《Haruhism of a Lesser》 Frontmatter In loving memory of my father who may as well have died at war. I excepting oneself. To live a dishonest life, one must be truthful to everyone, her dream. her wish was to be the lie; to become it, Always, IIUnlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Dear Prof. Rearden, I, Haruhi, wish to whisk you away to a faraway world named Earth, where magic is in every word of prayer and Gods preside over everyman''s kin. Some nations will have disagreements. Where The Man decides, from himself He derives the cultures of creation. Yet man still young¡ªin his twenties¡ªpulled by indigent bootstraps to war lives his life unyieldingly. Yet Man ''s still young, and like young men, he is selfish. Whereby selfishly he claims through war his fame he is destined to be the lesser of subordinates. Cruel irony in life that through infamy he¡¯ll thrive but destroy every one who loves him. And never though any fault of his own; his circumstance is Fate¡¯s¡ªall ready-made. The Gods do avail of theater and play¡ªthe actors, the arena, the show. An endless entertainment for all who¡¯ll avail it, the other to man in mirrors shown. An end-of-monthly subscription for grading and a mission to complete two chapters each time. From April through March on the first or sixteenth, whereabouts our stage will shine. Thus and thereafter, dear Faust departs to capture a merry, joyful rhyme. For whose inner cloister would heavens repose to foister, entomb''d, to die. To sleep no more! and in dreaming field to some distant shore where pearls needn''t oyster to be.... So revel and roister, Faust and his oyster, the lovely island key. See you soon, -Haruhi Prologue III In a cramped and dark barracks room, where Sergeant Randy Ditty had lain sleeping, the television news burst forth in alarm: ¡°Thousands Wounded! Hundreds Dead! Gwangju Burns!?¡± Randy awoke, sweating. Images on the television cast fiery lights across the room. His eyes flickered between shadows until he was certain he was alone. Groggily, he followed the beige walls of his bedroom unit. Passing through the hallway door, he nodded at the guard on Charge of Quarters duty. The guard yawned and nodded back. CQ duty typically lasted 24 hours, from 6AM to 6AM, and the nightly news was programmed for 1AM. Randy felt like he could sleep a few more hours, but he was hungry. He sauntered to the floor¡¯s rec room. Swiping his thumb on a Digi-Print Scanner, he eyed the vending machine''s contents. ¡°Tch.¡± They were out of Milky Whey bars again. He would have to message Supply in the morning. He tapped his feet as the machine verified his thumbprint. "Maybe it failed to read?" he wondered, swiping his thumb again. ¡°Sniggers, Granilla, ¡­¡± Steps echoed forth from the hallway and Randy took position. The CQ Guard rounded the corner and opened his mouth to yawn. Reaching its peak, he shut his eyes tightly and, from stealth, Randy slapped his back.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Ow!¡± The CQ Guard awoke, stumbling. ¡°Di- Sergeant Ditty?¡± ¡°Him and no other,¡± he replied, helping the guard to his feet. ¡°Sorry.¡± The CQ Guard stammered, ¡°No- tha- thank you! I was falling asleep out here!¡± After an awkward silence, he added, ¡°¡­ is just so boring. And it¡¯s¡­.¡± He trailed off. Another awkward silence. ¡°I¡¯ll just keep- just, make my rounds.¡± He quickly added, ¡°I-if that¡¯s okay! Sergeant¡­ ?¡± Sgt. Ditty glanced at the soldier¡¯s nameplate, ¡°HYUNTAE.¡± Ignoring Hyuntae¡¯s awkward stares, he moved deftly towards the vending machine and punched in ¡°B40¡± for a Three Buccaneers bar. It stuck. Half angry, half hopeful and assaulting the machine, he glared at the private still standing in the doorway, as if daring him to say something. Hyuntae reached reflexively into his bulging pockets, removing a handful of Milky Whey bars. He gestured Sgt. Ditty to take them. Sgt. Ditty, red-faced at his own behavior, stomped towards Hyuntae and removed a chocolate from his outstretched hands. ¡°As you were, Private.¡± The vending machine whirred, finally dispensing the Three Buccaneers bar. It fell, mangled, with a thud. Sgt. Ditty returned to his room and locked it. Leaning against the door, he slumped to the ground. ¡°I should say sorry,¡± he thought. He was not at all tired anymore and his body still ached from the mission he had just returned from. Yet, rising to the bathroom to pee, he took two sleep aids with water. Bedsheets clung to the corners of his mattress. Stretching them to cover himself, he crawled inside. ¡°Alw-¡®s a nightmare,¡± he grumbled. Fatigue addled the mind until, sleeping, it rested on a quote: ¡°He had my handkerchief.¡± Because, if anything, he preferred nightmares to reality. 1.1.1: Randy Ditty 1 Randy Ditty Twisting, writhing, Randy slept, clutching at his bedsheets. His senses haunted him. Like nightmares, powerful memories stalked his sanity. His ever-waking dreams were horrors, thrice-damned ghosts of past, present and future. Every moment, everywhere, they hounded him. They chased him like dogs unto madness, into his forty winks and beyond, until dreams delivered Randy unto the doggedness of his past, the very morning of the day gone by. Splashed upon a poison puddle of dreams, Randy blinked. Ash fogged the air, marking him beneath his sleeves. They itched¡ªrank with sweat and dirt, blood and grime¡ªthey clung like a putrid skin. His boots peeled at the rashes swelling within them. Randy sucked at his teeth to concentrate. These feelings¡ªbitter, hot, and wet¡ªdisturbed him from his mission. To capture a film reel, he was dispatched to lead two elite soldiers through Gwangju. To Sergeant Ditty, Amricean Military Intelligence divulged North Kreya''s dastardly scheming. Though their plot was nearly foiled, Allied efforts would be for naught were the North to publicize this tape. They would spin a narrative to devastate the South¡¯s reputation, and the world would turn to favor them. Randy choked purposefully on the ashen air, to wake himself. ¡°The boy with the camera must be killed. His camera must be broken. His film must be destroyed.¡± With those thoughts, Sgt. Ditty unfurled a map and motioned his troops to encircle it. Sgt. Ditty pointed on the map to a building. ¡°This is the printing press.¡± He pointed to a building three blocks Northwest of the printing press. ¡°This is the targets home, a two-hundred-apartment complex.¡± He unfurled another smaller map overtop an unused section of the first. ¡°This is that complex.¡± He pinned the maps with his left knee and pointed: ¡°Two wings. Ten floors. Ten apartments per wing per floor. Odds face west. Target marks Unit One-Oh-Nine. This unit. Corner unit. West side tenth floor.¡± He paused to confirm their understanding. The noise was overwhelming; gunfire and screaming threatened every moment to drown his voice. ¡°Tracking,¡± said the two subordinate soldiers. Conjuring the image of a friend¡¯s ashes scattered on the wind, Sgt. Ditty mumbled a spell and threw the map: becoming dust, a breeze caught the map¡¯s remains, and it was no more. For a moment, the soldiers¡¯ eyes drifted, drawn to the beauty of Sgt. Ditty¡¯s spell, but their discipline caught them and refocused them to their task. Randy cleared his throat, pointed at the printing press, and traced a path to their current location and back. ¡°This is our route there. There we will encounter the boy. Kill him. Do not detain. Destroy any possessions. Should he evade our first approach, we approach again, here.¡± Randy pointed at the printing press when the shorter soldier flashed a confused look. ¡°Here, Randy repeated, ¡°we will encounter the boy. Kill him, his possessions. Should he evade our second approach, we have failed. Team two is contingency. Signal is ¡®I¡¯m a Drunken Sailor¡¯ by muzzle fire into the air. Escape to extraction point beta.¡± ¡°Hooah!¡± the shorter soldier exclaimed. Sgt. Ditty stared and the shorter soldier shrunk backward in fear. ¡°Our signal to pursue is ¡®The Yellow Bird¡¯ by muzzle fire. Red flare for success. Blue flare for failure. Questions?¡± There were none. Again conjuring the image of a friend¡¯s ashes scattered on the wind, Sgt. Ditty mumbled a spell and threw the map: becoming dust, a breeze caught the map¡¯s remains, and it was no more.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. The nightmare waivered, and Randy exhaled a tired sigh. The wetness of his dreams had found him in reality: his mattress was steeped in sweat. Randy¡¯s pet iguana seemed to stare from within his well-groomed and steamy cage. Hot droplets slipped slowly down the transparent walls, to rest inside alfalfan substrate. He was asleep on all fours. Suddenly, Randy fell from the bed and moaned: ¡°¨¹oooo!¡± His iguana woke. The nightmare had him. Sweat and ash made mud inside his nose: he breathed mouthily. He chased the target, but the target had an accomplice. ¡°The target¡± was now two: ¡°Alpha¡± and ¡°Bravo;¡± ¡°Cameraman¡± and ¡°Accomplice.¡± Hoping to aid Alpha¡¯s escape, Bravo threw himself desperately at Sgt. Ditty. Sgt. Ditty called his next order but feared his words would come too late. The shorter soldier, ¡°One,¡± did not wait for Sgt. Ditty¡¯s orders. Taking immediate action, he lurched forth to intercept Bravo. In a second¡¯s heavy breath, One crashed shoulder-first into Bravo and they tumbled atop each other, eventually crashing against the porch¡¯s metal railing. Sgt. Ditty continued pursuit, but Alpha had a lead. He called out to the taller soldier: ¡°Two, on me!¡± Two was on him. Conjuring the feeling of running downhill, Sgt. Ditty mumbled a spell and threw his body into the motions of running on a treadmill ten speeds too fast: his muscles tightened and twisted, transmuting themselves to become faster. He burst forth with an explosive speed, leaving Two to trail behind. Yet, despite his incredible speed, he was still too slow and arrived to an empty 10th floor hallway. His nostrils flared and his lips went white against his teeth. ¡°Did he hurry to his own unit? Did a neighbor shelter him? Are there unknown exits?¡± Cold calculation tempered the heat of his face. He breathed deeply to calm himself but choked. Coughing miserably, ash rasped against his tortured throat. Boots rang loudly against the metal stairway to the west wing¡¯s 10th floor. Sgt. Ditty crouched at the ready and leveled his weapon upon the entrance. The taller soldier rounded the corner. Sgt. Ditty lowered his weapon, locked eyes with Two, and motioned him to breach the door. On a silent count, Two¡¯s heavy boot smashed the cheap wooden door. It splintered from its hinges as Two quickly stepped aside. Amidst a shroud of wood dust, Sgt. Randy entered, weapon at the ready, and cleared the front and left side. Two followed closely behind and cleared the right side where an elderly couple cowered against the floor, muttering fearfully. Sgt. Ditty boomed in their language using a North Kreyan accent, ¡°Where is the boy!? Where is the camera!?¡± He kicked their table upside down. ¡°Now! The boy and his camera! Where are you hiding them!?¡± He fired a shot into the floor. ¡°Where are you hiding them!?¡± On the spur of the moment, he shot the man¡¯s knee. The woman sprawled like a blanket atop the man. Crying, she begged the sergeant to stop, but he would not. He shot the man¡¯s other knee and declared, ¡°Next shot is death!¡± The woman prostrated herself and, in broken English, pleaded the other soldier to intervene: ¡°I do not- my husband- please I- my husband don¡¯t,¡± she sobbed. Sgt. Ditty took aim again, this time at the man¡¯s head. The woman clapped her hands together and prayed the Buddha for mercy. Suddenly, a dirty boy, no older than 20, threw himself on Sgt. Ditty¡¯s rifle. ¡°BRRT! BRRT! BRRT!¡± intoned Randy¡¯s alarm clock. Randy¡¯s eyes threw open. His lungs cried out. He inhaled, and exhaled, and inhaled, and exhaled, and inhaled, and slapped his alarm clock sometime in that process. The hour was 04:00. Time to wake up. ¡°Fuck,¡± he whispered. His blankets were cold and wet; and, for some reason, he was on the floor. He stood up and found his iguana staring. ¡°What¡¯re you lookin¡¯ at?¡± He chuckled nervously. As Randy clothed himself, the iguana returned to sleep. Randy peed and looked in the mirror. ¡°Eyck.¡± Approaching the sink, he lifted his chin, pulled his jaw taught, and dragged a rugged hand across the stubble. ¡°Eyck,¡± he grumbled. "Look like shit." 1.1.2: Abyss 1 Abyss Rumors claimed the soldiers cursed, and truthfully, they were. They saw specters in their bathroom mirrors, even as they brushed their teeth. Doomed bodies and damned souls marched unceasingly to war. Whether asleep or eating, fucking or detached, they were wicked from their dwellings with flame. It was inhuman, like sin which hung and stared and clung, like thorned roots to Randy¡¯s hearth. Sucking every moisture from his soul, his outward reflection mocked him. Beset by anxiety, Randy pulled at his heart. Breath caught in his throat. His eyes flickered about the room, searching for his phone. He snatched it from the nightstand and dialed familiar numbers, ¡°1¡± ¡°870,¡± for ¡°Amricea¡± and his home state of Pensylvannia, then paused. The iguana flicked its tongue at him. Randy completed the numbers, ¡°466-7320,¡± and the phone called out to the emptiness. A heavy silence crowded his mind as he stared blankly forward, over the sink¡¯s rising water, past the faucet¡¯s loud gushing, into his own eyes. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Like the devils¡¯ silent laughter, his hands trembled gripping the phone. The ringing stopped, and a trepidant voice spoke into the darkness of Randy¡¯s bathroom. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°Randy?¡± Bitcrushed audio poured from Randy¡¯s phone and washed about the bathroom, lapping up sad thoughts like ocean waves. ¡°Oh- hey Randy! What¡¯s the occasion- you never call!¡± Randy pinched his nose, pressed the phone to his ear, and sniffled. ¡°Oh, uh.¡± He paused to pinch his nose some more. ¡°Nothing, really...¡± The phone shuffled loudly. Randy sniffled and pinched his nose. ¡°Just¡­. What¡¯s up with you?¡± ¡°How¡¯s the wife?¡± ¡°Oh, she¡¯s great!¡± Pete exclaimed. ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s- you know- doing fiiine.¡± He sniffled. ¡°Hey, Randy, you¡­. Are you sure you¡¯re doin¡¯ okay? Cause I-¡° Randy interrupted: ¡°Yeah, yeah! It¡¯s just- It¡¯s early, ¡®n all. You know?¡± ¡°Oh. Yeah, yeah!¡± Pete laughed. ¡°Not quite myself ¡®till my cup uh joe. You too! You were always on the coffee pot, you know. Heh.¡± ¡°You were just- sounding kinda sick! Kinda ill! Scratchy- throat cold?¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Randy sniffled. ¡°No, no. ¡®ll, maybe. Long hours, right?¡± He laughed. ¡°You know!¡± He lied. ¡°So, what theyy got you doin¡¯ these days? Huh?¡± Pete asked. ¡°No, nothin¡¯ ¡­ well, the usual. Right? Long nights ¡®n long hours? The usual.¡± Randy deflected. Pete sighed: ¡°Well if you say so!¡± ¡°Say ¡®wait a minute!¡¯ They got you workin¡¯ on a Saturday!?¡± ¡°It¡¯s Saturday!?¡± Randy remarked. ¡°It¡¯s Saturday.¡± Pete declared. ¡°Why?¡± Pete laughed. ¡°You got somethin¡¯ goin on? Little bit uh ¡®ah! ahn!¡¯!?¡± he teased. ¡°Hahahaha. Haha. Hah! Haha!¡± Randy squealed with laughter. ¡°Hah-sth," he sucked mirthlessly, "hah! Hah hh hh hh.... Hhh hh hh hh¡­¡± Randy¡¯s expression crumpled. His lips curled, jaw quivered and eyes watered. Elbows bent towards his chest, fists shaking with hysteria. ¡°Hah ah ah!¡± He breathed wildly. ¡°Hah ah ah!¡± His face hurt from exertion. ¡°Ye-he-he-hyeah...!¡± He sucked deeply of the air and held it. ¡°Haaaaaaa.¡± Pete was silent. ¡°Thanks,¡± said Randy, ¡°I needed that.¡± ¡°Er- no problem!¡± Pete exclaimed. ¡°Yeah,¡± said Randy. He inhaled deeply. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± Pete let his statement linger before he continued. ¡°You, uh- still sippin¡¯ on them green beans?¡± ¡°Yeah. Haha, yeah." "Nothin¡¯ better to calm the nerves and all.¡± Randy sniffled. ¡°You?¡± Pete laughed: ¡°I- oh." He sucked air through his teeth. "No," he exhaled. "I couldn¡¯t. Gotta- gotta be sharp for the fambam am I right!?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Randy smacked his lips. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Oh!- Yeah!¡± Pete exclaimed. ¡°Second on his way.¡± ¡°No wuh- yer kiddin¡¯! Already?¡± ¡°Yeah! Yeah we uh- Beth ¡®n I, we¡¯re doin¡¯ really well with the kid ¡®n all ''n- I mean well, first one ''s a surprise but¡­ Life! Crazy stuff, so yeah! Second one, on the way.¡± ¡°Boy! Just found out last week. She was¡­ hey! Sorry, you were- gonna say somethin¡¯? I- I''m kin¡¯a rambling here ¡®n-¡± ¡°No, no- ramble ahead! I¡¯ll just put you on speakerphone here- just a second.¡± Randy clicked the ¡®speakerphone¡¯ button and laid it into its cradle. ¡°There it¡¯s- can you hear me? It¡¯s in the speaker-stand. Go ahead ¡®n talk!¡± Pete yelled through the speakers: ¡°There¡¯s- there¡¯s kin¡¯a uh static sound!¡± ¡°Ye-yeah, the- it¡¯s the faucet- here let me get it.¡± Randy conjured the image of a rodent¡¯s dying breath, mumbled a spell and waved his hand over the faucet: becoming mute, the faucet quieted itself. ¡°Better?¡± ¡°Yeah, wha¡¯dj you do?¡± asked Pete, full of old wonder. ¡°More uh your magic tricks or just, signal- or something¡­ ?¡± Randy chuckled. ¡°You know, State secret.¡± ¡°Sure, sure. Soo anyway!¡± Pete continued where he left off. Randy left for a moment. When he came back, he was carrying a leather roll like chefs use for their knives. He unfastened its metal buckle and let the worn leather roll across the countertop, contrasting the stone handsomely and revealing a quality spread of tools and tonics for hygiene while Pete rambled on. Pete¡¯s familiar voice mingled with the dull scraping sounds of brushing teeth, the feel of toothpaste foaming, and the dust of sleep forming in Randy¡¯s eyes. Their monotony lulled his tired mind to vivid hallucinations of last night where, holding a bloody brush in one hand, he scraped the dust and muck and guts off the doors of a troubled HUMVEE. He was alone in the motorpool while a radio show host drawled comically about the size of different beans. His mind wandered back to hours prior where, like a tableau vivant, time stopped when he shot the cameraman. The room was exploding with light and sound. Like fireworks over black waters, sensation crowded the air when¡ªawash a flood of sensation¡ªan angel appeared. 1.1.3 - Essette Lance 1 Essette Lance Obverse footsteps echoed toward each other through a long, dark hallway. They met in the center, affront the heavy wooden door to Sergeant Ditty¡¯s quarters, where two privates would soon meet. Private Lance walked quickly. He felt nervous meeting his squad leader like this. He checked his watch, ¡°Three fifty-five,¡± and stopped in front of his destination. The door loomed over him and he frowned. ¡°I wish I were taller,¡± he grumbled. Although his commanding officer insisted this duty was not a punishment, it certainly felt like one. ¡°Hail, stranger¡± called the figure, interrupting Lance¡¯s thoughts. ¡°From the States, hail!¡± Lance echoed. ¡°I am Private First Class Essette Lance of the 3rd Army Ordnance Corps Neophyte¡¯s Division, Ranked Private of Lieutenant Salley¡¯s Platoon under Captain Fettringer, Battalion Commander Zangief and Brigade Commander Gilford, reporting to Sergeant Ditty for extra duty.¡± The figure cast a mage-light about Pvt. Lance. ¡°You and me both,¡± he chuckled and resumed patrol. The light of the stranger¡¯s spell threw bright rings across the floor which bobbed and swayed as he walked away. Lance¡¯s eyes watered from the sudden illumination. He rubbed at them and frowned. He preferred the dark and was tempted to mumble a counterspell to the CQ Guard¡¯s magical light. A booming knock caused him to jump, and his hands wiped the glasses from his face. He shivered as the fright settled in his bones. His glasses clattered against the floor. ¡°Who showers at 4am,¡± he grumbled. ¡°... or maybe they¡¯re just peeing?¡± He stooped to retrieve his glasses. Water hissed from behind the walls and spooked him, mid-stoop, into flinching. He took a deep breath as he inspected the lenses for dirt, then returned them to his face and took the final steps toward the door. ¡°Is it okay to knock?¡± His eyes wandered upwards in thought until, unwittingly, he knocked. Seconds passed, but nobody answered. He knocked again, louder this time. Then, behind the wall, something began to move. A disheveled man in yesterday¡¯s uniform opened the next door over. ¡°Do what?¡± he called into the hallway. ¡°Sorry,¡± whispered Essette, ¡°I¡¯m looking for Sergeant Ditty.¡± He fiddled over his words, embarrassed at his earlier introduction. ¡°He¡¯s here, right? Unit 2A-327?¡± He read the soldier¡¯s rank and nametape. ¡°Yeah, no worries, Neighbor,¡± assured Specialist Simmons. Suddenly aware of what his arms were doing, Pvt. Lance laughed nervously and tried to relax. Spc. Simmons frowned. ¡°Yeah, not much comfort, is it.¡± He paused as if to chew on an ear of wheat. Still appearing undecided, he opened and closed his mouth a few times. ¡°He¡¯s not that scary- I mean, Sergeant Ditty- well, yeah he¡¯s a bit o¡¯erdrawn at the memory bank. But, he¡¯s not that scary.¡± He looked at Essette meaningfully. ¡°Yeah?¡± he said, nodding. Essette blinked and shook his head no. Simmons scratched his neck. Inspiration struck him, and he raised his head excitedly. ¡°Rumors ain¡¯t true, Neighbor! People just get the wrong impression what with his keen understandin¡¯ o¡¯ necromancy ¡®n all. Can¡¯t cast a spell what you don¡¯t have the memory of. But he¡¯s a nice guy, really. Mysterious for sure, but¡ª¡± Essette interrupted him with a shushing motion. ¡°Nice- he¡¯s nice,¡± whispered Simmons. ¡°Weirdly formal sometimes- kinda mysterious, but nice. ¡­ gave me an MRE once. From his rucksack. We ¡®re out on patrol- out in some sticks-y place. Ditty likes to keep details short ¡®n stuff. So we were out in the sticks¡ªsomewhere North, I think¡ªan¡¯ this crazy storm whips up! Out o¡¯ nowhere! Just like that ¡®n we ¡¯re out¡ªkin¡¯ o¡¯ fucked, too, cause we ¡®re dressed for warm weather. An¡¯ it was in a clearin¡¯, too. No caves or natural structures just to hole up in. Had to start diggin¡¯! ¡®r we would¡¯ve. See, Sergeant Ditty pulled a quick one! I thought he was jokin¡¯ when he evoked Endymion¡¯s Tiny Hut and left all us for ourselves and just ¡®imself holed up in it.¡± He laughed, ¡°Maybe he was jokin¡¯, a little bit. But- so, there he was in his hut when suddenly rapid-fire over like a minute high-power spells are comin¡¯ off o¡¯ his hut! First, this massive wave o¡¯ force hits ya in the gut, except it¡¯s just a Dispel Magic abjuration! Then it¡¯s a bunch more waves o¡¯ force all quick like ¡®bam bam bam!¡¯¡± he said, firing his pretend finger-guns. ¡°Got it from another it was precautionary stuff like anti-scrying, Dimensional Anchor, Telepathic Bond and the like. Then it was the whole snowstorm stopped in our area! ¡®n it was a large area! Some¡¯n¡¯ like two-hunned meders!¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Lance cut in, ¡°Isn¡¯t all that just normal stuff? Someone¡¯s supposed to cast all that as soon as battle starts every time, and the weather was weird so it¡¯s not like it wasn¡¯t normal.¡± ¡°Yeah but that¡¯s not the best part!¡± said Simmons. He looked hurt. Lance felt bad for interrupting. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Yeah, well¡­¡± continued Simmons. ¡°The best part¡­ best part was when after all the first stuff was done and he¡¯d already cast all this super pow¡¯rful stuff¡ªway more pow¡¯rful than any others I¡¯d seen! He started a fire in our defensive camp¡ªwe¡¯d decided to camp there, given it was already Guards and Wards. ¡­¡± Feeling lightheaded, Essette bent his knees and assumed a comfortable leaning position against the door. ¡°¡­ in the middle of the camp and drew up this massive ultra-complex ritual circle! When he activated it, the earth right shook with magical pow¡¯r! All this goin¡¯ off at once: all the bugs n vermin n such fell over dead and kind ¡®o melted-like into the ground a bit; twenty large trees erupted from the ground in a circle ¡®round the ritual and grew all this-way-and-that into cabins! The¡ª¡± Essette interrupted again with a shushing motion. ¡°Sorry¡­¡± he whispered. ¡°The whole giant ritual circle went up in flames like a massive Continual Flame¡ªbig as a bonfire, I swear it. Temperature came up to a cool eighty Fahr¡¯nheit with some kin¡¯ o¡¯ gentle breeze goin¡¯ on, too. Skyline got all dusk-like. We was all ¡®Soldier could get used to this!¡¯ and dinner was even hot!¡± Essette began to raise a finger to his mouth when Simmons shrunk with apologetic realization. ¡°Sorry¡± was on Simmons¡¯ mind when unit 2A-327¡¯s door burst open and an angry Sgt. Ditty stomped through the doorway with a bloody wide grin and heat on his face. The door¡¯s violent motion threw Essette to the ground. He looked up at Sgt. Ditty with wide-eyed fear and amazement. It was no wonder why people looked up to him. Sgt. Ditty sucked the blood from his teeth and scowled. ¡°What do you two think you¡¯re doin standing in front of my door, talkin¡¯.¡± Spc. Simmons stood at ease and spoke up first: ¡°Sergeant Ditty, Private Lance was reporting for¡ª¡± Sgt. Ditty locked eyes with Simmons. ¡°Go to your room.¡± ¡°Yes Sergeant.¡± Pvt. Lance scrambled awkwardly to his feet and stood at attention. Simmons¡¯ door shut loudly. The CQ guard¡¯s footsteps stilled. Sounds shuffled from behind closed doors. ¡°So,¡± Sgt. Ditty addressed. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Lance stammered nervously. ¡°I¡­ I, uh?¡± He gulped. ¡°Enlisted because my family? It was the right thing to do.¡± ¡°Family, huh?¡± Sgt. Ditty burped. ¡°Here, Private. Here.¡± He pointed downward. ¡°Why. Are. You. Here.¡± Lance¡¯s eyes followed Sgt. Ditty¡¯s fingers to the floor. They widened in realization. ¡°O-o-oh! Yes! ?Right! In the dorms- your dorms! I¡¯m here- here for you! Morning remedial PT!¡± ¡°PT, huh?¡± Sgt. Ditty palmed his stubbled face. ¡°You the fuck-up who failed the run, Private?¡± ¡°No, Sergeant!¡± Private Lance beamed. ¡°I forgot my PT cap at the Company Run!¡± Sgt. Ditty chuckled. ¡°Ah, that fuck-up. Well¡­ .¡± He assessed the private¡¯s uniform and found it excessive; the private wore three layers and even had his gaiter neck on. ¡°Pretty cold outside, huh Private?¡± ¡°Yes, Sergeant!¡± Private Lance beamed. Sgt. Ditty laughed. ¡°Meet me on the tarmac at zero-eight.¡± 1.1.4: Randy Ditty 1 Randy Ditty Troubled pipes rattled and knocked, liquids dripping from their joints. Power hummed, warbling its way through hidden wires to a lightbulb which hung by a string from the ceiling. The door slammed shut, and the lightbulb swayed pendulously, casting light haphazardly across Randy¡¯s room and giving him a headache. He frowned. There was no mystery here: every wall, every fixture and everything exposed the base¡¯s careless construction. Standing in his own doorway, he felt sick. This base was not his home. It would never be home, and it could never be home. Somewhere deep within, Randy understood that. He yearned for a different life, one he had never known¡ªa life where the lawn was green and neighborhood children would come to gather and play. Where trees would grow both low and high. Where the soil was un-blasted, un-pitted, and not stone. He wished for a wife or people that loved him. A dog would even do. Someone to greet. Someone to care. Someone to play with when money was not there. A sinking feeling overcame him, so he sat. He felt sick. He gathered his bits and sulked to the bathroom. With a nod and a flick, the lights thrummed to life, popped, then withered. He shaved in the dark, and his thoughts travelled to yesterday whereupon an angel had deigned to visit. It presented Randy with a choice: abandon his body and forsake this world to exist in another and find purpose there; or not. The angel did not care. The shaving cream smelled like Randy¡¯s dreams of home and the cracker tins his wife would fill with potpourri. His mouth still smacked of her peppermint lip balm, and his soapy hands smelled just like her rosy black hair. He remembered a time when he was so young that strangers smiled just to see him laugh. Amid a rainy week, it had been a rainy day, and alleyways everywhere were crowded with the mournful whines of bastard pups. On his way to the dumpster to deposit last week¡¯s trash is where he saw him, one salt and pepper pup among seven sorry others. It was love at first sight, but food was scarce and war sat at every dinner table. His father would never let him. Little had he known that his neighbor, the mom, was passing by and chanced to see him crying. When, determined to steal some milk, he arrived at the drugstore, that lady was already there. They and the shopkeeper were alone together, and Randy crept to avoid their eyes. Things seemed to go well as he lifted a bottle of milk, but the refrigerator door betrayed him. The shopkeeper yelled ¡°Thief!¡± as Randy fled. Had the mother-next-door not said ¡°Stop,¡± the shopkeeper would have jumped the counter. ¡°Apologies Mr. Doyle; he¡¯s my neighbor¡¯s son. We were just walking together for errands! Won¡¯t you please excuse his behavior?¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Randy stood gaping at the lady¡¯s lie as she placed several coins in Mr. Doyle¡¯s hand, at least one of which was silver¡ªmore than enough for a single bottle of milk. Face twitching with discomfort, Mr. Doyle nodded. ¡°Mm¡­ ¡° he grumbled, seeming to agree. He opened the register. The strange lady smiled widely as the shopkeeper eyed Randy with distrust and scrutiny. He deposited the money, a threat settling upon his tongue, and spoke. ¡°Thank you, Misses,¡± he said and turned to face the drug cabinet. ¡°Mr. Mason¡­ Mr. Mason¡­ ¡° he grumbled, wagging a finger at each bottle as he read its label. ¡°Mr. Mason¡­ Mr. Mason¡­ Ah!¡± his eyes widened as he exclaimed. ¡°Yes here it is, pure cow¡¯s insulin freshly distilled from locally sourced pancreas. For young master Mason¡¯s mellitus! Tab¡­ ¡° he lingered on the word ¡®tab¡¯ as he searched through his ledger and yawned. ¡° Tab already paid by Uncle Sam. You, mam, are good to go!¡± he said, boxing the medication with ice. ¡°Properly refrigerated, this five mils solution should keep for six months. Please return in five months¡¯ time for another bottle!¡± He glared at Randy again as he handed her the box, ¡°But if something should happen just come back- I¡¯m sure we can work something out.¡± He began to place the milk bottle into a small paper bag, but Mrs. Mason stopped him. ¡°The milk is for the lad! As¡­ payment for his company.¡± To Randy¡¯s surprise, Mrs. Mason shared her umbrella with him as they left the drugstore. She even walked with him to the puppies where she pulled a metal tin from her purse, emptied it of several mint-like pills, and served it to the pups with milk. Suppressed yearning scratched at Randy¡¯s consciousness, breaking him from his reverie. He remembered a deep longing for her to have been his mother. All the years since, he wished to again fill his senses with her flowery smells, warmth and grace. Mrs. Mason was ever the companion of his dreams. He looked down at the sink where cloudy water, like his feelings, circled the drain. He smiled wide for the mirror and was greeted mirthlessly by his own bloodied expression. He had done a number on himself: he might need to see a dentist. If nothing else, he would get some painkillers out of it. Maybe he would tell them a joke, ¡°I tried tobacco and lost.¡± He tried to laugh, but a bubble caught in his throat, so he choked instead. Firm black sludge dislodged from somewhere in his airway and stuck itself grimly to the sink¡¯s northern wall. ¡°Yikes,¡± he mouthed. ¡°Maybe I should see the doctor, too?¡± To spite himself, he laughed through his nose. He knew what that sludge was. Every soldier did, even the new ones. It was his material soul- his anima materiales- his Pittsium. He wiped a tear from his image in the mirror and turned up the water faucet. As he adjusted it for temperature, the water buffeted the lump of Pittsium, eventually washing it down the drain along with the cloudy mixture from earlier. He grabbed the shaving knife and cleaned the rest of his toiletries before wiping down the sink. Finished with his morning routine, he turned off the faucet and stared blankly at the mirror. With his stubbled scalp, smooth skin, and dead eyes his reflection looked like any other soldier¡¯s. The wistful smells from earlier had faded. Outside, the shadow of day stretched out long upon the endless summer snow. As he left to face it, he mumbled a minor cantrip[1], ¡°love, rain for the alleyway,¡± and his sickness disappeared.
[1] A spell of little to no difficulty. Often taught to students during compulsory education, cantrips tend to see frequent use both in professional and private settings. 1.2.1: Randy Ditty 2.1 Randy Ditty Like Summer snow, Randy¡¯s walk to the tarmac was somber and meandering. Some months and a year ago, as last Spring¡¯s flowers were first coming into bloom, magic made the weather change. A powerful storm whipped across South Kreya, raining truck-sized hail, sleet and snow. Amidst blaring sirens and gale winds, nary a scream could be heard that day. Yet, surely, there were many. Panicked people packed tightly into bunkers. Prodigious hail crushed cars, shook buildings and severed powerlines. Naked wiring flailed with wild electricity, shocking buildings into flames. Cityscapes burned with fire and emotion. Children wept, screaming for their mothers. Fathers wept too. The recent Bombing of Hirishoma and Nakasagi poisoned their thoughts. It had taken the Japenese two years to rebuild a single city. How long would it take them to rebuild an entire country? When the roaring winds and magic calmed, people found themselves trapped. Snow had piled high above most doorways, and many were powerless against it. Cellphone footage captured tragic spectacles of humanity in hysterics: men and women frantically clawing with bleeding fingers at the encroaching snow. People suffocating and voiding themselves after death. People retching from claustrophobia, anxiety or disgust. Bodies smeared like strawberry jam by fallen hail. The news could not get enough of it. Some people felt it through despair. Others through self-sacrifice. But all of South Kreya felt it. They were miserable for it¡ªeven Randy, but him for a different reason. For as long as he could remember, Randy had been a soldier. Most of the time and lately, he wasn¡¯t even Randy anymore; he was Sergeant Ditty, and no other. When the angel appeared in front of him, it stopped time for the two of them. Without divinity, such magics were unimaginable; and Randy¡¯s old misery was awash with new surprise. After all there was no precedent for it. To cast a spell, one must draw upon their own will and memory to forcefully recreate an experience. One must recall using some combination of movement, sound, will and memory to invoke a powerful intent and command the universe to comply. Yet, in practice and in form, magic was illusory. Spells were only as powerful as their creator. Any as or more powerful could use their own spells to counter; and, those far more powerful could counter through mere observation. After all, those so mighty have equally mighty beliefs; and who is a bug to tell the ocean that she is ablaze? When in conflict, the more powerful will and memory overwrites the lesser. Such was the prevalent Theory of Anti-Magic Compositions and explained why those with powerful wills and powerful memories¡ªepic enchantments, soldiers, craftsmen, politicians and the like¡ªshrugged off any petty attempt at harming them. Some time into Randy¡¯s walk, he stopped and sat down beneath a bus station shelter, then sighed. His heavy breath unfurled against the falling snow. He was not cold, but the seat was. Unsolicited, his subconscious called forth a timeless visage of yesterday¡¯s cameraman¡ªa young college boy with short hair, brain matter and skull fragments bursting from his pleading expression. Randy stifled a sniffle. He hadn¡¯t wanted to kill the boy, but he had to. He gazed outward upon the wintry expanse as a large engine hailed from afar. Sweeping the roadway, it flew by the station with windy speed, shaking the shelter like a snow globe as it passed. The flurry soon settled and Randy buried his face in his legs. He missed his dog. Not in childhood or hence had there been better company than she. He had returned to the alleyway in which he¡¯d found her on that particularly cold and rainy day. Yet, upon returning, they eight lay dying or dismembered among pools of their own blood. Transfixed by horror, Mrs. Mason screamed while Randy stared with youthful innocence at the hound who murdered them.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. She screamed so loud that Mr. Doyle, the shopkeeper, came running with his cane and beat the bloody hound to death. ¡°Sorry kid,¡± he had said after a long sigh to Randy. Sat on a cold posterior, Randy¡¯s thoughts echoed, ¡°Sorry, kid.¡± Randy approached the salt and pepper dog and lifted it in his hands. Its head hung limply by a shred. Looking to Mrs. Mason for answers, he trembled with juvenile disillusionment. Although he knew his father would never allow a dog, he had thought one might somehow work out. ¡°This one¡¯s still alive,¡± Mrs. Mason said. ¡°Can you save her, Mr. Doyle?¡± Her eyes were begging him to say ¡®yes.¡¯ ¡°Let me have a look.¡± The salt and pepper puppy¡¯s neck flap stretched and snapped apart. Its head fell to the floor with a moist thump, and Randy looked to Mr. Doyle for answers. He inspected the pup Mrs. Mason held up with the veteran eyes of a combat medic and sighed, ¡°Sorry kid.¡± He thumbed his cane, turned away and walked back to the drugstore frowning. Suddenly, a mewling sound came from afar. Mrs. Mason counted seven corpses, not eight. One dog had hid and survived. She shook Randy from his transfixion and pointed at it. ¡°See! Life finds a way, don¡¯t it? We¡¯ll bring them to my house, I¡¯ve plenty of room¡ªbackyard!¡± She grabbed Randy¡¯s shoulders and pulled him to his feet. ¡°Go get him! I¡¯ll get a box¡ªwait here!¡± She handed Randy the umbrella and ran to the drugstore. ¡°Mr. Doyle!¡± she called as she went. Randy had not realized it then, but that was his first real magic. His mumbled sobs, shaking and disbelief, had together composed a spell. ¡°They can¡¯t all be dead.¡± They were not. He had resurrected a dog. He missed that dog. Mr. Doyle promised Mrs. Mason that he would bury the pups. Though Randy now doubted Mr. Doyle¡¯s intentions, his promise did free Randy from having to carry a box of dead puppies, and famine was a needful thing¡ªso needful that, maybe, he needed to lie. This other dog didn¡¯t have her salt and pepper fur nor the same demeanor, but she was alive. He and Mrs. Mason walked hand in hand to her home, a sprawling farmland estate. The path leading up was hidden from both sides by tall, yellowed stalks of the past summer¡¯s crop. Crowning a distant hillock, a pillared white manor rose above the cornstalks as they approached. ¡°You live here?¡± Randy asked with some surprise, color having returned to his face. She chuckled. ¡°Yes, along with my husband and our son, Samuel, who we named after our ancestor, Samuel Mason. It was my husband¡¯s first choice, and I thought it was nice. Samuel was the of our family to move to the Amricean continent and is a famous militiaman, having served in the First Amricean Militia and fought against tyranny. ¡°Ah, my husband is famous too! Is your father a militiaman?¡± she asked with a turn of the head and a wide smile. ¡°I¡­¡± Randy was reluctant to speak of his father. ¡°What about your husband?¡± She faced forward, ¡°Why yes! Yes my husband most certainly is!¡± She began lightly trotting. ¡°My husband is fighting the war. The good war! Against the Nazis!¡± she said with a boo. ¡°Myy husband.¡± She stopped skipping. ¡°Is your father away, too?¡± Randy remembered her expression well. A wide smile in front of a frown. ¡°No,¡± he said, Randy¡¯s father had been returned to his home, ¡®deficient,¡¯ limping, and with a temper. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s nice. Not everyone can keep a dog, though. There¡¯s a war going on! But Letho, my Letho, he¡¯s a hero! Checks and letters mailed prompt each week ¡®cause he cares. And everyone¡¯s contributing!¡± She pumped her fist and grabbed her bicep, a salute to powerful women everywhere. ¡°They¡¯ve even got me casing rounds and filling belts with bullets!¡± The loud squeal of breaking tires jolted Randy to attention. The bus had just arrived, and people were already filing out from it. People sat at Randy¡¯s sides stood abruptly and put away their phones. Randy took a seat near the back. Abroad, a frequent Goeogl search had become ¡°how did the snow clear?¡± followed by ¡°when will the snow clear¡± and ¡°will the snow clear.¡± The answer was that it had never cleared and would never clear. Despite growing international efforts to dispel the magical winter, it was being fed by the despairing masses. Although they meant no harm in their despair, their daily rituals had become something of a grand composition. All South Kreya contributed their will and memory to the endless snow. Truthfully, the grand composition which caused the initial storm should have dissipated within a week of beginning. Yet here South Kreya was beneath a dusting of Summer snow. The anomalous weather was beginning to impact the surrounding environments, especially West Taiwun, Japen, and neighboring bodies of water. Although Rossia¡¯s contribution of arctic technologies made the snow generally manageable, South Kreya¡¯s farmlands were in shambles, and their hydroponic technologies did not yield enough crop to feed the whole country. Amidst severe famine, South Kreya¡¯s pleads for foreign aid went largely unanswered. The Asyan continent¡¯s long history of war and the heated rebuke of Kreya¡¯s enemies forced most to stay their helping hands for fear of stoking conflict. Meanwhile, poor, aimless children were herded into churches as orphans¡ªNo-one to teach them virtues. No food to fuel their growth. Too few Sisters and their miscreant siblings all huddled by the Eternal Fire for warmth as their Father begged a miracle for dinner, that children would feel full as they slept. 1.2.2 - Hyuntae Kim 2 Hyuntae Kim Feeling around cluttered cargo pockets, Hyuntae searched for chocolate. Finding none, he frowned and checked his watch. ¡±Five forty-two,¡± it read. The Quartermaster¡¯s rep would arrive any minute to refill the vending machines. Red lights flickered and Hyuntae blinked his eyes tightly shut. He sighed. He hated this place¡ªthe building, the base, the Corps. It was awful; all of it. He felt deceived. As he sat some time ago sketching at Gaudian architecture, a statue of a man had approached him and asked, ¡°What are your plans for the future?¡± ¡°Buildings!¡± he had said, still daydreaming of architecture erect upon mountainous foundations like monuments to all mankind. Threads of humanity interwoven unto cityscape tapestries and embroidered upon with buildings. Against a dreamlike backdrop his recruiter had struck an unforgettable pose Hyuntae would never forget. He followed the golden hands of his wristwatch as they circled endlessly. Antipodes away, he still wore his family¡¯s disappointment on wrists too small to feel ¡®manly.¡¯ As their hands struck six and twelve, he sighed and thought. Sadly, ¡°The quartermaster is late.¡± * * * Sat upon the rec room¡¯s smelly couch, he watched the lights come on again, and again. Each minute he assured himself, ¡°Surely the quartermaster¡¯s will be here soon.¡± For several minutes, he waited there, until he rose from the couch to stretch. Then he waited for several more minutes. He was just about to leave when the quartermaster¡¯s rep arrived with a cart laden by Smart-E¡¯s, Bepsi, and so much more. ¡°Don¡¯t you finish at six?¡± the rep, Jensen, asked. Hyuntae stirred with nervous discomfort at the rep¡¯s unexpected attention. ¡°Couldn¡¯t he just fill them and be done with it?¡± he thought, fiddling with his pockets. Jensen shrugged at the silent CQ guard and went on with his duties. Hyuntae hungrily watched. ¡°No Milky Whey bars?¡± he thought, then said. ¡°Dunno- le¡¯ me check,¡± Jensen shrugged, and read over his daily manifest. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like it.¡± He glanced at the vending machines. ¡°I¡¯ll put in an order though I think Supply is out. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll go hungry!¡± he laughed, joking about the famine. Licking chocolate from his molars, Hyuntae stared at his pockets. Jensen swiped his thumb across the Digi-Print Scanner and smirked. ¡°Here; catch!¡± he said, tossing a handful of Sniggers Fun-Sized Bars over, ¡°My treat!¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Hyuntae fumbled to catch the chocolates. Their packaging crinkled against his chest as he pulled them into himself, dropping a few in the process. ¡°Th-ank you¡­ .¡± With jerky movements and anxious hands, he scoured the floor and pocketed them. ¡°Th¡­ ank you,¡± he began, finishing with a thought. With one final ¡°thanks¡± Hyuntae scampered away. * * * Hyuntae shivered. It was colder outside than he was used to. After all, he was raised on a desert island named California; and despite the many mounting months marking his arrival at the Kreyan Demilitarized Zone, he had yet to acclimate to the weather. He blew his colds hands, not knowing a better way to warm them, and walked from the barracks to the bus station next door. A he arrived a bus was leaving. He ran to catch it but was failing until some hundreds of meders later the bus driver saw him and stopped. ¡°Sorry ¡®bout that; didn¡¯t see ya!¡± the bus driver said as he scratched under his shield-side ear. ¡°It¡¯s the first one ya caught, yeah? Well be seated then,¡± he gestured, resting a hand on the gear knob. Spotting an empty seat in the back by a window, Hyuntae sat there, content to stare out from it as he decided where to go eat. Like bitter scenes from a boring movie, he remembered when his recruiter had finalized his enlistment into the Amricean Army Corps of Engineers. ¡°You¡¯ll be a builder,¡± they said. ¡°An ACE. You¡¯ll see the world!¡± Since then, the only building he had done was done in his bedroom unit, modelmaking with his laptop and 3d printer. The last time he had used his creation magics was in training. What torture it had been for Hyuntae when they shipped him to Kreya¡¯s blasted winter DMZ. Where they had promised great sights and creative opportunities, he saw nothing but budget construction and boring building plans. There was no joy in it, and joylessness sucked vacuously at his emotions, tearing him from his better parts. His energies drained unto apathy. His routine staled and the echo of his thoughts dulled as he laid himself down to sleep in tepid sadness. He reached into his pocket, again searching for chocolates. To his surprise, he found one last Milky Whey bar. Perhaps he¡¯d picked it up unwittingly among the scattered Sniggers. Inspecting its shiny metal packaging, he found no reason to abstain, so he ate it. Yet, as he chewed, it felt amiss: its chocolate exterior had a powdery texture; its nougat was unforgiving; and its caramel had crystalized heterogeneously. Hyuntae narrowly resisted the urge to spew vomit and was glad for it as the person seated next to him looked over with unease. At the next stop, his neighbor rose from their seat and left, leaving Hyuntae alone with selfish thoughts. ¡°Was it me?¡± Hyuntae wondered. ¡°Did my nausea scare them? Or maybe my eating habits were why?¡± Hyuntae wrestled with these thoughts until, some stops later, a frost collared man arrived and took the empty seat next to him. It was then that he noticed how silent the bus had become. A heavy mood weighed down upon his shoulders and pressed his spine to lean and stoop like a man made squat by age. Each passenger seemed to feel this, too, except the mysterious stranger who was now his neighbor. Hyuntae peeked from the corners of his eyes to inspect the frost collared man, only to find their collar was no longer frozen nor damp. Instead, an unsettling heat seemed to swallow their body, surrounding them like the ethereal wrappings of some portentous cocoon. A profound forebode settled like pollen upon his whiskered face, causing him to spasm and sneeze. ¡°Bless you,¡± droned the man, as if by mechanical reflex. Something unspeakable pinched at Hyuntae¡¯s airways, and he struggled but to breathe. When into the silence the man mumbled something precious, and with a squeeze of Hyuntae¡¯s shoulder, calmed him. ¡°I think I recognize you,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re the Cee-Cue guard- the one that ¡®s always volunteers.¡± Hyuntae was unsure how to feel at the stranger¡¯s sudden accusation. He wondered for a moment if the man was no stranger at all; ¡°Have I seen him somewhere before?¡± It was when they turned their face to him and Hyuntae understood. ¡°D- Sergeant Ditty!¡± he began to salute, but they grabbed him by his jeweled wrist and shocked him beyond surprise. They sat there for a moment until in silence they agreed to remain. So they sat, and the bus returned to liveliness. 1.2.3: Essette Lance 2 Essette Lance Lance recalled with impeccable clarity. Eyes fell upon Sgt. Ditty as he walked the bus¡¯s length. Whereupon boarding, the bus had been alive with friendly chatter, the atmosphere now ran afoul some unspoken taboo where beneath the heavy blanket of social pressure one could hardly breathe. It was as if he were a God, or a Devil. Nothing in his gait or posture said this, nor was it the silent way he spoke. He was followed by shadows¡ªdamp absences of light and color which peeled like sticky tape from every surface. When he moved, something pale moved with him. Always, his attention seemed to be accompanied by the attention of some other. Now, their attention was on Pvt. Lance. Sat in seats opposite and facing each other, they seemed to play a staring game. It was a game of awareness, to stare without use of one¡¯s eyes. If indeed it was a game at all, Lance could not be sure. Nevertheless compelled by some primal impetus, Lance participated. Perhaps it was his nature to. Yet, the game came so easily to him. As if he had played sometime before, he pushed his consciousness outward, like blowing into a balloon until¡ªreaching Sgt. Ditty¡ªit burst; and all that was inside him escaped like gas into the bus.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Slumping into the chair, Lance felt empty. He felt faint. ¡°Have I lost?¡± he wondered. ¡°Am I dying?¡± Fear invaded his emptiness, filling him with mortal dread. He did not know what it was that compelled him to look up, but when he did, he met eyes with what frightened him. He had seen those eyes before, beneath the docks, where the gulls gathered each night to peck and scream. Severed heads bloodied the sands; all were fish but one. One was a man whose eyes gazed unblinking, silent and untethered from time, at the ocean. What fantasy does belie the divide of ocean and sky, Lance would never unsee. For, like the tide, it would pull at his moored-ness until, loosed from earthly knots, the boatman ferried his future. Suddenly, it was all too much for the private. When next the bus stopped, he fled. * * * Like listening to silence, it was a strange experience. As though his sense for it had not fully developed and relied on other senses to make itself understood, the feeling expressed itself as an overwhelming synesthesia. His head was still swimming, and reality had assumed a wrongness which he could not ignore. He had tried to collect himself, but every time he felt close, the silence lept out at him. Like a child alone in a dark room, he was beset by the uncanny: Shadows too thin. Colors too deep. Shapes too tall. Pins and needles on hot and cold skin; and smells which reminded of anything. It was some time later that Lance found himself sitting in an abandoned WacDonalds booth. His mind was still in shambles, and he had not the faintest idea why. He decided not to worry about it, and eventually, he fell asleep. 1.2.4: Hyuntae Kim 2 Hyuntae Kim Hyuntae spotted Lance sitting in a booth far to the back of a dark and lonely WacDonalds. Boarded-up storefronts crowded the environment like neon predators stalking for meat, while the appetites of things that were not people growled in silent hunger at the verminous streetwalker, and smiled. Though their maw-like doors were locked, boarded, or both, they seemed eager for passers-through, to fill their emptiness with transactional excitement. Still sat next to Sgt. Ditty, Hyuntae could not remain seated. Yet, held by some terrible spell, he did. That was until the man seated facing them abruptly stood, skin pale and luminous with the bright morning light, and fled. in so doing he broke whatever spell had kept them seated. But, just as Hyuntae had taken his first frenzied step toward freedom, a cold hand gripped him by the shirt and Sgt. Ditty called out in a voice too feeble to be his own: ¡°Please.¡± Sgt. Ditty¡¯s hands, they were trembling; and his face had none of its usual sureness. The bus driver interrupted their staring at each other when he asked, ¡°Getting off?¡± For reasons Hyuntae was uncertain of, he quickly shook his head no, and the bus lurched forward, jostling him back into his seat. Sgt. Ditty paused, and time seemed to pause with him until¡ªafter several deep breaths¡ªhe spoke with an unsettling calm: ¡­ Phantasos Roses bloomed prolific in a gardened field of flowers. I was investigating her¡ªthe gardener, she¡­. A witch. Beauty enchanted like¡­ Phantasos¡¯ pollen, cast like gold dust¡ªlike, wheat seed across ¡® newly wedded. I couldn¡¯t¡­. not¡ªbut she¡­. The pollen didn¡¯t affect me, I later learned. Because I¡¯m magic¡ªal but the people. The people aren¡¯t, often¡­. Nearby village ¡®n¡­. People of Nidalee, dancing in glitter¡ªgolden. Pollen carrie¡¯ on the wind. He paused just long enough for Hyuntae to realize his eyes were wet. ¡®Woke ¡® a hotel bed, morning to bells. So many, bells. All tolling¡ªnot time, but disaster. I knew. I knew, but I¡ªit didn¡¯t¡­. Quiet, at night they left. All of them, following the ¡®old dust trail. And it¡­ sits in my nose! I can¡¯t blow it out¡ªthe dust, I always smell it. I see it; in my dreams, I feel it; children dancing¡­. Dancing, to their deaths. He rose suddenly to his feet and left, leaving Hyuntae to puzzle at his weeping, almost nonsensical monologue as the bus quickly returned to life. It was as if his departure had taken with it all the heaviness Hyuntae had felt. Hyuntae got off at the next stop and watched the bus leave. Feeling alone and hungry, Hyuntae returned by foot to that WacDonalds window where he saw Lance. ¡°Maybe it was open, and the lights were just off,¡± he whimsically thought. ¡°Can¡¯t survive off only chocolate, after all.¡± * * * Hyuntae approached the WacDonalds, full of muddled thoughts. Knock-knock-knocking at the window, he could not see inside. ¡°Are the windows tinted?¡± Peering into the darkness, he briefly considered whether he had just imagined Lance¡¯s being there. ¡°Or maybe he left?¡± Breathing on the window, he wiped away the frost with his sleeve. The morning sun shone over his shoulder into the window, illuminating the building¡¯s interior. Perhaps it was the glare that denied his sight¡ªor maybe they truly were tinted¡ªfor still, he could not see inside. He stepped backwards until the entrance was in view and was delighted to find that, unlike other buildings, this one was not boarded. Although he was certain the place was closed, he felt he might as well check the door. He had barely touched the doorknob when the door flew open! Easily frightened, Hyuntae stumbled backwards and yelped, only to see that it was Lance who had opened the door. With a silent nod, Lance gestured Hyuntae to step inside. * * * It was cold inside, and a thick cushion of dust padded the seats and tables. What no doubt used to be a busy kitchen now kept the company of vermin; their droppings could be seen sprinkled about the linoleum and their footprints dimpled the table-dust. It was an eerie place. The abandoned-ness of it was unsettling. For a moment, Hyuntae worried there might be squatters because the door had been unlocked. So he asked somewhat anxiously, ¡°Did you unlock it- the door?¡± It came out more as a chirp than as a question, and it took Lance a moment to discern what Hyuntae was truly asking. Eventually he said ¡°no.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°At least, I don¡¯t think I did,¡± he continued, returning to his booth. ¡°I already wiped this one off if you¡¯re curious. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anyone else here¡ªor if there ¡®s ¡® never bothered me,¡± Lance finished, sitting loudly. After an awkward pause and with obvious effort, Hyuntae took the booth-seat facing Lance and folded his hands gently on the table. * * * Hyuntae had been looking out the window when Lance spoke: ¡°Sorry to leave you there, with him. He¡¯s- can be intense. It¡¯s¡­ pretty bad today. Just, being there you feel his presence. ¡°I don¡¯t really think he meant it either. That is¡ªyou were on Cee Cue Duty, right? Y¡¯ always are. Did he- did you see him come in?¡± Hyuntae shook his head no, then yes. ¡°The windows aren¡¯t tinted anymore.¡± Lance squinted in confusion. ¡°Oh, um¡­¡± Hyuntae exclaimed. ¡°Sorry! I wasn¡¯t listening.¡± Hyuntae thrust a handful of Sniggers at Lance. ¡°Want some?¡± Lance cringed. ¡°No thanks; I don¡¯t really like chocolate,¡± he said pushing Hyuntae¡¯s sweaty hand away. ¡°Besides, ¡® place is full of burgers!¡± Hyuntae¡¯s ears perked at the mention of burgers, but a quizzical look soon followed. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t they be bad?¡± ¡°No, yes¡ªwell, probably. But it¡¯s okay,¡± Lance reassured him, but Hyuntae was not convinced. ¡°Be right back.¡± Lance hopped the counter and cased the kitchen. Disappearing behind a tall metal door, he soon reappeared carrying several frosty boxes of burger ingredients. He mumbled something and kicked the table, magically cleaning it, then dumped the boxes into a heaping mess. He mumbled something again and, taking an exaggerated breath, breathed on the pile. Magically, the contents were now fresh, thawed and appetizing. The subtle scents of prepared ingredients began to fill the room. Calling Hyuntae over, they made burgers together until the pile was gone. All the while, Hyuntae went on about today¡¯s strange encounters with Sgt. Ditty. He would have stopped, but Lance wasn¡¯t saying anything and Hyuntae hated the silence. * * * ¡°F-following you!?¡± Hyuntae loudly exclaimed. ¡°Like a s-stalker!?¡± Lance winced. ¡°Yes, no¡ªwell, sort uh.¡± As if looking for someone in the shadows, his eyes darted between them. ¡°I just get that feeling, yeah? Like he¡¯s following me.¡± Hyuntae munched on a burger between words. ¡°Well, what about the creepy monologue? If I hadn¡¯t understood part of what he ¡®s saying, I would¡¯ve sworn he was cursing someone!¡± ¡°No, yeah¡ªno offense, but yeah. No way you¡¯re magical enough to understand his spells. He¡ªthat was just him being weird. Has a reputation for that, apparently, yeah?¡± ¡°Yeah¡­¡± echoed Hyuntae. ¡°Got any soda?¡± ¡°Dunno¡ªlet¡¯s find out!¡± said Lance, hopping the counter and disappearing again. ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s soda!¡± came his yell from another room. ¡°Preference!?¡± ¡°Cola!¡± yelled Hyuntae. Lance returned carrying several boxes of flavor concentrates and additives. ¡°I think it¡¯s probably a variant of the poppy plant¡ªPapaver Somniferum.¡± ¡°Papaver Somniferum?¡± ¡°No a variant of it, ¡®Papaver Phantasos.¡¯¡± Hyuntae quirked his head and raised an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s a ¡®Papaver¡¯?¡± Lance nearly dropped the boxes in shock. ¡°They didn¡¯t teach you in A-I-Tee[1]?¡± he exclaimed. Hyuntae¡¯s gave a confused look, but didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Right, different Em-O-Ess, different A-I-Tee. Well, yeah¡ªso, they¡¯re like¡ªyou know opium?¡ªit¡¯s like that but doesn¡¯t need to be processed. Just, the raw pollen does it. Gets you high and magically takes hold of you, makes you want to find where it grows. Except, the pollen remembers where it came from, so addicts¡ªwhen they go to sleep. They¡¯ll wander there¡ªsleepwalking. And then they just kinda¡­ sniff the snuff- stuff ¡®till they die. Feeds the flowers, yeah? Nasty stuff. But, it¡¯s magical, so the one-in-a-million unlucky magus¡ªwhen he sniffs it¡ªhe becomes a plant-like person and just live there. Like an Ent. Plants feed them and they¡ªfor some reason, they spread the pollen and protect the plants. Even go so far as to kill people. ¡°Ditty probably just got charmed by one such magus to think they were just normal plants¡ªor something. ¡°I think those magus do it on purpose though, yeah? Makes you immortal, like an Ent. Lots ¡® are into that. Immortality.¡± Hyuntae sipped loudly at a cup of Cola, careful not to spill any on his person. He was grateful for the cup and food, but he wished Lance had found some straws, too. ¡°So what¡¯re you in for?¡± asked Lance. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Yeah, you know¡ªthe army. Why¡¯d you join up?¡± Lance clarified. ¡°Oh, I¡­¡± Hyuntae reluctantly began. ¡°There are¡ªthere were a lot of buildings that needed building here. It¡¯s hard to get a job in architecture, so when I was offered this one I thought, ¡®Lucky me!¡¯¡± A wry smile stretched across his face. ¡°They trained me up and shipped me out. ¡°A-I-Tee was ih-interesting, at least. ¡® Covered a lot uh design choices for hasty constructions.¡± He laughed: ¡°You know I thought I¡¯d be designing buildings here? All I¡¯ve done¡ªall they¡¯ve had me do is watch as they disregarded drawings to save a dollar, ¡® maybe some time¡ª¡± ¡ª¡°I heard a rumor about the Sergeant,¡± Lance cut in, interrupting Hyuntae¡¯s rant. Hyuntae stared blankly, surprised that Lance had interrupted him. Lance had always been the silent type. Thinking about it, he was belatedly surprised that Lance was talking this much at all. ¡°A rumor? He¡¯s your Squad Leader, right? Shouldn¡¯t you go to the next one up¡ªer¡­ who was he again?¡± The question lingered in the air, like a noxious bubble. ¡°No. I mean yeah, I should, but no. It¡¯s just a rumor. Besides, have you met the man? ¡® Scary as shit!¡± Lance said, looking nervous. ¡°It¡¯s ¡® he wasn¡¯t always like this; I¡¯m sure of it. I think his magic is¡­ leaking out. Right? Like, he can¡¯t contain it anymore¡ªit¡¯s silly I know. I mean, wild magic¡ªsure, ¡® definitely exists. But leaky magic? What? He¡¯s not a pipe; it shouldn¡¯t leak, really. I mean, I¡¯m not a scholar by any means. I don¡¯t study the stuff, but I¡¯ve never heard of it. If it were a thing, I would¡¯ve heard ¡® it right!?¡± Hyuntae wasn¡¯t sure what to say. He wasn¡¯t particularly good at reading people, but it was obvious that Lance was scared. Deep purple bags hung from Lance¡¯s eyes, and his whole body jittered as if the only things keeping him awake were fear and caffeine. The man was such a wreck that, despite being a stranger, Hyuntae felt pity for him. He reminded of any nameless, homeless vagrant from the dusty streets of his homeland. Words tinged with worry, he asked: ¡°Are you okay? When¡¯s the last time you slept?¡± Lance had no answer but to lower his face to the table and sigh. Anxiety clogged Hyuntae¡¯s thoughts, and he found himself fidgeting. His fingers rapped rhythmically against the table, and he sipped loudly at his drink, tipping it to his lips even though it was empty. The silence pressed him to speak, but he did not know how to respond. He was uncomfortable, far too deep into the social depths, and the silence pressed heavily. He was relieved when Lance finally broke his silence, but was immediately discomforted by his words: ¡°I think he¡¯s evil.¡± [1] AIT (ay-ai-tee): Acronym for ¡°Advanced Individual Training¡± 1.2.5 - The Librarian 2 The Librarian For weeks, Randy dreamed of that salt and pepper dog¡ªher moribund cry, and the deep luster of her winking hazel eyes. There would never be another like her. Years and decades into the future, he would still dream of her. Beyond space, beneath the viscid veil of time, she would appear¡ªlike a wretched spider¡ªtugging at his heartstrings. As her deathly wail crept into his consciousness, a brusque voice called to question, ¡°Are you a man?¡± and he woke, crying, to his father looming over him, breathing clouds of rancid breath into the chill morning air above him. Their moist forms broke over Randy¡¯s sleepy nose; and like shapes laid upon cement, his father¡¯s icy blue eyes imprinted themselves upon his memory. His father would beat him if he didn¡¯t answer soon. ¡°Are you a man?¡± the words seemed to echo. Resigned to be beaten, Randy raised his arms to protect his face. Yet, to his surprise, no beatings came. His father only sneered and walked away, leaving Randy to cower in wonderment. ¡°What happened?¡±¡ªhis father hadn¡¯t beat him. ¡°Why¡¯s he walking away?¡±¡ªthe door slammed shut while another flew open. ¡°My sisters!¡±¡ªthe thought came almost as soon as his sisters¡¯ screams. His thoughts swam, mind flooding with the white noise of chaotic emotions; and then, he thought he heard another scream¡ªone that could have been anyone¡¯s¡ªlike air struggling through an old hallway. * * * Dawn ended. The roosters had long finished their crowing and Randy¡¯s earlier nightmares were beginning to fade into ¡®yesterday¡¯ when he saw a squirrel trapped within his hunter¡¯s snare. They exchanged looks. Randy had always considered himself an ¡®outdoors¡¯ type, and the traps he set each night contributed to that ego, but he never expected that one would be successful. He didn¡¯t know what to do. Afflicted with youthful indecision, he found himself staring into the squirrel¡¯s frightened brown eyes. He mused that the squirrel must see him how he saw his father. It was ironic. The squirrel¡¯s fur was a coppery brown, just like his. ¡°If only they had the same eyes,¡± he found himself thinking. It was funny: even as Randy reached towards it, the squirrel didn¡¯t run; it must have been petrified. Waist encircled by monstrous hands, it did nothing¡ªnot even blink¡ªuntil its spine crunched loudly, like frosted Autumn leaves, and startled Randy¡¯s hands loose. The very next moment, the squirrel leapt from his hands and fled, and Randy could have sworn that the squirrel¡¯s eyes had turned blue. Fury and moisture welled in his own eyes, and he squeezed the empty air¡ªwringing it, like a slave would the master¡¯s towel. He squeezed and wrung¡ªwrung and squeezed until his calloused hands wept¡ªand wished his father would die, but he wouldn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t. Wiping on his sleeve the sniffling sadness which plagued him, Randy searched the bushes for the missing squirrel. He wanted to confirm the change in its eyes, but the squirrel was gone. With no proof to show anyone, he despaired that nobody would believe him. ¡°But maybe the Librarian would?¡± Thus, he quit early for the library. He never imagined himself capable of such a feat. To polymorph the eyes of a living creature was surely a noteworthy spell, and the possibility that he had cast it encouraged him to wonder at his magical potential.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. On his way to the library, thoughts like ¡°Am I special?¡± rang like church bells in his head. He was so happy. He ran the whole way there. Little did he know, the Librarian had been watching. So, when he arrived at the library several hours short of their opening and stood eagerly by the backdoor to be let in, he was¡ªimmediately. ¡°It¡¯s unusual to see youth so excited to read! Is there some exciting new topic your young mind has stumbled upon?¡± Randy did not answer, so the Librarian continued. ¡°Aah to be young again and so full of burgeoning curiosity! That I were but years younger, child--oh and with your father¡¯s permission!¡ªI would show you such wonders as so few have dared to imagine.¡± He grumbled. ¡°Though now I can show you holotapes, these are but the bones of true experience. And well,¡± he sighed, ¡°these bones are too old for adventuring and anthropology, anymore¡­ . Please forgive my relegation to showing you mere images on the tabletop.¡± Having settled into his seat, he sang a distant tune and gestured with his hands at the table. Fairy lights danced and wisped across the stained oak surface and reenacted the beginnings of a familiar yet indistinct story. ¡°Does the young master have any requests?¡± A dark look in the boy¡¯s eyes caught his attention. In truth, he had known this day would come, the day when Randy would awaken a powerful magic. It had been a long time coming, this branching path. Randy now stood agrasp a fateful fork whose tines could sever humanity, and who but the Librarian was there to guide him? The universe had played a laughing hand for a plot containing reality. The irony of it was not lost on the Librarian. He was the least of Us. ¡°Perhaps not a story then, of then, but of now? A boy¡¯s curiosity knows no depths but Man¡¯s. How deep, young man, does your curiosity run?¡± Randy returned an expression as blank as space and the Librarian smiled wide. ¡°Ah.¡± He pushed at the lights dancing above the table, scattering them like smoke. After a deep breath, he exhaled. A golden fog swept the table. With all the seconds one breath can muster, it sank into the old oak fibers, to reveal a boy in the forest staring at a man and strangling him. ¡°What the hell!?¡± Randy jumped backward, shaking the table in fright and surprise. ¡°The¡­¡± he pointed at the table and looked at the old man, horrified that maybe the Librarian had seen what he had done, but the old man simply raised a gentle finger to his lips and blew a calming shush: Randy was seated. The Librarian¡¯s song crescendoed, and the strangled man fell limply to the ground. The boy looked skyward with an unhinged expression and laughed wildly. Terrible scenes flashed him as he laughed, aging¡ªlike a macabre highlights reel¡ªuntil he was fully grown. A man who was not his father, but had the same blue eyes now gazed skyward. For a minute, Randy stared back, not fully realizing that they were staring at each other. Then the blue-eyed man smiled a wicked grin and scenes flashed by again, only these ones totally unfamiliar to the boy except he knew himself to be in them. Peeling his eyes away from those shine-chilling sights, he begged with his eyes for the Librarian to answer: ¡°Why?¡± For a moment, the Librarian wavered and the images dispersed, but then a powerful determination hardened his outward expression. The smoke recollected, and its dance continued. The boy became a monster. ¡°What in the darkness of sleep still reverberates? The heart aches, wherefore dost the trenches of Man equate to nothing. ¡®N to this cosmic jewel whose light must oft¡¯ seem to abandon itself for thee¡­ . I¡¯m sorry.¡± The Librarian inhaled deeply, breathing up all the smoke from the table. The breath caught in his throat, and before he could exhale, pain swallowed his expression. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He flung his magic outward, sending Randy¡ªunconscious¡ªback into his seat. The Librarian pulled a blanket up over him and mumbled a desperate prayer. ¡°School is but a tiny aquarium, Boy¡ªbut a facet of this cosmic jewel. Watch your step and mind your figure. Though the grass is fragile, be unafraid. Cut an unforgettable poise. Run, you fool.¡± He sat back in his chair and reached out with his mind. ¡°Goodbye.¡± A moment passed, and where the Librarian sat there was not the same old man, but a copy¡ªperfect in shape and form¡ªyet different. 1.2.6: Alice Callaghan 2 Alice Callaghan Dust sparkled in the light slanting from the window blinds, to settle on an elder beauty. Like the passing of clouds, moods played across her noble features: Paled blue by the slow suffocation of life, her wrinkled hands lain soft upon her silk nightgown. A fog dwelled within the lenses of her eyes. Something about her captured the surreal, and the nuns of Providence Wayward admired her for it. Two such nuns stood gossiping outside her simple room until a third nun drove a noisy metal cart between them, ending their conversation. She was not their Mother Superior, but she was their superior¡ªa nun named ¡°Alice Callaghan.¡± Fearing confrontation, they scampered. Having knocked gently on the empty door frame but receiving no answer, Sister Callaghan cooed. ¡°Mrs. Mason.¡± She returned her hands to the food cart and¡ªas silent as could be¡ªpushed its rickety frame inward. If Mrs. Mason could hear it, she gave no indication. Standing straight-backed over an upturned and lowly chair, she bathed like an angel in the meager light. She was immaculate. Among the twilight particulates which hung like stars around her, the blueness of her skin and eyes was exquisite. Though it may have been heretical, Sister Callaghan saw in her nothing less than the nocturne of God¡¯s creation. ¡°Divinity could be no less beautiful than¡­¡± she mused, righting the chair. It was dirty¡ªinescapably so. As if some unseen devils had about the entire facility with a sieve, sifting dust, the moment it was cleaned it would be dirty again. Such was life. Brothers and their Fathers; and Sisters and their Mothers, time had dirtied them all. ¡°Even I.¡± Lifting the blinds just to let them fall, an Autumn chill passed through the window, causing a clatter. Mrs. Mason moaned something incoherent and would have fallen if Sister Callaghan had not guided her expertly to her chair. A bead of sweat cooled on Sister Callaghan¡¯s brow. In her admiration, she had nearly forgotten. How, despite its many howling hallways, for all its unpaned windows and doorless frames, the facility air did swelter. ¡°Is she okay?¡± Tucking the long cloth of her burlap skirt beneath her knees, she sat on both heels, kneeling. Having secured a tray on the arms of Mrs. Mason¡¯s chair, she prayed, poured the tea and broke the bread. In truth, there was not enough; this was not Mrs. Mason¡¯s lunch but both of theirs combined. Despite the obvious hunger in her sunken cheeks, Sister Callaghan had resolved to eat later. To give the impression that there was more than enough, she combined their portions and offered it to Mrs. Mason who was¡ªdoubtless¡ªfurther starved than herself. She still wore the same silk nightgown in which she had arrived¡ªyears ago, escorted by some nameless soldier¡ªlike a ghost in the still of night. Mrs. Mason¡¯s haunting features had only compounded since then. The thinness of years spent fasting was, on her, preternatural. Silhouettes of bones and joints showed like islands emergent from the watery surface of her skin. Her nightgown flowed like the very curtain of life and death about her. The Sister brought a careful spoon to her lips and blew. ¡°Mrs. Mason, it¡¯s tea. Open- open- open.¡± She mimed an open mouth, ready to receive a spoon, but Mrs. Mason would not open¡ªeven with a body so thin and a spoonful of fragrant tea pressed against her lips. She returned the spoon to the teacup and frumpled, but no display of frustration could save Mrs. Mason from starvation. If she did not eat soon, she would die; the Sisters were sure of it. ¡°Bu¡¯ wha¡¯ more can we do?¡± She plucked a piece of bread and pressed it to Mrs. Mason¡¯s lips. Hoping she would eat it, she held it there, as if suppressing a sneeze. A sourness developed on her face. Holding back tears, she began to tell a story. She began slowly. With many empty partings of the lips¡ªnot really knowing what to say or where to start¡ªshe stuttered into beginning. ¡°You can¡¯t- ohh, this is silly. Sooner tha¡¯ God would listen than you.¡± She bit her lips and frowned. The corners of her eyes peeled downward in pain. She sighed. ¡°I was a soldier once. O¡¯ the front lines of pov¡¯rty, I¡­.¡± Vacant of face and mind, she stared out the window, just like Mrs. Mason. Her soul ached to know. ¡°Was a child- ¡®re only children, bu¡¯ they had such a fight in them! Tha¡¯, I never- didn¡¯t see it again. Ss¡­ remarkable. Quite so quiet- ¡®s a child long deprived- or beaten- no¡¯ alive yet livin¡¯, like the Word. But by our collective mind, undying¡ªas Lazarus¡ªand innocent.¡± Through her throat, she squeezed a shuttered breath. In her hearth, she trapped it. ¡°The bellowes blow fierce awaye the leade consumed of fyre yet; the founder melteth in vayne: for the euill are not purged.[1]¡± A buzzing swarm of heterogenous emotion assailed her thoughts. Memories, hard and inflexible, flew through her.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Mrs. Mason, are you there? Please tell me! Are you listening. You who¡¯ve born the whips and¡­.¡± Sweat born of an oppressive heat crowded her vision- stung her welling eyes. ¡°To grunt and sweat¡¯ beneath i- how could you. Like this. How could you?¡± She withdrew the bread-holding-hand to wipe her face. To sooth herself, she bathed in the memory of good deeds. ¡°I caugh¡¯ ¡®im stealing, once¡±¡ªshe sniffled, squeezing her fists closed. ¡°Though I¡¯m sure he¡¯d stolen many times prio¡¯¡ªthis time I caugh¡¯ him!¡± She released the fingers of her hands to open slowly, as if to reveal something precious. ¡°¡¯Take before you give; but ask before you steal.¡¯ I taugh¡¯ ¡®im that. Dunno if it¡¯s ver¡¯ Catholic or not, but¡­¡± her eyes flared with desire as she turned the lump over against her palm. ¡°Is it not a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt for so small a thing¡­ ?¡± The blinds rose and fell. Chill air flowed. ¡°Ye would¡¯e loved ¡®im. I¡¯ never seen s- a child so young manifes¡¯ uh dead- uh famili¡¯r spirit o¡¯ th¡¯ dead. Neve¡¯. Ye ¡®d ¡®ve loved ¡®is dog too. Fuzzy lit¡¯le spiri¡¯ pup ¡®e was. ¡®N lively. Wouldn¡¯t ye know it- ye wouldn¡¯t¡ªth¡¯ pup was dead! No¡¯ long dead¡ªI didn¡¯t think, anyway¡ªbut dead, no¡¯theless. ¡°Ash¡± wa¡¯ ¡®is name¡ªa lit¡¯le salt an¡¯ peppe¡¯ thing.¡± At the dog¡¯s mention, Mrs. Mason seemed to react, but it was nothing¡ªjust the chaos of dementia, or a trick of the light. From the tea, heat rolled upwards like a high wave. ¡°¡¯Tis hot Winter in the West and cold Summer in the East. Bu¡¯ who am I t¡¯ judge?¡± She concentrated her efforts. Cool thoughts carried on her breath into the cup: A layer of ice formed across the liquid¡¯s surface. Frost gripped its porcelain handle. It was frozen. Nuns were not supposed to cast magic except to heal, but ¡°who¡¯s to say that a cup of ice on a hot day was not healing magic? Not this sister.¡± She reached out for Mrs. Mason¡¯s hands, expecting that they should be warm, but they were cold. She studied Mrs. Mason¡¯s eyes but could see no indication as to whether she was comfortable; only the eerie fog of cataracts and the crumple of old age met her gaze. Otherwise at a loss, she folded Mrs. Mason¡¯s unsteady hands around the cup, hoping the cold would somehow invigorate her. It did. With a voice that could not be called ¡°audible,¡± Mrs. Mason shuttered a gasping breath, ¡°O-o-oh.¡± Her eyes stretched open something terrible, but Sister Callaghan could not look away. She was helpless, but peer into them. They screamed. * * * A crowd gathered around her as she woke, gasping. At once, everybody thought ¡°She¡¯s alive!¡± Yet, while the crowd gasped for Sister Callaghan, she grasped singularly upon the grotesque memory of Mrs. Mason¡¯s sight. ¡°What was that?¡±¡ªnot the swirling miasma of cataract eyes, but the wisping darkness of abandoned wells too deep to peer down and see. Something terrible. ¡°Mrs. Mason!¡± she screamed. Bolting upright, she forced the crowds to part. ¡°Mrs. Mason¡ªwhere is she!?¡± Sister Callaghan demanded with an anger that baffled those around her. ¡°Why am I angry?¡±¡ªshe felt as though she had run away. Confused whispers fell below the din of her thoughts. Faced with the insurmountable, she had failed¡ªfainted and paled. She was angry at herself¡ªso angry that, at some point, she had grabbed a Sister by the cuff and barked a silly question. ¡°Where is Mrs. Mason?¡±¡ªthe answer was obvious. ¡°She is in her room.¡± ¡°How unlike a Sister¡± her Sisters must have felt as Callaghan released her cuff. All it took was a glimpse. A mere glimpse had ruined her¡ªcorrupted her. Leaden, Callaghan¡¯s soul was now mere weight upon her breast. ¡°Do they know? That I am the lead immoulten?¡± She clapped her hands together in desperate prayer. The bewildered faces of those around stoked her impassioned thoughts. ¡°Consummatem est[2]. The hour is come. Not darkness- desolation- nor dereliction but fulfillment: the Father¡¯s will be accomplished in we whom offer nothing more. ¡®Tis perfection. Salus animarum supremus lex esto[3].¡± ¡°Sister, why do you cry? Mother Mason is in her room; why do you cry!¡± ¡°¡­ Numquid apartae tibi sunt portae mortis eet ostia tenebrosa vidisti? Have the gates of death been opened unto thee? Hast though seen the doors of the shadow of death?¡±
[1] Jeremiah 6.29 [2] ¡°It is finished.¡± [3] Canon Law 1752: The salvation of souls must be the supreme law in the Church.