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 Posted: Tue Jul 31, 2018 8:24 pm
Curiousity Killed the Raptor
Word Count -- 350
While life went on outside of Mirrorspace -- bedding pants went into the ground, vendors were signed up for the opening bazar, teenagers were fed and clothed -- Rhona felt her mind turning back and back again to the journals that she had left in mirrorspace. Puzzles had always been a bit of a sticking place for her, and she hated to leave one unsolved. And so, the first night that she was able to go back to mirrorspace she did so with gusto. Maybe she’d trigger the other side of the room and see if that didn’t change something.
She slid through the surface of the mirror above her couch, the cool of the surface giving way beneath her hand like a veil. Before her was the common room, ever it’s comfortable same. She fixed a few things that had been jostled in someone’s visit and went on her way. She could only hope now that Mirrorspace would send her back to that room.
Wish granted.
The first room out of the common room was that mirrored puzzle. Acubens stood there for a long moment, trying to process what had happened in that moment. Really, she’d been prepared for a long search but… nope. Moreso, it would have seemed like everything was exactly as she had left it. Nothing had reset. Well, that had to have been a mistake. A glitch.
Acubens left the room and Mirrorspace again, stepping back down onto her couch and considered the mirror on the wall for a long moment, waiting for things to reset before she stepped through again. The common room greeted her same as before and she left it same as before. Only to be deposited back into the mirrored room once again.
No. No this wasn’t right.
Acubens left again, stood in her living room for another minute, and passed back into mirrorspace.
Common room. Door. Mirrored room. Not reset.
Acubens did this three more times before she powered back down.
This super wasn’t even worth it. She’d just wait for Mirrorspace to stop throwing a tantrum and then she’d try again later.
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Posted: Wed Oct 24, 2018 11:10 am
Inquiries into the Curious
Word Count -- 581
Acubens hadn’t been back to mirrorspace in days. She didn’t feel like being toyed with… especially when she knew that she didn’t deserve it. Had it been because she was begging for a crystal? Had it been because she had been neglecting her realm? But then did that mean other senshi were having the same difficulties as she had been having?
There was only one way to find out…
Acubens was out gathering her quota when she felt the aura of a super Dark Mirror. There was no reason that they shouldn’t be able to answer her questions… right?
She approached the young man, piled of black curls making a mop on top of his head. He must have felt her coming too, because he turned to her with a smile. She knew him in passing, but he was firmly under the wing of another equally capable eternal and he himself had proven on their brief interactions to be learning quickly and effectively. Acubens felt no need to pull him close and teach him.
“Acubens, right,” he asked, voice rolling off of his lips in waves. Acubens nodded with a warm smile and held out her hand. He took it firmly and formally. He respected her as a superior and the idea of it sent her reeling even now. She’d spent so much less time in the dark mirror court even as an eternal rather than someone who grew naturally within the court from basic. Learning to take it in stride was a process but she was learning.
“Fruitful night, I trust,” he asked, leading the way down a winding nature trail.
“I make it a point to be several days a head of my quota, actually. So everything else is just… icing on top.” He stopped and regarded her with eyebrows raised in his impress. She waved the expression away and went on, “I’m trying to work out my realm, but Mirrorspace has been… uncooperative.”
“Uncooperative?”
“Ahh well… you know how Mirrorspace can be. You were there for Altea, right?” He nodded. “Well, I think it’s hiccupping again. Have you been recently?”
“Yeah, I was just there last night.”
“And?”
“All’s normal. Well… as normal as it can be.” Acubens nodded her understanding, but she couldn’t stop the knitting of her eyebrows.
“Maybe you can describe what you mean by hiccupping?”
“Well it’s just… when I go into Mirrorspace I can get to the common room but… whenever I try and go somewhere else I get spat into this really strange room… it’s like… mirrored… I dunno.”
“Mirrored?”
“Yeah, like when you change something on one side it changes on the other. But I can’t get to the other side. There’s like this… barrier…”
“Anything else?”
“Nope… well… actually yes. There is this… are these… journals. The only things with color on them…”
“Well, then if you ask me, I think you should get your winged a** back into mirrorspace and try and figure out why it wants you in that room. It’s testing you, Acubens. I suggest you pass.”
Acubens stopped in that moment and regarded the young senshi in silence. He turned back to him, his lips cocked into a cheeky half-smile. She mirrored his expression and finally said, “your Eternal should be proud.”
“He is. Where are you going?”
“To do what you told me,” Acubens tossed over her shoulder as she began making a beeline for the closest mirror, “to pass the test I’m being given.”
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Posted: Wed Oct 24, 2018 11:11 am
Satisfaction Brought her Back
Word Count -- 1143
Acubens had gone directly from the super senshi who had given her such excellent advice to the nearest mirror and stomped right through it.
“Alright bitches,” she huffed, throwing open the door from the common room and stalking into the mirrored trap she’d been avoiding, “let’s ******** do this.”
Except for that, as per usual, Acubens had not planned beyond the initial steps. Now that she was here… she didn’t really know what to do. So instead of doing anything she just sort of… stood… there… doing nothing. And nothing happened while she was standing there. Nothing changed, the journals both sat passively on the table, and the reflective surface did nothing. Not even ripple. Which made Acubens’ temper spark to life.
She stalked over to the barrier, pressing her hands against it once before pushing. At first it was a light press, but quickly she began to apply pressure. Maybe she could press herself through it. If she just… pushed… dark enough. From the wrist up, she pushed, using her forearms, and then her biceps, and then her torso… soon she was on her toes, leaning into the barrier as hard as she could to try and pass herself through.
Through her groaning, Acubens could swear that Mirrorspace was laughing at her.
She finally pushed back off, huffing loose strands of hair away from her face. Okay, so brute force wasn’t going to work. Even when she punched the barrier, screaming in preparation and as a reaction to the pain that rocketed through her arm as a result, the barrier didn’t budge.
Rubbing her knuckles, Acubens began to pace like a trapped animal, casting withering looks at the barrier that didn’t even reflect her image back at her. She kicked debris out of her way with the toe of her shoes, tossing it this way and that. The fact that when she turned back to the barrier, the path that she had carved out had been reflected on the other side only made her even angrier. If the super from before was right, then this was a test… the only problem was that she didn’t even know what the questions were. And how could she answer questions that she didn’t know? What were the parameters? What were the variables.
Okay. Stop. Look around.
Acubens forced herself to still her itching legs and calm her live-wire nerves. Okay. There were parameters. There were always parameters. Acubens just had to figure them out.
So far she knew that she could only access half of the room. The half of the room that she could access was reflected on the other half of the room. The barrier in the middle was impenetrable. The fact that she wasn’t reflected in the barrier but the rest of the room was suggested that the barrier wasn’t an actual mirror, but something else. There was also at least one journal in this room. But none of that would really matter to her if there wasn’t the caveat that she couldn’t access any other parts of Mirrorspace for the time being.
What could she glean from all of that?
The barrier. It acted mostly like a mirror… maybe it acted enough like a mirror.
Preparing to mirror walk, Acubens tapped the surface of the barrier with her finger and watched it ripple with renewed determination. It rippled. He hadn’t been testing her brawn, it had been testing her mind. Smiling, Acubens walked through the barrier, the familiar feeling of cool water passing over her skin brightening her mood as she did so.
Until she opened her eyes and saw the foliage of the park.
The growl that ripped itself from her throat was absolutely toxic as she stalked back through the mirror, across the common room and into the mirrored trap.
Well fine. If she couldn’t beat it… she’d break it
“Velociraptor Endow!”
Except for that her magic failed to reach her. The familiar feeling of sparks along her nerves never reached her.
And that was her breaking point.
Acubens let out the most soul-rending scream that she could and began to pitch an all out tantrum. She kicked, she screamed, she threw things, she lost her absolute every loving mind.
Until she threw something at the barrier and it vanished. It just… disappeared. And it didn’t appear on the other side of the room. She tested the finding a few more times, lobbing books and pieces of furniture at varying speeds. Slower projectiles bounced off again. Faster ones passed right through. But what was fast enough? Was Acubens fast enough? She grabbed the journal off of the table, just in case something happened, and started to test her theory.
One test proved that she wasn’t, and she cursed again, this time nursing a blood nose.
A little faster.
Acubens crouched into a starting position, on hand braced on the ground and called out the name of her basic attack.
“Velociraptor Dash!”
Just like with her eternal attack, nothing happened. The magic did not reach her. Well then was there even a point to trying her super attack? If the magic didn’t reach her then, what was to say that it would reach her with this attack?
But she also couldn’t just not try it.
She took the starting position again and called, “Velociraptor Agility!” This time something did happen. Magic showered down upon her, fixing itself to her legs and sending her rocketing into the barrier. For a brief moment Acubens thought this had been a mistake. She had miscalculated. She was going to slam into the barrier and break everything.
When she stopped and no collision happened, Acubens opened her eyes. She was in a different space now, a totally empty room. Or rather it would have been empty if it hadn’t been for the debris that she had tossed through the barrier. Books and shards of wood littered the ground, proving that she had made it through the barrier.
And on the wall she had just come through, atop a table shaped like a half-circle, next to a glass vase, was the twin to the journal that she had under her arm.
As soon as she picked the journal up, the feeling that something had been pushed out of balance lifted and so did the illusion. When Acubens looked back up, she was back in the mirrored room, except for that the whole room consisted of a single half. The middle line became a solid wall.
Click
Behind her, the door finally, finally clicked open and Acubens took the opportunity to run from the room into the blessedly blank halls of mirrorspace.
Of course now she had a whole new mystery to solve: what had she found?
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Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2018 10:00 am
Investigative JournalismWord Count -- 1093
So Mirrorspace had spat up a pair of journals for Acubens recently, and while she was ever so grateful for the gift, it wasn't the one that she had been looking for. Mirroscape still called to her and it broke her heart that she could not answer that call at the moment. She had nothing to offer it. And it was endlessly aggravating that mirrorspace refused to give her what she needed in order to make an offering.
All in all, it seemed like things were conspiring against her.
Which was what brought Acubens to Mirrorspace today. She'd done a little fiddling with her journals, though for the time being they stayed in subspace. Once she had the church up and running she'd delve into it in earnest... she just didn't have the time for anything but this right now. This endless search for crystals that she might not even find at all, really. Maybe there was a specific amount of crystals that she was allowed and she had used up her allotted set. That didn't... really sound right, since the plot of Realm she had been given was so very big and the hill she had created was so very small. There had to be more that she needed to discover. Maybe Mirrorspace had just prioritized the journals over crystals, and now that she had them, it would offer up what she was looking for now.
That had to have been it.
Acubens hoped that was it.
The sounds of her heels clicked in the halls of the ever-changing ever-empty space they occupied. She rather liked the sound... it made her feel powerful.
Like the Head b***h in Charge... maybe someday. But she still had a long way to go before she was "grown up" in the Mirror's eyes. But it thought her worthy of the journals and for that she was grateful.
Speaking of which...
Acubens pulled the pair out of subspace and inspected them again. They were about the size of a heft anthology. They had weight in her hands. The covers were smooth leather inlaid with delicate gold filigree. The pages were white and crisp and perfect... begging to be written in. Well... she supposed that she ought to do just that, huh? After all, they were journals, right? And they were better quality than her ratted out old composition notebook. May as well transfer the information over.
Acubens turned into the first room she came upon next and set to tidying up, as was her habit when she planned to set up shop for a decent amount of time.
She set the books back into bookshelves, righted tables and chairs, and propped up fallen pictures frames as best she could. This room might have been a parlor, she supposed, with overstuffed white couches in the middle of the room, a cold stone fireplace, and a coffee table between the two seats.
The aligned the couches with one another and kicked the rug beneath them flat.
The mantle had a little glass vase on it, and she picked it up from its side and blew the white dust from its surface.
Now she could get to work.
Acubens sat herself down at the coffee table, kicking off her shoes so that she could tuck her legs up under her. Against her back was the solid front of the couch. Carefully, Acubens peeled open the long-worn composition notebook and began copying what she had so far into the first journal.
Quote: The First Brood. The first to be turned by Queen Ares were Leto, Gaia, and Requiem. Leto is the last active member from the First Brood and shares leadership of the Court as Princess Leto with Prince Remarque. Queen Ares: Formerly a White Moon Senshi of the Blood Moon Court, a group of senshi dedicated to protecting the earth of chaos at all costs. Not much is currently known about how or why she became a Dark Mirror Queen, but when she did, the Dark Mirror Court was born. Currently missing. Whereabouts Unknown. Princess Leto: Formerly a White Moon Senshi of the Blood Moon Court. Followed Ares into the Mirror when she became queen. Sailor Gaia: Unknown Sailor Requiem: Unknown.
Maybe she should make one journal a historical account, and the other a practical manual. Yeah, that made sense. Acubens flipped her composition notebook to the first page about major responsibilities and then pulled the other journal closer to her. But when she opened to the first page... it wasn't clean.
Not at all. Scrawled across the page, in her own handwriting and word-for-word was what she had written in the previous journal. Acubens stared at the pages for a long moment before she carefully, slowly, continued her account in the first journal.
Quote: Other Members Involved: Hector, Aphrodite, Laocoon, Nehelenia, Zirconia, Alexandros The Parallels. Not much is known about the parallels at this time except for a few members and basic information about thier purposes. Nehelenia: Queen. Dead. Alexandros: Prince. Dead. Hector: Dead. Aphrodite: Comatosed.
Acubens watched in unabashed wonder as the words that she wrote in the first journal appeared in the second, as though being written by a ghostly hand.
She nearly called out. Her legs itched. Burned. She had to get up. But there was still one more test. Acubens pushed the first journal away from her and began to write in the second volume.
Quote: Current Leadership. Princess Leto: Senshi of Camouflage. Fought alongside Ares, still holds hope that she will return. A general of sorts, and always in the thick of battle. Excellent source of historical information, being part of the First Brood. Prince Remarque: Senshi of Puppets. Awakened into the Court after Ares left. trying to change the face of the Court into something more neutral. Explores Mirrorspace and the Homeworlds of White Moon Senshi. Excellent source of current information.
And just like before, the writing appeared on the opposite journal, in her exact handwriting, written the exact same way.
Acubens shot to her feet like a bullet fired from a pistol and began pacing.
The Mirror had noticed her efforts. It had noticed what she was trying to do and it had rewarded her with the means to do so more effectively. She could have sung, the feeling of fullness in her heart was so great.
And behind her, something small fell from the sky and landed with a soft tink against the floor. Aucbens turned to be greeted by a crystal the color of grass lying on the white floors.
"Thanks..."
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Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2018 10:23 am
Putting Down Roots
Word Count -- 762
Once Acubens had been granted her third crystal, she ran directly to her realm and crushed it around the parameter of the hill that she had created before.
Now, about twelve feet from the perfectly circular hill, Acubens had created another large circle of perfectly green land. There was just enough space for a 10 foot by 20-foot bed of soil... and Acubens was sure as s**t going to use that land for growing things if she could. The only question was if it was even possible. For living things to take root, the soil needs to be, itself, living. Microbiomes need to be in place, acidity levels have to be right, light exposure and moisture levels need to be carefully monitored.
For the last few days, Acubens had been doing similar things back home, tilling up the sod behind the now completed church and getting them ready for the seedlings that she had started in the late winter. Because of this, it was really no trouble, once she got the wall of mirrors at the back of the storage space set up, to start bringing equipment through to her realm to begin working. She didn't need a sod cutter it would seem, so the tiller ripped through the grass and exposed the rich soil beneath in a matter of seconds. After that she tested the pH of the soil, finding it to be rather neutral in nature. This could be easily fixed, however, coffee grounds if she needed more acidity or wood ash for less. It retained moisture much the same way soil would as well. In all cases, it seemed like the earth that a green crystal produced was exactly that. Rich, fertile, wonderful earth.
So she tilled it. Carefully she raked in pulverized eggshells and compost from her own kitchen, hauled in a bucket after bucket of water -- Acubens would need to find a way to create a well on this Realm for sure, this was exhausting. But it was worth it, watching the color grow even richer as it soaked up water. She'd get some fences for these plots too. There wasn't really a reason -- there were no animals around to try and nibble away her precious plants but she liked the look all the same. She could even mount window boxes on the fences and add even more color.
Sweat began to bead on her forehead from her work and slide down her back.
Could she make it cooler here? Was there a crystal for that too? She supposed for colder weather plants she could bring out a greenhouse kit and hook up a portable air conditioning unit. She'd need a generator for that. Which meant lost of gas. Was it going to be worth it? What if Acubens was putting all this effort into her Realm and she wouldn't even be able to cultivate it?
Nothing ventured, though?
Acubens scraped the rake across the earth one last time and noticed something beneath the soil. Strange... had she dropped something in there? She stooped to pull it from the loamy bed and gently brushed the dirt from its surface. IT was cool and hard, like glass. And as she cleaned it with her fingertips, she recognized the colors. Violet facets which reflected the light in tones of magenta.
Just when she thought Mirrorscape was out of surprises...
She held the gem up to the light and inspected it further. It didn't seem to be reacting to Mirrorscape the way the other crystals did...
Acubens set her rake down and wandered back over to the center of her Realm.
If she tried anything from now on, it was in the center. Could she crush it same as the others? She pressed firmly, watching was the solid gem turned to dust in her fingers and showered to the ground in glitter.
There was a moment when nothing happened.
And then, from the ground, Acubens watched as little green sprouts began to push their way to the surface. And then they grew. Saplings at first, twisting together to make a kind of woven trunk that grew and grew until it was the size of a mature oak tree. Acubens recognized this tree, from long ago when she visited a home that she did not know under a starlit sky...
Acubens failed to stop the flow of tears and she stood to stare at what she had created for a long time before she finally retreated back to her plot of land with a smile that could light up the night.
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Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2019 12:44 am
Church Solo 1
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Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2019 12:44 am
Church Solo 2
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Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2019 12:45 am
What Have You Done?
Word Count -- 867
Jett left the apartment with little flourish and nothing left to say. Rhona was left clutching the dish towel in her hands, twisting and balling it up as she had been for the whole conversation if only to give her hands something to do. The conversation echoed in her head, suddenly very empty and yet bursting at the seams. How could this happen? How could Jack have done something like this? How could she not have known -- not have sensed that he was capable of this.
How long had passed with Rhona standing in her kitchen, twisting and pulling on the same rag as she stared at the spot where Jett had been standing? How long since her world had come to a screeching halt? How long? How long? Moments? Seconds? Years? She felt weak suddenly like someone had taken the bones from her legs. She nearly fell when the door opened and closed with a barely audible sound.
She turned her head then, the motion causing her vision to swim and tilt. If Jack noticed her standing in the kitchen, then he said nothing. It wasn’t terribly odd, the sight of Rhona standing silent in the kitchen as she took stock of what she needed to do. Maybe that was what he thought. Maybe that’s why he was moving away from her.
“Jack,” her voice was weak and sounded odd in her ears, as though it were someone else's. The young man stopped in his tracks, not looking back at her, but no longer retreating to his room.
“Jack, can you come here please?”
At first, Rhona was worried that he wouldn’t meet her, he stood still in that hallway for so long. But finally he turned, his head down, and Rhona knew that he knew what she had been told. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized that she’d been hoping, somewhere in the chaos of her mind, that Jett had been wrong. That Jack hadn’t done something so despicable, so vile, so truly evil. She had wanted him to turn around and ask what was wrong, take her face in his hands and assure her with everything in his being that he would never ever ever do something like this to another person.
But he didn’t. He slumped over to Rhona and she shattered. She shattered with a cry that threatened to break her. She didn’t know what she said, but she knew that it was hurtful. She knew that it was unkind and unfair. But she couldn’t hold it in. She wouldn’t hold it in. For all of the pain that he caused her. All of the trying and failing to reach him. All of the wanting so badly to help him heal and him pushing her away. Everything she’d said to Faustite, a young man who needed humanity more than anything, on behalf of Jack. All of that hurt and suffering and he hadn’t bothered to tell her that he had…
He had…
Rhona wanted to hurt Jack. Not just with her words, but with her hands. She wanted to hit him, push him, choke him. She wanted to make him feel on his flesh what she had felt deep in her soul thinking that he was a poor tormented victim all this time.
“Get out,” she finally shrieked. “Get out of my home and don’t you ever set foot in here again. You have a bed at Romano’s, and that’s where you’ll stay.”
And he did. The meager belongings that Jack kept at her apartment were packed and taken away within the hour while Rhona sobbed at the sink. She didn’t look up at him, not once, afraid that if she did she’d say something that she’d regret. It was only when the door closed and locked behind Jack that Rhona finally let herself go. Really let herself go. Her sobs turned into wails of torment, racking her body from crown to toes. She doubled over with the force of her grief, falling to her knees a moment later. How long was she weeping on the floor? And hour? Two? Long enough to darkness to fall and night to creep into her apartment, suddenly colder now for what had transpired within.
Just as Rhona Lee would never know how long she wept in that cold darkness, she will never know what spurred her on next. And she will never know when she picked up the meat tenderizer from the counter. All she knew was that one moment she was curled up pathetically on the floor, and the next her hand had been cut up from the shrapnel of the shattered mirror. She didn’t stop to care for herself. Once that mirror was shattered, she moved to the next. And the next. And the next. No matter or large or small, she shattered them, right down to the little compact mirrors on her eyeshadows. Sinope would not see her, through any mirror. Not without her consent.
And with that job done, Rhona sank, once more, to the floor, her back against a wall. She slept there, fitfully and plagued with nightmares amid a sea of broken glass.
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Posted: Fri Mar 29, 2019 6:40 am
Jack-o-Lantern
Word Count -- 650
Rhona hadn’t ordered anything… or at least she didn’t think that she had. Searching back through her week, she hadn’t actually spent all the much money at all, much less online. And yet here this little package was, sitting in her mailbox, perfectly wrapped and tied. Maybe Lavender had ordered her something? It would be just like her to surprise Rhona like this, so she tore into the package on her way up the step to her apartment, searching for a note.
Nothing.
There was, however, a sweet little ceramic jack o lantern smiling up at her accompanied by a note. An invitation of sorts.
Perniciousa...
The name rang a bell somewhere in the back of Rhona’s mind, but it took her a moment to latch on to something. Even then, it was a tenuous grasp a best, and she wasn’t even sure she hadn’t manufactured the memory of the little boutique on the outskirts of town. It also wasn’t uncommon, of course, for Rhona to forget things. It was possible that she passed it on one of her patrols and had only barely registered it.
But the jack o lantern was sweet looking and she had to give the store props for advertising. The bauble didn’t look cheap, and she couldn’t have been the only one to receive one.
“Look Alois, a new friend!”
The black kitten, quickly growing in a warm home with reliable food, sniffed the jack o lantern with narrowed yellow eyes, yawned, and curled up in the sunlight of Rhona’s bay window. She laughed, gave her his an affectionate scratch, and said, “I think you’re right. He’ll be very happy right here.” And she placed him in the soil of a succulent garden populated by cacti so dark they nearly seemed black.
“Yes. He looks very much at home there, don’t you think?”
The tomkitten didn’t even swivel his ear towards Rhona as she spoke. He never did listen to her, and not for the first time Rhona wondered if he really liked her or if he was just using her for three hots and a cot.
Speaking of which, it was getting to be time to feed them both, Rhona supposed. She had some left overs for herself, and Alois didn’t eat anything that didn’t have tuna mixed in so she set about heating things up and setting the table for them both. Normally they both ate at the same time, Alois sitting on the table while he ate. He was up and ready before his plate hit the surface, but this time he wasn’t. Rhona glanced over at the living room and he was still on the window bench, just not asleep like he usually was.
No, he was investigating. He seemed to be sniffing around the succulents, occasionally mouthing one of them. Odd, since Alois hadn’t shown them any interest until that moment. He raised one paw to bat at a wazy little leaf and Rhona rose, chiding him for trying to ruin her succulent garden. He was unphased, and leaned in to chew on something.
Except for when Rhona got to the pot, she realized that it wasn’t the succulent at all that had Alois’ attention. His tiny little teeth were gnawing against the ceramic stem of the little pumpkin that she’d gotten in the mail.
“Oh, so the one time you show interest in anything that I have it’s this. Come on kid. Let’s eat dinner.”
She lifted him up, the tiny kitten squeaking in protest, and brought him over to the table, where he refused to stay. Instead he ignored his food and hopped down, returning to the little decoration to investigate.
“Fine, starve then.”
And it wasn’t until that night, when Rhona was already half asleep in bed, that Alois left the jack o lantern alone and took his place at the foot on her bed.
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Posted: Fri Mar 29, 2019 6:41 am
Pernic Solo 1
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Posted: Fri Mar 29, 2019 6:41 am
Pernic Solo 2
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Posted: Fri Mar 29, 2019 6:42 am
Forget-Me-NotWord Count -- 1143
Quote: The Holidays are supposed to be a time for cheer, and yet there's something strangely dismal about tonight. You're out by yourself and you pass by a building completely coated in a strange sheet of ice. When you catch your reflection, you're trapped reliving your loneliest moment. The illusion can last for as long or short a time as you like, but the hollow sensation lingers even after the memory fades. What memory did you find yourself reliving and, now that it's over, what are you going to do to shake this mood?
Rhona had intended to get everything before Lavender came over for mulled wine and Hallmark Christmas movies, but inevitably, despite her best efforts, she had forgotten something. And not just anything, like cinnamon or orange peel which she could arguably work without. She had forgotten the damn wine. Rhona was gathering everything together in her kitchen and had heaved the longest, heaviest, most put-upon sigh in the history of mankind when she realized what she had done.
Okay.
Fine.
Rhona clearly had no choice but to bundle herself up and head back into the dark and frozen night. The thought hollowed out a pit in her stomach and poisoned her mood pretty thoroughly... she'd need to perk back up before Lavender got there.
Hey babe, I'm going to have to postpone the meeting time about half an hour, I forgot the damn wine. xoxoxo Rhona.
The night was black and achingly frozen, causing Rhona to retreat back into her coat and scarf for shelter and warmth. It irritated her further, with her seasonal affective disorder already in full swing despite her sunning herself under those fancy lightbulbs that are supposed to emulate sunlight. How long had it been since she had seen the sun? Three days? Four? Clouds hung in dreary overcast day after day after day sinking Rhona further and further into desolation despite her best efforts.
No, she thought. Lavender is coming over soon. We're going to watch Hallmark movies and drink mulled wine and maybe make out and if I play my cards right she'll spend the night. But she won't want to do any of that if I'm in a piss poor mood.
Maybe the stroe she was going to would have a treat for her too. Something she could munch on while she walked home...
Motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Right away Rhona assumed the worst and began to reach into her pocket for her henshin pen and whirled around to be met face to face with -- herself. The tension melted away from her body as she realized that she was looking at her own reflection, and awe soon rolled in to take its place. It wasn't just a reflective window... the whole building was coated in ice. A small sound of surprise escaped Rhona's lips as she reached out to touch the surface of the building as though to make sure it was real.
And then the wonder turned to horror as the reflection of her surroundings melted away and shifted into something else. A parlor with soft, fashionable window treatments, hardwood floors, and a calming grey and pastel blue color scheme. A funeral parlor. Her funeral parlor.
Rhona's heart froze and hit the ground with what she swore was an audible sound. She felt sick all of the sudden, and the world began to spin and tilt dizzily. She hadn't thought about this day in so long... not because she had tried to bury it, it was just that she had so much going on...
The door on the left wall opened with a soft click and a remembered version of Rhona, still feeling out the boundaries of her new body, entered the room and halted suddenly when she saw the casket sitting under the picture window on the wall opposite where Rhona -- the real Rhona -- was standing. Rhona could remember this moment as clearly as if it was yesterday. In her mind, that pause had lasted hours, but watching it now, she had only stood still for a second or two before she approached the coffin hesitantly.
Don't open it.
Memory-Rhona's hand reached out, shaking visibly, and touched the top of the coffin. She was standing there, the body of the girl they were going to bury, and so she knew there would be nothing in that coffin. Yet she still lifted the lid. Looking back, Rhona still didn't know why she did it, but she did. And Rhona watched as her memory's version of herself did the same and then paled as she looked within. From her angle, and the way Memory-Rhona was positioned, the real Rhona couldn't see what was inside, but she knew.
Sand bags.
She had left her family no body to bury, so they had to have a closed casket and weigh it down so that it didn't feel so empty when the pallbearers carried it away.
The door opened again and Memory-Rhona dropped the lid in her shock. Standing in the doorway was a woman with dark hair curling in waves around her shoulders, a man t her shoulder with hair that matched Rhona's, and a young man who could have been her reflection. Rhona's breathing hitched in her throat an instant before a sob tore itself out of her. The sob turned into a cry and that cry lasted longer than she thought she was capable of carrying a single note. She felt the ground beneath her knees before she registered that she had fallen to them.
"Excuse me," came the woman's voice. Memory-Rhona looked rooted to the place she stood and gaped.
"Excuse me what are you doing here?"
Her voice sounded harsher than Rhona remembered. Memory-Rhona stammered and grasped for an answer before she finally choked out, "I-I-I think... lost... I thought... someone else..."
"Young lady, you have the wrong place. We are here to bury my daughter," the word tore itself painfully from Rhona's mother and slammed itself into Rhona it enough force to cause her to curl in on herself. "I don't know who you are looking for, but they aren't here."
Mrs. Driscoll blew past Memory-Rhona and rested a hand weakly on the lid of the casket with almost reverent hesitation. She began to shake as she stood there, with her back to Memory-Rhona, but from her current angle, the real Rhona could see her mother's face crumble and twist with grief that she could never have fathomed had she not seen it for herself. Rhona remembered thinking that it was anger that made her former mother shake like that... shame washed over her with the new realization.
Finally whatever it was that rooted Memory-Rhona to the spot released her and she stumbled away, pushing past the man who had once been her father and her former twin. Marcus Driscoll glanced back at her and then went to his wife who whirled around and began to sob into his chest but Misha... Misha turned to watch Rhona go and held that line of sight. His face was blank, but Rhona knew from the look in his eyes that he knew.
The vision shimmered on the screen and faded, leaving Rhona cold, alone, and hollow while she sobbed brokenly in the snow.
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Posted: Mon Mar 16, 2020 4:18 pm
Seems Like It's Been Forever
Word Count -- 3031
Misha had gone away for college and then some. With Micah vanishing off the face of the earth, her body never found… the funeral… and then his parent’s divorce… he needed out. Out of the apartment he was supposed to have shared with Micah, out of Destiny City, out of his family, out of his old life. Halfway across the country, he’d gotten his degree in civil engineering, and now despite everything he was back. His old haunts still looked the same, felt the same, smelled the same. He almost felt like he was back at home.
Almost.
26 years and he had envisioned his life being so much different. Married by now probably. Raising little terrors alongside his sister. A big family of redheads. Micah at night off fighting bad guys or whatever it is she did when she went out dressed up like a superhero. He’d have taught her spouse how to dress her wounds and not ask where they came from because they’d never get a real answer.
Or maybe she’d have laid down her mantle by now. Ten years was long enough to be fighting, and there had to be others who could pick up where she left off, right? Maybe she’d have a protege who could carry on her legacy. Maybe he’d have known the kid. Maybe they doubled as a babysitter and Micah fixed them all family dinners. The kid, him, his family all along side Micah and hers.
A whole life for his sister sprawled out before him, semi opaque and foggy. A life he’d never know. A life cut short.
“Sir, are you alright?”
Misha looked up to the woman standing behind the register, and then down to the tearstained surface of the counter between them. He touched his face as though he wasn’t certain what was happening to him and then, just as quickly as the tears had started, he wiped them away, cleared his throat, and muttered, “allergies,” before continuing to order.
Rhona didn’t look up from her laptop when the bakery door’s bell rang. Honestly, she hadn’t even really heard it. Numbers scrolled before her eyes, intakes and outgoing expenses flashed and shifted as she calculated this month’s earnings for The Farmer’s Daughter. The mug of steaming black coffee sat poised at her lips as it had been for the last several minutes, but she had yet to drink.
She only looked up when a concerned voice cut through the haze of her concentration. She looked up, no other muscle in her body moving, to gauge the situation and see if she needed to get involved or get out.
And then her heart stopped.
For a moment Rhona didn’t know who she was looking at, only that she knew him. Red mop atop a slender face dusted with freckles. Black button down shirt, red tie, and immaculate jeans. Shiny black shoes. His voice was deeper than she remembered --
Than she remembered?
Misha
The lump which hadn’t plagued Rhona in years lodged itself in her throat as her mind fought itself to keep memories that had no place in her new life down. Bullies in the schoolyard under Misha's feet. Micah’s first fight for her brother’s honor. Playdates with other kids at their house. Bickering with loud voices and making back up with tears. Lazy snow days. A trial Micha would fail. Her sins and the tragedy of her life slammed against her all at once.
The mug of coffee slipped from her hand and splattered against her laptop. She cursed loudly and leaped to her feet, jeans already soaked and apologized as she tried to salvage her coffee-logged laptop.
Misha had already accepted his scone when the woman in the corner whom he had not noticed at first cursed and began fussing with her laptop. For a moment, his heart broke. No. Broke was too trite a word. It shattered. It was pulverized in his chest. Frozen to an icy star lodged deep in his chest, one that he thought had died long ago.
And then, a moment later, when green eyes locked on his, the feeling passed him over, leaving him hollow and embarrassed. Of course, that wasn’t Micah. Micah, for all intents and purposes, was dead. He’d attended her funeral. Carried his father away from her tombstone. Watched his mother waste away without her.
“Ah, sorry,” he muttered, ducking his head down when he realized that he’d been caught staring. “I thought… it doesn’t matter.”
He left the shop as quickly as he could and took off from there, going who knew where. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Away from the hollow feeling in his chest. That familiar feeling from years ago. Whenever he turned a corner and she wasn’t there. Whenever he saw red hair and it wasn’t hers. That hollow feeling like she’d died all over again.
Unseasonably warm air hit him in the face, but that wasn’t why he was sweating.
Once he was moving, Misha couldn’t seem to stop his legs. They moved of their own accord, something Micah used to talk endlessly about near the end.
Near the end.
She was dead. She had to be.
And the woman in the bakery was just…
Was just…
Rhona flapped at the attendant trying to help her. Really, she was just doing her job, but Rhona didn’t give two ******** about her laptop. Couldn’t give them if she tried. It wasn’t until she trashed the damned thing and tossed a twenty on the table to pay for the cup she’d smashed that she finally got the poor girl off of her and was able to chase after Misha.
They locked eyes for a moment. Only a moment. But Rhona could swear that he knew who she was even if it was only for a second. Maybe longer. Maybe he still knew her, even though he also knew that was impossible.
The sane thing to do would have been to let him go. To allow Misha to slip back out of her life and on his way and let them both reheal from the sudden reunion…
But this was Rhona.
She dashed out of the bakery in time to see her brother -- her brother -- rounding the corner. She wanted to call out to him but her voice caught in her throat. Instead, all she could do was all that she was ever able to do. She followed her feet.
You’ve got a good pair of legs Micah. Use them.
Where was he going? Rhona felt like she knew the way, like retracing steps in a dream, but there was no concrete idea of his trajectory. And he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Even though Rhona was tossing apologies over her shoulder as she body checked people, Misha seemed to be avoiding them without issue.
It wasn’t until tall iron gates loomed overhead that she was suddenly very aware of where Misha was headed.
Micah’s grave hadn’t been cleaned, it looked like, in years. How long ago had mom and dad moved away? Three? Four years? It wasn’t long after Micah’s funeral. Not that Misha could blame them… but that didn’t stop the surge of anger as he brushed leaves away from the headstone and tossed the long-dead flowers away. He should have stopped and gotten more.
There was a lot he should have done.
He should have bothered Micah more to get her to open up to him. He should have forced her into therapy if she wouldn’t. He should have made her take a year off to recenter herself. He should have… he should have…
He should have done something. He was supposed to have been her big brother, and he hadn’t done anything. She was falling apart and he didn’t do a damned ******** thing to help her. Nevermind that he didn’t even know where to begin helping her. Nevermind that he hadn’t the slightest idea what she was going through at the time. Never mind that, even if he did know what was happening, there probably wasn’t a damned thing he could have done.
He should have tried.
Micah Elizabeth Anne Driscol. Loving Daughter and Sister. May 9th 1993 - January 24 2014.
“I hate you.”
The word came unbidden to his lips, but there was nothing he could do to stop them. They came again and again, and Misha wasn’t even certain who he was talking to. Was he kicking the stone because he hated his sister for dying? Was he kicking the stone because he wanted to hurt himself? Was it just the only thing he could do now?
Questions to which he would never have answers as the kicks came harder and faster, one after the other until his foot was sore. And when he could no longer kick, Misha dropped to his hands and beat the stone with tightly curled fists, shouting his hateful mantra so loudly it tore his throat apart. He screamed and he screamed until the words lost meaning and the only sound he could muster was the wretched sobbing that sucked the wind from his lungs.
Why was she here? Rhona shouldn’t have even followed Misha. Should have picked up her s**t and left. Let Misha leave. Let them meet like ships passing in the night and then part ways without a word.
But she didn’t. And here she was at the cemetery she hadn’t been to in five years looking at a tombstone that bore a name that wasn’t hers anymore while the man that was her once-brother assaulted the stone and cursed her name.
And it hurt more than Rhona could bare.
Misha was always the strong one. The stoic one. The one who held things together. Near the end he had been the one who held her down. Hell, had Bischofite not gone out the way he had, Misha might have kept her… her… probably forever, just by virtue of being that rock steady man that he always was.
The lump in Rhona’s throat threatened to burst through her flesh. Her stomach was coiling in on itself and threatening to tear itself in two. Her nerves frayed and spat like they hadn’t done in years. She could feel herself slipping back into who she was. Back into Micah. Afraid and alone and helpless. Every cry her brother made. Every time his feet and fists hit the stone. Every time he broadcast his grief to the world Rhona felt herself breaking a little bit more.
She hadn’t felt herself move. Hadn’t officially planned to do so. And she certainly hadn’t intended to cry out for her brother, begging him to stop it, just stop it, Misha!
And it wasn’t until she was between him and the stone, clutching his bloody fists in her hands as she tried to kiss the blood away that she realized that she had done anything in the first place.
Things happened so fast. One second he was at his sister’s gave, and the next his hands were being held and kissed by the woman from the bakery. And his knuckles were bleeding. And she knew his name. How did they start bleeding? Why did she know his name? What had happened between his arrival and this moment that made his throat hurt so damned much? When had he started crying
“Wha…”
The girl bowed her head and that fleeting feeling of recognition returned.
Except that this time it didn’t go away.
She lifted green eyes to meet his and though her face was not the one he remembered -- not the one he saw in the mirror every damned day... he knew.
His mouth hung open as the woman sobbed, still kissing his wounds with blood stained lips, pleading with him by name to stop. He searched for words that would not come as his mind caught up with what his heart already knew. What it figured out in the bakery. What it probably already knew.
“Micah…”
Her old name. Said by an old voice. Rhona lifted her eyes to meet Misha’s, emboldened by his realization. She smiled, lips red and sticky with his injury, but she didn’t care.
“Misha,” she answered, reaching one hand out to touch Misha’s face. The face she used to share. The face she gave up. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His face felt hot from the exertion and his terrible grief. Grief that she had caused.
“Misha, I’m so sorry…”
How long had she longed to say those words? To touch this skin? To be here in this moment with him again like this. He didn’t flinch away, and Rhona took that as permission. She rose to meet him, forehead to forehead, and met his tears with his own while he started sentences in confusion and failed the finish them at all.
“It’s okay,” she kept cooing, rivers of her own emotion soaking her face, “it’s okay, I’m here. I’m right here.”
I’m right here…
Objectively, Misha understood what he was being told. And he knew who the woman before him was. But there was something keeping him going from knowing to understanding. And so he knelt there like an idiot, gaping at this woman was she took his face in her all-to-real hands and whispered reassurances to him in a voice he did not know.
How many sentences had he started and not finished? How did he even go about finishing them at all? What had he begun to say in the first place? Everything was too big. Too close. Too real. He shook his head, trying to lean away from the woman before him, as though that would move him away from her enough to allow for clear thinking.
“No.” It was the first coherent thing that he had been able to say. It cut through the haze of his panic and his grief and his disbelief.
And it stopped Micah.
He watched her for several stunned moment, her jaw hanging open in surprise that mirrored his own. Her face glistened. Her eyes were red.
“No,” he repeated, this time with more venom in his voice. Again and again he said this, his face twisted in anger.
“No, my sister is dead,” he said resolutely when cognition at last returned to him. “She died in a warehouse fire and we couldn’t find her body… we buried an empty casket…”
“No, Misha, I was there, you didn’t…”
“My sister is dead.” Still more power to his voice, and yet… no anger. Just desperation. Desperation and blinding sorrow. Her hands were still on his face, roving over his cheeks and brows, but they had gotten so hot. He grabbed her wrists, still so slender, and threw her arms away from him.
“My sister is dead, and that’s all that’s true as far as I’m concerned.”
He needed to leave. He needed to be anywhere but here. Back at the hotel, sure. Fine. Whatever.
He stumbled over a low grave, toppling backwards painfully but he never stopped backing away from her, as though turning away opened him up for attack.
Somewhere between then and the gate he broke into a run, and he didn’t stop until he got back to his hotel room. Once there, gasping for air, he realized that Micah hadn’t been chasing him.
And only then did he feel any real anger.
No.
The suddenness of the statement shocked Rhona into silence. She stared at her brother, slack-jawed. And then he said it again. And again. And then Rhona found herself echoing him, as though that would negate him. His expression twisted and Rhona’s crumbled. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening. She could find Misha again just to lose him. She had felt so whole. So perfect. So complete.
My sister is dead?
Oh, was that all? Rhona actually laughed, but it was a desperate and mirthless thing. That was all then? Rhona could clear that up in no time!
“No, Misha, I was there, you didn’t -- ”
“My sister is dead.”
No, he didn’t let her finish. He was still so scared and confused. Of course he was, how couldn’t he be? If Rhona could just get a word in edgewise, she could clear all of this up? She stroked his face, wiping tears from his cheeks and sweat from his brow, all the while trying to find a way to explain to him that she had been there the whole time.
Please just let me explain.
Let me explain.
Just let me…
Misha threw her hands off and it took her a long moment to realize what he had said. After that stunned moment, however, she went cold, like a bucket of ice had been dumped over her. She froze, letting her arms hang limp at her sides.
He rose and she watched him. He fell and she watched him. He ran from her and she still watched him. She watched him run out of the cemetery and down the road. She watched as he flew around corners, chest heaving, and crashed through the doors of some unknown hotel. Would he be packing his things now to flee the city? Would he take a taxi out of town that night or wait for the morning?
She shouldn’t have followed him. She should have let him slip back out of her life.
She should have let him go with the happy knowledge that he is alive at the very least.
She should have kept that close to her heart and gone home to Lavender and poured all of her sorrow out to her and been done with it.
She should have.
She should have…
She should…
She should go home. Rhona looked around her with bleary eyes. Night had fallen around her, draping the graves in velvet darkness while the grasses whispered around her. The blood on her lips had dried and begun to flake away.
Lavender was probably worried.
And so, like the day of her funeral, Rhona walked home with legs that she could not feel and a heart that felt too much.
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