Profane Comics: Dramatic Asides #1. Princess Things

Profane Comics-  Dramatic Asides

In which we learn about Amy's ability to talk to animals.

Now compare and contrast to Dr. Doolittle and turn in the 3-page essay to me by Friday.

What will the next dramatic aside be?

Profane Tales: Melancholy & Magic (part 2 of 2)

4-unicorn & siren
THE UNICORN found welcomed silence among the Fairy forest. He found a tree to lean against, for he was bone-weary and ready to sleep without waking.
Solitude was cut short by the sound of a woeful song. The voice was one the Unicorn thought he knew, female and too enchanting to be mortal. It may have worked to weary a mortal traveler into lying down to weep. But he was not mortal. Instead he was filled with curiosity.
"Your ha ho has. So full of joy.
words you pass make me a toy.
My wings are soaked,
my bones already dried.
So build you hungry fire.
So build it high.
Your painted lies, your this and thats

Your torchlight cries with sharpened flats
My wings are broken, so throw your spears
You delay my defeat
‘for cries are music to your ears."
A sob broke the ballad’s end and by then the Unicorn found the Siren beneath a tree, knees hugged to her chest. A veil half-concealed her countenance but he knew there was only one siren with a veil. That of their oracle.
"You sing when it does you no good, siren. Tamryn, dry your ears and fly from this world. It is not for you. You are demon and they are fae."
"I belong in no world now. I am the last of my kind," she sighed and lowered her head, dark hair falling in a curtain.
The Unicorn saw no wings but he knew it was an illusion to make her seem harmless. He kept his distance, for though they dined on men, sirens were unpredictable.
"If you are the last then a decision should be made whether you wish to perish or live on. Action must be taken. Passivity is nothing and will lead to nothing."
"And so you are here to mock me, too?" the Siren asked.
"I find few things funny, Siren. Our melancholy is as one. They have all broken my horn."
This captured the creature's ear and she lifted her head. "I see your horn, Unicorn."
"And I still see your wings beneath the glamor."
There was a faint smile behind the veil. "We are of opposing natures. You protect innocence and purity."
"Sirens eat the tempted mortal. I do not see how this makes us very different."
"I..." she told him with a sharp gesture "eat virgins."
"I see." The Unicorn lowered his horn. It was not something he wished to do, to slay this pitiful creature. Likewise, she rose to his challenge. As his horn let out a ghostly light, her disguise as an ordinary woman melted. She spread her arms, her veil going black and feathers appearing where her white dress had been. Great, magnificent black wings unfolded before the Unicorn and where had sat a demur creature a fearsome Siren with midnight-black wings awaited the white creature's next move.
The Unicorn backed. "I do not wish to fight you."
"I do not wish to fight you," the Siren returned.
"Lower your wings and I shall lower my horn."
The Siren was afraid, this was clear in the way her feathers ruffled. But she lowered her wings. For this show of trust, the Unicorn lowered his horn. He also set his head down and began to walk away. The demoness followed, at first in silence but then "May I join you? I promise I will not touch you."
"Yes, you may come along. I am leaving this world. I must return to the mortal one, where demons and men have free reign."
"I must, too."
"Then walk by my side."
Tamryn obeyed. The veiled Siren walked with the unicorn, neither touching but each smiling slightly.

5-the Unicorn lives
IN THE mortal kingdom, the executioner still waited with an assembly of guards. All hung their head when they saw the white creature approaching. The Unicorn was luminous at night, like a beam of moonlight. His own head was not hung as low as earlier but he approached his certain death with a steady gaze.
"I had hoped...he would not come," spoke one man, echoing the thoughts of all.
Of all the heads hung, the executioner's was the heaviest. He was now to behead a unicorn.
The Unicorn knelt before the tree stump where he was to place his head. "I have known so much time that Death appears like dawn light and tomorrow sounds like Nothing."
A long silence stretched over them all as the unicorn offered his neck to cut.
But a voice glided through the quiet. It was a feminine voice, its words difficult to discern.
Yet the Unicorn knew enchantment when he heard it. Of all the men about to witness this execution, it was the executioner who stirred at the sound of the voice.
"She is calling me..." he whispered.
"Do not listen to it!" one of the men warned him.
"I have no choice..." he told the others. Then, with his axe in hand, he followed the voice. “It is the Angel of Death.
Deeper into the forest, the voice was singing. Beckoning the innocent and the pure to an embrace.

Only the bravest guards chased after him in an attempt to break his trance.

By the castle, the Unicorn stood. He had begun to trot into the forest after the Executioner. But fanfare announced the return of someone of the the princess Amethyst.

The Unicorn turned as lift of gloom could be seen on the way he ran. While the other men were discovering the Executioner's axe, the virgin and the Unicorn were reunited. Somewhere in the shadows of the forest, the siren watched, humming a merry tune.

poetry from "Shards" collection: Ballerina Music Box

I wanted to be that glass ballerina there,
In the music box, with real human hair.
She spins the moment you open up
and the notes sing us to sleep.
I could stand watch while you dream,
I remain on point  in case you should scream.
Awake at midnight when the shadows
flit across your room.

If I could be that toy
I could be your lullaby.
If I could be that dancer
You could never tell me goodbye.
I shall never judge
I shall never say a thing
And I have faith you will never
break me.

I wanted to be something with tiny gears
That you could turn on for your ears
Around bedtime when lullabies are crucial
For you to find your sleep.
I could stand watch while you dream,
I remain on point  in case you should scream.
Awake at midnight when the shadows
flit across your room.

If I could be yours
I could be your lullaby.
If I could be that dancer
Yours until you would find
Something new to love
Something new to keep
I always had faith  you would
break me.

Am I so easily discarded?
Am I so easily discarded?

ODE TO JOY: Part 1-2: Infant Sorrow

2.     Infant Sorrow

“LET ME die!” Bri screeched.

The pain racking her body was that of a thousand hells, pushing its way through her like a demon.

“Mrs. Hookwell, try to breathe,” came a voice.

“Don’t tell me to BREATHE!”

The midwife could be heard huffing as she dipped a rag into a bucket of cold water. It was slapped onto Bri’s head as her screams began to build again. She felt as though she were slowly being split in two by some monster that clawed out of her from the inside.

“Where is Orion!” she demanded. “Where is he?”

“We don’t want to bring him in here!”

“Yes I do! Where is my husband goddamn it! Where’s my muffin?”

Amidst the pain that lasted an eternity, Orion’s deep voice spoke to Bri, guiding her through it. The mid-wife did little but irritate her in her already sweating, writhing state. The blankets were soaked in her fluids and the stench of blood hung in the air.

A small panic budded in her heart and began to open wider.

Delirium set to its work in making the woman a fool. At forty-four, would she survive from this gift she had tried to give? Would the gift survive?

She felt her husband’s hand in her own, never moving or pulling from her sharp grip. Her nails dug into his flesh. She loosened the hold and she could hear him shift beside her, a hand on her head.

“Darling? Are you alright?”

“Is it over?”

“Yes. You don’t remember? We have a little girl.”

“Where are they taking it to, Orion?”

“Nowhere. She is in the room. They are cleaning her.”

“If I give her…” she spoke these words without knowing their meaning “If I give her to strangers how do I know they will love her?”

“What? Brigid, what are you talking about?” Orion asked.

“Her chances are better with someone else than with me…” she slurred.

“Brigid…”

“My lord,” the nursemaid’s voice arrived. “She’s delirious. Let us leave her to sleep.”

Bri was half aware that what she spoke made no sense. But the other half was lying on the bed of some cargo ship, surrounded by sailors and a few dark-skinned women. The smell of her own sweat and blood overwhelmed her. She buried her face into the pillow and passed off into another nightmare.

The dark-skinned women had helped her to birth that child. When they showed her the infant girl she believed its crying was grief. Grief in its first moments. She grieved being dropped into this world. The Indians could not make Bri nurse the baby for she feared it. She was only a girl of fourteen and this infant knew it. It resented her for this. It always would…

poetry: Nonus- "I used to be a bad man"

I used to be a bad man
Until they took my mind away
And now I am not accountable
This is what the doctors say.
One marvel they held from me
In my own time
Was that the heart may still beat
Without the mind.
And mine is surely lost
While the heart is on display
My chest gaping open,
All the rest in decay
Except for this evil thing,
destroying all in its way.

I have never been my master
I have never known liberty
From the chains of this monster
Inside of me
I have never opened my heart
To good and fruitful results
Only to blood
Pure as fetid mud.
And the irony, it is
I never knew of this
I never knew I had heart
Until I lost my mind....

And as it turns out
You can kill the mind quick,
And leave the heart beating.
Who would have guessed this?
And it becomes my fate
To wonder beneath
The dark waters I drowned
In the limbo where I bleed.
Every face laughs
There is the man with no mind.
I used to be a bad man
When I had the choice to find
The pathway between the two
And choose where good lies
But now I am a fool
Choice-less and blind.

I have never been my master
I have never known liberty
From the chains of this monster
Inside of me
I have never opened my heart
To good and fruitful results
Only to blood
Pure as black mud.
And the irony, it is
I never knew of this
I never knew I had heart
Until I lost my mind....

(c) 2012 Luz Briar.

poem: Maiden Leaves the Tower

Maiden Leaves the Tower

"I love you too much for you to know
I cut your tongue to save you from your stupid woes
I lock the tower for your own protection, waif.
The world would pluck your petals off
In games of chance and you will not
Survive the battery. Better you remain behind the gate."

I hear your voice in my ear
In empty rooms and dreams
I feel your dagger twist
And the shadows strike
My heart, they know
They know to catch the blood that drips

"Stupid Coward Child Foolish Traitor Vile Ungrateful Dumb wench.
Stupid Coward Child Foolish Traitor Vile Ungrateful Dumb wench.
Stupid Child!"

"Ungrateful wench, all I've fought for you
You owe me all and tears are due.
How dare you think love is unconditional;
I set the rules!
You signed a contract in your virgin blood
I stitched the wounds and cleaned the mud
Fashion a rope to leave
and you will meet the ugliness of the world!"

Lines of the contract read in my sleep
As I forget to laugh and live
I break into bite-sized bits
Sing to myself
I shall never be sane and fixed.

"Stupid Coward Child FoolishTraitor Vile Ungrateful Dumb wench.
Stupid Coward Child Foolish Traitor Vile Ungrateful Dumb wench.
Stupid Child!"

"You owe me, little girl
You owe me tears!
You owe me, little girl
Without me you are weak!
You owe me, little girl.
You think you can survive
without me, little girl?"

I hear my defeats so clear
In empty rooms and dreams
I feel your dagger twist
Shadows pick at scabs

"Stupid Coward Child Foolish Traitor Vile Ungrateful Dumb wench.
Stupid! Coward! Child! Foolish! TRAITOR! VILE! UNGRATEFUL! DUMB WENCH!
Stupid Child!"

...I hear your voice in my ear
In empty rooms and dreams
I hear your voice in my ear
In empty rooms and dreams
I hear your voice in my ear
In empty rooms  and dreams.
I hear your voice in my ear
In a empty rooms and screams!

poem: Strike Me (Fair-Weather)

Strike Me (Fair-Weather)

Strike me

I know it is your way to wound

In fair-weather

To hide your quiver

And in the downpour

To produce it and aim.

You beat your prey down to a pulp you can digest

Then spit it out…

Then wave the white flag…

Strike me

Fair-weather guardian

Tug the chain

To return me to your range.

But when the links break

And you lose your target, cry.

“Abandonment” in all its synonyms

You spit me out

You wave your flag

Strike me

How dare I escape the pain

I am a Coward!

How dare I hide from you

Or dare to seek shelter

From the maelstrom (Hell’s Wrath)

My soul is so colored from your attacks

It aches and trembles to touch.

You’ll spit out nothing now

And I will ignore your flag.

(c) 2011 Luz Briar.

short story- (2/2) Hallow's Eve

In the days of swing sets and monkey bars, Amelia hadn’t minded when Sarah snooped into her diaries. Those were the days when Amelia had been proud of Sarah, her prodigy kid-sister, the one who read at four levels above her classmates. It was before the pride gave way to lurking envy, and Amelia resented both her older and younger siblings for having the academic brains she did not. Perhaps, if Sarah had not insisted on correcting silly things Amelia uttered, if Derrick had been more gaurdian-like than brotherly, then perhaps Amelia would not have joined this parody of a “family.” A “family,” another name for a harem of cast-off girls and one very manipulative man.

Sarah could hardly absorb a word of her sister’s diary, as her mind raced. She would need to escape somehow. She turned to the window and then back at the latest entry of Amelia’s writings.

October 13- want to move back home. Hate to think about it. No privacy in this place and I miss school. Never thought I would feel that way. But we go for days without food. Yesterday Lili and I had to dig in the garbage for something to eat. Whenever I crash like this, it feels like the fall is longer and harder each time, and instead of growing up I burn out. What the hell is wrong with me?

October 14-he means well. It’s the tough period. Things will get better.

“Stupid,” Sarah mumbled to herself again.

What had she expected to read in the diary?

She imagined Willy, in the center of a dimly lit orgy on the bed before her. She envisioned her sister there, the center of Willy’s attention, and she could not help but bite her lip against the anger that arose.

If she was quiet, perhaps she could tiptoe out of the house, still in the guise of Yoda, and slip unseen into the night with Amelia’s diary in hand. Derrick had been right. Calling the cops would have been wiser, but what was Sarah supposed to have done in the meantime? Knit by Amelia’s bedside, waiting until the doctor’s declared she was legally a vegetable. Only the doctors would never declare such a thing, since Amelia, being only 20, wouldn’t have a living will.

A living will.

The knock on the door was light and even polite. But it startled Sarah nonetheless.

“Anyone in there?” A man’s soft voice called.

Sarah retreated behind the Yoda mask, as though it would shield her in any way.

“Come on, sweetheart. We just want to see who you are,” he called in a smooth northern accent. “We didn’t know we had a special guest.”

Her hand shaking, Sarah slipped her mask off and called out. Her first words to him were a lie, as she slipped the diary back beneath the bed mattress.

“I’m sorry,” she called out, this time feminizing her voice with ease. “I got lost.”

“It’s alright. Open the door and we’ll see what we can do,” Willy assured. The voice was like autumn wind, neither cold nor warm, simply a pleasant medium.

“You promise you won’t hurt me?” she spoke, simply the fill the silence, as she dug into her baggy jean pocket for the brass knuckles.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

“Mimi,” she lied again. “I’m scared.”

A female whispered something on the other side of the door, and Willy spoke again, “Listen, Mimi. It’s okay. Why don’t you just open the door and we’ll see what we can do, okay?”

Here was a moment where decision is nearly void. There was no way of running, and no other option available, so she slipped behind her mask again and unwound the door lock.

Willy stood there, three unkempt women at his side. Lili’s pale countenance was not among them. Two unfamiliar brunettes and one vaguely familiar blonde.

Willy was nearing Sarah before she realized it. Effortlessly, he backed her into a corner with no aggression, and pulled the mask from her face.

“Mimi, is it?” he smiled soothingly. His hand smoothed hair from her face. “How old are you, darling?”

“Thirteen,” Sarah wove one more lie, knowing she could pass as younger. “Please, my cell phone is dead. Can I call home?”

“Sure, in a minute,” his thumb barely touched her lips. The smell of sweat was all about him, and a gentle expression in his gleaming eyes. “How’d you end up here?”

“My friends and I were camping.”

“Yeah?” He turned, almost sassy, to the women in the doorway, “Dawny, I know why you thought she sounded like Amelia.”

Dawny, the busty beauty giggled.

“This is Amelia’s little sister. Sarah Hardgood, right?” he smiled back at her. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? Even prettier than Amelia.”

Mind-bendingly, Sarah’s eyes somehow were distracted from Willy’s, now focused on the blonde girl’s face.

“Kayla?” Sarah let her missing classmate’s name slip. So this is where 14-year-old Kayla Bender had disappeared to?

“You girls know each other?” Willy inquired, still gentle.

“She was in a grade above me,” Kayla answered.

“Hey, girls. Can I talk to Sarah alone for a minute?”

“Maybe she knows where Amelia ran away to!” Dawny smiled.

With brutal urgency, Willy shot this hopeful quip dead. “Go downstairs, Dawn.”

Sarah felt her own body trembling in protest, as the three witnesses left the scene. Willy smoothed Sarah’s bangs again. “Why are you here, Sarah? I mean, really.”

“I was curious to talk to you guys. I thought maybe…you’d…know who did this to her.”

“Right, okay. “ He nodded.

The blow that sent Sarah to the floor nearly blinded the left side of her face. For a moment, the world was nothing but lights. However, quickly the images reappeared to reveal a snarling visage of frustration and lust. Willy shook Sarah with violence. He was talking nonsense, blabbering as he shook her with his superior strength. With her right hand she struck out blindly, but the iron knuckles were useless in blank air. Then, before Willy could recognize the object Sarah jabbed him in the left eye so that, for a moment, she was loosed of his grip.

Fleeing downstairs, she collected her robes all around her, nearly tripping.

“Grab her! Don’t LET HER LEAVE!” Willy commanded.

It was Dawny who grabbed Sarah, with surprising strength for such a willowy girl. Soon the others joined in restraining Sarah. She kicked, for her hands were restrained.

“The little bitch split my eye open!” Willy growled, in the distance, getting too close.

“Let me go you, fuckheads!” Sarah yelled. “He’s a psycho! God!”

“Slut!” Willy’s fingers dug into the flesh of Sarah’s face. “Tie her up! There’s cable in the utility room! Tie her up!”

In retaliation, Willy poked Sarah in the eye, and in turn she snapped at his finger with her teeth, and succeeded in drawing blood.

“Shit! Bitch! That’s my fuckin’ FINGER!”

“Got the cable!” Lili’s voice sang. “Sit right here, sweetheart.” She patted a kitchen chair playfully. “It won’t hurt if you don’t struggle.”

“Fuck you! You do it, then! You twisted bitch!” Sarah was quickly silenced with another slap.

“Take this fucking thing from her!” Willy ripped the iron knuckles from Sarah’s small hands. As he stared down at it, and back at Sarah, she closed her eyes on instinct. But the heavy blow of metal never came.

“Just tie her up, Lili. Girls, come upstairs with me. I need to tell you why this bitch needs to go.”

“But isn’t she Amelia’s sister?” One of them asked.

“Yeah, she’s the reason Amelia left us.”

Sarah marveled, even as she was roughly bound to the kitchen chair. She marveled at these women and their apparent stupidity. She knew that a mind was an easy thing to lose, especially with the aid of drugs, but to this extent she had never suspected ever to witness.

Suddenly Willy stood before her, as she sat all too vulnerable before him. He knelt down and pried her legs open, and instinctually she kicked.

“I have a gun! I’ll shoot you in the spine, bitch! If you hit or kick or bite me one more time, I will snap your neck.” He turned to Lili, “You may want to gag her.”

He pulled from his pocket an elegant but fat knife, which he twirled before her eyes. His right eye leered at her, angry beside its swollen right sibling.

“Tie her legs like this!” Willy commanded, a glazed look in his eye.

Then it dawned on Sarah sharply, like a shattering chandelier on the crown of her head. “NO! Please!” she eyed the knife. “God, No!”

“Like I said,” Willy repeated, “Gag her. When I come back downstairs, we’ll finish this. It’ll be the big one, Lili. This one will be important.”

Sarah felt her breathing become shallow, and her heart race faster than its running limits would have allowed. The knife slipped gracefully back in his pocket and she begged again, “Please, Willy. Don’t. I’m begging you! I’ll do anything!” This was degradation, she thought. Being forced to say such things.

“He already explained things to me,” Lili chattered as Willy led the girls upstairs. “So I get the honor of playing bondage.”

“This isn’t bondage you batshit bitch! Please, let me go!” Sarah began to scream, in the pitch she knew to be her loudest. It was a pitch that demanded things in the past, and worked as a tactic. But today, a gag prevented that.

“Damn. I bet you’re a good singer, girl.”

Lili had already de-shrouded Sarah, leaving her exposed in her undershirt and jeans. She stood behind the chair, her forceful and feminine hands suddenly massaging Sarah’s shoulders. She ran her hands down Sarah’s side and slipped them into her pockets. The feel of nails against her thighs was oddly soothing and horribly unnerving. Lili was going for the phone. She pulled the box-shaped thing from the left pocket.

“Hello,,” Lili joked.

Sarah would have spit on her if she were not gagged with a dirty sock. The sock’s taste did not hint at hygienic use.

“Be right back, doll,” Lili leaned down, the resemblance to Amelia uncanny. She gently whispered in Sarah’s ear, “I’m gonna tell you a secret later, after all of this.”

Before leaving, Lili placed a chaste kiss on Sarah’s forehead and left the room, disappearing into the darkness of the hall.

For the longest period of her life, Sarah toiled to find a weakness in the bindings. Lili had not tied the chair exceedingly tight. If I could just close my legs! Just my legs. God.

She wished she had heeded Derryl’s cruel but true words. She wished she was goofing off with her boyfriend Julian, throwing tennis shoes over power lines and scaring cats with fireworks. She wished even that she was seated beside Amelia’s hospital bed, waiting in vain for her sister to open her blackened eyes.

As Willy and the girls reentered Sarah’s vision, it was apparent that they had recharged on whatever drug it was they were using. Willy managed a smile. Sarah closed her eyes and thought of strange things. That some ocean creatures could spill their insides. That birds find their way back to their flock. That Mary Magdalene was probably not a whore.

The minute Willy’s hand touched her thigh, Sarah could not remain aloof. She began squirming, cursing beneath her gag. Her rage grew with her fear, even as Willy unzipped her jeans.

“Willy, I don’t want you to go to jail,” Lili’s voice came from the den.

“Nobody will chase us for it, Lili. Don’t worry.”

“Actually, they will.”

The silence expanded from Lili to the whole house. Her green eyes were bloodshot, her eye shadow running. “The police are on their way. So, if you’re going to rape her you’d better be ready to fight in court.”

Willy placed his knife on the ground. He stood and stepped over to Lili. Fear was there in her face, but it was not the predominate expression. What was there, Sarah could not place.

Willy hit her with a ton of brute force and she went down. But she made no noise as she scrambled to her knees and peered up at him. “Can’t change it now. They’re on their way. They’ve been on their way for the past 15 minutes.”

The brute violence that Willy inflicted on Lili then was mind-numbing. Sarah cried out from behind her gag. Even one of the on looking girls yelled for him to stop kicking Lili in the stomach.

Lili rolled unto her back in defeat. She nearly laughed, but not quite. “I’m the one your friend saw at the police station the other day, not Amelia. You killed the wrong girl. Amelia still loved you.”

Willy brought his foot down on Lili’s face, spilling crimson down the porcelain white flesh.

“Are we in trouble, Willy?” Dawn asked.

Willy gave no answer, he simply drew out Sarah’s iron knuckles and brought them down on Lili’s face. Sarah could not see the details, but she could hear the damages, the repeated rhythmic blows to Lili’s face. However endless it seemed, it must have stopped, because now Willy’s hands were on her own face.

“Dawn, slit her throat!” he handed the knife over. “You need to stay here and finish the job! We’ll get you out of jail.”

“No! No! Willy, please!” Dawn took the handle obediently, but she was trembling. “Please don’t leave me! Do we really have to kill them!”

“You do, Dawn. Be a good girl and do it.” Willy seized the other two girl’s by their wrists and with that they were gone.

His sway over Dawn was eerie. She stood as though chained to the spot, knife in hand, staring at Sarah. She was weeping as she stepped forward, with a fatigued expression in her eye.

She’s done this kind of thing for him before, Sarah surmised.

She began to let her own tears fall, hoping to elicit pity from the female accomplice. The bleary-eyed girl wavered again.

“No!” she dropped the knife, “Willy! I don’t wanna go to jail!”

Of course, Willy had left, abandoning her here. She cried, fleeing the scene.

What had broken his sway over her, Sarah would not have time to contemplate. Now she sat bound to the kitchen chair, staring on the house’s other last inhabitant. Lili lay sprawled on the floor, her face turned mercilessly away from Sarah. They were the worst moments of her 15-year-old life.

Sarah trembled, but at least it was in the safety of a police car. The left door sat open, where the female officer stood to offer Sarah reassurance. She kept repeating that Sarah was going to be alright.

“Will Lili be alright?” she kept asking.

The only answer she ever received from the tired-looking cop was “She’s alive, honey.”

She had told them that everything in the house, from the bed sheets to Sarah’s sock gag would be drenched with Willy’s DNA. Furthermore, he most certainly had minors with him, whom he had sex with regularly.

“Sarah!” a harsh tone cried out through the mummer of the police force.

Derrick came staggering through the trees, frenzied and angry as always. Only this time he had his arms outstretched. Sarah ran to him, and buried her face in his shirt, to hide her deep sobs.

She could not speak for many hours after the police interview. As Derrick shook her leg, early November 2, she rolled over in bed. She didn’t ask why he was waking her at the crack of dawn, on a school day. She merely went to the restroom and stared for a long while at a candle she’d bought in early October. That had been so long ago.

She didn’t ask why Derrick took a turn into New Orleans, to navigate the cracking streets. She cared, but she hadn’t the energy to inquire. She merely watched the street trees go by until she felt nauseous.

Derrick parked near the hospital, took Sarah’s hand and led her to the garage elevators. She felt eleven years old again, walking with a teacher in a zoo. Only the zoo was a place where people went to die in relative comfort.

As they crossed a hallway, Nurse Bebone smiled their way. She complimented Sarah, “You look pretty today.”

She led Derrick and Sarah into the hospital room. “How are the peas, miss Hardgood.”

“Pretty good actually,” the patient answered in a monotone.

It took a moment for Sarah’s eyes to adjust to the image, of her sister’s battered face seeing her once again. One eye was swollen shut, perhaps permanently, but there was the large, healthy green one still moving, registering, living.

Neither spoke. Sarah embraced her sister so tightly that Amelia gasped. Amelia embraced her back, with a healthy amount of strength. The embrace was another of the longest moments in Sarah’s life.

“I thought you were dead,” Sarah sobbed.

“So did we,” the nurse chimed in.

Sarah clung tightly to her sister, refusing to let her go.
©2009-2011 Luz Briar.

Draining the Humor (6)- forbidden

6-forbidden

Orion was able to forgive Brigid for her unruliness at the opera. He also forgave Charles, who had not apologized formally, but whom he knew was like a leech for emotions. He had merely discovered a pet peeve of Bri’s and sought to exploit it for the emotional satisfaction of it. It was nothing personal.

But for Bri’s birthday, Charles, Lucy and their friend Amadeus were invited to tea. Orion felt his energy drain when he saw the couple in the parlor, chatting with his wife.

He stepped forward and kissed Lucy’s hand before he shook Charles’. The man’s grip was firm. He was recalling after the opera how Charles had insinuated Orion should visit him some time. His way was still seductive, even in his forties these days. He recalled years ago, at the tender age of eighteen, when he had fallen prey to the seduction. He knew better now.

Behind the couple, Amadeus was looking on like a guard. Orion smiled to him, despite his intimidating air and the German smiled back. He and the man had not spoken much during the opera, but at intermission they had a short exchange about Charles. He recalled Amadeus being straight-forward, but consoling in an odd way.

He means nothing by it, Amadeus assured Orion. He is an emotional leech. I know him well.

Amadeus was the godfather of Lucy and Charles’ daughter after all. The daughter…who had gone missing.

He shook the man’s hand, pushing the depression down. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Frunberg.”

“Pleasure, my lord.”

He noticed Amadeus’ package, tucked under a powerful arm.

“What have you got there? Is it for me…or my wife?”

The man’s blue eyes followed Orion’s gaze and he responded, “We have a gift for Brigid.”

“May I open it now!” she exclaimed.

The party moved to the drawing room where a pleasant conversation was led by Lucy. She took the reins socially, as usual. It was not quite evening yet, but it was Brigid’s celebration, so the wine was brought out early. The Arteberrys did not seem to mind, and that was likely light drinking for Charles. The sailor downed his glass in one gulp.

Orion noted a quiet change in Charles. Though he had always been sulky in moments of silence, there was now a true hint of melancholy.

When they moved on to board games and idle chitchat, Orion became more curious about Amadeus. He was a man of few words. He was a commoner, but his dignity spoke for itself. There seemed a laconic understanding between the two men. He even nodded to Orion when the conversation ran dry.

Brigid finally retrieved her gift from its package and pulled out a large porcelain doll. It was breathtaking.

“Oh…” she stared. “Where did you…?”

“It was a group effort,” Lucy cooed.

Before Bri could ask how, Charles jumped in, “Lucy caught it, I killed it and Amadeus stuffed it.”

“It looks hand-made,” Orion whispered, smiling at Charles’ joke.

“Amadeus makes dolls,” Charles spoke in earnest. “That’s his profession. Lucy sewed the clothes and I bought the materials. It was group effort.”

Bri embraced Lucy and thanked the two men.

“How long have you made dolls?” Orion asked Amadeus, almost whispering again.

“Say, since I was fifteen perhaps.”

***

By sundown, it seemed the three were going to disperse soon. Bri was still giddy with the idea of a real birthday party, Orion could tell. She had admitted to him last year that she was without a real her whole life. She scraped her way from the dirt in Indian to a dislocated British nurse, and raising herself a waif from orphanage to orphanage, Bri had never fit into upper society.

But the Arteberrys were delightfully offbeat and she was clearly fond of them. Even Charles.

Bri insisted they stay the night, rather than ride back to their estate in darkness. It worried Orion, as he met with Charles’ eyes shyly and he looked away. There was much he remembered about their mistake many years ago, that he did not wish to drag back into the light. There was much he admired about Charles; his bluntness, his bravery, his intelligence. But to dwell on them would mean he would succumb again. His heart was far too vulnerable.

As he walked the halls to his bedroom late that night, he and Charles’ paths crossed. It was inevitable, their shadows tangled. They eyed one another and Orion went to circle Charles but the older man caught his arm. When he was pressed against the wall by the sailor, he allowed it, savoring the force.

“Orion,” Charles whispered, “Does your wife need you in bed? Are you trying to procreate every week night? Because it is a Saturday, I’ll have you note.”

“We are doing what we can…she cannot begrudge me a night off I suppose…” Orion returned his playful tone.

“I think I know what you need, my lord.”

“What is that, Charles?” he asked, having forgotten how nice his aggression was.

Charles leaned in and whispered lewd things in Orion’s ear. He gulped and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. He scooted against the wall, feeling for the nearest door. Bri was right, he needed some kind of satisfaction. The tension was weighing on his physical form.

As Orion nearly fell back into the unlit guest room, with Charles still on him, he tried to catch his breath. Charles pushed him onto the nearest coach and began to seize control.

“How long has it been?”

“Years, Charles…” Orion spoke in between a kiss. “…since you and I…”

“Fucked. Say the word, love.”

But he could not bring himself to say the word. His mind kept racing to other things, as pleasant as the touching was, as enthralled with the idea he felt…he could not stop thinking about it.

The urgency seized them and they began to shed their clothing, bound toward the forbidden.

But Orion’s mind ran back to Lawrence and his promises. It ran back to his very first lover, the doctor who he refused to even speak with today. The broken vows, the false sense of security. The actual, physical pain when Orion was struck down. At fifteen years old, he had not been much of a match for a full grown man. Today, he could easily overcome someone. But he was still a child in those days…

“Orion,” Charles shook him beneath him. “Hello? Are you lost?”

He realized that Charles had been indulging but that he was far off, lost in the past. The memory of being slammed against the wall with strong hands around his throat.

Bloody, stupid spoiled sodomite!

He pushed Charles off, more roughly than he had intended. “I have to go…”

He closed his shirt and buttoned it, looking around frantically for any other clothing that had been tossed aside. The scant sunlight that peaked through the half-drawn curtain left things dark. Orion knelt on the floor, feeling.

“I see you have not changed much, my lord,” Charles quipped.

Orion seized his shoes and then looked at Charles’ in the half-light. “What are you implying?”

“You are as predictable as the weather in the year you were born,” Charles spat. His voice sounded metallic and distant. Charles was not rejected often, most likely. He was infamous for his sexual prowess.

He referred to 1816, the highlight of chaotic seasons. Very well. “Perhaps then you should find a lover who is more your temperament. For now I have to be alone…”

Running away again, Rion.

He groped for the bedroom door and flung it open. But before he left, he added, “By the way I was born in 1817, Charles.”

He rushed to his private chamber and threw his shoes aside. Where he sat, the very last of the daylight fell on him as he shielded his face in his hands. The warmth was retreating into the night. He tried with all his might to push the memories down. Shame, lies, his mother’s death, the madhouse.

The madhouse; he could not even reflect on that without screaming.

The bedroom door creaked open and small, shuffling footsteps introduced Brigid.

“Muffin…you hold too much in.”

“Brigid, I want to be alone right now.”

“What are you trying to prove, Orion? There’s nothing wrong with the way you are.”

“I did not say there was.”

“Then why not do what makes you feel good?” her voice was getting shrill, he could feel her prickling. He could also feel her assumptions and it pushed him.

“Brigid, you do not understand…”

He met her eyes so that she could see he was weeping. Perhaps then she would understand. When the woman saw his tears she frowned. It was hard to detect in the dark, but her eyes may be watering with his. Not even Brigid knew about the madhouse. Only the men who had thrown Orion there, in hopes that he would rot, knew he was a former Bedlamite.

“Talk to me, Orion…” she begged, her voice small.

“Later…” he promised.

He would tell her in time. But not tonight. Tonight he wanted all eyes off of him. He wanted to stay in the dark.

If there was a sound for resignation, he would have heard it when Bri hung her head and left her husband to dwell, battling the past.

© Luz Briar. All Rights Reserved.