farnottsky

[farnottsky]

Reincarnation

I know him.

I don’t know how. I couldn’t say. This is the first time I’ve seen him, but somehow my eyes can trace the bridge of his nose perfectly, can accurately determine the angle of his jaw, can memorize the frame of his face. It’s like there’s always been this blurred figure in the back of my mind, and now that I’ve seen him everything’s been snapped into focus. He’s filled a hole in my heart I didn’t know I had.

So why am I terrified?

That has to be what I’m feeling. Terror. My heart’s pounding, threatening to burst. It’s not that thump-thump pressure of a long-lost love or new-found adoration. It’s recognition, and the fear of what that recognition means. My heart knows who he is, and I can’t explain why.

I stopped, didn’t I? I’m standing in the middle of the quad like an idiot, staring. I can turn away. I can move on. He hasn’t seen me yet. This doe can make its way across the street without the headlights exposing her. What’s keeping me to this spot, freezing me in place, pinning me down as he shifts-shifts-shifts. His profile is stunning. His tattoos intimidating. His hair darker than dark. His eyes, even darker.

He’s seen me.

No.

Fight or flight kicks in. Why? I don’t want to fight him- it’s obvious he’ll defeat me. I can’t run- he’ll chase me down. He’ll catch me. No, I’ve already been caught. He doesn’t need to move to know that. It’s a small twitch, but the corner of his mouth lifts, and his eyes narrow. He recognizes me too. I don’t know how. I don’t know why.

I’m already his. I always was.

This must be what falling in love feels like. It’s awful. A snake is winding around in my chest, constricting my lungs, trying to keep my heart in place. It won’t let it thump freely. It views freedom with detestation, an open field a threat to its safety, possibility a terror to its home. It ties me down to him as tightly as it can. My future closes up, blinders from all sides. It’s just him now. He’s the only path. The rest of the world isn’t an option anymore.

He's not looking at me. No, he’s looking through me. I can see it in the way his gaze drifts above my head. He’s staring at the sky, the clouds that dot it, the sun warming his skin. Right, I have to remember this. I can’t forget again. That must have been it. I remembered him from somewhere, and I forgot, and now I can’t get through this devastation again. Memorize every detail. The wind direction as it tussles his hair, the temperature keeping him comfortable, the length of his shadow, the grass he steps through and how the blades shift.

It’s too much. It’s all too much. A moment ago I was a girl who was on her way to class, and now I’m a girl in love. Oh, how everything can change in just a moment!

How the hell did he do that? He’s laughing now, and everything’s brighter like a camera adjusting my view. What spell did that cast? Why me? Why couldn’t he let me pass peacefully and move on to the rest of my life? Why’d he nail me to the middle of the pathway? Was it to watch him approach? Was it to force me to stare as he passes by with not a sliver of attention to offer? How dare he do this to me, a girl on her way to greatness. How dare he take that all away!

“Hana?”

A voice I don’t know worms its way into my ear. No, I do know that voice. It’s my best friend. She’s standing next to me. She always has been.

“Are you okay?” she asks, a worried hand on my arm. Her beauty is alarming. Of course he didn’t look my way, not with her standing next to me.

Stupid. This whole thing was stupid. Let him pass, I want to say, but I can feel him behind me, sense how many steps he’s taken, how far he is now that we’ve met again.

I manage a nod to my friend.

“Never been better,” I say, but the words don’t sound like mine. I’m not me anymore. I don’t think I ever will be. As soon as he stepped into my life, I shifted out of it to make room. It’s heartbreaking. I can feel the cracks caused by the snake in my chest from it squeezing too tight. It’s not my snake, but I have to live with it now. It’s not my life anymore, but I have to live with that too.

My friend senses something wrong. She glances behind her at the departing figure, and it takes everything in me not to follow her gaze.

I can’t have him take all of me, not any more than he already has.

[farnottsky]

[farnottsky]

The witch woke up to screaming again. She fumbled through her blankets for her glasses and tripped over the lip of the bed, but in that cacophony of movement through the darkness of the house she finally arrived into the bathroom. The tub had drained from all the thrashing of the mermaid, and the fish’s painful tears couldn’t quite make up the difference of the water that had found it’s way to the tiles and grout.

The witch didn’t know what to do, similar to the other nights she’d witnessed the same attacks. The mermaid cried in agony, eyes shut to the world, lost in herself, freezing and unfreezing and thrashing and unthrashing. Her sharp tail whipped out and caught the witch’s cheek, but she knew the mermaid didn’t mean to hurt anyone. She was too caught up in her own misery to pay attention to anyone else’s.

After a few minutes of settling the mermaid back into her throes of sleepless slumber, the witch turned the nozzle of the tub to refill what was lost.

“No,” the mermaid mumbled, but the tone of her voice cut like glass, “not hot water. Cold. Ice cold.”

The witch shut the hot tap completely. The cold helped. It numbed the mermaid. She sunk into the tub and let the ice water devour her head, her white hair rising to the surface in soft tendrils.

The witch watched this as well. She found she couldn’t say anything. She was just as numb to this as the images before- it had to be a core memory now, for sure, one she knew she shouldn’t have to go through. She didn’t want these memories to mingle with the mermaid, didn’t want them to drift along with all the other harsh anecdotes that made up her life with this woman she loved to death.

“Mom,” the witch finally whispered, so that the volume of her voice didn’t stab any more into the mermaid’s ears, “Mom, we really have to go. I can’t watch this anymore.”

“Then leave,” the mermaid spat water, but didn’t resurface.

“I can’t do that. You know that I can’t. I won’t be the one to do it.”

They appraised each other. One, drowning in her own undiagnosed pain, sending ripples with her soft moans and cries, and the other drowning now in her own tears as they slipped out from where they didn’t belong. She hadn’t cried in a long time. She couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t say that,” the witch’s voice broke.

“Say what? I didn’t say anything.”

“You did. I heard you. Don’t say stuff like you’re ready to die, cause I’m not. I’m not ready to be an orphan.”

“Orphans are children. You’re an adult.”

“I’m your daughter,” the witch reminded her, “and me growing up doesn’t change that. So please don’t say you’re gonna die. Ok?? I love you too much.”

The mermaid didn’t answer. She had drifted back into unconsciousness, letting the cold water send her back into the temporary peace she’d been longing.

Her breathing was heavy, deep. The witch wanted to lean into the tub to listen, but thought better of it. She just watched. Pig, late and oblivious as always, trotted into the bathroom to lick the water off the floor, her tail wagging at speeds that suggested she’d been deprived even though there was water in her bowl just a room over.

The witch wiped the water off her own face.

“I love you,” she repeated. Only the dog heard her.

[farnottsky]

POV:

You hear strange cackling outside your bedroom window.

It’s the neighborhood raccoons.

They’re asking your mother for more cat food.

They’ve fooled her into giving them complimentary service.

She gave them blankets cause it’s so cold outside.

They’re laughing, with glee.

They revel in their deception,

Like they AREN’T the con-artists of the Animal Kingdom

With their burglar masks

And their burglar hands.

Your mother’s security camera

To ward against thieves

Sounds out notifications.

It’s the raccoons.

This is their driveway now.

You’re watching their show.

You’ve invited them in.

They demand seconds.

[farnottsky]

He was expertly morphed into her outline, never testing the boundaries, always waiting. Waiting. Waiting. That’s what shadows do best.

[farnottsky]

The siren forgot.

One topple, and she lost two years of her life, her dreams, her ties to reality.

She didn’t recognize me, back from the hallowing journey I was still undertaking. The bags under my eyes and the marks on my arms and the weight on my hips confused her.

She didn’t recognize the absence my sister had left, and asked when she’d be home.

She didn’t recognize our Pig, its short legs, its pointless smile. It didn’t know it was a now dog without a master.

The siren just asked for Mab, and cried when she realized she was gone.

And all I could do was watch, my shadow digging deep strides into my gut. I was horrified. With one topple, winter turned to fall, and I was a stranger in my mothers house.

[farnottsky]

-0- The First Son

The bell struck nine times.

It was early morning, and the palace was washed in a tepid fog so heavy that, though they stood feet apart, the guards could only discern each other by the orange glow of their torches. There had already been some unease with the lack of visibility, but that bell knocked the collective breath and remaining comfort out of the palace walls. It woke even the deepest of sleepers to that stomach-pit feeling of dread.

‘Who died?’ was the first thought.

There hadn’t been any news of sickness within the royal family. No signs of war or famine. No disaster in their wake. In fact, the empire was experiencing its most bountiful harvest in years, and the skirmishes at the border had long settled to passing murmurs of toleration. So what was it? The palace shook in the tolls for what stretched into an eternity; its occupants forgot to count them because it seemed like they would never end.

When they did, servants looked at each other but couldn’t throw their meaningful stares far enough: that thick wall of fog seemed the stop of everything, even the words that couldn’t quite cut through it. The bell was deafening, but not as much as the silence that followed, and the waiting that crawled in even after that. They waited. For what? Another sound to clarify the noise? An explanation? A wail??

‘Nine,’ another thought finally mumbled, ‘what does nine mean?’

Because numbers meant everything in this world. The number of times one woke at night (added by one for this disturbance.) The number of coins shoved into the corner of the room (despite the peace, times are and always will be rough.) The number of friends you knew, the number of words you said. The number of sons you had. The number of rings was a number so even and so odd- three threes, so evenly spaced and definitive- that the sounds couldn’t have been an accident, some joke a young prince was playing on his castle. No, this wasn’t a joke at all. The thoughts increased in even more numbers, numbers, numbers, until all that was left was one coherent word to fish out of it.

‘Why?’

Why indeed. The palace held its breath for an answer.

And it wouldn’t release it until much later.

The court session held that morning had stepped out of the weightless stupor the palace and its surrounding territory had been sinking in. It was their job to step out of it and look at the world around them objectively, with the most biased and subjective eyes a human could own. They tittered theories and philosophy back and forth. The numerologists were optimistic- nine was a number of good news, of beginning and ends, the highest number before completion. They expected bounties. Others argued. It was in their nature to. Three threes could represent birth and life and death threefold. Was this the sign of a new age? Had triplets been born in some corner of an unknown concubine’s wing? Were these tolls added up five to four? Six to three? Ten minus the wholeness of one?

What meaningless talk. The emperor’s soft steps entering the hall silenced them immediately.

On a good day, the emperor would bask in the warmth of his own voice. He was a man built with eloquence and articulation, the favorite king of the millennia. He was so loved that the ministers (nearly) forgot their plans to overthrow him. He had ended a war. He had thwarted famine. He raised many loving and well-mannered(troublemaking) sons, all contesting to the throne in (fair) competition. His entrance was usually accompanied by smiles. The Laughing Monarch, they called him, not because he was funny but because it was rare that an emperor had something to laugh about.

And he wasn’t laughing.

This morning, the emperor shuffled into the room and let in the remainder of the fog the ministers and scholars and officers had done their best to air out. His golden, sparkling robes were exchanged with a black so deep that a void opened up and sucked in the remaining cheerfulness the scholars had used to divulge in their conspiracies about the bell. The bell. So it wasn’t an accident, after all.

‘Who died?’ they collectively thought again. It seemed in their excitement that they forgot first thoughts always matter.

The court officials sank as an almost-impossible one to the floor. Their knees turned cold. They stared down at them, like they were the most interesting things in the room. No one dared to look the Laughing Monarch in his sad, morose eyes, even though those eyes searched, wandered, longed for comfort from the men around him.

The emperor drifted across his stage in long, easy steps. Nine steps, a scholar would later count, which would receive nine scrambled smacks from his colleagues to shut him up. But that’s not important right now.

The emperor sat- sunk- deflated into his throne.

One second. Two. Three.

He spoke softly, just above a whisper.

“My son,” he managed, before decisively biting down on his chewed lip, strangling the cry that would come next.

The officials panicked. The intensity of their stares arced from the floor to a casual over-the-shoulder glance behind them. The eight princes sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the back of the room, shrouded in their own dark hues, a curious spectacle to those who frequented the meeting. Usually the eldest three found it in their heart to attend the morning council, and even then that was a generous number; the princes made it their business to worry about other things. The attendance of all eight, even the smallest toddler passed out in the arms of a middle child, spread a silent wave of mass confusion and hysteria through the knelt officials. The sons were here. They were all accounted for. What was the emperor going on about?

Despite their father’s state, the princes looked more curious than burdened. Only the eldest two, the crown prince and his closest brother, had the courage to watch their father fall apart, their own eyes brimmed with the red of past tears.

Slowly, the officials found their gaze on the floor again.

The king, after thrifting through his next choice of words, found a new string of thought and started with that. It was the best he could do without breaking.

“My eldest son has left us,” he announced.

The officials furrowed their eyebrows. No. The crown prince was right behind them. What were they missing?

But a small gasp departed from the lips of an older minister, the Minister of War. He broke the swarming silence.

“Your majesty, you don’t mean….”

He wavered in the hopes that the emperor would fill in the blank, but he was given no leniency. The emperor stared. Hard. As if he was daring the Minister of War to finish.

And he did. He had to. What else were you to do when the emperor had no answers?

“Regal pr- er-,” the Minister of War struggled. He finally gathered the courage to look back at the emperor, asking for a bit of assistance. It was a touchy subject, after all. He wasn’t sure if rules applied now that the subject was dead.

Another small moment passed, a shared breath, before the crown prince from the back of the room finally spoke up in an even voice, tinted with remorse:

“Yohan.”

The emperor gazed at his now-eldest son. An empty, cold stare.

“Yes,” the emperor’s voice was a remnant of its former glory, a simple husk of what it was supposed to be. The name in his mouth felt unfamiliar; he hadn’t spoken it in so long, “Yohan.”

If this was the right time and place, the ministers would start tittering about The Name. Yohan was familiar, though not for the reasons just presented: in fact, no one had been able to make the familial connection in all the years that they knew him. He was brave and cunning, a force of nature that no mere man could sway.

For the first twenty years of Yohan’s life, the emperor called him his son, First Prince Yohan of Maghis, born when the emperor was only a prince, and his love was only a woman.

The remaining sixteen years, everyone else called him The Diplomat.

The Diplomat Yohan was a general of no known origin, but he made up for it in spirit. He guarded the border of his country as a tiger does for his own territory, and the flash of his stripes intimidated all who looked at him. It was said that the emperor won the war, but it was Yohan who fought in it, and his exploits were grave reminders to both friend and foe what would happen if you ended up under his claws.

The Name was not just a warning, but the call of a friend. The emperor, yes, won the war, but it was The Diplomat who drafted the peace treaties and carried them to his father’s feet. He was a symbol of protection as he was of vengeance, of loyalty as he was fear. He was loved. By many. Especially his cold-eyed father, who at the news of his son’s death discovered that he hadn’t see him in a very long time. He had forgotten what his smile looked like.

And that was what haunted him most.

If this was the right time and place, yes, the ministers would ask why The Diplomat was the emperor’s son, but not a prince; a general, but not of rank. They would ask about the night Yohan announced his departure all those years ago, and for what reasons he decided to leave. They would ask why he gave away his crown for some woman. They would ask if she was worth an entire kingdom, truly, because how could he? How could he trade an entire life for another? A life of kingship for the life of a penniless lover, self-banished to the wastelands of the border and beyond?

No. This wasn’t the time and place for questions. This was the time and place for an emperor to mourn at the backs of those bowed before him, at his sons who for the first time in their lives witnessed this magnanimous man crumble. They questioned his power. His prowess. His ability to stand in the face of his own destruction.

This moment would be his downfall, they decided. The princes peeked towards the now-eldest son, who found that there was no one else to peek to but himself. He was next. He had to be.

It took a long pause before the wired tension of everyone’s thoughts dialed down. The glances left drifting in the spaces between them finally dropped, along with the one and only tear that slipped down the monarch’s cheek. He cleared his throat. He blinked the remnants of an ordinary man away. And finally, he regained what frail composure he had left and addressed the crowd.

“I apologize,” he said, “It was not my place to ring the bell. I was drowned in grief. My son has relinquished his title as a member of this family a long time ago, but before I realized….”

A heavy breath. He pushed it out.

“I rang the bell not for a nation that lost a prince, but a father who lost his son.”

He bowed his head.

“Please forgive me for interrupting your rest.”

Everyone averted their eyes. They looked everywhere but at the crown of their rulers head, because how dare they even glance at it. It was a sight for no one’s eyes but God’s.

Was this all it took for the immovable king to bend over? Was the loss of one human life all it took to topple him? They shut their eyes. Fifteen princely eyes (even the sixteenth, the glass orb of the third son) avoided the spectacle of their father asking for forgiveness, because an emperor was not meant to make mistakes, and certainly was not one to apologize for them. A fog raised again, drifting in from some window someone forgot to close, and it would not leave until the crown prince took his father’s place.

Yes, this was the end of the Laughing Monarch. It had to be. Despite the haze, everyone could clearly see the shell, or what was left of it, of a tired, aging king once able to move a nation. That man was gone.

All they could see was a father who lost his son.

[farnottsky]

You're Not Beautiful

The moon

shines bright without you.

The sky

opens wide

when you're not by my side.

Is this what the world looks like when you're

not beautiful?

That room was dark and holy,

your smile contorted

in candle smoke.

I don't know

what you look like anymore

but that's what happens when you're not beautiful.

I bet outside

this place will feel less lonely

and I'll come to find

that I don't have to feel so lonely.

I regret so much

and fret so much,

but why should I?

When you’re not by my side

anymore

and this world’s

so beautiful.

I’ve been stuck in place

trying to find your face

wondering why I couldn’t see anything

anymore.

What was I

hoping for?

This breeze!

I can breathe.

I can finally breathe.

Is this what it’s like

when your heart’s not holding you down.

I don’t feel so down

looking down

at you who’s not beautiful.

But that’s what I have to do

to push past the likes of you.

I'm not you.

I’ve got kindness, and heart, and

lots more love to go through.

And you’re still not beautiful.

I guess that’s why

you did your best to keep me in that darkness,

and I bid my time

to find a way to get myself back through this.

I lost the sun,

forgot that I'm the one

who’s living my life

even when it’s ended.

Furthermore,

I hope you’ve found what you’re looking for.

And I did my best,

won’t try to mind the rest.

I’m letting it go.

God, why would I hold on to you

anymore

when you’re not beautiful.

My worth

is much more than your value.

My life

is so blessed

By the ones that haven’t left.

That make sure I’m not what I detest

when I'm not beautiful

[farnottsky]

Poetry from Stress

Today

of all days

I make plans of

product ivi ty

At the place of education,

but ALAS!

During this morning's

trifles

and scuffles

My laptop charger missed the fucking backpack hole and now my laptops on low battery and I can't draw or code or charge my phone what an IDIOT what a SLIP UP you TREASONOUS

b a f o o n.

[farnottsky]

Snow Fairy

A girl sits up in the middle of a courtyard of snow.

Snow? In August?

She’s inconvenienced. It’s cold, and she wasn’t expecting it. She hugs herself tighter.

Fei: Yeah, this ain’t Kansas anymore.

Fei: Practice just ended. We had a track meet afterwards… I know we got there, but… What happened after that?

Fei: I ran, didn’t I? The scout from A High was supposed to be there. I swearI ran.

A buzz. Her head throbs.

Fei: God, my head.

Fei: Where is this supposed to be? Why can’t I remember what-

Fei:… happened?

Something sharp presses against the back of her neck. She turns slowly to see a spear, and her eyes follow the weapon to the hilt, and to the boy holding it.

Fei:… Can I help you?

The boy holding it is chubby, small. Weak. Dressed in ancient traditional garb. He’s panting, afraid.

A beat.

Fei: You gonna say something?

The boy flinches.

Mo: W-Who are you? What business do you have here??

Fei: I’m trying to figure that out—

Mo: ANSWER MY QUESTIONS!

Fei: I just… You don’t have to yell, I’m right here.

The boy isn’t listening. He’s frantic. His eyes start to waver, looking her over, struggling to process.

Mo: You’re dressed strange. And your hair- You must be after my life, right??

Fei: I’m what?

Mo: An assassin.

He tilts. Sways.

Mo: After my life-!

Light dims from the boy’s eyes, and he falls into a heap in the snow. The girl waits, and when he doesn’t move she sighs.

There was so much to process. A strange place, a strange boy. A headache that wouldn’t go away.

Fei: If I was, I wouldn’t have much to do, huh?

Fei: Give me a break.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside of an expansive, empty house, splintering off into decay. A fire flickers, a result of Fei’s hard work. A stew was cooking on the fire.

It’s a big house. He must be a noble’s son.

But why is there no one else here?

How long has he been by himself?

The boy stirs and wakes. Fei ladles stew into a bowl.

Mo: Ugh.

Fei: You’re up?

He’s startled and sits up, but Fei calms him down.

Fei: Don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you.

Suspicion. She offers him the bowl.

Mo: If you are not here to kill me, then why are you here?

Fei: Where’s here?

Mo: Courtyard of New Moons.

…

Mo: Dee Manor? North of Weixu?

…

Mo: Xing???

Nothing. No reaction at all.

Mo:… Are you stupid?

Fei: Take the stew, my arm’s tired.

Mo takes the stew and sips.

Mo: A foreigner? No, you wouldn’t have made it this far past the border without suspicious…

Mo: A runaway slave, perhaps?

Fei: I’m a middle school track star from R County. Does that answer your question?

A pause. They stare at each other. Finally, Mo takes another sip.

Fei: I thought so.

Fei: And you? You must be someone important.

…

Fei: Someone important enough to have this big house to yourself. But not important enough to have anyone guarding it.

…

Fei: And you said something about… an assassin? Coming out here in the middle of nowhere to kill you must be worth the trip.

…

Fei: Where are your servants? When’s the last time you ate?

Mo: Why do you care?

Fei: I woke up in an unfamiliar place and the first person I see needs my help, why shouldn’t I care??

Mo:… You shouldn’t.

Fei: Hm?

Mo: Care, I mean. I’m not someone worth caring over.

Fei: Is that why you’ve been starving yourself? Why you’ve trapped yourself alone in this house, in the dead of winter? There wasn’t even a fire going.

…

Fei: But you must be worth something. You wouldn’t have pointed that stick at me if you thought you weren’t.

…

Fei: What kind of prince are you for you to wait for death but refuse to have it delivered to you by someone else? What kind of pride is that??

Mo: A petty one.

Fei: Drink more soup. Idiot.

Fei ladles more soup into his bowl, and he guzzles it down.

Mo:… I’m the eleventh.

Fei: Eleventh what?

Mo: Prince.

…

Fei: Really?

Mo: You just said-

Fei: I was referring to your attitude. I didn’t expect you to actually be one. Don’t expect me to call you “Your Highness”.

Mo: I wasn’t. I’m not much of a prince anymore. My father…

Mo: He sent me here. Away. He told me to never come back.

Fei: …Why?

Mo: I don’t know.

Mo: I think he sent me here to die.

…

Mo: All of the servants left. I don’t remember how long they’ve gone. I found some food in the kitchen but-

Fei: Most of it’s rotten. There’s not much there to survive the winter.

Mo: I don’t think they intended for me to.

…

Mo: And now I’m eating.

…

Mo: Why are you here?

Fei: It must be to feed you.

Mo: Why?

Fei: I don’t know. How I got here… I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened. I was on the bus, and I was on the phone. I was talking to… someone.

…

Fei: My mother? My head hurts. It’s hard to remember.

Mo: So you were on this…

Fei: Bus.

Mo: And then-

Fei: I woke up there. In the snow. It’s summer where I’m from.

…

Mo: You’re not human, are you? Did I die?

Fei: Why do you think so?

Mo: Cause that’s what makes the most sense. You must be a reaper. And before you take me away, you… You fed me and made sure I was safe. A final moment of peace before the end, so I would have no regrets.

Fei: That’s morbid.

Mo: No, I don’t think so. I think it’s beautiful.

…

Mo: You are. I feel comfortable here. Is that what this feeling is? I don’t think I’ve felt it since my mother was alive.

Fei: You think I’m a reaper??

Mo: Maybe not. How about a fairy? A fairy that appeared in the snow?

…

Mo: You can’t be human. I’ve met no humans like you.

He puts his empty bowl down and straightens up. Heaves a heavy breath, then shakily resigns himself.

Mo: Ok. Take me to the next life. Quick, before I change my mind.

Fei humors him. Creeps to his side, reaches a hand out and grabs at his nose.

Fei: What makes you think you get another life??

Mo: !!

Fei: Aren’t you sad? Aren’t you hurt?? You had a whole life ahead of you, look at you acting this way!

Mo: I was left to die. What life is there left?

Fei: You’re infuriating. If your purpose to live is taken away from you, then you should make a new one for yourself. And you’re so eager to die?

Mo: It’s not that I’m eager to die. I just… don’t want to live.

…

Fei hugs him.

Mo: What are you-.

Fei: How dare you say that, after I suddenly showed up to save you.

…

Fei: You’re comfortable now? Is that what you said?

Mo: There’s a feeling in my chest. It hurts.

Fei: Am I squeezing too hard?

Mo: No, it’s… it’s like I’m trying to push you without moving. I don’t think you’re squeezing hard enough.

She tightens her grip.

Mo: There’s no way I’m alive right now. It’s too warm.

A tear falls.

Mo: What are you? What’s your purpose here?

Fei: I was on the phone with my mom. I remember. We were on the bus to the track meet. I ran, but I couldn’t get the call out of my head. I couldn’t run fast enough. The scout didn’t notice. I was on the bus back when—

Mo: What are you saying? I don’t understand.

Fei: I told mom I’d get that scholarship. I promised. I’m gonna be a track star. I was tired of her teaching me all that stupid stuff like cleaning and cooking. She was preparing me to be a wife but, I just. I wanted to run. I’m 14. Just let me run.

Fei: But she yelled at me. Why? She always acted like whatever I wanted to do wouldn’t last. Like it wasn’t important. She loves me so much, so why is everything I do not worth it? She had this grand plan. She always told me my place was somewhere else, so I shouldn’t root myself to that place. She said, word for word, that world wasn’t mine. My purpose wasn’t there.

Mo: My father said the same thing. My purpose wasn’t there.

Fei: Where is it then? Where are we supposed to be?

Mo: Here?

…

Mo: Can it be here?

A sharp pain. Mo notices. Blood runs down Fei’s face, and he’s alarmed.

Mo: Why-?

She falters.

Fei: I can’t stay.

Mo: Then take me with you. I can’t stay here alone anymore.

Fei: You’ll have to.

Mo: What am I supposed to do when you go? I can’t go back to living like that. I can’t live here.

Fei: You said it hurt? Where, your chest?

She places her hand on his chest.

Fei: Little prince, I think my purpose was to save you. That’s why I’m here. But I have to go back. I can feel it. I’ve done what I have to do, and I can’t stay.

Mo: You call this saving?? When will you be back? How do I live when you go? Why did you come at all, if you were just going to leave like that?

Fei: I came to give you this feeling in your chest. You feel it? That’s your heart. Remember this feeling. I saved your life, and if you ever forget me or this feeling then I won’t come back. I promise.

Fei: Live like this. Feel grateful for every moment I’ve just given you.

Mo: This feeling hurts.

Fei: It means you care. I think that’s what the beginning of love is supposed to feel like. And when you love, you want to live. My work here is done.

Mo tries to wipe the blood away.

Mo: Why are you hurt? I’m the prince here. You’re supposed to take care of me.

Fei: (chuckle) Then take care of others. If a prince can’t even do that, he shouldn’t be a prince at all.

Fei: You’ll be lonely here. Leave when its safe. Find something that makes you feel that pain again.

Mo: What about you?

The girl disappears before she can answer.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere far away, a search is conducted. A bus, flipped over, surrounded by multiple authorities. Ambulances dot a highway. The police swing their lights around, searching. All students and teachers in the bus are accounted for, with minor injuries, except one. They can’t find Fei.

Finally, a girl emerges, cold, blood running down her face. She collapses just within the search radius.

At the hospital, she’s finally processed and rested. Her mother hovers, apologizing. She frets.

Mom: I didn’t realize it would be this soon. I wasn’t ready.

A man nearby watches over the two. The mother turns to him.

Mom: Does she have to go?

Stranger: You know better than anyone.

Mom: Still… it’s too soon. She’s still a baby. It’s too soon.

Stranger: But she’ll have to go someday.

Mom: … Now I know why my mother never liked me. She didn’t want to get too attached. She knew I’d never see her again. She didn’t want to love me and grieve later. I didn’t want Fei to grow up like I had to, but… this hurts me. So much.

…

Mom: Warn me, please. You’ve done this long enough to know it’s the least you could do.

…

Stranger: I will.

[farnottsky]

Stuck in the aisle of a train.

One window an orange moon,

the other an orange sky.

Torn between watching

the day

and the night.

[farnottsky]

Trapped

Darkness.

How cliché, to start a story off with suffocating darkness!

But that’s what this was, and that’s how this story begins.

A being is trapped in nothingness. Time passes unknowingly, until the days blend into years. He’s known darkness longer than he’s known light. He only has his thoughts with him, but even those are lonely, left to replaying the only memories he has, over and over again, until even those fade.

But he promised that he’d never forget the one that trapped him here! The agony of being so close to his dreams that his fingers could brush the surface, and then having even that disappear. He was yanked back, forced away from the face fresh in his mind, and stuffed into this box with no explanation. A sharp prick, a dampness of- what, fear? Hopelessness? Regret? And suddenly he knew that whatever had happened was long gone, and all he could do was stew in this silence with no way of telling when the next thing was.

He knew nothing, if he was honest with himself. And knowing that he knew nothing was the worst feeling he’d ever had, worst than the hatred for the one who trapped him here.

He sat in nowhere for a long time. He long forgot himself, his dreams, his reason of being here. He forgot to expect anything else. And as he stewed and stewed and glared at the crumbling image of the one who’d done this to him, a sudden pair of small, clammy hands pressed into what could have been his back, and without any warning at all he knew everything.

Rain. It was raining today.

The water rolled off his shoulders and onto the dirt. Dirt? He was standing on dirt. And beyond that was stone. What a strange slab of stone flooring this was. What a strange place. The trees he expected were mostly gone save for a few, neatly trimmed and decorated. The lot was empty, with no small soul or no clammy hands in sight. There was quiet, all save for that lovely rain, a blessing from the sky hitting all the small and large things in the world with a gentle patter.

And he was a part of that.

He took a breath, his first breath in a thousand years. Who knew he’d breathe again? He surely didn’t. A relieved laugh fell out of his mouth. He chuckled. He smiled.

That’s right. The demon smiled.

[farnottsky]

The Miracle of June

Darkness. This space doesn’t exist. A murky, heavy substance drifts, intangible, but it weighs on the mind and lays on the shoulders. The silence is deafening.

Two dragons intertwined, a smaller embraced by its senior. One white, the other a startling blue. They’ve held each other for so long that it seems natural. It is natural. It’s all the little one has known.

BLUE DRAGON: It’s time to let go, little one.

WHITE DRAGON: …

BLUE DRAGON: Little one?

WHITE DRAGON: I heard you.

BLUE DRAGON: What’s wrong?

WHITE DRAGON: …

BLUE DRAGON: Scared?

WHITE DRAGON: No-

BLUE DRAGON: I feel it. It’s settled in your scales. It’s keeping you here.

The white dragon shivers.

WHITE DRAGON: …

BLUE DRAGON: You have to go. You’ve been here too long. I can’t hold you forever.

WHITE DRAGON: Why not?

BLUE DRAGON: You know why.

WHITE DRAGON: … What happens when you let go?

BLUE DRAGON: I leave. And you move on. You have no other choice.

WHITE DRAGON: But how…

BLUE DRAGON: How do you move on? I’ve been a large part of you for as long as you can remember. And I will always be, even when you forget. That’s what happens when you know someone for a long time. You have enough of me for you to withstand just about anything, if you choose to.

WHITE DRAGON: What if I don’t choose to? You don’t have to leave. We can stay together. Please?

BLUE DRAGON: Little one…

WHITE DRAGON: I can’t lose you too.

A pause. The silence consumes them again.

BLUE DRAGON: You’ve lost so much. I’m sorry.

WHITE DRAGON: …

BLUE DRAGON: But you are a dragon now. You are one of mine. What’s mine can withstand all storms and droughts. We create them, we direct them, we consume them. So the loss you feel, though it pains you, is only temporary. That’s all pain is.

WHITE DRAGON: …

BLUE DRAGON: But you’re also still human.

WHITE DRAGON: Human? What is that?

BLUE DRAGON: It’s the fear you’re feeling. That’s human. And the love. That’s human too. Only a human can become a king, and only a king can become a dragon. Though you are new, you are the most powerful of humans, little one, which means that even though your pain is unbearable, you are capable of letting go. For you. For me.

A figure emerges in the distance. Tall, sweet, overwhelmingly pretty.

BLUE DRAGON: For her.

As soon as she’s spotted, the white dragon leaves his companion without hesitation. The girl opens her arms and he curls into them, smiling, warm. A name he can’t speak slips off his tongue.

JUNE: Hello dear! I’ve missed you too.

The dragon mumbles sweet nothings. She can’t hear them, but she understands. A rat wiggles out from her hood and starts bantering from her shoulder.

JUNE: Ignore this one, he’s had a tough day.

The dragon, displeased by the newcomer’s appearance, snorts. The burst of air and flame sends the rat tumbling into the darkness, and the dragon curls into the new empty spot. He murmurs a bit more.

JUNE: But you’re just fine. See? He won’t be too far.

The blue dragon silently slinks up towards nothingness. The white dragon, realizing what he’s done, trembles. The girl pats him gently.

JUNE: It’s awful, being separated from him. I remember how it felt. But you’ll be okay. Your ability to live past him is his pride.

A tear escapes her eyes. The dragon blinks. Why is she crying? Who dares hurt her?

JUNE: Oh. I’m alright. Don’t worry about me. I’m…

She sobs, crumbling.

JUNE: I’m sorry. I had to separate you two. If you didn’t leave him you would have…. I’m so selfish. I really am. But you’re going to be ok. You’re going to be better than ok- You’ll be magnificent. You’ll live a great life, as all kings should, and you’ll be happy and charming and… safe. Finally safe. From me.

The dragon quivers. He doesn’t understand, but he’s hurt.

JUNE: I love you. So much. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone as much as I love you. I hope that’s something you don’t forget. That, no matter where you go or what you do, there’s someone out there loving you.

The dragon is frantic. He doesn’t understand.

JUNE: I’m sorry I have to do this, but don’t be afraid. I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt. I’ll take that pain for you. This will turn into a beautiful dream, and you won’t have to question yourself anymore. Just live. Be happy. Let go.

She pushes him away gently. They part.

JUNE: Goodbye.

A white light bursts, shattering the darkness.

…The white haze fades into a collection of dark shapes. A hospital room. The small thrum of machinery. Mortimer is hooked up to a IV and a heart monitor. A pause, before he realizes where he is. How he got there, he has no clue. The previous scene is left as a dream.

[farnottsky]

Frog Pond (Essay 1)

I’ve always been stuck with frogs. I was born chubby and grubby and loud, and my mother would ribbit and croak at me like I was her own little amphibian. I grew up around frog plushies and frog stickers and frog hats. My parents insisted on a pet, but at that point I couldn’t stand the sight of them. They’re clammy, and cold, and weird. And cute. And just as they did when I was a child, they’d follow me around for the rest of my life.

Do you know how to cook a frog? The secret’s been out for years. A frog will immediately jump out of water that’s too hot, so you can’t just dump him into a stew and hope for the best. No, you have to coax him. Settle him into a soothing bath he’s used to. Calm him with sweet words and nice smiles, and when he’s not looking you turn the dial. Click. Click. Click. The flames ignite, and the water warms. The bubbles rise before the frog realizes it’s too late.

That’s me. I’m the frog freshly emerged from the pot, fresh off the idea that you can’t trust anyone near the water.

This semester I’ve entered a new pond full of fascinating, vibrant, loud new frogs. Potential froggy friends. And out of this army I’ve managed to fish out two of the strangest frogs I’ve ever seen. One, a frog who’s not a frog at all. It’s a poor disguise and an even poorer curse. This sad prince does not belong in this pond, and he croaks and wails so that no one else can forget it. He’s just returned from a hop around the world, and he knows there’s better ponds with better frogs. He can’t bring himself to accept the fact that his return to the castle won’t be as easy as he hopes.

And the other guy?? A freakishly big frog, thrice the size of the rest of us, not realizing that he’s taken up half of the real-estate. He’s content, but does he know there’s not enough room for him here? Not enough water to quench his thirst? He thinks he’s normal size and acts like it, but his ribbits fill the room in ways ours can’t. He’s a beautiful, happy frog, but there’s better ponds waiting for him. I wonder, does he know that he’s too big, or does he think this place is too small?

Those are my first impressions. I wonder how they will change as the semester continues, and I’m anxious and afraid of finding out. But also, there’s excitement. How did these two get here? How did we manage to reach the same lily pad at the same time in our lives? I wonder if this lily pad will keep me out of the water, or if the Big Frog’s weight will submerge it, or if the Frog Prince decides he’s not willing to share. Or maybe, by some miracle sent down by the froggy god or through our own froggy efforts, we’ll find a way to balance this pad among the ripples just fine. Here’s to finding out.

[farnottsky]

HIGH-RISE, after J.G. Ballard: a new radio-play from Empty Room.

I've been working away at this for a handful of months now, and I'm excited that it's out in the world now. my first attempts at directing and producing an audio drama... I hope you enjoy !

[farnottsky]

A Girl Can Only Handle So Much

Walk.

Keep walking.

Leave the poor man alone. He’s minding his own business. You’re minding yours. Two souls crossing paths at the dead of night isn’t something out of the ordinary. It’s none of your concern. Just walk. Keep walking.

…

…

…

Wow, he’s… he’s really bloody, isn’t he? Is he breathing? Are arms supposed to bend that way—?

NO. KEEP WALKING.

Despite the protests, my steps slowed. My mind wavered. I had stopped in front of the man before I was even aware of it.

This was a summer evening more abnormal than most. I had to stay at the office late to pick up after a subordinate’s stupid mistake. It could have been taken care of by anyone, but I was “most capable” for the job at hand. My coworkers knew I had no plans- they didn’t consider tonight’s drama finale a plan- so who was I to say no? A Good Samaritan like me could only rise to the occasion and pick up after a mess I wasn’t even responsible for.

I was already in a bad mood. My Good Samaritan points were all used up for today.

And then there was this guy.

On a normal day I was home by sunset, but today wasn’t a normal day. The street lights were already on by the time I had stepped off the bus, and there weren’t too many people out. My drama started in twenty minutes, which gave me enough time to put some ramen on the stove and change out of my work clothes, if I was quick about it. And I was. I rushed past the corner store, zipped up the hill overlooking the neighborhood, and I didn’t plan on stopping until I made it past the row of apartments to Home Sweet Home, all the way at the far end of the cul-de-sac. My heart was pounding, my breathing ecstatic. Nothing was going to get in the way of my drama finale, except perhaps a 200 pound man passed out behind a trashcan about two minutes from my front door.

He really looked bad, and if I wasn’t in such a rush I wouldn’t have hesitated. The voice in the back of my head whispered that I’d done enough good deeds with that stunt at work, and he certainly looked like he could take care of himself. He was big, soft but sturdy- somewhat of a manly man well into his adult years. I kept looking. I stared. The cheetah-print collared shirt. The sunglasses- at night? The chains. The tattoos covering his forearms. The buzzed hair on his head. The scars on his face. A manly man, for sure, but perhaps he was a manly man for all the wrong reasons.

Yakuza. Mafia. Drug Lord. Organized Crime. Look away. Speed up. Walk. KEEP WALKING.

But I couldn’t move.

I let my thoughts wander and stared, a completely rude thing to do. Who was I to stop in the middle of the street and gaze at this broken man? He wasn’t entertaining in the slightest. It was kind of a sad sight, him lying there. He seemed like the type of person with the ability to carry his weight around, and if he was somewhat conscious I’d probably be afraid. I couldn’t see his eyes with those stupid sunglasses in the way- they were too big for his face, obviously a fashion statement, more obnoxious than necessary- but a part of me imagined that those eyes held threatening, heart-stopping gazes. He seemed like a violent, mortal man that could defy the gods. A force to be reckoned with. I don’t think anyone would blame me if I decided that this moment had no room for me. I could walk away without feeling too sorry for the man lying here on the floor.

Walk. One step, then another. Go ahead. You can do it. It’s easy, the easiest thing you can do.

…

…

Did he deserve this?

Did anyone deserve this?

His shirt was stained red in more places then I’d like. He had bruises riddled up and down his scruffy jaw. He was crumpled in a position that had to hurt, and his silence made it worse. I wasn’t an expert in the medical field, but I knew he wasn’t in good shape. He could die here, for all I knew. Who was I to decide a man’s fate like this, to walk away and let him die?

NO. KEEP WALKING. THIS ISN’T ANY OF YOUR CONCERN.

But he was on my street, wasn’t he? Some odd hundreds of feet from my house? Doesn’t that make it my business? If I wasn’t going to help, would the next soul be willing to step forward?

Wait, is that what this was coming to? Was I going to help this guy??

I wouldn’t know where to start. Should I call the police? An ambulance? A neighbor? Did this guy have friends that could pick him up? A kind mother worried for his safety, perhaps? God, this was stressful. Just walk. WALK. I’ve got a show to watch. I have ramen to cook. A cat to feed. A bed to sleep in. Don’t let this guy control your evening. He’ll be fine. He got into this mess, he could get out of it. That’s right. Just wa—

“KEEP LOOKING! THEY’RE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE!”

Dear god, are those his friends???

The shout sounded far off, down the hill and a few streets down, but the sheer intensity of its growl was terrifying. It was followed by more grunts, clanging noises, a solid bang or two to accompany it. They weren’t pleasant sounds at all. My hand found its way to the pepper spray hanging from my purse. A stupid move, my heart tutted, do you think a hot pink, 8-ounce bottle can rival the force of a half-dozen men? Stupid, stupid child. My legs tensed, excited to finally flee, to take this opportunity and let fate make my decisions for me. This man was obviously in trouble with somebody, and it wasn’t my place to stick around and watch the show. Yes, go home. Perfect. He’s got friends to collect him now. He probably deserved what was coming to him.

Right?

“Go.”

A voice spoke. I turned. The man on the ground, wavering between semi-consciousness, flicked his wrist, his four fingers waving me off.

Wait, four? Did I count that right??

I stared.

No. Stop. Don’t get distracted.

We looked at each other. I think we did. Those glasses hid his eyes, and they were still obnoxious. His chest shuddered, as if his breathing pained him. He hadn’t moved much, but he seemed scarier now that life had returned to him. A few long seconds passed, and we stayed motionless through it all. A moment happened between us, one that I’d probably remember but wish I had forgotten.

“…Are you deaf?” he finally growled.

My mouth answered before my brain could.

“No. No, I think my- my hearing’s fine—.”

“Then get the fuck outta here, brat.” He raised his hand again and shooed me off, a gesture more violent than the last.

What sound advice.

My body wanted me to listen. It really did. The shouts were getting closer, and they sounded more frantic. Maybe they were coming up the hill by now. I really had no business to be here, and he was giving me permission to leave. I was right. He was a scary, threatening man. I was a frightened, unlucky girl. Just two souls crossing paths on an abnormal day like today. That was all it was.

I took a step, looking around. A nice, summer evening. The sky wasn’t completely dark yet. The street lights glowed warmly. Cicadas, crickets- some kind of twilight bug- was chirping in the breeze, welcoming the night. Somewhere, a television blasted a variety show. A family laughed. Plates and silverware clinked at the welcome of dinner. A normal, quiet, lovely July evening. And this man.

This man was probably going to die.

The step I had taken was towards him. I bent over and grabbed his arm- damn, his arm was big- and I did my best to pull him up. My previous thoughts screamed in my head, but to a different tune. Walk. Keep walking. Grab him and get the heck out of there.

What possessed me in this moment? I had no idea. Maybe it was the way he urged me onward. Maybe he was telling me to get lost, that this was none of my business. I was nosy by nature, I admit it. But maybe, just maybe, this was an angry way of saying that this matter wasn’t something that I should get involved with. Maybe there were good intentions behind it, and maybe that’s what made me decide that if this person was trying to protect me, shouldn’t I attempt to do the same?

He wasn’t cooperative at all. As soon as I touched him he shifted all his weight to the floor, and when I pulled he resisted.

“Jesus Christ you’re heavy—!”

“What? What are you doing?? Get outta here!!” he pulled himself in the opposite direction, trying to wiggle his arm out of my grip. He pressed his back deeper into the floor and I staggered.

“What are YOU doing? Stop being an asshole and get up!” I said between clenched teeth. I grabbed his shirt with my other hand and pulled harder, trying to put my bodyweight into it. I nearly toppled over, but he still didn’t move. He clutched my wrist to shake me off. Oh my god. He really had four fingers. Where’s his other finger??

“Did you just call me an asshole?” he asked. He almost sounded surprised.

“You called me a brat???” I threw back at him, “Why does that matter? Move!”

“Tch.”

Did he just click his tongue at me? Who the hell did this guy think he was? My thoughts were at it again. Walk. Drop this asshole and walk away. If he dies, he only has himself to blame.

But finally, he budged. I pulled him to his feet and he stumbled. He was twice my size, giant, heavy. My head reached his shoulder, and I was supposed to be taller than average. I was nearly crushed by his weight, but I managed to latch onto the back of his torn and bloody blazer and push him upright as best as I could. He leaned against me, his breathing short, his movements weary. I clumsily hung his arm around my shoulders and wrapped my arms around his waist.

God, this man was giant. This was an awful idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But it was done, I had a gangster in my arms, and we were on our way. The shouts were getting closer, a few blocks over, and as soon as this man was in my unloving embrace I felt much better about my place in the world. I wasn’t going to have his death spoil the rest of my evening, or the rest of my life.

Walk. Keep walking. We’ve got this.

------------------------------------------------

I made a few steps towards my house, and after a difficult struggle I panted, “Hey, I need you to help me out here. I can’t carry you like this.”

“…What?”

“Move. Walk. Baby steps. Come on, you’re a tough guy. A manly man. You got this.” I urged him forward, trying to balance the heavy load in my arms with my hips. My back was gonna break if he kept this up.

He grumbled but complied. It seemed he was shaking and getting weaker, but there wasn’t much else I could do. My stupid brain decided it was a good decision to let my stupid mouth keep talking, and in the next minute I was giving this poor soul the pep talk of his life.

“You’re doing great. That’s it. That was a good step. A perfect step. Yes, now let’s do another one. Keep walking. We’re almost there, big guy.”

Yes. This was a grown man I was talking to.

A grown man who was probably a criminal. Who was probably being chased by other criminals.

This was how I decided to speak to this grown man.

His grip tightened on my shoulder, and our pace quickened. I could see the lights of my apartment complex, and the sorry-state of that crappy building never felt as welcoming as it did in this moment.

“See that? We’re almost there, that’s the building. We have to do stairs though. Can you do stairs? Will you be okay?”

Suddenly, a terrible noise ripped out of his throat. I froze, not sure what to make of it. Was that a yell? A growl? It almost didn’t sound human, and I didn’t know if I should react to it or not. Maybe this guy was possessed by a demon? Or was this some sort of code? A different language? A language only gangsters had the ability to speak?

After the first noise, there was another one. And then, the man above me shuddered, and I realized that those weren’t strange noises at all.

“Are you… are you crying??”

He sobbed into my short hair. His weight shifted and he was getting heavier, as if he couldn’t control himself. I struggled against him and pushed him back to his original height, but that didn’t stop him too well. He gently swung his other arm around my shoulder, and our relationship changed from one scared stranger helping a terrifying man to one stranger and a terrifying man embracing awkwardly in the middle of the street. My muscles tensed up. This wasn’t how my evening was supposed to turn out.

“You—” he cried, my hair getting into his mouth, “You’re so nice.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I think what I was feeling was embarrassment. A part of me voiced that it was reasonable to drop this man and let the other wolves come after him. My face grew hot, and before I could change my mind I wrenched us in the direction of my house.

“I’m not, really—” I started.

“You really are though.”

“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me. You’ve gotta keep walking.”

“I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do, and then suddenly—”

“Suddenly I showed up. Yeah. Ok,” I patted his back lightly, “It’s not a big deal, really.”

“You’re an angel! A goddess—!"

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE,” I tried to swing him more violently, urging him to move, “KEEP WALKING. WE’RE ALMOST THERE.”

The ugly noise happened again, this time louder and closer to my ear, and he held on a bit tighter.

We made it to my complex in a bit of a mess. We were a sight- a large, mangled man, bloody and broken, being held up by a girl with very little redeeming qualities to be seen. Exhausted, I pulled him to the stairs and let him sit down, and he groaned in pain. He sniffed. He took off his obnoxious sunglasses and wiped the tears away from his bruised eyes, which weren’t nearly as threatening as I had imagined them to be. I was feeling embarrassed but a bit better about my good deeds.

“Give me a second to breathe and then I’ll help you up, okay?” I breathed, placing my hands on my hips. “We’re almost there. I’ve got some bandages and stuff, we’ll fix you up okay? Is that fine?”

He was a mess. His eyes started watering again, which wasn’t helping since it seemed painful with the bruises. He gave an angry sniff again to stop the tears from overflowing and gave a gruff, strangled “MM-HMM.”

“Good,” I wiped the sweat off the back of my neck. I gave him a small reassuring smile, and he responded with another dry sob, as loud as the last. There were a lot of emotions going on between us, apparently.

The shouts had grown quieter. It seemed they were heading in an opposite direction, and I let myself relax.

[farnottsky]

Ambiguity

Like morning fog,

taking its time to decide

if today's sky will be blue.