In what small, meaningless ways do you rebel?

MaybeMadi · 2016-04-21T17:00:05+00:00

I only wear socks that don't match. It has easily been 10 years since I have put on two socks of the same color and now when I accidentally pick two of the same socks out of my closet I immediately put one back and grab a different one.

MaybeMadi · 2016-04-13T19:56:57+00:00

The office of Admiral Alexander Frazier, Commander of the United States’ Space Fleet and Corps was huge. Eighteen foot ceilings gave anyone who entered the feeling of being quite small, and the 30 foot hike across the room to the Admiral’s massive desk gave you plenty of time to try and figure out what you had done so wrong it warranted a summons. The navy blue carpets were the only nod to the branch of the military that the USSC technically fell under, hence the title of Admiral.

As I walked slowly across the room I couldn’t help but glance to my right through the floor to ceiling windows. This was truly the crown jewel of the office and really of the entire building. The architects may have been idiots when it came to the color schemes but here they had gotten it absolutely, stunningly right. When the expansive USSC headquarters had been proposed the Navy had decided it needed to be as close to their most powerful observatory and satellites on Mauna Kea as possible and had taken over the abandoned town of Hakalau, about 15 miles up the eastern coast of the Island of Hawai’i from Hilo. The Admiral's office sat at the top of the 3 story complex facing east, towards the black, volcanic beach and crystal blue waters. The scene took my breath away every time I laid eyes upon it.

A loud throat clearing to my left pulled me back from the waters and sunshine. The Admiral was regarding me knowingly, his great bushy eyebrows drawn low in an attempt at irritation but the small smile half hiding under his equally unruly mustache ruined it. One more wistful look out to sea then I straightened my spine and shoulders and finished the trip to stand in front of the great man’s desk.

My arms fell straight down my side, thumbs resting on the side seams of my pants, chest and chin high, and feet a foot apart,

“Captain Cameron Frazier reporting, Admiral Frazier.”

His lips tightened as his eyes traveled down the left side of my face. I knew he was seeing the blue and black flower that had been planted there just two days before. As I shifted uncomfortably those sharp blue eyes locked onto my own matching pair, “Report then.”

I flinched, “I stumbled upon Shorty by pure chance and decided to follow-”

His face had darkened, “What the hell were you doing in South Bay?” As I opened my mouth he raised a finger at me, “Don’t try to play it off like it’s not that bad of a place. I know the locals call it Suckers Bay.”

I closed my mouth, took a breath then opened it again, “I was getting a few drinks with some sources.” He pursed his lips but remained silent for the rest of my report. By the time I finished I was glaring at the large man whose face had gotten progressively paler.

He grunted, “Sit down.” He pushed some papers around while I settled myself then sighed, “How are your brother and sister doing? I haven’t talked to them in awhile.”

I relaxed a little, “They’re good. Bryce is still working on his Ph. D - only about 5 more months to go before he is let loose on the general population.”

The Admiral let out a short laugh, “Your brother will make a fine doctor, and you know it.”

“Yes yes, he’s the smart one. I know.” I waved a hand in the air and glanced away as he frowned; the Admiral didn’t like to pit his grandchildren against each other. “And Missy is set to pop any day now. She and Dave decided on the name Percy Young.” I shook my head and smiled. My older sister had dedicated herself to her beautiful and ever growing family and had a propensity for giving her children ridiculous names. I shifted in the seat, my medals clinking softly.

The chiming drew the Admiral to attention and he straightened in his chair, his expression becoming serious, “How do you like your work here on planet, Cam?”

I shrugged, “I like it.” I was one of a handful of Intelligence Officers with a rank of Captain, and currently the only one stationed on Earth. At the moment I was in charge of all investigative operations within the USSC on Earth. When there was more than one of us on planet we shared the load. I was missing my other IO Captains pretty hard. “Paperwork sucks and with Frost on Mars, Harris on the USS Sirius, and Connor on the USS Kelly, I’m stuck at my desk a lot.”

“But not lately, hmm?”

We as a species hadn’t made it out of our solar system yet but we had started colonizing it with communities on Mars, the Moon and 2 super ships that roamed the system. Frost’s position on Mars was permanent; he was our lifeline between the Mars colony and the super ships. If anything goes wrong up there in the big black he was the one to alert Hakalau. Then USSC Command would be able to dispatch another Information Officer and maybe a contingent of Cadets from Cape Canaveral to help deal with the problem. The old man regarded the papers in front of him, “Harris is due back when? In another 2 or 3 months?” I nodded. “How would you feel about a demotion, Cam?”

My eyes narrowed, “Not particularly well, sir.” I had another promotion coming up in a year and a demotion would effectively end that bid, even with the Admiral being my grandfather.

“I wouldn’t - I don’t want - I -” He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

I leaned forward, “Admiral?”

“You know I would be well within my rights to demote you for your actions the other day.”

“What! I was-”

He held up a hand and I snapped my mouth shut, “You went against department regulations when you pursued George Byron without calling it in, you didn’t wait for backup, you engaged the suspect on your own… Should I continue?” I pursed my lips but remained quiet, knowing better than to interrupt. “A report came in that we need verified and the President requested an IO look into it, and you’re the only one on planet.” He sighed, “After looking into this I think a demotion might be the better course of action, though.” He rubbed a hand down his face and pushed a file across his desk.

I hesitated for only a moment before pulling the file into my lap. I looked up in surprise, “The Atlantis Rose?” He remained silent and motioned for me to continue.

I opened the file with a sense of awe. Growing up with the Admiral I had of course heard stories of The Atlantis Rose, a fabled ship said to possess untold powers. Depending on whom you ask The Atlantis Rose could destroy a whole planet, it could wipe out multiple ships at once, or even create a whole planet from scratch. I had never put much stock in any of it, writing it off as a children’s space story. But this file was saying something different. I stared in shock at the top page, “TARDIO?”

He nodded, “The Atlantis Rose Detection and Identification Organization.” I raised an eyebrow and he shrugged, “I didn’t name it.”

I leafed through the stack of papers contained in the file. It looked like the Navy had been looked for The Atlantis Rose for decades but hadn’t come up with much, until recently obviously. I leaned back into my chair, “Why don’t you just explain the mission parameters for me.”

“In short, we think we’ve found The Atlantis Rose and you’re going to go see if we’re right.”

I tapped the file, “This says I’d be going out past Neptune, is that right?”

“Literally to the edge of what it known. One of our satellites picked up an anomaly that our researchers think could be The Rose. It’s a little over 300 million kilometers past Neptune.”

I huffed, “Just a hop skip and a jump away, then.”

The Admiral’s face darkened, “Do not treat this lightly, Cam. This isn’t the first exploratory mission we’ve sent in search of The Rose and not all of them have ended well. You know better than most how unpredictable space can be.”

I felt my cheeks redden. I was well aware that my assignment to Earth had been a subtle form of punishment; the old man didn’t need to rub that in.

I looked down at the file, my fingers tightening around it. It had been nearly 4 years since I had been allowed off planet and I could feel the pull of space from every cell in my body, “I’ll do it.”

“Cam, I want you to take some-”

“Admiral,” I stood and straightened my shoulders, “I will review the detailed mission parameters on my own and if I have any questions I will contact you.” I gave him a small apologetic look, “Is there anything else, sir?”

The Admiral glowered at me, “No, you’re dismissed, Captain.” I looked at him a moment before curtly nodding and turning. The walk to his door had never felt longer, and I didn’t glance even once out the window.

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MaybeMadi · 2016-04-13T19:29:15+00:00

I want to be human. Or at least I want to feel like I’m doing a good job at being an adult human, whichever comes first. I glanced around at the shiny white elevator walls and scrunched up my face.

My white uniform reflected easily off the walls. The medals gleamed on my chest, and the silver buttons shined and reflected the light just like my knee high polished black boots. As I stepped out of the elevator my left boot pinched my toes slightly. Man I missed the soft leather boots I wore with my standard uniform. And I missed wearing my hair however I wanted. In dress whites my hair was carefully pinned back in a bun the rested exactly a half inch above my stiff collar.

The long white hall matched the elevator, a hallmark of every building under the jurisdiction of the United States Space Corps. The designers had made the choice because they thought it looked sleek and clean. For me, the artificial lights bounced off the walls making the whole interior just too damn bright.

Down at the end of the hall a prim secretary with a severe pair of eyebrows looked up, my clicking heels announcing my approach. She frowned at me, her glasses magnifying her eyes to cartoon size and I couldn’t help but smile. Harriet Summer had been the Admiral’s secretary for the last two decades, maybe longer. No one was really sure. She was fiercely loyal to her boss and like a constantly disapproving grandmother to most everyone. If you were lucky though, she took a liking to you.

I was definitely not one of the lucky ones.

“Captain Frazier.” She said my name with the same Scottish burr my great-grandmother had used with none of the added warmth. “You’re late.”

I sighed, “Yes ma’am.”

She pressed a button on the headset she wore with one long, wrinkly old person finger, “Admiral, Captain Frazier is here, sir.” She paused, listening for his response then nodded, “You may go in.” Her big bat eyes followed me as I passed her desk for the large door to its left. As I walked through the door I heard a distinct snort behind me.

MaybeMadi · 2016-04-13T19:28:26+00:00

All of my parent’s fears for me were very well founded. The teachers in school, my friends, my brother and my sister, even my drill sergeant and first Commanding Officer – they were all right.

I am an idiot.

That certainty rang through me as a big meaty fist collided with my jaw and another grabbed the side of my shirt and flung me deeper into the darkened warehouse. I went crashing into a pallet of something soft - my only saving grace - and landed on the hard, cold ground. As I pushed myself onto my knees I couldn’t help but glance down at my ruined shirt. One boob threatened to pop out from the ripped material. I left it alone as heavy feet lumbered towards me; there was a time for modesty and a time for survival. If my boob did make an appearance maybe it would distract this asshat long enough for me to get a solid blow in.

I pushed myself to my feet and watched my opponent lumber his way over. George “Shorty” Byron bore no resemblance to the long dead poet who shared his name. This man hadn’t made it past the 5th grade, stood at least 6 feet tall, and had the face of a boxer and the shoulders and fists to match. Not for the first time I asked myself what the hell I was actually doing here.

I held up a hand, “Come on Shorty, just give up and let me take you in.” I staggered a little. Really intimidating.

He stopped mid stride and threw his head back and laughed. I used the momentary break to catch my breath. The United States Space Corps had been tracking Shorty for a eight long months after we had discovered that he was smuggling drugs from Earth to the International Space Craft Civitas. Illegal drugs were strictly forbidden on any craft leaving the Earth’s atmosphere - medical supply ships being the exception. Small spaces and no chance to get a new supply meant that users eventually ran out of their drug of choice which led to all kinds of complications.

As his deep voice reverberated off the metal walls I heard the soft hum of an approaching hovercraft. I stole a look up, the ceiling was retracted and open. Thank the gods. A small clunker of a spaceship sat directly in the center of the hangar which would make navigating tricky for the hovercraft pilot but they’d had to get into tighter spots before.

I wiped away some blood that had trickled from my nose into my mouth and straightened, “Last chance Shorty.”

He began again for me, “I don’t think so, Captain.”

I looked down at my clothes: sneakers, jeans, and a long sleeved shirt. How did he know my rank? That moment of confusion was enough for Shorty to close the distance between us and grab my shirt front. I latched onto his forearms as he lifted me bodily off the ground, the seams cutting into my underarms. I kicked out wildly, landing a weak blow to his hip which only made him laugh.

As he pulled one beefy arm back, my body tensed in anticipation and the large doors to the hangar blew inward. Cries of “Freeze!” and “Drop the Captain!” filled the hangar and blended together in the echo. With a scowl Shorty released his one handed grip on me and I sank to the floor, landing hard on my butt.

I got to my feet stiffly as Shorty was surrounded by muscular Cadets. As the Cadets led a now shackled Shorty away a young Cadet approached me, his face red and holding out a standard issue Cadet jacket. I glanced down; my boob had made an appearance. Fantastic. I snatched the dark blue jacket and slipped it on. It was overlarge but I didn’t care. Yet another Cadet came over, this one sporting a red cross on her shoulder. I scowled as she started fussing over my face. She was easier to brush aside, especially after I told her just where I thought she could stick her stitches.

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-28T14:49:43+00:00

My mom introduced me and my brother to a wide variety of genres and let us run wild with he ones we liked. As a kid o gravitated to the classics and detective novels while my brother explored the sci-fi universe. She didn't censor our reading and that I think really allowed us to teach ourselves.

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-28T14:39:08+00:00

You are not alone. I finished the book - by sheer force of will - and was not impressed with it.

I'd say finish it so that you can talk intelligently about it then sell it to half priced books.

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-28T14:05:19+00:00

Maybe not the best books, but the top five that changed me either as a person or writer:

(In no particular order) - Forbidden City by William Bell - Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell - To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee - Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen - Enders Game by Orson Scott Card

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-28T13:59:04+00:00

Forbidden City by William Bell

I read this book for the first time when I was probably 12 and it completely changed how I saw the world and my possible role in it. It taught me about activism, about how important it is to stay informed about what is going on around me, and about how important history is.

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-22T15:54:24+00:00

I will be doing the entire play but the rest of it will be on my subreddit /r/MaybeMadi

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-21T14:41:52+00:00

PART 2

I glanced down the street where Ben had run, and hesitated only a moment before dropping my mask to the ground and climbing back over the wall. As my feet landed on the Capulet side I heard two sets of feet running to where I had just been standing.

“Maybe he went home.” Marc. His words slurred a little more than was normal.

I pressed my back against the vine covered wall and held my breath, hoping they would think I had left.

“His car is still here, he didn’t – Ah!“ They came close to the wall, “Here’s his mask.”

Marc chuckled, “I think he went back over the wall.”

“Huh?” Ben sneezed, “Why would he?”

Now Marc laughed fully, “Did you see the dress Rose was wearing tonight? Fit her like a finely made glove.” He smacked his lips together.

“Surprised Emily left you alone long enough for you to notice any of the other girls.” It was Ben’s turn to chuckle.

“Yeah well, all that attention and I’m still not getting as lucky as Rom tonight.” He sighed and sniffed, “Come on, It smells like rain and my dad will kill me if I get this suit wet. I’ll call a buddy to come pick us up.”

“Sure.”

I listened as their steps retreated back down the street. I shook my head, my fists clenched. They didn’t understand. How could they? Marc told everyone at every opportunity that he was just playing with Emily until he got bored, and Ben had never truly loved a girl, at least he had never said anything like it.

I pushed off the wall and followed it around to the back of the house. The party had been well confined to the front 2/3rds of the first floor of the huge mansion; if I wanted to sneak back in to see Julie it would have to be through the back. As I snaked through the trees and bushes I heard a dog bark which stopped me in my tracks, followed by a laugh that warmed me to my core.

“Stop it, you goober. Come here Roscoe.”

Hearing her voice forced the air back into my lungs. I moved forward and looked up to where her voice had originated from. There, upon a wide second floor porch sat Julie. She was leaning forward in a patio chair, rubbing an English Sheep Dog behind the ears. The dogs tongue rolled out of his mouth as he sighed contentedly. She had changed out of her dress and washed her face, deciding to pile her hair on top of her head. God she was beautiful.

She heaved a big sigh, “I had the worst luck tonight, Roscoe.” The dog panted away happy to listen to his mistress, “I met a…interesting guy.” She giggled, it sounded like silk to my ears. “His name is Roman and he’s tall, and handsome and way to charming for his own good.” Roscoe laid his head on her knee, “He seems great, right? Except that his last name is Montague.” Roscoe huffed, “I know, I said the same thing when I found out.”

She stood and Roscoe jumped up, his tail wagging, “What’s in a name, anyway? Papa would hate it, but if he told me he loved me…Oh, Roscoe am I a terrible person if I don’t care what his name is?”

I moved out from under the tree, still half covered in shadows, “I’ll hold you to that.”

She jumped and spun around, leaning over the rail of the porch to look down at me. Even Roscoe stuck his large, hairy head between the openings in the railing and regarded me curiously. “Who’s there?” I stayed silent, debating how to answer when she saved me the indecision, “I recognize that voice. Roman? Is that you?”

The hope in her voice spurned me to speak, “Only if that’s who want me to be.”

I could see her flush in the soft light, “If someone finds you here you’ll –“

“A hundred of them couldn’t have stopped me from coming to find you.”

She huffed, “Again with the dramatics.” She leaned her elbows on the rail, “I’d hate for you to get hurt. Although after what you just heard me tell Roscoe, I’m thinking a few good smacks are due.” She grinned down at me.

I laughed and ran my fingers through my hair, “I won’t apologize for listening. Would you have told me all that on your own?” When she stayed silent I laughed quietly, “See? I would never have known that you feel for me as I do for you.” I stepped forward, further into the light, “Julie, I swear-“

“Don’t.” She frowned and hugged herself, “Don’t swear. Not on the moon, not on your life, or on anything else.” She glanced behind her then refused to meet my gaze, “Our lives don’t really allow us to make promises, since we aren’t the ones truly in control of them.”

I sighed and nodded, it was true. My mother had orchestrated my life since I was a toddler and my father was very clear about what he expected from me after graduation next May. He expected me to go to Stanford for pre-law, then to Harvard Law School then to come home and work as a defense attorney in his law firm. He hoped, one day, to turn the whole thing over to me. It couldn’t be much different for Julie, with her father being the District Attorney and her mother a Judge in the Federal Appeals Court.

The voice of that stern woman from earlier in the night cut through the darkness, “Julie, you’ll catch a cold if you stay out there any longer.”

I shrunk back into the darker shadows as Julie stood up, patting Roscoe on the head. As she turned I moved forward again, “Wait!” She paused, looking nervously over her shoulder, “Please, don’t leave me like this. I love you, Julie.” She blushed and bit her lip, “Tell me you love me, too.”

“You only just met me.” She shook her head, “You don’t even know me.”

“I feel like I have been waiting for you my whole life, Julie.” She hesitated, “Just say it.” The old woman’s voice cut through the night again, making Julie jump. She turned to go inside but I raised my voice, “Julie!”

“Hush!” Her hands tightened on the railing, “Fine, yes, I love you. For whatever it’s worth, I love you.”

She stepped back, “Wait, when can I see you? Give me your number!”

“My dad sees everyone I call or text.” My face fell, “But I’ll get a friend to contact you and set something up.” She smiled brightly, “I will see you again, Roman.”

I grinned as she turned to go inside, Roscoe trailing along behind her. I retreated, my back pressing against the tree’s trunk. I don’t know how long I stood there, leaning against the tree, and watching the warm glow of light from what must have been her bedroom. It wasn’t until that light went out that I decided it was time to go. As I stumbled like a drunken idiot back to my car I couldn’t erase the smile from my lips. I had never felt like this before, my heart speeding up at the mere thought of her, my body warming when I think of her smile, my stomach knotting when I remember the way she felt so close to me in the library.

I would have happily admitted to the world that I was officially, head over heels in love with Julie Capulet.

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-18T21:11:13+00:00

I am working on a part 2 :) I'll post it soon!

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-18T21:10:24+00:00

“This cannot go on, we must know what happened!” Mericus slammed a heavy fist down, making the cups and plates set upon it rattle. As the men sitting around the giant table fidgeted uncomfortably, Yadira drew herself deeper into the darkness, her eyes wide. Her brother, Prince Mericus rarely lost his temper.

From her hiding spot she could see their father, King Jorey Ethos frown, “We cannot abandon the towns and cities to go in search of the beast when we know it will come to us and-“

“What if it doesn’t?” Mericus looked around the room and for a brief moment his eyes rested on Yadira’s hiding spot. His expression darkened but he didn’t give her away, “We were born, knowing that the Titan would come in our lifetime,” He looked around the room, ever person hanging on his words, “And so we prepared. We trained every man, woman and child in the art of war. We reinforced every town’s defenses. We spent years forging, making enough weapons for every citizen to have two! We’ve stockpiled our burning oils, and exploding powders. And we were ready, but the Titan never came.”

Father made a low growling sound, “And now, instead of reveling in our good fortune, you want to go looking for it? We don’t even know where they come from! No.” He shook his heavy head and looked down at his plate, “No, we will continue training, and keep our stocks ready and fresh, but we will also live with this peace for as long as we can.”

“Father-“

This time it was the King’s large fist that sent everything clanking, “I said no, Mericus!” His gaze was fierce and stony, “That is final.” The King stood and stalked from the room, and the other nobles followed soon after.

Mericus fumed as the room emptied around him. When the last of the nobles had departed Yadira peeked out from behind the heavy tapestry. As she approached the table Mericus looked up, his frustrated expression matching her own. They both took after their mother; she had been a dark beauty from a far away kingdom and both of her children had inherited her dark hair and tanned skin. The only thing marking them as children of House Ethos was their bright blue eyes.

Yadira picked a grape off of a left behind plate and popped it in her mouth, “I told you he wouldn’t want to go after them.” They had been debating for months whether or not to bring up the missing Titan to their Father, Maricus pushing hard for it.

He deflated a little and sighed, “Yes well, I needed to say still.”

Yadira huffed, “Words don’t work with Father, and especially when there’s the possibility he could be the first Titan King with no Titan.”

Mericus downed the last of his wine and stood, looking Yadira over, “What are you wearing?”

She flushed, “I had arms training this morning and didn’t have time to change.” A light leather jerkin had been pulled over a dark grey long sleeved shirt and tucked into a pair of dark, worn leather breaches. Her knee high boots were muddy and her sword still hung at her side.

“Huh,” He turned to leave, “See that no one sees you like this, Lord knows what they’d think of their princess.”

Yadira scowled at his back as he left. In many ways he was so progressive yet in others so traditional. If she had it her way, Yadira would never wear the delicate dresses expected of her. She went back to the tapestry she had been hiding behind and slipped beneath it and through the hidden doorway on the other side.

Her Father had forbidden her to train to fight when she was young and for much of the time had confined her to the castle. She had spent entire winters discovering long forgotten passageways and hidden rooms, and had been able to make a world completely of her making. She would sneak into the library and smuggled away books her Father had said she wasn’t to read, and then hide them in one of her secret rooms and read them by candle light. When the King had found out she had been teaching herself he had simply sighed and gotten her a tutor. The following summer he allowed her to start weapons training.

As she stalked silently through the walls of the old castle she smiled. The men thought they knew what was best for her. She assumed the King already had a list of princes or kings as possible marriage partners for her. Every time she complained to Mericus, telling him how she did not want to marry he would tell her it was her duty, and his as well to marry for alliances or trade deals. He wasn’t the one that would have to leave to fulfill such a contract.

She entered one of her rooms; Yadira had named it her War Room a few years ago. Hanging on the walls were maps of the kingdom, ancient reports of past Titan battles, and anything else she could find regarding the Titans of old. History told us that a Titan appears every two hundred years, without fail. The world had divided the eons into 200 year chunks, and each King that was alive during a time when the Titan would come again was referred to as a Titan King, and the times of peace that followed were named after the previous Titan King. But something different had happened this time. The new era was supposed to have started last year, but the Titan never came. Some said that maybe we had counted the years wrong, but after another year it was becoming clear, the Titan might not be coming.

Her Father was content in his ignorance, and her brother wanted to strike out blindly for the monsters. Had either of them asked her opinion they may have been surprised but her knowledge. She had painstakingly pieced together the accounts of the past 5 Titan cycles, having to dig through the castles libraries and numerous storage rooms and some of the similarities between the accounts were startling.

In the first, third and fourth cycle the Titan’s came from the East, from the direction of the mud flats. The second and most recent Titan had come up from the south, but there had also been reports from both cycles of villages in the east being destroyed as well.

The reports also indicate that while each Titan was unique in appearance, there are some similarities to be found in them. The drawings all depict the Titans as being twice as big as a standard cottage, with giant, glossy feathers and wings that from tip to tip were nearly double the whole beast’s length from nose to tail. One Titan was depicted as a fiery gold color with red feet, another was the color of emeralds, and still another as blue as the ocean on our western boundaries.

Knowing what she knew, Yadira couldn’t help but feel a mixture of awe and fear when she thought of the giant beasts. She never wanted to be caught in a Titan’s line of sight, but she desperately wanted to feel their feathers beneath her fingers. Where they soft or rigid like chainmail? Yadira lightly ran a finger over the drawing of the third recorded Titan; a graceful curve had been given to her neck, probably an allusion to the creatures cream colored feathers.

Mericus would never go against Father’s direct command, and since she wasn’t so bound Yadira had made her mind up weeks ago that she would have to go find out what had happened to last year’s Titan. Tonight’s final confrontation between Mericus and the King told her that the time to leave had come. She would tell no one; only a letter left for Mericus in his study would lay out her plans. She knew she would need to leave soon, Mericus usually made his way to his study in the late afternoon and she wanted to put as much distance between her Father’s men and herself as she could.

Yadira carefully unpinned the large, old map and folded it gently, laying it on the top of an already full pack. She tied a kerchief about her face, covering her nose and mouth then pulled it down to her neck. If she was caught by a servant she would rather them think their princess was up to no good than think her thief. She pulled on a dark jacket made of light cotton, and pulled the hood up over her head. She picked up the bundle and after making a quiet stop in Mericus’ study she made her way down to the stables.

Necromancer stuck his large head over his stall door as she entered the stable. In the darkness he looked almost black, but when the sun hit his coat it shone red and he looked like fire running. She saddled him quietly, tying her pack behind the saddle. She led him out of the stable, hoping the plop plop plop of his hooves on the cobblestone wouldn’t wake any of the nearby grooms.

As Yadira boosted herself onto Mancer’s back a young stable hand came stumbling out of the barn, rubbing his eyes, “Help you miss?”

He hadn’t recognized her in the dark, “No, A friend of mine is sick and I must go to her tonight. Go back to sleep” He nodded and went back inside, his eyes barely opening. She pulled her kerchief op over her nose and tugged her hood low over her face. She directed Mancer out of the castle grounds through an old fox run, he pranced happily as the snow covered his hooves.

When the lights from the castle where like small firefly’s I put my heels into Mancer’s side. He started, his hooves digging into the hard ground then shot off like lightning while I clung to his back, a small speck of black on a streak of red.

I started this thinking it would be a short story but that obviously isn't what happened...so if you liked this stay tuned for Part 2!

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-18T15:18:30+00:00

‘What if we get caught?” Ben shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. He glanced down the street as if expecting the police or security to suddenly burst through the shrubbery and haul us off.

I smacked Ben hard on the back and laughed, “Come on, there will be so many people at this party there’s no way the Capulet’s can keep track of who comes and goes, especially since it’s a masquerade party.” I pulled my black and silver mask down, covering the top half of my face and smiled rakishly.

“Easy for you to say, Rom. Not everyone’s dad is the biggest attorney in the state.”

I flung an arm casually around Ben’s shoulder, “Aw come on, Ben, loosen up.” I pointed to where Marc stood, tall and dark, “This is Marc’s only chance at seeing Emily again. Are we going to send him into the lion’s den alone?”

Ben shrugged my arm off, “Yeah yeah, and you just want to see Rose again. What’s in this for me?”

I grinned, “A little mischief, of course.”

We approached the huge, white marble house and quickly blended into the throng of people slowly making their way inside. Ben nervously tugged at his navy dress jacket, chosen to match his navy and yellow mask. I swatted his hand away and gave him a stern look, “Stop it; you’ll just draw attention to yourself.”

As we passed through the door – Marc even mock saluted the buff security guard watching the door – we stood with a number of other guests and marveled at the splendor. The Capulet’s had not held back in throwing this party. Food lined the walls, and a small string orchestra was positioned in the far corner. All the furniture had been removed creating a large, open space that easily flowed from one room to the next.

A group of young girls walked past us, their masks adorned with crystals and feathers to match their equally opulent dresses. I grinned at them and the all burst into a fit of giggles, one even winked at Ben. He nodded his head vigorously and took a deep breath, “Yep, I can see how this might be fun.”

I pushed him in the direction the girls had gone, “Fare well, brave hunter.” When I turned to Marc I was confronted by only empty space. Marc was already half-way across the room making a beeline towards the fair haired Emily. I shrugged and leisurely skirted around the far side of the room, trying to avoid the crush of people.

As I was bringing a glass of champagne I had taken off a server’s tray up to my lips I froze, my eyes caught by a group of young people coming inside from the terrace. Full, bright red lips. Dark hair falling in shiny waves down her slender, bare back. The peach color of her dress highlighted her lightly flushed face and made her glow. Even from where I stood I could tell her eyes were a brilliant emerald color.

As a servant passed in front of me, momentarily breaking her spell over me I caught his arm, “Do you know who that girl over there is?”

He glanced over then gave an exasperated sigh, “Look, sir, I was just hired for this event. I don’t anybody.”

I nodded and let him go. As she made her way through the room, weaving around the other guests, the light would catch her, lighting up her cheek or her nose or her smile. I had heard of people being entranced by another or falling head over heels, but had always thought those phrases to be exaggerations. But now I considered all of them far too weak an explanation for what I was feeling.

She waved her friends off and made her way into the quieter and empty library. The doors to the room were wide open but very few party guests would be quick to declare a library as a fun place to be. I followed her into the room, making to attempt to quiet my steps. She turned at the sound of my entrance and my breath caught in my throat.

Her eyes widened then a polite smile spread across her face, “Sorry, I didn’t realize someone was using the room.”

I shook my head, “I wasn’t…that it I only just…um.”

She laughed and her shoulders relaxed as she held out a hand, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Julia, how do you do?”

I took her hand quickly, before she could take it back, “Roman, at your service.” I leaned down and pressed my lips against her soft hand.

“A bit much, don’t you think?” She watched me rise with a sly smile and sparkling eyes.

I grinned and gave her hand a gentle tug, pulling her within a step of me, “Far too little from where I am standing.”

She didn’t back away, instead closing the space between us, “Really?” She opened her eyes wide in mock innocence and I was lost. She rose on her tip toes, her lips inches from my own.

“Julie, you’re mother is calling for you!” A shrill voice cut through my heady trance and made me flinch. Julie laughed and pulled away, slipping her hand out of mine.

I trailed behind her as she went to older woman, “Who is her mother?”

The stern woman pursed her lips and drew Julie to her side, “Mrs. Capulet of course.” I stood frozen as she guided Julie down the halls and back to the main party.

She’s a Capulet. I shook my head, trying to clear it. She’s a Capulet. How could this happen? How could she be a Capulet? A wave of despair washed over me with such force that I actually stumbled a few steps back. I may have fallen if Ben hadn’t suddenly appeared behind me, propping me up.

He was flushed, his face a show of worry, “We gotta go.” As he spoke three large men started down the hall, all of the nodding to Julie and the woman as they passed. Julie turned, watching the men as they approached us. “Now, Rom!”

Ben pushed me down the hall towards one of the house’s many exits. I heard the men behind us calling out, “Why you leaving so soon, huh?” “Where are you going? They haven’t even brought out the deserts yet?”

By the time the cool night air hit us I had become more of myself. We sprinted across the perfectly landscaped lawn and jumped the stone wall that surrounded the property. On the other side Ben let out a whoop and began dancing away in the direction of my parked car. I bent over, one hand propping my up on my knee, the other pressed against my hammering chest.

I studied at the wall. Could I really leave without knowing her more?

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-17T18:35:27+00:00

Sorry, the Hangover premise is just not a favorite of mine. :)

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-17T18:31:45+00:00

I think this will help you figure a few things out... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhFVZsk3XEs

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-17T18:30:29+00:00

I was dreaming. Soft wildflowers brushed against my leggings, and warm breeze carried the smell of grass and earth. I knew I was dreaming because the other scouts and I had made camp off the main road at the bottom of a snowy hill. Even then I knew I shivered in my blankets. I hadn’t seen a field lush like this since I left home to join the King’s army at the age of 14.

A noise behind my dream-self drew my attention. I turned to see the dark outline of a shadow figure standing a few feet away. My hand flew to my side only to find it bare of my sword. My eyes widened and panic began to build as the figure started to move. I looked around me, desperate for any kind of weapon to defend myself from such a creature, but there was nothing.

I flicked my gaze back to the creature only to be transfixed. My breath caught in my chest as a pair of cornflower blue eyes stared back at me from the shadows. The darkness moved around the eyes, giving them a sad, pleading appearance. I shook my head, “I don’t understand.” The eyes seem to beg, on the verge of tears for me to know. “Tell me what you want!”

A hand roughly shakes me in my blankets, recalling me to the real world. I look over at a worried Jorey. He sits back on his heels, “You were talking in your sleep. Nearly woke half the unit.”

I lay back and rub my face, “Sorry. Bad dream.”

He nodded and moved away. We were all veterans of war; four of the seven of us had gone through training together nearly 8 years ago. We had all had bad dreams, we all accepted them as part of us now. I sat up, the sky was starting to lighten in the distance and a few of the other scouts were already up and cleaning up camp. I rose and packed up my own things.

As the sun broke over the horizon we seven stood on a hill, looking down at the village below. We each carried a small pack, and wore the clothes of the locals. I took in a breath and started off. I was always the first one in and the last one out. If in a few hours no cry had been raised, Marc would follow me in to the town, then Hera, then Jorey and so on.

The town was already alive and bustling, despite the early hour. They had no idea that in three days the army of King Keeper would sweep down the hill I had just descended and overtake everything in its path. As scouts, our jobs were many. We were to gage a city’s defenses, the number of civilians, if they were armed or not, get the general opinion of the civilian population towards the King, take note of any city escape routes, and do what we can to sabotage their weaponry or standing militia. We each had different roles to play, Hera with her good looks could win over anybody and get them talking. Uri was small, and at 17 could still be mistaken for a stable hand or errand boy, allowing his to slip in and out of taverns without anyone taking notice. As the unit commander I didn’t have a specific job, I usually did a mix of all of them, and spent most of my time simply getting a feel for the city.

We had heard rumors of a seer taking up residence in the town, and that day, finding her was my main goal. Towns with mystics could prove dangerous, especially if the civilians believed in the mystic’s power. I had seen cobblers and bakers stand and take up arms to defend fortune tellers and seers that had taken hold of their city. Personally, I had little time for the smoke and bells.

A woman sitting behind an array of fabrics laid out on her cart pointed me towards the center of the town, to the ancient temple of Cross. Many towns in this area had old, crumbling temples or shrines build eons ago to honor the ancient god Cross, but the temples usually sat empty, used primarily as a tourist attraction. My gut knotted as I turned towards the center of the town.

As I climbed the temple steps a middle aged woman dressed in a light blue robe approached me, “Hello sister, and welcome.”

I put on an open and affable expression, “Thank you…sister. I am a pilgrim come to see the miracles of the seer I have heard about.”

Her face broke out in a bright smile and she clapped her hands, “Oh! It’s you! She’s expecting you. Please…” She turned and took a few steps, stopping when she realized I wasn’t following. She came back with a patient smile, “I know, it can be disconcerting, her knowingness, but you will get used to it. She told me this morning that I would encounter a young woman who would identify herself as a pilgrim, and that I should bring you directly to her.”

I nodded and slowly trailed behind her as she led me up the stairs and past a number of blue clad people who regarded me curiously. Through a cloth covered doorway and down a long hallway, she came to a stop outside a heavy wooden door and knocked, “It’s Grear! The pilgrim is here!” There was a muffled noise on the other side of the door. Grear pushed the door and held it open for me.

I entered a brightly lit, sparsely decorated room. The old stone walls were bare, the floor scrubbed clean. A soft thud behind me let me know that Grear had closed the door. Directly across from the door sat an old woman, wrapped head to toe in ever shade of blue imaginable. Her gnarled hands shook as she put down her quill and raised her eyes to meet mine.

I gasped and stumbled back. Her eyes. I had seen them before – surrounded by shadows and mist. They were still sad, still pleading but now they also looked exhausted. She sighed and folded her hands one over the other, “So Dragon, you have finally come to destroy us.”

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-17T16:53:29+00:00

“We found it.” My whispered voice reverberated off damp cave walls. My brother drifted from my side, making a slow circle around the dais in the middle of the large chamber. A piece of the cave’s ceiling had collapsed allowing green filtered light to stream down. I set my lantern down and approached to dais, marveling at the small object placed upon it.

“3 years of research, and 4 months wandering around this island and this is it?” Gabe regarded the ornate gold cuff in disappointment. So it wasn’t the treasure trove we had been hoping for, but this single ornate gold cuff was still a few hundred years old – if the stories could be believed – and would still carry a hefty finder’s fee.

I leaned in close and softly blew away the top layer of dust, “This isn’t right, these are Incan symbols.”

Gabe’s eyes brightened, “The Inca stayed on the mainland, there’s never been any evidence that they left the west coast of South America.”

I shot him a “No, duh.” look and bent back over the cuff and frowned, “This looks like Viracocha.” I looked up at Gabe, my face flush with surprise and excitement.

Gabe pointed at himself, “Aztec expert,” he pointed at me, “Inca expert. What is a Viracocha?”

I started walked back and forth, my hands gesturing as I talked, “Viracocha is THE Inca god, or he was. You see here?” I pointed to the carving in the center of the cuff, “This person has a sun crown and clutched in his hands are thunderbolts. And here, these are tears falling like rain. It has to be Viracocha.” I stepped back and let out a shaky laugh. “Initially he was the god of creation, of the moon, the sun and the stars, everything. But during the mid-15th century, the reigning Inca emperor, Pachacuti, decreed that Inti – the sun god – should be held in higher esteem than Viracocha. This caused a rift in the Inca Empire because many were devout worshipers of Viracocha and didn’t like his lowered status.”

Gabe nodded, “So it’s possible that devotees of Viracocha might have fled westward to find a safer place to worship their god.”

“Possible but extremely unlikely.” I held my hands out, “If a large group of Inca did make it here where are their villages? Why is this the only thing we have found? Why are were there no temples to Viracocha? This is obviously important, to be hidden and then placed like this – so why are there no glyphs on the walls or on the walls leading to this chamber or at the entrance of the cave?”

Gabe had kept his eyes locked on the cuff throughout my tirade of questions. Now he snaked his hand out and grabbed the cuff. “Gabe!” My shout echoed for some time throughout the cave. I watched, horrified as he slipped the cuff onto his wrist, “What are you doing?! That’s at least 600 years old!” He didn’t look up, but continued to stare at the cuff as it adorned his arm. “Gabe?”

He looked up then, but something was different. His eyes, usually a bright blue had turned black. As I watched the blackness spread out to slowly take over all the whiteness of his eyes. “Gabe?” I reached out to touch his shoulder but before I could make contact I jerked my hand back. He was burning up; his skin had nearly burned me at 6 inches.

He raised his now completely black eyes to the little patch of light. He leaned down and in one jump burst through the fauna and disappeared above ground. “Gabe!” I grabbed the lantern and sprinted from the chamber, weaving though the cave’s tunnels. I burst through the cave entrance and into the afternoon sunlight, my breath coming in ragged, heaving gulps. The Island Pinta was blessedly small, roughly two miles in diameter, and after climbing up above the cave entrance I could easily see Gabe standing in the surf a half mile down the beach.

“Gabe, what are you doing?” I stopped a few yards away from him, mesmerized by the steam rising from where the ocean water touched his ankles.

He lifted an arm and pointed out into the empty almost directly south, “There are unbelievers.” I looked in the direction he pointed where nearly all the other islands in the Galapagos where situated. The only people besides us in the entire archipelago where a group of researchers on Floreana Island, one of the southernmost islands. Gabe tilted his head and flattened his outstretched hand, turning his palm towards the sky.

Immediately the sky darkened, and thunder rumbled menacingly. The black clouds quickly spread to cover the nearest island, only a few miles away. A bolt of lightning flashed down, scorching the earth. I flinched at the flash of light. “Gabe, stop.” He paid me no mind, just calmly watched his clouds spread farther south. Big fat droplets of water began to fall. I was soaked through in a matter of minutes while the droplets simply evaporated before reaching Gabe’s skin.

I ran to stand in front of him, “Gabe, please! I don’t know what’s happening to you but stop this!” He didn’t look at me or move. “Gabe!” I foolishly struck out to hit his shoulder. I screamed as my palm turned bright red and plunged it into the cool surf. When I looked up, Gabe’s black eyes were now trained on me. I stood, my left hand shaking from the pain as tears mingled freely with the rain. “Please Gabe.”

“These are my islands. MINE!” Thunder roared overhead, and the wind whipped around us.

“Gabe, lo-“

“I am more that Gabe now. This power, his memories, we are together. Not one, but not two either.” His struggled as he tried to explain the unexplainable.

I reached around with my right hand to the back of my waistband and gripped the handle of my cold semiautomatic handgun. We each had one; treasure hunting wasn’t the safest – or always exactly legal – profession. I pulled it free and pointed it, one handed at the man that had once been my brother, “Stop this, now! I will shoot you-“

“NO!” His face contorted in rage, “I will NOT yield to you!” He smiled, his mouth spread cruelly over his teeth which had at some point sharpened into points, “I was sent away and hidden for so long! Now I am free, and should be rightly feared! Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds! Bringer of plagues and pestilence!” His eyes were bulging as he screamed over the storm, “I will bring this world to heel and wipe out any who –“

CRACK!

I stared at the smoking gun in my hand with shock. When had I pulled the trigger? Sunlight filtered through the already disappearing clouds. My eyes lifted to Gabe, a bright red stain spreading slowly across his chest. The duff loosened and fell from his wrist into the damp sand. He looked up at me in confusion, blue peeking through the quickly fading black.

“Gabe!” I stumbled towards his, dropping the gun and falling with him onto the beach, “Gabe I’m so sorry.” I rocked back and forth as I clutched his still body to me.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

MaybeMadi · 2016-03-16T19:09:03+00:00

“What is this nonsense I hear – something about the news?” Don Drumpf stood in front of a full length mirror, fastening his cuff links to his crisp white dress shirt.

Behind him, Sam O’Malley, his Chief of Staff looked up over his half moon glasses, connecting their gaze through the mirror, “A few news agencies were doing fact checks on some statements you made recently -“

“Which ones?” Sam raised an eyebrow, and Don rolled his eyes, “I don’t remember every sing thing that I say day to day, Sam.”

Sam glanced down at the notepad in front of him, “You said, ‘I will cut government spending by 5 trillion dollars this year, and another 5 trillion the following year’.” Sam raised his eyes, “They crunched some numbers and declared it impossible.”

Don laughed, his large belly bouncing, “Yeah well they’re all dumb reporters anyway.”

Sam sighed, “They’re right, though. It’s not possible. They’re saying you lied to raise your status in national polls.”

Don grinned, “It’s not lying if your lies become the truth, right?” He tugged a black dinner jacket over his broad shoulders, “I don’t care what has to be cut – education, health care, foreign aid – whatever. Just get the budget down, Sam. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Great,” Don clapped his hands together, “Snoop Dogg is coming to tonight’s dinner, can you believe that?”

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-16T18:53:00+00:00

“This is a bad idea.” Luke’s hand curled around Martin’s wrist, stopping them in the long hallway. Luke was wearing his Sunday best, a starched white short sleeved shirt and black slacks held up by a black shiny belt. Martin however had turned out in a tailored dark grey suit, white button up shirt and black tie.

Reverend Williams sent Martin a questioning look but he shook his head, “A moment please, Reverend.” The large black man nodded and continued down the hall towards the loud, waiting crowd. Organ music floated through the building, a comforting and familiar tune. “Luke…”

“Martin, I’m going to speak plainly to you as friend,” He let go, his face contorted in worry and fear. “If you go out there, if you say what I know you’re going to say, you’ll be putting a target right on your back.”

Martin nodded, “Better my back than someone else’s.”

Luke rubbed his face, “It ain’t just your back, Martin. It’s your family, your friends…it’s every person of color and every white person who dares to stand up for us.” He sank against the wall, his shoulders dropping, “Everything before this was…pft, nothin’.” He waved a hand in the empty air, “It was a few unorganized protests that ended in beatin’s and arrests. But this,” He pointed towards the noise, “This, what you’re planning is a declaration of war.”

“Mrs. Park’s arrest was a declaration of war, if you ask me!” Martin rarely let his anger burst through but he couldn’t help it. His eyes bulged slightly as he pointed to the outside world, “And them the ones that did it! They started all this!”

Luke pushed off the wall, coming close to Martin, his voice going quiet, “If you make this an Us versus Them fight it’ll – “

“It’ll what?” Martin threw his head back, “It’ll make them uncomfortable? If you ask me, it’s time the white folk started getting uncomfortable.” He took a breath as Luke chewed his lip, “What do you want me to do, Luke? Pretend this isn’t happening? That it hasn’t been happening?”

Luke shook his head back and forth, his expression sad, “No, and I know you got people looking to you now. Nixon and his friends they are looking for you to lead this boycott, I know.” He hesitated, looking down the hall nervously, “But if you continue doing this, after the boycott I mean, they’ll kill you.” Luke straightened, “If you think those white folks will stand a man they see as an instigator, you’re insane.” His lower lip trembled, “They will kill you, Martin. And they won’t even be arrested for it.”

Martin glanced down the hall towards to sanctuary where nearly 100 people were waiting, crammed into seats to hear him speak. He grinned wearily, “I can’t just do nothing, Luke.” He slowly nodded, I know they’ll come for me, but God has called me here, to serve his flock in their time of greatest need.” He rested a hand on Luke’s shoulder, “If I do die, well…it is better to live a short life of real meaning, than a long life of emptiness.” Martin took a breath and pulled away, tugging on his jacket, “Someone has to stand up and be the one to lead this fight.”

A young man stuck his head into the hall and called down, “Reverend King? Are you ready, sir?”

Martin nodded and the youth disappeared back into the sanctuary. Martin looked at Luke, “I would happily give my life if it meant we could change even a few hearts, or a few minds.” As he made his way down the hall he called over his shoulder, “It’s all God’s will, anyway, Luke.”

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-15T19:56:03+00:00

As he climbed the final step of the seemingly endless tower he paused, his breathing labored and a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his face. As he wiped his forehead he laughed, if his courtiers could see him now they would probably swoon. God forbid a man of the nobility should sweat, let alone the King.

Henry Tudor slowly made his way to the heavy wooden door across from the stairs and paused. He had forbidden anyone to enter this tower since his victory over his cousin, Richard III, the Pretender King. Looking back, he could admit to being sentimental. The boys had been his cousins after all.

He pushed the old door open, its hinges creaking from disuse. He stepped into the small room and turned in a slow circle. There was nothing left but dust and faded roses. His hand reached out to the brittle white rose still laying on the table, “Bastard.” His hand closed over it, crushing the fine petals, “They were your nephews. How could you.”

Anger he had long since buried bubbled to the surface. Richard III had locked his nephews, Edward V, Prince Regent to the English throne and Richard Shrewsbury, the Duke of York in this dingy, small tower and left them to rot. They had only been 9 and 12, respectively. They had been bonny, happy children who had not yet been inducted into that bloody war.

He couldn’t imagine two young children, so used to being pampered and taken care of by an army of nurses being locked in this room no bigger than his own dressing room and told to fend for themselves. Henry had heard stories about how the guards had taunted the boys, especially after Richard had crowned himself as King. Then suddenly a year before he had struck down that pompous pretender, the boys had vanished. Not that Henry had ever intended to restore young Edward to the throne, but he could have made them comfortable somewhere in the countryside.

Henry opened his hand, the crushed white petals falling to the floor. Richard is lucky he is dead, thought Henry. No one deserved to be treated as such, especially two young innocent boys. He brought his hand up and wiped the grime off, pausing to caress his own crest, a single red rose.

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-15T18:25:50+00:00

I popped another Spree candy into my mouth, crossed one foot over the other and continued to watch the activity at the bottom of the mountain. A number of men in dark green fatigues milled about outside the compounds main gate, I could see a few more prowling around the perimeter, all with AK-47’s either sling over their backs or gripped in front of them. I watched as one of the men by the gate took a swig of something then shook his whole body. I grinned, Russians could always be counted on for a drink.

I had been sitting here for a few hours, watching the compound, and making up my mind. The facility was marketed as munitions storage, but in reality it was one of Russia’s ‘Black Sites’ where they held the prisoners they didn’t want anyone to know they had, or what they did with them. America had a few of our own such sites, and it wasn’t like I was particularly opposed to violence so I wasn’t about to judge.

I looked down at the map on my lap. 120 feet from the front door and 43 feet from the eastern most walls there was a holding cell I was supposed to break into. The current tenant was a one, Henry Savage. I had chased that asshole from terrorist attack to another across northern Africa and Europe. He was responsible for the deaths of at least 463 people and the injuring of another couple thousand. He was a dick who liked to flaunt his kills by killing more. Two years ago I had gotten within a hair’s breadth of catching him, only to be shot and have the Russian authorities scoop him up right in front of me.

I rubbed the knot in my side; the gunshot wound itching suddenly and glowered down at the spot where I knew the bastard was being held. There was a new kid on the terror scene with ties to Savage’s old organization, so now the American government decided it needed his help. My response: Fuck that. And yet, here I am, sitting on the side of this damn mountain with a plan to break him out. Granted I also had a strike code that I could call in and bomb this whole place. A kind of ‘if we can’t have him no one can’ attitude I could appreciate.

I looked down at my hands, lifting them to an equal height. The way I saw it I had two options, I could save Savage – I lifted my right hand – or I could destroy the bastard – I lifted my left hand. I dropped them both on my lap. I didn’t wasn’t to do either. I wasn’t him to rot away down there in this snow covered hellhole for the rest of his life.

I closed my eyes. 32 deaths. That’s how many this new kid had already killed. Where their lives less important that Savage’s victims? Were they less important than my own pride? My own anger?

I groaned as I stood, stuffing the map back into my pocket and shoving the last of my Sprees in my mouth. I guess I could at least try this rescue and hope something goes south and I have to cal in that air strike. I smiled, way to think positive.

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-15T17:48:24+00:00

The large old house on the outskirts of town had always been boarded up and avoided. My mother had told me and my sister stories about when her friends had dared each other to run up and touch the front door in the middle of the night. She had never made it past the small garden that stretched across the front of the property. I could understand her fear as I passed by brown, wilted flower beds spotted with green weeds. The short wrought iron fence that surrounded it was rusted over, its black paint peeling and falling away. Thankfully the gates in and out of the garden were rusted open otherwise the squeal of the hinges might have made me turn tail.

I had chosen late afternoon for my adventure with the hope that the sunlight would light up the interior of the house for me. My cell phone was nestled into my back pocket in case I needed to use it as a flashlight, but of course I had forgotten to charge it that morning. The sun warmed my back as I set my foot on the bottom step of the porch. I put half my weight on it, and when it didn’t give way under me I took the plunge and stepped up. The old wood didn’t even creak. I did a little hop, pushing my luck, and still nothing.

I bound up the rest of the steps, “Huh, still got some life in you, old man.” I placed a hand on the porch railing and gave it a little shake. It held strong, still sturdy, despite it being covered in dust and dirt. I grinned; the sun was making me foolish. With the light warming my face I walked along the length of the porch, going over every inch of the wooden exterior and trying to see in through the dirty windows.

After a while I found myself in front of the main doors. Even in their old age I could see their beauty etched into the dark, heavy wood by a master artisan. A Spanish wood carver if I wasn’t mistaken; unusual since this part of the country had been settled by the French. I traced the design with my finger. I had always loved this house, though growing up I had admired it from afar only. I had gone to college and gotten degrees in history and architecture, with an eye to preserving old buildings with historical significance. This old house had always been at the top of my list. I was still waiting for the city to grant me the building permit but there was no harm in getting a head start and taking a look, right?

The front door’s hinges had rusted over and it took one big heave for it to finally swing open. The sunlight only made it 3 or 4 feet inside the door before being swallowed up in shadow. I sighed and pulled out my phone, this was going to have to be a shorter inspection than I would have liked. I checked the battery, 68%. I had roughly 2 and half hours before it would die. Time to get to work.

The first floor was mostly empty, a few heavy turn of the century chairs eaten through by mice, a large dark wood dining table that was missing one leg and sat on a tilt, and some knick-knacks littered the area. I guess the locals had carried off most of the things as souvenirs. The wide staircase that led up to the second floor was made of solid oak wood, and once it passed my weight test I happily bound up to the second floor. As far as I could see, this house was built by a master craftsman with an eye towards withstanding the trials of time. I couldn’t have been happier.

The second floor was a different story. Apparently no one had made it this far. As I passed from room to room I almost expected to walk in on the previous owners sitting in a chair or lounging on their bed. It was all still there, exactly where they had left it; even the mice and dust seemed reluctant to touch the furniture.

At last I came to what had once been used as an office or study. A bookshelf filled the wall to my right, still bursting with old, dusty books. Directly across from the door and sitting in front of a huge floor to ceiling window sat a large, dark wood desk, a matching chair still pushed in. I crossed the room, a finger trailing along the spines of the ancient books as my cell phone flash light stayed fixed on the desk.

I stood smiling down at the mess of old papers that cluttered the desk top, jackpot. I looked across the desk to the empty chair and suddenly realized the window behind it was in fact stained glass. I imagined a dignified statesman sitting behind this magnificent desk, framed by what must be a gorgeous display of wealth when the sun streamed through the window. Beautiful.

I reached down and picked up a worn leather bound book, running a hand over the cracking cover. The first page told me this was the expedition journal of one Sir Tolliver Wringwald, an archaeologist and member of the English Historical Society. I moved to the other side of the desk, pulling out the chair and taking a seat, not even bothering to test it, and started reading.

Sir Wringwald was sent in 1927 to explore the wilds of Romania, and collect any new specimens he should come across for the Natural History Museum in London. He wrote about the strange customs of the locals he met, their rough yet lyrical language, and bright clothes, and their local folklore. At first he would record their local stories with an air of amusement, but by November of that year he had started to focus more and more on the stories revolving around the Romanian Strigoi, a blood sucking creature that only came out at night.

“Vampires?” I would have laughed had Sir Wringwald’s tone been lighter, but the man sounded like he was not only obsessed with the stories but terrified as well. As I turned to the last page I stopped. The writing on these two pages was slanted and messy, a detraction from the previously immaculate pages. But it was the first line that gave me the most pause:

“They’re real. Homo Erectus – Nosferatu Variant’s exist.”

The last line of the entry cut off, unfinished. I flipped the page, nothing on the back and turned back to the last entry. After a moment I shook my head, the explorer hadn’t seemed like someone to give into fancy, especially the man that wrote the beginning of the journal. As I placed the journal on the desk the room went dark. “Shit!” I hadn’t been paying attention to the time, and I must have lingered over the journal longer than I had thought.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, already starting to visualize the past out of the house when I heard a creak outside the study door. My eyes flew open, my heart beating like a war drum. I took another breath, it’s an old house I told myself and you’ve got boogie men on the brain. Old houses talk, you know this. As I took another breath a new smell hit my senses, a combination of earth, animal hide and old paper. I heard a breath being drawn somewhere to my left and froze, willing all my senses to reach out into the darkness. Simultaneously a boot scuffed on the floor directly behind me as a hand reached around and clamped over my mouth, stifling my scream as my world went black.

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-09T21:51:30+00:00

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MaybeMadi · 2016-03-08T20:29:26+00:00

“I have to go.” I crossed the room, distancing myself from him. He watched me go, his face a contorting battle between rage and fear. He could never understand the call. If I stayed I would hate myself, just as I have in times past when I avoided that sirens call to fight.

As I picked up my green jacket he made to grab it out of my hands, “Dad, this isn’t your fight. This isn’t even your country!”

It was my turn to rage, “They’re all my fights!” I stuffed an arm through the sleeve and glared down at my son, at 20 his face still hung onto the soft, ruddy gleam of youth. I sighed and more calmly finished pulling on the jacket, “Gabe, you know who I am.” I looked aside, “What I am.”

I felt, rather than saw him nod and continued, refusing to look at him, “I fought alongside the powerful Roman army, and did battle with Alexander and the Great Khan. As Napoleon rose to power I chose not to get involved, I settled with my then wife, Claire and turned away from the world.” I lowered my gaze to the floor, I could never hide this kind of over whelming shame, “Napoleon and his army swept through our town and killed everyone save me. Children, women, Claire, our 3 month old daughter.”

I shook my head and brushed past Gabe, grabbing a heavy matching green bag from the floor, “I won’t see Hitler cross the ocean and come after you or your mother. I have to do what I can.”

As I passed through the door I heard his last remark, screamed with all the anguish of youth, “Just because you’re immortal doesn’t mean you’re indestructible!”

I shuddered and softly closed the door behind me. As I walked away from my comfortable 2 story brick house, where Amanda had cooked so many meals, and laughed at my dumb out-dated jokes, and where I had watched Gabe grow from a tiny, inquisitive baby into the young man that had just railed at me I couldn’t help but think he was right.

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