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 Posted: Mon Dec 19, 2011 11:18 pm
A Whole New World
Word Count -- ???
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Posted: Tue Dec 20, 2011 3:45 pm
Declaration of Independence
Word Count -- 586
Micah had much difficulty pulling back her hair. After all, the ringlets that were interspersed throughout her tangled mane made it difficult to brush, let alone wrangle into a ponytail. In the end, she settled on a sort of messy firework at the back of her head and a headband to keep the rest out of her eyes. It would also make it less likely that paint would stain the locks. The deep royal purple Micah had chosen would stand out brightly against the sanguine tresses. Yes, today, the first day of Micah’s new life in Destiny City, she would spend painting her new room. The first time she would have her own, as a matter of fact. A bittersweet moment for both twins. Short though the distance was, for only a wall separated them, they felt the expanse sharply. Or perhaps, Micah reflected, prying the lid off of her first can of paint, she was being overdramatic. True though the later might have been, she did hope Misha would miss the intimate warmth of the bed they used to share just as she knew she would. What was Micah to do with that huge bed? In the showroom, it had looked so nice, and she’d chosen it without thinking that she’d not be sharing it. A oak and rot iron wasteland, she was sure it would be.
The violet lacquer flowed from the lip of the can in a thick stream of color. Purple, the Greeks had always believed, was the color of the gods. Micah had to grin at the pretention of her choice. So she would have a room for the gods, eh? The roller slid into the deep amethyst with little resistance, the fabric of the tool soaking up all the liquid it could take. The first strike of the roller electrified Micah like a bolt of lightning. It was so vibrant, so clean. Stokes came in easy succession, breathing becoming heavier and heavier as the exertion took its toll on Micah’s little arms. Up and down, up and down, the endless repetition of motion making her dizzy. The only salvation what the oddly intoxicating scent of the paint and the violet endlessly stretching out before her eyes. Was Micah ill? Should painting a room be so intimate? Should Micah’s insides clench with anticipation as she smeared her walls with heresy?
Yes. Absolutely. For as much as she loved Misha, as much of a unit as they were, this action marked Micah’s freedom. As she spread the thick violet across the white expanses of her walls, she was proclaiming her sovereignty. Never again would she have to negotiate a poster, or ask before buying a statuette. This was to Micah’s room. Micah’s room. She liked the ring of that. Each stroke of the roller was her declaration of independence. Misha would no longer rule her. She could shut the door and block out the world. Misha would not be able to barge in. He would not tell her what and what not to do. He would not play the age card, proclaiming that his seniority granted him absolute power. Micah would, with this act of rebellion, for her brother did so hate the color purple, create for herself a haven, apart from him and whole unto herself. Her room would be an extension of herself. No longer would she live in a land foreign to her.
Perhaps that big bed would be more comforting than she had anticipated
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Posted: Wed Dec 28, 2011 6:00 am
Planting the Seed
Word Count -- 777
Micah was not the only one on the field. In fact all of the track team was on the field with her, though she paid them no mind. She wasn’t even a part of the team, as much as the fact chafed her. Her parents had moved her to the district too late for try out, but that didn’t matter today. Today Micah was laying the ground work for next year. Today Micah was planting the seed. As Micah stretched on the green she looked around herself. All athletes were watching her. Who is she? Intruder in our dominion. Like turrets they all zeroed in on Micah and began preparing to fire at the first sight of insurgence. Micah knew very well that she was an alien in these lands, and not a welcome one. She ignored the prickling on the back of her neck. She wouldn’t be here for the whole practice. Just a mile run. Maybe a sprint. Just enough to show off a little, and then be on her way.
As she leaned down, touching her torso fully to the leg she’d extended before her, Micah looked around the field again. Those who had previously been looking at her had moved on to other, more interesting things. Being watched didn’t bother Micah, not one bit. It was when she was ignored that she was irritated. She stood at that, irritation biting angrily at her stomach, and rolled her neck. Game on then. Lining up with three other runners, Micah took her place at the starting line.
“Hey, you there!” Micah stood when she was addressed, tossing an errant curl from her eyes. “You can’t practice here!” A man, fairly heavy for a track and field coach, came bustling over to her. Micah only crossed her arms and waited for him to come to a puffing halt before her.
Micah quirked an eye brow. “And why not? It’s a public area, isn’t it?” She ignored that snorts from around her.
“Meadowview’s track and field team is training here now,” he huffed, bending over to catch his breath.
“I’m a Meadowview student, though.”
“But you’re not track and field.”
“I could be.” The coach did not miss the challenge in her voice. He watched her with narrowed eyes as she stood, arms crossed over her chest defensively. He puffed up again before he spoke.
“But you’re not. You can’t be on the field – ”
“Says who?” The childish inquiry made the coach stop speaking for a moment. Micah was already walking back to her position on the starting line, hips swinging arrogantly as she mock saluted him. “I’ll be out of your hair after a short minute. Or what’s left of it at least.” The coach’s hand flew up to his rapidly balding head.
Micah didn’t see anything else. She took her starting position and counted down in her head. She was off before she even hit one. Again her heart soared as she began to pound the pavement with her legs, shock of the impact rippling through her thighs. Nothing in the world was as good as this. Nothing so exhilarating as the sheer power her muscles exuded, propelling her forward with a speed that would make Flash Gordon jealous. Speed as all she cared about. Only speed, and nothing else. How fast can you go, girl? And for how long? Already her lungs were burning, but she could not will her legs to stop. They were moving of their own accords. Pounding, lifting, propelling her forever forward, rushing head long into some goal she did not see, but they knew themselves. Running was all she needed. Running was her life. Making love would never ever bring her to the heights of pleasure. No drug would ever ever induce this intense of a high. No stunt would ever ever make her adrenaline pound through her viends at such a dizzying speed as running did. I love you. She would have vocalized it had there been any air to spare.
She skidded to a halt as she crossed the finish line, sweat soaked face turned away from the track team. Her chest rose and fell with the rapid speed of her breathing and she could feel the trickle of sweat down her back. All part of the ritual. All part of running, that which Micah did so love. She snatched a cup of water meant for the runners of the team and downed it, water falling it into her open mouth.
“I’m done here,” she muttered, pushing the cup into the coaches bloated chest before she stalked away, self satisfied grin spreading lazily over her face.
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Posted: Thu Dec 29, 2011 11:43 pm
Better Than Sex
Word Count -- 963
It was more than a week after Micah’s encounter with the track coach and his runner, but Micah was still feeling the high from it all. Like sex with the possibility of being caught, running simply to show off her speed made Micah’s nerves thrill. As Micah laid, prostrate on her bed, she though, running is very much like sex, isn’t it? She’d never thought of it that way before. She tilted her head, staring up at her ceiling, and considered the question. Yes… yes, it’s very much like sex, isn’t it? All the muscles used, the sweat, the strange sounds made during the action, for Micah did grunt when she ran.
Beyond that though… at least for Micah, there was a deeper aspect to it. Always a slow start. Always. She would have to stretch, waking up her muscles from the day’s slumber. She’d have to limber up in anticipation of the run. Legs spread out to either side of her, torso laying flat along one leg and then the other. Her heart began to beat with a slightly quicker pace. The pain in her legs already would be slight, nearly negligible, but exquisite. After she’d done that, Micah would then lay both legs before her. With a deep breath she’d slide her hands down her legs once more. Now her heart would flutter. As she grasped her ankles and her muscles groaned from lack of use, her breathing would quicken. She knew what came next. As she stood and rolled her neck, feeling the popping and the cracking in the vertebrae, she would grasp her shoulder, pulling it over to her chest, and curl that arm around her neck. Again with the other side. For nearly five minutes, Micah would pay special attention to each groups of muscles, coaxing them awake with gentle exercises. Her foreplay.
Body warm to her liking, and limbs already shaking with anticipation, Micah would take her place at the starting point she’d identified for herself. She would begin her love making now. Crouching along this line her body would quake more, energy building up to a point of combustion in her muscles. Take off. Her body would act without her permission, as it always did. That was what she liked best. Now her legs were working on their own, pounding and striking the pavement ruthlessly, shock of the impact rippling up through her thighs. A work out for the whole body. Staying upright to avoid drag, moving the arms correctly to achieve optimum momentum on the forward thrusts, and keeping her head from lolling and hurting her neck were all as much a part of her ritual. And as the impact began to surge up her legs and enter the dominion of her back, she would wallow in the most exquisite ache she’d ever known. Yes. Hurt me, tear down me down, muscle by muscle, and make me a better person for it. Take me, take all that I am, and change it into something better. My muse, my best friend… my lover.
And as the wind flew through Micah’s unruly hair she lost herself. Speed and power and agility were all she knew in that moment. I love you, I need you, I want you. Carry me. Her eyes would close as she lost the feeling in her legs, no longer registering the pain in her thighs or the burning in her lungs. They didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her surging forward, forever and ever, her destination unknown to her now. Where was she going? When would she stop? It mattered about as much as her legs protesting the constant repetition of motion. With each step into nothing her heart began to soar. Behind her eye lids Micah saw nothing but blackness, while spots beginning to firework into existence as the ecstasy ran through her veins. Would she hit something? Was she off course? It didn’t matter. The white fireworks started to take over her vision and all she saw was white. Blinding white forever onwards before her closed eyes.
As her body began to shake she stopped hearing herself. Her panting, the sounds she may have been making. All of it was lost to her ears. All she heard was the pounding of her heart, beating faster and faster with each forward step. Micah lost herself. As her feet left the pavement, following the upward trajectory of her heart, she knew nothing. Her mind went blank to everything and nothing else mattered but her legs still moving the way they knew best and the forward motion of her body.
And then she was done. Her body signaled its finish with a tremendous tremor that racked her whole body. She stopped, sweat registering first in her mind as it trickled in rivulets down her back, down her legs, her arms, and even down her face. Her nose leaked, mucus gathering on her upper lip as quickly as she could wipe it away. Her body hurt in the most exquisite way. She would have to find a place to sit then, her knees refusing to keep her upright any longer. And so she would flop, spent and happy, into a bench nearest her, and revel in the pain that consumed her whole body. Aches and pains were all a part of the ritual. Her body would stop quaking after a moment, and after that she’d stop sweating. Then she would force herself to move. The afterglow of the run would be long over, and Micah would walk back home, lazy smile across her face, to shower and remove the grit from her work out.
No, running wasn’t as good as sex. Micah, virginal as she was, knew for a fact that running was better than sex.
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Posted: Sat Dec 31, 2011 9:55 pm
Inescapable You
Word Count -- 883
I hate you,” Micah whispered. There was no response.
“I hate you,” she hissed again. Silence was her only answer. But what could she expect? As strange as this device was, it was only a pen.
No. Micah corrected herself with a sour look on her face. More than a pen. Pens didn’t rend someone’s life to pieces. Pens didn’t take what you know a spit in its face. Pens were just pens. This was much more… much worse than a pen.
“I hate you.”
As Micah sat on her bed, the pen rested on her pillow. It didn’t speak back. It didn’t move. It only lay there, creating an indent in her pillow, and glistened at her in response. And as the light bounced off the flawless metal, Micah could feel her temper kindling to life. The pen winked at her, light reflecting mockingly in her eyes. It blinked at her in some strange pattern, like a light house that presumed to draw her into it. How dare it. Micah did not need to be saved. The pen laughed twinklingly at her. It sparkled in its mirth, breaking its beat of steady light into staccato flickers. Micah bore her teeth at it in her usual animal way. It laughed on, light dancing on its metallic surface. Micah’s temper ratcheted up again.
“Stop laughing at me,” she muttered turned away slightly.
No, it winked back, light continuing its waltz along the smooth surface of the pen.
“I hate you.”
That’s the best part. The dance went on, making Micah grit her teeth. The dance morphed as it went on, becoming something different. Like a hybrid of the light house call and the dance. As if the light house mocked Micah for her resistance. Dance with me, it said. Dance with me. Over and over. Dance with me, Micah. Lose yourself in my dance.
Never. Micah curled her knees around her chest and wiggled back to the foot board, burying her face on her arms. I’ll never listen to you. Not so long as I have a choice.
This damned White Moon. That damned cat. No one had ever given her a choice. They’d gotten into her head – worse, into what Micah was as a person. Acubens… whoever that was… had gone and infected her with whatever she had been before. She had been bastardized into some creature. Something she didn’t understand and told to fight for something she wasn’t a part of.
Never. If Micah had to lose who she was, she would fight. Her eyes burned hotly in her eyes as she lunged, grabbing the pen as it screamed in protest. Let me go, the light screamed.
“Shut up.”
Micah ran. Down the stairs, past her parents, past her brother, past the front door. She ran and she ran and she ran. Her lungs burned as she failed to regulate her breathing. Never mind. Form and technique meant nothing. Only her destination mattered. The lack of oxygen regulation made her muscles ache, wailing in time with the pen in her hand. God it burned. Her hand, her lungs… her heart. What am I?
“Micah…” Her muttered her name as she ran. “Micah… Micah… Micah…”
Acubens… Acubens…
“Micah… Micah…” Micah ignored the glittering of the pen in her hand as it called the name of the star.
Acubens!
“Micah!” As Micah ran, the bridge at the edge of town came into view. Faster. Get to it faster.
ACUBENS! The glitter became is beam of light, reflecting off the pen as it sensed Micah’s plan.
“MICAH!” Her voice came tearing out of her throat, louder than it had ever been before. She ran onto the bridge and veered to the left. As her body hit the railing that lined it, her arm continued on its trajectory. It flew up and over, her hand releasing the pen.
“Micah. I’m Micah.” She smiled, watching the pen scream into the dying sun, falling helplessly to its watery grave. Her heart leapt with joy as the damned pen splashed into the water, placid surface rippling slightly before it swallowed the thing and returning to its mirror stillness.
As Micah strolled back to her home she thought about her life for the past few weeks. Why hadn’t she done this sooner? God she felt so good. She threw the door open and immediately kissed her brother.
“I love you,” she gushed with a bright smile. The boy stood there, watching his sister skip around the living room, kissing their parents and retreating back to her room without so much as an explanation.
Micah’s joy, however, came to a screeching halt when a familiar voice called out to her in glittering Morse code.
Acubens.
“You died… I… I threw you over the bridge!”
You can’t escape me. You can never escape me.
As Micah sank to her knees as the pen laughed on her pillow, back where he had previously been, with no trace of water along it’s perfect surface
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Posted: Wed Jan 11, 2012 1:03 am
The Scientific Method... Sort Of
Word Count -- 1805
f you can’t beat them, join them. Micah had always had that mentality. She would fight things tooth and nail until she couldn’t anymore, but once all the fight had gone out of her, she simply let go and let things happen. This was no different. That was not to say Micah went willingly. In fact she went with her jaws and fists clenched painfully. She went as unwillingly as a wild stallion to be broken. This, also, was no different. She would go where she was directed, for now, but she would do so with white knuckles and a scowl.
And she’d be damned if she was kept in the dark.
That was why Micah was out tonight, alone in the vast open space of the industrial park. Everyone had since gone home, and the security left much to be desired in this portion. Micha would be undisturbed.
She shivered as the winter her wool peacoat. If the wind penetrated this winter gear, she was afraid of how it would fly through her flimsy little fuku. It was hardly practical in battle with its high heels, but it was not at all practical for winter with its skirt. All the determination in the world could not raise the temperature a measly five degrees, no matter how much Micah tried to channel it to do so. Maybe a henshin up would warm her a little, she sighed, pulling the laughing pen from her pocket.
She couldn’t do this outside, even with no one in sight. There was no way to be sure, after all.
She heaved opened the door to a warehouse nearest her, glad to see it relatively empty. She could get a lot of use out of this place. Another heave and the door was shut behind her.
Alone at last.
Micah took her place in the center of the building, not necessary, of course, but seemingly appropriate.
“Acubens…” she muttered, holding the glittering item in the air above her head.
“Power…” Micah could feel the same, strange power beginning to fizzle to life around her. The wind picked up, taking on a wholly new, tropical feeling. It lifted her hair, readying it for the tiara which would fasten to her forehead.
“Make up!” Micah drew the pen down in a slashing motion, taking a step forward with the momentum of it all. As her pen cut through the air, it tore through it, creating a gash in space before her. Through the wound light began to shine, surrounding her with a sort of halo. It warmed and tingled, disintegrating her clothing and leaving her naked in the light.
In this moment, however, Micah did not feel vulnerable with her nudity.
As the fragmented light surrounded her, the screeching of velociraptors filled her ears, calling to her. She shut her eyes and tilted her head back, a single mote of light shining from the center of her forehead. From that point, two invisible claws slashed across her forehead, forming the silver tiara, fitted tightly around her head. The light moved down, slicing up her torso and legs. The small, glowing wounds grew, light oozing from them like blood, to take over her body. The fuku materialized from the light. Her metal bracers were clamped onto her forearms as she extended them, fingers spread. In a flash of magic, her boots replaced her dirty trainers. The last thing to appear was the claw which fastened the collar around her neck.
Finished with its job, the light swarmed behind her, pulling itself together into the form of a raptor fossil, back arched in the way all of its kind do.
God, it burned.
Micah itched at herself, certain this had to have some long term radiation dangers. Was that a rash? She sneered and clicked her heel into the dust, feeling out her fuku with her body. It didn’t feel any different from the last time. But what was she expecting? Some huge catharsis? Now that Micah had realized that she could not escape her fate, was she thinking that she’d some out welcome it?
Never.
Micah didn’t like what she could not control. It scared her. But Micah knew she could make it less terrifying if she could understand what it was she was. The only way to do that was through experimentation. Her heeled boot clicked loudly as she crossed the concrete floor to the other side of the building.
As she turned, Micah looked down the length of the warehouse. She would be heading down the long length.
Taking her stance as a runner, Micah called out the name of her only attack.
“Velociraptor Dash!” And she counted. Her legs did not move for a full five seconds.
One second after launch. Micah was off, legs now moving by themselves, propelled by some strange magic. She looked to her left and to her right. Only dark blurs. Micah made a mental note not to look around again as her stomach clenched.
Five seconds. Still no sign of stopping. She’d never run this fast before. It would take endless training to reach these speeds, and even then… only a revered few athletes could reach it. As the air rushed across her skin and through her hair Micah had to fight back the rush of pleasure smoldering in her stomach. She had to focus.
Ten seconds. Fighting it was getting harder and harder. Soon Micah breathing would be harder to control, and her heart rate would accelerate. She couldn’t wait.
Fifteen seconds. This wasn’t right. She wasn’t breathing very hard at all. It was as though she was walking. And her heart rate was still normal. She looked down at herself. Not even the sheen of sweat glistened on her body. And she was still cold.
Twenty seconds. The wall was still small before Micah. Despite that, however, she was moving at an exhilarating speed. She would be on the verge of ecstasy, right then, had she not been so concerned about the lack of panting and racing heart.
Twenty five seconds. Still nothing. And still cold. She shivered as she ran, pushed forward by something unknown. What was this? Micah almost feared it.
Thirty seconds. Whatever it was that kept Micah going let her go. The room stilled and she was able to slow. Grateful as she was, Micah rather wished she had not. Now her body caught up with her. Her heart beat began to pick up and she felt all too hot. She panted as she doubled over, trying to catch her breath. This was unpleasant.
Micah looked up when she regained control of herself. How far had she come. Turning back to the wall she began from, Micah was able to estimate… 200… 210 feet. In thirty seconds. The fastest recorded 1500 meter time was 3 minutes and 26 seconds. If she traveled 210 feet in thirty seconds… she was just about on par with that time.
Hot damn.
Far away the back wall loomed. What if she’d hit that wall at the speed she was going? Time to find out. Micah took a step forward, back towards her starting point. Not too hard, after all. Just hard enough.
“Velociraptor Dash!” Nothing. What the ******** was that? Micah looked around her, searching for whatever it was that was holding her back.
Nothing.
“Velociraptor Dash!” Still nothing. The hell?
“Dash!” She repeated the last word, emphasizing it more this time.
“Dash dammit, just dash!” Still nothing. Micah’s legs shook as she stood. She wanted to sit.
No. If Micah sat down now, then she’d never get back up.
She repeated the attack three more times before she gave up. What a jip. Did she just get one attack per fight? That wasn’t very useful. It had been a full five minutes of trying to attack again. She may as well just head back to the door and head home.
After one last try.
“Velociraptor Dash!” Five more seconds passed before Micah shot away. But it was different this time.
Her legs burned. She traveled at the same speed, with all of the magic propelling her as before. Now, however, her muscles protested. They still needed to rest. So the magic did not repair her, nor did it numb her.
Micah only got to 26 before her slammed into the wall. She groaned loudly and grabbed her face, hands immediately wet with warm, sticky blood. Had she broken her nose? It’s not like she had anyone to blame but herself. She’d tried to stop herself, but she couldn’t. Nor could she turn. It was like she was on a track, and could not break away. Alright fine. So she couldn’t turn and she couldn’t stop. At least she knew that now.
Micah stood, aching legs shaking with exertion. Her nose would bleed for a while. Trying to make it stop would only take time she didn’t have. She began this experiment on borrowed time as it was. Each extra minute spent away Micah hurdles herself closer to being grounded.
Then again, she remembered, sagging against the wall, she had five minutes. There was a five minute recharge period between each attack. Five minutes to stop the bleeding and try to recover. Micah fell back to the floor, chest heaving and sweat pouring from her body.
Shortest five minutes ever.
Micah was on her feet again in the blink of an eye. At least her nose wasn’t bleeding anymore.
“V… Velociraptor… Dash.” Same speed, same length. Just more burning and more huffing. Micah collapsed when she stopped again, hurtling forward with the sudden lack of momentum. She didn’t even try to catch herself. Micah simply let herself meet the concrete with the loving embrace of gravity.
Laying down never felt so good.
She let herself power down, then, fuku turning into light and becoming her normal clothing again. No use staying in that form. There was no way in hell Micah was getting another dash out of this session.
She heaved herself up onto her hands and knees, nose dripping again from the exertion of the run. It didn’t matter. Someone would clean it up. Trembling, Micah stood, turning for the door. It looked like such a long way…
If the five minute recharging period was the shortest five minutes ever, the trek to the door were the longest. All Micah could think about was her warm car and her soft bed. And a nose that didn’t bleed. Oh damn, how was she going to explain that. She was so caught up in figuring herself out that Micha had forgotten to think of a back story.
She cursed as she pushed the door open, slipping out with only a trail of blood to mark her presence. She’d figure something out. She always did.
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Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:04 am
Getting In The Spirit
Word Count -- 773
This was just what Micah needed to get her mind off of her recent life change. The lights were being strung up on houses, trees were being brought home. It was all just so… distracting. She hated snow, yet she felt herself growing glad when it fell from the sky. She hated the cold, yet with every dropping degree, Micha felt herself getting happier. She hated ice, but when she saw a patch, she couldn’t help but skate across it.
Christmas was coming.
The gifts, the lights, the cookies… Micah could hardly contain herself. Damn her senshi duties for now. She didn’t even know what they were. Her parents may have had to work on Christmas, but that was just more reason for Micah not too. Half of the family would have to have enough fun to make up for the half that would not be there.
That was what put such a spring in her step today. The first of December meant one thing for her, Black Friday. Micah wasn’t at the shops at midnight. No way, no how. But she was there further on in the day, when people stopped freaking out and weren’t in such a hurry. Pinpoint was her first stop. They seemed to have everything, and Micah was fairly certain that she could knock out the majority of her list with just that visit.
For her mother: books. Tons and tons of books. Marcia Driscol was an even more avid reader than her daughter. Tolkien, Lewis, Frost. Anything Micah could get her hands on went into the cart for her mother. At least… they would have. Until Micah rested her eyes on the most marvelous sight. The tablet reader her mother had been pining for. On sale. For half price. Micah nearly glued herself to it, snatching the box from under another woman’s hands and glowering at her, hugging it tightly to her chest. Back off, b***h. It’s mine.
Micah strolled away with her prize, leaving the old hag who glare at her back. Whatever, too bad you aren’t as spry as you were when you were eighty. Micah giggled at her own joke. Okay, so that was a really expensive gift. Maybe Micah would get each family member one really big gift this year, and then just stuff stockings with all sorts of goodies that she could pick up later. Yeah, that sounded good.
Next was Micah’s father. A harder man to shop for. After all, whatever he wanted, Micah’s father usually went out and bought for himself. So what did Micah get a totally self sufficient man? Micah strolled the aisles of Pinpoint, trying to figure out just what it was he needed. Bluray? Got it. iPad? Got it. On and on the list went. So then, what did she get him?
For this gift, Micah had to think a bit outside of the box. Not that that was just a stretch for her; she practically lives outside of it. Still, her mind had to do a little finagling to actually settle on something. At last she decided. An electronic picture frame. And not just that, Micah had plans to upload family photos onto that that, after, of course, she added a few effects to them. Mainly just cleaning up blemishes on photoshop, maybe adding a few decals and decorations. It was creative and technological.
Now onto Misha. Micah had her idea in mind for a while. For her brother, who was obsessed with soft things, she would shower him with pony plushies. Recently they’s both gotten into the whole Brony culture, But Misha far out-Bronies her. So, for that reason, he deserved the Mane Six in plush form. And of course Spike. All of the toys went into her cart along with the two other presents.
Now onto the smaller presents for each of her family members. Much easier, even more so than the plushes for Misha. Cookies and candies and little cakes. Each selection tailored to the person they were going to. Mint for her mother. Micah’s mother loved mint and dark chocolate the most. Her father, however, preferred caramel and milk chocolate. Alexij liked just plain white chocolate. Micah’s cart was filling up fast, causing her to move slower to avoid an avalanche.
When checking out she ignored the price, and asked the cashier not to tell her the total. Just take it off the card and let it be that. Keep the receipt. Micah was better off not knowing how much money she’d spent that day. Besides that, it didn’t matter. Micah was in this to make her family happy. Nothing more.
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Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:05 am
Christmas Wish
Word Count -- 994
This was the best part of the holidays for Micah. One Christmas evening she and Misha would grab some warm eggnog and stroll the main drag, looking at Christmas lights and window displays. They would laugh at the last minute shoppers, the two of them either having finished their shopping or awaiting an ordered package. While most people were stressed at this time of year, Micah and her brother couldn't be more relaxed. No school, no jobs to speak of this year, and just each other to keep them company.
Well, maybe Micah could be more relaxed.
She fiddled endlessly with her cup, adjusting the sleeve and twisting it around in her mittened hands. Misha noticed. Micah knew he noticed. The way he kept looking at her sideways, how he was unusually delicate with her. Normally they would poke fun at one another, but tonight… Micah’s heart was only half in it, and Misha was giving his sister only the softest of insults.
Oh, how could she be her usually snide self when she was keeping the biggest secret of her life from him. They were twins; they had no secrets. They had a closer bond than Micah had ever had with anyone. Even the various girls they had both dated never even came close to the other in terms of undying affection. Up until middle school, as a matter of fact, there were whispers of illicit relationships between the two of them. They were so very close.
And all Micah wanted to do was cling to Misha and pour her heart out to him. Oh, dear brother, I am not what I have been my whole life. I’m something… else. Something alien. What do I do?
And Misha would know. He’d take her henshin pen and the weight with it. Baby sister, you have always been, and will always be just that. My baby sister. There’s no need to weigh yourself down with this burden.
And Micah would breathe and Misha took half of the enormous weight off her shoulder. She would be able laugh again, in earnest. She would be able to understand what she was with his help. Acubens would not be the mystery it is today if Misha could help her with its riddle.
But Micah was no fool. She knew that telling him what she was would be putting him in danger. And Micah would kill herself before she let that happen.
Micah pulled herself closer to Misha at the thought of losing him. The arm around her shoulders tightened in response and her brother just kept droning on about the idiocies of commercialized holidays.
“I mean, don’t they realize that this so called, ‘Christmas’ falls on the pagan winter solstice…?”
Misha didn’t ask questions. Micah loved that about him. He always waited for the subject to be brought to his attention. This was no different. He knew his sister was suffering under something, but he also knew that his sister was fiercely independent. When Micah broke under the pressure, she knew Misha would be there for her. He would pick her up and dust her off. He would dry her face and he would calm her fears, but he would ask no questions.
“I love you Misha.” The boy looked down at his sister with a look of vague surprise.
“I know.” Micah grinned brightly, thankful that Misha was so very much himself, even with his sister’s struggling. Micah leaned her head on his shoulder with a sigh.
Did Misha know how much just being normal helped Micah? He was her only window into normalcy. Their parents had already succumbed to crippling concern. Micah felt like a horrible daughter around them, making them suffer with her and unable to give them a reason. If Misha was normal then… maybe Micah could pretend to be normal too.
“So Micah, we haven’t made our Christmas wishes yet,” Misha stated simply, leading her to the next window, watching a mechanical Santa lay the same present under the tree over and over. Micah hadn’t even thought about a Christmas wish yet. She hadn’t really processed that it was Christmas. So much had been shifting in her world that it every day things just seemed so impossible.
“Christmas wish,” Micah muttered, biting her bottom lip lightly as Misha lead her to the next window. “I don’t know what I would wish for.”
“Well, you’ve only got a few more days. You’d better hurry up with that decision.”
Micah only sipped her eggnog in response, wracking her brain for something to wish for. What? A pony? A castle? Everything she would normally wish for like a new computer or a box of fancy fragrance just seemed so… unreal. Everything seemed unreal to Micah. The gold and red and green lights swirled around her, making her world tilt at a sickening angle. Micah shut her eyes to keep herself under control.
What could she wish for that would make any difference? No movies kept her entertained anymore. None of her fandoms seemed to matter. No music or book kept Micah interested for more than a moment before she was back to listless self reflection.
“Wanna know what I wished for?” Misha didn’t seem interested in Micah’s answer.
“That’s breaking the rules.”
“Do you wanna know anyway?”
“You won’t get your wish…”
“I want a smile from you.” The sentiment from her brother made Micah’s stomach twist painfully. Don’t do that. You’re supposed to be the normal one. You can’t go making me feel like a shitty sister as well as a shitty daughter.
“I told you that you wouldn’t get it if you told me,” Micah muttered from her cup of eggnog. Misha only smoothed down her wild curls and lead her forwards.
Micah wanted normalcy for Christmas. To not be an alien force for good caught between light and dark. Just to be Micah. No amount of wishing was going to give her that.
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Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:06 am
Snow Day
Word Count -- 623
Micah’s phone went off somewhere around 5:30, though she didn’t need to check it to know what it said. A massive snow storm hit Destiny City the night before, and most school unofficially closed down before the sun set. That is to say, no one really expected to be in class come morning. And sure enough, half an hour later, when Micah finally roused herself enough to check the messages, there was one announcing the official closure of school, along with a few other messages from friends. “Guess what” and “In case you didn’t know.” It was another three hours before Micah woke up in any sort of real way.
During that time, she dreamed in and out, stuck in that strange twilight place where the real world filters in and twists into dreamscapes, creating weird and fantastical scenarios. Her mother called up to them that she and their father were leaving. Micah only heard warped and warbled calls, looking down fom her high wire to see her mother smiling and waving from beneath crystal clear waters. Micah waved back and went along her mile-long stroll, warm, tropical wind blowing through her hair.
When she did finally wake, Misha, for some reason, had gotten into her room and was working away on her computer, logged into her minecraft account.
“I’m improving,” he muttered, hacking away at something or other. Some structure Micah got half way through before she abandoned it. Micah watched her brother absently for about ten minutes before she finally dragged herself out of the warm covers to face the day. Well, not so much face it as loll happily through it. Really, any day with no commitments was a good day. For a moment, as her bare feet hit the carpeted floor, Micah considered retreating back into the happy warmth of her bed. The comforter was all splayed out for her, the indentation of her body still undisturbed. It called to her like a siren, enticing her with the caresses over a lover and the promise of a lifetime of painless sleep.
It was Misha who eventually coaxed her out of that trance, tossing a fresh pair of pajamas over her face and leaving, muttering something about getting the coffee going.
“London Fog, please,” Micah muttered, already falling out of her old pajamas only to slip happily into fresh ones.
By the time Micah got downstairs some ten minutes later, Misha had her mug – more aptly called a bowl with a handle, perhaps – sitting on the edge of the table. He was flipping eggs placidly, humming to himself some tune Micah didn’t recognize and wasn’t sure even existed anywhere but his own mind. Still, she smiled and started on the toast, buttering it as the eggs finished cooking.
The rest of the day was spent with Micah’s nose equally buried in the pages of a book and the scenes of the various video games she loved to watch Misha play. She dozed in and out, incorporating pieces of the games and pages from her books in with whatever Misha was saying to her as she drifted in and out of sleep. They didn’t move except to replenish their snacks and toss out garbage. Their parents were always complaining about how they had too many snack cakes anyway.
By the time their parents came home, Misha and Micah were dead asleep, controller and book in hand. Carefully, so as not to startle them, Marcia and Grayson moved around their children, shutting off electronics and tucking in for the night. They would let the two sleep downstairs for the night. Tomorrow was another school day, but that was hours away. For now they were allowed the last vestiges of their midweek vacation.
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Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:19 am
Challenge Accepted
Word Count -- 1063
Micah grinned wildly at the flyer in her hand. A contest, huh? Micah hadn’t bothered to read the fine print… like rules. Never mind those, they would come later. She simply stuffed the flyer into her pocket and ran home, sliding expertly on ice patches and barreling through snow drifts like it was no bodies business.
She skidding into her own home dripping wet with water and sweat, stripped off her winter gear in the foyer and started in the kitchen.
What didn’t they need?
What did they only think they needed?
More importantly: what did Micah want out of the house?
Canned beans were her first victims. Nasty buggers, all salty and firm in the oddest way. Micah grimaced as she threw them into the hamper she’d commandeered from the wash room. Beans were nasty on the best of days. Even when her mother fried them in bacon grease and onions she only ate them for the bacon.
Next were the navy beans. Followed by every other kind of bean, actually. Chili beans, string beans, baked beans, beans, beans, beans. They all had to go. Micah’s tote sagged under the weight of the disgusting cans of mash, causing her to hoist it up onto her hip. So gross.
Next were the canned carrots. Because carrots should not be canned. Followed by beets, and pretty much the families stock of canned fruits and vegetables. Canned was no good for them anyway. Far too much sodium. They’d all die of heart attacks if it weren’t for her.
Next was the cereal. Grape Nuts, Corn Flakes, Cheerios. Anything that wasn’t coated in sugar went flying into the tote with the canned goods. No need for Total; that was a dumb cereal. Oh, and she’d get the powdered milk out of there while she was at it. Powdered milk, really. Micah scoffed and dragged her hamper up the stairs.
Micah hated most of her father’s ties. In the bin. And her mother’s flamingo pink blouse washed her out. In the bin. And what was this? Micah’s mother should not own lingerie, there for in the bin – with a profound shudder from Micah, of course. And was that g-string? In her father’s… oh in the bin most definitely. Micah felt sick to her stomach at her latest discoveries.
Mom jeans? Really Mom? Bin.
Dad, I always hated this red suit of yours. Bin.
Oh dear, this is embarrassing. Why do you have socks with puff balls mother? You’re not three. Bin.
The hamper was nearing its crest, peaking high above the rim. She pushed the heavy thing around to her brother’s room to get right of his clothes too.
D and D jammies? Bin. Also you’re dumb big brother.
And where those… flannel footie… no, bin. Never mind.
Hipster scarves from Misha's homeless phase, fedora’s from his N*Sync phase, and the weird slotted glasses from his tool bag phase. Bin. Bin. Bin. Misha didn’t need these things. He was a pack rat, no need for them. He was lucky to have Micah, she thought as she dumped his box of jewelry into the bin. He’d suffocate in a room filled with failed attempts at popularity without her.
As Micah pushed the bin around to her room she noticed it wobbling. Could she fit anymore in there? A holler form down stairs cut off her thinking.
“Micah Elizabeth Anne Driscol, come down here.” Marcia had said her name all in one breath. This would be ugly. Micah hunkered over and buried her hands on her pockets as she descended the steps.
“Do you very much mind telling me what happened to my pantries,” her mother huffed, holding the door to the now empty cupboard open for Micah to see her handy work.
The words came to her mind before she had time to censor them.
“The same thing that happened upstairs.” There was no hiding the challenge in her voice. The three family members exchanged looks that said, “Could wouldn’t have.” And then they all realized that, not only would Micah have, Micah already did. They all rushed around her, upstairs to see what had happened.
“Micah,” her mother’s voice was too sweet for Micah to really handle right now. It was that super sticky sweet tone of voice that Marcia always got when she didn’t know what else to do.
“What’s the meaning of this,” Grayson asked, rubbing his temples.
“I wanted to help people. We don’t need all of these things so…” Micah dug the flyer out of her pocket and held it out to her parents while Misha grumbled and grabbed back what was his in heaping arm loads, tossing them into a pile on his floor.
“Can we really fault her for wanting to help,” Grayson asked, green eyes landing softly on his little girl. Micah grinned as she played her father like a fiddle.
Her mother was no so easily swayed. The golden eyes that she’d passed on to her children flashed on Micah. She knew her daughter. Micah would not go to such lengths for nothing. There was something in it for her.
“Yes.” She said finally. “Yes we can. She’s doing this for the competition, Grayson.” Marcia handed her husband the flying, pointing to the prizes. Micah deflated under her father’s suddenly piercing gaze. Damn it mother. Both women glared daggers at each other.
“Still… it is for charity darling.” Come on daddy… yes…
“Grayson, she ransacked our house.”
“For charity.”
“For her own ego.”
Grayson was silent for a moment. Finally he turned to Micah and considered her.
“Fine. Since you seem so dead set on doing this… we will allow you to do so.” Micah was ready to celebrate and her mother ready to pout before Grayson held up his hand. “Your punishment will be doing it out of the house. Knock on doors, ask local shops. Anything but raiding our house. Clear?”
“That’s it?”
Micah regretted the words.
“No, you will also be putting away everything you found.”
“Everything?”
“Every last thing.” Grayson looked over his square glasses at her, knowing full well what she’d found in her parents room. Micah shuddered again, meeting the challenge in her father’s eyes with equal determination.
“Challenge accepted.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.” Micah snatched the coat from her father’s hands and began to drag her hamper back to her parents room.
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Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:25 am
Liar
Word Count -- 544
Acubens’ legs pounded the concrete at a velocity that rivaled her top speed back home during her track and field career. And that wasn’t even using magic. Acubens was propelled by sheer desperation. She had to talk to Europa. She had to ask questions, get answers, and resolve this sudden, terrifying realization that she might be on the wrong side.
They killed them.
All 59 civilians up in space. The Order had killed them. Picked them off one by one and killed them. Even Lesath at one point.
The idea that the girl who Acubens had fallen so in love with was gone for even a moment made her heart wrench, causing her to cry out in agony. It would be like Misha dying. Like her mother or father dying. Even if it was just for a moment.
Oh god.
Acubens’ stomach twisted sickly, notifying her that the first thing she would do upon stopping was empty her stomach of all its contents.
And worst of all was that one of the women she looked up to might have lied to her. Lesath who had instantly become her sister, or Europa, who had taken Acubens under her wing. Someone close to Acubens had lied to her.
And she hated being lied to.
More than anything else, Acubens hated being lied to.
She would take ruthless attacks before flat out lying.
Her legs had begun to burn now, begging her to stop running. Her lungs wheezed, working harder and harder to draw breath. Stop. You don’t even know where you’re going. Acubens wasn’t running home. She wanted running to Keren. She wasn’t even running to the warehouse she practiced her powers at that one night. So where was she headed?
No where. Acubens had pointed herself in one direction and was peeling towards it at top speeds. And the worst part was that she couldn’t stop. Although her body wailed for her to cease her sprint towards an almost certain abyss, and although her legs begged for reprieve, she could not stop herself. Her legs continued their piston-like motions, her arms kept propelling her, and her body refused to listen to her.
Oh god. This is how I die.
The irrational panic spread through her body, moistening her eyes. Her mind had broken and she was hurtling at break neck speed into insanity. She would die of exhaustion, in mid run, and never get her answers.
It was at that notion that her body suddenly stopped. Suddenly, and without warning, it quit. Acubens continued on her forward momentum, however, scudding across the grass before sliding to a stop on her face.
And her stomach made good on its promise.
She wiped her lips on the back of her hand, cleaning that on her skirts. Pointedly, she ignored her mess, deciding that if she didn’t see it then it didn’t happen.
She stood for a moment, cold air bracing her, quickening her mind into action. Her initial panic was over, and Acuben was ashamed of that hysteria. She ignored it like she did her sickness and pulled her cell phone from its hiding space in some realm in between.
“Hey, Europa. It’s Acubens. Can you come talk to me? I have… I have a few questions.”
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Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:27 am
Close Call
Word Count -- 1878
Acubens had that weird feeling in her stomach. Like when you’re out and you know, you just know that when you get home you’re in huge trouble for something. It clenched nervously, sending her heart pounding in the most horrifying fashion. Had her parents a woken and found her bed empty? Was tonight the night she revealed to her family her second life. That terrifying and dangerous life she led when the sun went down? Worse, had Misha found out, and was now planning to hold it over her head to make her do his horrible bidding?
Acubens couldn’t make her legs move fast enough. She couldn’t make the world rush by her fast enough. Even when she called out the name of her attack, magic propelling her forward faster than she could go on her own, she wanted to go faster still. There had to be a way. Maybe if she called her attack again before this one wore off.
No good. It just reset the timing. She ran longer, but not faster. And now she’d just wasted an attack. Brilliant. What if she ran into something on the way home? God, Acubens never thought. She needed to think, but she never did. She could have cursed. She would have if her lungs burned any less.
Just through this park. Acubens could just see her house through the park.
And one last attack could be the difference between something awful happening, and saving a secret.
Too hell with it.
“Velociraptor Dash!”
Acubens was rocketed forward again, aching in her legs dissipating with power she still didn’t totally understand. She streaked by trees and rocks, play grounds and sand boxes. Closer and closer until she came to a stop, body still suffering from the forward momentum, sending her stumbling over herself. She fell into the grass is a great violet heap, still struggling to get back up.
The next few steps were shaky, body rocking dangerously this way and that before she finally was able to run in a straight line again.
And even that was sketchy.
Her lungs burned and her legs begged for reprieve. She’d used too much energy. Everything in her body wailed for rest, for relief. And Acubens could not allow it. She had to ignore the pain in her sides, drown out the screaming of her body with screams of her own.
What a sight she must have been. Running through the night, howling like a banshee as she rocketed somewhere on some mysterious paranoia.
She came to a stop in her driveway, ready to leap up to the window she kept open for her late returns, when something shuddering off to her left caught her eye.
Like a beetle, about the size of a terrier, it’s beady, black eyes stared at her. Acubens counted almost twenty in neat little rows on its face before it skittered back into the shadows around her house.
And up the outside wall.
No.
Acubens leapt, legs cried out in protest as she came to land in her own window sill. It was climbing up the outside of the house into her brother’s room. It was heading towards Misha.
No.
Acubens’ body recognized her own room, and she could feel her body beginning to power down. It knew this ritual. Climb in the window. Power down. Sleep for a few precious hours.
Not tonight.
She might have called out to her brother. She probably did. The soreness of her throat certainly was good proof of it.
“Misha!”
This time her voice cracked in her hysteria. She fell against the wall of the hallways which lead to both her parents’ and her brother’s room. The door to the former opened, revealing the hysteria of her parents that much have mirrored her own.
What must they have thought, some crazed, costumed warrior, screeching the name of their son with wild eyes on the verge of passing out.
“Misha!”
Her only answer was a scream. It was enough to propel her legs into a light jog, using much of the little energy she had left.
Acubens fell into her brother’s room, hair falling from their braids in strange, wiry curls that made her look even more mad. She didn’t care. As a matter of fact, if she had energy to put forth into such a venture, she could not make herself care less.
The terrier-sized Youma had skittered through the window, into her brother’s room, and was feeding on him, small straw-like appendage stuck through his chest. From the look on his face, it must have hurt. This wasn’t like other youma, who passed through the barrier of reality, delving through matter like it was air. This one, either by sadism or inability to perform like others, forced it’s feeding tube through her brother’s chest, into the cavity, and was feeding on the energy that way.
Acubens watched for a small moment as a dark red patch appeared on his pajama top and then spread, quickly seeping through the fabric and down his sides.
What Acubens felt next was a new rage. More powerful, more searing, more sustaining than anything she’d ever felt before. It wouldn’t be like her other temper tantrums, where her rage would reach a high point and then fizzle out, leaving her drained. When she passed out when that damned thing was dead, it would not be form this anger.
Acubens reached to her left, grabbing from Misha's dresser one of the dozens of awards from various activities he’d excelled at. It wasn’t real gold, of course, but whatever metal it was made of would suffice with it’s heft.
Acubens brought the trophy down hard on what she assumed must be the head of the monster, making it squeal and withdraw its sucker form her brother’s chest. A minor victory, Acubens knew. As it sucked energy from Misha, the monster had grown from the size of a terrier to the size of a Labrador. It took all of that newly attained size and slammed it into Acubens, sending her stumbling back into the door, knocking it shut before her parents could enter.
Acubens had never been stabbed before. Not really. There were pin pricks and rough housing had gone wrong before, leaving her with puncture wounds. But nothing like this. Nothing like something the size of a pipe tearing through her chest wall, cracking ribs on its way in. The straw must have been serrated, the way it tore at her flesh, no doubt creating a jagged entry wound.
Acubens screamed as Misha coughed, rolling off his bed. He looked up blearily at the warrior in his room, knowing, somehow, that it was his job to protect her. Like some unexplained connection, he knew that if she fell here, it would be the end of him. The end of their family. This strange, scantily clad fighter with the bug monster sucking the life from her, growing with each intake, was, somehow, what his family hinged on.
Acubens didn’t have that much energy to spare really, having exhausted herself using her attacks three times. She regretted having done so deeply in that moment. So when the monster pulled from her whatever was left of her life, she could feel herself getting heavier and heavier, unable to stay awake any longer. Like when sleep had evaded a person for days and days, and suddenly it tackled them, driving them down into oblivion.
Taking the straw out of her chest hurt more than putting it in had. It tore at fresh wounds, serrated edges cutting further into deep wounds. She screamed again, louder this time, as it did so, falling away from Acubens and leaving her to slump down to the floor. Her fuku was sticky with her own blood, torn right above where her starseed resided. Was it still intact? Was it harmed? Had she lost her powers? It would be her lucky, right as she found out what she was fighting for she lost the ability to fight.
Through half lidded eyes, Acubens watched her brother stagger about the room, grabbing the tropthy, already covered in the lime green goo what came from the creatures wound. No. Run. Just get mom and dad and get out.
Misha was many things, Acubens knew. He was rude, stubborn, and arrogant. He was awkward, impossible to talk to some times, and closed minded. But he was no coward. And he would fight for his home and his family to his last breath. Like his sister.
He brought the trophy down on the monsters head again and again. By this time, he was half again as big as a Labrador. It didn’t matter. He swung the weapon with force enough to kill it, spilling its radioactive-looking blood all over the floor.
He dropped the trophy with a thud, ending the noise within the room. It was only then, when panic drained from Acubens’ body, leaving her steps from death or sleep, that she heard her parents banging on the door, trying to gain entrance to a blocked door. Her arm must have bumped the lock, keeping them out when she hit the door.
Misha dragged himself to the door, reaching for the knob with one had while the other held the still bleeding wound on his chest. Acubens grabbed his arm out of instinct. It was too late not to reveal who she was to Misha, but her parents would remain ignorant.
“Misha,” she groaned, spitting mouthfuls of blood after his name. Already, her body was powering down, light replacing her fuku with her old pajamas. She watched Misha's eyes widen as she turned back into herself, not moving from where she caught his arm.
“Don’t tell mom and dad.” Did he nod? Micah wasn’t sure. All she saw after that was blackness. She could no longer feel her body. Was this death? If it was, then it wasn’t so bad. It was actually pretty nice. Like she was kind of floating in a pool of warm water. She couldn’t really feel her limbs, but she knew they were there. Gravity didn’t exist anymore. She just kind of… floated. Drifting here and there.
At least Misha was safe.
And then pain.
Pain that radiated through her whole body, more than the life-sucking bug from before. Like lightning bolts running through her veins. If she could have cried out, she would have. Hell, if she could have opened her eyes, then she would have.
“She’s stable.”
“Why the hell aren’t her eyes open? Why is she still out!” Misha screamed his questions, wince showing even in his voice. Their mother consoled him, murmurs shaking as she did so.
The EMTs said something about administering something. Micah wasn’t really listening all that carefully. Whether that previous painless, floating was death or unconsciousness, Micah didn’t care. She wanted it back.
“Broken ribs, torn muscles, but nothing major damaged. These two are seriously lucky.”
Yeah. Lucky. Good joke, dude.
The blackness was coming back, but without the wash of numbness that Micah missed. Even in the sleep that over took her, pain rocketed through Micah’s body, making her muscles seize if she tried to move. But sleep was sleep. And Micah was glad for it.
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Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:34 am
I See What You Did There...
Word Count -- 655
“So…”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Silence, punctuated only by Micah flipping the pages of her book. The pain medicine administered to both twins had made the pain much more manageable, allowing them the limited use of their arms. This had been a blessing to Micah, who now spent the majority of her time reading book after book. Her parents had a hard time bringing them in fast enough.
“I think we need to – ”
“We really don’t.”
Silence again.
Every day seemed to go like this; Micah would refuse to talk about what she’d revealed to Misha that night so many weeks ago, and her brother would push to hear about it. Not out of curiosity, Micah knew that. He didn’t get curious. Not about things personal like that. It didn’t affect him, and so he didn’t care. What pushed him to question his sister was concern. Whatever this was, whatever it was that she had become, it was hurting her. Moreover, it was putting the family in danger.
In truth, Misha deserved to know. Micah knew this. But it was only he who needed to know. Not the nurses who passed in and out of their room at all hours of the day and night. Not the patients who passed by, walking off injuries and illness. And certainly not their parents who would only worry themselves sick. It was for this reason that Micah kept her silence, much to Misha's chagrin.
“Fine,” came her brother’s indignant resignation from beside her. “I don’t care, don’t tell me.”
It was Micah’s turn to be silent. The vague response it offered was enough of a shield to avoid a fight neither of them had the energy for. She might not have heard him. It might have been an admission of regret. An apology from a woman too proud to actually voice it.
And Micah knew it was enough for Misha.
“We will have to talk about it some time, you know that right?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“When I’m ready.” Micah hadn’t meant for her voice to crack. And it wasn’t even from emotion. She hadn’t drunk anything all day, despite the nurse’s orders. Her throat was dry and cracked as a result thereof.
It was the implied emotion that made Misha fall blessedly silent. Micah released a breath of relief that he let the topic go, relaxing back into his pillow for a nap.
Misha didn’t understand how hard this was for Micah. At least, not totally. She’d been hiding this secret from him for months, suffering the responsibility that she didn’t understand, fighting a war she didn’t belong in, and she wasn’t even an adult. And in top of that, she had to keep it from him.
Micah didn’t have secrets from her twin. He knew every little nook and cranny of her psyche and personality. And then there was that looming elephant in the living room that had slowly driven a wedge between them, causing Micah to alienate herself from the family she adored.
And then, like some blessing in disguise, Micah was given a reason to reveal herself to Misha. That was the only good that had come out of this dreadful attack. He had finally been given a glimpse into Micah’s shadowy life as a senshi.
And she couldn’t even tell him the half of it yet. He knew what she was, but not who she was. He didn’t know Acubens, her fight, or her new ties as a senshi.
And that was the worst for her.
That she was so close to finally, finally telling her twin everything that she’d kept from him, and yet she was miles from it. Teasing him with just a taste of her complicated second life, when she wanted him to feast on every last morsel of her new life. Her joys, her sorrows, her triumphs and her failures.
She’d waited months.
The next weeks would be torture.
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Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:44 am
Aftermath
Word Count -- 468
Rehab was a nightmare for the twins. Muscle strengthening, Micah could do. And so could Misha. They were both athletes. Misha, if just a more casual form than his sister. But what they were doing now was starting from square one.
Without pain medication.
There had been tears, and there had been tantrums. There had even been a fist fight that ended in torn stitches and two days off of feet.
But there had also been healing.
Each day they spent together was another bit of the rift between them healed. Misha was slowly understanding why Micah kept her silence, and Micah was slowly understanding why Misha longed so much to know of his sister’s secret pain. And in that mutual understanding, the long wait to divulge secrets became less unbearable.
They spoke in code again, something not done since they were much younger. Recesses of their minds had stored the lost language they created as children, bringing it back to their tongues as though they spoke it every day.
Yet Micah did not use this new device to share her secrets. Some irrational fear that someone would understand and out her to her enemies. And, somehow, Misha understood that now. Once that terrifying concern that his sister was in mortal danger faded, he respected her tight lipped silence.
“I love you, do you know that?”
Misha might have been startled by the look on his face. Micah only smile and repeated herself.
“You know I love you, right?”
The other twin gathered himself from his slight fright, settling back down into his cot. He reopened his book and shrugged indifferently, his way of avoiding harsh emotions.
“I just wanted to let you know.”
“What brought that on?” Misha did not look up from his book, but Micah could hear that satisfaction in his voice. Be as aloof as you want, she thought, I know you love me. And I know you like to hear me say that I love you.
“You did. Just… generally being amazing. Understanding why I’m not talking about the obvious. Being supportive none the less.” Misha's prideful smile widened as she praised him. Micah scoffed at him, gently tossing a pillow at him. It hit his head with an unsatisfying floof. From over the top of it, he grinned at his sister, tossing it back so she could tuck it under her back.
“It’s not like you to be so affectionate, did you get hit in the head too?”
“Why can’t you just accept a compliment and go on?”
“Because that’d be easy on you, and I don’t want that.”
“You’re a p***k.”
“You’re a b***h.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Mutual, light hearted laughter filled the room, greeting the parents who had returned for the evening, bearing gifts of treats and books.
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Posted: Fri Jul 05, 2013 3:22 pm
You Cannot Always be Twain in Two
Word Count -- 730
Misha remained silent as Micah stared at the floor. The only betrayal that he’d stayed awake through her long-winded explanation of what had happened to her over the past few months was his deep, long sigh.
Say something. Say anything she pleaded. She would honestly rather Misha scream at her rather than this silence. What was he thinking? Was he trying to find a way to word something delicately? Was he wondering what had happened to his sister? Did he think she was a freak? Micah wiggled in her seat nervously as Misha continued to think, turning the henshin pen over and over in his fingers. Try as she might to focus on something positive, only worst case scenarios played out in her head.
In one, Misha stood up and suddenly and began to pace, raging at her about what she had become. A monster. Just like the thing that had hospitalized them. Micah was no better, and so, she was no longer his sister. He would throw her things from her room onto the street, breaking precious statuets and little trinkets that meant something to Micah. He didn’t care any longer. She was not his twin, she was something else. Something horrible.
In another he remained quiet. Forever. He did not run her away, but he did not knowledge her any longer. He kept his gaze averted and refused to answer her when she spoke. He looked over her shoulder or through her when he needed to. In his mind, Micah had died, yet the ghost of her kept on living beside him. And then when Micah finally moved out, he would purge her from his memory. Things that reminded him of her were thrown away. Pictures were burned. Letters shredded.
In still another Misha admitted her to the hospital, this time as a psychiatric patient. He would beg them to fix her because he loved her, but if he really did, then wouldn’t he love her the way she was? She would spend her nights locked in a cell, rocking herself to sleep to the sounds of the moans around her. Misha would visit once a week, then once a month. And then, finally, she would be forgotten about. Because they could not fix her.
When Misha finally spoke up, Micah nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Well,” he sighed, leaning back hard against the couch, rubbing his eyes. “The way I see it, you have two options: You stay with the court you were born into. Or you corrupt.”
He’d said it so simply. Micah almost didn’t believe that he’d boiled such a conflict down into so few words. She gaped and stammered and tried to find words before falling silent again, slumping down herself.
“But if I corrupt,” she began, “I’d be evil.”
Misha nodded slowly, twirling the pen around his thumb as though he were bored in class.
“And besides that, corrupting to the Dark Mirror Court… it has consequences. I’d have a new face, a new body. A new name. Micah would have to die. You’d be an only child.”
Misha nodded again, albeit more solemnly. Micah waited for him to react, but he stayed silent.
“Do you want me to corrupt?” Micah’s voice was higher than she’d expected. But she was hurt and afraid that maybe Misha wanted her gone because of this, and corruption was the cleanest way to do it. He didn’t even have to feel bad if he convinced her.
“I want you to be happy.” Misha’s hand landed heavy and firm on her knee, grounding her in reality and saving her from her spiral of panic. “And if that means that I lose you, then yes. I want you to corrupt. Personally, I want you just as you are. The good guy. Protecting me and mom and dad. But if this makes you miserable… I’d rather see you as a bad guy than dead, Mykes. And keeping yourself in limbo like this is going to kill you.”
They sat in silence for a long moment before Misha squeezed her shoulder and stood, leaving Micah to her thoughts. Everything changed now that she knew what Misha thought. Now that she essentially had his permission to leave the light and follow chaos. It didn’t help her make her decision but it did lift some of the weight off of her shoulders.
"And while you're thinking," Misha tossed back to her, slumping off to the kitchen, "it's your turn to scoop the walks."
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