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The Dog Park

Mia watched her Great Dane, Bowser, romp around the dog park. He wagged his tail the entire time as he sniffed and ran with the four other dogs in the park. There was Gus, a very slobbery, friendly English Bulldog. He belonged to a young couple. The kind of people who get a dog as baby practice. They were good dog parents at least. Tina, a very prissy Pomeranian, had a bark worse than her bite. She was the adored pooch of a posh retiree. Tina frisked about from owner to owner looking for attention from humans but generally rejected all the other dogs in the park.

Bowser was engaged in some intense play with his best friend, Amelia. Amelia belonged to a kind old man who sat alongside Mia on a park bench. Amelia’s human, Frank, was the fatherly type. He was always interested in Mia’s love life. She generally brushed him off but she felt his gentle pressure even when he wasn’t around. Since she had lost both her parents when she was 18, Mia appreciated him despite his constant worry.

“Who own’s the shaggy dog?” Mia asked Frank.
“I guess that guy over there.” Frank pointed to the right where a man stood near the hedges lining the fence.

The shaggy dog was mostly white with a gray back end and a fluffy white tail. He wagged and pranced around Bowser and Amelia who each took a moment of caution to sniff the newcomer before leading the shaggy dog off in a game of chase. The owner looked relieved to see his dog fitting in and relaxed his posture. Mia recalled her first time at the dog park being similar, almost like the first day of school. From where she was sitting she could only tell that he was tall and fairly well built, not muscular or fat or skinny, just average. He wore jeans, white tee shirt and topped it off with a blue baseball cap, hiding his hair – Mia mentally noted.

Frank nudged Mia in a suggestive way.
“Go see who he is.” he said.
“I already know who he is,” she said. Frank raised an eyebrow. “He’s the guy with the shaggy dog.” Mia finished turning away from Frank’s bemused eyes.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Frank pressed his hands hard against the bench in an attempt to stand up. Catching him by the arm when he wobbled Mia couldn’t but notice that he’d been getting much slower these days. She knew nothing of Frank’s life outside of the dog park and she simply worried for his safety.

“Do you need a ride home, Frank?”

He waved his hand dismissively at the offer and called for Amelia. Once she was near Frank her playful demeanor changed. As soon as her leash was clipped on she was all business. Frank was going blind and Amelia went from his beloved pup to his service dog, though she was much more than that. The bond that connected man and dog was that of soul mates. Amelia was meant for Frank. He patted her gently on her head and said, “Let’s get home, old girl.” Amelia gingerly strolled alongside her human observing his every step as they left the Highland Dog Park. Even hyperactive, spastic Bowser was respectful of Amelia the working dog as though he understood the difference and sat at Mia’s feet with his head cocked to one side.

“Bye, Frank.”
“See you tomorrow, toots.”

The departure commotion had caught the eye of the shaggy dog’s human. He stared at Mia long enough to make her a little uncomfortable. Hastily, she snapped Bowser’s leash on and also headed home, hoping shaggy dog’s guy wasn’t a weirdo stalker. She realized she was probably being foolish, mainly because she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to rape her in a dog park or anywhere else for that matter. At 5′8″ Mia weighed… well no one, not even Mia knew what she weighed. She tried to delight in her shape; the curve of her breasts, the width of her hips, her soft round tummy and her full face. There was no denying her attractiveness. Many people had told her in her life, “You have a beautiful face”. No matter how much she tried to love herself, the harsh fact was – she was fat. That dirty three letter word.

Every morning she and Bowser strolled five blocks to the dog park. Bowser ran his heart out while Mia tried to wake up fully interspersed by chats with Frank. Then after an hour or so Mia and Bowser would stroll back to their apartment building and that was the extent of her exercise. While she loved herself, she worked in an environment filled with sickeningly gorgeous woman all day. It was hard to feel beautiful among insanely thin models. After lunch she literally couldn’t enter a Ladies Room without hearing a choir of vomiting. Quite the gastrointestinal drawback, however the job pays. And the biggest perk was the fact that it was part time, giving her time to do what she really wanted.

The next few days at the dog park, Frank and Amelia only stayed 20 minutes before they left. Frank looked weaker than ever. Though the shaggy dog and his human were there each day as well, he didn’t rib her to ask him out as he usually would. The man would look their way sometimes offer a friendly wave. He didn’t seem so creepy anymore. She did notice he had shaggy brown hair that covered his ears and scattered about haphazardly. Though she paid very little attention to the shaggy man or his shaggy dog. Mia’s concern was with Frank. It grew as he continually waived her offers to get him a cab or walk him home.

It was on a Sunday morning that Mia’s concern had become full blown fear as Frank sat hunched over coughing hard and barely breathing.

“Frank, do you need me to take you to the doctor?”

He declined her offer despite her repeated insistence that he need to get help.

“But Frank…” Mia pleaded as Frank leashed up Amelia.

“Dammit, Mia. I’m not going to any doctor! Let an old man be.” He snapped at her.

The shaggy guy watched from his spot by the hedges as Mia turned her back to hide her anguish and Frank ambled out of the park. Bowser nudged his hand under Mia’s limp hand affectionately as if to say, “I’m here for you”. No other dogs were in the park and neither Bowser or the shaggy dog seemed to feel much like playing anymore so Mia was gathering her things when Amelia came running back into the park, dragging her leash behind her, whining frantically. The shaggy human and Mia exchanged fearful glances and both bolted out of the dog park where they found Frank had collapsed a few feet away from the entrance.

The shaggy dog’s human pulled out a cell phone to dial 911. He was calm though Mia felt frantic. It was a blur to Mia but the man who’s name she still didn’t know offered to take the dogs; Bowser, Amelia and Rags to his apartment and meet her at the hospital. He devised this plan just moments before she hopped into the back of the ambulance. Normally Bowser didn’t make a move without her but she just knew she could trust this guy – Rags’ human. Finally, she knew the dog’s name but still not his. Frank would get a kick out of that when she told him.

The ride to the hospital was all a haze at one point one EMT yelled to the other that Frank had an unstable pulse. She allowed herself to be practically shoved out of the way while they worked over him. Without a word to her as the ambulance halted in front of the hospital, they rushed him in leaving Mia to fill out forms. She didn’t know any of Frank’s information. How could she know his Social Security number? She took a wild guess at his address and probably misspelled his last name. These forms told her no matter how much she thought she knew about Frank she was severely lacking very important information. Who could she contact? Did he even have relatives? He spoke of no one.

Mia handed the nurse at Reception the uncompleted forms. The nurse scowled at her and started to complain at the lack of detail. Mia couldn’t hear her or see her. The guy, Rags’ human, was there. Somehow, for whatever reason, he was going to make this go away.

“Shut up.” she said in a disconnected voice, startling the nagging nurse.

The guy walked right up to Mia and pulled her to him. His shirt smelled like Tide and deodorant. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. It was finally alright for her to be the one who could stand aside because this guy was here. They sat in silence waiting for any news of Frank. Mia never thought to ask him his name. After two hours a solemn faced doctor met them in the waiting room. He explained that Frank had been suffering with lung cancer for a long time and despite their best efforts there was just nothing that could have been done for him. He apologized again, shook hands with the guy and briskly walked away – fleeing as to not get caught in the back draft of his news.

The Soul Bringers: Fate Sealer

I’ve lived this same life for as long as I’ve been in existence.  I was never a child.  I will  never get old.  I am here only to reap that which was not sown by me.  Officially, I have no  name.  Only if it is your time to go will I appear to you – to take your soul.

You will ask me if you are going to Heaven or Hell.  You will beg me for forgiveness.   Never do you understand, I am not your maker.  I am not your God.  I am merely here to  deliver your soul to the Outlands.  I know nothing of Heaven or Hell.  There exists nothing  for me other than your planet and the Outlands.  You never listen though.  You are so  afraid of death.

It was on November 25th 2008 when my sage called down to me, “Number 14780″ – to  carry out the reaping of David Appleton.  An average man with short dark hair parted on  the left side and dull green eyes, lacking luster.

I departed the Sanctuary of Soul Bringers, for my journey to Earth.  Though we, soul  bringers, feel no physical pain, we do experience fatigue and a myriad of other human  emotions and ailments.  We cannot, however, die.  If there is a time when we become too  weak to perform our duties we simply phase out into an unknown abyss.  Like humans, we  also known nothing of what is after.

The travel to Earth takes one month.  During this time the soul bringer learns of their  target’s life.  Thought to better calm the soul by issuing feelings of familiarity to evoke  pleasant memories.  David Appleton happened to be an extremely rare case for myself.   My number was pulled always for the most deliberate deaths.  Assassinations of political  figures, disappearences that were never explained, countless collisions and messy  endings were my forte.  In comparison, David Appleton would leave his world in a typical  mundane way.

Among other soul bringers I was known as the “Fate Sealer”.  I’ve stood beside wives who  were mourning cooled flesh while the husband’s soul tries to tell her he is alright – while I  try to tell him he isn’t.  David Appleton is no different in that respect.  His fate was also  sealed.

The 27 year old banker was alone.  He had a charming outward demeanor that was barely  hiding troubled emotions.  He couldn’t let anyone in.  He lost his parents when he was nine.   He witnessed their demise.  For many years he drifted through foster homes and in and  out of therapy.  He managed to defy the odds by rising out of the slums and into college.   David graduated, fell right into a perfect job and a perfect wife.   Unbeknownst to either of  them her fate had also been sealed.  She was taken by an inoperable brain tumor on their  one year anniversary.

Ever since then, David believed himself cursed. One could not blame him for feeling this  way.  If one believed in curses, one might deduce David should keep to himself, lest he  ruin more lives.

I arrived at David’s home on December 25th 2008.  In exactly one week from that date I  was to detain his soul to the Outlands – on the human holiday of New Year’s Eve.  David’s  apartment was cold and impersonal, nothing at all like the Jones’.

The entire family slain in their beds by Max Darling, a psychotic who followed the family  home from a department store.  The Jones’ kept a very cozy home with a warm sweet  smell in the air, like that of baked pie.  While it’s frowned upon, we soul bringers can  become tangible beings, closely resembling that of a human, if it benefits our mission.  I  have only used my human form once to taste pie.  Normally, I would never but no one was  there. The pie wasn’t displeasing.

David’s apartment didn’t have pie or really much of anything, no pets or plants, only a dingy  couch in front of a large television.  Humans always have been a mystery in terms of their  desire to acquire and display many things.  Soul bringers own nothing.

I perched on a stool under a deep shroud of aura suppressing invisibility when David came  through the door.  Many say they feel the presence before they die.  These people are the  most docile to take.  Usually elderly will call out to us.  They call us “Angels of Mercy” and  thank us for coming for them.  On few occasions, there are the percentage who feel us to  be demons.  They consider us no less than a monster come to consume their bloody  entrails.  It becomes tiring hauling an unruly soul on a month long excursion back to the  Outlands.

I detected David’s discovery of my presence was almost immediate.  I wondered if may be  he even detected me from outside his door.  Though I was deeply shrouded he still felt me  here.  He stepped into the living room, shutting the door behind him quietly.  His moves  were cautious as though he believed a burgalar were in his home.  At the bar still residing  on the stool, I watched him traverse the living room into the bedroom back into the living  room, past the bar, into the kitchen and finally right in front of me.

David ruffled his own hair in frustration.  Looking right at me yet completely through me he chewed nervously at his thumbnail.  My very best suppression techniques were no match  for David.  His experiences with death were far to rich.

“Come out.” David said finally.  For all his nerves he sounded sure of himself.
“Show yourself.” He said.

Releasing myself, I allowed myself to appear before David.  Still perched on the stool my  ethereal form was revealed.  All soul bringers have the same unblemished white skin, white  hair and violet eyes.  Allowed only to choose how our features appear – we make  ourselves look innocent to endear the humans.  Otherwise, appearances don’t have a  place in the Outlands.

“Death dealer.” David said softly.
“Soul Bringer.” I corrected.
“Me?” David asked astonished.
“You.” I confirmed.

David slumped down onto his couch.

“It’s Christmas Day.” He muttered.

“You’re really going to kill me on Christmas?!” He demanded.
“No.” I replied.
“Then what? Tomorrow? The next day?!”  He asked the question but my senses told me he  was not prepared to hear my answer.

“You are distressed.  I will leave now.” I said.
“Why leave now? May as well take me now.”
“I can only bring souls at the specified time.”
“Jesus Christ!” David suddenly screamed, “What if I go in the bathroom right now and slit  my wrists?! You’ll take me then, right?!”

“No.”
“You… but I’ll be dead!” He shouted hysterically.
“You will not kill yourself.” I explained.

Frustrated, David stood then sat.

“How… how can you sit there on my barstool… ” he paused for a long moment, “and tell me  I won’t do something?!”
“Because you believe you will but you will not have the courage to complete the task.”
“Watch me!” He shouted, launching himself off the couch.

David stomped into the kitchen and retrieved a knife.  I stood at the corner of the bar  leading into the kitchen, doing exactly as he instructed.  Shaking hard, David held the knife  against his wrist.

“You are going to suffer that way.” I warned.
“I don’t care about going to Hell!!” He let out a great sob.
“I am not aware of the existence of Hell.  I only know it will take longer for you to die.  You  may as well stab your heart.  Why linger if you only want to end it quickly?”

I tilted my head at the sound of his knife clattering on the linoleum.

“Why?  How do you know?” David collapsed on the cold floor, heaving sobs.
“I am known as the ‘Fate Sealer’.  No one can escape their fate.”

Riona

Chapter One

Wet leaves made a faint crunching sound under the boots of the cloaked woman as she ran with desperation echoing her sobbing pants about the empty neighborhood. Finally she made it to the house she was searching for. The bundle in her arms twitched slightly for a few moments but settled into stillness. The dainty package inside needed safe refuge, for her mother would soon fulfill her destiny; leaving her offspring to grow up unaware. Kissing the infant lightly the cloaked woman lay the child on the darkened doorstep and rang the bell franticly several times.

By the time Ben Scheuller answered his door there was no one to be found. Bleary eyed he stepped out on the porch only to find a sleeping infant swaddled on the porch floor. Why Ben Scheuller was not surprised, he didn’t know. He simply lifted the child off the cold wood and carried her into the house. A fire glowed orange and red in the hearth. He laid the sleeping little one on his favorite chair close by the fire. Kneeling in front of his red and gold adorned chair, Ben began to remove the layers of thick woolen blankets that surrounded the child.

People would find him quite insane if they any clue Ben Scheuller had taken an abandoned infant into his home and had not yet informed the proper authorities. Why he had not, he didn’t know. Yet he had a distinct feeling this child was destined to be on his porch and in his life. The feeling of responsibility emanated through Ben’s very being. In the midst of all the blankets a letter fluttered down on the floor. A letter that would seal his responsibility.

Ben,

This is our daughter, Lunar Pie. Though you will only remember
our encounter as a fuzzy but pleasing dream. It was all very real.

Hopefully, you will see the beauty of the water, the sun warming
us on the bank, the canopy of the trees and the way our
bodies seemed made for each other.

I wish I could allow you all the memories of our time together as
they matter most right now but you’d never be able to fully
comprehend. I’m sorry, my love.

I have to fight for my people’s freedom. I need you to keep Lunar
Pie safe for us. It is she that will have a greater destiny than I.
Keep her from harm, Ben.

In your deepest dreams you will remember us and how very
important this is.

My Love,
Novia

Ben read over the letter in a dazed state and continued to stare at it long after he was finished. It wasn’t until the piercing cry of the baby snapped him into focus did he realize the gravity of the situation. He was a father. He was a father though he didn’t recall the conception. He was a father though he could only barely remember a whisper of a woman named Novia though knew he loved almost painfully. He was a father of a baby he knew he’d love forever. Ben gazed at Lunar Pie and this silenced her cries. She gazed back at him contented by his calmness. She knew him. It was as though she recognized the blood between them.

Where most infants tend to have blue eyes, Lunar Pie’s were green. Not just green. No ordinary green. They seemed to shine like they were made of crystal, twinkling. She also had a full crop of chocolate brown hair. Nearly black wisps framing her round innocent face. She unconsciously wiggled her fingers every so often.

“Casting a spell over me?” Ben asked propping his head up on his fist.
“It’s working.” he warned as he fed her warm milk he’d poured into a pastry bag for a makeshift bottle. He would never let anything happen to Lunar Pie.

“What a name you have. Let’s see if we can come up with something more suitable.” Ben smiled down at the baby in his arms as he opened a book of Irish history. Scanning pages and trying out names on the child to see how they fit. Finally he came across a name that seemed genuinely appropriate.
“Riona?” The baby looked at him. He pronounced it for her slowly, “Ree-OH-nah”. Ben then explained that the name meant “Queen”.
“I think that’s you.” he said. He couldn’t help but wonder why in the world Novia would ever have named her Lunar Pie.

That night Ben curled himself around Riona and built a barricade of pillows on her side of the bed to prevent her from rolling off. He watched her sleep for a time, wiggling her fingers every so often. Eventually he eased into his own deep slumber where he dreamt of Novia.

Ben found himself in the center of a forest. It was just as described in the letter, equal parts unfamiliar and just as he remembered. In front of him stood Novia, dark hair cascading down her back in waves, elfish ears peeking out. Ben smiled to himself as he thought how nerdy he was being. She was no elf. Novia held his gaze for an eternity with the same eyes as their daughter. Finally she spoke.

“I’m afraid Lunar Pie doesn’t have any of your handsome features.”
“It’s alright. You’re better looking than me.” Ben replied. Novia bowed her head and smiled bashfully.

“Why ‘Lunar Pie’?” Ben asked after a moment.
“You said you loved ‘Lunar Pie’. You said it was your favorite pie.” She recounted, looking taken aback as Ben burst into laughter.
“Lemon pie.” he smiled warmly at her, “And I do love it.”
“I thought if I named her something you love, you would love her.”
“I do love her.” Ben reached out for Novia.
“We can’t touch or you will wake.” She warned.

“I’ve named her Riona.”
“That’s a beautiful name.” Novia smiled a sad smile. “Though I must tell you, when Riona is ready to fulfill her destiny she will take her true form – this you can not stop.”

Ben stood motionless. He wondered how long he had with Riona. Surely, it would be many years til this “true form” would take place.

“Just keep her safe until it’s time.” Novia began to fade.
“I love you.” Ben said.
“I love you as well.” Before she disappeared entirely Novia leaned forward and chastely kissed his lips.

Ben woke with a start and looked down at his side. His heart filled with deep affection for the child sleeping quietly. Briefly thoughts swirled in his muddled mind of the dream he was just engaged in. Unable to recall anything but feelings of powerful love, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Two

Time moved quickly in the lives of Ben and Riona Scheuller. Ben worked from home as a tax accountant. As he was the only one in town, he was quite busy from December to April. The other six months were spent teaching Riona about literature, history and classical music. When she was only two years old, Ben began reading and analyzing the works of William Shakespeare. Riona proved to be a very special child. She never cried unnecessarily or demanded anything. Ben admired her patience and calm nature. He knew she inherited that trait from him.

The people in town accepted Ben’s story of the arrival of the new baby. He spread the lie around as a result of a fatal car crash his sister’s infant was orphaned. As he was the last surviving member of the family he agreed to take the child. Ben had no sister. In fact, he was orphaned to his grandparents care when he was six years old. They each died of a heart attack in consecutive months not long after he started college. No one in this small town knew any of this about Ben Scheuller. He was just the nice young man that did everyone’s taxes and occasionally liked to search for geodes on the banks of the river. Then one day he became the nice young man who was doing the right thing by taking his infant niece and raising her as his own.

Everyone really loved Riona, commenting on her lovely waves or more often her piercing green eyes. One in particular, Clara Talbot, the town librarian couldn’t get over her calm demeanor. How relaxed and quiet the girl was without a hint of shyness. Clara would comment on what a good librarian Riona would make. She seemed to feel a kinship with the small girl. On one particular visit, under the pretense of last minute tax advice, Clara brought a present for Ben and then five year old, Riona. A copy of Matilda by Roald Dahl. Ben accepted the gift graciously and assisted Clara with her fabricated questions.

The following three weeks before bed Ben read Matilda to Riona. When they had finished the book, Riona said, “I’m like Matilda.”

“What makes you think so?” Ben asked as he tucked the covers under her chin.
“Well…” Riona paused in thought, “I want to go to school.”
“That sounds like a splendid idea.” Ben praised. He delighted in his daughter’s ability to make the proper decisions at such a young age. He kissed her cheek and turned out the light.
“Good night, darling. I love you very much.” he said as he closed the door.
“I love you, Daddy.” she said, “I love you, Mommy” she said in a quieter voice.

“I’m magic like Matilda too” she told her stuffed monkey as she cuddled close to him.

Ben continued to dream of Novia and wake up in a haze the next day. Riona started school. To the relief of Ben she was very popular with the other children. Teachers commended Ben on Riona’s intelligence. She was clearly beyond her years though she was so humble that the other children never knew she was any smarter than them. Ben knew that his child was special – not in the same way everyone else bragged of their child.

Chapter Three

As Riona neared her 13th birthday she began to explore her rather special qualities. It first happened one day when she was on her bed thinking about a book on her shelf. Her favorite book, Matilda. Noticing that her fingers would wiggle a bit whenever she thought about the book. She looked to her shelf, in her mind she told the book to come to her as her fingers twitched. Slowly the book edged off the shelf and fell on the floor. Riona gasped not out of surprise so much as the feeling of power that ran through her. She decided to practice her newfound talent. In the afternoons with the door to her bedroom locked, she moved her her dirty clothes to her hamper and worked on her homework hands free. Riona mastered these simple tasks in no time. Soon they were second nature which lead her to move on to bigger tasks. She changed all her father’s black ink pens blue. She transformed the color of her clothes.

Ben started noticing differences around the house. The new yellow living room, of course his ink pens, and his graying hair was once again a sandy shade of brown. He decided to say something to Riona the day she came in with pink hair.

“Riona let’s have a talk” Ben said in his gentle way. Riona obediently sat on the couch beside her father. “So tell me, what have you been up to?” he asked.

She smiled bashfully at the curiosity in his voice.

“I think it’s what I’m suppose to do, Dad.”
“Turning your hair pink?” he laughed.
She rolled her eyes in exasperation, “Watch.” She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them they were shining brightly, so green they seemed to glow. Riona’s hair fluttered in an invisible wind as her fingers wiggled in a way that was familiar to Ben. He had a feeling of what was next. The pink hair dissolved into her natural chocolate waves.
“I guess I won’t have to worry about painting the house now.” Ben pulled Riona into a tight hug and whispered, “Keep practicing. Your mother will be so proud.”

Novia knew that she lived in the undertones of her beloved one and her cherished daughter’s lives. She was a whisper on their tongues and calm in their hearts. She never thought it would have worked, the night she existed in the human world smuggling her baby away from their world. She knew Riona’s 13th birthday would approach and bring an end to the war that was sieging her homeland. It was Riona’s birthright to become the savior and queen of their people.

Feeling the strain tugging at her, it seemed as Riona’s powers grew, Novia’s own were fading. She could no longer visit the two she loved the most in their dreams. They didn’t need her at this time. Her people, however, were fighting for their lives – for their freedom. Hopeful for the savior as the light in their current Queen diminished.

Ben planned a large birthday celebration for Riona. He allowed her to conjure some elaborate floating streamers and baubles that popped loudly, erupting in silver sparkles and pink spangles. All the youngsters from Riona’s class came to her party along with many adults who adored her. People were crammed in the living room, dining area and back yard. Ben smiled cheerily while neighbors and friends complimented him on a myriad of things – the decorations, the yellow living room, the fact that he looked much younger.

His daughter was engaging many of the children in conversation underneath the large oak in the back yard. Giggling with her hand over her mouth and enjoying the attention everyone was paying to her as if her birthday would never end. Ben found this the perfect time to bring out her present. Riona uncharacteristically squealed at the sight of Ben holding a scruffy brown puppy.

“Oh Dad!” she exclaimed and held out her arms which were soon filled with squirming puppy. She snuggled her face into puppy fur while the puppy snuffled his nose around her ear.

“I love him!” Riona said hugging her father tightly and smushing the puppy into the sandwich.
“I’m glad.” Ben smiled. He was so distracted by her happiness that he didn’t feel the twitching of her fingers on his back.

Ben started to feel aloof, as though he were floating. Everyone else seemed to be floating also. They weren’t aware they were moving in slow motion. Their laughter traveled high into the air and burst into ear-splitting screams. The scream snapped Ben to reality yet he couldn’t move any faster. All the guests were not frozen in place. Ben made it to Riona. She was the only one not affected by this strange increase in density.

“Don’t worry, Dad. It’s time.” she said calmly. Riona’s waves flew back in a rush of wind, fingers wiggling intensely. Her green eyes began to glow, radiate, vibrate. Her clothes changed. She went from denim shorts and a pink t shirt to a long white dress that wrapped around her and flowed around her feet.

“Riona?” Ben called.

Riona unfurled a pair of iridescent purple wings, shaped much like a butterfly’s. Ben wasn’t exactly surprised by this. Memories of Novia flooded back to him. Real memories. A whole dam of knowledge broke. He remembered everything. Something was coming next. Something that filled him with dread.

“Don’t leave, Riona!” Ben cried out. The ground began to shake violently. The oak tree ripped from the ground but it didn’t make a sound. It levitated behind Riona swirling as though the fabric of time and space were coming apart. The puppy that she was still holding spread his own set of pink wings and flew into the wide rift.

“I have to go. Scrappers is my guide to Arwenia.” she said gesturing to the unknown.
“Can’t you stay with me?!” Ben called.
“It’s my destiny.” She paused to look back at the gaping hole, “I love you.” With that she turned and lept into the shaking cataclysm.

For a moment up was down, left was right and the world was tossed into a blender. Ben wondered when this would stop. Then it did.

Chapter Four

Spread prone in the backyard, Ben came to hearing the murmurs of worry from the party goers. Clara Talbot was the first face he saw.

“Where’s Riona?!” he demanded. Clara went pale with fear. No one had ever heard the gentle Ben Scheuller raise his voice.
“Who’s Riona?” she asked nervously.

Ben felt bile rise from his stomach, but before he could scream or cry out, he heard a familiar voice call out.

“Ben, are you alright?” the beautiful voice called. The voice’s owner came into sight, kneeling before him with an ice pack.
“That was quite a spill you took. You’ve got to be more careful.” she smiled sweetly as she iced the back of his head.
“Novia?”

He stared wide eyed. She nodded, her green eyes shining a little less than they used to. Though her beauty was very much intact there were marks of an aging woman upon her face. When the partiers were convinced Ben hadn’t lost his mind or sustained any serious injury, they dispersed to other areas to mingle.

“Where’s Riona?” he asked even before they were seated. Novia smiled at the fierce love Ben had for their child.
“She’s in Arwenia. It’s of another time and place than your human Earth.” she started, “Our daughter is at this moment saving her land and becoming the queen.”

Ben didn’t speak. He knew all of this, he realized. The knowledge had come from his daughter’s departure into the rift. Suddenly quite confused Ben asked, “So why are all these people still here? If it’s not Riona’s birthday what day is it?”

“Our engagement party.”

From there Novia explained to Ben how when Riona passed through the rift so did she. The act in turn transfered all her remaining light to her daughter, leaving Novia mortal in the final form of her choosing – human.

Knowing that his daughter was saving the world of her birth filled Ben with a deep sense of pride and success in keeping her safe and teaching her all he could of life. Now that job was through, he was free to be with his beloved. He would spend his remaining years with a woman he met 13 years ago who was wearing quite a mismatched outfit with a pair of pants as a shirt and a shirt as her pants. He just knew she was the girl for him.

The Writer and The Starlets

“Is she the writer everyone’s been on about?” a first woman asked an equally dour-faced woman, with a critical expression.

“I believe so,” nodded the latter with a vacant expression, slightly pouting.
“Well, she isn’t much to look at. No wonder she’s a writer and not an actress,” the former snorted over her glass of wine. Maintaining the vacant expression, her companion simply mumbled what sounded like “…a face for radio…”.

The pair of aged females stood to one side of an open ballroom. Here, they were way past their prime, yet still invited to the snobby parties. They are of no real consequence – yet compellingly eye catching. Don’t stare too long.

It should be noted that our vacant-eyed acquaintance tells people she is 25, but she’s every bit of 85. Time has become a jumble to her. Her dress slips off her right shoulder, exposing a fragile neck and the sharp angle of her collar bone. This ill-fitting dress is not for fashion. Simply put, the dress is from a different time. A time where she was the life of the party and no man could resist her charms. A star full of grace would never take a back seat to a writer.

The other woman – much like her compatriot – hails from a time gone by. A time when gangsters weren’t rappers. A time when flappers were in style. Elitists call her “retro chic” in the magazines, though she knows that translates to: “too old to be in public.” She knows this. Unlike her friend who lives in a world that still loves her, this woman knows better. She relentlessly frowns upon the youth who no longer need her. Many who don’t even know her name, just like the writer.

The ladies sip their wine and gossip loudly about the fresh faced up-and-comers in the room. No one pays attention to them anyway. Even if they did, no one would say anything disparaging to them, even if they don’t know who they are. People don’t pick fights with old women. Fact.The writer mingled with people whom she was informed were important.
“Dale Schwartz, very important.”
“Donna Ingram, she’s just in sales.”
A relentless rabble of banter that continued on and on with no reprieve. They praised her work. They told her she was amazing. The best writing they’ve seen in years. The next best thing. Bigger than The Beatles. Whatever they thought she wanted to hear. To be quite frank, the writer didn’t want to hear any of it. Silently, she managed to move away from the lovefest the phonies had created around her.

Tall and confident with dark curls falling all around her shoulders and a mere 30 years old, the writer stepped right up to the glimmers of the past. Many eyes followed her descent into the lions’ den, wondering what the writer could need from the faded ladies.

“Hello. My name is Elle Martin.” she says in a polite tone, a hand extended for a complimentary shake.

The two regarded the one. While one woman stared at Elle with quiet fascination, the other’s stony visage melted a fraction of an inch at the writer’s polite introduction.

“Enid Fitzgerald,” the flapper said or spat, really. True conversation without cynicism, while desperately sought for by Enid herself, would not come at this meeting.”Madison Belmont,” the second lady said with a hint of a southern accent, almost as if she were playing a part in a movie again. Elle was sure that Madison did always depend on the kindness of strangers.

“A pleasure,” Elle smiled taking Madison’s hand, “I wondered if I could ask a favor.”

Enid realized how wrong she had been in regards to Elle’s attractiveness. Upon closer inspection the woman, a girl in her eyes, wore no make up with an unblemished face and a slight pink in her cheeks as if they’d just been pinched. Enid paused to wonder if only old women thought about pinching cheeks. Dismissing the thought – as she didn’t want to be an old woman – she focused on Elle’s jade green eyes. They seemed to sparkle with hidden secrets and life. Oh, she had her flaws for sure; Enid was sure to note each one critically. The writer was clumsy and awkward as though she were a newborn foal, not quite used to her arms and legs yet. She had such pale skin with her dark hair that it automatically made her look as though she were brooding, unless you were close enough to see that smile in her eyes. While she wanted to say that Elle was a homely, trash youth of Hollywood, she couldn’t lie. Even if it was just a lie she told herself.

So when asked if the two aged starlets wouldn’t mind being interviewed by the writer, Madison couldn’t be happier and neither could Enid. Though Madison’s response came out more as a grumbled “I suppose,” she was actually elated to feel important to something. Maybe the writer would write a book on their life or make a movie. Oh, how her heart was in the movies. Hopefully they’ll make it black and white.

Enid and Madison had long ago given up on anyone supporting them or loving them nearly as much as they could support or love one another. So they lived together for 20 or so years, in a home built in the 70’s with extravagant verandas and balconies overlooking a pool they never used and stairs that lead up to guest rooms and servants quarters that had been sealed almost as soon as they moved in. Someone with a dust allergy could sustain horrible inflammation if lost in that section of the house. The only rooms in use were the kitchen, main living area with floor to ceiling windows giving a view of the pool, and two large master suites equal in length and width. One actress would not have stood for it if the other could outdo her, even in terms of sleeping quarters. Also in use was one guest room which housed a slightly younger elderly lady. A corpulent woman named Clara James, this third occupant handled all the food preparation. Enid and Madison had grown very particular in their old age about food. Clara could not hear very well, but she knew exactly how to please each lady’s tastes. Clara is so deaf, in fact, that her husband had left her because he thought she never listened. Though if a curse word is uttered she will cluck her tongue, shake her head and tell you in a booming voice that God doesn’t approve of no damned cursing and no sir she won’t stand for it.

So you better watch your filthy mouths if you’re going to the Fitzgerald-Belmont Estate.The property is always occupied with some sort of business. The young poolman who Enid leers at out the window. The tanned gardener who Enid leers at out the window. The handyman who comes by every so often to fix a leak or any other what-nots who Enid leers at… You get the point.

Madison takes to cleaning the bathrooms in old ballgowns. In the afternoons Enid will sit down to hot tea and some smut on television, and occasionally Madison will sweep out in her pinkest puffiest sleeved formal wear asking Clara if there is any more AJAX. If there isn’t, she will note, “AJAX” on the list for the grocery delivery which – if you haven’t guessed – has a hispanic delivery man at whom Enid leers out the window the most. Despising him over all others, she believes his accent to be fake. Something unsettling about a hispanic man with a fake accent.

Madison will clean the two open bathrooms of the house five times a day, if Enid allows it without some sort of distraction. Often times there’s just no stopping her, though. She is certain this is Madison’s slippery slope to dementia. While it’s disheartening that her mind is slowly receding to childhood and that she thinks Roosevelt is president this week, it makes Enid feel young again watching her dear friend’s odd Donna Reed act.

The writer didn’t set out to live as a script jockey in Hollywood for people who only think something is funny because someone told them it was. The pains of being told daily, “This is funny but could you make the dog into a bear? And could you make the pie a cake? And while you’re at it can you just change all of this?” or “I thought you were funny. Make this funny.” Funny is a great asset for a writer. If you can write funny, well, then you have something. Elle didn’t really know who told all these people she was funny, but the more they said it, the less she felt it.

She had written five stories that were published to minor acclaim, very minor, throughout her 20’s. She decided by the time she turned 29 her life as a professional writer was finished. What else could she do? She started teaching 8th grade English. You probably had her for English. She dressed in unflattering clothes – cardigans mostly – and wore large horn-rimmed spectacles and her hair in a bun. She moped with a plight akin to Emily Dickinson, or so she’d have you believe anyway. You saw her in class everyday and probably whispered about how many cats she had. Your guess? At least 10, for sure!

You’d find that you were wrong though. Elle doesn’t keep any cats, but she revels in the fact that it made your minds move. You were thinking something fictitious and she won that battle to push your imagination. You should thank her for that. Well done, Miss Martin.

While Elle had a perfectly entertaining job and a mildly entertaining boyfriend when she got a call to meet with people who were interested in making her short story, Martainsville, PI a television program for all ages; she dumped her boyfriend and quit her job in quite an unusual manner.

Her last day of class she wore leaves, twigs and dirt matted into her hair. Ditching the glasses (as they were only a prop), she streaked her face with black war paint and wore the skins of dead mammals. No mammals were hurt in the making of her skins: it was actually a cave woman costume she’d had for several years. She explained to the gathered children and faculty that she was off to live with the Aborigines in Australia. Later that night after washing her hair thoroughly and renting a trained monkey she dressed in a ring master’s outfit to tell her boyfriend that she was off to travel the world with the Ringling Bros. and Chub Chub the monkey. She explained to him that training monkeys had always been her passion, just as she told the school that being a part of a more primitive culture had always been her passion.

While baffled by her newfound passions, both the school system and her boyfriend let her go to pursue those dreams, no matter how bizarre. Not that Elle is a liar; quite the contrary – she’s honest to a fault. She only wanted to make people reach out with their minds. Expand their imaginations to more things in life than she alone could ever provide them. Imagination is in short supply these days.

So with her dog, Lionel (as in Ritchie), she moved to Hollywood to be a writer on a show based on a short story she wrote when she was in college. What are the odds? A dream come true, right? Up until she met Enid and Madison she would have thought so.

Enid leered out the window at Hector who was bringing armloads of groceries around the side yard to the sliding glass door of the kitchen. As he was disappearing out of her sight, movement in the front yard caught her eye. Walking towards the door with her shoulders back, wearing a pastel sundress, came Elle. Enid didn’t so much leer at her but gaze at her confident gait along the stone path. Halfway to the door Elle spots Enid in the window with a curious face on. She looks almost proud; endeared. Elle slows her pace a moment and starts to cast a look to see if anyone else is around when she hears a soft hispanic accent that sounds not quite right. “Hello” with so much emphasis on the ‘h’ in the word it was ridiculous.

The sound makes her jump and she sees a man walking up. She looks quickly to the window which is now empty. Enid’s curious face has escaped. With no other choice – other than a dead sprint to the front door which she was seriously entertaining – Elle introduced herself to this man she didn’t quite trust with the fake hispanic accent. He informed her he delivered groceries for the “SPEEN-sters”, as he called them. It eased her mind that they allowed him into their home, but there was something significantly untrustworthy about his demeanor. The hispanic inquired on the why’s and what’s of Elle’s arrival. She breezily informed him that due to some robberies in the area she was training the fiercest guard dogs for the “ladies”, as she expressedly referred to them. Elle went on to explain how she was teaching them commands in German; however false this was, she knew that his mind must be reeling. Elle would never train a dog to do anything other than sit but she delighted in his sudden fear.

“What commands?” Hector asked, his accent faltering.

“There’s only two that you need,” Elle motioned with her hand dramatically and leaned in for a whisper, ” ‘Kill’ and ‘don’t eat that dead body.’ “

Hector promptly excused himself and Elle gave him a serious nod as he left.

The Fitz-Mont, as Elle referred to it in her mind, was full of unseen noises as she was escorted in by Clara who hadn’t heard a word Elle had been saying to her. Scribbling notes like “lily water fountain” and “marble staircase blood red” she waited for Enid and Madison in the unused front parlor. On her note pad she wrote, “mahogany parlor – not dirty”. She wanted to remind herself of the richness of the parlor and not of it’s filth when it came time to put this place into words. When she sneezed for the twentieth time Elle decided that the woman who answered the door must have fainted, maybe died, or is actually a victim of short term memory loss and forgot her existence. In light of this imagined explanation, the writer decided to venture out of the parlor.

Making a slow journey down the front hallway, Elle noted movie posters from the 30’s and 40’s featuring Enid and/or Madison. They were the “it” girls of their time and now they were old eccentric ladies in a big house who say snide things about you when you’re two feet away and who apparently have a maid who has the unfortunate condition of being prone to fainting spells or perhaps short term memory loss. Who doesn’t want in on that?

Entering the main room, Elle notes that Enid is dozing, “resting her eyes,” while Madison waltzes from the kitchen through the main room. She flits out another door to the left of the entertainment center, holding what looks like AJAX, in what looks like an old evening gown – turquoise blue. Clara makes her way in from the kitchen cantering, “Mz. Fitz, Tea’s HOT!”. Without acknowledging Elle at all, she thumps directly back out of the room after delivering the tea set. Enid, now wide awake, motions for Elle to take a seat. Surveying the couch covered in tasseled pillows and throws of rich greens and reds surrounding Enid, Elle opts for the straight backed chair to the left of the couch.

“Hector give you any problems?” she asked between sips of tea. Elle shook her head no and said, “But I doubt he’s hispanic.” Enid raised an eyebrow, not skeptical but intrigued. Madison ambled into the room with a girlish look to her.

“Clean!” she proclaimed, “All clean!” She sat on the straight backed chair to the right of the couch and reached for a book on the table next to her.

It was clear that when provided the option to have a seat, it was a test of sorts. Elle seemed to pass as she didn’t sit in Madison’s chair and she didn’t disrupt Enid’s pillow and blanket barricade. By choosing the chair she was in, she was proving she fit in this house with these women, and somehow that was important.

Elle spoke with Enid and Madison every day for a few months. She was certain that the perfect novel would be birthed from their stories. She never asked why Enid leered out the window or why Madison jumped up in the middle of a sentence rushing to the bathroom with AJAX in hand to scrub the tub for the seventh time.”There’s so much grit in there I have to run the water for 20 minutes before I actually bathe” Enid confided once. Elle only nodded.

Enid made wild claims that she invented the comedy gag of smashing a cream pie in someone’s face and Elle was inclined to believe her. Madison had been in so many southern belle movies she drifted in and out of a southern accent. During the day when she was in the peak of her cleaning frenzy she would proclaim in a loud overdone accent, “I declare, this bathroom is an utter disgrace”. As time wore on she would be reduced to a young girl from Wisconsin, where she was originally from, asking Elle to make up bedtime stories. After Madison was asleep Enid would delight in telling Elle of her tawdry affairs. Lionel had to start coming to the Fitz-Mont due to Elle’s late hours there. The ladies took to throwing toys in the pool for him to retrieve. Enid was able to leer more closely at the pool man.

Then one day they died. Madison in the morning and Enid in the evening. Elle was there for both. Clara sobbed into a handkerchief and blamed herself. Elle carried out the deceased starlets last wishes. Enid was cremated and her ashes buried with Madison. At bedtime Elle went out to the graveyard to tell Madison a bedtime story.

After her last day with the ladies, Elle and Lionel came home to a message on the answering machine. It was her boss. He left straight forward message calling her work “lackluster” and insisting on a face to face meeting to discuss her future with the network. Her work was lackluster; actually, she felt that was putting it nicely. She didn’t have the vision anymore. She didn’t have the vision for a television show set in the 70’s that she wrote in the 90’s that got picked up in the 00’s by some person who thought she was funny.

She called her boss who was not at work as it was very late. At the tone she left the message:”I’m moving to England. The Queen has called for me personally to write her speeches. She says I’m very funny. Now if you’ll excuse me I have some cleaning to attend to.”

After she hangs up she’ll realize that last line isn’t as effective since he can’t see the red sequined evening gown she’s wearing or the can of AJAX in her hand or the bemused expression on her face. Pondering for a moment, she decided to take a Polaroid of herself and mail it to him. Yes, that’s the right thing to do.