Every Day: Part II

He went to his desk and sat down. He stared at the marble swirls of the desk and drifted away mentally. He was tired from the eternity without sleep, but he would not sleep. He could not sleep. After some time of sitting in the dark, staring at the dark, he opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a candle. He lit with the hot, blue flame that lit all of the candles. It gave almost no light, seeming to almost draw in light rather than emit it. He stared into a flame. His eyelids were heavy and he felt his head beginning to slowly sink. He stood abruptly. He needed to get his blood flowing. He needed to wake himself up.

It happened at about the same time every routine when he would make his way through the mines, walking slowly, his hands folded neatly behind his back, inspecting, so to speak, the work of his laborers. Some of the newer laborers would stop and stare, turning back only to find that someone had greedily stolen their picking spot.

He was partially through the mine when a loud clanging sound rang repeatedly through the various halls and chambers that made up his prison fortress. He spun on his heel and walked quickly back to the main hall. A hole had opened in the ceiling and a black stone staircase had been lowered down. A figure was wandering down it—as they often did—looking back up the stairs, thinking there was no way this could be the correct staircase. He walked up to the figure. It was a woman. She was remarkably beautiful, and upon seeing him, she seemed to turn on a sort of charm.

She leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear, “So what now?”

It seemed like a rather strange way to introduce oneself, especially if the goal was to “get to know someone better.” She let out a gasp of delight as he grabbed her wrist. He walked her quickly down the prisoner’s hallway, her excited giggling fading quickly as she realized what was happening. She screamed as they passed the skeleton figure who clawed after him as they walked by, and by the time they had reached her cell, he was almost literally dragging her across the floor. She cried and screamed and she struggled to get away. He pushed her into the last open cell (there was always a last open cell) and locked the door with the skeleton key. She reached out to him, getting hold of his suit coat and pulled him close.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be released soon enough,” he said softly.

Her grip loosened and he was gone.

Every Day: Part I

The screech that marked the morning snapped him from his depressive trance. The screeches that ensued were worse than the night before. Some prisoners seemed to have some renewed sense of hope that they would find their silver today, other screamed because of the pain the “bell” cause on their ears, others screamed because their neighbors were screaming. He moved quickly across the main hall. He grabbed the chain from the wall just outside of holding-hallway’s arch. Almost all of the prisoners stood with their arms stretched out toward him as though he had not abandoned them in their cells the night before, leaving them with only the darkness to keep them company. He walked to the end of the hall, his ears numb from the screaming and began to unlock one cell door, clap the chain around the prisoner’s ankle, and then move on to the next cell. The chain grew gradually longer as he clapped it around each prisoner.

Losing count of the cells, he came to one without a door. He was confused for only a moment, but the moment was long enough. The skeleton figure flew at him, clawing at him through the gates. He tried to step back, but the thin hand had grabbed his wrist and it pulled him over with all its strength. Reaching under his black cloak, it tore at his bleeding wings. In a flash of silver and blue, the figure was thrown to the back wall of the cell and he, his eyes burning with blue fire, was continuing down the hallway, unlocking, locking, unlocking, and locking again. The prisoners were wild from the excitement; He was just the opposite. He clapped the prisoners into his chain with more ferocity than before, his blood boiling.

Finally finishing, he pulled the chain. The prisoners began their trek out of the hallway and into the main hall. Once the final prisoner was through the door, he yanked the chain. With a loud snap the chain broke free from all of the prisoners, they all cried in pain, and then they began to run towards the small door that led to the “silver” mines. He stood in silence and watched as the prisoners shoved their way through the small door. They were mining for gold and silver that did not exist. Their greed kept them going. They did not question the words of their lord, who was so kind to release them from their cells so they could dig for their key to freedom. After they were all inside, working towards a nonexistent goal, he turned away and walked, slowly as ever, bypassing his throne, to his small, hidden room, where he would wait for the second screech signifying the end of their “work.”

Blakely

"I need to talk to Reverend Harris," Andrew Blakely said quietly to his wife as the congregation began to filter from the church. "I won't be far behind you."

His wife, Josephine, nodded. She left the church and moved rather quickly back to their house. She had left the stew cooking and was somewhat eager to get back. As much as she would love to say that she had listened to every word that the reverend had said during his sermon, her mind had been much more pleasantly occupied. She entered the house and went immediately over to the stew. She lifted the wooden spoon to her mouth, testing the stew. It tasted rather bland. She knew what to do about it, but she wasn't sure it would be such a good idea. Hearing crackling leaves outside, she waited a few minutes. She looked out the window briefly and tossed more crushed leaves into the pot, stirring them vigorously so they dissolved quickly.

"What are you up to over there?"

The voice startled her and she spun to see its owner. Deep down she already knew to whom the voice belonged, but such reactions are instinctual. She would already know in her mind that the man speaking was Andrew before she came to see him face.

He was looking at her curiously. "I wouldn't advise doing that when Reverend Harris is here. With everything going on in Salem, we don't need you acting suspicious."

She did not know how to react to such a comment. "I doubt that Reverend Harris would ever think such a thing, Andrew. I thought you needed to speak with him."

He smiled slightly. "No, I don't think he could." He walked over to his wife, kissing her softly on the cheek. "And yes, but he was speaking with Mr Lawrence and I'll see him tonight. It can wait." He reached down and took a sip of the stew. “You’re a master at the stove. I’m not surprised.” He squeezed her hand, second guessing kissing her a second time. “I suppose I should read some passages for you.” They separated, their hands holding as long as they could manage.

The Prince Never Sleeps

He collapsed onto the stone slab that served as a bed. He stretched out in the dark, feeling a sense of power sweep over him. Every now and then he would remember that he was a ruler. He was the lord and master of Hell. How many angels could claim that? He turned onto his stomach, letting his black wings fall open on either side of the slab. As he closed his eyes to sleep, he felt nothing but pride.

Her body resembled more of a skeleton than an actual human. Her cheeks were caved in, her eyes sunken; every bone in her body could be seen. The icy water dripped from the top of her cell onto her boney figure. The water’s source was unknown. She let it pour over her until she was just wet enough to slip her arm out of the cell and pick the lock with a bone. The source of the bone was unknown. She opened the cell door just enough that she could slip through. She climbed up the wall like an insect, moving quickly and silently above the cells until she reached the archway. Slipping through archway from the top, she scanned the room for guards—unaware that he and he alone, was the guard of the inescapable prison. She dropped silently to the floor and dashed across the room to the throne, slipping silently into the hidden doorway.

He was sleeping, his wings rising and falling with each unnecessary breath. She crept up to the slab of stone and looked him over. He was a remarkably good looking man. Though he looked a bit famished and slightly dead, his coal colored hair was cut perfectly, and his pale skin created a glorious contrast between his skin and his black hair, black attire and black wings. She stared at the wings in envy. She lifted the sharpened bone above her head and thrust it downward into the back of the sleeping prince. His eyes bolted open and his mouth cried out a silent scream. She dragged the bone through his back, across his wings, snapping the brittle bones within them. He lay in shock as she leaned forward and whispered insults and threats in his ear. She returned to her business, stabbing the immortal Prince of Darkness multiple times, breaking brittle bone after brittle bone in his wings.

After what seemed ages, and very well may have been, she finished. Stepping away from her victim now covered in blood. She smiled at the sight of his body lying limp. It happened in the blink of an eye. He was suddenly behind her, holding her hands tightly behind her back. She struggled against him, but the water on her hands had long since dried and she was unable to escape. He walked her down the hallway as she screeched, ignoring the trail of blood, putting out each of the blue candles as he walked. No one would see him like this.

Measures were taken to ensure her never escaping again. The leak from nowhere was sealed; the door on her cell was removed. The wounds on the prince healed, though his wings remained a shattered mess, constantly dripping blood. He would fold them flat against his back and cover them with a black cloak. As far as the prisoners from then on would know, he had no wings.

Notes on Loneliness

Loneliness is possibly the worst feeling I have ever felt. It is easily the hardest thing to deal with- especially when the key to dealing with it is at the time living some 762 miles away and in a different time zone.

Honestly, I don’t know how men do it. They always have to be tough and independent. To admit loneliness for a man is like admitting that you’re homosexual. In other words, it could be worse, but it still sucks, and your friends give you funny looks. I could be wrong, but I’ve always been under the impression that men don’t confide in each other the way that women do. Men always seem to have a sort of pent up anger inside of them that they can’t get out. Maybe it’s because they’re lonely and they can never admit it.

The hardest thing about loneliness, I found, was admitting it to me. It was an acknowledgment of the hole inside of me- the hole that I could not fill. And perhaps the strangest thing about loneliness was that even after I admitted my loneliness to my closest friends, even after they promised me that all would be well and that I wouldn’t be alone forever, I still felt alone. I had been reassured that I wasn’t alone by the simple fact that my friends cared enough to talk with me. Yet still I felt alone.

Loneliness is hard to describe, probably due to the fact that I was never actually alone when I felt the feeling most acutely. I always had my roommate, my three best girl friends and a guy friend. My sisters were not far away, and my mother was always up for a phone conversation. This was how I discovered that there is one cure for loneliness. The cure may change over time, but at any given moment, there is only ever a single cure. That single cure is a person.

I think loneliness is also due to jealousy. I hate to admit that I have felt jealousy towards my friends, but to claim anything different would simply be a lie. Each of my friends had someone they could turn to who was fairly nearby. My cure was half-way across the nation, living an hour ahead of me, and busy beyond belief. In reality, the loneliness didn’t hit me until I realized the directions we were heading in. I realized that with the work schedule my cure was leaning towards, they would have almost no time at all to talk with me. I realized with a pained revelation that I was going to lose them.

Perhaps loneliness, while also being that empty feeling in the pit of your stomach that you somehow know is not hunger, is also a fear. It is a fear that things will never be how they used to be. “No matter how we try, we can’t go back,” as Margaret Hale said in BBC’s version of North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. Loneliness is a sort of ache. It’s an ache of heart, body and mind. I think loneliness and depression, as they do not go hand in hand, are often confused with each other. My sister, unaware of everything that was going in my life at the time, knowing only the fact that I didn’t like the school I was attending, diagnosed me with depression. Not serious depression, of course, but depression nonetheless. At that point, I would not say that I was lonely. The loneliness was kind enough to join me later in the year- about two and a half weeks later, to be precise.

Loneliness can be conquered to a point. It can be ignored, pushed aside by other work. It can be channeled into more useful things- such as stories that all of your friends say will be published, but deep down you know they never will, because you don’t have the courage to do it. Yes, loneliness can be pondered over and deeply analyzed like this, but personally I would not advise this method. Thinking too much on any given topic had proven to have very negative side effects- especially if you’re as bitter a person as I am. Also, listening to sad music is probably not the best solution. The best advice I can give is that you find your cure. Hopefully they will live in the same time zone as you. If not, do your best with what you can. Fight through every three days and be saved by them just before it all comes crashing down.

Be careful where you step, young one. The water is only shallow for so long.

October

Louisa sat up quickly. Something had woken her, but she hardly knew what. A crack and a thud rang through the morning air. It sounded as though it were right beside her. There was little doubt in her mind as to the cause of the sound. She climbed out of bed quickly, put on her shoes and grabbed the broom as she rushed out the door. There was a group of raccoons that seemed insistent on getting into her house through the wall. They had been coming back day and night, throwing things at the wall, scratching the wall, and everything else of the sort. She had had enough. She walked quickly around the house, holding the broom tightly in her hand. She came around the corner to the back side of the house and say William Clay standing at the old stump, chopping wood.

She froze. "Mr. Clay."

He looked up. "Miss Carpenter, good morning." There was a moment of silence. "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss. I hope I didn't wake you. The wind shifted last night; I think it's going to get very cold very quickly now, and I wanted to get you some fire wood."

He seemed to realize suddenly that she was standing before him wearing only her nightgown and shoes, her hair falling over her shoulders and being blown slightly by the light breeze. She was, by the standards of their society, as good as naked. She remained frozen before him in disbelief. She had had no intention of being seen by anyone but the raccoons that apparently were not present. William moved quickly, removing his cloak and handing it to her, his eyes turned away. He heard the sound of footsteps and, knowing that she was no longer there, dropped his arm to his side, his eyes looking into the pale yellowish green grass.

Christina Harris

She walked slowly back to their house in the woods. Spring was just beginning to blossom, despite the thin layer of frozen precipitant covering the ground. The smell of pollen could be smelled through the rainy dew with each soft cool breeze. There was little doubt in her mind that there would be a storm later in the day. When she was sure she was out of sight, she removed her bonnet. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined herself back in Pennsylvania. She continued on her way to the house, her holding in her hand and simple wooden rosary. She brought it with her to every service, holding it tightly and in the folds of her skirt so it would not be seen by anyone sitting nearby.

Entering the small wooden house, she walked over to the corner table where the family bible sat on a stand, open to that day's scripture passage, and placed the rosary behind it. It could not be seen, really, unless someone was looking for it. She walked up the steps leading to the very small second story and sat down on the bed, yawning. She was tired more from boredom than from lack of rest. She looked out the window at the forest outside, waiting for Charles to return home. It was a miracle she had convinced Charles to accept the dinner invitation from the Blakely's. She did not see it as inappropriate. She promised they would discuss God, making the dinner itself also devoted to Him. Clearly it wasn't too much of a problem if the Blakely's had invited them in the first place.

Charles was so up tight about these things.