Closure

I knew that this would be the last time I'd walk these halls. I slung the duffel bag full of all my worldly possessions over my shoulder and decided I would make my departure as quick and painless as possible. I would miss this place, but I was finally ready to take my leave.

I hadn't turned the first corner into the main corridor when I ran into Marie -- or rather, when she ran into me. She collapsed against my chest, whimpering and on the verge of tears. When she looked up at me, I saw that her sparse makeup had been running for some time, and had no doubt smeared all over my good traveling shirt.

"Oh please, Charles. You can't go. You mustn't. What are we going to do without you?"

I chuckled sarcastically. "Likely, the same as you'd done before I arrived."

"But everything was so much better when you came, it won't be the same at all!"

"Probably not. But all good things must end in time."

She began to wail. I blushed. "That's a stupid, terrible thing to say! If they must, then... then so shall I!" She pulled out the hairpin keeping her auburn tresses back and poised it at her chest.

I had expected this from her, and deftly snatched the pin out of her hands. "Marie, please. Don't be childish. Life is fleeting, without you having to help it along."

She began sobbing and stammering incoherently.

"Change is a part of life," I said soothingly, smoothing her hair back and replacing the pin in it. "Change fosters growth. And you may not feel like this change is for the better at the moment, but I can almost certainly guarantee that this won't seem like such an earth-shattering crisis in a week, a month, a year from now." I wasn't sure if I wasn't trying to convince myself as much as her, but it was enough to calm her to the point of coherency.

"How do you know?"

I smiled and shrugged. "I don't. But neither will you if you off yourself, silly girl."

She sniffled, dabbing at her face with a lacy handkerchief. "Well, I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am, dear." Elena, the maid, came around the corner just then. Before I could ask for her assistance, she took Marie by the shoulders and gave me a dutiful nod.

"Now, now, young miss, master Charles has business to attend to, let's not keep him from it, hmm?"

I called out my thanks to her as they disappeared around another corner. I would never see either of them again.

I chuckled to myself as I made my way down the servants' stairway and into the kitchen. I would miss Marie's girlishness, her antics, and perhaps even her hysterics. She gave me a sense of purpose, as I sought to soothe her psychoses, but I knew that that was no way to live. Certainly so, as it was not my profession.

I was met, then, by the family butler making his rounds. "Good afternoon, Charlie. I gather you've made all the necessary arrangements for your departure?"

"Just about all of them, Wilford, thank you."

"Could I perhaps trouble you for one last cup of coffee, young sir?"

"No, thank you, Wilford, but I appreciate it as always."

It was hard to determine his expression just then. Wilford had always been difficult to read in all the time I've known him, but I suppose that's an important skill of lifelong servitude. For my sake, I imagined his visage to be one of subtly wistful sadness with a touch of disdain.

"As it pleases you, then."

Without another word, nor affectation of his demeanor, he gave a slight bow and continued on with his routine. I decided then that I would rather live in spartan modesty than maintain a house of such stately splendor. I wanted a home full of warmth and joy, and I wanted to share it with people who gave freely of their happiness. If that meant turning down my own sheets and preparing my own meals, such would be a small price for unguarded cheerfulness.

Though it was my last day at Greensworth Manor, I still could not bring myself to use the front doors. Exiting the rear into the gardens, I caught a glimpse of the Lady, garbed in a sheer white silken gown, sitting beside the fountain. Her unapproachable beauty was twofold in the reflecting pool, and I dared not disturb her meditative quietude. I made to creep past her when the gentle brush of his touch grazed my neck. Despite the summer heat, I shivered.

"Leaving without saying goodbye, darling?"

I answered without averting my gaze from the Lady, nor turning around. "Only to make my leave as unobtrusive as possible." I added, pointedly, "Sir."

"Well," he said with an audible smirk, "I'm glad some old habits die hard. It will be nice to know I've made an... impression on you." Adam traced a finger across the small of my back, along one of many thin rivulets of scar tissue.

The Lady looked up from the fountain, staring away and into the distance longingly. She still seemed to have not seen either of us. "I beg your pardon, sir, but your wife will notice."

"Perhaps some day. But not today." He took hold of my shoulder and turned me about, swiftly and forcibly. I was unable to resist. "You could have been a part of this, Chaz. I could have given you everything."

"I see now, sir, that the only person I can count on to give me what I want, and what I need, is myself." I brushed his hand away, but he caught me at the wrist.

"I know I can't change your mind, but I promise that you'll regret walking out on me."

Much to his surprise, and mine, I pushed him away. "Another promise you'll never fulfill."

He stormed inside, slamming the door behind him, and I cringed. I looked over again at the fountain to see that, to my relief, the Lady had apparently been undisturbed by the commotion. I turned away to make my leave.

"Charles," she called out. I froze.

"Yes, m'lady?" I turned slowly. A soft smile played across her lips with her head tilted slightly askance, like one might look at an endearingly piteous puppy, as she walked over to me.

"I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you for everything you've done in service to my beloved." A reply caught in my throat. "It is simply his way. And I want you to know that I harbor no resentment towards you or your station," she explained reassuringly. If there was any malice in her voice, I could not detect it.

"Why do you stay? There must be a better way to live, m'lady. If I may be so presumptuous."

"Rather presumptuous indeed, for a man of your trade," she laughed. "But to humor you a response, I cannot judge a man for his inclinations or carnal desires. His intent is not of malice, even if he appears to be distressingly misguided."

"This arrangement ill befits me, m'lady. You are a stronger person than I to endure it."

"As one who must constantly turn a blind eye to his shortcomings, I can understand your decision. But he is a part of me as much as I am a part of him. Dedication and resignation are mutually exclusive. Perhaps one day you might discover that for yourself, Charles."

"Would that I shared your optimism, m'lady."

"When you find yourself in a situation that fully meets with your satisfaction, perhaps you might."

We bade one another farewell, and as I took the last few steps off the estate, I considered her words carefully. I decided that the entirety of Greensworth Manor was a sordid place, but resolved never to forget all that I had learned there. People are, after all, ultimately driven by the same base impulses, regardless of their position in life.

I returned home to the brothel, soothed by the familiarity of my own sheets.

Darkness Falls

The Forest is thickest here. It's always hard to see this late, when it's this dark, this far in. I'm dumb. I forgot to bring a flashlight with me this time. I do that, every now and then.

"Just turn back," I hear my voice say. I can't tell if it came from my mouth.

"I can't," I reply to myself. I think it's actually me this time, but I'm still not sure.

"Why not?"

"Because that would be giving up."

"And what good are you if you just give up?"

I realize that listening to any of these voices, wherever they're coming from, isn't doing me any good. So I keep my head down, below eye level, and keep walking forward.

The path is well worn. I've been down this way more times than I can remember, I know every tree by name. But I've been through here so many times that I can't differentiate this experience from the last, or the one before that. I'm not even sure how I got here. I made the mistake of waking up in the middle of autopilot mode.

When I stop walking, the constant forward motion leaves a ghostly residue of movement rising up past my field of vision. It draws my gaze upward as I follow it, and I look ahead.

Darkness stares back.

I turn to see behind me, and I can no longer make out where I came from. But looking back gives me chills in my legs and arms. I know they're supposed to be in my spine, but these one are the worst, in my inner thighs and at my elbows. I look forward again, and I startle myself and swear loudly.

There's nothing there. I know there's nothing. I was expecting something, and I was surprised I was wrong.

So I keep going. Because there's nowhere else to go, and nobody worth talking to about it.

"Nobody can hear you anyway."

I ignore my voice. That one almost definitely came from me that time. I think.

I continue on for what feels like hours, but might just be minutes. A few more steps, and another few seconds pass that feel like days. Time seems to stretch and dilate here. I feel like the sun should have come up by now, but the woods are so thick and pressed in, the canopy so oppressive and overwhelming, that maybe the sun never shines here.

That doesn't make sense. Trees need sunlight to survive.

Maybe these ones don't.

I try to distract myself by humming a song, and tapping out a rhythm on my leg. It sounds claustrophobic, like the acoustics don't carry properly, so I stop. My head buzzes like I've been drinking too much. Maybe this hangover will go away, and I'll be somewhere more pleasant.

I don't know what to do. Turning back seems to be no more productive than going forward. I'm not even sure if I haven't turned around and started going backwards by accident. And now I'm not sure that I have. I'm suddenly wracked with panic, because it could be either, and I don't know.

"I hate not knowing."

"You shouldn't have admitted it out loud."

"Nobody can hear you anyway."

That one, again. I hate that one. But I don't want to disagree with it this time.

I walk some more, until my head is too foggy to think, even in obtuse metaphors and protracted prose. This part looks as good, or as bad, as any. So I stop to rest, and before I know it, I've fallen asleep.

When I wake up, I won't be here again. But slowly, as Darkness falls, I know I'll find my way back.

Dogs of War, Part 1

When he arrived at our outpost, nobody made a move to help him. He looked like hell, beaten and bruised, practically dragging himself along the ground, likely wouldn't survive the night. But he was one of them -- blood red uniform, and not just from him leaking onto it; stony gray skin, even though he had lost much of his natural color; glassy emerald eyes, with the usual defiant sheen looking more like a glazed stupor.

We had been fighting an embittered war for decades, with millions of human lives lost and hundreds of towns destroyed at the hands of Banarii. And here was one of them, come crawling into our encampment, leaving a trail of vital fluids behind him like a slug.

In dead silence, our small, isolated band of twenty watched him stumble to a water barrel and drink from one of his craggy hands, only to sputter it out in a coughing fit. Between labored breaths, he looked up at each of us in turn with a look of exhaustion, though strangely without desperation or pain. "The war," he rumbled, with a look of grim resignation. "The war. It's over."

He collapsed into the dust and lay there for several seconds before three men rushed to his aid.

Before nightfall, the medical staff had him stabilized, with surprisingly little trouble. Despite their alien appearance, it seemed Banarii physiology was not too different from ours.

"What do you think we should do with him?" Our head field medic sluiced blood off his forearms, frowning with disgust. "I know I took an oath to help the sick and dying, but I think these bastards have repaid the debt more times over than I could hope to make up for."

The enemy soldier lay dormant on the cot, his uniform removed and replaced with bandages, hooked up to several support machines. He was at our mercy, and had surely known it. "It would be treasonous not to agree with you, doc. But he said the war was over, and I mean to at least find out more about that."

"Personally I feel like it's a waste of resources. Aid we could be administering to our soldiers."

"This man is a soldier too. He knowingly came to an enemy camp with an important message, looking for help and someone to listen. I think we can at least afford to hear him out."

"Yes, captain." And with a salute, he left me in the medics' tent, alone with the dog that had strayed into our territory.

For some time, I'd been beginning to feel like we were all lost mutts. Ordered to establish an outpost on the furthest edge of the Wildlands, my company had been blindly following directives from headquarters sent by carrier pigeons. When the supply trains stopped coming through, and the missives cut off, several of the men had suggested deserting. I wanted no less than the rest of them to go back to what was left my home and be with my family again, but I was determined to stay the course and fight the good war, like they'd always taught us. Had it not been for weeks of convincing, bribing, and even threatening, I'd be fighting this war alone. Most days, I'd felt that I already was.

I stood over that fiend for some time, looking at his near lifeless body, even tempting myself to think how easily I could end him with just my bare hands. But that would be to go against everything I had ever believed in and stood for thus far. When, after some indeterminate amount of time, he finally opened his eyes, I was surprised at my first question.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

He considered me and his surroundings for a moment before replying. "I know that a part of you believes me, if I'm not dead yet."

Trust Me (Notes)

I wrote this by taking some fresh advice from my friend Matt McLain who said that it's important to write without editing -- just write. I know that's advice that goes around constantly, and I've even heard it before, but it inspired me not only to take it to heart but also to start writing again; thus, this blog was created.

A lot of the literary decisions I made were arbitrary or decided on the spot. I'm not sure which Tree that is, but I like to think that it's the Tree of Life, or the World Tree. "She" is inspired by several people, especially my best friend Jaki, and a little bit of my mom. The choice to make "her" a "woman" was born of the idea that the main character, being one of my Voices, needed to speak to someone with whom he/I could have a sterile and professional intellectual conversation.

I like the idea of possibly expanding on this scene in both directions to use in something bigger.