Following Words

Movie Review: Triangle

2010-03-17T20:23:19Z

First off, let me preface this review by saying it will be vague. There's really not much that I can say without giving large elements of the plot away. And this is one of those movies that you won't want the plot given away, trust me. Labeled a horror (under Netflix), it's really more of a psychological thriller. It starts out with a sailboat getting overturned and the stranded travelers having to take refuge on a seeminly empty ship. And, slowly but ever so surely, things start to go out of control in a such a way that is a joy to watch. This one of those movies that you'll think about long after you've watched it and, only vaguely gory (there is blood), it has one of the creepiest scenes I've seen in a movie in a long time.

Conclusion: I cannot recommend this movie enough; just a joy to experience (and, trust me, it's an experience).

Movie Review: Coraline

2010-03-17T20:10:46Z

Coraline is one of those strange movies where, at the end of it, you're not quite sure what to think. I'm still not sure what to think. I will say this, since I remember it being marketed toward children: I would strongly caution parents to see it before they take their children to see it, because there are moments that are fairly creepy and could very easily give small children nightmares. That said, the story was fairly interesting, although fairly predictable (I mean, you know that this other world is not going to end well for Coraline). The art was intersting, as all stop-motion art is, considering the time and effort that goes into it.

Conclusion: Worth a watch if you're into the horror-fantasy hybrid, but other than that, nothing special.

Movie Review: Be Kind Rewind

2010-03-17T20:07:43Z

I love this movie and I hate this movie. How can I do both? Because I love the first part and hate the second. The first part is hilarious, and their remakes, or "sweded", version of the movies are an absolute joy to watch. The humor is wonderful and I fully enjoyed myself. However, as the movie progresses, it becomes more and more serious, until the end isn't funny at all. I can't stand comedies that lose their humor trying to continue the story. If you can't keep the humor with the current story, change the story, especially since this humor was so well done it was almost painful to have to watch it disappear from the movie entirely.

Conclusion: Despite the loss of humor later in the movie, the first part is so good that I can't help but highly recommend this.

Movie Review: Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland

2010-03-16T18:41:15Z

An interesting take on Alice in Wonderland, Tim Burton manages to take the classic and make it something new and interesting. The 3-D element didn't really add anything to the movie, and I would recommend that you save the money and see it in 2-D. The story, although starting a little slow, gradually reaches its pace and draws you in. Johnny Depp is, as usual, at his best playing the very strange character of the Mad Hatter and Helen Bonham Carter does a wonderful job as the Red Queen. A wonderful twist of the movie, that only people who love literature would realize, is that the Red Queen's big beast, the Jabberwock, is actually based upon a poem that Lewis Carrol wrote and that is found within the original book, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There. Although none of the creatures mentioned within the poem, including the Jabberwock, are characters within the book, Burton has changed that and introduces several of them into his movie. Again, not really important, but a nice twist for those of us that either love literature and/or have read the book.

Conclusion: Definitely worth a watch, but in 2-D rather than 3-D.

Movie Review: Alien vs. Predator 2: Requiem

2010-03-16T18:03:26Z

So disappointing. I greatly enjoyed the first one and this one was just sad. First off, the premise of the Aliens and Predators having an epic battle in the middle of a city was greatly overplayed, because it was set in a small suburban town. Secondly, there was only one Predator, was who hunting down the increasingly numerous Aliens. Also, maybe I'm a wimp, but I was squicked by the fact that they killed a kid and tons of pregnant ladies. Now, I don't mind a kid being killed if its done for a certain effect, like in Grindhouse's Planet Terror, but in this movie it just felt pointless. And the tons of pregnant ladies they killed really bothered me; maybe it's because my niece is close to being born, but again it felt like it was pointless, there for unnecessary shock. They tried to make it a story point, but to me it felt forced and slapped on.

Conclusion: All in all, this was an uninteresting movie that had a lot of promise and could have been a lot better. Just skip this movie; not even drinking makes it better.

Movie Review: 27 Dresses

2010-03-16T18:01:30Z

Warning: Spoilers!

I didn't care for this movie at all. Katherine Heigl, a formidable acrtress, plays a whiney girl who is so concerned with everyone else that she even lets her sister marry the man she's been in love with. Her sister is such a big bitch that you can see the breakdown coming from a mile away, but when it does, it's disappointing, and hardly seems worth the wait. The scene where the two sisters finally agrue feels real at first, but quickly dissolves into a feeling that you're watching a movie where the writer for it had no idea to get from point A to point C and thus skips point B entirely, as suddenly, the sister is understanding of the main character's plight. What follows is the ending that everyone is expecting to happen, although a kiss with the man she thought she loved is thrown in, I guess in some crass attempt to make us believe the main couple actually belong together. Ugh.

Conclusion: Unless you're a hopeless romantic who thinks any romance is worth your time, stay away from this one.

No Turning Back

2010-03-11T18:30:47Z

So it's done.
The words were said
and can't be taken back.
With a frustrated sigh
I repeatedly pound the button
and watch with satisfaction
as my virtual enemy dies.
I can't forget
the look on your face
and the words you said.
In the game
my health is low
and the simulated heartbeat
echoes my own.
You don't feel the same way,
you explained, voice gentle
like a knife entering my stomach.
I can see an enemy
off in the distance
but I have no way to heal.
I have to make a decision.
Do I turn back?
Or continue onward?
I know what is behind me
and there's nothing to heal me.
But, in the front, it's a mystery.
I can't turn back.
I head toward the enemy
finger hovering over the buttons.
There's no turning back.
And so you walked away,
no regrets on your part,
nothing but on mine.

Created: March 2010
Last Edited: 11 March 2010

Notes: I love video games and I've always wanted to write a poem using video games as a main part of it. It actually changed completely from what I originally imagined it was going to be, but I think I like it better this way. I tried really hard to be vague enough about the game that it could be any game that you wanted to imagine; I'm not sure if it worked.

Choosing Swords Over Glass Slippers (Working Title)

2010-01-22T03:59:11Z

"Let the warriors clamor after gods of blood and thunder; love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel. It is inexorable as the tides, life and death alike follow in its wake."
-Jacqueline Carey; Kushiel's Chosen

When I was little, and Mother was still alive, my favorite story was a family myth about Ril'lah, the god of war. There are many stories about gods and mortals, but there are few that can actually be linked to specific families: my family was one of those few. I would listen in rapt attention, my small, skinny arms clutching my stuffed wolf, as Mother or Father would tell me the tale. It was a tale that I heard so often in my younger years, that I knew it by heart long before I was old enough to create concrete memories. Mother always told it best; there was always something sorrowful about the way that Father told it, as though he knew my destiny long before I did.

The specifics have long been lost to time, but the story as my parents told it went something like this:

“A long time ago, long before you were born,” Mother would start with a soft smile on her face, in sharp contrast to Father's serious face when it was his turn to tell the tale, “One of our family, lost to despair, called out to Ril'lah for help. You see, bad men had been mercilessly attacking and killing his family-”

Here, I always felt the need to interrupt. “Even the children, Mama?” I felt the need to clarify it, each time, for the idea that someone would kill children was beyond my imagination. Children were precious to all the gods, even the ones that killed, like Ril'lah, and it was considered a grave offense to harm any of them.

Mother would smile, softly and just a touch sadly, her warm green eyes filled with love. Father would just look pained and a little sickened, as though even the idea that someone would dare to do such a deed was too much to think on. “Yes, even the children. In fact, all of them had been killed, except for his little daughter. And she was why he prayed to Ril'lah, asking the great god to protect his only child.”

“And Ril'lah answered!” I would interrupt again, bouncing slightly on my seat or my bed or my feet, wherever I happened to be at the moment. I would look down at my stuffed wolf, its eyes violet just like Ril'lah's, and imagine that it was Ril'lah I was hugging tightly.

This was where Mother and Father differed the greatest when telling the story. Mother would smile happily at what happened next, joyful in the fact that Ril'lah cared enough to actually answer, while Father would turn even more serious, and even at my young age I would notice the shadows that danced across his eyes. “And Ril'lah answered,” they would both confirm. “He appeared before our ancestor as a young man, vibrant and strong, violet eyes sparking. And He said that He would answer his prayer, but only if the man pledged himself, and his family, to Ril'lah's service.” It was a large debt to ask, for it had no limits, and while men's lives, and memories, were short and fickle, a god never forgot. “And the man agreed,” both my parents would continue the story. “And Ril'lah granted him the inhuman strength. And he made sure that the bad men could never hurt his daughter.”

“And they lived happily ever after,” I would finish with wide eyes, full of wonder at a god that had loved a little girl as much as her father, enough so that he would answer the man's prayer personally. It was rare, Mother and Father would say with pride, that a god answered a prayer personally. Mother would nod at my finishing, kissing me gently on my forehead, but Father always a warning at the end.

He would kneel down in front of me, so that our eyes were level, and look me straight in the eyes; I always felt as though he were treating me like an adult when he did that. “When drawing a god's attention, Cyn,” he would warn, “Cyn” being his affectionate shortening of my name, Cynthia, “There is always a terrible price the mortal must pay.” He would stop until I nodded. “And sometimes, that price is more than a person can pay and stay sane.”

I heeded Father's warning as best I could, being young and not understanding its true gravity. However, the warning would do little, as my fate had long ago been decided, the gods' attention drawn since the moment of my conception. I would not understand that until around my seventh year. It is my first clear memory: Mother's telling of how a God had touched me, one of those rare moments when ignorance is lifted so suddenly the weightlessness leaves a person feeling breathless.

Mother and I were going through our morning rituals, a time that I treasured and loved as our own. I would sit on her lap, fingers of one chubby hand playing with her necklace while the other clutched my stuffed wolf, while she would go through her morning ablutions. I would watch, and could have watched for hours, at Mother's graceful movements as she dressed her hair and made her face.

It was during this moment, as I was staring at Mother and thinking about how beautiful she was, inside and out, and how much I loved her, that I heard it for the first time: the sound of Ne'ajek's wings. Of course, I didn't know they were Her’s at the time, as I stared at Mother, the beating of the wings drowning out all other sounds, love for Mother brimming in my heart.

I tugged at one of Mother's sleeves until her reflection looked down and met my eyes through the mirror.

“Yes, Loveling?” Her voice sounded as though it were coming from a great distance, barely heard over the rushing of the beating wings.

“Mama, where's the bird?” Mother stared at me in confusion, worry deep in her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“There are wings flapping. I was wondering where the bird was.” Mother's eyes widened with realization and an emotion that, to this day, I still have yet to figure out. She stared at my reflection for a long moment, my movements frozen at the suddenly serious look on her face. Then she turned away from the glass, shifting me with practiced ease on her lap until she could meet my eyes head on.

“Oh, Loveling...” she said, a delicate hand reaching up to brush a curl of dirty blond hair off my cheek only to tuck it gently behind my ear. “You're a very special little girl, and the gods loved you so much that they paid extra special attention to your creation.” I stared at her with wide eyes, wondering what to make of this new development, Father's warning echoing in my head. The wings were fading, my heartbeat pounding in their wake. “Loveling,” Mother said, drawing my attention away from myself and back to her. “You're Ne'ajek's Childe.”

I let out a soft sound of surprise, my eyes shifting back to the mirror, where my pale face framed my mismatched eyes, one eye blue and the other green. Ne'ajek's eyes, I realized, wondering how I had never noticed it before. Mother's hand grasped my chin in a delicate hold and turned my face back to hers.

“You are very blessed, Loveling,” she said, her voice soft and melodic with love. “Love is a beautiful experience, one of the most beautiful in the world, and Ne'ajek wants you to have it always.” It is a strange occurrence to be Marked by a god, but Ne'ajek's Mark was perhaps the most famous and also the strongest one to bear, partly because it was one of the few that people were born with and thus could not choose. There are many tales of what Her Children have done, though the most famous is the tale of a woman who was sentenced to death, unfairly the tale says, and kissed her executioner with such love that her refused to perform the deed and they had to call another to kill her. If there is a better story that shows the conflict of what being Ne'ajek's Childe is like, I have not found it.

This only served to increase my obsession with Ril'lah, for according to legend, Ne'ajek is the only one that the god had ever loved. I gobbled up any and all tales about the wolf-god and took great pleasure in praying to him especially. He became my confidant, and I imagined that my stuffed wolf, being a symbol for the god Himself, would pass all my words to the god. I would whisper my secrets and my worries into his willing wolf ears. Perhaps Ne'ajek's foresight was coming into play subtly, that I should feel so comfortable with a god so many feared, but I knew I could trust Him.

The one time that Father caught me talking to Ril’lah he scolded me, stating that it was blasphemy to talk to a god so informally. Only a few years later, I realized that this was another bid to keep me safe, another warning to not bring the gods’ attention to myself. Sometimes, I wondered if Father could sense the heavy weight of the gods’ eyes on me, and attempted as best he could to protect me from them.

He failed. He’d been doomed to failure the moment Ne’ajek had dipped her fingers into Mother’s womb. But I still loved him for trying.

~*~*~*~
Mother died when I was seven. Father died not soon after, the only difference being that his body still went though the motions of being alive long after his soul had join Mother’s.

~*~*~*~
The year I turned nine was when everything changed. It was a year of sudden shifts, and in my darkest hours, I would look back on it and wonder what my life would have been like had that year just never happened. It started with Father’s shell remarrying. The marriage had been set up by a mutual acquaintance, and Father’s shell had only acquiesced to it because they had threatened to take me away; he didn’t talk to me anymore or even care, but there were still echoes of those feelings of love I guess, because he did as they told him to. It was a mistake that he would not live long to regret, and that I would suffer from for the next ten years of my life.

My stepmother, Theia, was not a kind woman, but she was an intelligent woman, and this I found very quickly made her dangerous. She realized fairly quickly, if she hadn’t realized it from first glance, that Father was a shell and no longer cared about what went on in the world of the living and she used that knowledge. She had numerous affairs, right under my father’s nose, within the first sixth months of their marriage; Father’s shell finally stopped breathing soon after that, and the body finally followed the soul to death. Part of me was happy that Father could finally be at peace, no longer living a tormented half-life; but another part of me could see the cruelty of Theia and knew that, although Father hadn’t noticed a lot in their six months together, she had been holding back with him there. With him no longer in the way, she enacted all the rules that she had been scheming up, and I was at the center of most of them.

To this day I don’t know why she harbored such ill will against me. I was no prettier than her two daughters, Clymene and Aurora, although I did have a sharper wit about me. I had never done anything, at least that I knew of, that had caused harm to any of them. Perhaps Father or Mother had. It was not for me to know, and so I suffered for crimes that only she could see.

Her first acts, a week after Father died, was to move me to the ground level, in the quarters where the other servants were housed. My fine clothes, which I rarely wore anyway, much preferring the breeches of a boy, were taken away and given to Aurora who was only slightly smaller than I. The final insult was when I was informed that, if I wanted to stay out of an orphanage, I would work for my room and board. I acquiesced quickly; everyone had heard the horror stories of what went on in orphanages. The servants, faithful and loving that they were, were appalled, and several were ready to either confront Theia or go to the mayor with this insult, but I quickly quieted their rage. I had seen the cruelty and intelligence that my stepmother hid, and I had no desire to call its attention to myself. So, I went about my work as diligent as could be and, eventually, I disappeared off Theia’s world. As a maid, I knew, I was happier than I ever would have been trying to pretend to be a daughter of hers.

~*~*~*~
At thirteen years of age, I was awkward and moved with all the grace of a just-born calf: I tottered on legs that were far too long for me and my gangly arms were constantly throwing off what little balance I could manage. This was the year that I also tripped back into Theia’s world, which I had so carefully avoided for the past three years, quite literally in fact. As I was walking with dirty water, having just washed the tiles, I tripped spectacularly over a speck of dust, pitching the water forward, right at my stepmother who had just appeared in a doorway to see what the racquet was about. Needless to say, she was less than happy, and I learned very quickly that there had been a good reason that I had stayed as far from her as possible.

Her abuse was never physical; she would never have hit anyone that she considered everyone beneath her, they were both too disgusting to touch, and because she would never allow her reputation to be tarnished that way. I often wondered how she had managed to save that reputation considering my sorry state, but I could only devise that she must have told those who were inquisitive enough that I had gone off to boarding school, and then cut all ties with them so subtly that she was long gone before they even realized what had happened.

Her abuse, instead, was all verbal, finding with alarming quickness and latching on to emotional and mental weaknesses. One of her favorite forms, where I was concerned, was telling me how little Father actually loved me; after all, she would reason, if Father had really loved me, wouldn’t he have been strong enough to stay alive? She was good at what she did, I’ll give her that, because those words never stopped hurting, nor did the other weaknesses that she exploited. But, oftentimes worse, she could be subtle in her abuse: one of her favorites was giving me rags to use for washing, rags that I wouldn’t until much later learn had actually been Mother’s old dresses, after she made me burn the remnants of the dress, always watching to make sure that I couldn’t save even a scrap.

Of course, I did manage to save a few dresses of my mothers, her finest, the ones that were stored in the attic until special occasions and that apparently Theia knew nothing about. I couldn’t save many of them; eventually they would be found and if the boxes were too empty, Theia would realize what had happened. I did, however, manage to save three dresses, two of which had been my favorites when I was younger while the other had been the last she had ever worn.

I tried, valiantly, to get out of my stepmother’s world, hoping that she would go back to forgetting that I ever existed, but that was not to be. She took great joy in tearing into me, and again I couldn’t fathom what I had done to bring such cruelty upon myself. Clymene, my oldest stepsister by several years, took great joy in following in her mother’s footsteps. However, she was far less intelligent than her mother (in my own mind I snickered to myself about inbreeding) and thus her insults were never as sharp or as harmful: mostly, they were parrots of things that she had heard her mother say to me. Aurora, younger than me by less than six months, was my only bright light after Theia finally saw me. She was kind and gentle, the complete opposite of her mother and sister, and I often wondered if she mightn’t be a changeling child; she certainly had the looks. Where Clymene took after her mother, being stout with full curves, Aurora was like me, thin and reed-like, with only the barest curve of the hip and practically no breasts at all. She was not a friend, but she was the closest to a female friend that I had.

All my other friends were male, and it was one of these friends, Actaeon, that would unwittingly set me down the path that I now walk.

~*~*~*~
It happened one bright morning, when all the stars had aligned correctly and my morning chores had ended early. At realizing that I had free time, I quick went seeking for Actaeon, almost like a brother to me. When I found him, he was headed toward the field that Theia rented out to soldiers for training. Apparently, I learned from his excited chatter, Alexikakos, General of the royal army, great swordsman, and master bowman, was rumored to be visiting the soldiers for inspections. Actaeon was quivering with excitement by the time we walked into the large, open barn-like building where everyone seemed to be training. The crash of swords as they bounced off one another rang through the air, working in harmony with the thuds of arrows and spears going into their targets.

We were not the only children that had decided to come and watch; a small group had gathered at the fence that separated the training area from the rest of the barn, and were watching a fight between two men. I recognized Alexikakos instantly: his movements were so fluid they seem inhuman, and the soldier fighting against him was barely holding his own. The fight was over with minutes, the General’s sword disarming the other’s knives in one quick motion, one of the knives skidding along the ground to stop only a few feet away from me. It was then that I realized several things at once. One, I had unknowingly moved closer to the duel as I had watched it until I was pushed up against the fence. Two, I could no longer hear the clanging and pounding of an army training; in fact, I could barely hear anything, just distant sounds that were felt muted against my ears. Three, time seemed to have stopped.

Actaeon was held in mid-air in a victory jump, and the great General was stuck in mid-turn, as his eyes followed the knife... The knife which I suddenly found in my hands, with no recollection of how it had ended up there. It was then that I heard it: the howl of a wolf. My eyes darted up and my breath caught in my throat as I stared at the brilliant silver wolf that now stood across the practice field staring at me with inhuman violet eyes. And I knew what Ril’lah wanted: He was calling on the debt my family owed. I also knew that it was my choice; if I chose not to help Him, then so be it, I wouldn’t be punished for doing so. But, I couldn’t say no to Him, not Him who had been with me through all my troubles, when even my own parents had left me.

So I took the knife and carved Ril’lah’s symbol into the palm of my hand: a bloody S with a dot in the middle of each curve. And as the pain ripped through me, as the wolf howled in my ears one last time, time started again and Alexikakos was suddenly beside me, ripping the knife out of my hand, and screaming for a medic. Vaguely, as though from a great distance, I heard him calling me a stupid child, telling me that I shouldn’t have touched the knife, and then he wiped away the overflowing blood from my hand and fell silent as he stared at the symbol on my hand. “Ril’lah’s Own…” He looked up at my face finally, staring into my eyes with shock. “And Ne’ajek’s Childe.” His face held sorrow as he looked at me. “A warrior who loves all… Oh child…” He leaned forward and wiped away a tear that was tracking down my cheek. He knew, like Father, that gods’ attentions only bring pain and, for the first time in years, I was pulled into a gentle hug.

~*~*~*~
The next six years, training with Alex (as Alexikakos liked his trainees to call him), were some of the happiest in my life. He was like a second father to me, and I embraced his love whole-heartedly. It is a hard thing, I had discovered, for one of Ne’ajek’s children to live without love. Theia had not let me go without a fight; of course not, she enjoyed the pain she brought me too much, as well as the free labor. However, once I had been Marked as Ril’lah’s own, there was little she could do about it. I lived in the barracks and I found myself happy. The work was hard and demanding, but it felt right; my body began to finally catch up with my limbs and, although I was still tall and willowy, I moved with a natural grace that was only augmented by the hours of training I did.

The only thing that followed me from my past life was Aurora, visiting me often and bringing me food, which the other trainees greatly loved. They used to joke and rib me, about my beautiful girlfriend, and I would laugh, even while I died inside. Because overtime I did grow to love her, more than a sister. She was beautiful, inside and out. Her light blond hair feel in waves down her back, which she always kept free, and her blue eyes sparkled with a soul that was always kind. Unlike me, her willowy shape had finally smoothed out into curves, although nothing like those of her sister or her mother. But the smaller curves suited her better, and made her lovelier in my opinion.

Our favorite time as trainees was when the prince, Orion, would come and train with us. He would only come for a few days before having to go back and assuming his role as heir to the realm, but those times were some of the most memorable. Although we were, of course, intimidated by his power and position in the world, he soon became such a staple of our lives that we ignored those feelings. I, being the only woman amongst my year of trainees, and one of only four in the entire compound, drew his attention. And when he found out that I was Ril'lah's Own, he soon had eyes only for me. It seemed that he shared my obsession with the deathless god of war, and we would spend countless hours swapping stories, although he had countless tales that I had never had access to, and I only had my family's tale of pain to exchange. I even pulled my stuffed wolf, ratty from the overzealous care of a child, out of its storage place and show it to him, pointing out the fact that the ears were almost unattached, due to the way I would tug on them.

And I loved him. Of course I did; I am, after all, Ne'ajek's Childe. But he was the only the second person that I loved in a way that was more than family, and the first person that seemed to return my affections equally. And then, of course, as is common in my life, everything changed.

~*~*~*~
Orion decided to hold some balls in celebration of the victory that we had won recently along our border, defending our kingdom from the advances of a zealous neighbor. We trainees, only days away from moving on into the real world, were invited, and of course we all went. It was the only chance we would probably get in our lifetime to go to a ball and act like normal adults for a change, instead of the soldiers we were.

It was a strange experience for me in many ways. The first being, of course, the fact that I had to wear a dress. I had not worn a skirt since the days of my stepmother's cruelty, and then it was always course cotton that wouldn't easily stain and would weather the rough tear of my hectic life. This was an entirely different experience. I, at first, wanted to use one of Mother's old dresses that I had managed to save, but there were many problems with that plan. First, I had grown much taller than Mother, and neither did I have the curves to fill out the dress as it was supposed to be filled. Second, Alex was horrified that any of his recruits would show up in anything but the best, fearful that it would reflect poorly on him, and ordered me to an actual dress shop to buy a brand new one.

That was an experience in and of itself, and one that I never wanted to repeat again. I had begged Aurora to go with me, having no sense of style or what prices should be, and was fearful of being taken advantage of. The girls there had been nice, but there had been a mocking quality about them that had reminded me too much of my stepmother. However, it was as we were walking back that I spotted them: the most beautiful shoes I had ever seen. They were a light blue color, the color of Aurora's eyes, and I knew I had to buy a pair for her. Despite her protests, I dragged her in and got her fitted for a pair, telling her how beautiful they would look with her dress. She blushed, we continued walking around town for a while before I returned with dresses in tow. Being in a dress for the first time in years was not something that I found I enjoyed. The skirts were heavy, unwieldy, and I felt as though my legs were bare for everyone to see. The bodice was tight, the neckline dipped low, and the shoes heels were uncomfortably high. The entire outfit felt cumbersome and I felt completely defenseless in it.

If someone attacked me in that outfit, how in the hell was I supposed to defend myself? I couldn't very well attack, nor could I run with those damnable heels. Quite frankly, I just thanked Ril'lah everyday for my training and excellent natural balance, otherwise I would have been tripping all over the place because of my shoes.

However, I have to admit that it all seemed worth it when Orion saw me come in and, whisking me out onto the dance floor, told me was I more beautiful than any other woman in the room. I blushed at that, uncomfortable and unused to flattery. When I wasn't dancing with him, I was talking with the other trainees or with Aurora. She looked beautiful as always, her dress simple but elegant, and when she wasn't dancing, which wasn’t often due to her many suitors, she would find me immediately. She took great joy in pointing out the shoes that I had bought her, and I had to admit they made a lovely chime as she walked in them. I finally managed to introduce her to Orion, something that I had wanted to do for a while, and was pleased when they immediately hit it off.

And so the balls passed in a like theme. I danced with the trainees or Orion, turning everyone else down, while Aurora could barely take two steps away from one dance partner only to find another waiting to lead her in the next dance. She would beg off eventually, usually when I was free, and would join me wherever I was, sparkling and spangle-bright.

It was the third night when everything seemed to go haywire. Orion had never seemed to reciprocate my feelings, which I was fine with and quite used, although this was my first experience as a lover, so it wasn’t too surprising that I was completely astounded when he led me away from the ball before midnight and into the garden.

He suddenly seemed so serious that I couldn't help making a joke, my nervousness making it so that to this day I still don't remember what I said. He had smiled at me, the quirk of lips a little uncertain, and I knew that something was, once again, about to change.

“Cynthia... Cyn...” he say me down on a bench and paced in front of me for a moment. “We've known each other for a long time.” I nodded. “And you have been one of the most important people in my life.” I smiled. “I would like to make you the most important one. Cyn, would you do me the great honor of being my wife?”

I was, to say the least, shell-shocked. I suddenly realized that he was holding a ring out to me. Ne'ajek's wings were beating in my ears, echoing my heartbeat. Why was I even hesitating? I loved him and he loved me. That was I all I need to know. I reached out, but was stopped, as I heard the distant howl of a wolf.

Startled, I looked past Orion to see a Ril'lah, in His wolf form, standing on one of the garden paths, staring at me. His silver-black fir was standing on end, and His violet eyes seemed to glow in the flickering of the moonlight. My choice, his gaze said. The elegant throat arched upward once more, a mournful howl, before turning to lope away, movements so graceful they seemed to run into each other, and he didn't look back, although he let out one more mournful howl as he disappeared.

The wings started to beat with added ferocity, and my future flashed before my eyes. I saw myself take the ring, saw Orion and I getting married, saw the love the people and Orion would have for me. It was a beautiful future, I acknowledged, even as my fingers curled into my palm. But there were things missing from it that I wasn't sure I could give up. If I married him, what was the point of all the training that I had done. If I was queen, there was no way that they would allow me to continue to learn swordplay. My sword, my companion now for years, the one thing that had stuck by me no matter what, would be gone. And no matter how much I loved him, I would be as fettered as when my stepmother had had her hands on me. I would never be free to go anywhere, to do anything, and I wouldn't be able to do what I pleased. Appearance would be too important to let me have freedom. But more than that, Ril'lah was gone. I saw my hand, the scar on the palm gone, as it held Orion's. And although I knew that Ril'lah was letting me have a choice, I knew that in the end there was no choice to make. For better or for worse, I had promised Ril'lah that I would be His. Unlike Ne'ajek, He had asked, and I had said yes. I could break that promise now, with no penalties, but that was not a person I wanted to be.

And besides, I thought as I drew my hand back and looked up at Orion with a sad smile, in the end I loved Ril'lah, above all others. He was mine and I was His. “I'm sorry,” was all I said, before I got up and left, walking speedily through the crowds to exit out a side door. The wings were fading away, although I could still hear them in my heartbeat, and as soon as I free from the castle's walls, I tore my shoes off, tearing at my dress as well, so that my skirt was shorter and less heavy, the bodice no longer tight.

And I ran. My hair, up in complicated knots that Aurora had done, fell loose and heavy around my shoulders. My feet made a slapping sound as they pounded on the dirt, and it took me a few moments to realize that someone was running next to me. I looked over and there He was: Ril'lah. He loped beside me in his wolf form, silver fur shimmering in the wind and moonlight, feet gliding over the ground with effortless ease. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth, and as He turned to look at me when He felt my gaze, I could swear he was laughing. I laughed in response and kept running: this was me, this was being alive and being free. That future with Orion had been beautiful, but nothing could be more beautiful than running in the moonlight, with Ril'lah laughing beside me.

Created: 2003
Last Edited: 21 January 2010

Notes: This is actually supposed to eventually be a novel length story. But this is the furthest that I've ever gotten on it and it appears that I have lost my notes so... who knows if that'll ever happen. That being said, while there are a few things I would change, in general I'm fairly happy with this rendition, although there is one big plot point that I had to take out of the story that I still wish I had the chance to write in. Ah well, maybe someday...

Movie Review: The Spirit

2010-01-08T21:25:35Z

I had heard that this movie was bad, but how bad it actually was surprised me. The dialogue is completely ridiculous. Not only is it poorly written, but the actors deliver it with no real emotion at best and completely woodenly at worst. Some of the action scenes were so overdone that they were actually laughable, and the plot of the movie itself was lackluster and predictable. Even the overly stylized artistic quality of it couldn't make it interesting.

Conclusion: Skip this one, it's not worth the time or money.

Game Review: PS2 - Tomb Raider Legend

2010-01-08T21:09:13Z

I have been a fan of Tomb Raider games since the very first one came out and I played it while sitting on my Dad's lap. As such, I can say that I have been both delighted, and disappointed, with the different directions that Tomb Raider has gone. Please note that the only reason I can say delighted, instead of just disappointed, is because of this installment.

Don't get me wrong, it is not a perfect game by any means. But neither is it the garbage that Dark Angel was. That being said, I believe that this game is an absolute blessing to the series because, I viewed it not as a full game, but as the groundwork of a game, which is both a good and a bad thing for it to be.

It is a bad thing because the game isn't quite what it should be. The puzzles are repeated and none are really that challenging. They all involve the same mechanics and almost the same objects (such as pushing/pulling objects onto pads to make doors open). The story is interesting enough, but ends abruptly, rather where you feel it has just really gotten started. The levels are short: on time trial they all last between 10-15 minutes. After a while, the whole thing begins to feel rather repetitive, despite the interesting story and locations (one of my favorites being an old King Arthur museum).

All that being said, being the groundwork is also a good thing, especially for Tomb Raider. The series as a whole has needed desperately to go back to its roots and be reworked from the bottom. Thankfully, this is what they finally did. Lara is back to jumping and swinging her way through exotic locations, and the fighting system has received a much-need uplift. Although some of the fighting moves are useless (why would we kick when we can shoot?), some fit extremely well, such as the ability to slide into an enemy, knocking them off their feet or jumping off an enemy which slows down time so you can kill more effectively. They have introduced a grapple system which works extremely well within the game, although a little more freedom would be nice. And, they have introduced tons of content that you may earn in various ways, such as beating levels at time trials and getting rewards, the new secrets. The new characters that are introduced are all interesting and, in the case of the two men at the other end of her headset, rather funny.

Although this feels more like the beginning of game, than a full game itself, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Tomb Raider desperately needed to lay new groundwork; groundwork that needed to go back to what made it such a great game in the first place, and in Legends, they did exactly that. This is what the game badly needed, what the fans called for, and Legends went back to the basics. Now, we can only look forward to what the company will build off the interesting groundwork they've put down.

Conclusion: Definitely worth a play because, although a little lacking, it reminds you why everyone loved Lara to begin with. A sign of much bigger and better things to come for our lovely tomb raider.

Game Review: PS2 - Okami

2010-01-07T16:51:19Z

Short review: PLAY THIS GAME!!! IT IS AMAZING!!!

Long review: I play a lot of games. Not as many as I wish, but I do play quite a few. And, I do stick to the story-oriented ones. But never have I played a game as beautiful as Okami, and in every sense that could be taken. And neither have I played a game that, at the end of the it, I actually felt sad that it was over, that there was no more story to go through or secrets to discover. The entire story centers around a god (you) that is awakened from its stone statue to help defeat the evil Orochi. Along the way you meet many characters, the most important of these being your companion for the journey, Issun, a bouncing ball of green light. The entire game is made to look like a Japanese painting, and so is absolutely breathtaking to behold (and that's only on my tiny, cheap tv, my mind boggles at the idea of seeing it on a nice screen). The characters are wonderful and, although not all the characters are memorable, the two main characters are ones that, without a doubt, I will remember the rest of my life. The story sags in the middle, I'll admit, due to the strange fact that something you thought would last the entire game actually stops half way through, but once you get back on track, its wonderful. (And I know that sentence is awkward, but I don't want to give anything away.) The controls are near perfect once you get used to them, although no matter how much you play, the paintbrush ability is always a little iffy. The humor is also always great, although sometimes a little strange (one of the attacks that you later get involves you peeing on the enemy and, yes, you heard that right: peeing on the enemy). And, finally, the ending. I felt it was a little strange, but it also somehow fit the humor of the rest of the story. And the boss fight was the most enjoyable boss fight that I have ever played. It was fun, but challenging. (Tip: buy a lot of those scrolls, forgot what they're called, that keep the attacks from hurting you and its no problem.)

Conclusion: Do not miss this game, which argues all by itself, why games can be considered an art form, both literally and figuratively.

Movie Review: District 9

2010-01-06T16:35:56Z

There are very few movies that can come out of nowhere and wow people. There are even fewer that live up to the hype. This movie manages to do both. This is one of those rare sci-fi gems that you know will be considered a classic long past the time when the first generation that saw it is dead and gone. The storyline is gorgeous and the acting is superb. And, not only does it manage to be great, but it also manages to throw in a few twists that you don't see coming which, any experienced movie-goer will tell you, is always a treat (I mean, we're all so jaded we usually see them coming a mile away). But, best of all, it does what a great sci-fi movie should do: make you very uncomfortably aware that you are human and, as such, you have faults and sometimes you can overcome them and sometimes you can't.

Conclusion: I cannot recommend this movie enough.

Movie Review: Paranormal Activity

2010-01-05T19:13:13Z

I watch a lot of horror movies, both good and bad (mostly bad, becuase there are so few good ones). That being said, when I say that this is the first good horror movie to have come out since the remake of Dawn of the Dead, understand that it means out of a LOT of horror movies. This movie is wonderful and I highly encourage you to watch it with the lights off and the sound cranked up, not just to heighten the fear, but also because almost all the scares in this great picture are very subtle noises or movements. This all being said, it's not for everyone. It is shot on a camera that is held, about half the time, by the male character, Micah; this means that if you're particularly susceptible to shakey cams, you should be careful. However, I should note here that I am one of those people and I didn't have a problem with it, so... I guess it just depends on your constitution. I should also note that this is actually a creepy horror movie, not just a gross-out like so many are nowadays. This means that there is a good chance that you'll end up lying awake, in bed, listening to all the little noises that your house or apartment makes (as my husband did). And, considering how rare it is to scare someone like that nowadays, that should tell you just how great this movie is.

Conclusion: Highly, HIGHLY recommended

Movie Review: Inglorious Basterds

2010-01-04T19:50:49Z

First off, I should admit that I'm a huge Quentin Tarantino fan, so there is definitely a bias. That being said, this was a great movie. As most people have said, it was a little long, but that's become almost a staple of his films. Overall, the story is very interesting and very satsifying. Who wouldn't want to see Nazis mowed down without any mercy? The dialogue scenes are beautiful and witty, as they always are in Tarantino's films. The main characters are all engaging and the ending fits the rest of the film beautifully.

Conclusion: If you like Tarantino, you're sure to love this movie. If you're not a fan, stay away, as it's done in his classic style.

Movie Review: Taken

2010-01-04T19:34:55Z

Having heard only good things about this movie, I was expecting to be wowed. Well, I wasn't wowed, but I was still pleasantly happy with it. The story follows the story of a man whose daughter is kidnapped as he tries to get her back. Overall, the action sequences were done very well, although at the climatic end the shakey camera work started to bug me a little bit. They were all done extremely well, but not overdone as you see in so many movies nowadays. Instead, the action was realistic and the main character got hurt, not as often as the bad guys obviously, but often enough that it seemed almost real.

Conclusion: Great action movie with very well done stunts. Definitely worth a watch if you like action movies.

Reviews

2010-01-04T19:31:05Z

(listed in alphabetical order)

PS2 - Okami
PS2 - Tomb Raider Legend

Drown

2009-07-10T21:18:09Z

"Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean that they don't love you the best way they know how." -Unknown

The words you spoke were strangled with emotion, twisting and writhing in and out of the white spaces, tying the words together with choking deftness. The emotions swirled in the air between us, solid and beautiful but insubstantial, there for only the sigh of the world or its heartbeat, and then gone. I watched as your emotions retracted, folding in over themselves, before slipping seamlessly beneath your skin, cat-like as it arched and stretched before settling back into its home.

And I can never properly describe how much I wanted to reach out to you. To, with words and flesh, draw those emotions back out, because they were so wondrous and exquisite in their rarity. I wanted to play the emotions free, as though you were a harp, drawing them out until they dance and spark across your skin.

But I didn’t.

Instead I watched as they, in a discordant echo of time, curled and twisted, further and further from us. Watched as time and emotion drew irreversibly within themselves, shivering now from exposure, the protective layer stiffening and coloring, skin hiding your emotions while time became solid and weighty again. The last tendrils finally disappearing, your one moment of daring weakness, spurred by deep emotion that I’m sure you now regret, folding within itself and dissipating slowly like mist, leaving nothing behind to show it ever existed.

I supposed, during those crucial moments, that I could pretend. Could wedge the emotions that I didn’t feel into the spaces between the words. And, maybe, eventually, with time, they could even become true.

And, I knew, I could love you. I can feel it simmering near the bottom of my soul, ready to boil over if given half the chance.

But I also knew, with that painful shock of knowledge that comes from knowing a singular being too well that I, nor anyone, would get this chance again from you. There are never second chances, not with you. Never with you. The indecision crept within me, around my emotions, choking ghost vines slowly settling around my base in preparation.

Because I could love you. Because we could be happy. Because, god knows, if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.

But… The vines tightened, one tendril reaching up and wrapping around my throat, stealing speech and breath. And in a moment reminiscent of the beginning of a black out, where dark edged the world and colors faded to gray, came the knowledge that I couldn’t. Couldn’t destroy the frailty of your trust, even though I would destroy you in the process. The vines held me in their stranglehold, solidifying, my limbs going dead, lungs fighting to expand, cutting into the core, the sap of my soul slowly seeping out of its wounds. Wounds that get deeper with every moment: ones that I know will never heal.

And as my soul’s life-blood flowed out of its wounds in increasing amounts, I told you. How I could love you. My limbs grew numb. But how I don’t. I couldn’t draw breath. How I wish you’d wait. I felt the tendrils reach the bone. But how I knew you wouldn’t. A snap, as the vines finally broke clean through. How sorry I was. The cords hummed and twitched with freedom and feeling. But how I knew it all, all my words, were really meaningless.

So I stood there and watched you. Watched as I lost you, your emotions drawing so deep inside I knew no one would see them again. They had surfaced one last time, drew breathe, and found the air choking and the sun burning; I watched as they went back under and drowned.

Created: February 2009
Last edited: 9 July 2009

Notes: Another short that I have no idea where it came from. I like the imagery, but I think it could be sharper (there are a lot of run on sentences). Maybe someday I'll get around to cleaning it up.

The Heart of the Mystery

2009-07-09T21:22:46Z

"Does it need a purpose? [...] Maybe it's just enough to know that there's something marvelous still in the world, that all the mystery hasn't been drained out of it by those who like to take a thing apart to understand it, then stand back all surprised because it doesn't work anymore." -Charles de Lint; The Little Country

He stood in the corner of the room closest to the door, as he always did, and she, as she always did, stared raptly at him.

She hadn’t noticed him at the first few book readings that she had gone to, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there, but she had noticed him later. And then every reading after that; he had never missed a single one, and he always stood in the exact same place, the last to enter and the first leave. No one else seemed to notice him coming or going, his movements languorously graceful and silent, like some kind of, and she knew it was cliché but she couldn’t help that it was true, big jungle cat.

It wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t noticed him the first few times; not only did he move with a strange quiet surrounding, he was largely an unnoticeable sort of guy. Dark hair hung in front of his eyes down to the tip of his nose, only his chin and full mouth showing completely, with hints at the curve of his cheek when he moved his head slightly. Someone that, on a college campus, was just like every other post-teen pre-adult student attending. Accept he wasn’t a student. She never saw him around when she walked to class, and once she had noticed him, she had kept her eye out for him. It was impossible that she had missed him; the college’s campus was just too small. Neither was he a professor; she had enquired with all her friends about a professor matching his description and nothing had turned up.

So she attended every reading hoping to catch him, as he had caught her attention, but it never happened. No matter how long she waited by the door, or in front of the door, or behind the door, he only showed up once everyone, including herself, had seated themselves. And he disappeared as soon as the author had read their last word, when it would have been impolite for anyone else to leave, and she was forced to sit through meaningless questions. No one seemed to notice his tardiness or his rudeness; in fact, no one noticed him at all.

And, he in turn, noticed no one else. As soon as he entered the room his eyes attached to the reader and stayed on that person the entire time. She shivered when she thought about that attention being on her for just a moment. She had never discovered the color of his eyes, but for some reason she imagined them to be startlingly green, the same color as a panther’s orbs. She had been entranced not by his looks, which merely bordered on handsome and never quite managed to cross over, but by how he reacted to the works being read: he seemed to feed of them. She knew that was a weird way of describing things, but there it was. As she watched him watching the reader, he seemed to breath in more and more deeply with every word, and although she couldn’t see the rest of his face, she would watch as the jaw and lips got slowly less and less tense, until they both curved gently, all strain gone, washed away by the soothing sound of words infused with human emotion that only a voice can give them.

And then one day he simply disappeared, between one reading and the next. Gone as though he had never existed in the first place. When she enquired to her professors, as a last ditch effort, as to who he was, she was surprised to find that none of them remembered having seen him at any of the readings. How was that possible? Most of the Literature and Writing professors on this campus attend the majority of the events. How could they not notice someone who came to every reading and just stood in a corner? How could not a single one of them have seen him?

It was, she decided after thinking about it for a long time, and still attending every reading in the hopes that he would show up again, one of those mysteries of life that was never solved. And maybe it was better that way. She had never quite grown out of the belief that magic was real, and part of believing in magic was believing that part of what made them magic was the mystery. Personally, and she never told anyone because she knew they would have scoffed at her, she believed him to be a Fae that had survived the technological revolution by feeding not on beliefs anymore but on stories. They nourished and sustained him and the reason he had left was simply because he was in the mood for different fare. She still looked for him though; one never knows when he might get a craving for this college again and, this time, she would make sure to meet him, because she wanted to know if his eyes were as green as she imagined. More importantly, though, she wanted him to know that someone still believed and looked for his kind. Looked and still saw.

But she wouldn’t ask him who he was or what he was. Because, although she did want to know, some things just weren’t meant to be explained. And her gut told her that he was one of those walking pieces of poetry that, if taken apart to search for the deeper meaning, would become less than it was to begin with. And if that was done, there was nothing anyone could do to put the heart back into that poem, or that mystery.

Created: February 2009
Last edited: 9 July 2009

Notes: I seriously have no idea where this came from. I was going through some of my old stories and, there it was. I don't remember writing it at all.

Nietzsche's Twilight of the Idols

2009-04-23T20:50:43Z

Just some more quotes...

"Without music, life would be an error."

"You run *ahead*? Are you doing it as a shepherd? Or as an exception? A third case would be the fugitive."

Atonement

2009-04-14T16:36:07Z

Finished Ian McEwan's Atonement. Here are some more quotes that I collected:

"How guilt refined the methods of self-torture, threading the beads of detail into an eternal loop, a rosary to be fingered for a lifetime."

"But what *really* happened? The answer is simple: the lovers survive and flourish. As long as there is a single copy, a solitary typescript of my final draft, then my spontaneous, fortuitous sister and her medical prince survive to love."

"How can a novelist achieve atonement when, with her absolute power of deciding outcomes, she is also God? There is no one, no entity or higher form that she can appeal to, or be reconciled with, or that can forgive her. There is nothing outside her. In her imagination she has set the limits and the terms. No atonement for God, or novelists, even if they are atheists. It was always an impossible task, and that was precisely the point. The attempt was all."

Howards End

2009-04-08T22:50:54Z

Finished reading E. M. Forster's Howards End a while ago, but figured I could post the passages I liked here:

"Not out of them are the shows of history erected: the world would be a gray, bloodless place were it entirely composed of Miss Schlegels. But, the world being what it is, perhaps they shine out in it like stars."

"Does she [the island] belong to those who have moulded her and made her feared by other lands, or to those who have added nothing to her power, but have somehow seen her, seen the whole island at once, lying as a jewel in a silver sea, sailing as a ship of souls, with all the brave world's fleet accompanying her towards eternity?"

"Margaret had often wondered at the disturbance that takes place in the world's waters when Love, who seems so tiny a pebble, slips in. Whom does Love concern beyond the beloved and the lover? Yet his impact deluges a hundred shores."

"[Love] knows that he will survive at the end of things, and be gathered by Fate as a jewel from the silme, and be handed with admiration round the assemble of the gods. 'Med did produce this,' they will say, and, saying, they will give men immortality."

"Remorse is not among the eternal verities. The Greeks were right to dethrone her. Her action is too capricious, as though the Erinyes selected for punishment only certain men and certain sins."

"Science explained people, but could not understand them. After long centuries among the bones and muscles it might be advancing the knowledge of the nerves, but this would never give understanding. One could open the hear to [...] his sort without discovering its secrets to them, for they wanted everything down in black and white, and black and white was exactly what they were left with."

Once Upon...

2009-03-30T23:36:25Z

I cracked Cinderella open
watched her soul ooze out
the formerly sharp, clear shape
now flat and slimey.
Once upon a time, I know,
you were strong and clever
vicious and ready to fight
but still gentle and kind.
You watched their self-destruction
as heels and toes were severed.
Did you laugh at their pain?
Or at the prince's stupidity?
But now... but now...
you creep and crawl and beg
pound on locked doors, crying,
waiting for others to rescue you.
But once... once upon a time,
in another world, another skin,
you refused to sit back and wait
for someone else to save you.
And, using nothing but
death and nature and wits
you saved yourself. Remember?
Your once upon a time?

Created: Sept. 2008
Last edited: 25 Mar. 2009

Notes: Poor Cinderella, I feel so sorry for her. She really got screwed in the Disney version. You should definitely check out the real version, it's much better than the Disney version.

Nothing to be Done

2009-03-30T23:32:27Z

I loved the Beast;
it is hard to love
the man he is now.
I loved his raw
natural emotions
that refused to be
caged or defied;
it is hard to love
this man who hems
and haws, polite but
dim as though all his
emotions brust forth
and evaporated like mist
when he was changed.
I loved how hard
he tried to be gentle
with his sharp claws
and fierce strength
and how fearfully sorry
he was when a claw
slipped and stung;
it is hard to love
this man with his
sharp words and sharper
movements and looks
almost as though nothing
will ever please him.
I loved the gentle
joy and pleasure that
he experienced when birds
came to feed directly from
the palm of his hands;
I cannot love this man
who grimaces at dirt
and fears always to be
less than clean and
to be less than perfect.
I miss the Beast
with a heart-rending
soul-searching ache;
and I am growing to hate
this self-contained, harsh
and picky creature that
I have pledged my life to.
I miss the Beast.
And there's nothing...
nothing to be done.

Created: March 2009
Last edited: 30 Mar. 2009

Notes: I love fairy tales, as obvious from the fact that I have two other poems based on fairy tales. This one is based on "Beauty and the Beast."

Thoughts on Medieval Art

2009-03-30T23:27:42Z

When talking of medieval art
it inevitably comes up
how small animals are
always found within.
A professor once told me
they are meant to represent
human nature's passion.
And I remember thinking:
how can a small animal
possibly represent passion,
when passion can fill that
limitless thing, the soul?

Created: March 2009
Last edited: 25 Mar. 2009

Notes: Inspired by (and written during) my English Novel class, where we were talking about George Eliot's Adam Bede where one of the characters is constantly compared to small animals. It's always disturbed me that in medieval art used small animals to describe passion. It just seems so wrong.

Pillar of Salt

2009-03-30T22:57:17Z

"Those were vile people in [Sodom and Gomorrah], as is well known.
The world is better off without them. And Lot's wife, of course,
was told not to look back where all those people and their homes
had been. But she *did* look back, and I love her for that,
because it was so human. So she was turned into a pillar of salt.
So it goes." -Kurt Vonnegut; Slaughterhouse-Five

And so the war was done.

The air stood still, as though the entire world was holding its breath, as the last two warriors fell, each stabbed on the end of the other’s sword. The only people left standing: the hero and the villainess.

They stood frozen, locked as though in an eternal moment of struggle. Her arms were still raised to ward off his attack, the fingers slightly bent from where her grip had slackened, the two knives previously held now lying useless on the ground. His right knee was still bent, his left straight behind him, stuck mid-lunge as his sword connected, finally, with right side of her stomach, the upper part of the blade hard against the bottom curve of her ribcage. The only sound, besides their breathing, was the soft dripping of blood as it fell from the sword’s point where it stuck out of her back.

And then, as suddenly as everything had frozen, everything began to move again. She stumbled backwards into the wall and he lurched forward as his sword, caught in her flesh, tried to follow. With a sharp jerk, the sword was pulled out, the wound widening with the movement as it followed her ribcage upward until it could move no more. A large wound: almost, but not quite, big enough to spill her entrails on the ground, leaked red down her belly and legs. Her hand, in the automatic gesture of the wounded, feebly moved to the slash, pressing against it weakly. Feebly, she coughed, a small amount of blood splattering her lips, her head tilted down to gauge the wound her hand pressed against.

Must have nicked a lung, she mused distractedly, even as her body slid down the wall, a streak of crimson left in her wake. She looked up at the sudden sound of metal striking stone to see that the young man had thrown his sword away from him. He was kneeling down even as he stared in horrified fascination at the flecks of her blood that graced his hands.

She laughed, more blood speckling her lips, drawing his attention back to her. “You needn’t look so shocked at death, darling. We knew one of us would experience it sooner rather than later.” She drew in a harsh breath, and she could hear a faint rattling already appearing from the intake of air.

He crawled over to her, only a few movements needed, and hovered above her, his hands moving restlessly over her body, although never touching, as though he had no idea what to do. And he probably didn’t, she thought. He was, after all, still very young.

“Darling,” she whispered, drawing his attention with the endearment that, in the past, she had used so mockingly. Now, though, there was softness to it that he hadn’t thought her capable of. “This is where you revel in your triumph.” This time, there was an edge of a scorn in her soft voice.

A sneer slashed across his face, as deep and ugly as her wound, before he managed to mask his emotions. Her eyes narrowed; she allowed him many liberties, but lies of any kind were not tolerated. They never had been.

“Poor darling,” she scoffed, “Whatever have you done, killing a person? However could you do such a thing?”

This provoked, perhaps not the reaction she was looking for, but one that she accepted in its place. Pure violence blazed through his body and mind; his hand came up, seemingly outside of his control, and latched viciously onto her throat.

“Don’t pretend to know,” he hissed, his voice venom, “How in the hell I feel about anything, bitch.”

She blinked at him, unable to do more, as fog began to roll into her brain in place of oxygen. His grip relaxed slightly, allowing her to draw in a ragged breath, the rattling of her lungs punctuated by the increase of scarlet on her lips. When she found the strength the raise her eyes to meet his, he found himself struck by a look on her face that he could not quite place. It was not the sorrow of impending death, as he thought it would be, but there was sorrow within it. It looked more like sorrow for…

She spoke again, and he let the thought that had been forming get thrust to a dusty and cob-webbed corner in the attic of his mind. “I know you better than you know yourself, darling.” The softness was back in her voice, accentuated by the sorrow in her eyes.

The inferno of his mind made him shake her, her body moving like that of a rag doll, his grip tightening on her throat for a moment before slackening again. “You think you know me, but you don’t know anything.”

She stared at him, the sorrow on her face making her, for the first time in his eyes, beautiful. “Darling…” she drew another rattling breath, “I know that you’re sorry you killed a human being, even one as vile as myself. I know that you will mourn me, no matter what you think now. You will mourn everyone that has died today, whether their death was your fault or not. It is who you are: a good person who will always mourn death.”

“I’m not good,” he sneered, his handsome face contorting. “Just better than you.”

“Only by a little,” she whispered, her eyes leaving his to travel the path of destruction she had wreaked on his body, not just moments before, but from years before. Small cuts littered his body from where her knife had landed glancing blows and, on the right side, his shirt clung to a bloody wound on his right side, a bloody gash that, had he not moved, would have probably killed him. All of these current wounds were mingled with the scars she had given him in previous battles, some still pink and healing.

His grip on her neck relaxed even more until he was lightly cradling her face like a lover. One hand moved upward, to tenderly cup her cheek. It was the gentlest, most reverent touch that she had ever felt in her life. If she had had less control, tears would have filled her eyes; as it was, the only change in her face was a slight softening of her jaw. “A little,” he said in the silkiest voice she had ever heard, “is what makes the difference.”

She laughed, a soft, tinkling sound. A true laugh. The first one she could ever remember letting loose. And within this laugh, within this one moment, a thousand worlds that might have been clamored and cried to be heard, only to pale to nothing as the sound faded away. “Yes,” she said, a soft smile curling her lips upward, “a little is all that is needed.” The sliver of a past that never happened unfurled as the curl of her lips straightened, banished into the darkness of possibilities long since lost.

They stared at one another for a long moment, each one searching for something in the other’s gaze, until the young man suddenly said, “I will mourn you.” And then he started to slowly squeeze, increasing the pressure on her neck.

“As I would you,” she managed to wheeze out, the rattling in her lungs so loud they drown the words out to her ears, but not to his. For a moment, the grip slackens, and he stares at her with a look that reminds her of the lost and innocent boy he had once been. Long, long ago. Before she had met him. Before she had molded him into what he was today. Before she had destroyed him, in soul, if not in body.

“I have to kill you,” he whispers, almost to himself, “You don’t deserve a reprieve.”

The fog in her head is so great that it is hard to understand what he is saying. But, somehow, she makes it out and realizes what he needs. So, she gives it to him, “I don’t.” The words are raw from the damage done to her throat, but he hears them or perhaps he just recognizes the shapes her lips take, for the hand moves back down, the pressure increases, and slowly, ever so slowly, her breathing slows and then, finally, at last, it stops along with her heart. Along with his heart. His heart that slowly blackens and curls into itself, drifting away, burnt paper caught by a cold wind.

The wind ceases. The sun breaks. The world halts. Everything rests, for just a moment..

The young man lowers her gently on the ground, his hand moving down to grip her limp one, and as he stares at her face he whispers, “You were supposed to take me with you.” The words float between her dead body and his living one, before slowly melting away, a mist warmed by the dawn, leaving only a slight chill in its wake, before even that is warmed away.

And the world awakes.

Created: October 2007
Last Edited: 30 March 2009

Notes: This has gone through several revisions; I'm still not sure I'm happy with it, so this version may disappear to be replaced with a new one, just a warning. This was originally written as a response to the end of the Harry Potter series. After all, Harry has spent his entire life trying to do this one thing; what is left for him afterwards. I highly doubt that he would be able to live a normal life, like J. K. Rowling tries to put forth in that bullshit epilogue. This, is in my opinion, what a real hero would feel like if he had spent his entire life depending on one person to define him.