I had the biggest
crush on Eric Stanton from the first time I saw him on the lake shore, waiting to
get across to the island. We had all heard stories, of course, but none of us
really knew what to expect. My calling was like a waking dream,
superimposed on my vision whether my eyes were open or closed. It was a constant
stream of symbols, art, words, and arrows directing me toward the island. I’m
glad there were stories, actually, or I would have thought I was losing my
mind. I didn’t know if anyone else I saw was heading there, and I didn’t speak
to anyone about it until I actually reached the shore.
There were maybe
twenty people milling around, but the most handsome man I ever saw walked
around them all to approach me. He had long dark hair that curled around
his ears and over his shoulder. His blue eyes seemed to glow, and I wondered if
that was some kind of sign of his magic, or his power. I wondered if I had a
sign, or if I would. His voice was deep and smooth, I could almost feel it like
a caress against my skin. I was so caught up in his beauty that I completely
missed what he said. His bright blue eyes crinkled with frustration, and my
first brilliant words to him were, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I think we’re
supposed to cross together. My calling is like a ribbon flowing out in front of
me, and it wraps around you before it leads out over the lake.”
I blinked at him
in surprise. I was nowhere near as attractive as he was. Was he joking? Making
fun? Teasing? I stiffened. “Your calling?” I asked, only slightly more
intelligently than before.
He shrugged. “What’s
yours like? I’ve been talking with some of the people here—”
Some of the pretty girls,
I thought bitterly, sure that he was making fun of me now.
“—and it seems
each one of us has a different experience. See that tall fellow over there? He
hears voices whispering instructions to him. I think that really would drive me
mad! Don’t you?”
I followed his
hand pointing to the tallest man on the shore, draped in a patchwork cape of intricate
design. I wondered how one could tell the difference between voice whispering instructions
and other voices that might mean you were mad after all.
Eric continued
describing the different callings of the people he had spoken with, and I
continued debating his intent. I wished I could relax and enjoy the sound of
his voice, the pleasure of his beautiful face. I didn’t dare. Even when he
stayed close by me as we climbed the rickety platform ferry with no railing to
hold on to as it rocked and floated across the lake with no visible means of
locomotion.
I planted my staff firmly in front of my feet and imagined myself
barely floating above the wood, escaping the rough rocking. Eric made a
coughing sound that jerked my eyes open, and I dropped to the platform with a
thud. I looked around in confusion, but no one else seemed to have noticed.
Eric put his finger to his lips and smiled. Our
secret.
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Dogs
in house
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Houdini, Brindle, Bacon
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Time
writing:
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45 minutes
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July
word count:
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12,768
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