Fall and Fire-Rain Drops

Something wet hit my head. I looked up at the sky as black clouds started rolling in. She was close, or back. I wasn't sure which one. It only rained when she was in the country, and it had been a long time since the skies last broke open. I pulled my hood up over my black hair and began jogging towards the village. By the time I reached it, the rain was pouring down so hard that I could hardly see ten feet in front of me.

Is that her? It can't be! I mean, it could be, but it can't be! It just started raining! 

She was small, like I remembered, just barely reaching up to my shoulder, and topped with the most beautiful brown hair that always seemed to be in just the right place. She was not as put together as she normally was, but that was understandable. She’d been gone a long time. 

What is she thinking in those clothes? She stands out too much! She should know better! And...what exactly is she wearing anyway?

She’d always stood out, but in a good way, but not like she was at the moment. I was not exactly sure what it was she was wearing, but the combination suited her. Her multicoloured pants were caked with mud, and the boots she was wearing were of a fashion he had never seen before. She looked like she had come from a different world, but that was ridiculous, and rather impossible.

I watched her for a moment to see where she would go.

Oh, no! Not in there! You know better, Fall! How am I supposed to get you out of there before somebody slips you something or recognizes you and calls the constable?

It was the local tavern, and the place was notorious for drugging the ale of pretty girls and forcing them into slavery. Her father had banned such places, but out in the very edges of the kingdom like they were, such places didn’t exactly shut down, and with the Nithardas running the country these days... well, let’s just say that they flourished under the rule of the usurpers.

I walked around the outside of the tavern until I spotted an open window. The stench of unwashed bodies and stale ale wafted out, and I'm not sure what was burning in the fire, but it sure wasn't wood. 

No wonder she chose a seat next to the opened the window.

The sight of the matron sent shivers up my spine. I had seen her before, several times, in the capital on market day recently. What she was selling, no upstanding man would buy.

The matron handed Fall a bowl of something that actually looked descent and a flagon of ale before doing a fat woman’s impression of scurrying off. I knew if I didn't let her eat it was going to be a long time before her next meal, but if she even touched the cup, I was picking her up and carrying her bodily out of there, too much attention or not. There was no way I was going to let her end up as a prostitute! Besides, it would give her time to warm up, and rest. She looked beat, and was going to need all the energy she could muster if we were going to get anywhere remotely away from this town before night.

A few minutes after she had finished eating, the front door of the establishment flew open, crashing against the wall. In the doorway stood a man that I had hoped wouldn’t be there; this was going to make things much more difficult for us. He was almost my equal in height and strength. We would make a good match in a fair fight, but this was not the time nor the place to fight him—and he would never fight fairly. It was now or never. The man hadn’t seen her yet, or she’d probably have been dead already.

I slid the window up a bit further, and whispered in her ear, “Put tha’ pendent awey, and come with me if ye want to live.”

She only hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping out the window. I knew she could tell the Tracker was dangerous. What was really confusing was that she didn't recognize me.

Fall and Fire-Boredom

Blank screen. You are supposed to be filled with endless possibilities. Come on brain, function.

My fingers didn’t move. They never move. They just sit idling on the keyboard as my mind is completely blank.

Sure, computer screen. They said this would be easy. You are a creative person. It should be easy to write a novel. All you have to do is sit down and write it.

The room is silent. I can almost make out the raindrops hitting the roof.

I hunger.

I stare at my cold oatmeal in disdain.

It’s gone. All creativity is gone. I can’t even cook anymore. What is going on in this world? What if I’m stuck like this? What if for all eternity I am empty?

Writer's block is the bane of any writer's existence, including mine. I've had it for months. I can't even remember the last time I had even a remotely good idea. I moved here to the middle of nowhere North Carolina to "clear my head" so I could write again. I could laugh at how stupid an idea that was, except for the fact that it might just make me cry. I've never been so bored in all of my life. There is nothing to do here but sit on the back porch and hope a deer wanders through the yard. On occation, I could take a walk in to town, but what was the point. They didn't even have a movie theater.

I stared at the keyboard, and contemplated whacking my head against the keys just to see what might show up on the page.

This is ridiculous. I've got to get out of here.

Rain is something that I typically enjoy seeing in the movies, but not so much in person. I use to like it, but it seems to rain here all of the time. I should have realized that autumn in the mountains could be like this, but I clearly wasn't thinking straight when I moved. At least the woods were pretty.

I haven't been in the woods in weeks, and the trees look... different: taller, darker, and more menacing. The oak and spruce trees I have come to know have slowly lead way to pine, fir, and redwood trees that I don't recognize. Even the animals have changed. Normally I only see birds and squirrels, but I caught just the briefest hint of a red fox tail, and well...

Sheesh! You’re not becoming Alice are you? Only an idiot follows animals, and you know what happened to her!

After about ten minutes or so, the fox dove into a hole where I, Fall, unlike Alice with the White Rabbit, couldn’t, and wouldn't follow.

I smiled, and continued on in the same direction that I had been going. About two hundred yards from the fox’s den, I came to the edge a cliff.

Well, this is... great. Now what am I supposed to do? It’s a good thing that I know how to free climb. Stupid rain. Stupid fox. Stupid writer's block. Stupid EVERYTHING!

By now, I was pretty hopelessly lost. I know better than to go in these woods without a compass and map. The Ranger in town had told me that when I moved it, but I wasn't exactly planning on going far when I left the house. I hadn't even grabbed my phone before I left. All I did was throw on some old camouflaged pants that would hide the mud that splattered above my boots, and thrown my brown hair into a braid. I sighed and pulled up the sleeves of my coat. It was going to be a long climb.

I was exhausted when I reached the valley floor, so I sat against the cliff wall to observe what was around me. A town lay about a quarter of a mile from me, and, from what I could tell, it looked nothing like any village that I’d seen outside of movies. Smoke curled out of chimneys poking above thatched and wood-shingled roofs. The walls of the buildings were made of mud packed between thick wooden beams like in romanticized paintings of old English cottages. The streets were well kept dirt roads, and flowers and vegetables grew along whitewashed picket fences. A cat, braving the rain, dashed between buildings.

This is way weird. Where am I?

Valium-Sparks and Fire

Days floated in and out for a while. How long, I’m not sure, and I didn’t care. I was warm, safe, and full. I wasn’t required to stay where I was. I just didn’t want to go anywhere else. I learned eventually that the woman’s name was Alma. She didn’t ask my name, and neither did John. For a while I didn’t give it. She took to calling me little bird, which was irritating. Eventually I gave in and gave her the name I wanted to be called. It’s a silly name, really. My parents had given me a perfectly good name, but it didn’t seem to fit the person I now was. I hadn’t really changed all that much, but I knew that nothing would be the same again. It’s odd how that happens sometimes. One day you know exactly how the rest of your life will look, and the next you’re being thrown over a wall for a fate worse than death. Alma and John were kind to me and seemed to enjoy having me living with them. I didn’t seem to be a burden for them, so when I was healed, I stayed. I didn’t ask to stay, and they didn’t kick me out. My pallet just moved to one side of the room instead of in front of the fire.

I gave myself chores to help out the best I could, and discovered things about myself that I didn’t know before. It turned out that I had a knack for making anything burn. I could start a fire out of the smallest of pieces of charcoal. John laughed one day when he walked in to see me bent over the fireplace blowing on the tiniest bit of splinters I could find. “You named yourself quite well, Pheonix. Fire seems to be a gift for you.”

It made me smile, which was something new for me. I didn’t smile often, and couldn’t remember the last time that I had. Certainly it was before They threw me out. Anger was common, and so was hunger, but not smiles. I was a bird risen from the ashes. Fire made me happy. I could create it from nothing. I could control what it did and did not burn. I could pick it up with my bare hands and it did not burn me. It became my friend.

“Watch, John.”

I picked up the tiny bits of burning tinder and began rolling it along my knuckles. The warmth tickled my skin and my smile grew. The flames jumped, rolled, and slid along my hand, sending prickles up my spine. It consumed my attention as I played with the sparks. They glowed in my eyes, and all else disappeared.

The look on John’s face when the flames gave out sent shivers down my spine. “Alma! Alma! Come quickly!”

I’d scared him, and I knew it. I thought I had done something fascinating and innocent, but the look he gave me said differently.

Alma came flying in the room, breathless. “What! What’s wrong, John?”
He nodded in my direction with a flick of his head. “We’ve found her. We didn’t know it, but we did. Watch. Pheonix, can you do that again?”

I picked up the tiniest flame I could find in my little fire, and began rolling it around my palm. It slowly began to grow until it covered my whole hand. A small smile of pleasure creased my face. This fire was my friend. It had a life of its own, even if it would be for a short while. It was like small dancers spinning on my fingertips. If I was doing something wrong, I didn’t know it. It was right. My soul seemed to find peace and joy as long as the fires played. John and Alma stared at me, then at each other. Alma gave a small nod at John, which he returned.

“It’s time for her to meet the others.”

“Past time, Alma. How could we have not seen it before? It’s her.”

My head popped up and I smothered the flames in my hand. “Others? What others?”

John ran his fingers through his hair, and rubbed his temples. “The element players. It’s a long journey that I was hoping to not have to take. We’ve been waiting for thirty years for the last one, the fire player, for a long time. There’s so much you need to know, and not much time for you to learn it.”

My eyes darted between the two, not liking what I was seeing or hearing. They didn’t like the idea of my playing with fire or of taking me to “the others”, whoever they were. I was in for a long, hard journey. I could see my new home crumbling around me as Alma left the room. She was pale and looked like she would pass out, and John slumped into the hide chair next to the fire.

“I have a story to tell that you will not like, I’m afraid. It is going to change your life again, and Alma and I’s as well. You might as well get comfortable. This is going to take a bit of time, but it is something that you need to know. It just might keep you alive.”

Valium- Over the Wall

I landed in a cloud of dust on the other side of the gate hard enough to knock the wind out of my lungs. The gate in the Wall slammed shut behind me with a clang, and I thought I was lost forever. I layed there and cried for a while, and after I had worn myself out, I slept. I slept right there in the road because it didn’t matter anymore where I slept. I had been given that fate worse than death. Death would have been the release I wanted, and no one would care if I got trampled or eaten or died right there. I was no longer me, no longer a person, no longer human. I was an outcast, someone forgotten, banished.

When I awoke, it was dark and beginning to rain. I had the notion to stay where I was and drown in a puddle, but drowning frightens me. To this very day, even though I’ve learned to swim, I avoid even the shallowest of ponds and streams. The forest, the Border Lands, scared me as well, but not as much as drowning. I would still rather be eaten by wild animals than to breathe water into my lungs because I can’t hold my breath any longer. My whole body hurt as I trudged my way up the steadily muddying road, if it can be called such. That road is more of a leftover, overgrown goat path now, but I think that at one point it might have been an actual road.

The trees were menacing and foreign, and the temperature was dropping steadily as I wandered aimlessly into the woods. The foliage blocked me from the worst of the weather, but my thin coat wasn’t going to be of help for much longer. As the night grew darker, I gradually lost sight of the world around me, which turned out to be one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I fell head long into a hole.

It was also one of the most painful things that has ever happened to me. I was already in pain physically and emotionally, but the pain of landing on a stone slab on your head was like nothing I’d wish even on Gralsitor Mayor. Being knocked unconscious would have been a blessing, but I wasn’t. I laying on the stone slab, stunned and unable to move throughout the night. About mid-day, when I’d lost all hope of ever moving again, a person slid down into the hole. This is the end of it now. They are sure to kill me, cook me over a pit, and serve me for dinner to the rest of their companions!

I laugh now at the stupidity of the thought. Standing over me was the kindest, gentlest of faces of the most loving person I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. “Are you alright?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. Between the pain, fear, and joy at seeing this kind, scary person was too much. One tear slid down my cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here. This is no place for a wee child like you. I’ll be back in a little bit with some help.”

A thick, rough, coat landed on top of me, and a few minutes later I began to shiver. Shiver... that’s an understatement. I convulsed uncontrollably. Hypothermia does strange things to a body. It’s a protection against further injury, but it can also kill you. When you get cold enough, you don’t shiver. You just turn blue. As you warm you shake and shiver.

The pain returned to my body as I slowly warmed. I was still shaking violently, and desperately wanted to vomit when the kindly, scary face returned, only this time he had company. The people, how many I don’t know, carefully rolled me over, and the emptiness of my stomach covered the floor. I don’t remember anything else.

I awoke, warm, some time later, in unfamiliar surroundings. I was in clean, if rustic looking, dry clothing that was just a bit too big for me, and lying on a stack of furs in front of a fire. I stared at the flames not comprehending what I was seeing, and not registering anything other than warmth and an odd lack of pain in most of my body. My head was still tender, but I could deal with that. I’d had my ears boxed often enough by the guards in Artur to not have it bother me. I snuggled down as deep into the pallet as I could managed, and dozed on and off. I noticed, vaguely that someone came in and added logs to the fire, but I didn’t care. For once in my life, I felt safe.

My life. It was a new concept for me. I realized in this fit of dozing and wakefulness that I didn’t consider the time I had spent in Artur, in the Wards, as my life. True, I was in someplace that I knew nothing about for sure, with at least one person that hadn’t eaten me, and no idea if I’d live to see the light of day, but I felt safe, and alive for the first time.

I think I tried to stand a few times in that state, but I always seemed to end up back in the same position, with my head on an extra lump of firs, and my body swathed in them. If they gave me something to dull my senses, I could only thank them. Only twelve years old, and on my own, but yet someone was still taking care of me. They still take care of me.

Finally, I awoke fully. I think it was the smell of cooking meat, a rarity in Artur. The smell of anything cooking was a rarity. Real food was a luxury my family could not afford. We were lucky to get scraps enough to keep us alive. A little pot had been added to the fire, and something was bubbling in it. My stomach growled, and I tried to stand.

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring you a bowl.” I opened my mouth to protest that I couldn’t take their food, but the little old woman was already ladling out a bowl. She didn’t look like she was starving, so I didn’t argue.

She was an odd looking woman, but kindly. Her mess of frizzy gray hair was almost pulled up into a bun, and her plump little body was swathed in a strange mix of patchwork petticoats and animal firs. She looked so warm and comfortable.

She handed me a bowl, and smiled sweetly at me. “It’s not human, is it? They told me you people are cannibals.”

She gurgled in what I decided was a laugh, “So, that’s the rumor old Gralsitor is spreading these days! Stuff of nonsense it is! In my day it was two headed monsters!”

I eyed the bowl suspiciously, then took a tentative bite. I couldn’t decide what the meat was supposed to be, but I did recognize some of the vegetables. It was good, but my stomach couldn’t handle more than a few bites. “What is it?”

“Squirrel. Do you like it, love? I made it myself. John wanted to help, but I told him that pulling you out of that dreadful hole was help enough. The poor man. Thinks he can cook, but he’d burn water if I gave him the chance to boil any.”

I nodded, and stared blankly at my bowl. My stomach hurt like the time I’d stolen a whole loaf of bread. I ate until I made myself sick, and I didn’t want to do that again. I wanted to keep eating, but I couldn’t. I’d never had this much food to myself before, not given to me. It was only a ladle full, but it was a whole ladle full and it had meat. Squirrel. Meat. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t give the bowl back to her, but I couldn’t finish what I had either.

“May I... may I keep this for later?”

The woman gurgled again. “Of course. If you’d like, we’ll poor that bowl back into the pot so it’ll stay warm. The wee pot is for you. I wasn’t sure how much you could eat, so I made one serving.” My eyes widened until they threatened to pop out of my head. She gurgled at me again. “It must have gotten worse in the Wards since they threw me over the wall fifty years ago! You must not have ever had so much food to yourself in your life!”

I hadn’t, and couldn’t believe that I did. One whole serving, all to myself. And there was meat. Squirrel. Meat.

Valium

I’m one of the few of our people who live here in the Boarder Lands. Most moved to the Wards, the cities and towns where it’s supposedly safe. They now believe the woods to be a place of death. For most our Lands would be a place of death. The Ward dwellers have become weak and have forgotten the ways of our ancestors. They only believe what Gralsitor Mayor tells them, brainwasher of the masses.

Gralsitor Mayor, king of Valium, sits on the throne of Valium in Mainton. The honest name of Gralsitor Mayor is a secret so well guarded that each time a new king comes to power entire families are executed in order to keep it so. The first Gralsitor Mayor was a decent man whose name truly was Gralsitor Mayor. He was the one who established the Wards with its high stone wall designed to keep the flightless beasts from wreaking havoc on the farmlands. What he did not expect was for his successors to keep the people trapped within its walls. Four generations after the wall was built, all have come to believe that there is a  fate worse than death: being exiled to the Boarder Lands.

I am one of the few people who live in the Boarder Lands. At one time, I lived in Artur, a small Wall village in the Wards. Then the unthinkable happened.

It was near the end of The Bread Wars. I was twelve years old: old enough to be tried as an adult in the courts of Valium. the charge was espionage. I was a child doing as my parents had asked of me, and nothing more. I was only giving little scraps of paper with words I didn’t understand to my neighbors in exchange for other scraps of paper and anything they could give me to eat. My parents couldn’t feed me, and Valium wasn’t about to. When, at last, Gralsitor Mayor crushed those who fought against the king who was starving them, all who had anything to do with the uprising were brought before him. He showed no mercy. My fate was to be one worse than death: banishment to the Boarder Lands.

I kicked and screamed, pounding small, weak fists on the arms of my captors. I begged and Pleaded, explained and argued that what they were doing to me was wrong, unfair, and evil. Tears streamed down my face, soaked through their shirt sleeves, but they paid me no heed. My father had died in the last battle, and my mother had starved to death. I had no siblings or aunts and uncles. I was the only child of only children. Living on the streets of the Wards would have been horrible, but to the mind of a child who believed what Gralsitor Mayor had told her about the Boarder Lands, it would have been a paradise. Stories of monsters plagued my mind, tales of horror and death pounded on my heart as I dug the soles of my little boots into the asphalt road as I desperately tried to avoid the unavoidable. Eventually, one of the men taking me to my exile had enough of my fighting and crying. He picked me up, slapped me across the face hard enough to make my ears ring, and threw me over his shoulder.

This was the beginning of my life. What came before I lived here in the Boarder Lands was not life. It was simply existence. Here in the woods there is freedom. I have the rights of a human being. I have the rights of a woman. Here in the woods I have become both human and a strong woman. I was a little girl in the Wards, still a child when they considered me adult. Here in the Boarder Lands I have grown and aged, love a man and am loved by him. I have heard of God and believe in Him. I have become human by His standards, a daughter by His standards, a sister by His standards, and a woman by His standards. I have learned right from wrong, and to fight for what I believe in. And now, as we Landers go to fight against a tyrant who believes us dead, I write this, my tale, for any who should happen across it. If I die in battle or live to see the end, this is my testimony of how a fate worse than death brought me to life instead.

Windows to the Soul

I've heard that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but the windows are finicky. All communication is done through words, and this one is no different. My heart bleeds ink. Words come pouring out of it onto the plain white page, splattering it with my imagination. My "works of fiction" are not fiction. They are the bleeding heart of my life, my imagination that cannot be contained in my head, but must come out through my fingers. Stories come to life on a page. Characters scramble before my eyes trying to find their way onto the page in front of me. While it all may seem insane, trust me, it is all quite rational. This is my sanity, the words of my bleeding heart of ink. If what follows seems to drift off with no conclusion, characters stuck in the limbo of mid-action, it is not for lack of love or ink, but for the wanderings of my mind going elsewhere. This is a chance to share what has been hidden, to show deep contrast between the black ink and the white paper.

I am a writer who cannot help herself. The ink must be shared with others, and now here it shall. Enjoy my heart, dear reader. Savor what comes out, gulp it down, or turn up your nose. It matters not to me, for the heart bleeds what it must in order to live. I may never be published elsewhere, but here, in the ink, I shall live.