Prompt: Sacrifice, or The Elements of Life

Thanks to Elwira Pawlikowska for permission to use her darkly beautiful “Fantasy Pond”!

We’ve dreamed each other our whole lives.

Well, I think I’m real, and Heilewisa thinks she’s real.

We can’t both be, can we?

We better be.

I can’t save her if we’re not.

I begged her not to go to the Dark Temple. She’d whispered the legends to me at night just as her older brothers and sisters had whispered them to her, cuddled together under thin blankets, shivering in the cold with only moonlight through the tiny open window of their mud-and-thatch house.

No one made their way through the Deadwood to the long-abandoned temple with any hope of return. If they had hope at all, it was that their sacrifice would be payment enough for whatever they were driven to beg the angry, old gods.

Waking up each morning has been agony, abandoning her on her journey. Each night, I pushed myself to go to sleep as early as possible to find out how she had survived the day.

Last night, she had reached the Dark Temple and waited for me there. Together, we walked around the fetid moat, full of bone-white lotus flowers and the broken remains of statues and pillars that had once graced the temple’s entrances.

“Look.” Heilewisa pointed to the six statues that remained, as if guarding the temple steps. “They carry sacrifices.”

I peered across the still, black water. The pair of statues at the bottom of the steps held urns. The next pair beyond them held bowls. And the pair at the top of the steps held…lumps? My brows drew together and I turned to Heilewisa in confusion.

She laughed, a sound of sharp surprise with no joy, that rang across the water and bounced off the stones. “The elements of life. Water in the urns, grain in the bowls, earth in the hands.”

“Heilewisa, this is crazy. You can’t cross the water. It looks…wrong.”

She gazed at it in silence, then pointed to the floating lotus. “Look, they live. I’ll be all right. I have to.”

We hugged each other in desperation, and I felt the tug of morning pull me out of her tight embrace.

And now, look at her. Floating in the black water, small ripples flowing out from her body, as if there might still be some movement left in it. Some life. But the color has already leached from her skin, her hair, her lips. Her gown looks like it’s been eaten by moths, or acid. Will her skin look the same soon?

Hot tears burn down my cheeks. Heilewisa knew the risk. She thought she had no choice. I do. I can wake up. She’s just a dream. That’s what everyone would say. Anyone. But what if she’s not? What if I am? And what if I can save her?

Heilewisa’s last words had remained with me all day, running around and around in my mind. The elements of life. Water, food, earth. Something was missing.

I turned back to the Deadwood, keeping my eyes on Heilewisa as long as possible. I’ve never tried to bring anything with me in my dreams, but I’ve always had whatever I was wearing, or carrying in a pocket. Now I pulled the wool scarf from around my neck. It was only a few steps away from the water to find a long dead branch on the leaf-littered ground. I wrapped the scarf around the end of the branch and reached into my pocket for the lighter I’d swiped from my stepfather’s dresser. Rubbing my thumb across the top, I set the lighter to its strongest flame. Flick, I pressed down. Nothing. Flick. Nothing. My heart leaped into my throat. I had tried it at home. I knew it would work. It had to.

With the side of my thumb, I pressed against the top of the lighter one more. Flame shot up two inches, singing my thumb as I jerked it away. Holding it close to the wool, I ran the flame around and around, until the scarf caught fire and I held a torch above my head.

Now what? I eyed Heilewisa and the statues. How did I use the element of fire to save her? The reflections of the statues waved in the water, as if they were bending closer to the surface. Bringing their offerings closer. Water. Food. Earth.

Fire. I smiled, feeling the fierce grin stretch the skin tight across my face. Reaching out with the flaming torch, I lowered the torch to the black water. As it touched, it began to hiss and sizzle, but the flame didn’t go out. It leaped across the water, sweeping across the lotus, across Heilewisa, racing toward the statues bearing the other elements of life temple steps.

I threw the torch on the black water and waded in toward Heilewisa. She rolled over in the water and folded up, choking and coughing. I grabbed her around the chest and started pulling her away from the temple, back to the shore. The fire raged behind us. I dragged her out of the water and dropped to the ground, holding her tight. Her skin and hair remained bone-white, bleached of their color, but she was breathing, shuddering in my arms.

She opened her eyes and stared up at me, then across the water to the flame roaring over the Dark Temple. The statues’ arms were raised, their tributes, their sacrifices, pouring into the flames.

“Sweet Rhea, what have you done?”

#

And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing	1 hour, interrupted
September word count	4,206

Prompt: There are all kinds of touch, Take 2

In the low gravity, Meredith easily carried Jillie from the bath to the den, with Jillie’s arms and legs wrapped around her. Meredith tapped the wall and said, “Night sky, Bermuda.”

Upstairs and down, the lights dimmed, and the ceilings disappeared, revealing open starry skies. The effects were seamless, worth every Hari-credit Meredith had spent. Jillie looked up at the rich, black sky filled with countless bright stars. Simon slept more easily under the open sky, even though he knew it was illusion.

As Meredith walked, she pointed to Jillie’s favorite constellations. She paused in the den doorway until Simon looked up from his tablet. “Okay, my little monkey, go give Daddy a special hug,” she encouraged Jillie, holding her hands as their beautiful, impossible daughter drifted down to the floor.

Jillie grinned at Simon, who sat still, except for his fingers back and forth on his knees. Meredith scanned his pulse and breathing from her vantage point in the doorway. Elevated. Shallow. But acceptable. She didn’t want Jillie to push him too far though.

Jillie held her arms wide open, palms flat. She took slow, sliding steps, watching Simon as carefully as Meredith did. If he stiffened up, she would stop. But he stayed calm – for him – on the couch, and held out his hands, palms to the sides to match Jillie’s when she reached him. They clasped hands, and Jillie pushed against his, leaning with all her might into their special open hug.

Meredith had figured it out in the long, dark months after she had taken Simon out of the Hari. He couldn’t tolerate any constriction, nor any light touch. She couldn’t hug him, or trail her long dark hair over him, or run her fingers playfully over his skin. Nothing the Hari had used – nothing she had used -- to seduce him, to break him, to compel him to give up the information they wanted. 

Eventually, face to face, palm to palm, he could relax enough to accept her body against his. By the time Jillie was born, he trusted himself enough to hold her if Meredith carefully wrapped her in a blanket for her feet and hands wouldn’t startle him.

Meredith slid slowly away from the doorway. “Okay, monkey. Off to bed with you. Come, I’ll throw you up the stairs.”

Jillie blew kisses to Simon, who almost didn’t flinch as her hands fluttered toward him. He tried so hard. Jillie ran around the couch to Meredith, who grabbed around her waist and pitched her up the stairs. Jillie giggled as she floated down to the top landing. “Goodnight, Mama,” she called as she climbed into her hammock and sealed it.

Note:

So what do you think of this re-working of yesterday’s post?

I think it’s cleaner, perhaps, but I also have the feeling it’s more of a coda, an ending scene, than the beginning of the story. I think the real story is Meredith and Simon in the Hari, and their escape from it…unless the Hari are about to come retrieve Jillie…

Dogs in house	Houdini
Time writing	20 minutes
January word count	15,332

Prompt: There are all kinds of touch

Meredith tossed the kitchen towel over her shoulder and leaned against the doorway, watching Jillie jump from chair to chair around the table. Jillie loved their new home’s low gravity. Simon sat on the couch, back straight, hands on his knees, rubbing them slowly back and forth. Meredith dropped her head to the side, letting her hair fall down, knowing it would catch his attention. When his eyes snapped toward her, she smiled and blew him a kiss. He relaxed, marginally, but his eyes flickered back to Jillie’s pre-bedtime antics.

Meredith knew he was thinking of children in the mine fields. She scanned his pulse and breathing. Elevated. Shallow. But acceptable. She didn’t want Jillie to push him too far though. “Okay, my little monkey. Bound over here for a goodnight hug,” she called to Jillie.

Their beautiful, impossible daughter pushed off the closest chair and launched across the room into Meredith’s arms. Their heads dropped together, long black hair mingling with long blond curls. Hari curls, if Jillie followed in her footsteps, Meredith thought, then pushed the idea away. She left the Hari willingly for Simon. He would never accept that life for Jillie.

“Okay, monkey. Go give Daddy a special Daddy-hug,” Meredith said, sliding Jillie down to stand on the floor. Jillie turned to Simon and held her arms wide open, palms flat. She took slow, sliding steps, watching Simon as carefully as Meredith did. If he stiffened up, she would stop. But he stayed calm – for him – on the couch, and held out his hands, palms to the sides to match Jillie’s when she reached him. They clasped hands, and Jillie pushed against his, leaning with all her might into their special open hug.

Meredith had figured it out after they left the Hari. Simon couldn’t tolerate any constriction, nor any light touch. Nothing the Hari had used to seduce him, to break him, to compel him to give up the information they wanted.  She couldn’t hug him, or run her fingers playfully over his skin. Face to face, palm to palm, he could relax enough to accept her body against his.

He had found comfort in her round belly, lying perpendicular to her, with his ear resting against her skin. He said he could hear the baby’s heartbeat, and it soothed him. He slept.

When Jillie was born, Simon cried. He couldn’t hold her without triggering the nightmare memories. Meredith wrapped her tightly in a blanket and when Jillie slept, lay her on Simon’s chest. “Now she hears your heartbeat. Let her know it,” she soothed him. He slept.

Meredith slid slowly away from the doorway. “Okay, monkey. Off to bed with you. Come, I’ll throw you up the stairs.”

Jillie blew kisses to Simon, who almost didn’t flinch as her hands fluttered toward him. He tried so hard. Jillie ran around the couch to Meredith, who grabber around her waist and pitched her up the stairs. Jillie giggled as she floated down to the top landing. “Goodnight, Mama,” she called as she climbed into bed.

Meredith tapped the wall panel for the night sky view. Upstairs and down, the lights dimmed, and the ceilings disappeared, revealing open starry skies. The effects were seamless, worth every Hari-credit Meredith had spent. Jillie fell asleep every night watching for shooting stars. And Simon slept more easily under the open sky, even though he knew it was illusion.

Note:

Bah! I had a good initial idea/scene, but I think it's wandered too far afield already. What do you think? Are you interested in Simon and Meredith? Curious about the Hari? Want to know more, or ready to move on? Comments welcome! 

Dogs in house	Houdini
Music	Mediaeval Baebes
Time writing	40 minutes
January word count	14,824

Prompt: Who really believed in the zombie apocalypse? Part 2

…Continued from Part 1

Zach stood outside the room, trying to piece together what he knew so far. He didn’t want to go in. He knew the end. He didn’t want to know the end. Brewer looked up and saw him, waved him in.

“I’m sorry, Zach,” she said before he said anything. “I’m so sorry. He missed his last check. I shouldn’t have let it go, but it was Abe.” She shook her head, tears on her cheeks. Everyone loved Abe. They respected Zach. He saw the difference.

Zach stared at the body on the table. Back exposed, a raw wound on the left side. He ground out, “What happened?”

“Looks like he tried to burn it out. A couple of times, I’d say. He was on the course and a cadet lost his sword and it hit Abe in the arm.”  She gestured to his bloody arm, hanging off the table.

“Everyone saw the cut, so he had to come here. Hoover sat right in front him and started whining.  The sword blow must have triggered the aggression already.” She drew a ragged breath.

“He killed Hoover with one blow. Broke Sam Batts’s nose and arm before we got him subdued. I gave him an elephant shot. But he won’t be out much longer.” Tranqs didn’t work on zombies. Zach wanted to cling to the hope that it had worked on Abe at all. Brewer must have seen it on his face, because she shook her head.

“I just waited for you, Zach. He’s gone. I thought you’d want to say goodbye. But I have to put him down.”

Zach wanted to protest. Abe wasn’t a mad dog. Brewer was talking about him like an animal. Like they talked about zombies. But it was Abe. He couldn’t make himself move closer to the table. Brewer stepped up to him and put her hand on his arm.

“I have to go check on Sam and the other staff. We’ll all have to be quarantined until a medic comes over from the Gator Bowl clinic to clear us.” She hesitated. “Don’t take too long, Zach. We don’t know how long he’ll stay under. I’ll come back in a minute to…”

Zach nodded curtly, looking away from her. Away from Abe. She left the room and shut the door. Locked it.

Zach stepped closer, but didn’t want to see. He turned away. “Jesus, Abe. What were you thinking? Why didn’t you come in right away?”

Because there was only one end.

He heard the rustle of movement. If instinct, friendship, fought with training, they didn’t stand a chance. Zach swung around, dropped to his knee and fired a flare straight into Abe’s chest. They stared at each other for an infinite moment, the flare kindling to life, burning Abe’s skin, his blood. Abe lifted his hand in a silent salute, and Zach jumped back and spun away as the flare erupted.

Abe never made a sound. His body did. Zach didn’t move until the room was silent once more. Until the soft click of the door lock, footsteps, and Brewer’s touch on his shoulder. He didn’t look toward Abe as he walked out of the room. It wasn’t Abe. Goddamn zombies.

Dogs in house	Houdini, Buddy
Time writing:	~1 hour, interrupted

Prompt: Who really believed in the zombie apocalypse? Part 1

Zach climbed the steps to the watchtower and slipped a flask to the two young men on watch. The wind added winter’s bite to the ocean spray that seeped through thick jackets and caps and scarves. They sipped the lighter fluid passing for home-brewed vodka, looking out across the marsh and the ruined road to their island refuge.

“Any action,” Zach asked. They hadn’t seen any zombies in several days, and the tension rose, waiting for the next attack. They wouldn’t be lulled into carelessness again. The guards shook their heads, keeping up their scanning patterns even as they joked and drank with Zach. He kept things casual and friendly, but everyone knew who was boss.

Zach’s dad was the social outcast, the oddball, the crier in the wilderness warning of the coming zombie apocalypse in the face of derision and disbelief. Zach grew up in training, an endless series of martial arts, gun ranges, archery, military-style summer camps. He hated every minute of it. Hated his father. Until Abe, his first real friend, another regular in martial arts classes and summer camp. Until the zombie virus.

No one knew. They’d probably never know the truth. Was it a US Government plot? Was it a foreign attack? It didn’t really matter. All that mattered was the skin-eating bacteria modified into something far more aggressive and virulent. It swept through the cities in a matter of weeks, decimating the population and leaving two groups of survivors: humans and zombies.

Zach’s dad emerged victorious, a leader in the new, dangerous world. Zach and Abe stepped up with him in gathering humans and leading them to safety. The surviving zombies were tough to kill, drawn to humans to spread their infection. The humans clustered in defensible cities: islands, walls, bridges. Limited access points to keep out zombies. And strangers. Everyone had to be checked and rechecked for any sign of the zombie virus. Any visible wound had to be approved clear by a medic, stained with iodine for clearance.

“Zach, this is Medic Brewer. Can you come to the clinic?” Brewer’s voice sounded strained, even over the radio. Zach waved goodbye to the guards and headed down the steps as he replied, “On my way.”

The clinic door was open. Zach hesitated outside and called on the radio, “Brewer, status?”

Her voice sounded weary. “Secure. Come in to the back.”

Scanning the empty lobby, Zach saw signs of struggle. Overturned chairs and a smear of blood on the wall. Then he saw the dog. German Shepherds were sensitive to the zombie virus, and the clinics used them for early detection. Brewer’s was trained to whine rather than growl or bark, which seemed to avoid stimulating the early aggression trigger of the zombie virus. Now it lay sprawled on the floor, neck broken.

 

Zach crouched and pulled his flare pistol. Flares were the most reliable way to kill a zombie. Or beheading, but it was really inconvenient to carry a sword around. On high alert, he stepped past the dog and through the double doors to the interior. He checked two empty exam rooms and continued down the hall. Two more empty rooms. Brewer stood in the fifth, motionless next to a bloody figure on the exam table. Zach recognized the man, even laying on his stomach, face hidden. Abe.

Continuedin Part 2…

Dogs in house	Houdini, Buddy
Time writing:	~1 hour, interrupted
November word count:	25,434