I felt like screaming. I felt like a child. "You can leave whenever you want to! You can make a new life whenever you want to! You can abandon me whenever you want to! When I'm old and wrinkled and ugly, you'll move on and I'll be dying and alone and all my time will have been wasted."
"Don't say that," Watcher begged me. "Please don't say that."
"It wouldn't be healthy," I tried to explain to him. It was very important that he understood. "I won't be able to live each year and get older while you don't change at all."
"You'll be able to do it," he assured me. He pushed me back a little to stare at me anxiously. "You're strong enough."
"Loving someone that won't age?" I whispered. I shook my head in despair.
We stood together then, I staring at his feet and he staring at my face, searching it. I raised my head to meet his anxious gaze.
"You shouldn't have come back."
"I know."
Slowly, I brought up my hands to grip his shirt and carefully pulled him towards me, keeping my eyes locked with his. He did not waver. He did not try and stop me. Nor did he try and hasten me. When I eventually gathered the courage to press my lips to his, however, he fully embraced me and held me like a dying man would his salvation. It was not a hot, lustful kiss, nor was it much like the kind of kisses that had been described to me, but it was long and deep. We could feel the unspoken truths that were held between us. We pressed against each other as if to melt into one another. We held each other close and reveled in each other's presence. The world fell away at our feet. There was no one else but him and me.
Then I pulled away. I stared at his nose and pressed my forehead to his, standing on my toes. He didn't move. He was waiting for my next move. I kneaded my fingers on his shirt and into his shoulders.
"Goodbye," I told him without moving. I saw him shut his eyes before he embraced me one more time.

[eden .]

I abandoned it but feel like working on it again so

Despite my trepidation, I stepped inside the interrogation room. The inside was dark, rank, and damp, the mold and sticky heat pulling at the fine hairs on my skin and filling my nose. With a shuddering screech that trembled through the slick stone floor and vibrated through my bones, the thick iron door boomed shut. The last shaft of white light disappeared from my bare, bony ankles.
For a moment, the room was silent. The heavy silence permeated through the air, weighing down on my shoulders, my arms, my legs. I was finding it hard to breathe. My previously inaudible whistling from my nostrils sounded like a shrill beacon. Sweat was beginning to dampen my neck and armpits. The back of my cotton shirt was sticking to the small of my back. I uncomfortably twitched underneath it, but I didn't dare make more movement than that. Somewhere, water was dripping with harsh sounding smacks against the floor.
Suddenly, a huge weight crashed into my shoulders. I shouted out despite myself, my wail ringing through the room and echoing back to me almost mockingly. I crashed onto the ground, my head knocking back into the wall and my shoulder scraping down against the wall. Throbs rippled through my body, and even though all I could see was black, red spots popped and flashed, in an infuriating symphony of giggles and cackles.
Wiry, sharp fingers dug into the skin on my upper arms, cutting off my blood and making my fingers numb. I squirmed, but whatever was grabbing me was on top of me too, pinning me down. I shouted out, blindly scrabbling at matted, greasy hair, a chest slick with sweat, soft flesh that I instinctively identified as the cheek...
I kicked out, yanking my leg free in a bout of adrenaline and bringing my knee up to hit my attacker in what must've been the stomach (at any rate, it certainly didn't seem to have any bones). I felt whatever was on me slacken a bit, the hands slipping off and away, perhaps to cradle whatever place I struck. I didn't waste any time. I scrambled to my feet and shot in the general direction of where I thought the door was, although from my fall my sense of direction had all but flown into the wind. I ran my hand along the rough wall, screaming and pounding with my fists while I felt my enemy shift somewhere behind me.
Finally, mercifully, my fingers slipped across smooth steel. I slammed it with my palm. Ignoring the sting on the heel of my hand, I struck the door again, shouting at the top of my voice and as audibly as I could through my tears.
With a quick but sound clack of gears, the door unlocked. I shot through the exit even though the guard had barely gotten it a foot open.
"Close it!" I screeched at him, tumbling into the arms of the other guards, who supported me as I ordered again, "Close it!"
The young guard hurried to oblige, pushing against the heavy, cumbersome door. He was doing his best, but I didn't find it good enough. I commanded him to push harder, to work faster, until my throat was raw. And still I could not stop myself from scuttling back from the waning opening.
Still, it was enough. Just before the ink haired, pale face could slip a hand through, the door plunged him into darkness once again.
It was my eleventh birthday.

[eden .]

I listened to The Reason by Hoobastank for the first time in a while, and I automatically connected it to Alexander from my nanowrimo [national novel writing month] story, "Alexander/ra" [which you can read in its most recently updated version here. I'd rate it pg-16].
this is an AU [alternate universe] where Alexander doesn't actually meet the end that he does in the actual story. some of you have read it and some of you haven't, so I won't allude to what exactly it was, but yeah. it's like a possibility of an ending, but it is actually completely unrelated to the original novel
so I guess it's almost like my own fanfiction wow that's really sad oh well
I'd rate this about pg-13, for allusions and censoring.

I stared at the white wood, trying to control my breathing. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I tried to think of oceans and cute things, like puppies. But nothing worked. I wiped my hands on my jeans. I pleaded my heart to stop pounding.
Suddenly, the door flew open, making my heart leap and my feet jump after it. I felt so much shock that the wind was sucked out of me. I nearly shouted out in surprise. I had hardly gathered myself when I realized who was standing in the doorway.
"Who are you?" she asked vehemently, glaring at my accusingly. "And what are you doing in front of my apartment?"
I didn't say anything. I just stared at her, tried to drink her in. There was some part of me that was shriveling up and dying. Did she really not remember who I was? Did I really change that much? Maybe she didn't care about me anymore. That was probably it. I had let her down enough times.
But her. Her. She hadn't changed a bit. Her strong, surly stance and demanding glare. The strange shape of her eyebrows that weren't quite arches but weren't quite thick and bushy. Her eyes were hooded and brown, and right now they were looking at me with a mix of impatience and uncertainty. She looked older, more mature, but there was no doubt that she was still the same person she had been two years ago.
"Hey!" she interrupted my thoughts. She raised a hand and snapped her fingers in front of my nose. "Who are you? Or should I just tell the police you didn't bother to give me a name?"
"Sorry," I mumbled, but I didn't say anything else. I was still too busy staring at her. She shifted a little and frowned.
"Sorry, should I know who you are?" she asked--sardonically, not actually apologetically. I chuckled a little. How typical.
"Hey man, I swear to God, if you don't give some answers I'm slamming this door in your face and then calling the cops on your -ss," she promised me.
"Uh," I stammered, stepping forward a little so my shoe was in the way of the door, just in case she changed her mind earlier than she promised, "right. Sorry." I cleared my throat and rubbed my neck a little, wondering how I should approach the situation. What was the best way to tell her this?
"Hey!" she said again. "Look, you've got three seconds okay? One. Two. Th--"
"It's me," I interrupted her quickly and loudly. She paused and blinked up at me.
"Alexander," I elaborated. When she didn't react still, I reiterated, "Alexander Cross."
For a moment I thought that she'd been frozen in shock, which was true, but I was under the impression that it was because of happily surprised reasons. I couldn't have been more wrong. We held looks for perhaps three seconds before her expression became downright murderous. She fled back inside and slammed the door right on my shoe. I yelped in pain and withdrew my foot, sitting onto the landing's floor and massaging my toes as best as I could.
"Alex!" I shouted through the door and through my pain. "Alex, please. Let me talk to you."
"I have no f---ing thing to say to you," she said through the door vehemently. "I can't believe you even f---ing found me, much less had the guts to actually come here and speak to me."
I pounded the back of my head against the door in a mixture of frustration, regret, and desperation. "Just open the door. Please!" When she didn't say anything, I swallowed my embarrassment for shouting in a stairwell and declared, "I'm not leaving until you let me in!" When she still didn't give me any reaction--which was strange for her--I shouted, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I struck the door with each "sorry", gritting my teeth and trying to keep my throat from choking up so she could understand me.
"I know I was a jerk! I know that I'm a terrible person! I'm sorry I pushed you away! I'm sorry I put you through that!" I turned and threw a fist into the wood. "I'm sorry, Alex!" I spluttered a little, spit flying out of my mouth. My nose started running and I could feel tears beginning to well up. And still, she didn't respond. She didn't say anything. I wasn't sure she was at the door anymore. I wasn't even sure if she was listening. I imagined her determinedly ignoring me with her loud, obnoxious synthetic music pounding in her ears. I quietly sobbed, my tears dripping onto the floor, knowing that I could just be talking to a door.
"What else can I say?" I mumbled into the cool wood after I had calmed down a little and I wasn't crying as much anymore. "What can I say, Alex? I'm sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am. Please open the door."
For a terrifying moment, I thought that she wouldn't, but I heard a muffled sigh from the other sigh and a click. I drew back a little as Alex pulled open the door and stared me down, her face set. I didn't move from my slouching, crouching position until I realized that my face was probably still wet. I ducked my head a tried to wipe my cheeks, but that still made it pretty obvious.
"Come in, I guess," Alex grumbled. "You shouldn't bother the other neighbors."
I blinked at her explanation but didn't complain. I stepped inside. She practically cracked the door in half, she closed it so hard. She whirled on me and began to shout. I realized that she'd been holding in her frustration for the sake of having some privacy when she chewed me out.
"I don't care how sorry you might be, Alex!" she told me. "I have a life now. I gave you up years ago. The last thing I wanted was you to pop up and start bothering me again. You're not allowed to just come and go when you feel like it!"
"I know but--"
"Then why are you here?" she screamed at me, jabbing an accusatory finger into my chest. I stumbled back a little as she took a few steps forward. She was really getting into it now. It was one of her excited moods. Nothing was going to stop her now until it was physically impossible for her to speak.
"It's not like I was the one that was at fault here!" she spat at me. It was something that I already knew, but I let her rant. I kept my face carefully neutral. I felt like showing emotions would just anger her more.
"You were the one that messed up! You were the one that made me go through all this s--. You were the one with the daddy issues, the drama, and the f--ing addiction to opiates. And you pranced around the loft like it was all fine and you assumed that I would stay! You just assumed that I would stand for it! I told you I would leave! I told you! So what makes you think, that if I did just that, that I would want to see you again? Because I don't, Alex!" She stamped her foot and for a moment only looked like a small child, tiny, frustrated tears splashing off her face. She mussed up her hair like she tended to do when she was upset and glared at me.
"What?" she demanded. When I didn't say anything, she repeated, "What, Alex? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I came here to apologize," I finally spoke. As usual, I felt like I was the younger one out of the two of us, even though I was a good six years older than her. But I couldn't deny any of the things that she was telling me; that was why I was apologizing in the first place. I already knew everything she told me. But I wasn't going to deny her the opportunity to shout at me. She didn't have the chance the first time around.
"Yeah, well, you did that like five times outside," she said sullenly. "So if that's it, there's the door." She stepped aside, her arms crossed, and nodded towards the exit.
"What, you don't want to talk anymore?" I demanded.
"What, like you have the right to ask of a civil conversation with me?" Alex snorted. "I told you off and you apologized -- not necessarily in that order. Aren't you satisfied?"
"Not at all," I murmured. I watched her, trying to assess her reaction, but for once, Alex's expression was completely controlled.
"I left because I wasn't about to waste my life with a lost cause," Alex said coldly.
"I'm not a lost cause!" I argued, my voice rising a little before I backed off sheepishly.
"Oh, really?" Alex spat. "So you're saying you haven't done any drugs in the past forty eight hours? That's how long withdrawl lasts, right? I should probably know."
"I haven't used drugs since the past year and a half," I said, scuffing the floor a little with my shoe. I realized that Alex had been too mad to tell me to take them off. "I'm sober, now."
"Like you were sober, last time?"
"Look, I'm not perfect, okay?" I cried out desperately, taking a step towards her. I had to make sure she understood this. "I'm a horrible human being, okay? I suck, okay? I'm a damn a--, I get it, okay? I know all of that already!"
"If you knew then you would've left me and my life alone!"
"I became sober for you!" I blurted out. Alex's breath caught--I could tell--and she fell back a little onto her heels, staring at me. I grimaced and backed away a bit too, putting a hand onto the back of my neck.
"Not--not like that," I hastily explained. "But you don't know how I felt when you left, Alex. You don't know how it felt. It was..." I struggled for the words. "The entire house was empty. It was cold. I don't know, there was something missing."
"That's awesome," Alex nodded sardonically. "Get out, now, please."
"Look, could you just--"
"What are you expecting from me, Alex?" she asked exasperatedly. "Okay, so you're sober now, and you did it because you felt bad that I left. What do you want from me then, huh? Why did you come here?" I groped for an answer, but she put one into my mouth.
"Is it forgiveness?" she asked. "Another chance? A clean slate? Sorry, but I'm not sorry. I don't want you as a part of my life, anymore. I've gone through enough s--- already."
"I've told you, I'm sorry about that!" I implored her. I could feel my voice cracking, but at that moment, I didn't worry about my image as a "man".
"I know I've made you through a lot!" I said. "I've hurt you and I've broken promises and in the end it probably would've been better if you'd never met me. And Christ, Alex, if I could take it back, I would!"
"That doesn't mean anything!" she threw back at me. "'Oh, yay, Alex has turned a new leaf! We can start all over now!' Is that what you want me to say? Our friendship was fake, Alex. We built it on the presumption that you were a functioning, rational human being!"
I felt my hands shaking. I wasn't sure if I wanted to shake her or hug her, although I'd hardly ever done either when we were still roommates. She was here, she was right in front of me, and I was determined to do everything right from now on, but she was deaf to it all.
"You could at least be mature enough to accept my apology!" I said to her.
"Excuse me?" she scoffed. "I don't have to accept anything from you! You think an apology is going to work? I had to walk out on a guy that I thought was going to overdose right after my mom died from lung cancer. I didn't sign up for that!"
"So what, you're going to just through me on the street?"
"Why do you always take that tone with me?" she demanded, her voice pitching. "Why is it always me that's the bad guy? Why are you the one that gets to do as he pleases? Why are you the one that gets to come back and apologize? Why are you the one that has the chance to start all over? Why can't I do something like that? Why can't I say I'm sorry? Why can't I get a second chance?"
I had the distinct feeling she wasn't talking about me, but I didn't ask who she was alluding to. She held her face in her hands and angled herself skywards, shouting into her fingers.
"You had everything and you just threw it all away and you don't even know freaking why!" she said. She looked at me again, dropping her hands, but her expression was now wan and sorrowful.
"You gave up painting too, didn't you?" she mumbled. I blinked.
"Your hands are clean," she nodded towards them. I glanced at them, pale and sinewy and distinctly free of paint specks.
"I wasn't that good. It was the entire reason I got into the mess, anyway," I tried to shrug it off. She only stared at my hands, perhaps imagining when they were still stained from the oil paints from the nights before when she woke up to find me sleeping on the floor.
"Are you still playing viola?" I asked her suddenly, feeling as if this was something that I needed to know. She started. Alex considered me with a small, curious frown before she snorted a little with an emotion I couldn't place and shook her head.
"No," she said. "No, I'm not."
We stood in silence for a moment. I realized that I most certainly had not understood how much I had put Alex through. I felt doubly guilty, now.
"Congratulations on becoming sober, Alex," Alex said to me. She strode over to the door and opened it for me. "Now I'll ask you to leave. Next I'll order you. Then I'll kick you."
Regretfully, I took one step towards the exit. I stole a glance at her to see if she was going to stop me or change her mind, but her gaze was resting at some point on the wall. I shut my eyes and took the next three steps out of the door.
"Bye," she whispered as she closed it. It clicked behind me with such a devastating, heavy note of finality that I crouched and held my head between my knees.
"Goodbye," I replied quietly into the floor.

[eden .]

I'm doing a year long writing challenge with 365 days of writing prompts, which basically means I have no life and I'm a masochist, but I guess if it keeps me writing ...
anyways, since I'm starting at the end of january where I am, I started with the january 31 prompt, "On a Hill". this is what I thought up on the spur of the moment. hopefully it doesn't suck.

The easy slope was certainly nothing to be excited about. It was a small curve on a landscape covered with curves. The soft, pastel green grass it was covered in could be found on all the other, much grander hills around this hill. There were much better places to stare up into the sky and watch the swollen, cotton white clouds roll by. There were much better places to sled down in the winter. There were much better places to sit and hold secret, out-of-the-way conversations. There were much better places to have quiet, private moments that no one else would ever know about. Those were the special hills. Those were the hills that held reverence to those that passed them.
And yet this hill, this soft spoken, quiet hill, was the only hill that had a tree. Mind, it was a fragile, weedy, stickly little thing, the leaves providing little shade in the summer and all falling off with the slightest inkling of winter about. The trunk was thin and brittle, and its branches were thinner than bone. Every year, a townsman would swear this year would be the lone tree's last, but somehow it persevered against all odds. It was under said tree that I met the love of my life.
I do not remember her name, nor her favorite subjects, nor indeed, what her hobbies were or what she did in her leisure time. These days, it's almost as if she is more of an idea than a tangible, solid human. I cannot remember many details about her. I can describe her perfectly--she had that classical, Victorian beauty about her; her red lips were small and teasingly secretive, the eyes deep and shining, twinkling brown, the eyebrows whimsically arched, and her brown curls tumbled down her neck, carefree and mischievous. Her rosy cheeks glowed in the evening and shone in the day. Her slight frame held her quiet confidence and her polite but pointed intelligence. No matter the day, predicament, or weather, her head was always high. There was always an air of composure about her, an outward shell that begged to be cracked open to see the woman underneath--and yet I can't be sure this is truly how she looked. Over the years, a few holes have appeared only to be filled by my imagination. I am sure of these details, and yet I can't be sure if they are quite what she looked like.
I can, however, remember many emotions connected with her. I remember the love that I had for her, and the wanting, and the pining, but she always spurned all advances of her many suitors--politely, of course, as you might expect of a woman of her disposition, and she never failed to make the man more confident about himself when he left her than when he approached--and, intimidated, I faltered and I found myself resigned to the notion that her affections would never come my way. I was a common, ordinary young man with a modest background and even more modest marks, talent, and personality. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about me. I never minded, however, except, perhaps, that she would never turn my way.
The small tree on the hill was my escape. It was my small, safe haven fitting a small, unnoticeable being such as myself. I would often go there and sit at the base of it, allowing sluggish summer breezes to tug at my hair before they moved on. Sometimes I would bring a book or a journal, but most usually I would simply lie down to feel the earth hum around me, soft, smooth grass tickling the back of my neck and poking my back through my thin cotton shirts. The sweet smell wafted into my nose. I would close my eyes and listen to the soft sigh of the wind travel through the leaves above me. It was uncomfortably hot, I remember, because, as I have mentioned, the tree had little shade to offer, but I felt sheltered as if I had a roof of wood and stone above my head. The sensations of the earth filled me up. There was something soothing, something comforting, about knowing the world had not stopped, no matter how devastated or hopeless I might have felt.
Upon the day of my graduation from high school, I immediately prepared for my day-long trip to the east coast in order to pursue a college education. The night I finished packing the few sentimental baubles I had collected over the years and ensuring all of the necessities had made it into the trunk, I made ready to depart. My parents, naturally, insisted that I stayed for the night, at the very least, and make my way in the morning, but I had no interest in staying longer than I had to. It was not hate, you understand, that drove me so quickly from the place, but indifference. There was, of course, little need for my haste, but there was nothing in the town that kept me back. The one individual I cared for seemed to be oblivious to my very existence, and all the people I should have cared for spared little time for me, and I for them. I was a solitary being at heart, but such isolation never troubled me much. Still, there were days when I felt the cold emptiness of a home without a family or friend inside it, and other days I would wish there was someone to lie beside me to appreciate the world together.
I arranged for a cab to take me into the next town, at which point I planned on boarding a train for the first time in my young life. In the twenty free minutes I had before the scheduled time of pick up, I found myself inexplicably drawn to the tree on the hill. It stood patiently, although somewhat solemnly, as I climbed the slope, as if it knew that I would never come back to this place, again. Standing next to it, one foot out the door of this town and one foot still inside, I realized how much of my life I had spent beside this one tree. It was like a best friend. I put a hand on the bark, vividly remembering when I had done the same thing when I had first ventured here when I was a child. Suddenly, the tree seemed much smaller than I had remembered.
For a moment, I was unaware of my surroundings as I contemplated the significance of this spot. However, at the sound of someone approaching, I whirled, withdrawing my hand and feeling a mixture of embarrassment, frustration, and irritation. I, a grown man, had been found engrossed in a tree...and at the same time, this place was my own. No other person was allowed here. But I was surprised when I saw that it was her that came forward. Even dressed in a heavy cloak that made her shoulders look even frailer and her body nearly formless, it did not hide her face or her hair, spilling out of the hood and framing her face. She paused as she spotted me, her head tilted, pleasantly curious and perhaps somewhat flustered and impatient, like me. I blinked and stammered, trying to explain myself, but she only held up a single, pale hand, like china, and assured me there was no trouble.
"You come up here, as well, clearly" was all she said to me, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. I paused but did not deny it. I only shifted out of her way as she finished the climb and settled at the base of the tree and closed her eyes, her thick eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Feeling awkward and out of place, even though this spot was supposed to be my own, I escaped to the other side of the tree--although the trunk was barely wide enough for either of our backs--and leaned against it, staring through the leaves into the night sky and at the winking stars, who seemed to be encouraging me. For what, however, I had no idea.
I was aware of the rare opportunity that had presented itself to me. Behind me sat the object of my affections for as long as I had resided in the small town. When was I ever going to have this chance again? And I was leaving in only a few minutes. If there was ever a time to come forward with my feelings for her, it was now.
For whatever reason, however, I did not speak up. And she did not say anything, either. But I could feel her presence behind me, and I believe she felt mine. With the thinning, struggling trunk between us, we both stared into the sky and marveled at our simple existence the world had allowed us.
An age later, I rose and descended the slope, murmuring a soft goodbye over my shoulder. She turned to watch me go, returning the farewell, before casting her gaze back to the stars.