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Partying Lunatic

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Username: Zoyce
Entry Title: The Dream
Word Count: 2,443 (without this text and without the ~~~ between the organized scenes)
Theme(s) Used: C & L (however it's a bit more C, seeing as... well you'll see.)
Prompts Used: 4, 23, ox2 and ox5
Feedback: For the love of all that is good and holy, yes! biggrin
Story:
People always said my head lingered in the clouds, that I lived in my own little world instead of real life. Yet, nobody truly ever told me that they thought I should be stowed away for the general safety. Rather, I was left alone to hum songs and skip along the road like a child. They pretended that if they just shielded their faces from me, I couldn’t hear the whispering behind my back. It was a wonder I could keep up my charade for so long, smiling so innocently and blankly, when truly all I felt was void and misunderstood. It was shame, they’d say, how a girl of my potential intelligence would retreat so severely into my childhood that I’d never grow out of it. How it seemed as if my apparent naïveté would eventually end in tragedy, but there was nothing they could do.

As for I, I turned away on the society of my growing town. I preferred the Dream to the wilted scenery so many people saw as normal. In the Dream, there was no pain. From the time I’d turned eight, it became my only home. In the Dream, there were no feuding parents or abusive brothers. There were no giggling, pretentious, overly-bubbly girls who poked fun at my eccentric disposition. It was my dream, and nobody could touch me. It was everywhere to be seen, and yet only I saw it. It was untarnished by those who chose to pass off my seclusion as insanity, and touched only by those who chose to accept it. And best of all, he came from the Dream.

He was the only thing that tainted the Dream, and only because I’d allow him to. He was so interesting the first time he’d manifested, as if he were some sort of broken Pandora’s Box. The first time he’d appeared in Dreamland, I was ten. For two years, I’d walked around in the place of my dreams, alone, as I was accustomed to. This was the first time I’d wished that I could show some other kid my world, if only I could find another ten year old who wasn’t a dense, immature b***h. The thought had just left my mind when I saw him. I immediately felt drawn to him, his mysterious disposition, as if he were trying to keep from flooding my kingdom with impurities. From then on, he became my best friend and my worst enemy, and everything in between. He’d speak to me when I returned to Dreamland each night, and his conversations always kept me in the whimsical, childish state that was so often criticized. When I was twelve, I began to realize that he aged accordingly to how I’d began to desire men, and then at thirteen, the Dream began to manifest outside of my nightly sleep cycles. And then he’d be with me whenever I was alone, whether or not I was awake.

And yet, I began to learn to despise him. I began to notice his imperfections, how he always had something to say, everything I’d tried to escape from. But he was not real; he was in my head, he was part of the Dream, and thus I could not leave. I began to grow distant from myself, escaping the manifestation of my mind that would appear to criticize me. He would lure me back to my dream with affection, just to ask me why I was a loner, a loser, a god-forsaken freak.

And so, my only friend became my worst enemy, driving myself to find solace in another source of healing, one that left scars.

~~~

The overwhelming power of the Dream lasted until I was seventeen. I’d received early acceptance to a college far on the other side of the country, and I’d began to accept new people in my life. I’d begun to enjoy the reality of life over what was now an abusive pleasure for my masochistic self. I met students bound for the same college in my town, and we bonded over coffee and textbooks. For once in my life, things began to look up, and I found myself smiling outside the Dream.

Yet, the Dream never faded. It would still come back at night, and I would walk through what was once a beautiful castle among the clouds. It was different now, as if Dreamland were a real place that needed tending. Weeds were overgrown, and the manor had grown grey and dingy. The skies were darker and air stale. And every so often, I would catch a glimpse of him in the window, gazing at me, staring forlornly at me. His soft grey eyes had grown hard since I first met him seven years ago. The Dream had stopped, waiting for me to live in it again, yet, I’d begun to fight back with my real future and my hatred of the man.

~~~

I woke up in a start, sweating through my clothes. Looking around, I saw the plain white institution-style walls that were my dorm room. It suffocated me, looming and threatening to overwhelm me. I walked up and flung open my windows, letting the breeze flow in, carrying with it the smell of lilies and roses. It filled the empty room, calming me. I sat down on the bed and closed my eyes, when it hit me.

I lived by the ocean, and there were no lilies or roses near the dormitory buildings. The last I’d experienced such a combination was in those fleeting moments that I’d wandered through what was once my castle. Not daring to accept it, I squeezed my eyes tighter.

“You don’t visit anymore. You don’t even bother to think about me. It hurts, Luna. We used to be so close, but now you pretend I don’t exist.” It made me shudder, the way the words rolled off his tongue in his deep voice. I could feel him staring at me, a sarcastic smirk on his face. I refused to believe it.

I shook my head. “You’re not real. You’re just part of the Dream, and I’ve left that. You can’t hurt me anymore, Dan. You’re not real. This is just another dream.” I curled up, holding my head between my knees. He made no sound. I sat there, trying to even my breathing, until I was sure he had gone. It was just another dream. I peeked.

My heart plunged, and the familiar tingling sensation returned in my stomach. I couldn’t tell if it was out of hatred or longing. He sat on the end of my bed, his arm casually draped over his knees. He gazed at me, not moving, as if he were a still apparition. His gold locks shimmered under the bright moon. I found myself staring into the face that taunted me for so long, remembering the condescending words that had fallen out of that mouth in that silky tone. I moved my arm to stare at him- he had to fake, he couldn’t be real. And yet, I noticed that he made creases in the covers where he sat. He smiled so slightly, as if he knew I was staring back at him behind my arms.

And then it hit me. He was here, in my room again. He’d manifested, and brought the Dream with him. He’d come to take my life back into my twisted world, to torture me again with his sole companionship. The rage burned through me, and I found myself opening my mouth. “You’re here. You’re really here again. Still, you’re nothing but a figment of my imagination; you’re a man who doesn’t exist. And yet, you speak as if you were real. The only real damn thing about you is how much you tortured me. I sunk into my dream world, and then you decided to show up. Why? Were you trying to stop me from leaving? Because you kept me here for seven years! You know, I should thank you. If it weren’t for your snide remarks and bipolar attitude, I might’ve felt that my ******* dreamland was worth not living my life. So thank you for being a sadistic b***h. Just disappear, and never come back. You’re my dream, so go away, damn! Go away, and stay away.” I was shouting now, tears spilling from my eyes. He stared at me, his smirk gone. For the first time ever, I found I couldn’t figure out what the expression on my own creation meant. And for the first time in years, I found vulnerability in him. The vulnerability that had prompted me to create the Dream now shone through his eyes.

The door opened. The girl from down the hall peered nervously from behind it, dressed in a thin white shirt. “Is everything okay, Luna? I heard some shouting and thought you might be…” She trailed off, and looked around my room. I shook my head, and waved her away. I was holding back my tears, and I felt if I spoke again, the tears wouldn’t stop. She bit her lip, and closed the door. I looked at the end of my bed. He was gone, but the creases where I had imagined him were still there. I choked back more tears and brushed away tears with my sleeve. I couldn’t help but crawl over to the crease and feel it, and pretend he was real.

I whispered to it. “I hate you. You shouldn’t do this to me. You shouldn’t be able to. I hate you.

~~~

After that night, I injected myself into the campus social life. Every night, I was at someone’s dorm until they had to carry me back to mine, completely s**t-faced. I’d lost control. I sought out the students who dealt drugs out of their room. I’d steal alcohol at the fraternity parties, and more than once I woke up smelling of vomit. I couldn’t remember anything that happened at night, and the stress of school deadlines distracted me from the appearance of Dan.

I couldn’t remember, and I was happy again. In my deteriorating state I no longer recognized the scars on my wrists, and they no longer served a reminder of what was. The Dream was just that now, a dream. Weeks passed in moments, night after nights of binge drinking becoming my “norm”. I was on a high, finally free from the ideas of my past, and nothing could stop me.

Nothing could stop me, except alcohol poisoning. I woke up in the emergency room the day after a St. Patrick’s Day themed party. The white rooms felt as suffocating as they did the night Dan had shown up. An I.V. had been plugged into my arm, and a monitor beeped steadily. Resisting the urge to stand up and rip it out of my arm, I looked around. I was completely alone, and completely sober. The memories flooded back.

“Now, what have you gone and done to yourself, you loser? Honestly, you say Dreamland was bad for you. Then you go out and decide to destroy whatever life you think you made for yourself.” Dan’s voice rang out from the bedside chair. I turned to face him, prepared to yell. Then I stopped. His eyes were soft again, but puffy and red. For a figment of my imagination, he seemed completely disheveled. In his hand, he held a rose and a lily.

I found myself speechless. I couldn’t function. He seemed so real. I managed a weak scowl, and tried to speak. My voice came in hoarse whispers. "How did you get here?”

He smiled. I knew what he’d say next. Dan had always criticized my headstrong thoughts on his existence. He looked at me, and simply said, “Only you should know that.” He shrugged, his face hardening again.

I stared back at him. “Why are you still here? I never wanted you here. You should be able to just go away then, right?” I could feel the tears again. He looked at me, shook his head, and stood up. He touched my face gently, and let his hand fall to rest on the pillow I laid on.

“I really do miss you, you know. Dreamland doesn’t survive without you. It used to just be us. And now it’s just me. It’s not that your shitty gardening skills could do anything, but it’s just that the place feeds off your energy. Don’t be stupid and just come back.” I looked at him, shocked by his words. I struggled for words, and instead tried to place my hand on his. But though his touch had been as solid as anything, my hand fell through his as if it were air. His lips twitched, and he walked out of the room. I felt alone again.

~~~

I walked through the streets. It was worse here, than the last time I’d visited. Vines had crawled across the door of the castle, and the weeds had destroyed all the flowers. I clutched the flowers Dan had left me last time. Each time I breathed, I felt like I was choking. I shuffled along the road, feeling a smile creep over my face.

The door opened for me when I reached it, and I walked inside. It seemed like a time capsule, and each specific detail of it was the same as it had been years ago. I walked along polished wood floors and up the giant staircase, reveling in the glory of my imagination. Memories flooded back of my ten year old self, running along the hallways with Dan. A laugh bubbled to my lips, and I danced across the halls, ecstatic to be back.

“Luna? You’re… you’re here. How? Why? I thought…” I whirled around, out of breath. Dan stood there, looking the same as he did in the hospital. He was stunned, as if it were an odd idea for a girl to want to visit her own dreamland.

“I’m here because I want to be, Dan. Because I believe. I dare to believe. I believe because you helped me to, Dan!” I danced over to him, and handed him the flowers. He took them slowly, still confused. I reached a hand out and grasped his, delighted that I could feel his touch now. A look of horror crept over his face, and I laughed again. “I lost you. And now I have one more chance. I’m not leaving the Dream again, no matter how sadistic you want to be. This is my dream!” I exclaimed giddily. He shook his head sadly and looked down at my hands.

I gripped the bottle of pills even tighter.

Beloved Hunter

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Username: OriginalSooshi
Entry Title: Opposites Attract Attention
Word Count: 844 words (so little! D: )
Theme(s) Used: E, F, H, J. (didn't mean for it to have so many, but it just happened...)
Prompts Used: 11, 13 and ox5.
Feedback: Yes.
Story: She was seething, her chest heaving with the effort she was exerting trying to breathe through her rage. Her teeth clicked together with an audible snap, her eyes narrowing menacingly. Her hands curled into fists, her nails digging deeply into the palms of her hands and mostly likely creating small gouges. Her stance was both defensive and offensive – she leaned forward, yet she kept herself on guard.

He was entranced. He could see the passionate fire blazing in her eyes, lighting up like the sunrise in the mornings. The blood rushing to her cheeks made her skin colour dangerously, but he loved the thrill of her anger; it excited him, winding him up. But he was also terrified, scared that she was about to pound in his face with her bare hands and leave him with nothing but pain. He watched her tentatively, wary of making any sudden movements that would set her off.

Life hadn’t been like this until she came around. He hadn’t been reckless, and he definitely hadn’t broken the rules. Before her, he had been a pushover. He was always bullied, and he hadn’t liked it, but he had accepted it nonetheless. It was just the way things were. She was a whirlwind, rushing in without warning and messing up the perfect order.

Converting him had been much easier than she had imagined – he listened to everything she said with a look of awe painted onto his face. His eyes were always wide, and he followed her around like he would die if he had to try surviving without her for another moment. It had easily given her a chance to change him, to mould him into the sculpture she wished him to be, like an artist when given the right tools.

But her actions definitely had dire consequences. What had Newton once said – every action has a reaction? Now, she wasn’t much of a physics student, but it was simple stuff. She couldn’t disagree with Newton on his laws. She had been experiencing the ‘reactions’ much more lately, and they had all become progressively violent and explosive. She always felt the hatred, the frustration, the anger, building up at the base of her stomach. It grew rapidly, until she couldn’t keep it in, and she suddenly blew.

If anything scared her, it was this. The feeling of vulnerability within her violent state, the way she screamed at him and he would take everything, even the physical blows, without batting an eyelid at her behaviour. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t good to be near her, and it definitely wasn’t good to accept it. Sometimes she wanted him to fight back, to feel the strike of his hand on her face, to know that he had a backbone. She knew he did, but he refused to act with it when he was around her.

He gazed adoringly at her, a small smirk forming on his delectable lips. The edges curled up, and she wanted nothing more than for him to stop it, stop it right now and just touch her. After so many months of the tension, she felt almost ready to break down. Her curled fists tensed by her sides, the skin around her knuckles turning white. She slowly relaxed her teeth, opening her mouth to speak. She could barely contain the volume of her voice, the one that willed her to scream as loud as she could, to watch him cower beneath her.

“I didn’t think it would turn out like this,” she whispered desperately, turning her stare to the floor. She could feel his eyes on the top of her head, burning into her like a fire. She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes, releasing a little more tension from her body – her fists uncurled and lay flat by her side. She knew how she looked. She looked defeated. And she was defeated, battered, and bruised. “Why are you still here? I can’t keep my filthy f-cking mouth shut.”

She heard the rustling of the chair beneath his body, and turned her head away a little more. Her breath caught and she literally felt her heart stop when his lithe fingers gently took hold of her chin, forcing her head to face him. She looked up at him and saw her reflection in those beautiful eyes. She looked lost and forlorn.

“Because I believe. I dare to believe. Trust in me,” he murmured softly. His gaze bore into hers, making her whole body tingle. “Don’t pull away.”

“I’m just trying to keep it together,” she replied, her voice breaking painfully. “You can do better.”

“Never.”

Their lips melded together, like puzzle pieces that finally found their places in the jigsaw. Her hands wound in his messy hair, tugging him toward her. His hands wrapped around her, holding her tightly by the waist, as if she would run at any second. They pulled apart, and she moved her body so she leant her head in the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Pain versus joy, forward versus backward, obedience versus defiance - rage versus love.

Roy Alexis's Queen

No Sex Symbol

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I'll have my entry in by tonight.
Or in a few minutes.

Sorry, I was going to post it yesterday,
but I managed to somehow nearly faint...
So yeah, editing now and then I'll post it.
may the use of 'woman' be changed to 'man' - or the reverse - in your prompts?

Roy Alexis's Queen

No Sex Symbol

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Je Te Souviens


In the FAQ it says to ask you in the thread;
was I allowed to change the prompts a bit?

Just like for an example this one:
"Would she laugh? Stab him? Stab him while laughing? He didn't know, and it was the damnedest thing."

Into this:

Will I laugh? Stab him? Stab him while laughing? I don’t know, and it is the damnedest thing.


Just making sure. I didn't change much really, just switched it from past tense to present.
Same goes for a few others I used, I didn't change the words or meaning of the sentence really,
just the tense or something else to make it fit into; like instead of she I'd say I or he.
Notes about the German at the bottom.

UsernameRegisky911
Title:To Our Once Upon a Time
Word count: 6,727
Theme(s) Used: A & K & L
11, 21, 23, ox2, ox3, ox4:
Yes on Feedback!:
Story : Act I: Es War Einmal
“A German officer lodged in the Kahns’ house across the street from us. We were told he was a charming man, calm, likable, and polite.” – Night, Elie Wiesel

“Jeremiah, still on that streak, eh?”

“And what do you know about it?” Jeremiah laughed, his arm swung around his latest acquisition. She was a pretty, tottery little colt, blonde hair wild over her face and eyes diluted with the snuff. They were a dreamy blue, just the color Jeremiah liked, although that might be partly due to the snuff. He loved his girls like this: pure beauty, an angel with hair that shone like gold and a pretty smile to match. At the moment, she was directing a decidedly lopsided version of it to a space above Astor.

Astor ignored her and slapped Jeremiah on the shoulder, wide grin making itself known across his face. “Ever the heartbreaker. Just don’t make a mess of her. You remember Gertrude?”

“Oh, no.” Jeremiah’s good mood faltered for a moment. Gertrude, a sturdy German girl who had serviced him for years – it was hardly his fault the girl hadn’t been able to handle the potency of good snuff. She’d been on it for years, but had only ever used the nasty, diluted stuff – homegrown shite that barely scraped hallucination standards. How was he to know she would smoke herself to death, begging and crying for more the entire way? He couldn’t be blamed. Everyone agreed, Astor especially.

Nobody cared about whores.

He shook it off, all of it. Astor looked at him with oddly, but with an ascertaining glint to his expression. “You…are still thinking of her?”

“Nein!” He shouted it with perhaps a little too much force. The gleam in Astor’s eye when he realized something was amiss shone even brighter in the reptilian depths of gaze.

“Well, yes, but only with regret.” He hastily amended.

Astor’s brow furrowed. “Regret?”

No diversion like a partial truth. “Yes, regret. Regret because she had the best tongue there is.” Jeremiah shook his head in jovial fashion. “You should have tried her.”

Astor laughed in relief, though suspicion still lingered in the shine of his eye. He was most irritatingly perceptive. “Yes, my friend. It’s too bad she passed on so early. Best of the sluts, or so I heard.”

“You heard correctly. Now, I have some business to take care of.” Jeremiah gave him a cheeky smile and an eyebrow wiggle towards the colt – girl. She was still giggling and staring off into space, obviously seeing something that wasn’t there.

“Look, the colors – they’re moving! I think it’s an elephant!”

Yes, definitely seeing tbhings.

Astor gave her an eyebrow-raise for that. “Yes, you go do what you need to. I have my own – business – here.”

Jeremiah followed his gaze to a small, brown-haired mouse that cowered in a corner. He never had understood Astor’s tastes – the girls were always painfully shy and a touch plain for him – but he did feel a deep pang in his stomach for Ms. Mouse. Astor’s acquisitions…never came out completely whole. Knives, restraints, and a whole range of other devices often had that effect on them.

But Astor was quite respected in the Kommando, while the only name Jeremiah had managed to carve out for himself was that of a renegade playboy. There was precious little he could do to help her, even if he wanted to.

Besides, what if the Obersturmführer found out he’d gone out of his way to help a Jew? He might be well-liked, even envied, but there was no way he could slip out from that sort of trouble.

They were only Jews. One more or one less hardly mattered.

He took his own whore in hand – his were always pure German – and gently led her to the door. She followed meekly enough, although he found it increasingly difficult to ignore her steady stream of mutterings. He thought he caught “elephant” and “only saw it in picture books” and “the floor is going to swallow me” a couple times.

They made it to her apartment in one piece, although later he found out she wasn’t even worth the trouble. To make up for the obvious lack of pleasure he felt – she was so gone by that point that he didn’t think she was aware of anything – he ******** her hard, putting an extra “oomph” into it. Just enough to make sure she’d be a bit sore in the morning. When he finished, he put the money next to her on the bed and left the room to have a smoke.

He dared not go back to the Commune just yet. If Astor was there, he would ask questions about why he had returned without spending the night. And it would be a downright embarrassing conversation to have, especially if Astor made assumptions about his masculinity. That would be a hit to Jeremiah’s pride, not to mention his reputation. He was known in camp as long, hard, and strong. It might not be a stellar reputation, but it got him respect and recognition from the other men. That was all he really needed.

He lifted the drag from his lips and blew outwards, letting the steady column of foggy translucence rise into the air, encircling the moon up above.

***

Eva ducked past the market throngs, glancing off a stall and upsetting a vendor in her hurry. She barely heard his screams of fury as she went hurtling past. It was only when a rough hand shot out and dragged her back did she notice the scattered apples underfoot.

“I’m sorry! In a bit of a hurry.” She plucked fallen pieces of fruit off the ground and placed it back on the stall without much care for bruising. It was obvious from the fresh bout of bellowing he didn’t appreciate her efforts. She didn’t bother to stick around for this one and shot off again, much to the vendor’s despair.

Take a right from the fish stand, left, right, duck, veer sharply through an alley, and at the end of it lay the little ramshackle house she called home. Back to being Eva, back to trying to live up to her namesake (“Eve”, the first woman, the best) when she would be a much better Adam.

But she wasn’t Adam. She was Eve. Which was why her lump of a father was leading the family in Passover and the reading of the Torah when he clearly did nothing to deserve such an honor – aside from being male, that was. She gritted her teeth as the old grievances ran up and down her spine, popping into her head like bubbles. Except they weren’t really that old – the matter never left her mind, choosing to pick, pick, pick at the scabs, the old wounds instead. Had it been a different world, perhaps a different time, perhaps she would have gotten her due – but here she was nothing more than property. All because she was a woman.

Her fists tightened into balls. At least she would never stoop so low as to become that. She would never belong to a man in that way. Enough that she be eternally lower than them, why should she bow her head and serve a man’s every whim? Perhaps she would not be able to avoid becoming a man’s possession (no no no) but she would keep her womanhood. In the name of the Holy Father.

She pushed all such thoughts out of her mind as she hurtled to a stop in front of the doorway to their little shack. With ladylike grace, of course. Her mother was always nagging her about such things, because she was supposed to be a proper woman.

Pick, pick, pick went the scab. One day it will come loose.

She flung the door open with perhaps a touch more force than necessary. The sound attracted the attention of everyone in the room.

“Eva!” Her father smiled toothlessly in her direction. “What news do you bring us today?”

“It is bad, father.” She gave a tight smile in her father’s general direction. If she looked him in the eye, she would not be able to keep her temper. She knew herself well enough to be sure of that.

“Oh?” He gave her an indulgent look. As if she didn’t know her own business. Her blood boiled.

“Yes.” She deliberately avoided her father’s gaze, sending a critical eye over the room instead. Their living space – she would not call it a house – consisted of a single, dirt-riddled room, in the corner of which lived her two sisters and baby brother, the other corner being occupied by her parents. The little space left had been designated as the Kitchen, with a capitalized “K”. One could not simply call it a kitchen because it was more of a title than it was reminiscent of the actual place.

She knew what a real kitchen was. Tzipora had a real kitchen, full of shelves and cupboards and an icebox filled with good things to eat. The Kitchen was a dirty pot and some cracked plates arranged in a circle around an ashen hole in the ground where the cooking fire was lit.

They did not even have a stove. She had learned about people that lived like this at school – but they were far away, enclosed in the private jungles of the Amazon or Africa. But they lived in Hungary, where there were such modern inventions such as iceboxes to keep things cool or gas lamps to keep people warm and give them light. She dreamed about such things. Oh, they were such good dreams.

But the thing about dreams was that you woke up. And Eva woke up to a mouthful of dirt from the floor, sharing ragged blankets with her three other siblings and feeling her empty stomach rip her from the inside out. Then she’d go out to see if she could find odd jobs to do for the day.

Dreams were nothing but candy to pacify children.

“Eva?” Her mother’s gentle voice cut through her reverie. “Eva, what has happened?”

She looked so sweet, so worried, that Eva nearly did not tell them. Nearly forced a laugh to make it a cruel joke or created another story, one less dire in news. Then she glanced at her father’s carefree visage and thought, he needs this.

Candy doesn’t work for children. That is why a bitter pill must be given.

“The Nazi’s are coming.” Eva made sure to keep eye contact with every one of them, driving the point across with all the authority her slight frame could muster. “They are coming to Hungary and we must leave.”

There was shocked silence. Her mother looked stricken, and immediately looked to her father for reassurance. The oldest of her siblings, Levana, knew just enough to fear the Nazis, and drew in a large breath. Stillness permeated the air.

Eva breathed it in, feeling the elation of importance and power of bearing earth-shaking news. In some strange way, she had caused this: the stricken faces of her family, the feeling of change that was rife in the wind. It was she who had weaved the web of silence over her family, and between the distinct control she welded and the mad dash home, she was left quite breathless.

Then her father broke the spell. A cold, clear peal of laughter cleaved the silence in two as he clutched at his stomach, tears springing to his eyes. “Oh, Eva. You had me worried! Dire news? Why, the Nazis have been coming for years! Why should it matter that they be closer now? It’s obvious that the Allies are going to win this war. People have known it for ages – Hitler can do nothing. His hands are tied.” He spread his arms wide, as if inviting everyone to join in his mirth. Her mother also turned to Eva, her face now completely relaxed back into the usual lines of steady weariness.

“Eva, it is not good to bring such fear.” She frowned at her eldest. “Especially in a time like this.”

“Father, Mother, you must listen to me! Everyone in the marketplace is talking about it – I came running as soon as I made sure it wasn’t just a rumor! The Germans have crossed the Hungarian border!”

“If it means so much to you, then I shall go and see for myself.” The man rose and slipped on his cap, pausing at the doorway to look back at his family. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Sivitz, you know he is on the Jewish Council. He will be the first to know if there are any real problems.”

Her father, although a failure of man, was amiable and had no shortage of friends. Councilman Sivitz was of the steady, unexpressive sort. He was a man who exuded disapproval simply by standing in the middle of a crowd – indeed, he was well-known as “אבן ”, or the Stone. If there was ever a man who didn’t condone rumors, it was he.

As soon as her father was out sight, Eva retired to the Kitchen to try and curb her simmering outrage. They would see. She spoke the truth, she did. And after her father came back with the exact same news she had brought, she would be vindicated from the blatant disbelief that was all too clear on their faces.

Her mother sighed and went on stirring the soup. “Come here Levana, my little moon. Come help your mother with supper.”

Levana, beautiful, gentle Levana, came forward. Eva always thought she had been well-named. Levana, like the moon – she was a steady beacon of gentle hope in their family whenever their fortunes grew rough.

Sometimes she wondered if Levana would have done a better job of caring for their family.

***
It took the Germans two days to reach Eva’s little Jewish town. The Jewish Council spent one and a half of those days persuading themselves that there was no way the Germans would come, and the last half urging that they could never be as merciless as the rumors suggested.

As for the Jewish people themselves, life went on as normal, as if the rumors that spread like wildfire didn’t exist. No one agreed on any one thing – some extremist went so far as to outright deny that the Germans were in Hungary at all. It seemed to Eva that there were as many rumors as there were market-goers, different voices contributing to the babble of exceedingly convoluted and unlikely explanations.

No one stated the obvious. They waited for someone else – their neighbor, perhaps – to say it. Until someone said it, it was not real.

In the end, no one dared to disturb the frantic optimism that ran rampant amongst the Jews.

During the two interminable days of waiting, Eva asked, then pleaded, then begged her father a total of sixty six times to let the family move. He declined.

“Where would we go? Anyways, you speak of these Germans as if they are monsters. Not so. You will see Eva – they are human as well. They won’t do the awful crimes to speak of. You are being paranoid, as always.”

Through it all, she gritted her teeth and tore at her hair.

So when the German tanks rolled through the streets where Eva bought her fruits, she felt the hatred and the numb disbelief and the breathless fear entwining in the very bottom of her heart, yes. But she smiled, because she had been right.

She smiled, and at that very moment a German soldier looked over. Their eyes met, and locked. But unlike with Daniel, the merchant’s son, there wasn’t any blushing or sweet-shy glances from the edges of their vision. It wasn’t like Peter either, where they had simply grabbed for each other and fell into the bushes.

Well, he was a German. Why should things be the same?

She turned away first. Took a straight right from the fish stand, veered left, right, ducked, dove sharply through an alleyway back home. To safety, where no one would understand her except maybe Levana, and there were no German soldiers who looked like they might be able to.
***
Jeremiah watched her go in bemusement.

It was quite lovely bemusement. She ran like a beguiling street rat – no, wait, like a beautiful thief. Mystery and pride and independence rolled with beauty and a bit of a flirt that could be read in the motion of her hips.

There was intelligence, too. Her eyes were clear, not muddled with fear and optimism like most of the Jews.

He had always been a rather good judge of men... but he found he couldn't read her all the way - and that frustrated him immensely. She was a Jew, so it shouldn’t take too long. Maybe he should try and speed up the process?

After all, she was quite pretty, in a strange sort of way. Like a proud Native American princess might in a small frame and adorned with mousy hair. It was probably the large, soulful eyes, the way her tall cheekbones emphasized the planes of her face in prideful slant; she was exotic and rare.

He grinned. No one would question him if he chased after that one.
***
He had averaged maybe three days before she fell to his charms. So far he’d been seducing her for a week, with no signs of success.

“Fine!” He rose angrily and brushed the hay from the seat of his pants after maybe his fifteenth – or fiftieth – sly insinuation. “Fine, you frigid girl!”

“Where are you going?” She was angry too, but not angry enough to let him go like that.

“A brothel!” He spit the word at her, and was intensely glad when she looked stunned. If she was any less of a woman, he might have misunderstood it to be jealousy. He might have gone back and apologized.

But she was a tigress, and he knew it. Go back now and she’d eat him alive with words. So instead of taking her into his arms, kissing her senseless, taking her to his bed – or haystack – he tramped off, intent on making good to his words.

He knew he was being childish. It didn’t really matter.
***
“Eh, Jeremiah? Who is that with you today? Not much like your usual, that’s for sure. I thought you preferred blondes?”

“Oh, her? Her name is Ariella.”

“I didn’t ask for her name.”

“Oh.”

A hearty laugh. An absent, slightly reprimanding pat on the back. “Can’t go giving these Jewish names. She’s just a whore. Remember that.”

“Yes, just a whore.”

“And don’t forget it. We are Schutzstaffel – the examples for our proud German nation. It won’t do if we start thinking dogs can walk and sit at our tables, eh?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good, good. Just a little friendly advice, nothing personal. Now, how about handing this one over to me? She looks just my type.”

“A bit more fiery than your usual, I think.”

“Oh? So you won’t share? I wonder what this could mean.”

“I never said that. Here, take her.”

“And her name?”

“Did she have one?”

“Good, good. One day, Jeremiah, you will be a fine officer.”
***
“Please?”

“No.”

“Come on, lighten up. Let’s go.”

“Nope. Here hold this.” Eva handed him her bedraggled basket while she turned to check the gloss on one of the apples. Apparently it didn’t pass whatever test she subjected it to because she plucked it from its place and rubbed it with the handkerchief the vendor had handed her.

“Why not?” Jeremiah took the basket. Rule Number Four to seducing women: Be Chivalrous.

“I have to work. How else are we going to eat tonight?” She blew an invisible fleck of dust from the now-perfect apple before setting it back in place again.

“I could bring something in?” He sighed at her murderous glance. Apparently the girl was allergic to any mentions of charity.

“Fine.” He pouted, and Eva felt slightly dizzy at how adorable it was. Oh girl, you’re in trouble.

She turned back around to face the apples. She didn’t think she was brave enough to look at him while she said it. “We can go around the market later. If you want to, of course.”

She tensed at the following silence. “Like I said, only if you want to. It’s perfectly fine if you –”

“Did you just ask me to spend time with you?” He cut her off, and if it wasn’t for the wonder in his voice she might have taken it the wrong way.

“Yes?”

“And are you sure we can’t go anywhere else? Like the Hill?”

She wrinkled her nose. “You mean the place where all the Nazi soldiers take the stupid Jewish girls?” Like Tzipora. Yuck.

He backtracked, mentally berating himself for being so stupid. Of course she would know the rumors about the Hill; as a frequent marketplace attendee, she would have picked it up from all the gossip. Rule Number Five: Make the girl feel like she’s special. Taking her to a popular sex spot would not make her feel special.

What was wrong with him? He never made mistakes like this.

A bit eager, are we? A voice that sounded suspiciously like Astor’s whispered in his ear and drew shivers down his back.

“Okay, sorry, not there. Then how about that barn that’s half a mile out?”

For the first time she showed some interest. She was looking at him, anyway. “Maybe. But if you’re going to stay with me, we are going to spend most, if not all, of our time here.”

He sighed. “Would it matter at all if I said no?”

“It’ll be fun. I promise.” Her eyes shone with excitement, of what nature he couldn’t possibly tell. What could be so exciting about a marketplace?

He was going to wheedle. Plead a bit, turn on the charm – but he heard himself say “Alright.”
***
It turned out that a marketplace was quite an exciting place to be.

Later that afternoon found the two of them collapsed into a haystack of the nearby barn, still giggling.

“I can’t believe you said that!”

Jeremiah snorted into his hand. “It was your fault for not doing anything.”

“He’s my employer! Well, was. D’you think he’ll fancy me back after you kicked him there?” She rolled onto her stomach and looked at him with bright eyes. He lifted a hand to card through her curls, and she let him. Relaxed into the touch, in fact.

“If he’s smart, he will. You take his molestation, anyway.”

“Used too.” She corrected him. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Anyone would take you. You’re the hardest worker I’ve ever met – they’d be a fool not to see that.”

She paused, then put a soft hand on his chest. “Thank you.”

***
The farm became they’re delegated meeting point. Every day at three, they’d leave wherever they were (“Sorry, mom! I’m going to drop in at Tzipora’s for a minute.”) and run for the haystacks (“Jeremiah! Where are you going in such a hurry?”).

And they would lie together, in the comforting, sweet smell of hay and market spice and boot shine. Sometimes it became more, the sun warming bare skin and spent bodies as they slept the day away. More often, though, it was chaste kisses and endearments (from Jeremiah) and soft giggles (from Eve) as they shared quiet conversations.

But this is not a fairy tale. And for the two of them, a Nazi soldier and a poor Jewish peasant, their once upon a time was broken entirely too soon.

The beginning of the end was when Eve finally brought up the issue they had been skirting for a week. “Are the Jews to be deported soon?”

Jeremiah was quick to respond. “No, that will not happen.”

“You can’t promise that! I-I’ve heard things. Bad things, if you believe the rumors. But you would know all about them, wouldn’t you?”

She blurted the words without thinking, but clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as they were out. There was a beat or two of absolute silence.

Jeremiah was frozen in place, stricken, unable to say a word. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find any –his head was buzzing with don’t worry and it’s not true and I would never let that happen to you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it, but I didn’t know better.

“If anything was going to happen, I’d take you away.” He says instead; firmly, without a hint of doubt.

Traitor. Beast. A thousand and one punishments for the Jew-lover. Hanging. Gassing. Degradation. Embarassmentstabslicegunshootbulletpoison. Death. Astor’s voice, hissing in his ear.

“Would you really?” she whispered, hardly daring to breathe, hardly daring to think, to hope. He couldn’t mean it, but if he did, she’d be able to get away and replace all the bad things with good. And he’d be beside her every step of the way. She couldn’t think of a better dream.

And that was exactly why she couldn’t believe it. There were no handouts like this, nothing was so freely given – there had to be a price. Eternal damnation for ten silver coins, or so the story went. Why should hers be any different?

“I –” his eyes roamed her face, then dropped almost imperceptibly to the yellow star that lay upon her chest . Instead of kissing her like she’d expected him to (their faces were certainly close enough), he plucked her hand from where it lay on top of the hay and brought it to his lips. “Meine Ehre heißt Treue.”

She looked at him curiously, but didn’t question him. Nor did she say a word about the distance he made sure to keep between them on the way back, or the fact that he did not touch her again.

They were sectioned off into ghettos the next day. The first deportations came a week after.


Act II: Meine Ehre heißt Treue

Eva was going mad. Hadn’t he said? Didn’t he promise?

Never mind that she hadn’t really believed he’d keep his word about taking her away. That was irrelevant because he had promised, and now, when everything was falling in around her and her life was thrown in shards around her feet, he wasn’t there.

‘Till death do us part, her a**. If she ever saw him again… She scrubbed viciously at her eyes and shouldered her pack. To the ghettos it was.

The road was long. Ten miles with all their worldly possessions on their backs, a long winding road that stretched underneath the unforgiving heat of a blazing Hungarian sun. In front of her was a line of perspiring people, mouths gaping open like dying fish. Behind her were her mother and Levana, gasping faintly from the heat. All around her were Nazis, their insignia planted proudly upon their chests.

She didn’t see her Nazi. And she hated herself for wanting to. For believing a little, even now.

It got no better as the trek went on and on and on.
***
Their new house in the ghetto was much better than their old shack. The old owners had left everything, from pans to books to that lovely four-poster bed, and for a moment they forgot exactly why they had left all this behind. Levana and her mother ran immediately to the gleaming kitchen, exclaiming loudly at all the appliances. Her father disappeared to the main room, followed closely by her other siblings. As for Eva, she found a smaller bedroom that was decorated in a sensible blue. She put her things down and inspected what must have been another girl’s room.

For the next week it was hers, and that was enough.
***
One week became two, and two became three. The hopeful whispers about the Allied Powers rose once more, although Eva could no longer give a crap about any of it. Things were fine, in a sluggish, expectant way until the day Levana struggled in through the door, covered in wounds and shaking like a newborn colt.

Eva watched in horror as blood dripped between her thighs.

Then Levana collapsed in the doorway, and what was left of Eva crumbled with her.
***
They tended to Levana’s ripped body as best they could without damaging anything more. Eva sat by her side, changing her rags, giving her ice, watering her parched throat. Anything. This was precisely what she was doing when Jeremiah came up the stairs to her room.

“You – ” she gasped and pedaled backwards, searching for something to hold her up.

“Eva, listen – ”

“No!” Her voice screeched, ripping the air in two and hitting him straight in the chest like a finely thrown javelin. There were no words – none – for the twisted expression on her face. “Was it your little friends? Did they do this to Levana?”

She gestured toward the shape on the floor as she spoke, which he could just barely distinguish as the bright, sweet girl he had met before, the day Eva had brought him to her family. It was much easier to recognize her as the screaming bundle of flesh from last night.

“I – ” He couldn’t say a word in defense, because it was true. And he could lie to Astor, he could lie to everyone else back at the Commune, but he couldn’t lie to her.

Her face paled at his hesitation. “No.”

“Eva – ”

“If this is a joke, stop it. Stop it right now.”

“Please let me finish.”

“Tell me it’s a joke. It’s not true. Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

Jeremiah might live a thousand years, but he would never regret anything as much as he did right then.

She backed away, her position changing so her body was between him and her sister. Protecting her. “Go away, and stay away.”

“Eva, I need to explain. Let me – ”

“No.” She shook her head, a slow arc, back and forth, back and forth. “No.”

“Listen to me!” His temper, so fragile and worn from endless suspicion and warring loyalties and love, simply broke.

It was a mistake. She turned off. The last time he’d seen someone change so fast was after he’d shot them, when their expressions turned from stark terror to death. He thought it strangely relevant to this situation.

“Listen to you? Did your friends give my sister a chance to explain? Did they let her say anything at all, did they have fun terrorizing her before they raped her, or did they just do it and go?” Her voice hitched, just barely perceptible. “What did they do to her?”

So tired. He was so tired, and done with the lies. He would never see her again anyways. “At 21 hours, ten minutes yesterday, four men were in place at the Hemmway market. They grabbed the first clearly Jewish girl, who happened to be your sister, and took her to the nearest alleyway. At that point they stripped her of her clothes.” He ignored the way she blanched, although it was hard. “Would you like to hear their exact methods, or is that quite enough?”

“That’s enough, thank you.” She was shaking, vibrating in place almost, but her tone was completely neutral. It chilled him to his boots. Would she laugh? Stab him? Stab him while laughing? He didn't know, and it was the damnedest thing.

They held the silence for a while. Any connections they might have had, any love they might have kept through the odds of genocide and anti-Semitism had shattered into nothing. They were strangers, bonded by hate. And it had taken a sister, and his stupid need to prove to himself he didn’t love a Jew. It had done the exact opposite.

Memories permeated the air between them, seeped in through the cracks and colored the air with a bit desperate affection and maybe, maybe in another time they might have worked out, but for them it was goodbye.

For us, it would have never worked out, would it?

And they knew it. Both of them. They knew it, but breathed in the air of a lie a little longer.

“Do you know what’s strange?” She asked, face turned away from him.

“What?”

“You told me not to go there. I remember you told me not to go to the marketplace. That it wasn’t safe.” You loved me, but not enough.

“Yes. It was dangerous for everyone.” I loved you too much. And I didn’t know I did.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” If you had loved me more, you would have told my sister.

“I couldn’t risk it.”

“I love you.” Her eyes lifted to meet his, but they were the empty, cooling words and glance of a shot-dead past.

“Not anymore.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

“I never thought you would.” She turned away from him first, like she always did. “Goodbye, Jeremiah.”

It was the first time she had ever said his name.
***
“The final deportation of the ghetto is tonight.”

“Good work to everyone so far. We have two more towns to hit after this one, but then we will have the whole of Western Europe cleaned from Jew filth, as Der Führer has ordered.”

General approval of this remark.

“Untersturmführer Astor will take care of all details of the deportation. You will follow his orders without complaint, yes?”

“Yes Obersturmführer!”

“We want that train to Auschwitz without incident, is that understood?”

“Yes Obersturmführer!”
***
There were no incidents. Deportations were always neat, clean affairs, provided that no rebel groups decided to make an entrance. This one was no different.

Yes, there were no incidents. It had simply been a small obstruction. After all, it had only been a shared glance.

Thirty or so Jews had filed neatly onto the waiting cattle train, fitting as well as a chubby child might into a corset. That is to say, not very well. There was barely breathing space enough for thirty people in a compartment, but since there were twenty more people waiting outside, room had to be made.

Eva was one of the very last ones on, too busy with helping her sister walk to the train to go any faster. The pair managed to walk to the compartment without being molested, but then –

“Hey, it’s you! That fussy Jewish b***h!” This from a Nazi, a note of triumph in his voice as he packed some old Jewish men in to make room for the two of them. “I remember you! Fun night, eh?”

Eva’s sister – Levana – visibly stiffened and drew back, silently drawing her arms to cradle her pelvis. Eva made a sound much like the hiss of an angry cat, and maybe it was because Jeremiah knew her too well and what kind of trouble she could get into because of her natural insubordination, but all he could say was that he didn’t think. He acted.

Very, very calmly Jeremiah brought the muzzle of his gun so that it was level with Eva’s chest and cocked it, audibly.

“I will give you five seconds to get into that train. Five,”

Eva turned her glare to him. His heart jolted in his chest, but he thought he managed to keep the barrel steady.

“Four. Three. Two.”

She ushered her sister through the doorway, and took a step onto the train herself.

“One.”

She turned around right before the door shut on her face and he saw his own heart in her eyes, her defeated stance. He hoped to God that the same couldn’t be said for him. Everyone, even the Obersturmführer, was here, watching him.

Only a couple feet away, but eons apart. He saw her crushed and utterly hopeless expression, and saluted. The others followed suit, showing proper respect for the victories of der Fuhrer Hitler.

He saluted as a farewell.

The train whistled back at him, a lonely goodbye.
***
Act III: Semper Fidelis

“Our lives no longer belong to us alone; they belong to all those who need us desperately.” - Night


Eva lost her smile first. Rare as it was, it had nevertheless existed in the corner of her eyes, the edges of her mouth so that hints of her mirth would show every so often. But the endless work of Auschwitz and the lack of food had stolen even that from her. Her body was no longer that of a village street rat, but could be described accurately as an ambulating skeleton, waiting for its turn to be burned in the crematorium.

She also thought she might be losing her mind. Because a Nazi that looked exactly like Jeremiah was marching towards her.

“Oy, you! That Jew over there!”

He even had Jeremiah’s voice. God. She fought back whatever relief had sprung from hearing it again, focusing on fear instead. Getting approached by a German officer was never good.

“Drop that!” He pointed at her shovel as he came closer. She dropped it.

“Good.” He took her by the arm and dragged her behind a building, towards an alleyway.
“Are you – Can you be – ”

“Jeremiah? Yes. That would be me.” He smiled at her cheekily.

“What are you doing?”

“I lost you. And now I have one more chance. I’ll get you out of here.”

She stiffened. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he could hear vast amounts of pain inscribed in every word. It was a dagger to the heart.

“Look, Eva.” Breathe, in and out. “Stay…if you want to, I mean. But I can help you.”

“I can’t leave Levana here.” Her voice sagged with exhaustion. It rang so clear with defeat that he wanted to scream.

“Where did all your pride go? Your fire?” He spat, and finally, finally, she turned to look at him with burning eyes.

“I’ve seen babies thrown into the fire. Alive. I’ve seen my family flayed, my mother shot to death. I’ve seen your comrades gas my friends. You know one of your friends had a fling with Tzipora? She was gassed yesterday. Where was he then? I’ve seen my sister suicidal after she was raped. Mercilessly. And you ask me where my pride went?” She shot a shaking hand out of her shawl, towards the huge crematorium that was always in sight. “It burned there.”

“Eva, Eva.” He caged her in with his arms before she could run, leaning so close that she could feel his trembling breath on her head. A warm wetness dropped onto her cheeks from above.

“If there’s anything left in you that might believe, Eva, believe in this: I came here for you. Killed a man to get here, in fact. As soon as that train left…no, when you kicked me out of your house, I realized something important. But let’s not go into that. I will get you out. You and your sister both. I have heard of a German man who runs a haven disguised as a factory.”

“Oscar Schindler?” She gasped, eyes round in wonder.

“Yes. I have talked to him, and he has promised to take the two of you. And me, for that matter. I will be reassigned as a guard there in a week.”

“Will he keep us until the end of the war?”

“If he doesn’t, then I will find somewhere else. I might love you, Eva.” Jeremiah tilted his face downwards so his lips just brushed her eyelashes. She held still for a long minute, then touched her lips to his briefly.

His eyes flew open in shock. Her eyes were still flat, still dead, but there was a spark of life in the slight lift of her lips.

“An incentive,” she said quietly, “so that you will see this through. One more chance, Jeremiah.”

He closed his eyes to prevent more tears from falling. “Es War Einmal, Eva.”



Es War Einmal - Once Upon a Time
Meine Ehre heißt Treue - My Honor is Loyalty
Obersturmführer - Lieutenant

Roy Alexis's Queen

No Sex Symbol

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Username: Yutora
Entry Title: Just This
Word Count: 6,386 (+ Title.)
Theme(s) Used: C & D & Sort of E
Prompts Used: o1, o3, o4, o7, 11, 18, ox3, ox4, ox5
Feedback: Yes, it would please me to no end.
Story:

Just This


Oh no, I just realized we aren't allowed to PM. Should I just edit the post to include the entire story this time?

I'm sorry about the trouble...

Omnipresent Prophet

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Yutora
Je Te Souviens


In the FAQ it says to ask you in the thread;
was I allowed to change the prompts a bit?

Just like for an example this one:
"Would she laugh? Stab him? Stab him while laughing? He didn't know, and it was the damnedest thing."

Into this:

Will I laugh? Stab him? Stab him while laughing? I don’t know, and it is the damnedest thing.


Just making sure. I didn't change much really, just switched it from past tense to present.
Same goes for a few others I used, I didn't change the words or meaning of the sentence really,
just the tense or something else to make it fit into; like instead of she I'd say I or he.


Go for it!

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regisky911
Oh no, I just realized we aren't allowed to PM. Should I just edit the post to include the entire story this time?

I'm sorry about the trouble...

I'm confused?

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OKAY GUYS.

Officially, I have enough stories to shut off the contest; but I'm going to continue the extension the full two days left.

MIDNIGHT OF JUNE 5th/6th is when I shut this off. That's EST, though if I get on at, say, 10am and someone has submitted a story at 3am, I'm not going to say no.

Partying Lunatic

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I was proud of writing a story of a longer length, and then out spouts all these excellent, longer stories. /sob
Anyhow, I may not be here on the 5th/6th D: I leave for a trip to Taiwan tomorrow morning, and then when I get to Taiwan, I need to check to see if I have working internet connection...
Username:fcking a
Entry Title: A Love Through Time
Word Count: 5133
Theme(s) Used: l and little bit of a, i suppose
Prompts Used: 11, 13, 21, ox5
Feedback: yes please
Story:
Slightly runny eggs and overcooked toast, tall glasses of chocolate milk, pan fried hash browns, microwavable blueberry pancakes, and a pitcher of orange juice. These are the foods set out on Sadie Lynn’s breakfast table on this particular Monday morning, thanks to no one but herself.
Usually cooking is a joy to the 27 year old mother, wife, and published author but today she didn’t have patiants for such a tedious chore.
She sat to breakfast with her husband – Jonathan – and her three children – Helena, Sarah, and Michael. She watched her family gorge themselves on the less then up to par breakfast she had rushed through preparing. She barely nibbled on her portion and set the remains on the floor for their dog, Snow, a standard poodle to either devour or ignore, which she was often times known to do.
Her family’s chatter was like a buzzing in her ears and she excused herself from the table early, mentioning a shower as she scooted her chair away from the table with a sharp dragging sound. She didn’t notice if anyone replied.
She turned the shower on too hot and stood in its spray, thoroughly washing her body and procrastinating the time away until she knew she would be alone.
Stepping out of the shower she wrapped her soft purple towel around her body and made towards her room to get dressed for the day. Her outfit had been mentally constructed the night before, as she lay awake in her bed; next to a snoring husband, and so in no time she was properly attired. The clothing she was wearing had been difficult to acquire. It had taken lots of day of mindless thrifting to put together a wardrobe suitable for the 1950s.
After dressing she made her way through the sparse rooms of her home and towards the front entrance, basking in the silence that was her children at school and her husband at work. She grabbed a long flowing silk scarf from the hat rack before opening the set of French doors and stepping outside.
It was a typical winter’s morning. Everything was white reflecting white off of white. The effect was as blinding as the red of Sadie’s heels as they crunched into the packed snow of December. The snow on her porch steps had turned brown from dirt and hard from footsteps. At the bottom she turned right and moved to head up the narrow stone path that lead to the side entrance of her garage. She had painted the door bright yellow one spring day in attempts to liven the place up. She had also bought a few bird houses and feeders, a bath. She had spread them; in what I had thought was lovely haphazard, all over the yard. In result of this her humble grounds had been in constant state of dotted white with bird droppings that spring and summer. And now the door looked like old mustard. Two wasted efforts.
Inside she left the lights off – the dim shade was a relief to her eyes – and moved into the space where her husband’s vehicle – a sturdy little Jeep Wrangler - wasn’t. She pulled a small wooden stool from a corner and climbed atop it. The unnecessarily high heel of her shoe slipped but she managed her balance by grabbing hold of the small round ball that dangled, attached to a thin rope, from the ceiling. She gave the rope a pull and stepped off the stool as a wide set of stairs unfolded from above. Putting the stool back in the corner she took a deep breath and turned back towards the stairs; made her ascend. The small space above her garage was enough that she didn’t have to bend, but not much more. She pulled her dark brown mess of hair into an elastic and left a few classic curls out around her face. She hoped it look dainty, but thought it was probably just scruffy.
There was an old gilded mirror she had placed in the corner as way of a marker. She scrutized in front of it for a few moments, adjusting her clothing, and puffing her hair as up as possible. She then reached towards the ceiling grasping for what only she knew to be there. A second tassel, invisible by sight, with the feel of metal. She gave it a tug and down came a second set of stairs. This one was winding, made of wrought iron and so scant that it was by all means dangerous. She put a thin hand on the almost safety of the safety railing and took her first small steps up.. While on the stairs everything was dark, pitch black and swirling as if passing through space. Like passing through time.
The climb was eternity. No time at all, in reality, but in her mind she was climbing for far too long. Stepping and turning, winding herself up for an immeasurable number of stairs for an immeasurable amount of time.
And then, graciously, she felt the familiar faint pop in her ears, as can happen on an airplane and all of the color was brought back into the world. All different shades separating from each other and then merging again into trees, small buildings, paved streets, even a few pedestrians.
The few people littering the street were among the same as they always were. Millie who ran the bakery with her two young daughters was selling coffee from a cart on the pavement, Thomas and his boxy car where delivering the post to this street of business residences, Sally the florist one wheels (a ram handled bicycle) and some unfamiliar faces belonging to woman shoppers and men in suits and ties added to the quaint personality of the town that were her town. Her town of 1954.
She stepped into this dazzling world as it morphed together, her pointed foot landing on a square of sidewalk just as it had slipped together.
No one noticed her, as they never did, until she stepped into grocer’s store, where she usually stopped to purchase one red apple, and one green apple. She dropped the apples into one of the deep side pockets of her light floral printed skirt which peeped out from beneath her short coat. She waved hullo to the rosy cheeked grocer and he did his usual bit of asking how long she was staying, why she was in town.
“Just through the afternoon, and only to see a friend, you know.” He gave her a smile that let her know he knew.
She left the little store and pulled her coat more snuggly around her in combat to the bite of the chill. She walked the familiar path down the town’s main street and to a little park that was still there in the present; down the street from her house. At the center of the park sat a large ostentatious fountain. It didn’t much fit with it’s surrounding but it was a memorial to something or another and while not marked it was still viewed as an important structure to the town’s people. It had been the meeting place for many years now.
He was waiting for her, looking a little bit smug, a little bit relieved. I walked over to him, step over step, a smile steadily growing on my face.
He called out. “Well what are you doing here, pretty lady?”
“Oh, you know. I was in the neighborhood.”
“I really didn’t think you were coming back.”
“You couldn’t’ve thought that.”
“I did. Because you said you weren’t.”
“I bluff.”
“Yes, you do.” He smiled at this, in his usual infuriating way. A half smile, with a cocky edge. She reached to push his mess of curly hair from his face. He grabbed her hand and held it with lightness against his cheek. She applied pressure and pushed his head back, almost with aggression. He laughed with easy grace.
“How long are you around, my love?”
“For as long as you can keep me entertained.”
“If only that were true.”
They spent the day doing what could only be described as spending time. One woman and one man of the right place at the wrong time. It had been their first meeting in 6 months, the longest amount of time they’ve spent without seeing each other since their meeting. Sadie’s son had gone sick, and with increasing visits to the hospital it had grown more and more difficult to find time to get away, to find the want to get away.. The pair spent their time catching up, visiting past visited places, laughing at old jokes while crying at the truths about life. She kissed his cheek before she left, lingering for a moment near his ear. Her lips moved with intention but no words came out.
“Will you be back?” Were his parting words.
“Yes. And if you are wondering why, my dear it’s because I believe. I dare to believe.”
- - -
Dineer went in a quite the same manner that breakfast had. Sadie managed to put her words into a few strings of conversation but still left before anyone’s plate was clear. She came back in the middle of the night to clear the table, and fill the dishwasher, but during the rest of the meal, and while her family did whatever they did to fill the remaining hours before bed she spent her time hiding in her bedroom, watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy she had already seen. She made herself a drink at around 11:30 and had had four my midnight. Her husband came to their room around then and stripped before her to his boxers before climbing into bed. His muscles were an undeniable factor that added to her blatant urges. But she suppressed them with ease. With too much ease.
She clicked the t.v. off, now weary of making to much noise, and got herself under the covers. Jonathan reached and put his arm around her, his face pressed against her neck.
“I love you,” he said with a sleepy voice.
“I love you too John.” But her mind said Geoffrey.
In the morning Jonathan woke up early and prepared breakfast. It was a rare occurrence for many reasons. The fist was that he very, very rarely woke up early, usually the noise of the house, of breakfast being made, and children yelling over the shower spray was what it took to bring him from his slumber. But the previous night he hadn’t had much luck sleeping. He had tossed and turned with wondering. Lately something was off, and it was obvious what. It was more then obvious. It was Sadie. Every now and then his wife would go into fazes of disappearing, not disappearing physically, but emotionally. He had grown to except it. Assumed it was depression from childhood experience or maybe the baggage of unfulfilled dreams, but he never imaged that it was himself that caused her dark periods. He was perfect for Sadie, everything that she could expect from and husband. He more then sufficiently filled her wishes and desires. At least thought.
Waffles. Waffles and a woman shaped bottle of syrup. These were the foods set out on Sadie Lynn’s breakfast table on this particular Tuesday afternoon. Milk forgotten in the fridge. No silverware.
Sadie ate it up with devouring quickness.

“Have a day at work.” A small peck on the lips. Jonathan reached behind his wife and pulled her body close to him. She gave a little squeak and then he got into his car and pulled out of the driveway.
Sadie did the bit with the stool and the almost slipping because of her heels. One day she’d remember to buy a pair of decent flats.
He was waiting for her again. She approached him quickly and basically jumped into the stone place on the ring of the fountain besides him.
“I’m alive now.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“No.” She looked off into the distance and puckered her lips a bit, thinking, debating. “I’m dead at home.”
“Don’t go back.”
She looked at him, stared deep into his eyes. She grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him hard. When she pulled back his eyes were still closed and his laughed at him. He pushed her softly, but enough to cause her to loose her poison and roll into the grass. He got down to his knees and crawled over to her. Covered her laughing body with his and kissed her back.
“I love you Geoffrey.”
“I love you more.”
- - -
Sarah knew it all. She had read it in her mother’s stupid diary. The book was lace covered, a delicate floral print. Dark blue and beautiful. The words it held were dark.
Sarah had never imaged her mother to be as in depth as her words portrayed her to be. In the girl’s 15 year old eyes her mother seemed, safe, soft, and quiet. It hard for her to picture her YA book author, tea in hand mother leading a double life. And certainly not such a mysterious one. The Geoffrey of her mother’s tale was the man in the back of girl’s mind. He was the best selling novel his mother should make public. This diary told the tale of the truest love. And that was why she couldn’t spill to her father, couldn’t make public her privy. Because the words had been so true to her teenage mind, so fulfilling to her love thirsty heart.
Helena hadn’t felt the same, when Sarah had shared the book with her younger sister in the her parents closet, flashlight in hand, one night when their parents had gone out to a party or a show.
“We must tell father! We must tell him what we know.” Her words had been urgent in the darkness.
“No Helena. We must let mother be happy. That is what we must do.”

Helena came home from school early this day. She had regurgitated into a waste bin during reading period and had been sent to the office to call her mom for relief of school. Her mother wasn’t picking up the phone but on the 9th ring Helena pretended that she had. The girl of 14 made quick conversation with herself and arranged a pretend pickup. She then went outside “to wait for her mother.”
She hoofed it home, not actually feeling very sick, but still glad for the chance to get away. To get home to her room where she could read in peace, who knew it was an offence to read in class?
Helena went inside and clicked on the light of the small room. She took a sweep of the house, lightly calling ‘mom’ around each corner. No response. She took the liberty to light a cigarette which she always did in such occations of house to herself. It was easy to feel free in a house of 3 children who could all equally be of blame in any circumstance. The girl stepped into her room, and closed the door behind her. She climbed into her canopy bed and dived into the book she kept under her pillow.
A few chapters later she heard the door on the garage do it’s unmistakable squeak and slam. She heard the click of heels walking up he path, and then the front doors open and softly bang back closed. She froze in bed. She hadn’t heard her mother’s noisy car come in and was without a doubt.
Her mother refused to trade in her car when they traded in the rest of their possessions -her father’s car, each child’s bicycle, the blue plastic pool, even the house – for an upgrade. She still drove the car she had bought in college, with it’s telltale sounds of old age. She hasted to put out her white stick of nicotine and them slammed the drawer closed where she kept her glass ashtray.
She left her room and made her way through the house, she found her mother preparing tea in the kitch.
“Dear lord, Helena. You scared me.”
“I’m sorry, but hey. Where have you-”
“May I have a ciggy darling?”
“A..?”
“I have a nose.”
The girl disappeared to her room and returned again. Sadie lit her cigarette on the stove, and the opened the window behind the sink to blow her smoke.
“Where have you been?”
“Why are you home?”
“I was sick.”
“I was.. at the store.”
“Oh.”
There were no bags.

Tuesday night was a usual one for Geoffrey. He spent most of it disappearing beers, poised at a bar, and the rest of it in bed. At the bar – Buck’s Brew – which was his usual haunt he had made loud banter with the rest of the usuals.
Men discussed their issues with their wives, the failure of their children, the stress with their work, the rising cost of this or that, politics. A lot of politics. It was the year after Kennedy’s assassination and it was still the hottest topic. It was a reason for conspirers to conspire. For s**t talkers to s**t talk. And Geoffrey made the company of plenty of s**t talkers.
The men ruffled his hair and patted his cheeks before leaving him for their wives. Nights always ended in the betrayal. Geoffrey left the bar l, tipping his hat to the bar tend and began his short walk home to his dog.
In the morning dressed in his best. A light gray suit with silver cuffs and perfectly shining tan shoes. He titled a tweed had on his head and made the chilly morning’s trot to the park. He waved to familiar faces as the passed them on the streets. Sally peddled fast going a comically slow speed, her lovely little frame meandering slowly by, clearly without destination. I’ll the whitest of your roses there, Sally darling.
Once at the fountain he took normal potion on it’s cement lip and in almost no time Sadie came purposefully down the street. He handed her the rose, and her face lit up.
“I’m taking you somewhere fancy.”
“My lipstick is overdone.”
“You look wonderful.”
“Oh stop.”
Her took her hand and led her towards the bus stop.
“Why do you hardly take your car?”
“My car is not just car. My car is art. How ofter do you drive pieces of art?”
She chuckled, “not very.”
“I hadn’t thought so.”
- - -
When the lunch bell rang and everyone started to head back inside, to their next period class Helena simply didn’t. She turned and made her trek back towards her home.
This time privacy and books were the furthest things from her mind.
Instead of turning up the flowered lined path to her front steps she continued on and turned instead into her blacktopped drive. She entered the door through the side entrance and took a moment to absorb what she was seeing inside. The stairs to the garage attic pulled down. She had grown up with her mother telling her space above the attic was uninhabitable, dangerous for bad insulation and bats. Had stressed this point even further when Michael had tried to move claim the place as his bedroom upon turning 17. But come to think of it, Helena had very blurry memories of wandering into the garage at odd hours of her childhood and finding the stairs pulled down. She’d never thought much of it but on the particular Wednesday morning she climbed these steps for the first time in her life.

- - -
The day had been one to remember. They spent it, for the most part, on Geoffrey’s boat. The floated in the middle of one of the great lakes, picnicking and painting the view. Laughing and just generally being happy. At one point Sadie hinted at spending the night with him.
“Stay!.. If you want to, I mean!”
“I want to! I can’t.”
“Certainly you can’t. Your husband would of course, wonder at your absence.”
“Yes, my husband. Do you remember the time, Geoffrey, that I asked you to marry me.”
“Why, of course. And I remember the wedding. The telling my parents. They weren’t so thrilled to hear of the age difference.”
“There isn’t actually an age difference.”
“There’s an awful lot of an age difference. I’m in my 60s when you’re born dear.”
“Stop.”
"We're a special love. A love through time."
"Stop it right now."
“I’m sorry.”
There was a moment of silence but everything returned to normal and they were cheery as they made their collective way back to the fountain to say their goodbyes for the day. The was sun still high in the sky, but it was obvious that a considerable amount of time had past on the boat that day. Sadie distantly wondered at the time.
When the fountain came into view Sadie’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“Oh dear lord.”
“And what’s the matter?” There was shock on his face.
Sadie released her hold on Geoffrey’s hand and rushed towards the fountain.
“Helena?”
She was spread out in the grass, flat on her back, her hair damp hinting at the fact that she had spent some time playing the water’s spray.
“Mom.. I.”
“Mom?” This was Geoffrey’s voice and Sadie spun around the face him, desperation on her face. “I did not know you had children.”
All she could do was nod, nod and press her hand against her face. It quickly became apparent that she was holding back tears.
He put her hands on her shoulders “it’s okay,” he crooned. “I don’t mind. We’ll discuss, and everything will be alright.”
Her nodding became more violent and he grasped harder to calm her, to steady her. She pulled away and tottered to turn back towards her daughter. “We can’t stay here. Let’s go.”
"You like her," Geoffrey said to himself, he took a few small steps closer to her back, “you’ll be back?”
“Sure, we need to talk. Tomorrow and the next day, as always.”
“Hey Sadie,” she turned back to him for a moment. “I love you.”
She smiled at him, but her smiled turned down, to her daughter. To Helena, her daughter and together they turned and walked away. Disappearing to where they came from. To where they belonged.
- - -

The next morning Geoffrey went to wait at the fountain, he waited for an hour and a half, but she didn’t come as he knew she wouldn’t.
- - -
At lunch on Thursday Sadie’s car slid up to the outdoors table section where her daughter was eating alone.
“Get in.”
Helena rose to her feet and walked over towards her mother’s car.
“I found the stairs above the garage the year you turned ten. It was an accident,” she smiled down at her daughter. “I wish I hadn’t.”
“I’d be glad I had.”
She shook her head but her eyes never left the road. “Are you hungry?”
“I was just eating lunch.”
“Oh. Well, I’m starving.”
They pulled into a drive through and Sadie ordered enough food for 2 or 3 and also a strawberry milkshake. She handed the shake and a straw to Helena.
“You don’t have anything to say?”
She slurped on the straw. “It’s different there.”
“Mhm. It’s the 1950s.”
“But how?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Well tell me about it?”
“About wha..?”
“The first time you saw him.”
They parked in a space at the fast food restaurant where they had made their purchase. Sadie rolled the windows down in hopes of inviting a breeze and then turned the car off. She spilled her beans in between bites of hamburger and fries, sips of diet coke.

“The first few times I went I never left the main street. It was always the middle of night and so I never encountered any people to question. But it was obvious what I was seeing. The storefronts, and cobbled street, the views of clothing from the window’s and the prices on the signs. It was obvious. I went there during the day about a week after I accidentally found the stair set in the ceiling. I bumped into him – Geoffrey – and quite literally on the street. He gave me a green apple from his pocket and offered to take me to lunch. He made a big show of purchasing a bandage for I scraped my knee during the fall. I didn’t know what to tell him, so I kept a lot quiet. Just listened to him and asked a lot of questions. I’m sorry to say that just from that afternoon of talking I knew he was all that I was missing and I couldn’t stay away. But I couldn’t stay there either. Because I loved you and your brother and sister, and most parts of life I have here in the present.”
“Just not dad.”
“I love your father as well. But not in the same way. Geoffrey he-”
“Completes you,”
“Makes me better.”
“What are you going to do?”

- - -
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“But it’s the end of the week now. Should I be here in a month from now?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“You have a daughter.”
“I have two daughters. And a son.”
Geoffrey sighed. “Let’s get some lunch.”
They picked at plates of chicken pasta and took deep gulps of sugery coke spiked with rum from a flask.
“Are we just pretend?”
“Probably.”
“No, I’m serious Sadie. It's been four years and I’m out of the power to wait.”
“I understand.”
“I know you do. Because you are a rational woman.” He moved to lay his hand over hers on the table. “I need to know what’s in your mind, love. I need to know what’s in your heart.”
“I would live her if I could.”
“You can.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I can’t.. leave my children.”
“Bring them.”
“They can’t live here. This isn’t what’s for them. They’ve accustomed to the present. I can’t bring them to the past. They wouldn’t.. I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
Sadie nodded once, “I won’t.”
“Well, that’s that.”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t have to come back anymore. You can sell the house like you’ve wanted to. Move into the windy city. You’d find happiness there.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you still here?”
“Stop it. Stop it right now.”
“I’m sorry from wanting to be your everything Sadie. I’m sorry for wanting to take you away from your life.”
“But I love you Geoffrey. And I love me when I’m with you.”
“And I love you more. More then you will ever know. Now go. You must go.”
Sadie sat silently for a while, her eyes wide, but eventually made to her feet and left the quaint diner. She walked towards her home, crying, for the very first time since she’d been there.

- -
It was a normal night for Geoffrey. He spent the majority of it disappearing beers at the bar. The usuals could tell something was up but they didn’t inquire about it. They figured it was just the usual sort of lonely mourning. Something simple and fixable.
Geoffrey wasn’t so sure that he could fix it.
- -
Sadie spent that Sunday night sitting in her garaged car, chain smoking flavored cigarettes out the open door and staring up towards the ceiling. Past the car ceiling, through the garage ceiling, imagining the world above her head. Pining for it.
In her mind she knew this day would come, there was always a breaking point. Nothing decent stayed. And now she was at her crossroad. Both paths leading to destruction. But which was the lesser struggle?

- - -
Friday night Jonathan decided not to go home. After work a few of his pals decided to blow off some steam and head into the city. They rented a hotel room before downing a bottle of 100 proof to prepare themselves for the night out. It was reasonable to assume, by his night full of actions, that he did not miss Sadie’s company for even a moment.

- - -
Helena packed the bags. First her own, and then her mother’s. She moved through Sarah’s room, emptying the contents of her drawers into a large suitcase. She was glad the older girl was out for the night; glad to be doing this in peace.
Michael was on the couch downstairs watching television. She packed his things quickly, and then moved into his bathroom to empty the contents of his medicine cabinet.
She carried the collection of bags slowly and with great effort through the house and out the back door so as to avoid the prying eyes of her brother. She made her way through the back yard and around the side of her house. Inside the garage she dropped the bags with a crash.
“I thought you’d left.”
“Where would I have gone?”
Helena gave a pointed look towards the ceiling where the stairs were still tucked safely inside.
“Oh.” She gave a dry laugh. “He doesn’t want me back.”
“Oh yes he does! I saw the way he looked at you. It was like television mother. He wants you. And he wants you to stay.”
Sadie couldn’t suppress her smile. “Television is black and white in the 50s.”
“It’ll be an adventure.”
Sadie silently repeated her daughter’s words in her mind, as she stepped out of her car.
“There wouldn’t be any coming back.”
“What is there to come back for?”
“Your sister and brother?”
“Oh, well yes. Them we will come back for, and these bags.”
“We’ll have Geoffrey to get the bags.”
They smiled together a moment passing between them and Sadie did her bit with the stool and the almost falling one more time. The two woman of similar appearance made their way up the stairs with a simple understanding. Life moved forward for the small family that day, and it was to be an adventure.

ShuuAgi's Wife

fcking a

OMG FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE SOMEONE HAS ACTUALLY USED MY NAME IN A STORY
SayaAki
fcking a

OMG FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE SOMEONE HAS ACTUALLY USED MY NAME IN A STORY

You're welcome >.<

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