100 words: Who We Are

A collection
of intense electric impulses,
washes of hormones
within a body that cannot fully encapsulate
a mind left breathless
by both touch and wonder,
left stunned
by both beauty and horror.

Moments of decision,
moments of indecision;
moments of action,
moments of reaction.

A summation:
dreams,
thoughts,
hopes,
fears.

Intangible and ever-changing,
a whorl of expanding spirit
housed in collapsing flesh,
never meant to leave much of a mark
so much as be marked by
a world in which we go chiefly unnoticed,

as ephemeral and gleaming
as a single mote
on a butterfly’s wing,

and also as tiny.

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DeathWatch II No. 11 – To All Of Them

This is Issue #11 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

It was but a moment, a single moment in which Kieron stumbled, staggered, fell against Garrett, but in that moment, all the fury bled from him. He stood, shakily, and looked to Garrett with wide, terrified eyes. Pulling back, he looked around the small compartment, stared around as though he had no idea where he was.

“Brody?” Garrett began. “Kieron? Are you–”

In that instant, the boy Kieron Brody had been one short year ago, soft-cheeked and bright-eyed, returned — and then some. The fury was replaced by horror and a wash of homesickness so intense it took away his breath.

“Who?” Sha wondered of him, reaching to fold her arms around him, to pull him close.

“My father,” he whispered. Kieron leaned into Sha easily, his expression crumpling. He began to cry as he held onto her. He cried for his mother, for his father, for himself, for everything that had been lost in the last year, all in vain. Kieron hiccuped, sobbing, and his words were stuttering, “I can’t — I’m not… Captain, I want to go home.”

Garrett turned to look up at Danival, who shook his head. “Not yet, Airman,” the Krieg said. “Is not time.”

Thoughts of his fellow soldiers flooded Garrett; he remembered the sound of John Ryan’s voice as he pled for companionship, understanding, needing a connection. He remembered what it was like to be surrounded by all those young men, terrified, homesick — children first, soldiers second. Overwhelmed, Garrett cried out “Damnit, Dani! Look at him! You can’t tell me he’s–”

“Stop shouting,” Sha commanded, her voice lifting just enough that it stopped Garrett immediately, and it stopped Danival from responding at all. “This? This is idiotic. I don’t know what the fuck you two are fighting about, but it isn’t about Brody, and it isn’t about going home, so fucking drop it.”

Kieron kept his eyes squeezed shut; he held to Sha, who petted his head and said, “M’sorry, Brody. We can’t go home just yet. You know that, right?”

He pulled back, wiping his eyes, looking exhausted. “I know,” Kieron said. “I know. Is there any way for us to send word back? We haven’t gone over the border — we’re not in radio silence. Has Centralis been notified of everything that’s been happening? Or is it just Kriegsland that knows?”

“No information,” Danival said, shaking his head. “We are no sharing information with Centralis,” he explained. “They are no responding to deaths, thousands of deaths adding up over not many years. They are no taking responsibility for what havoc they are wreaking.”

“Please,” Kieron said, reaching out to Danival. “Please. Send a message home to my mother. My father? Maybe it isn’t too late. Tell them I’m all right.”

The desperation on the boy’s face broke Danival’s heart, but nothing showed on his stoic face.

Garrett sighed, saying, “There’s no way to be sure you’ll stay all right, Brody. You should wait. Tell them you’re fine when it’s all said and done–”

“That might be too late!” Kieron cried.

“–because otherwise, what they’ll hear is not only were you alive and fine, but that you died a traitor, having defected to the Kriegic army. They’ll investigate your mother, because she received word from you when you should’ve already been dead,” Garrett said lowly. “Centralis has a history of… Burning bridges with allies, and your family could get caught in the middle.”

“She leaves him,” Kieron whispered. “She leaves him, because they think I’m dead, and he–” The words won’t come, but fresh tears do. Frustrated, his voice cracked as he spoke. “Damnit, Professor, you knew how it was between us. I can’t–”

“Is not his decision,” Danival said. “Is mine. I–” Danival’s words were cut off by someone knocking on the door to the room.

While Danival sighed, exasperated, and then called “Da?” his voice was drowned out by a quickly barked “Yeah?” from Sha; this was her room.

The answer back was faintly hesitant. The Kriegsman on the other side called, “General? Peredachi dlya vas.”

Danival sighed looked to the three and said, “Stay here. Is transmission for me. I am returning.” He exited the room, and Kieron was able to breathe a little more easily — the man took up so much damned space, he made Sha’s quarters feel almost claustrophobic.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sha said, reaching to give Kieron’s hand a squeeze.

Garrett lingered by the door, not looking at either of them, studying his shoes, feeling both stupid and frustrated, wishing he had some better way to go about any of it. The salvation of this one man had been taken out of his hands; he’d left his job, left everything he’d worked for, and for the most part, though he was still alive, though Brody was still alive, there had been so much loss, he wasn’t sure how to keep going. Mostly, he wished someone would hold his hand, and tell him it would be all right.

When he felt a warm hand curl around his, he flinched, turning, and was struck once more by how Kieron Brody had aged in only one year. He’d stepped away from Sha, who was now trying to busy herself doing something else in the small space, to give the impression she wasn’t listening intently.

“Garrett,” Kieron began, his expression earnest. “Thank you, for trying to save me. For trying to bring me home. I put a lot on your shoulders when I left, and it wasn’t fair to blame you for how things went.”

“Brody, I–”

“Let me finish, please?”

Garrett nodded, clearing his throat. He glanced down at how Kieron held his hand, and then looked back up at the younger man, waiting.

“I’m sorry. From the beginning, I tried to make sure I could get what I wanted, get what I needed, not by asking, but by leaving no other option. My father taught me asking permission meant I’d never be outside his shadow. He tried to control me, and I refused to be controlled. But it also meant I learned a lot about how to control others,” Kieron said, sighing. “And then I up and ran away. I didn’t think what it would do to the people behind me, except for I had to keep him safe. I thought it was the right way. I thought it was the only way,” he said, glancing away, his eyes glittering. “Just like he did. I was turning into him, just like he turned into his dad.”

“Brody–”

“When we get home,” Kieron said, clearing his throat and fiercely blinking his eyes, going on as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “I need to go with you.”

“To?”

“The Harringtons.” Kieron’s expression was grave as he struggled to find his equilibrium. “You shouldn’t have to go alone — and someone has to tell them he’s gone,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word.

Garrett squeezed Kieron’s hand; nodding. “Thank you. And I’m sorry — I should have told your parents what you were planning from the start. Perhaps they’d have been able to keep you safer; I don’t know. What I do know is: you’re a good man, Kieron Brody, and for what it’s worth, regardless of what’s happened between you and your father, I do know he’s proud of you, and he loves you.”

Kieron opened his mouth to say thank you, but in that moment, Danival returned, his expression fierce.

“What is it?” Garrett wondered.

“High command has been in negotiations with Centralis over leaving Allied Nations. Is reason we are in holding pattern. A war on two fronts is to be avoided,” Danival said. “But Centralis…” He shook his head, sighing. “Centralis forbade Kriegsland from invasion,” he laughed darkly. “Forbade!”

“And this means…” Sha asked, looking bemused.

“We are going, now.” Danival shrugged.

Garrett stared, gawp mouthed for a moment, and then remarked, “You’re an entire nation of aggressive contrarians.”

“If you need labels to be understanding, Alec, then yes,” Danival said, smiling in the nearly-patronizing way Garrett always found endearing and aggravating all at once. “Is shorter to say we are going, now.”

“Well then,” Sha said, moving to hand out the drinks she’d been pouring when Danival and Garrett first showed up. “Sounds like the perfect reason to tie one on.” She lifted her own in elegant fingers. “To the ones we’ve lost.”

The glass looked tiny in Danival’s hand as he accepted it. “To Nathan.”

Garrett stared at his, almost in distrust, but then lifted it, saying solemnly, “To John.”

Kieron clutched his like a lifeline. “To Hana. To Djara. To Penny. To Jet.” He looked around at his three companions and said, “To all of them.”

They drank.

* * *

NEXT

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Just Breathe

“Just breathe,” the dark-eyed woman said, leaning close, looking her over for bullet holes and broken bones. “Just breathe. You fell through a convergence tear into the middle of a gang war. I’m pretty sure you–”

“Shut up shut up shut up just fucking shut up, where IS he?” the younger woman asked. “Where — where’d he go?”

“Where’d who go?” The older woman’s voice was kind, gentle — an older sister, or even a motherly voice. Maybe a kindly aunt. Didn’t matter.

Cat looked like she might throw up at any second, batting the woman’s hands away, looking around with wide eyes. She panted heavily, out of breath from running, and now from another shot of adrenaline. “W–“. Her voice failed her. She looked around, struggling to make sense of the world around her.

Cityscape. Alleyway. Bins and boxes. Garbage.

And a scrap heap sort of woman leaning over her, with a kind face.

“H–” she began again, and then shook his head. “I can’t— his name,” she said, twirling her hands in the gesture meant to convey ‘what’s that word again?’ while looking desperately frustrated. “Why I can’t I remember his name?”

“Can you remember yours?”

The woman offered a hand out, but Cat shook her head and moved to get herself up and dust herself off. Just when she stood up, a bullet ricocheted off the side of the building next to her, sending brick chips flying. “–the fuck?” She ducked back down immediately, and glared at the woman who was still kneeling low.

“Gang war,” the woman repeated, then shrugged.

“How long will it last?”

“Another few… Days? Maybe a week,” the woman answered, smiling faintly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cat shook her head, sighing, looking around. She could count two dozen people or more with guns scattered around the area — those were only the ones she could see. Doubtless there were others, people with much better hiding spots.

“Nah,” the woman said, shrugging. “They’re usually pretty quick.”

Quick?” sputtered Cat. “What fucking universe did I fall into?”

“What one did you fall out of?” The woman looked delighted at the change in topics of conversation, clasping her hands together in joy.

“Well I don’t fucking know,” Cat snarked, looking incredulous.

“Oh,” sighed the woman, looking disappointed.

Cat’s sigh of exasperation could’ve chipped more brick, it was so damned sharp; she stood again, and moved to head out of cover, lifting her hands up. Her head buzzed, ached from the way she pulled the field of her power in, close, a shield to keep herself protected.

She could hear guns being loaded, cocked, shifted. She could hear bullets racked into chambers. She could hear cylinders being spun. She could hear safeties clicking off.

“You can’t go out there!” The woman looked shocked as Cat walked out into the middle of the war zone.

“Yeah I can,” Cat said, lifting her hands higher, in a gesture her own universe recognized as ‘I am unarmed.’

Litter danced at her feet in a silent wind; bits of trash and dust kicked up. She looked around, squinting in the dark smog of trash fires and street dust.

The first bullets simply missed, bent out of the way.

When they came from every direction in a hail of hate, they simply began to collect around her in a cloud of rounds. Slowly, they spun as she walked further and further into the open area of the street, until a vortex of hundreds of bullets whirled around her as though she were in the midst of a snow globe.

“Hey!” Cat shouted to the woman in the alley. “What’s your name?”

“Anna?”

“Well, Anna,” Cat said, a red line of blood beginning to run from her nose. “I’d fucking duck.”

And with that, the bullets exploded outward, driven in an ever-expanding globe, punching through glass and steel and stone, picking off those in the war, leaving nothing behind save for Cat, in the middle of the circles, bloody nose and all.

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DeathWatch II No. 10 – Your El

This is Issue #10 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

He knew it was coming, but it was a sucker punch, every time.

The body that received him shuddered, and he staggered, trying to straighten up, to look around. He was pacing in a dimmed room with a dying fire, a glass of something in his hand. He brought it to his lips and swallowed it down.

The man with the whisky on his tongue relished the burn, and went to pour himself another.

When he’d emptied the bottle into his glass, he went back to pacing, and slowly emptied the glass into his throat.

His vision was already blurred enough by whisky that Kieron didn’t bother trying to figure out where he was.

Finally numbed, the man went and sat behind a great oaken desk, and picked up a letter. The handwriting was elegant and looping, precise and beautiful. He would recognize the penning anywhere. His own thoughts drifted to his mother, at the same time the body’s thoughts drifted to his wife.

Kieron had never imagined his father feeling so exhausted, so full of regret.

He settled himself more fully into the moment, trying to read the letter, but the eyes were still so very blurry. He wiped them, then, and they were clearer; his hand came away wet, and he stared at the tears for a long time, before finally looking back to the page.

Ellison,

You must know by now that things cannot be repaired. To continue on as though they could would be playing a childish game of pretend, and we both know how you cannot stand childish things.

While I will be forever grateful at how devoted you were in my restoration, and while there is still love in my heart for you, it is eclipsed by the loss of our son.

You believed him weak, and I let you convince me of it when I should have stood by him. I could see in him the man he would have become, so much like you, and so much like me as well. Your strength, your stubbornness, my patience, my kindness. In an attempt to make certain he did not err as you had, did not suffer as you had, to grow into someone respected and followed, you became the father you hated. You destroyed him. Our boy is gone, and I am certain that your passion for ‘curing’ him was at fault.

I am not returning to our city home; I have left for my family estates, where I will busy myself with my gardening and my reading, and perhaps after a time, re-enter society. I have sent word to my barristers to draw up the papers finalizing our separation — there is no need to drag this out and make a spectacle.

I wish you the best, El, honestly. Forgive yourself, if you can, and I shall try to do the same. Please know that he loved you as best he could, and wanted only for you to be as proud of him as he was of you. As much as you fought, I know in his heart he would not want you to suffer. If anything, let his death and our parting serve as closure.

Respectfully,

D.

Unsteady, drunken hands fumbled with the papers, dropping the letter Kieron now saw was tear stained. The next piece of paper was emblazoned with Allied Nations seals, and was formally addressed to both Ellison and Delia. Kieron saw his own name within the letter, and felt his heart stutter, agonizingly skipping beats.

…gave his life in the line of duty, as every cadet knows they may be called to do. Though we mourn his loss with you, we are proud to have had him serve with us, and we ask to present you with the enclosed medal. It is far too small a thing to memorialize such a great loss, but it is bestowed with the greatest of respect. Though his remains rest in foreign soil, we will not rest until we have brought your son home to you. At any time you are willing, a full-honors funeral service would be coordinated with you at your pace, at which time you will also be given any other posthumous awards to be granted. Please know you are in our thoughts and…

Kieron felt his father’s hands carefully fold the paper back up and set it aside. He bowed his head and wept openly, and the raw agony that moved through him touched Kieron in a way that allowed only for pity.

I died. I’m dead, he thought. I’m dead, and gone, and Mother left you, and you’re all alone. He didn’t feel fear that his own death was simply a fact of this moment, didn’t wonder at it; when he walked aboard the gangplank for the TS Jacob for the first time, he knew quite well that after training, he could suffer any number of awful fates, and more than once, he felt a terrible satisfaction at the grief it would cause his father.

Now, however, as he felt that grief, he loathed himself for his part in their quarrel. He would never have given up Jet, never have changed his mind, never have capitulated, but all the same, he realized that the part of his father that pushed him so hard was the part that loved him so very much.

I’m so sorry, Father.

He felt Ellison Brody shiver, and nod, as though the older man had somehow heard that thought. He sat up, wiping his eyes, and opened the drawer of his desk, pulling out thick reams of paperwork, as well as some new stationery. Kieron watched as he signed documents, initialed pages, and then pressed his seal into them, setting them aside to various parts of his desk.

The stationery he used to write a letter. Though his penmanship was not as elegant as Delia’s, it was clear and sharp, even as Ellison’s gaze was fogged, and his heart was unsteady. Kieron read the words as they came; Ellison wrote quickly, as though possessed to get the words out as fast as possible.

Beloved Delia,

I will never forgive myself for what I have done. I do not deserve forgiveness. Our boy was beautiful, and perfect, and I ruined him utterly out of fear and shame. I strove to nurse you to health so that you would be able to have the strength to leave me; I could not bear to abandon you if you had need of me still. It steels my heart to know you are well, and that you shall be well.

The house, the business, the country estates, the vaults, the patents… Everything is yours. You were so very young when we were wed, perhaps it is presumptive to even think it, but I dare say you will find another man who may deserve you. Who in fact may give you a child and not take it from you, as I did. Or perhaps you will never share your heart again. I should not guess, but whatever it is, I hope it may bring you joy. The holdings will provide for you no matter how you wish to live.

I would give my life to bring him back, D. I would give anything.

Ever,

Your El

Kieron felt his father’s heart finally calm, felt it slow and grow steady. He was reminded, in an instant, of the reason he was sitting in some dark recess of his father’s soul, watching these moments.

The finality of it struck him, and he felt something in his own heart flinch.

No.

Ellison Brody opened the bottom desk drawer, and retrieved a shining revolver, and a small box of bullets. Slowly, carefully, without hesitation, he looked at the chambers, loaded the gun, spun the cylinders, and snapped it back into place.

No, Kieron begged. No, please. Not this. Not like this.

Kieron’s father set the gun down, and for a moment, Kieron was overcome with relief and confusion. Had it worked? Had he influenced the man’s decision?

Ellison withdrew from his pocket his watch, and clicked open the case. Inside, within the cover, rested a picture of Kieron at the Academy in his uniform. He’d spent good money on that picture, hoping to elicit some measure of approval, but when he’d presented it to him, even as his mother beamed, his father had scolded him for such a useless display of vanity. But there it was, in his beloved watch.

His own shame and misery mixed strangely with Ellison’s love. Kieron found himself startled at the depth of the feeling he could taste from his father’s heart.

I had no idea you loved me as you do. Would it have made the difference?

He wondered if his father believed his mother’s words.

Did you have any idea how much I love you, in return? Would it have made any difference?

The older Brody carefully pulled the picture from the watch. He wiped his eyes and looked at it in earnest, fingertips tracing the lines of Kieron’s eyes and smile. He pressed the picture to his lips and then simply held it in the fingers of his left hand.

In his right, he picked up the pistol, and put it in his mouth.

Everything in Kieron fought, struggled, screamed. He could feel the cold metal against his teeth, taste the acrid gun oil on his tongue, feel the weight of the thing in his hand.

Ellison Brody looked at his son’s face for the last time, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

NEXT

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100 Words: Acceptance

We believe
we are whole
We believe
we are a universe unto ourselves
And I say to you,

I say unto you,
that we are nothing but waters,
nothing but blankness,
nothing but loss and darkness and emptiness.

I say this to you
that you might put down the burden
of misery you carry,
believing you should feel more
than what you feel you are.
I say this to you
that you might let go
of the heaviness that is hope,
and instead fill yourself
with the lightness that is acceptance.

Accept that you are nothing,
and finally be free.

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