Part 3 of ? “A Charming Proposition”

Our conversation lulled for a moment. The crackling fire filled in the silence.

“So where is your mother?”

Her face paled. She pulled her legs closer to herself, wrapping her arms around her knees. She shivered, despite the heat.

“…I don’t know.”

Her voice trembled, but she kept her composure. My mind warned me against furthering the topic for fear of wounding her, but my perked curiosity would not relent. In the end, I settled for a vague stance, leaving it up to her to make the decision. I patted her shoulder awkwardly, in hopes of consoling her.

“We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head fervently.

“I do want to. I’ve wanted to ever since she left me.”

“I just…didn’t really have anyone to confide in. Simon has always been a good listener, but…” She smiled weakly. “He’s not much of a conversationalist.”

“Neither am I.” She flinched. With a hurt expression, she turned away from me, her hair shielding her face.

“I suppose you were just being polite, then?” She whispered.

“No, no.” I winced. “See? I have no conversational skills whatsoever. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” My hasty apologies earned a small smile from her. “Please, do continue.”

She sighed.

“My mother disappeared when I was thirteen, leaving the house and Simon to me. I do not know why or where she has gone. And though I suspect Simon knows, he has never answered my questions about her.” She shrugged. “He can’t really speak, after all.”

“Why don’t you give him a pen and ask him to write it out?”

“Simon is terrified of sharp things.”

“Why?”

“Well…My mother used to use him to play pinfinger while she was thinking.”

She grinned sheepishly.

“Simon still gets scared whenever I bring it up.”

A quiet snap disrupted our conversation. Simon held a silver tray with one hand, balancing it expertly. He gestured at the paper piled on the writing desk.

“Oh, sorry!” She hurriedly moved it all aside.

Simon set the tray down. With a flourish, he lifted the lid off the tray.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the dish. “Smoked salmon risotto? You’re the best, Simon!”

Simon raised his hands in what resembled a shrug, then gave her two thumbs up. He rubbed his hands together before gesturing at the food.

She dined with gusto, casting doubt on her statement that she wasn’t hungry. She noticed my attention and brushed her hair away from her face. “Is something wrong?” She voiced her concern. “An allergy?” “No, no.” I took a ginger bite. It was delicious. I turned to compliment Simon’s cooking, but he had disappeared. Seeing my content expression, she beamed. “It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” I nodded as the flavor lingered and faded, prompting another spoonful. She resumed her meal, and we shared in silent enjoyment of Simon’s food. The sound of utensils clinking against porcelain echoed above the crackling fire, and soon the meal was over. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin as Simon reappeared soundlessly, retrieving the tray. The tray disappeared along with one of his hands, but the other lingered, hovering in hesitation. Tapping her shoulder to get her attention, he pointed at me. Then he gave her a thumbs up before dissipating.

“Simon!” Her face reddened. “I’m sorry. Please pay no attention to what he just did.”

Her embarrassment seemed to be contagious, and I felt my face flush in turn. She stared into my eyes, and I saw myself reflected in hers. I was drawn towards her, unable to blink, unable to think. My breath stopped, and perhaps my heart did as well, but I still could not break away. After what seemed like an eternity, she blinked, and with that the trance snapped. She glanced away, her blush more pronounced. “I’m sorry.” She murmured.

“What was that?” I struggled to catch my breath.

She shook her head slowly, and her blush faded. She turned to face me, and though she did not seem much different, her eyes were slightly dulled.

“About that question I asked you on the train.” She tried to smile, but faltered. I nodded slowly, remembering what had brought me here.

“You still haven’t given me an answer, so if you accept…my room is the second on the right.” Recovering her poise, she smiled enchantingly. Her voice was tinged with expectation, but her expression betrayed none of it.

“If not, Simon will see you to the station in the morning.” She stood up and stretched, her uniform lifting slightly over her waist. She yawned, sauntering to a shadowed corridor. She hesitated before entering it. “I will be waiting.”

Death

Four. I have courted Death on four separate occasions. She was a charitable host, welcoming my intrusions and sympathetic to my sudden departures. As amicable as she may be towards my visits, disappointment often flickered across her gentle facade, deliberate in their aberration. Deep down, I knew that her leniency was due to her confidence that I would return, that someday I will be unable to leave.

Death appeared as a woman to me, perhaps an attempt to be appealing, to invite a longer stay. She was attractive, unnervingly so. Her skin was pale, a white resembling wind-scoured bones. Her dark hair was unnatural in its ethereality. Her eyes were icy blue, an abyss of ancient wisdom. But still they shone with a childish curiosity, as if anticipating that I might show her something new. She always sat stoically at the head of an empty dining table. She never spoke, either due to inability or a lack of desire. No, it was her silent company you were expected to enjoy, and any attempts to converse would only result in the manifestation of her acknowledgement, a polite nod.

She was my personal Death; I’d wonder if anyone else would die while she was with me, for it was always solely the two of us. I had suspected that I was sparing some unfortunate soul a few more breaths of life, until I realized that Death does not know Time; for all she cared, I was there for an eternity. For as long as I remained in her presence, I was her only object of interest.

Perhaps that was why farewells were especially hard on her. After all, the longer you possess something, the more difficult it is to let go. Yet each time I would tempt fate, pushing the duration of each stay slightly further than the last. Indeed, each time, Death clung tighter to my soul, and that exhilarated me.

It doesn’t hurt if you don’t think about it.

“Good morning.” She murmured, her sweet breath hot against my cheek.

I opened my eyes. Her hums echoed along the corridor, blurring the line between dreams and reality. It was still dark, but hues of purple have already begun to stain the sky. I turned and drifted off to slumber once more, seeking solace from the cold in her lingering warmth.

“You’re going to be late.” She smiled down at me. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. It was the same mischief I fell in love with, infused with her quirks. She was beautiful to me, and the morning light accentuated her contours. She ran her fingers through my hair as she rested my head in her lap.

“For what?” My sleepy eyes did not stop me from admiring the view. I raised a hand to touch her, but I could not reach her. My heart skipped a beat as she drew closer to me. She traced a heart on my forehead.

“Perhaps it’s better if you don’t go.” She murmured. Her face darkened, and the world seemed a little more dreary.

She kissed me. “I will always love you. You know that, don’t you?”

I nodded. “And I-”

She pressed a finger to my mouth. A familiar melody began to play. “I know.” She smiled at me as tears began to roll down her cheeks, splashing upon mine. “What’s wrong?” I tried to say, but I couldn’t make a sound. Her tears fell faster and heavier, drowning me slowly. She cried freely, all traces of her smile gone. The music grew louder. I took a deep breath as my face was submerged, leaving me with nothing but a distorted view of her. And then, as the music reached a climax, that too faded away.

I woke up on her side of the bed, my phone screaming across the room. Her scent soothed me, and for a moment I was tempted to ignore it. But something compelled me to pick it up.

“Perhaps it’s better if you don’t go.” Her words echo in my mind. I hesitated for a moment, then brushed it aside. I was not yet delusional enough to believe in a dream.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” A voice hissed through the speaker. “Her service is about to begin.”

“Service?”

The voice fell silent. When it spoke again, it was cold.

“She loved you. If that means anything to you at all, if you want to maintain any shred of respect I have for you, you will be here before her cremation.”

It paused.

“I hope you’ll make it.”

I was left listening to the dial tone.

After a few moments of silence, I crawled back into bed. I curled up on her side and, taking in a deep breath of her scent, I drifted back to sleep.

Excerpt #6

“I’m sorry. I’m not very good at writing happy stories.” He said with a sad little smile. “Maybe it’s because of my personality, or maybe it’s because of my experiences; happy stories just feel slightly less realistic to me.

-Excerpt from Somewhere in My Mind

Excerpt #5

“You know, I used to believe in myself because I thought I knew the extent of my abilities. When it turned out I was wrong, and that I was in way over my head, I broke. It’s been a long and difficult trip to regain that lost confidence, and now that I finally feel like I’m back, there’s this voice in my head wondering if I’ve overestimated myself again.”
The cool night air nipped at his face. He leaned back against the park bench, his unfocused gaze betraying his wistfulness.
“And the fear that I’ll have to go through all this again persists in my mind, stifling all attempts to break away from this mentality.”
He sighed, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
“But my pride does not allow me to accept failure. So I often push myself further than I should, just to realize that breaking the limit only contributes to that fear, and slowly eats away at my mind.”
With a grim smile, he straightened up.
“Well, I suppose this frailty is what makes us human. I’ll learn to cope with it, sooner or later. I have to.”

-Excerpt from Somewhere in My Mind

Part 2 of ? “An Enchanting Abode

As we neared the top of the trail, a stone cottage slowly came into view, tucked cozily amidst a meadow. A lone tree stood guard next to it, sheltering it from the elements. The roof was decorated with shingles of varying shades. Unkempt ivy crept along the cracks in the gray walls, rustling softly as the wind caressed its leaves. The porch stairs protested, creaking quietly as she stepped on them. She released my hand to reach for her necklace, resting loosely above her chest. A soft glow emanated from its gem as she unlocked the door with it. I was ushered into the dim room, her eagerness undaunted by my inability to see. The door swung shut soundlessly behind us. For a brief moment, her eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness, like violet embers, burning with anticipation. Then the lights flicked on, blinding me for a split second. I blinked.

“Welcome to my home.”

Noticing my amazement, she smiled triumphantly.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”

“How…?”

“Like I said, magic.”

The interior of the cottage was impossibly vast. Endless corridors led off to numerous rooms and secret corners. A spiral of stairs bordered the atrium, swirling into the darkness above. A colossal clock took up almost the entire wall above the fireplace. It was lopsided, the position of the 3 replacing the 12. Its second hand ticked counterclockwise slowly. The atrium itself was sparsely furnished. Two sofas sat side by side, facing the fireplace. Sheets of paper were sprawled messily on a writing desk in front of one of them. A worn scarlet carpet adorned the wooden floor, the area neighboring the fireplace slightly blackened.

She took off her shoes and placed them next to the door, gesturing that I should do the same. She hung her jacket and her scarf on an empty rack. She held out a hand, gazing imploringly at me.

“Huh? Oh. Thanks.”

Realizing what she wanted, I handed my jacket to her, which promptly joined hers on the hanger.

“Do you live alone?”

“You could say that.” Answering coyly, she winked. “Oh, but not tonight.”

She strode over to the fireplace, picking up a matchbook from the mantel. She crouched in front of it, striking a match. Flames licked ravenously at the kindling as warmth began to spread across the room.

“Please, make yourself at home.”

She settled down on the sofa behind the writing desk, patting the seat cushion next to her. I sat down beside her, sinking into the couch. I closed my eyes, savoring the aromatic scent of burning wood. As I was about to drift into slumber, she nudged me.

“Hmm?”

She leaned towards me, staring at me attentively with her captivating eyes, made even more stunning by the flickering flames. Her lavender scent became overpowering. I felt the urge to steal a kiss from her lips.

“What would you like for dinner?”

Her question broke the spell.

“Well…I’m not really hungry.”

“Me neither. Simon?” She clapped twice.

A pair of white gloves materialized, hovering midair next to her. The left glove waved. I hesitated before waving back at it.

“Could you fix us something to eat? Something light will do. Oh, and make enough for two.”

It raised an index finger, then snapped its fingers. It gave her the OK signal.

“Thank you so much.” She beamed.

With another wave, it disappeared.

“What…who was that?”

“Simon? He’s a familiar of my mother and the protector of this house. He has given me a lot of care over these years, and for that I am eternally grateful.” Covering her mouth, she giggled. “Although, I’m sure he’s exasperated with me, always cleaning up after me and all.”

“Quite the troublemaker, were you?”

She shot me a wicked grin.

“Why the past tense?”

“Touché.”

If I should forget…

If I should forget my purpose for living, what makes me human, remind me.
Remind me of azure skies, of the marshmallow clouds drifting by.
Remind me of wild meadows, vibrant with both color and life.
Remind me of pure waters, natural mirrors for those whom have lost sight.
Remind me of a cicada’s call, its sonorous attempt to leave something memorable behind.
Remind me of her beautiful smile, the proof of her passion, and how it lights up her eyes.
And remind me of Death, keeper of all that have lived, who shall one day claim me as her own.

Remind me so that I may remember, for to live without knowing why is to not live at all.

Thank you.

Part 1 of ? “A World of White”

Fog billowed through the station, isolating it as if it were a world of its own. A muted whistle echoed as our train slowly pulled away behind us. For a brief moment, the world was null; all was one with the blankness. Eerie silence pervaded everything; everything save for my heart, pounding in my chest, reminding me of my own existence.
“Hey.”
That single word broke my trance. A girl gazed intently at me with her violet, almond-shaped eyes. A sky blue wool scarf shielded her mouth as she breathed white vapors into the air. She stretched lazily, the zipper of her unzipped black jacket tinkling softly. The top buttons of her white school uniform were undone, revealing her collarbone. Her skirt swayed slowly at her knees. She brushed a strand of dark, silky hair away from her lips.
“So…we’re here.”
“Is it always this foggy here?”
She nodded.
“We should go, before night falls.”
The fog swallowed all but her hand, held out invitingly towards me. I took it, her delicate hand warm in my own. She twirled gently, and the whiteness spun with her, revealing a faded yellow arrow on the cobblestone beneath us. The mist muted our footsteps as we followed its direction.
Soundlessly, she led me. Her fingers danced playfully in my grasp, edging towards my fingertips with every twist and turn. Just as I was about to lose my hold, she intertwined her fingers with mine. Her fingers settled, nestling between my knuckles. I glanced at her. She did not turn to look at me, but the tips of her ears were flushed.
Rough stairs, seemingly carved into the face of a mountain, emerged from the fog, beckoning us upwards. She took two at a time with ease, her firm grip urging me to keep up. The sharp staccato of her steps echoed along the stone stairs, defying the quietness of the mist. A light breeze swirled around us, the frigid air imparting how far we’ve ascended. She pulled her scarf a little tighter around her neck.
“We’re almost there.”
She flashed a smile at me, apologetic and encouraging.
She slowed her pace to match mine. A hint of lavender wafted through the air as we strode side by side.
A forlorn gate loomed into view as the whiteness slowly gave way to darkness. The fog clung to us with its pale tendrils, pleading for us not to leave, only to dissipate as we stepped through the passageway. I glanced back. It pulsed against an invisible wall, daring not to cross the threshold alongside of us.
“What’s stopping the mist?”
Her eyes gleamed at my question.
“If I said magic, would you believe me?”
Before I could answer, she shifted her attention to something behind me. Her vivid eyes dulled ever so slightly.
“We should go.”
She squeezed my hand tightly and, reassured that I was still in her grasp, led me up a worn dirt path. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to catch sight of whatever it was that had caused the change in her demeanor. The fog surged restlessly against the unseen boundary, as if it was searching for a crack in its defenses. I turned away, its odd sentience sending chills down my back.

Perhaps it was just a sleight of hand.

She was a burst of color, bobbing among the monochromatic dreariness as if she were only here for a walk. That may very well be true; the area was beautiful, sitting atop a grassy knoll, overlooking a pristine lake. Her bright demeanor drew glances, occasionally accompanied by murmurs of disapproval. She strolled on, unfazed, paying no heed to their quiet criticism. Soon she left them all behind, finding herself in a secluded glade she would come to know very well.

A lone stone and a patch of disturbed earth marked his resting place. Her finger traced the freshly engraved letters, the testimony to his death.
“Hey.” She greeted him, as if she were expecting a response.
He looked at her curiously, from beyond the veil. His gaze warmed as he recognized her. “Why, hello. I was hoping you might visit.” He smiled in welcome, his legs dangling over his tombstone. A gust ruffled her hair, a mimicry of how he used to.

She sighed, berating herself for the moment of naive hope. He grew somber as he realized she did not, perhaps could not, notice his presence.
With a flourish, a carmine rose appeared in her hand. “Ta-da.” She gently placed it on the bed of soil.

“Thanks.” He swirled around her, examining the rose. He never understood how she could make things appear at will; and now, he never will. Then again, never is a strong word for someone who might still exist for quite a while. Perhaps he’ll figure it out, just before he fades into limbo. Satisfied with that thought, he reassumed his position on his tombstone.
She stood there awkwardly for a few minutes, hesitant to linger, but desiring to stay a while longer.

Taking a deep breath, she sat down, leaning against the back of his gravestone.
“I can’t believe you’re gone.” She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly.
She paused for a moment.
“Sometimes, it still feels like you’re here.”
“Bingo.” He shot her a wry smile.
She fell silent. A wren took advantage of the lull to warble, shattering the quiet. For a few moments, they listened to its song, immersed in its emotions. The moments passed as quickly as they had begun, leaving the two of them in tranquil intimacy.

“No one would’ve blamed you if you didn’t go back, dummy.” She said softly.
“But you knew I had to.” He whispered next to her ear.
She smiled dolefully, as if she could hear him in the playful breeze.
“I promised not to cry, so no tears of mine will touch this ground.” She declared loudly, to no one in particular.

He was already catching them as her bravado cracked. They shimmered in his ethereal palms like diamonds, though no diamond could ever express her love as much as these. Her shoulders shook as she wiped at her cheeks. He swirled around her, holding her in an intangible embrace. “I miss you.” She mumbled, abandoning her attempt to stem her tears. Her sobs tore at him, and he cursed himself for not being able to comfort her. In helplessness, he held her, feeling her warmth, but knowing she could not feel his.
She regained her composure as the skies took on vivid hues. “Heh, it seems like I broke my promise.” She pulled a blue handkerchief from thin air. With it, she dabbed at her reddened eyes, embarrassed. “I hope you didn’t see that.” “If only you knew.” The amusement in his voice was tinted with a hint of regret.

“The sunset is beautiful here. They chose a great spot.” She gazed at the horizon as she stood up, dusting herself off. “Well, it’s getting late. I’m afraid I must be off.” She gazed longingly at his grave. “I’ll come visit again.” With a small grin, she strode slowly away. Still perched atop his tombstone, he waved at her back. “Goodbye.”

Excerpt #4

“You have reached the voicemail of 831-224-5044. Please record your message after the beep.”

A mechanic beep sounded through the earpiece. She took a deep breath.

“Hey, so, I know you’ve been busy. And I’ve been…off, I suppose. And perhaps a weekday isn’t the best time to bother you. But, well, my therapist was right about something, and that was that I need people in my life. For a while, I’ve made decisions based on the desires of others, and, well, as you can probably tell, it shows in my complete lack of a drive for myself. I’ve been trying to change that but, well, weaning myself off intimate human contact probably wasn’t the best way to do it. I’m sort of suffering from withdrawal symptoms, so I was wondering if you could…help me get my fix, I suppose. It’s fine if you’re busy, I completely understand. We all lead different lives now, as little as I want to admit it. Y’know, I really hate the feeling of drifting apart from people I find important, but I suppose that’s all part of life, isn’t it? But, well, I’m running low on options here, and, well, I really hate to ask but…could you spare me a moment or two?”

“You would? Oh thank you, thank you so much. Y’know, it’s moments like this that make I realize how fortunate I am to have friends. I’ve been wondering a lot of things, which probably isn’t very healthy. Another thing my therapist is right about me is that I think a lot. Probably a little too much, according to her. Something about logic forcibly suppressing emotions, until that little hole you stuff them into fills up and you explode, sort of like how I did. Oh, you didn’t know? I’m sort of…ill. I like to think of myself as ill, at least, because that means I’ll probably be cured, sooner or later. Or die from it, which technically is a cure. Haha. Oh, sorry, I forgot you disliked morbid jokes. Anyways, where was I? Oh, yes, I prefer being ill than having it being an irreparable part of my thought process. Why was I telling you this? Right, right, I’m sort of ill. It’s really annoying, to be blunt. I can’t really deal with things in general, sort of a side effect of not being motivated enough. She said it might be depression, or it might be anxiety, or it might be a mixture of the two, y’know, some sort of cocktail of feeling terrible. Hey, do you know how to tell the difference between the two? From what I’ve learned, depression deals with the past, and anxiety deals with the future. And when both things feel terrible to you, you try to kill yourself. Or, in my case, tried. Oh, you never knew? I thought I’ve told you as much. Hmm. Sorry. Oh wait, I remember. I didn’t tell you because you didn’t like that me. You know, the one who constantly gripes about wanting to die and at first you worry but after the few hundredth time you start thinking whether or not he was just clamoring for attention? Yeah, apparently I wasn’t good enough at suicide, it was a shame. Anyways, not going to do that ever again. Now…where was I? I seem to be going off on tangents all the time, I must be a pain to talk to, sorry about that. Ah, right, my diagnosis. The doctor said it varied from individual to individual, but I was the most logical and collected patient she had ever seen. Not going to lie, I took that as a compliment. Heh. But I’m sure most people with my thingamajig turn out to be wrecks. I’m lucky to stay coherent enough to deal with this, I’d say. Then again, luck has always been my strong suit. Helps a hell of a lot when gambling, might I add. I suppose–Oh, sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I? It’s just been too long since I’ve had a heart to heart. My therapist? Well, it’s more a mind to mind with her. I’m not very fond of expressing my emotions to strangers, as you know.”

“Ah. You don’t change, do you? Always interested in the gossip. Well…yes and no. Like I said, I’ve sorta restrained myself from intimacy for the past month or so, so I haven’t been on friendly terms with many people. Well, no one except you, to be honest. I was fully prepared to be turned down by you as well. Oh, no, I’m glad you accepted. I just…expect the worst, I guess. It’s a terrible way to live life, if I do say so myself. But, eh, you tend to get hurt less. And I prefer a dreary life to getting hurt. Yeah, yeah, I’m weak like that, shut up. Anyhow, well…I think I’ve wasted enough of your time. Thanks for listening, I really needed that. It’s harder for me to stick all my emotions into that hole, now that it has imploded on itself. Ah, I should return the favor, shouldn’t I? Go ahead, anything you would like to get off of your chest?”

She laughed drily.

“Ha, ha. What am I thinking? Talking to your voicemail as if you were really there. Yeah, I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

She sighed.

“On the off chance you listen to this…I miss you. Feel free to call me back. Good bye.”