Part-Time Devil

The circle lay around his feet, filled with pentagrams and protective symbols from a dozen different creeds and belief systems.

Unfortunately, one of them actually worked.

Sid sighed, and straightened his tie. Another day.

Around him stood a half dozen startled looking adults. One had a hefty tome open, and wore a look of surprised excitement. Summoner, check. Another held a knife, and a small ammount of blood dripped from a self-inflicted wound on her thumb.

Why the thumb? It's always the thumb, Sid thought. Ridiculous spot to cut, it's so full of nerves. And then every time you try to use your thumb it's going to split, so it'll take forever to heal. Just... just nick your forearm or something. Put a little cut in your shoulder.

Cultists are weird.

The rest of the people around him were armed with an array of things from crosses to actual weapons. One of them had some kind of shiny assault weapon. Okay then.

"So... what can I do for you fine people?" Sid asked. He pulled his too-long sleeves up. You'd think management would have given him a suit that actually fits. Put it on the list for quarterly review. File it away.

They shuffled in silence. Clearly they hadn't actually thought it would work.

"I believe one of you was interested in selling a soul?" Sid raised an eyebrow, looking from person to person.

The one with the cut thumb raised her hand.

"Okay, great. I'm glad to hear that. I'm here to facilitate your transaction. So what benefit package are you looking to get in exchange?" Sid pulled a file out from his inside jacket pocket, and started flipping through it.

"Uhh... I... Uhm, no..." She stammered, and then composed herself. "No we've summoned you to put an end to your wickedness, Devil!" Her face hardened, and the people around her snapped back to reality. Gun guy pointed his shiny weapon at Sid's face.

Unimpressed, Sid shrugged.

"I mean, I guess if it would make you feel better? But not much of a sale. I'm just looking out for you on this one."

"No, I mean, I'm not going to sell my soul to... unmake you. We're just going to do it. We have you trapped!" She indicated the symbols on the ground, before realizing she was still bleeding. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and scowled.

"Well, you see, according to the spell you used to summon me for the deal, any hostile action you take against me is considered a pre-emptive trade agreement. I know. Old testament stuff. Fine print. It sucks. Technically just for the threat I can bind your soul, but like I said I'm trying to work out the best deal for you here. So why don't we look at some options. How do you like power? Or are you more of a money gal?" Sid pulled a few pamphlets out and waved them in her direction, not leaving the circle.

"I'm not trusting you, you're the Devil!" She recoiled.

Sid cocked his head, and looked at a few of the summoners, a look of mild confusion on his face.

"Oh no no. Did you think...? Oh I'm so sorry, no. You guys are pretty together, but you just don't rate that high. I'm A devil. Not The Devil. I'm a lower case devil. Sorry." He shrugged, helplessly.

"But, the spell..."

"Like I said, fine print. Sorry. It's not your fault, not a lot of people's cuneiform is up to snuff these days." Sid waggled the pamphlets again. "But, you know, since I'm here..."

There was a stunned silence.

"Actually, now that I think about it I might be able to swing perfect comprehension of cunieform for a soul... never been done before but I mean the paperwork is  all pretty standard so..."

Gun guy fired once, putting a hole clean through Sid's ill-fitting suitjacket, and subsequently his heart. He looked down at the hole, pulling his jacket forward. He turned his gaze to gun guy and sighed.

"Come on man, I still have two payments on this thing."

"... What?"

"The uniform isn't included. They ding you for everything. I mean... you're working for Hell. You can't expect them to be nice about it."

"You work for Hell?"

"Well yeah, but you know. Only part time." Sid shrugged.

There was stunned silence.

"So, about that soul..."

"Hit him again Greg." Thumb girl said around her bleeding thumb.

"Wait!" Sid shouted, but was drowned out by a barrage of gunfire.




On the trip back to the Eternal Pits, Sid played with the many new holes on his uniform angrily.

This was so not worth eleven dollars an hour.

Pour Juliette

«Que pensez-vous que cela signifie?» demanda Shane, assis avec son dos contre le mur, une lampe de poche illuminant le message décoré devant lui.

«Je pense qu'il est assez explicite.» répondit Carl, se tenant non loin de lui.

« Oui, je suppose. Mais il y a des subtilités.»

«Je ne suis pas si sûr.»

Shane continua à regarder le message. Carl ouvrit une ration de survie et commença à la grignoter, laissant vagabonder ses pensées. Le carrelage froid brillait à la lumière de la lampe de poche de Shane. Les supports en ruine autour d'eux étaient envahis par la mousse.

«Peut-être que non. Peut-être est-ce l’idée. Aucune subtilité, rien qui ne puisse être mal interprété.»

«Hum. Je ne sais pas si beaucoup de réflexion y a été consacré.» répondit Carl, la bouche pleine.

Les deux restèrent silencieux pendant un moment, en regardant pensivement les mots de leur prophète sur le mur en face d'eux.

Carl termina sa barre, et remit avec soin l’emballage dans sa boîte. Quelques minutes passèrent encore, et il se racla la gorge.

«Il va bientôt faire nuit Shane.»

«Oh, tu as raison. J’imagine que oui. Désolé Carl.» Shane secoua la tête, et se leva, souriant d'un air penaud.

«J’étais juste perdu dans mes pensées. »

«Oublie ça. Rentrons simplement avant la tombée de la nuit. »

«Convenu.» Il sourit et mit son sac sur le dos. Les deux se frayèrent un chemin à travers un trou dans le plafond dégoulinant de vignes, laissant les paroles du prophète dans la grotte.
Derrière eux, un message écrit à la hâte disparut dans l'obscurité.

«Essaye d'être gentil» était affiché sur le mur du métro.

Sand

The beach sand is hot underfoot. I spread my toes and let it sift between them, warming the gaps.

It’s nice.

I haven’t really thought about it much for the last few months. Bigger things, I guess. But I’m glad to feel it now, glad to notice. I wriggle my toes again.

A smile spreads my cracked lips.

I wave again to the little boat coming my way. No real reason to, they know I’m here. It’s just nice to wave. To wave at someone.

They wave back.

It’s nice.

I sit down in the warm sand, and try to momorize how nice it feels. It’ll be good to have a nice memory when I’m gone.

I pick up a handful of sand and let it play through my fingers.

It’s nice.

It’s nice, but I’ve had enough sand. Enough for a lifetime.

And when my rescuers arrive, I’m more than done with the nice warm sand.

Afloat

Blue fades into black as the first twinkling stars make their appearance. The air is crisp but not cold. The city below me glitters in anticipation of the coming night.

"It's tonight, isn't it?" I ask him. I haven't seen his face yet, but I know he's behind me. Waiting. Lurking.

"It doesn't have to be." His voice chills. I wrap my coat around me close, suddenly acutely aware of the dropping temperature.

The conversation stalls as we both watch the lights flicker from the earth to the sky.

"Have you ever been swimming?" I ask without turning my head.

He pauses to consider before replying.

"Not really."

"Some people swim for fun. It's great." I start to explain. I don't know why, really. Of all people, he is the last one I really need to explain this to. "But some people are swimming just to stay afloat. Some people are swimming in the ocean, surrounded by hungry sharks."

"Mm." He intones, to let me know he's listening. It's very thoughtful.

"And at first it's easy to keep swimming. To keep treading water, keep your head above. To look for land. You swim as hard as you can in one direction, to try and find it. Because you have the energy, and you're doing it for them. To see them again."  My mind drifts to them, and I apologize again. "But eventually you get tired. And things are so hard. So very hard. And you start to drift, and your head bobs below the water. But a shark bumps you, and you startle and you swim hard. Harder than ever before. You're going to find that land. You keep up, above the water. You put so much energy into just... staying above water."

He moves up beside me. He's watching the city like I am. Watching the lights wink out and appear in the stars above. Poetry.

"But you know you can't do it forever. You have to find somewhere to rest. And maybe you find a piece of driftwood, to let you relax for a little while." I play with the ring on my finger absent mindedly. "But you know you're still lost. Lost at sea, surrounded by sharks. And then you let your attention wander and all of a sudden your driftwood is gone. And you're alone, in the water, struggling to stay afloat."

He's motionless. Listening entirely.

"So this time you try another direction. You won't give up. You swim and you swim and everything hurts. You still don't find anything. The water is cold and horrible. Your body is a wreck. You can barely move. You can barely keep your head above water. You know that the drowning is terrible beyond compare. That it will be the most painful experience of your life. That everything about it is wrong."

He leans against the railing. I get the impression he's heard this story before. Not that he's tired of hearing it but... He wants to help, I think. It's sad.

"But eventually... you run out of energy. You can't take it any more. You're too exhausted."

I step on the ledge. He doesn't move to stop me.

"And it's not easy. Not at all. But the alternative is so much harder, and so much more painful. You can't hurt yourself any more. So you have to stop swimming."

I hear him open his mouth, as if to say something. He closes it again, wordlessly.

I look at his bony face for the first time. It's not what I expected.

We stare at each other for a while, and the city continues to wink out as the sky fills.

"I'm glad you came." I say earnestly, as I step off the edge.

His bony hands pluck me gently from my fall just before it comes to its conclusion. He cradles me softly, and somehow I can see compassion on his skull.

"I am sorry." He says to me, the ancient rumble gone from his cold voice as we ascend. And I know that he is.

Words Of The Prophet

"What do you think it means?" Shane asked, sitting with his back against the far wall, flashlight pointing at the message emblazoned across from him.

"I think it's pretty explicit." answered Carl, standing not far away.

"Well, yeah, I guess. But there are subtleties."

"I'm not so sure."

Shane continued to stare at the message. Carl opened a ration bar and started munching on it, letting his attention wander. The cold tiles of the floor glistened by the light of Shane's flashlight. The crumbling supports around them were overgrown with moss.

"Maybe not. Maybe that was the point. No subtleties, nothing to misinterpret."

"Hm. I don't know that that much thought was put into it." Carl responded, mouth full.

The two were quiet for a while, looking thoughtfully at the words of their prophet on the wall across from them.

Carl finished his bar, and carefully returned the wrapper to his pack. A few minutes more passed, and he cleared his throat.

"It'll be dark soon Shane."

"Oh, right. I guess so. Sorry Carl." Shane shook his head, and stood up, smiling sheepishly. "I was just, lost in thought."

"Forget about it. Let's just get back before nightfall."

"Agreed." He smiled, and hefted his pack onto his back. The two of them worked their way out through a hole in the ceiling dripping with vines, leaving the words of the prophet in the cave.

Behind them a message hastily scrawled in spraypaint disappeared into the dimness.

"Try to be nice" It said on the subway wall.

The Dawncaller

The building shook again with the impact of their heavy artillery.  I close my eyes, and try to imagine I'm somewhere else.

"The night's not really darkest before the dawn, you know."

I open one eye to look at Marshall Abrix. She was leaning against the wall, next to a boarded up window.

"Uh huh." I reply, disinterested. Temporal solar dynamics were not on the forefront of my to-give-a-shit list. The building thundered and shook again.

"Ridiculous." She waved a hand. "Sunlight streaming through the upper atmosphere from the star just out of view of the horizon, bouncing down and illuminating everything..." She trails off as we were rocked by another shell.

"Right. How dare the creators of an idiom fail to check the scientific basis for their inspirational saying." I roll my eyes. The lights flicker and go out.

"Literally the least they could do." She mumbled from the darkness.

With the power out, the only light came from a gap in the window barricade. The occasional flash of their artillery firing, followed a few seconds later by a resounding thud and plaster drifting down from the ceiling onto my head. I sigh.

"Go for Abrix." The Marshall opens her comms. "Copy. Situation report follows..." She keeps talking, but I've stopped listening. The building shakes again.

My hand fumbles around in my gear. I pull out a picture. It lights up as I gaze at it, spreading a warm aura around me. It's a photograph of my sister and her husband. I haven't seen them since they made their run for the city. I hope they made it.

I haven't gotten a call, so I don't hope too hard.

But the picture will always be here, so that's something. I tell myself. I wonder if they took a picture of me with them.

I don't think they did.

Hm.

"Now when the sun is completely on the other side of the planet, that's when it's darkest." Marshall Abrix is back to the wall again. I can just see her outline in the glow of my picture. I don't engage. "Especially if there's no moon."

I shrug and let my head rest against the wall behind me. The Marshall and I have been trapped here for hours. We broke from the main group of refugees to the city to try and draw enemy fire away. I think it worked, because we're going to die in an old ass building and not of old age. Oh well.

Communication has been spotty, but I think I heard that the group we were escorting made it. Big damn heroes we are.

I look at the picture again. Sorry Sis.

"Hey Rook." The Marshall calls to me as she pulls a piece of the barricade on the window down. I start to protest, but a thought registers. The building isn't shaking. There hasn't been a shell in almost a full minute. Odd.

There's a two foot hole to look through now, and there's nothing to see. Darkness. No flash of artillery fire in the horizon, no small arms going off. Nothing. Just... darkness.

I put the picture away. I don't want to be the only bright thing on the horizon.

"You'll like this Rook." The Marshall tells me, and points to an invisible spot on the horizon. It's pitch black, but I don't want to ask what I'm looking for. "What time is it?" She asks.

I check my watch.

"Uhh... zero one thirty... ish. Ma'am." I respond, confused.

"Good. Coordinates confirmed." Marshall speaks into her comm again. I don't turn away from the window. What am I looking for?

And then I see it. The blooming red rose on the horizon, billowing up from the artillery position we'd been assailed by all night. A booming, blossoming light bright as the sun rolling down the ridge line, and bathing the whole place in a dazzling yellow. A new dawn.

And then I hear it, the sound of low-atmo jumpjets screaming overhead. The cavalry came. A smile cracks my lips.

Maybe I'll get my sister that picture after all.

"I will concede, Rook..." The Marshall pats me on the shoulder. "That in certain, metaphorical situations..." She waves out the window "That the night can be darkest just before the dawn."

We smile at each other, relieved.

"Sometimes. Now, grab your kit. We've got a long hike still, those jump-jets aren't giving us a lift."

I sling my pack over my shoulder with renewed vigor.

I slip my photo into my breast pocket, and set off into the burning night once more with Marshall Abrix, the Dawncaller.

The Lonely Winter

In the ur-times, before tick learned to tock and before feet learned to walk, Winter was lonely. Winter walked across the land that Behemoth had made, and skated across the oceans of Leviathan, and was alone. None of the other Things wanted to spend time with Winter.

Winter was cold, and harsh. Winter was unyeilding. To walk in the shadow of Winter was to struggle, and all the Things were far too busy preparing for the arrival of Time to struggle with Winter.

And so Winter was lonely. So lonely that he began to weep. And as his tears streamed out and floated around him, they froze in his cold and became Snow. So as Winter sat atop the world and wept, snow fell all around him in a dazzling, hypnotic dance. Snow swirled and whirled around Winter, lost in the frolic of creation. And Winter was so lonely that he did not see what he had made.

Finally Snow stopped, and hung in the air. It paused, and asked Winter "Why do you weep?"

Winter was surprised to hear something speaking to him.

"I weep because I am lonely."

"But you are not alone, Winter." And snow billowed up around Winter tightly. "I will travel with you wherever you go, Winter."

And Winter was happy, and the two of them travelled the world forever more, hand in hand.

With A Dinner

People always ask how it all started. How the two of us met, how we became what we are today. I like to smile, and tell them to be careful what they eat, because it all started with dinner.

Dinner was served as the moon rose over the horizon, full and vibrant. The couple was washed in silver light while they ate and conversed, trading smiles and loving looks.

As evening turned into night, and interest grew into love, the young couple's conversation deepened. The weather turned to religion, passtimes to politics.  Simpatico is the word. Unified, perhaps.

The woman looked out over the moonlit city before them, and asked the love she had discovered across the table. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He turned his gaze from her for the first time in a long time, and let his eyes drink in the silver city. The home of both of them. It was very gorgeous, twinkling like a jewel in the night.

"To the eyes, yes." He replied. He also made some comment about her beauty being greater, but it was not important. She laughed, though. He liked that. "But inside it is rotten." He finished, a tone of defeat in his voice.

"Mmm." She replied, by way of agreement.

"Corruption and despair are rampant in our beautiful city. Would that we could save it." He said mournfully.

There was a pause. She sipped her wine, and let it swirl in the glass before gazing at him sternly.

"Why not?" She asked.

He cocked his head, and looked at her confusedly.

"What?"

"Why can't we save it?"

This gave the young man pause. Why not? A hundred, a thousand reasons! The corruption ran so deep, the institutions of this city were long since beyond saving.

"You'd have to raze the government to the ground, and start fresh. One could not, in one lifetime, save this city within the bounds of the law." He asserted.

She swirled her wine more.

"Nor even two." She agreed. She drank more of her wine, and set the glass on the table. "Within the bounds of the law." She looked into his eyes.

He stared back into the green depths of her eyes, and swam a lifetime in their beauty. And a thought occurred.

She smiled. He smiled back.

And that is how it all began. With a dinner, and a moon, and a love to last a thousand lifetimes.

That, is how you start a revolution.

Two Left

Cordite coils up and finds its way to my nose. The sharp smell brings me back to the moment, snapping me out of the daydream I was having.

It was nice.

I hadn't just shot someone.

But the smell of the gun brought me back to the real world, the world where things were dirty and dark, where life was cheap and happiness was a dream.

The real world. You know. The one that sucks.

I flipped open my revolver. Two shots left. I close it, and holster it again, close to my heart. I walk over and look down at the poor bastard that got on the wrong side of my bullet. Twenty two, tops. A kid.

I don't have enough to drink in the office.

I pick up his piece. He won't be needing it. A decent automatic little thing. I pop the magazine, and do a quick check. It's got more than two bullets at least. I load it again.

I frisk the body. He's got a key in one front pocket, a wallet in the other. I pocket the key, and check the wallet. Chester Maxwell. I let it drop on his chest, and stand up. A quick scan of the room, nothing else important catches my eye. It's as dismal as when I first arrived, a crumbling office with peeling paint and the smell of ruin.

I move to the door, but stop and turn around. I look down at the kid.

"Uhh... Sorry, Chester." I mumble. Yeah. Whatever. Kid knew what he was doing. Shoulda known better. Right.

The key I got off the body fits in the lock on the door, and I swing it open. My new pistol introduces me to the room first.

No goons this time. Just the target.

A little girl, Stacey Mculloch. Five years old. Heir to the empire, when she's old enough. She's got a colouring book with almost as many colours of crayon as the walls have of mold. She looks up at me and smiles.

"You're new." She says pleasantly.

"I'm new. Ready to go home kid?" I ask, quickly stowing the gun and offering my hand.

She recoils a bit at that. "You're hurt!"

I look down at my hand, it's covered in blood. Right. The kid. I wipe it on my pants quickly.

"Oh, no... just..." Damn I hate this. "It's uh... not mine. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh." She looks at me a little more cautiously now. She stand up, and grabs something from under the bed before she comes over.

I pick her up with one arm, and we head out. She hands me what she grabbed from under the bed. It's a band-aid.

"Just in case." She says, and smiles.

I take it, and nod. A smile cracks my lips.

Feels weird.

But I like it.

I make sure to avoid Chester on our way out.

Perfect Day

It was a beautiful day, warm but not hot, sunny but not glaring. Beautiful. On a deck chair at the end of the dock sat Devon, drinking in the serene splendour of a perfect day.

A thought drifted up through the stillness. I should have done this more often.

But there was little time for regrets and should-haves. Now was the time to make the most, to bask in the glory of the world one last time. To make it all worth it.

He closed his eyes, and let his hand drift down to the cold beer beside him. The warm sun permeated his eyes, filling him with a warm orange glow down to his core. The beer was crisp and cold, a perfect balance.

Perfect.

"Ahem." Came the clearing of a throat behind him. Devon didn't need to open his eyes, he recognized that polite cough.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" He asked, taking another sip of his drink.

"Mmm." Came the uncomfortable reply. Devon heard feet shuffling behind him.

Silence fell for some time. Devon refused to let it bother him, and continued enjoying his drink.

The figure behind him cleared its throat again.

"Al, you can clear your throat from here to judgement day. I'm not getting up until you make me." Devon shifted comfortably in the chair and smiled. Make every second count.

"Devon, I..." Al began. His feet shuffled uncomfortably again. He stopped.

Devon drank deep.

He heard Al move, and the warm sunlight disappeared. The orange glow was gone. Devon opened his eyes to see the form of Alistair, dressed sharply in a tailored suit before him. His characteristic confidence was lacking though. He was clutching his hands nervously. Devon cocked his head.

"Al you look like you've just seen a ghost. What's wrong?" Devon's voice showed the faintest trace of genuine concern, which surprised even himself.

At the mention of a ghost, Alistair froze momentarily. He looked into Devon's eyes, but found no inkling of prior knowledge. So his hands wrung nervously some more.

"I have been instrucrted... to make you an... offer." Alistair stumbled out. He cleared his throat again.

Devon cocked his head again, and smiled. That's new.

"You?"

"Me."

"An offer... to me?" Devon poked his own chest, and raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

Silence hung between the two, while Devon thought.

"What, was Gabe busy?" He joked.

Alistair's face was stone.

Devon's smile faded.

"OK, I'll bite. What's the offer?" Devon shrugged. He got the impression that he wouldn't have much choice one way or the other anyway.

Alistair turned, and stepped out of the light. He let the sun bathe him, and drank in the same beautiful day that Devon had just been enjoying. The sun was perfect. A perfect day. He let its rays caress Devon once again, for effect.

"More of this." Alistair swept his arm across the vista before them, and looked to Devon.

Devon allowed himself to bask a little more before he spoke.

"In exchange for...?" He prompted, looking to Alistair.

Alistair's face took on a hint of sadness. He reached under his arm, and drew a spear from no-where. It glittered in the sun, a silvered tip and polished black shaft. He held it out lengthwise to Devon, and spoke a single name.

"Belethemnon."

Devon was shocked. He stared at the weapon. He hadn't seen one up close since... His eyes drifted up to Alistair's face, to see if he was serious. It was like looking at a stern statue.

Devon stood, pushing the deck chair back. This was no small task. Belethemnon was... well if they couldn't do it themselves... And they wanted an inside man...

The polished black of the spear was like looking into the depths of space. It glistened with immortality and sparkled with a thousand galaxies of possibility. It was as painful to look at as the memories it brought forth. He closed his eyes.

And in doing so, the warm orange glow returned. The sun was still there, to fill him with that perfect light. To bring him that serenity that he wanted, so badly.

He opened his eyes again, and the spear was still there. Alistair had not moved a hair.

Devon sighed, and drained his beer. He tossed it into the deck chair behind him. Fuck it.

He reached out and put his hand on the weapon, and behind him his ruined wings spread wide and black. He nodded to Alistair his agreement.

Alistair nodded in return, and released it.

"I am... sorry, brother." Alistair spoke.

"I know." Replied Devon, taking the spear in two hands and wondering how he was going to kill a Prince of Death.

*click*

The cold tugged taut at every piece of exposed skin, but they didn't seem to notice. Noses and cheeks turned red as the afternoon ran on, but without comment or complaint.

Snowballs fired back and forth across the yard, some impacting with a satisfying splat, most hissing by to disappear back into their home. The lawn was covered in tiny snowmen and adult-sized snow angels.

The whole experience was set to the ongoing track of happy laughter bubbling forth from the two at play.

And inside, two children stare out, dumbfounded, as their parents freeze and collapse into giggling fits.

"Man... parents are weird."

"Right?" Came the reply, as he pulled out his phone for a picture.

Dark Horse

Can you see it yet, when you close your eyes? Can you hear the beats, like those of a racing heart, pounding the earth as it comes for you?

You will.

Your life is over, child. The one you knew. You cannot return to it. Do so and you will bring the ruin that you have called to yourself with you. And you will inflict it on those you love.

Run if you like. It makes some feel better.  But it will not save you. And what good is a few more days of life, if that life is a miserable existence of fear and anxiety? A few more hours filled with terrible flashes of blazing eyes. A few more hours of panicked breaths and fearful gazes.

Wait here if you like. It will not bother me. My time is not so precious either.

Oh I know many things, child. I learned about your affliction long ago. You learn much while you are dead.

Shush now, and listen. Your future is not far. Calm your breaths. Do not show it you are afraid.

There is nobility in a brave death.

Come. Let us greet your dark horse together, child. Perhaps it will take me with you.

Were I so lucky.

Kella and the Catacombs

A candle burned low on the end of Kella's staff. Her robes were filthy with dust and grime from the catacombs.

"Are you sure it's here?" Shasson inquired, for the fourth time.

"As sure as the last time you asked." Was her curt reply. She ran her hands across a few skulls, wondering to whom they had belonged. What lives they had lived. Who they had loved.

"Well, I'm less sure." He rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. He startled off of it as soon as he realized it was thick with spider's webs, much like every surface in the subterranean vault.

"Hm. Let me see..." She put her hand to her temple, closed her eyes in a mockery of concentration. "Wait... wait... Hold on...." She opened them again and looked at Shasson irritably. "Yep. Seems I still don't care. Now help me look."

Shasson grumbled and tore at the webs covering his robe, before returning to the search.

The two of them pored over shelf after shelf of remains, Kella gingerly moving and replacing the bodies with as much reverence as possible. Shasson was less subtle.

After another hour the candle was almost to its end. A sigh escaped Kella. She turned to admit defeat to Shasson, and found him still absent-mindedly searching alcove after alcove with a glittering golden canister in his hand.

"Shasson..." she spoke.

"Hm?" He turned and looked up at her curiously.

"Is that..." She indicated the canister in his hand.

"Oh, yes. I found it about an hour ago." He held it up, and it twinkled in the flickering candlelight.

She snatched it from his hand. At last. At last! After all the years of looking... She clutched it to her chest. She could finally proceed.  It was not all in vain.

She basked in the victory for a moment more, before Shasson's words sunk in. She cocked her head and looked at him.

"And you didn't think to tell me you'd found it?" She asked.

"Oh, I just thought you liked looking at bodies." He shrugged.

She wasn't even mad. This time.

A Little Tarnished

"It's just not in terribly good condition I'm afraid." Thin bony fingers held the object lightly between taught-skinned hands.

"I'm sure you've seen worse. It just needs a little polish." Erin smiled, an  act that belied his fear.

"Hm, well. A little late for that, isn't it?" The shopkeep frowned back.  He placed the object on his dark wood counter. It rested with a heaviness uncharacteristic of its size.

"Not from what I hear."

The shopkeep looked up sharply. An eyebrow raised.

"Then you have heard wrong, my friend. It is past time you parted with this. I don't know what you want me to give you for it."

Panic was on the verge of setting in, but that eyebrow had given Erin a ray of hope. He turned slightly, and started running his eyes over the various curios in the shop. Bizzare, antique, and... painful to the mind, each of them. But Erin let it wash over him, for effect.

"Have I though? I know it's not really unique, and a little... tarnished, as you said. But I also happen to know it's just the kind of thing you like." He let his eyes drift back to the shopkeep. The skinny, darkly dressed man was stonefaced. "And while you may not have the time or inclination to patch it up yourself, I think, if you let me, I can do it for you."

"If you think you can sell it to me for more time, I'm afraid you're mistaking me for someone else." The shopkeep rolled his eyes.

"Oh no no no, I apologize. I don't want to pay you for it..." Erin let his hands drift over a pair of dice that were sitting on a shelf, before folding his arms before his chest. "I want to play you for it."

The shopkeep's appearance was stoney for a moment more. But then it cracked, and a smile shone through like the grin of a skull.

The Ranger's Path

"Why do you seek to walk the Ranger's path?" Boomed the dark cloak in the shadows of the trees.

"I love the forest." The little voice responded, from somewhere in the underbrush.

"Then you should go find a druid." The booming cloak laughed. "You will find no love for the forest in the heart of a true Ranger. Only hate tempered by respect, little one."

"But you spend so much time in her trees, Ranger. How can you not love her bounty and her beauty?" The little voice echoed lightly through the trees, making it hard to pin down.

"Love is blind, little mouse. Love is a beautiful thing in the comfort of a home, and a terrible weakness in the dark of the trees." An arm sneaked out of the dark cloak, and rested on a tree branch. "Give in to love in the forest, and she will consume you."

"I think you have grown bitter, old Ranger.  You need an apprentice, to regrow your heart." The little voice was not far now.

She was skilled, thought the Ranger. A smile cracked his lips, an expression he had not worn truly in a long time. Perhaps she was not so wrong. About needing an apprentice, at least.

He turned slowly, still holding the branch. It was covered in beautiful yellow blooms, and as he slowly moved it with him, they shook and a fine powder fell to the forest floor.

"Perhaps you need a master to harden yours, little mouse." He called out to the voice.

As he finished turning, he saw her. Standing stock still, short bow drawn aiming at his skull, a face flush with victory. He slowly brought the branch protectively between her bow and his face.

"A friend to the trees needs no master like you, Old Ranger." She smirked at him.

"The trees are no more your ally than mine, little mouse." And he blew hard on the beautiful flower, and the dust that came out was as stars that filled the young one's mind as she passed out.

Hurt

I hurt myself today.

It wasn't easy. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Logistically, too. As well as... otherwise.

It took every favour I've ever earned, and some I haven't yet. I had to bribe, and coax, and threaten every single person I knew. But I did it.

And when I watched her smile and step on that ship, on that journey to a better life... Away from this, away from me... Knowing I could never follow her...

It hurt.

But here isn't there. Here life is cheap.

And It's not hard to make the hurting stop.

In That Moment

Belloch sat on the floor, back pressed up against the cold wall behind him where he had slumped. The pistol was still hot in his hands, a faint trail of cordite wisping towards the ceiling, though that was disappearing now too.

The shaking in his hands wasn't.

"Maybe the next one will be more cooperative, huh?" Kereth said, almost jovially, as he untied the body from the chair where it had fallen.

"Yes." Belloch responded robotically. He looked down at his hands. They hurt. He tried to relax them, but they wouldn't obey.

Kereth hefted the body easily onto his shoulder, and headed out the door. He turned back to speak once more.

"Better get ready, we got lots of interviews to do. On your feet, soldier." The colossal man smiled, and backed out the door.

"Yes."

Belloch was alone in the room, save for the gun. The gun was still clutched in his hand, clasped like he would never be able to let go. He stared at it dumbly.

He lifted his arm, and dropped the pistol beside him. It clattered loudly on the ceramic floor.

But even though it sat beside him, and he could see it, it was still in his hands.

It was forever in his hands, in that moment.

Always.

Yeh

"If I just lay here, for the rest of my life, would that be so terrible?"

"You'd get et."

"Yeh."

Bren was sitting in the meadow, chewing on an apple. He looked down at Valla, laying in the grass nearby.

"You'd die." He prompted.

"Yeh. But I'd get to lay here for the rest of my life."

"Mm." He mumbled around a piece of apple.

Silence hung in the warm summer air. The sun played briefly behind a thin cloud, dimming only slightly. Giving the whole world a pleasant swelling of brightness as it returned.

Bren finished his apple.

He stared at the core intently.

"I'd be sad." He said at last.

One of Valla's eyes slowly worked its way open, to look at Bren.

"What?"

"If you got et. I'd be sad." He casually tossed his apple core into the tree line. He leaned back, resting on his palms.

"Oh."

"Yeh."

The warm summer silence returned.

Bren lay back in the grass. It was nice. He closed his eyes, and felt the sun playing across his face pleasantly.

He felt Valla's hand snake into his. It was... soft.

"Maybe not the rest of my life then. Just for a bit, huh Bren?"

Bren's stomach felt like a hive of bees dancing around a flower. He smiled, keeping his eyes closed.

"Yeh."

Counting Stars

"Back again Lucius?"

"Back again." Lucius smiled, and started unfolding his chair. The night air blew chilly through his shirt, so he dug a blanket out of his small pack.

She leaned against a parapet on the keep roof. She shook her head at him as he prepared for his nightly ritual. "What are you doing, Lucius?"

"Same thing as every night. Counting." He smiled pleasantly at her question.

"You can't keep this up forever. You have to move on eventually."

"Eventually, perhaps. But not tonight." He sat in his chair, and reclined it back. His face was pointed straight up at the massive collection of stars swirling overhead. He pulled his blanket up to keep out the chill.

"She's not coming back, Lucius."

His head bobbed slightly as he began counting, one, two, three...

She wasn't sure he'd heard her. She was about to clear her throat when he spoke.

"Maybe not." His head continued to bob as he spoke, not ceasing to count.

"So why do you keep torturing yourself like this?" She stood from the wall, and stepped closer to him.

"When she left," He said, still not breaking his count, "She told me she would return when all the stars in the sky had been counted."

"I know, Lucius, we all know... but you must realize that she meant... that that doesn't mean..."

For the first time he stopped counting, and moved his gaze to her face. His expression was warm, a loving look of pity. Pity that she didn't understand.

"I know what she meant, little one..." And his smile wavered for only an instant. "And there is nothing I can do to change what she did." He took a deep, long breath.  "But we all remember what she said, and that... that is something I can do. Or at least try." He grinned a mischievous  grin, and turned his gaze back to the stars. His head bobbed as he returned to counting.

She watched him count for a while before she left, her heart broken by his dedication to the departed. She shed the tears for him, because she knew that he would not.

Tap Tap Tap

"Uhhh... captain? I... Can I... Your help please? Can I get your help here please?" Came the call over the radio. Wehyland's voice, and the intercom listed it as coming from the ventral airlock.

"Roger, I'm on my way." The captain clicked off her radio, and started moving weightlessly through the ship.  Some sections had artificial gravity, but not all. Decisions had to be made on the first long-distance crewed space mission. And gravity isn't always cheap.

It didn't take long for her to make it to the airlock.

"What is it Wehyland?" She asked before she rounded the corner. When she did, she saw his face white as a sheet. Staring out the small viewing port. He turned to look at her, and swallowed.

She tilted her head, and floated over. That's when she heard it. the faint tap. Tap. Tap.

Rhythmic, quiet. She furrowed her brow. Wehyland didn't speak, just floated slowly back, to let her look in the airlock.

She moved up, and stared inside.

There was a spacesuit in the airlock. And someone inside, banging on the thick airlock door with soft, suited fists. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She could see the face in the helmet. It was screaming. Begging to be let in.

She looked to Wehyland. He was terrified. She looked back into the airlock, and felt the cold rush of fear fill her veins.

The man in the spacesuit was crying now, as he pounded on the door.

The man in the spacesuit, was Wehyland.

The Big Picture

I used to say I want to die before I get old.

And here I am, walking through the desert, bullet in my belly, dragging myself to... anything.

Shows what I knew then, huh?

To be fair, when I said that I didn't have Her. She didn't exist in my world yet. And She definitely changed everything.

I look down at my hand, holding the blood in me. It's not doing a great job. Thanks a lot hand. Some good you are. I look back, there's a pretty definite trail of drops everywhere I've been.

At least I can tell I'm not walking in circles. Small victories.

I drop to my knees, exhaustion fighting to take control. The world is sand and heat and pain. I can see a cow skull in the distance. Where's the rest of the cow?

I dig my fingers into the wound, and the piercing pain brings me back into focus.

I still have to stand up. Five more minutes.

If I die out here, what does that matter, really... in the big picture. Does it really change anything?

I stare at the cow skull. Maybe my body will wind up with the cow's. Maybe our skulls will be buddies. Skullbuddies.

My free hand digs around in my pocket, and I pull out my wallet. Inside is a picture of Her. I've seen it a thousand, a million times. But I let it pierce into my head. Let it wedge itself in my mind like never before. It's not about the big picture. It's about the little picture. It's about Her.

And I rise to my feet.

Sorry, skullbuddy. Maybe next time.

Big Day

I straighten my tie, a simple red unpatterned affair. It pops nicely with my outfit, the rest of which is a fairly traditional black and white affair. Ready for work. A big day.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks.

"No." I reply, sounding only a little defeated. I'm tired of this conversation. Tired of everything. "I can't say that I'm sure. But you've convinced me. I don't really see any other options."

"I just want you to be sharp out there. Doubts are going to make you look bad."

I smirk. Not really something I'm concerned about. But he knows that. He knows everything about me. That's how he was able to convince me. I never really stood a chance.

"I'll be sure. Confidence is key, right?" I turn to him and smile. He smiles back.

"You got it. Hey," He shakes my hand by the door. It's a firm, but not hard handshake. A gesture of support, excellently crafted. He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "You'll do great. I believe in you. Go get 'em."

He puts the gun in my hand, and the demon fades out of my sight.

I breathe deeply. I'm sure.

Big day.

To Dream

It's fun to dream.

Sometimes I dream that the sunlight that passes through the filtered glass on the ship, that washes over me in the mandated  light-exposure sessions is flowing over me in a beautiful meadow. That I'm laying in the grass in some secluded glen, while the sun passes behind dappling clouds, warming my skin and gracing me with a pure relaxation unlike anything I've ever felt.

But eventually I remember that I've never seen a meadow, or even grass. That my parents never saw a plant, and neither will my children. That in this dark space, between systems, the sol chamber is the closest we will ever come to that dream.

Some days it is enough. Some days it is a great sadness.

Some days I curse my ancestors who inflicted this life on me with their decision, and wish I could go back in time and tell them that any life is better than this sterile wasteland between the stars. No matter what they left behind, it can't be worse than this monotonous existence of artificial nothingness.

Some days I imagine what worlds my children's children's children will walk upon, the first humans to set foot on new worlds outside our home star. I dream what wonders they will see for the first time, and how the sunlight of that distant star will feel on their skin. Something I will never know.

But it is fun to dream.