Freshly Dusted

Update: Hello everyone! You may have noticed that updates have been farther between than normal, but that is because I have been working on a book called The Road to Requiem, for Camp NaNoWriMo this month! I am currently 30,000 words through the story after 23 days of writing it. Because I have been so busy working on this book, I have not been able to write as many short stories as I usually do.

That said, I am extremely passionate about my characters and my plotline for this novel, and I am looking forward to seeing how it turns out.

Here is an excerpt from my (unedited) prologue and a temporary cover design to hold you over until I get to writing a more official blurb/synopsis. :)

Enjoy!

Excerpt:

Ayla Wilmot, the Caretaker of the Universe, studied the malcontents before her with a steady gaze. "Do you know what kind of chaos open borders would cause to the universe?" she asked them, meeting each of their eyes before finally settling on LightWind, their leader, a representative from Sordi.

"Open borders would not cause chaos," LightWind said. He choose his words carefully, as if he knew that Ayla would leap on every hole he gave her. "Open borders would allow the universe to thrive by sharing valuable resources, magic, and technology."

Ayla considered the man, before glancing out over the waving fields she guarded. The World Between Worlds had many forms, mainly serving as a vantage point for research and approved inter-world travel. Occasionally, Ayla could intercede on behalf of God or Satan, but she tried to keep the number of people she sent back for a second chance at life to a minimum.

"LightWind, you have studied these worlds for centuries, and I can only imagine at how much your urge to travel to them has overcome your better reason. However, you know better than anyone here that there are unfinished and dangerous worlds out there, as well as worlds that could overthrow all known life in moments if they had an access point," Ayla said.

"We could keep borders closed to potentially dangerous worlds," LightWind replied.

"You would only allow underdeveloped or destroyed worlds to participate in your open borders act? What would you gain from such an action?"

"We would help them."

"With what? The representatives gathered here are from impoverished nations, scarcely surviving. Earth," and she paused, pointing to the person from the world, "Is in the middle of the Dark Ages, and no growth has been created in 500 years. If we open borders among worlds, should we expect that planet's superstition and uncleanliness to remain solely on that world? No. Those are not habits we want to spread to other worlds, especially underdeveloped ones," Ayla said.

LightWind fell silent, and as she swept her gaze across the others in the crowd, Ayla wondered if she might finally be getting through to them.

"We would need to open the doors to friendly realms of magic and heavy technology as well to allow for the underdeveloped nations," he finally said. Behind him, his followers shifted uneasily, and Ayla allowed herself a faint sensation of pleasure.

"And how do you propose that you are going to have the necessary skills to barter with extreme worlds? You are a researcher who has never traveled beyond your home world of Sordi and here. Do you have experience as an ambassador?"

"I don't, but those behind me do," LightWind said confidently. Someone cheered, and it felt like the dam gates had been broken, sending reaffirming energy surging through the crowd.

For the first time, Ayla felt uncertainty, studying the crowd and glancing back in LightWind's direction. "Do you truly believe that open borders will shape the universe for the better?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said. The others behind him murmured in approval.

Ayla sighed, and turned around, putting up a hand to keep the others from following her. "I don't trust that you are devoted to your cause," she said.

"I assure you that we are," LightWind said.

She closed her eyes to keep back the tears that threatened to fall. LightWind was a good man. "Would you die for your dream?" she asked, lifting her head as she waited for an answer.

A long moment of hesitation came, and when Ayla turned back to face the crowd, she saw that they were whispering among themselves, and he was unsure of what to say. She had ensnared him, but he should have known better than to take his grievances against the Caretaker of the Universe, second only to God and Satan.

Although, LightWind's blunt honesty had been what inspired respect in others more than anything else. His straightforwardness was why she had liked him in the first place. Her thoughts rebelled, and Ayla struggled to rein them back in. He wasn't dead yet.

Finally, LightWind stepped forward, distancing himself from the group behind him. "I can not speak on behalf of others when it comes to such a serious topic, but as for myself, I will gladly die for the next generation to have open travel and relationships among worlds."

Not even a second had passed before another individual, this time a representative from Terratretishtes stepped forward. "I will gladly die for this cause as well. And if it be a fool's errand, than so be it, and we will have learned for our history and for our future."

Edward, Earth's chief inter-world researcher, approached next. "England has no hope, yet I have found hope in the rest of the universe. I will die for this dream."

One after another, members began to step forward, until the crowd was about equally divided. Some teetered on the edge of proclaiming their undying support, and Ayla felt it important to issue a warning.

"Do not step forward if you are not truly willing to die. You will die." That decided them, and even a couple of the researchers who had approached began to look uneasy.

"Is this all?" Ayla asked. LightWind paused, turning to survey the group, counting, even as she had, under his breath.

Finally, he turned back to Ayla and nodded, to which she answered with a tightly pursed expression. "Very well. The rest of you are to return to your stations or your worlds, and allow me to speak with the others privately."

Though they seemed reluctant and disappointed, LightWind went to them, encouraging each of them to head back to where they had come from, thanking them for coming, and otherwise convincing each that they were the most important person in the World Between Worlds.

For the most part, they left in disappointment, yet with hope in their eyes and anxious glances back towards those condemned to die...the ones who shifted uneasily where they stood.

Ayla waited patiently until LightWind rejoined them, at which point she gestured for them to step back. "I'm about to offer you a deal," she said. "I will give you one chance to refuse. If you decline, go find the others out there and consider your life spared."

None spoke, so she continued. "To prove that you are serious about your cause, that you would make good ambassadors to foreign worlds, and that you have what it takes to spread your dream beyond the immediate generation, I will send you to one of four worlds, one which you are not familiar with."

Some stirred, some flinched, and satisfied with the reaction, Ayla continued. "You will never be able to leave these worlds alive again. You will have two goals. The first is to spread the word of the existence of other worlds to the people present within these four locations and study their reactions. Truly examine how they would react to information of this magnitude. Your second goal will be to appoint a successor. The successor must be a person born in the world you travel to, someone who is as passionate about your cause as you are, and is willing to take on your mantel when you die."

"You will die in these worlds, but you will have plenty of opportunities to live a full life."

"And what do we gain in return?" LightWind asked, voice catching on a nearby breeze.

"When you have convinced me that you are passionate about your cause, I will surrender these shackles to you," Ayla stated, holding up the bracelets that held the prominent sources of her power. One, white flecked with specks of gold, had been given to her by God Himself, while the other was black and streaked with grey, bestowed to her by the devil.

The price of failure for her would be high, but she had to create a bait that LightWind would not want to refuse.

LightWind smiled, confident in his choices, stepping forward. "I accept your offer."

"As do we!" someone called from behind him, and as one, the crowd roared in agreement.

Ayla closed her eyes, searching in the earth beneath her for solid stone. Moments later, the ground began to shake, and a large pillar pierced the wheat-filled fields, climbing higher and higher until it disappeared into the night sky. The others watched in awe, but Ayla had not finished.

Three more pillars climbed from their rocky home, crusting in new decorations and carvings. The four formed the points of a perfect square, equidistant from each other. "These will be the sign of our contract," Ayla said. "And by them, your descendants will know of the deal we have made."

Touching her bracelets together, she created an Opening in the universe, which she touched to the pillar, twisting as it entered the stone. The chiseling shifted accordingly, and at the bottom, the word, "Earth" appeared.


"You wanted to help underdeveloped worlds, and so I give you Earth," Ayla said. Striding towards the next pillar, about twenty feet away, she opened a second Opening, again shoving it into the stone.

The words at the bottom twisted to read, "Requiem."

"You wanted to help destroyed and warring worlds, and so I give you Requiem, a land teeming with civil war and on the verge of destruction."

Glancing at LightWind, she smiled, plucking the idea for the third world from her mind. "You said you needed to convince countries of great magical or technological power to lend their support for inter-world travel, so I give you Sordi, a combination of both."

Finally, she approached the fourth pillar, hands trembling as she opened the fourth Opening. "You vowed that you could convince the nations that could destroy the universe. I give you Widow's Mourning."

When Ayla was 100% confident that the Opening had been safely secured in the stone, she walked to the middle of the square, gesturing for LightWind to step forward. "You have one last chance to forget this entire encounter. By touching any of these portals, you accept the deal. And you can not choose Sordi, as you come from there."

"I would not have wanted it," LightWind replied. "I choose Widow's Mourning." He took a step towards the fourth pillar, lifting his hand to touch the object and thus enter the world. He hesitated, as any sane man would, but with only a last look at the sky, as if to remind himself of his dream, LightWind pressed his hand against the pillar and was sucked through the Opening.

One by one, Ayla began to assign others to the various worlds, creating a roughly equal number of people going to each. When the last woman pressed her hand against the stone of Requiem, nine people had been sent to each world, with an extra in both Widow's Mourning and Requiem.

The new silence of the World Between Worlds echoed in her ears, and Ayla crouched in the middle of her newly made square, the pain of what she had done causing what would have passed for tears from anyone else.

She had done far worse things than to lie to those who stood up to her though.

Directing her gaze to the sky, Ayla wondered what God would say about her actions, whether He would approve or disapprove. Although she had learned the most from Satan, she respected the Ruler of the World Above Worlds way more.

"I'm sorry, LightWind," she whispered into the night, before allowing a self-made breeze to carry her words and all reminders of her actions far away.

“Say ‘softball!’” Coach Richmond shouts through a clenched grin.

For a moment, everyone pauses in their commentary, leaning into each other to flash their pearly whites for the camera.

“Softball!” half of us yell. The other half are still snickering about the last joke said.

“Geez, it’s easier to catch a home run over the fence than it is to get you all lined up for a picture,” Coach states, wiping away the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

No one is listening, per the usual, scribbling addresses and phone numbers onto the backs of paper scraps torn from old batting lineups.

“Attention!” Coach calls, and this time, everyone looks up for a split moment. “If you bought pictures, you’ll get them at your house in about a week or so. If you don’t, just find me or the boss.”

It’s the same speech every year, so we glance at each other and shrug, fingers lifted to our lips in mock warnings to be quiet.

“Gather round, ladies,” Coach says, once more scrubbing the sweat from his brow. “It’s been a good season. Like always, we’ve won some and we’ve lost some, but you know, that’s how it’s gonna be in life.”

He glances around as if surprised to find we’re paying attention.

“We played a good game, and though we walked a couple batters along the way, we made our share of home runs.”

We all shout and turn to pat Reese on the back, who blushes despite her grin.

“Best of all, we made some friends. From our newest players…” This time it is Sadie’s turn to stare at the ground. “To our graduating seniors.” Karen bites her lip, closing her eyes tightly.

Coach breaks off. “Softball on three,” he finally voices, as if knowing no words truly could prepare us for goodbye.

Excited as always, we throw our hands into the center of our team huddle. “One… two… three… Softball!” We cheer and dart away, arm in arm with teammates and friends.

“Don’t forget to sign up for pictures!” Coach calls one last time. But we’re gone.

~ ~ ~

Seventy years later, someone unearths an ancient photo from a box in a musty attic. Though the photo itself is vintage and warped, smiling faces and stark blue uniforms still shine. Half the people are dead and buried now, and if the other half met each other on the street, they wouldn’t even recognize each other.

However, the photo still encapsulates the memory of dirt and grass, the sound of a ball hitting a glove, and the bond of friendship born through sunshine days.

From behind the fairy lights I saw him, twinkling like the stars that graced the night, and I froze where I stood, uncertainty filling every fiber of my being. I longed beyond anything in this world to go to him, to allow him to take me in his arms and spirit me away to a land beyond my own imagining.

His voice carried softly into my heart as he approached, smile climbing with the music that filled the air.

“Dance with me?” he asked, alluring and sweet, a balm to the broken soul that I am. I took his hand, and his grin reached behind the feeble walls I had built around my soul, snatching away the barriers that kept him out. “You look beautiful, tonight,” he murmured, and I melted in his arms. Yet all was good because he caught me as I fell in love.

Together we danced the waltz, never stopping, no matter what played, because we both knew that this was the only dance that I could manage with my clumsy feet. He laughed, and as the moon dipped beyond the horizon, signaling the approach of dawn, he closed the gap between us.

I froze, and his lips met mine, soft, yet unyielding. Passion surged through me, and I reached to take him into my grasp…but he pulled away,

and the ink I write this story with dries faster than my tears.

“I didn’t know you knew how to drive,” Sandy teased, poking me in the side. I laid my hands importantly on the steering wheel.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, particularly that I’m skilled in crashing into garage doors.”

“Well, that is not a very good resume. Maybe you should let me drive instead.”

“You want to drive eight hours every day on your own?”

“Well, no…”

“It’s settled then.”

“What part of that screams settled?” Sandy retorted, laughing now.

“Well, it’ll be safer if I start our trip,” I said. “Especially since I am less experienced…”

“Less experienced? You’ve certainly got that right. Heck, I didn’t know you knew how to drive until two minutes ago!” he interrupted.

I shrugged, openly grinning now. “Again, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Now admit that you’ve lost and you’re happy to let me drive and get in on the passenger side. Unless you’d rather ride in the backseat?” I lifted an eyebrow invitingly, but he waved his hand at me in mock surrender and walked around to the other side of the car.

Twenty minutes and some more bickering later, we were on the road, heading off on a new adventure.

“To New York!” I exclaimed as soon as we hit the open highway, just narrowly swerving to avoid a vehicle in the far right lane.

“To New York,” Sandy groaned with remarkably less enthusiasm, hands over his head as he watched my driving from the side of his vision.

Yet soon the traffic had cleared, and he must have felt safe enough to reemerge from his protective shell. “Who did you say taught you to drive again?” he asked, checking my blind spots several times.

“Oh, I taught myself,” I replied. “Be the best friend I know you to be and put some music on, won’t you?”

He groaned, but after a few more miles passed without incident, he reached over to fiddle with the radio.

A sappy song burst from the speakers, and I almost told Sandy to switch it over to our favorite classic rock tunes, before I recognized it.

“And at least I see the light! And it’s like a fog has lifted.”
We sang along in all our off-key glory, probably sending thousands of birds soaring away from us in screeching terror.

“And at last I see the light! And it's like the sky is newwwww!”
I broke off laughing at my attempt to hold that pitch, and Sandy joined in. Yet, somehow, we regained enough composure to finish the song together.

“All at once everything looks different…now that I see you.”
The song instantly shifted to commercials, and we grinned together, me mostly keeping my eyes on the road. “Why on earth was a Disney song on the radio?” I asked in wonder.

“Maybe someone like us requested it,” Sandy replied. “It feels like the perfect way to serenade us and new beginnings, after all.”

I nodded along, and he hesitated, as if about to say something else. I waited, but he just laughed and turned the radio back up.

The first four hours of the trip passed in relative simplicity as we passed from New Mexico into Texas. We talked of everything and nothing, each second passing away in a blur of light and youthful magic.

Finally, he gestured for me to pull over at a nearby gas station, and while he filled up on gas, I ran inside for snacks and sodas. With an armful of supplies, I ran back out, and I caught him staring at me weird.

“What?” I asked, feeling around to see if I had gotten that piece of donut on my chin.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just, what if this really could be the start of something new?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a decrepit yellow van that we are hightailing with across the country. If it’s not the start of something new, I’ll be sorely disappointed,” I replied, shaking my head as I slid into the passenger seat.

“This summer will certainly be interesting,” he laughed.

I agreed, yet to my surprise, when he sat back down and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, he was once again humming the ending bars to the Tangled song.

“All at once everything is different, Now that I see you.”

Liliana spent the golden haze of her youth playing in the weeds behind the wooden fence, wading out into un-mowed fields to search for balls or other lost playthings. Being an only child, she was often alone and would sing herself to sleep among the wild flowers, or pretend she saw her dreams formed into the white clouds above.

One day, another girl peeped over the fence next door.

“Hello,” she called out, and Liliana stopped singing, studying the girl in mute curiosity.

“Hi,” she finally stammered.

“Can I join you?”

“I don’t see why not.”

From that moment onward, Liliana and Ruth spent every day together, and Liliana never found herself alone again. Every day, they would sneak behind the fence, run around in the weeds, or marvel at a harmless snake slithering through the tall grass. Yet, as all things do, their childhood passed on, blowing away with the dandelion seeds through the air.

They fell apart as they grew older, Liliana following her dreams of music.

When tragedy struck, Liliana blamed herself. If she had spent less time in her makeshift studio and more time with her best friend, she might have noticed the depression and saved Ruth’s life. She refused to read the letter Ruth had written, for she feared that when she read it, she would accept the impossible.

After the funeral, which Liliana had somehow made her way through with only a couple of tears, she took Ruth’s letter and a knife, sneaking away from her sympathetic parents and out behind the fence where the two of them had met.

Could someone slit their own throat? It seemed the quickest way to die.

With shaky hands, Liliana opened the letter, scanning the words, written in Ruth’s usual sloppy penmanship.

He wanted the baby.

She wouldn’t give it up.

He grabbed one end, and

She grabbed the other.

They pulled.

The baby died.

The couple used popular mechanics

And worked it out the old-fashioned way.

Are we much better today?

(A/N: Woah! I just found this poem from July 2017, and I used to be much better at poetry than I am today! :O Be sure to let me know what you think down below!)

My victims lay smothered beneath my weight, my personal darkness staining the grey of night. From shadowy corners, I whisper to them, beseeching my targets closer with the call of a lover or the whisper of a good friend. As another foe falls, wretched blood staining the city streets, I crouch and feed, their legs and arms cracking to make room for my teeth. 

Once fully devoured, I flee, leaving what remains of their corpse and traveling through wing-woven nights to a different street. 

Tower bells strike thrice somewhere in the city, and another wary passerby skitters in front of the alley, rushing quickly, as if by running he could escape the cold logic of his eventual death. A stagnant breeze wafts the smell of blood towards me, and again I pounce and kill. 

Even before I appear to them, they can sense me nearby. The smart ones have heard of me before, and if they must come out at night, they remain where the light is strongest, knowing it stings my eyes to see such. However, my favorite nights are ones such as these, where the stars are covered by dark wisps of clouds, impossible to make out under such dim circumstances. 

One more, I decide, taking in the moon’s position in the sky. One more, and then I would head back to the shelter I came from, forcing my way through the atmosphere around me. 

Whispering jolts me from my reveries, and I scuttle closer to the sounds, hiding in the shadows of looming buildings. I whisper to the night, trying to make out the shapes of the prey through the darkness. 

“What was that?” one questions, female voice caught in a draft of air sweeping past. 

“A gust in the wind,” the other replies, scorn dripping from his tongue. “Your cowardice no longer amuses me, sweet.” 

I shuffle closer, yet they do not notice me. 

“Vector?” she asks, hesitant. “Why are you talking like this?” I could have told her; the man reeks of alcohol, even from this far away. 

“Tell me why you screwed him,” he slurs. 

“W-what are you talking about?” the woman asks, voice dropping an octave. She steps backward, and I sigh, bored and still hungry. With prey too big for me to kill or carry away, staying here is pointless. Spreading my wings, I pause as a snapping noise ripples through the air combined with the scent of blood. 

The woman screams as her body hits the cement of the wall behind her, but Vector muffles her, shoving his hand over her mouth again. 

“Should I carve off the lips you kissed him with?” he asks, twirling a knife in his free hand. 

I settle back in the darkness to wait. 

“I’ve used them to kiss you, too!” she cries, desperate and pleading. 

“So you admit it,” Vector interjects, disgusted. 

“What-no-yes- Please, I’m so sorry. Don’t hurt me. Please! I’m sorry…” she begs, backing away. She began to murmur something else, and Vector twirled his knife in his hand. 

“Are you praying? I thought you were an atheist. Speak up.” 

“Help, angels! Make assay,” she spoke louder, panic pressing her onward. 

“So this is what you turn to at the promise of death. Shakespeare,” Vector scorns. “What, worried God won’t forgive a cheater?” 

“All may be well. All may be well. All may be well,” she repeats the last line like a mantra, scurrying away from Vector, even as he chuckles bitterly. 

“What does Shakespeare know of love?” he asks. 

She struggles to her feet and turns to run, but Vector’s knife finds the center of her back, and she falls screaming to the ground. “You should have prayed instead,” he says. 

I can smell the blood filling the air, and I smile in anticipation. The work has already been done for me. I wait for the other killer to take his fill and leave, but he does not, only staring at his handiwork. 

Minutes of motionless silence pass, and as her cries dwindle into nothingness, I wonder if he died with his prey. The smell of blood calls me, entrancing me with its tangy scent. I creep forward, slinking through the shadows. 

“If you had feared me like you feared bats, this wouldn’t have happened,” his voice breaks the silence, once again slurred. I tilt a red eye in his direction, but he makes no move. 

“But you quoted the wrong passage.” Vector turns his gaze to the sky, and caught up in the moment, I follow, hissing when the light burns my eyes. 

“Stars, hide your fires. Let not light see my deep and dark desires,” he quotes, lips twisting upward in mockery. “Bet you didn’t think uncultured swine like I would know that, did you?” he asks the corpse. “There’s a lot about me you never bothered to learn.” 

He yanks the knife from her back and flees the scene then, as I always do, with the poise and grace of a hunter, but with the guilt of a child. When he is gone, I rush to the body and bathe myself in the gushing blood, drawing the substance into my mouth until satisfaction gnaws in my gut. 

As the clouds drift away to reveal a glow on the horizon, I leave the corpse where it lies, ashamed at the wasted remains and angry at the man who murdered solely to kill and not to satisfy his hunger. Yet, as I spread my wings and soar into the cloudy grey sky, something he said comes back to me. 

“Stars, hide your fires,” he had said. How applicable.