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opinionatedmama · 6 years

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Skin and Earth pt.2 fanfic

"....goddamn, these salt flats almost look like diamonds." The only sound was a rush of wind from the slipstream around Tsu's car, warm and blessedly louder than the panic bubbling steadily inside of me. My eyes flicked to the quickly disappearing peak of Mount Hope in my rearview mirror as I swallowed down the lump in my throat for the thousandth time. The car topped 110mph and I didn't stop- speeding cause it feels good. Around me, the desolate salt flats stretched for miles, their minute crystals catching the suns rays in a billion fragments, and I shuddered, thinking of the tale of the Moon Princess Mitsuki- and the sound the Vacants made as their crystals were smashed and their tormented souls blessedly released. I had done a great thing in bringing down the tower in Midnight Sun....hadn't I? I don't know how long I drove, dust rising behind the small pink coupe in an endless cloud, alternating between grief for Priest, who had truly loved me after all, exhilaration that I had survived, and so many questions, about my past and my future. Who had my father been? Had he been behind one of those banshee masks too? What about Tempest industries? Was there a solution to their corruption, or were we too far gone as a species? The marking on my left arm throbbed suddenly, as if in response and I ignored it, setting my jaw. Tsu's grating voice, so different from the one that had once captured my heart, reverberated through my mind "the powers I have given you..." could she have been telling the truth? Had she succeeded in penetrating my soul and corrupting it with her essence, turning me into a clandestine vessel for her twisted appetite, just waiting to be triggered like some fucked-up X men character? I hardly registered the huge black shape huddled in the road before me, looming into my windshield fast- and a scream ripped from my throat as I slammed the brakes and careened wildly, not knowing if I had run over the shape or drifted past it. The world around me revolved in slow motion as I heard the brakes squealing and my own voice gasping- "oh shiiiiiiiit--nooooo!" The steering wheel turned uselessly in my bloody, slippery hands and I let go of it, throwing my arms up over my face. The car flipped and my hair dangled straight out for a brief moment, my eyes desperately seeking for a safe place to crash but only the blinding white of the endless salt flats rushed to meet me and a horrific splintering sound rent the air- then blackness once again. ****** She looked pretty stupid dangling from the seatbelt of that convertible, half buried in the salt flats, unconscious and bloodied, as I centered the scope of my dash cam over the wreckage site. A brief holo-window interrupted my view of the scene, extolling its data analysis result: "Female, late 20's, human" A facial recognition program blossomed across the screen for a moment and three forms of identification lay before me, a student ID, a Red Sector pass, and a high school diploma, all bearing the name Enaia Jin. "Target affirmed," a cool voice proclaimed, and my scope display normalized. Holy shit. I leaned back in my chair. Its her. In my time, she was a legend, Brigadier General Enaia Jin of the 2nd Human Resistance in the fight against Tempest Industries. I had never actually seen her in person before and never at this age, it was hard to believe that the battle hardened, war-scarred leader I had pledged service to in the future had ever been young. It suits her, I thought as I rose to make my exit from the ship. Despite her appearance, Brigadier General Jin had been immensely kind and charismatic, rallying and inspiring millions of men and women alike to her cause over the years. I moved to open the bay door of my craft and paused, casting about for my helmet. It wouldn't do for her to see my face just yet, though I know she wouldn't recognize me. With helmet securely on, the bay doors hissed open and I stepped out into a wasteland, clouds of dust rising around my feet with each step toward the crash site. ************* In the time it took for Enaia to crash and the mysterious space craft to land, my forward scouts had already arrived, alerted by the noise and gathering around the black stone that marked an entrance to our peaceful community. They surveyed the helmeted figure approaching the steaming convertible, chattered anxiously among themselves as it deftly extracted a tangle of red hair and pale limbs from the sand and carried it to the ship. I blinked as a sudden swirl of dust assailed my eyes and I fumbled for a glove to cover my mouth, then looked back just in time to see the belly of the ship swallow both helmet-figure and what I could now determine was a young woman. I watched with eyes blurred by sand as the foreign craft lift off with a smooth hum of thrusters and swiveling turbine engines, creating small cyclones as it went, and rested a hand protectively over my swelling abdomen- change had come to our utopia, here in the desert, and it was far too shiny for my liking. Despite the gathering sand storm on the horizon, we inspected the black rock for any scuffs and were dismayed to see two pink streaks from the convertibles' fender had marred its polished surface, but still, not bad. I left two men to clean the rock as best they could and turned back toward New Madison with worry hanging low on my brow, covered in salt and sand and belly aching with hunger twofold. The mysterious ship could not have gone far in this weather, I reasoned. Perhaps they will see that the conditions here are just as cruel as Madison Oasis and will never return. But as I hastened for the safety of my home, granules of earth whipping at my ankles, I felt a hum in the air and knew deep within my bones that they would be back. It was just a matter of when. "The world in the rear view mirror doesn't shake me...I haven't looked back there lately." Katya delivers Kaia who delivers Koda who comes to the past to help En stop Katya from dying and sparking a war. Tsu influences En to make decisions that aid the war breaking out, based on her hatred for Tempest and desire to consume souls to grow powerful enough to overtake En completely. History: Katya dies, war begins, Tsu and En battle desperately within until Tsu is forced out and into a crystal, the affects of this battle will leave En physically scarred forever but alive to fight in the long and bloody war with Tempest. If Katya does not die, Tsu will take over En and destroy all of humanity, both sides. In future, En mysteriously vanishes when the resistance needs her most and Koda travels back in time to find out why, unaware that he has arrived just in time to prevent the untimely death of his grandmother and change the course of the future.

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opinionatedmama · 6 years

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Rough Draft no.1 - I Am NOt Good at Titles

Scotland, Isle of Lewis, May 1896

It started on a stormy night in the little village of Spence, which was located on the southeastern coast of the Western Isles of Europe. The vast sea that fringed the village was angry and gray, roiling and frothing as the strong winds churned it up; even the lighthouse on the shore seemed intimidated by the fog smothering its steadily revolving light. Some ways away from the slowly brewing storm, a fine and rather overlarge house stood upon a hill, ringed by thick trees and covered in creeping ivy. This was the ancestral home of the Mays family, and it had served as both a landmark in the village and as a home for its occupants for nearly a century. The inside of the house on this particular evening was as dark and forboding as the state of nature outside- a woman had just been murdered. Her body sat propped in a plush velvet-backed chair, as though she had taken the position just moments ago. A still-steaming cup of tea sat on a small side table beneath the fingers of her left hand; her right was buried in the folds of her dress. The only indicator of her terminal condition was an elongated spatter of blood on the carpet before her and a smear of the same fluid on her purple lips and chin. Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the sitting room, and the door swung open. “Your cakes as requested, Lady Mays!” The family’s resident cook, Marcy, bustled into the room. She took her misstress’ silence without question, it was not unusual for Lady Katrina Mays to answer with nothing at all; and set a tray of delicately iced cakes on the small table next to the tea and sugar bowl; then her eyes found the unnaturally still form and the odd set of Lady Mays’s jaw, and she screamed. She flew to the dead woman’s side, shaking hands searching for a pulse on her white neck- none was found and she let out a panicked sob, covering her mouth and backing away slowly, her slippers smearing the blood and staining their white satin. As she reached the door, eyes fixed with horror on Lady Mays, a strong, dark hand rested on her shoulder and she shrieked again, whirling around with a swirl of skirts. “Oh, heavens Christobal, you nearly frightened me t-t-to death!” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked into the face of the Mays family manservant, Christobal. “It’s the Missus, s-something terrible has happened!” Marcy wept and wrung her skirts as Christobal’s’ forehead wrinkled in concern but remained silent as he waited for her to explain. He was broad-shouldered, strong, and taller than any man she’d ever seen, with skin the color of coffee beans, and piercing golden eyes that betrayed no emotion as they scanned the scene before him. His hair, black as night, had been braided loosely and hung around his shoulders, and they tinkled faintly with small silver, gold and copper beads as he released Marcy and moved toward the corpse of Lady Mays. Marcy stood rooted to the spot, crying and growing steadily redder in the face. “I came to bring her some cakes, the almond kind that she’s so fond of, hardly noticed she was d-d-dead until I looked at her lips. Horrible color they are! Oh, what will the children and Mr. Mays say?!” She threw her apron over her face and began to wail in earnest, her shoulders heaving as the weight of what had happened settled onto her heart. Christobal said nothing, but lifted the cup of tea carefully and brought it to his mouth. He did not even take a sip before throwing the cup aside with a grunt, the liquid within hissed and smoked as it struck the carpet, and as he looked, the curious golden eyes showed a glint of sorrow. “Poisoned, by the smell of it….easy as taking a sip,” he said, turning to face the distraught cook, who had collapsed against the doorframe and seemed to be on the verge of fainting. “A fast-acting and completely lethal kind, I am afraid.” He crossed the room once more and handed Marcy a small crystal bottle of smelling salts, which she seized, uncorked, and inhaled deeply all in one motion. “She did not suffer much, for what it is worth,” said Christobal kindly, removing a crisp white square of cloth from inside his coat as Marcy’s breathing settled and she wiped the tears from her cheeks with his proffered handkerchief. “It does not comfort me, I must admit…” she hiccupped and a few more tears spilled from her lashes as she returned the handkerchief and bottle of salts, which Christobal tucked away into his jacket. “She was a good woman, a loving mother...I don’t care what anyone says. The poor children, what will they do? What do WE do?” At this, Christobal shook his head. “I will notify Mr. Mays, you must keep the children in their rooms, but do not lie to them about what has happened. They deserve to know that their mother has been taken- and taken unfairly. Do not let them see her, answer their questions honestly, and feed them as many sweets as they will accept through their pain. The baby of course will sleep through it all.” He cleared his throat as he readied himself for the coming storms, and met Marcy’s swollen eyes encouragingly. “We’ll soon get to the bottom of this, you’ll see. Take heart, and keep your cheeks dry for the children’s sake.”

Inverness, Scotland, May 1896

Far to the east of this tragic scene, another woman sat in a plush armchair with her hand curled around a teacup- only this woman was very much alive, and her teacup was full of single-malt whiskey. Evangeline Robin was the sort of woman that did not have very many friends, even though she was perfectly pleasant, nice to look at, and smart, and possessed most all of the endearing qualities a person should have. But most people believed she was TOO smart, too intuitive and definitely stranger than a woman should be. Her long red curls tumbled loosely down her back, bright brown eyes shone intelligently from their sockets, and her pale, pointed face left no doubt that this woman was native to Scotland. Her hands were terribly dirty and her long toes curled into the rug beneath her with relish, she had just come in from the garden and was enjoying a midafternoon pick-me-up. Before her sat an enormous black deerhound named Velvet, who was gnawing at a strip of an old boot and shedding his winter coat all over the rug. Evey (as her remaining relatives fondly called her) was perfectly happy as she soaked up the warm late spring sun and allowed the whiskey to pleasantly dull her senses. All around her nestled in mahogany bookshelves stood her book collection, fine specimens all, with sturdy spines and carefully bound covers in every color and texture. She had personally collected them from cities all over Europe, and had had many shipped to her from the Americas and the Orient. Books were her children, her pride and joy, and most of her money went into the pursuit of collecting and restoring them. Her second love was plants, flowers in particular, and her garden was a thing of beauty, awash in tiny buds and bright green shoots as the spring rains brought them up. Dust filtered through the sunbeams penetrating her red winter curtains, and as she stifled a sneeze, Evey made mental note to change them out during her spring cleaning spree next week. All in all, her life was still, orderly, and quiet, just as she liked it. An inheritance from her late parents had bought the house and provided a startup for her various businesses and hobbies, and she lived as minimally as possible, selling flowers and seeds during the busy season. Evey also fancied herself as the local detective, assisting her neighbors in finding their missing children, pets, or money as was most often the case. Sometimes she was paid in coin, others in exotic spirits or rare books, any form of remuneration was acceptable to her- she enjoyed exercising her body and brain as well as helping others. But today there were no cases for her attention, her bookshelves had just been dusted and the garden had been tended sufficiently- and it was only just after one o’ clock. Evey heaved a contented sigh and reached for one of her books, and Velvet stretched out at her feet. She seized the obvious opportunity with zest, burying her toes into his shaggy fur, which he tolerated with good grace. After a few moments, however, she found herself surprisingly motivated and unable to focus on the page. Time for a change of pace, she thought, though the prospect of disturbing Velvet’s sleep was a factor. She stood up quietly, but swiftly, and the dog was unphased, his ear twitching briefly as she stepped over him and exited the library. Her spirit of lazy contentment had certainly deserted her now and she walked briskly down the main hallway of her small and sparsely decorated home, until she reached a smallish door set into the right side of the wall. It was adorned with an elaborate brass handle and indeterminable markings decorated its face and hinges; the keyhole was rather large and located just above the handle. From a chain around her neck, Evey extracted an appropriately sized key that was outlandishly swirly and fashioned from the same brass as the door handle and inserted it into the keyhole. She gave it a sharp turn to the right and the sound of gears grinding was faintly audible as the lock withdrew slowly into itself. The door swung open on its own smoothly and she stepped inside, expediting the door’s elaborate self conducting mechanism with a nudge of her bare foot. Once again she was surrounded by mahogany shelves, but these were lined with purple velvet, and a glittering hoard of jewels, weapons, and elegant combat gear rested upon them. This was the true culmination of her family’s legacy; she had only needed to sell a few items to secure her financial future, leaving the rest of the treasures in her careful possession. She often joked with herself that she may have been a dragon in a previous life, with her jewels and rare books and solitary dwelling, her lifelong pursuit of knowledge and general distaste for humans. She admired a box of gemstone hair pins for a moment, then turned to the west side of the room where the weapons and armor lay. She selected a black sleeveless cotton shirt and a tunic of light chainmail made of pure silver, more decorative than practical, but she was only training and the sparkle of it as she moved was a small treat for herself. Evey draped the shirts over her arm and reached for a set of black linen breeches embroidered in silver thread, sturdy silver slippers and a black leather belt to go over the tunic. She kept no mirrors in the “war room” as she liked to call the back half of her treasure annex, just a wooden exercise barre against one wall, some straw stuffed dummies arranged in a circle in the center of the room and a weighted bag suspended from the ceiling on a thick chain. She dressed quickly and selected her weapons. A half-dozen ivory handled throwing knives went into her belt, then a curious pair of heavy iron-plated and cotton lined fingerless gloves adorned her hands, followed by a set of studded steel greaves fixed around her shins, and finally a short sword slung horizontally across the small of her back completed her arsenal. Evey lifted another unique item from the shelves; a thick blue cloak with heavy weights cleverly sewn into the shoulders and hem, and fastened it with a jeweled pin at her collarbone. The weight of it enveloped her body like an embrace and she felt a surge of energy course through her limbs. She entered the circle of straw dummies and stood still for a full minute, focusing on her breathing and gathering awareness of her surroundings into her consciousness. She stretched then, holding each pose for as long as she could and then relaxing, breathing some more, and arching into the next pose. The weighted cloak made this ordinary warmup twice as taxing as it would have normally been, and she was pleased to feel her body protesting with the familiar burn of an effective muscle building technique. Then, quick as lightning, she turned to the first of the dummies on her left and pummeled it with a quick series of punches, the iron knuckles of her gloves biting the straw and splintering it. The dummy swung backwards and then abruptly forwards on its stand, causing Evey to dodge smoothly sideways, and she met the dummy’s forward momentum with a devastating kick aided by her greaves. Her legs flew straight and strong as she kicked the dummy back and forth again and again, sometimes using her feet, sometimes using her shins. She switched back to fists and forearms, punishing the dummy mercilessly, circling it and calculating its back-and-forth swing for maximum impact. As she built up speed, the short sword flashed from its sheath and delivered two deep cuts into the torso of the dummy, then was put away as quickly as it came out. She combined her arms, legs, and sword in various combinations of punches, kicks and slashes until her breathing became labored and she knew it was time to rest. Her finale was target practice, and red-faced, Evey whipped the knives from her belt in succession, turning in a circle and throwing hard at each dummy. The clatter of steel on the floor notified her that she had missed twice, but the satisfying thump of blade meeting straw the remaining four times softened the sting of her errors. Shoulders heaving like a running bull, she lowered herself cross-legged onto the floor and with concentrated effort, released the clasp of her weighted cloak. It melted from her shoulders and she nearly gasped at the difference her body felt when it was gone. She was able to stand up quickly and though she was covered in sweat and her hair tangled into hideous knots, she was pleased with her progress. When she had started using the weighted cloak, her training had been slow, painful, and she had been unable to use the greaves at all because her balance was askew. Today, she had succeeded in reaching her goal of utilizing all her limbs at roughly the same speed, even while wearing the greaves, gloves and cloak. Evey dragged herself to the small washroom across the hallway outside and cleaned up, then, sliding into a clean robe, she sealed the treasure annex door with the key around her neck. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in an unnerving wave of alarm, then Velvet began to growl from the library. She moved for the heavy oak door that served as her main entrance to the house, and the outside bell rang simultaneously, thundering through the house and scaring Velvet into silence. “I hate that door bell!” She mumbled through gritted teeth, and, seizing the door handle a little too aggressively, flung it open. Christobal, mud spattered and exhausted from a hard night’s ride, stood still as stone on the stoop, and Evey groaned, another debt collector perhaps? Or a manservant delivering a message from one of the overstuffed bachelors in town? “Good afternoon,” she said with a tight smile, trying to remain calm. Christobal responded in kind, a bemused expression on his face as he inclined his torso briefly and said, “Good afternoon Miss Robin, if I’m not mistaken? Is this….a bad time?” he gestured vaguely at her unkempt appearance and Evey suddenly became hyperaware of her dressing gown and wet hair, and how none of it was acceptable as a uniform for conducting lengthy conversation. “Is it terribly important?” she replied, and Christobal nodded gravely. Eveys eyes narrowed as she tried to interpret his response, his entire unexpected appearance was unsettling and now it seemed he had things to say that could not be said in public-she could smell a case brewing. “Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the library, Mr….?” Golden eyes crinkled as he responded, “you may call me Christobal. I come with an urgent request on behalf of Hugh Mays and his family.” Immediately intrigued, Evey left the door open and strode quickly up a flight of stairs to her closet, throwing her arm out to the right and shouting, “library’s right there!” Christobal stepped over the threshold and followed the direction she had indicated, coming to a fast halt when Velvet, now recovered from his traumatic door bell experience, raised his mighty head and emitted a brief woof of surprise.

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opinionatedmama · 9 years

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I wrote a thing-rough draft-would appreciate a peer review!

Preface:

I realize that this story is absolutely full of run-on sentences and incorrect punctuation- it is an editors nightmare. I am a notoriously long-winded author and speaker, but I am very proud of it and wanted to get some real-life feedback! please don't hesitate to sound off!

Colorado, Earth, 2111 AD

Night rolled over the mountains like a sheet of marzipan, the stars winking merrily as they appeared in the sky above. The air was thick, almost soupy and as the wooden door swung outward, I was seized with a sudden urge to take a shower. I stepped out into the gathering darkness, shivering as I drew my arms around me in an effort to ward off the cold. My eyes drifted upward, as they always did when I was outside, and I studied the constellations for a moment, focusing my mind on their beauty. I was quite distracted when the hovercraft landed almost completely silently on the lawn next to me, the pulses of its magnetic thruster system flattening the grass in four small circles as it floated gently to a halt. It was obviously a two-person transport, made of light metal and devoid of any recognizable markings. A square sheet of glass set into the front of it revealed a pilot inside at the controls, their face obscured by a green helmet. With a quiet pff, the doors opened and the pilot stepped out. Short of stature and wispy as a dandelion, it approached me with a heavily gloved hand outstretched. I looked back into the house behind me, where my dog lay curled on a rug by the fireplace in my living room. My home was a tiny shack set into a mountain- solitude in the extreme. How had anyone found me here, much less been able to navigate a hovercraft through the forest around my property? I faced the tiny pilot again and blinked in surprise- it had removed its helmet, revealing the smooth face of a woman, features as delicate as her frame. Fine, curly hair the color of mist tumbled over her shoulders and clung to her forehead, a side effect of the humidity. Her eyes alone showed strength, a bright, resolute hazel with warmth pooled in the corners. My first thought was that she might be a fairy, but as she gripped my hand and shook it briefly, but with great confidence, I thought again. Her age was indeterminate, possibly middle-aged but I would not have been surprised if she was in her mid-twenties. She dropped her arm and spoke in an airy voice. “Good evening Miss Trader,” her head bobbed toward me and I returned the gesture, unsmiling. Behind me, my dog, a faithful Husky named Bowie rose from the rug by the hearth and trotted to my side, fixing the stranger with his curious eyes- one brown, one ice blue as though he had been kissed by winter. “Dreadful night, isn’t it?” she continued, waving her hand at the general atmosphere. I nodded but remained closed, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. From my knee, Bowie growled once, then settled into a relaxed position at my feet. I knew then that I could trust this woman. “Silly me, I am sure you’re wondering why I’m here, aren’t you?” the woman cradled her helmet against her hip and used her other hand to withdraw a slip of paper from a pouch hanging from her belt. “Holly Wiltshire, at your service.” She handed me a business card. I slid it into my shirt pocket without glancing at it and decided small talk was over. “What do you need, Holly Wiltshire?” I said, more harshly than I intended. It’s not that I hate people, I just moved into a shack built into the side of a mountain for a reason. I can’t be trusted around them. “Why not?” Holly asked, making me jump out of my skin. “I beg your pardon?” I spluttered, and Bowie pricked his ears in annoyance at my start. “Why can’t you be trusted around people?” she pressed. I narrowed my eyes at her. “And why can you read my mind?” Holly grinned and tapped her helmet affectionately. “Good thing about being from a different planet- we get cool powers and can breathe in space. Plus sweet headgear.” I exhaled sharply. “Alright, I’ve had enough of this mucking about. Tell me why you are here. And how you got here. How do you know who I am and where I live?” I was angry that time, and Bowie bristled as I shifted towards Holly Wiltshire. She raised her hands in a pacifying gesture. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to offend. I can’t help it when the thoughts are too strong, they just sort of bounce into my head,” Holly said carefully. “Anyway, I am here to collect you. You’re wanted by some friends of mine.” Alarm bells went off in my head, clanging like a fire engine. “Wanted? What do you mean?”

Holly smiled. “Oh, not wanted wanted. I mean more like, my friends request your presence and your assistance in an urgent matter.” Bowie relaxed, and so did I. “Oh, well that’s not so bad then,” I conceded. “….but why?” Holly extended her arm towards the hovercraft. “If you will enter my vehicle I will take you to them in a matter of moments and all your questions will be answered.” I looked down at my dog. “Can I bring him with me?” Holly looked at Bowie regretfully, and her hands twitched as though she was dying to bury them in his snow-white and grey fur. At this, I smiled and my shoulders relaxed. Anyone who could barely control themselves around a fluffy, gorgeous dog was obviously a good person. Holly looked conflicted, but then she gave an exasperated sigh and said “alright, just come on!” She turned away huffily and strode toward the craft, replacing her helmet as she went. I looked down at Bowie and he gave a perfunctory whine of anticipation, then loped off behind Holly. “So that’s how it is then, eh?” I said wistfully. “Ah, well. Nothing left to do but enter a strange hovering spacecraft with an albino midget and my dog. Destination unknown. What the hell?” And I broke into a jog to catch up.

New London, 2111

The headquarters of The New London Society for the Preservation and Well-Being of Humanity in General, or the N.L.S.P.W.B.H.G, was a dilapidated old building overlooking the Thames, which was little more than a dry creekbed now. Times change, and they change quickly sometimes. As I stepped from Holly Wiltshire’s hovercraft, my eyes welled with tears as I surveyed my childhood home. London has never been a particularly clean or shining place but every stone of every building, every parking meter, every windowpane and café umbrella held memories. It was all gone now. Shop windows replaced by makeshift bunkers, street lamps broken, whole buildings collapsed and stripped of their usable materials. It was like stepping into a warzone. In fact, it was a warzone. Everywhere I looked, I saw guns. Shiny black riot gear, scared faces and the rolling tires of military vehicles. Holly broke me from my reverie by gesturing urgently to me, and I was surprised to see Bowie standing at her side, tongue lolling. I realized for the first time that it was hot, unseasonably so for the middle of November. Humidity in the mountains of Colorado…summer heat in London’s November…climate change? Or something else? I feared the latter, and a sinister prickle crept up my neck that had nothing to do with the warmth. I followed Holly into the N.L.S.P.W.B.H.G. headquarters building, and down a long corridor lined with offices on either side, each door labeled with a smart, shiny green sign bearing the name, function and rank of the occupant. At the end of the corridor Holly and Bowie turned right, heading towards a set of elaborately detailed green lift doors which immediately dazzled and terrified me. Holly leapt forward and pressed the button marked with an upward facing arrow and the doors slid open with a metallic creak. She stepped inside and Bowie followed suit, cocking his head at me as he rested back on his haunches as if to say; “aren’t you coming?” I sighed heavily and entered. We shot upwards at a surprising speed, swaying slightly as the lift picked up velocity. I shut my eyes tight waiting for the crash, but it never came. Instead a cool female voice announced; “Top Floor. Welcome honored guests.” Holly scowled and exited the lift. This time Bowie stayed at my side as we walked and I felt a surge of gratitude. This corridor was vastly different from the ones below, all green marble with intricate gold spirals and characters wending their way over the floor and across the walls. The doors were made of glass with nameplates etched in, and there were beautiful paintings and potted plants in every office. I was thoroughly impressed, and as Holly led us into an office situated at the very leftmost corner of the corridor, I saw something that surprised me more than anything had that day. It was a circular room with a large table in the middle, surrounded by chairs and boasting a centerpiece of the most exquisite candles I had ever seen in my life. There were eight chairs in total and three of them were already occupied. The first person I saw was a tall, thin man with brown hair and eyes, unremarkable and sitting in his chair as though bound for execution. A tightwad, I surmised, and let my eyes find the next person. This one was female, blonde of hair and light in complexion, with rosy cheeks and cherubic eyes bluer than any I had ever seen. Seated next to her was another female, vertically gifted and built like a warrior queen with thick black hair pulled into an exquisite ponytail tied off with a jade ring, complementing her green almond shaped eyes perfectly. They were all dressed in green jumpsuits with nametags embroidered in gold thread over their left breast. The thin man was “Foxe”, angel girl was “Ransom”, and warrior queen was “Hobbes”. Holly reached into a bin next to the door and withdrew a green jumpsuit with the name “Trader” stitched in gold thread over the left breast. She handed it to me and gestured to another door in the back of the room. “Here is your uniform. Changing room is there, deposit your clothes in the chute and leave all personal effects on the table. They will be returned to you upon your departure.” I eyed Holly skeptically. “What’s gone wrong with you?” I asked. “You were so cheerful before. Now you’re like a robot.” Holly smiled and I saw the woman I had met lingering in the corners of her lips. “Protocol around here, Miss Trader. I have to act like a normal human and not an alien with telepathic powers. I guess I overcompensate with the silence and the fast walking but I’m anxious to get you settled in so I can go collect the remaining participant.”

“Remaining participant? What on earth?” I felt Bowie nudge my leg and looked down, rubbing his head briefly before looking back up but Holly was gone. Bowie nudged me again, almost pushing me off balance and I stumbled towards the dressing room, feeling the eyes of the other occupants on me keenly. Once inside I undressed quickly, stepped into the jumpsuit and zipped it up to my chin. I removed my earrings, both rings and my favorite watch and laid them on the plain grey table, then threw my clothes unceremoniously into the chute set into the wall. It burped and a red light flashed over it as the chute said; “Thank you for your deposit. All clothing will be donated to the Children and Battered Women’s Home of New London.”

“Now, hang on! I haven’t given any permission to anyone to donate my clothes anywhere!” I shrieked as my clothes were swallowed. “I loved that sweater…” I complained as I picked up a pair of black military issue boots from beneath the table and laced them on. They were surprisingly comfortable and the jumpsuit fit me like a glove, almost as though someone had known my measurements….again the ominous tingle crept up my back but I shoved it down and exited the room, sweeping my long auburn hair into a plait over one shoulder as I walked. I was greeted by another new face, a man with dark brown hair and eyes that seemed to change color as he moved, and a jawline that could open bottle tops. He was tall and well-built with a rangy sort of grace to his walk, though I could see tension under the careful arrangement of his face. His jumpsuit read “McCloud” and his gaze settled on me as I found an empty seat away from the others, Bowie settling himself at my feet. The Amazon woman named Hobbes leaned over to Ransom and whispered something in her ear; both their heads swiveled towards me and they giggled nastily, like high school girls at lunch. Foxe the tightwad man made no motion or sound, but his eyes followed Bowie as we sat down. I took stock of the situation. Five green jumpsuits: Foxe, Ransom, Hobbes, McCloud and Trader. Eight seats and a lovely centrepiece. Three more people were as yet unannounced and as I sat awkwardly rubbing Bowie’s ears, I wondered who these people were and why we had all been called here so suddenly. My question was answered not ten minutes later when two figures appeared in the doorway, a male and female, identical in appearance other than their gender. Their jumpsuits were gold with black lettering reading “Finch” and “Finch”. Their hair was ginger, and close-cropped, accentuating their severe eyebrows and hawklike features, prominent chins and pointed noses. I blinked in discomfort at their appearance, then chastised myself for casting judgement so quickly. Often the most odd looking people are the very best and brightest, and so I contented myself to wait for them to enter, take their seats and begin speaking. Female Finch began the dialogue, speaking in a crisp English accent that carried to all corners of the room. “Good afternoon,” she began. Her twin spoke next. “We are Augustus and Evaline Finch, commanding officers of this, the New London Society for the Preservation and Well-Being of Humanity in General.” Hobbes chimed in. “Where did you come up with that ridiculous name, that’s what I’d like to know!” Next to her, Ransom tittered sycophantically and nodded her head in agreement. Evaline Finch fixed the women with a withering glare and they sank back into their seats. “Brevity is not permitted at such a time as this,” she snapped, “our name is a compilation of our sincerest desires to help and care for any and all who need it. We are not government sanctioned, per se, but we consider ourselves an army of our own.” Augustus tilted his head in concurrence and carried on the narrative. “Our job is to seek out threats of global magnitude and summarily end them if at all possible. You are all wondering why you have been summoned, I presume?” As one, mine and four other heads nodded. Evaline smiled thinly, pulling from a drawer beneath the table a plain manila envelope, which she slit with one long fingernail and removed a sheaf of papers. She handed a few of them to McCloud, he took one and passed the remaining papers to me. Our fingers brushed as he did so and I gave a little start as a shock ran up my arm. Not the kind of shock you get when you meet your soulmate. The kind of shock you get from being electrocuted briefly by the end of a battery. McCloud withdrew his hand, his strange eyes flashing with annoyance for a moment and he looked pointedly at his paper, a blush creeping up his neck. I took my sheet of paper and slid the last one across the table to Ransom, who took it quietly, meeting my eyes and smiling. I smiled back and was distracted as Augustus Finch pulled a projector screen from the ceiling, it unrolled with a noisy squeak and Hobbes laughed under her breath. I flashed a glare at her. Nothing wrong with old technology, I tried to communicate. Unhackable. Usually doesn’t break. Reliable and familiar. Augustus fiddled a dial set into the tabletop and it whirred briefly before it spat a beam of white light that quickly took form as a video displayed onto the screen. The video showed an idyllic valley, green and lush with a river running through it and a small town on its banks. It played for a few seconds unchanged, just the valley and the village sitting in peace. Then something horrible happened. A spot of sunlight appeared over the village, dim at first, about two miles in diameter. Then the screaming started. People poured from their homes like ants at a picnic as the circle grew brighter, whiter and hotter. Steam began to rise from the roofs of the houses and the tops of trees. The river began to shrink and the screaming grew louder. Bodies collapsed and began to convulse as the skin sloughed from their bones and turned black. Soon the whiteness engulfed everything, and the screaming stopped. It seared the screen and I shaded my eyes with one hand, just the image of it was hard to look at without eyes watering. After a moment the white faded and we saw the remains of whatever had been in that two mile diameter circle of sunlight. Nothing, save a burnt, black circle of ash. Evaline switched off the projector and I heard the unmistakable sound of vomit hitting a pail. I turned to see who was heaving and was met with surprise as Hobbes’ head rose from under the table, green and mottled with sick. Ransom was weeping silently, her beautiful blue eyes full of horror and sadness. Foxe stared silently at the black patch on the screen and McCloud cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair while passing a hand over his eyes. I raised a hand to my cheek and found wetness there. “What…what was it?” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. “Those,” Evaline responded, “are what we call Sunspots. We don’t know where they come from but they started appearing about two weeks ago.” Augustus held up his sheet of paper- a list of co-ordinates and dates. “November first, a Sunspot obliterated a vineyard in the South of France. November second, a town called Spartanville in South Carolina. And one Sunspot has appeared every day since. There is no discernable pattern and no timing, save that it happens once per day in random locations all around the globe.” Hobbes scoffed, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “So why haven’t we heard about it then?” She challenged. Evaline fixed her with another glare and answered. “I am surprised you haven’t. You must be extraordinarily ignorant for a human.” Hobbes frowned and grew silent. Foxe, Ransom and McCloud however nodded in solemn agreement. “I saw a bit about it on the telly,” Ransom whispered, “but I didn’t think anything of it, did I? Just believed my dad when he said it was a hoax. Sunlight acting on its own? Burning up random patches?” Foxe held up his hand, long fingered and unnaturally pale. “I saw it happen, five days ago, over the Pacific. A whole circle of water, vaporized and filled in immediately. The residual steam still lingered for hours….” McCloud said nothing but continued to nod. Augustus tapped the paper in his hand. “We have no clue what is causing it, or where it comes from. But we do know that it seems to be an intelligently designed phenomenon, and that it originates from a point beyond the atmosphere. So far the only human casualties have been the town of Spartanville and a local park that was host to a children’s birthday party on November the ninth. It stands to reason that one may not have heard of this yet as it seems to be targeting unpopulated areas largely.”

“But people have died. Children.” I said, my voice cracking. Augustus looked at me and nodded. “Aye, people have died. And we fear that many more will die before this is over.” I shivered. “So what has this got to do with us?” Foxe asked in his sibilant voice. Evalina smiled grimly. “You five have been brought here because each of you possesses, deep within your subconscious, a letter and a number that are part of a code.” She extended her arm to a figure waiting outside the door and Holly Wiltshire entered the room carrying a black briefcase. She took the eighth chair and set the briefcase gingerly in front of her, her hands trembling. As she released both latches, I leaned away instinctively as the lid of the briefcase swung slowly upward. I guessed that she had never seen the contents before, and judging from the looks on both Finches’ faces, they hadn’t either. Holly’s eyebrows knitted as she turned the case around and all seven of us craned our necks to see within. Lying on a bed of rich green velvet was a thick square stone, black as night and studded with as many stars. The stone trembled of its own accord and a small oval appeared on its surface. An oval about the size and shape of a

“Fingerprint,” McCloud breathed, leaning in to get a closer look. His eyes shone with something unintelligible, and they flickered from a cool blue to a deep violet as they raced back and forth across the surface of the stone. Evalina and Augustus remained silent as Foxe, Hobbes and Ransom took a turn inspecting the stone. None of them touched it, just looked with disbelief and confusion lining their faces. When my turn came round, I felt that irrepressible urge to touch something that probably shouldn’t be touched, and I laid my index finger on the oval without a word. Several gasps and an oath from my compatriots followed as I lurched back from the stone and it spun into the air, twirling so fast it became a blur of black and silver. Then as suddenly as it had risen, it fell back into the case and a holographic image slowly filtered out from it. It was the image of a man, wizened in age with a nimbus of dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Holly pressed her hand to her mouth as it spoke.

“Code fragment A-T7 found.”

The image was sucked back into the stone and the fingerprint scanner remained, but this time there were the characters “A-T7” etched into the upper left corner. I quirked an eyebrow. “That was interesting. Who was that man?” Augustus waved a hand at the stone. “Dr. Lyle. The founder of our esteemed organization and the inventor of many incredible things- including this odd stone and the time machine we keep locked in the back.”

“Time machine?” Ransom spluttered incredulously.

Foxe steepled his hands. “You’ve got a time machine in your office building. Why is it not being used?”

Evalina sighed. “It doesn’t work. It’s completely inoperational without a ten character code, the first two of which have been provided by Miss Trader here. Collecting the rest is why we gathered you five here.”

“But how did you know we knew these letters and numbers?” Hobbes asked, crossing her arms and fixing the stone with a wary stare. Augustus withdrew an envelope from inside his coat and held it up. “Dr. Lyle left special instructions in this envelope shortly before he died in 2106. We were not to open it until the year 2110. So we opened it last year and imagine our surprise when we found…”

He tossed the envelope on the table and McCloud seized it, those curious eyes whizzing over the page as though possessed.

“Our names and addresses,” he said at last, handing the paper to me. Sure enough, the names G. Foxe, A. Trader, P. Ransom and L. Hobbes were listed, with a current known address next to them. “But McCloud…your name, it’s not here.” I said, tapping the paper. McCloud turned to face me and for the first time, I looked into his face straight on. It was smooth, clear, free of any blemish or scar or wrinkle, but he had to have been the same age as myself and the others, or close to it. His eyes had a plastic look to them, the color in the iris moving slowly, swirling in on itself infinitely. His mouth twisted into a smile and he extended his right arm. On the top of his wrist, a tattoo bearing the letters “J-M8” blared against the unnatural clarity of his skin. “I was born knowing my purpose,” he said. “Dr. Lyle created me for this mission especially.”

“Mission? Created? You mean….you’re not human?” Foxe asked, eyes wide with wonder, and something else-disgust. McCloud gazed at him coolly, then tapped the side of his nose with a long, pale finger. That’s for me to know and you to find out. Foxe stared at McCloud for a moment, then shuddered and turned away. “Yes, well,” Evalina Finch said, clearing her throat loudly. “A mission is hardly the term for it. More like a wild goose chase of a quest bestowed upon you lucky five by Dr. Lyle himself. It appears the good Doctor had knowledge of the future…the past…and the present. An odd man indeed.” Augustus picked up her thread of thought and continued; “And until we have the rest of the numbers and letters, our knowledge of this situation is now equal to yours.”

“Except one thing,” Evalina interrupted. “The Luminarians.” I felt a nudge on my ankle from below my chair and nearly shrieked, looking down quickly. Bowie glared at me patronizingly, then tilted his head as if to say; “What did she mean by that?” Or possibly; “I haven’t eaten in thirteen hours, mate. Go ahead though, I’ll sit here and die slowly.” I patted his head sympathetically and he licked my palm as an acceptance of fate. “Ah yes, the Luminarians,” Augustus was saying as my attention returned to the conversation at hand. “A secret society dedicated to who knows what, but evidently Dr. Lyle was a part of it some years ago, which is why he left all these cryptic notes and unfinished time machines and well…” he waved his hand at McCloud who smiled back courteously. “We believe that Dr. Lyle may have attempted to leave the group, but was hunted for it all the rest of his curiously long life.”

“Curiously long? Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because the Luminarians nefarious society was formed in 1851, and Dr. Lyle was a founding member,” Evalina replied. “Blimey,” muttered Hobbes. “Can’t imagine being that old. How did he do it?” Augustus and Evalina shrugged in unison. “We have never known. We suspect a great deal of things about Dr. Lyle but nothing has been confirmed or even close to such an end..…until now,”Augustus said. “Now, we can activate the time machine and use it to unravel the mystery.” An unspoken ripple of agreement went through the room and one by one, the five of us laid our fingers on the black box. As it had with my fingerprint, the box glowed briefly with the letter-number combination of the fragment of code of Hobbes, Ransom, and Foxe in turn. When it came round to McCloud he merely smirked and tapped the surface of the box twice. Instantly, a tiny QWERTY keyboard appeared and he typed in the characters tattooed on his arm. As he finished a rumble shook the building and several shouts of alarm echoed down the halls. Footsteps pounded past the conference room door and as one we leapt to our feet racing to the source of the noise, Bowie padding along swiftly in the throng. We thundered up two flights of stairs and entered a room empty save for a cylinder nestled in one corner hooked up to a thousand wires and blinking lights. Holly Wiltshire and about a dozen other white-coated officials were gathered round the time machine as it beeped steadily, arguing and jostling about trying to get a closer look. Augustus strode right into the middle of them and brandished his arms threateningly at the scientists, who dispersed with much muttering and scratching of notes. Only Holly remained, her face still carrying that odd look of terror she had worn in the conference room. What was she so afraid of? Questions began to spin in my mind. Why were we five specifically ordained to be here in this exact moment, this exact time, and who chose us? Who was Dr.Lyle? What was the quest we had been told of? I began to suspect that the center of this piece of the larger mystery lay with McCloud and resolved to speak privately with him as soon as able. Augustus and Holly conferred quietly for a moment and then Holly spoke. “Our researchers have concluded that the time machine is now operational,” she squeaked and Foxe leaned in towards her, jamming a finger into his ear to better hear. “What’s that now?” he asked, “speak up, lassie.” Holly’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates but she carried on. “It appears there is a message for the five of you from Dr. Lyle himself stored in the machine’s holo-display. Would you like to hear it?” Seven heads nodded and Holly pressed a small red button on the time machine’s keyboard. Another hologram, exactly like the miniature one we had seen from the cube slowly pixelated into full resolution in front of us- a wrinkled raisin of a man with a cottony mane and gnarled fingers. As I took in the full picture of him, I saw more that I hadn’t been able to see last time. His eyes, bluer than blue, were deeply lined of course, but haunted as well. His back, though bent with age, seemed strong, he stood on his own and his arms moved with surety that defied his supposed years. He spoke with the voice of a much younger man.

“Good afternoon,” the hologram Dr.Lyle began. Hobbes leaned towards Ransom and whispered; “how does he know its afternoon here?” I stifled a chuckle and continued to listen. “You are all doubtless filled with questions-questions that will be answered right now. I am Doctor James Lyle and this is my true and honest account of the events surrounding my expulsion from the cult known as the Luminarians, my construction of the time displacement vortex you see before you, and the conception of my greatest work- my son, James McCloud.” All eyes turned to the aforementioned but he merely closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. Holly, I noticed, looked stricken and her shoulders sagged. I made a mental note to speak with her as well. Dr. Lyle continued on. “Two hundred and sixty years ago, I, along with five other men and women, founded a secret society dedicated to one thing- progress. You see, we were young. And foolish. So very foolish. We believed we were special-called to a divine task. But I must begin from the start, as it were. I was born in London in 1833, just four years before the young Queen Victoria took her place on the throne and helped to usher in an age of unbelievable growth, industrialization, and prosperity. I grew up in this, the advent of the pax Brittanica. I watched my country enjoy total domination of the world around it, gasped as the commode flushed for the first time, marveled at the steam engine and the freaks of the circus now made beautiful by the romanticism of the era. And I drank the best tea I have ever had.” We chuckled at this and the atmosphere grew light- here was a man with some humour- a SCIENTIST with humour no less. “But in order to truly understand my life, we must go back even further. I estimate the date to be roughly 3180 BC, in a little string of islands that are now known as Orkney in Scotland. There is a famous set of ruins there on the coast of one of these islands, named Skara Brae. It was inhabited for some six hundred years from its establishment in 3180….until something drove the villagers away, around the year 2500 BC. Some say it was a great sandstorm, which would attribute to the well-preserved state of the ruins, but others believe the village had been abandoned long since and buried slowly over the years. But I know the truth. I know what happened in that village all those years ago. It was the Lums.” The image of Lyle fizzed briefly then morphed into a black figure, devoid of features or distinctive markings, save two burning purple eyes and stringy, claw-tipped arms. “This is the only image we have of them.” Lyle buzzed back into clarity. “They purposefully landed on Skara Brae sometime during that six hundred years, and merely the sight of them was enough to cause the villagers to flee for their lives.”

“But…what ARE they?” Ransom breathed. Lyle continued as though he had heard her. “The Lums, as we called them, are of course an alien species. They came to our planet for reasons still unknown, even after these many centuries. Myself and my compatriots dedicated our lives to discovering them, studying them, collecting eyewitness accounts and gathering samples from places they had been. We were philosophers, scientists, swept up in the great revolution of Britain, burdened with glorious purpose, for we were certain these creatures were gods who would impart their knowledge of the universe upon us immediately after we found them. But of course, we were wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. Everything begins at the Great Exhibition of 1851, which is where you must go. I built this machine to send you five back to that fateful day, and stop the Lums from carrying out their heinous plan- to succeed where we failed. We witnessed their plan come to fruition, there in the Crystal Palace with stars in our eyes and surrounded by machines that we never thought could exist, and we saw the event as enlightenment-a blessing. How I wish we had known then what we learned later. When we finally realized what we had done- nearing the end of our prolonged lives- we put a plan of our own into motion, one that hinges upon the five of you. Why us though, you may be wondering?” Dr.Lyle paused and with a shaking hand, wiped something from the corners of his eyes. “Because four of you are the great-great-great grandchildren of my closest friends, Margot Ransom, Duncan Hobbes, Jane Foxe, and Arthur Trader.” My heart leapt as I heard my surname repeated and the others displayed similar reactions. “My own son James completes the legacy that I have passed on to you on behalf of your ancestors. Your grandparents and their parents, even your own parents are ignorant of our work, we made sure it was so, but we felt that after a few centuries it would be safe to try again-after the Lums had forgotten us.”

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opinionatedmama · 10 years

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Forgiveness

Last year, my husband and I got married on November 16th. Just four weeks before, my father insisted we wed as soon as possible. He gave no reason why, just told my mother to make it happen. Immediately, my mind was filled with visions of bridesmaids in beautiful purple dresses, my handsome husband in a tuxedo with a plumeria tucked into his lapel. I imagined a small church with stained-glass windows and my white wedding dress swishing down a carpet strewn with yellow rose petals. I dreamed of saying my vows, twining mine and my husband's hands together with a silk scarf in a gesture of devotion as we said our own handwritten vows. I longed to see my guests dance and give speeches, kiss me on the cheek as I departed the church hand in hand with my new husband under a shower of lavender thrown by the guests. But what I actually got was a hideous candlelight dress (no one before this post knows that I hated my wedding dress) that cascaded over my eight-month pregnant belly, further serving to shame me in front of my judgemental family. I had a total of 20 people at my wedding, and some of them left before the ceremony even started. We married under a Coleman camping canopy on a cement slab while my dad's two dogs ran around. Instead of cake, I got two cheesecakes that my mother arrived with nearly two hours late. We had to postpone my whole wedding for her, as she couldn't be bothered to arrive at 5 and instead showed up at 6:30. I didn't have a veil, my bouquet was made of plastic flowers and ribbon haphazardly thrown together. I had one bridesmaid, my best friend Jackie, and it was she who saved my sanity. She put together fruit and vegetable trays, and walked me down the stairs and through the grass to my husband when my father and three brothers refused to do it. Eric's friend Ryan served as best man, and our best friends, DJ Tank and Roo showed up, but spent the majority of the evening talking to each other. Our music was a lone violinist, Jackie's fiance, and though he performed beautifully, it fell short. Our reception was held up on our deck outside of our house, and it rained, was extremely windy, and about 95 degress that day. We had no music, no dancing. Our pictures turned out well enough, but I was completely unsatisfied with my dress and hair, my stepsons looked as handsome as could be in clothes too big for them, and Jackie's friend invited herself along the day of the wedding. My father grilled chicken and hamburgers, and I think my mother made 40 cupcakes, which Jackie and her friend decorated entirely on their own. I had no bachelorette party since I was pregnant, had maybe two friends that would have come, and my husband was gone having a great time at his party, while I sat and talked with Jackie about her recent miscarriage. My heart broke for her and I went to bed sad and emotional. Our vows were textbook words, the pastor repeated the same section of his readings from the Bible twice, and we left to our "honeymoon" amid a shower of heart-shaped sparklers that wouldn't light. We drove to Burger King, where we ate and discussed getting a hotel room, but I couldn't do it. We had left our three boys with Jackie to bathe and put to bed, and I felt horrible, sick and disgusted with the shabby excuse of a wedding day I had so generously been "given" by my family. My husband had made reservations for us to have a romantic dinner at a small Italian place, but we had to cancel them since our wedding started at 6:30 instead of 5. Even his best laid plan had gone to ruin. To this day, I simply block it out and tell those who ask that it was "fine." But when I do think about it, angry tears spill over my cheeks and I wonder why my family couldn't even bother to give me a decent wedding, when six months later they spent five times the 300 it took to pay for my wedding on a brand new house, property, and riding lawn mower. I hold it against my father that he would not walk me down the "aisle" and that he would not allow more than the barest minimum to be spent for my one and only wedding. My mother also shot down many of my ideas, and forced her own onto me. I could have said no, and fought it, but it just wasn't worth it. But she has done that since I was born, and after I learned of her lateness, I simply gave up and smiled to make my husband happy. But inside I was totally shattered, I felt betrayed. Why, why, out of all the times they never showed up for my performances, my recitals, my awards ceremonies, why couldn't they have tried even a little to make my wedding day special? Did they care so little for my new family that they couldn't even bother to show up on time, or even at all? I don't know if I can forgive my parents for this. It was the one thing I really wanted to be done well, it was my big day, I was supposed to be happy. All my life I'd been taught that your wedding is a big f'n deal. But mine was treated like a birthday party, or at best another shitty family get together. I have prayed, sought out help from books and articles, because normally I am extremely quick to forgive the smallest things, but I can't let go of this. I also can't let go of the fact that no one except my mother's parents, my mother, and my father came to see me in the hospital when Marrin was born. Does this make me a bad person?

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opinionatedmama · 10 years

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6-5-14- Why Stepparents need to Step Up

Wrote this as a guest post for ScaryMommy.com and they promptly rejected it, on the grounds that it was not a "list" or "an article related to parenting/motherhood." Needless to say, the folks over there can eat me, because this article is more related to parenting and motherhood than the trash they publish on their "parenting website." However, I do enjoy a good list as much as the next bloke, so I may be posting a few of those once in a while. Without further ado, the article that started it all:

Why Step-Parents Need to Step Up

As I struggled with my five-month old daughter's car seat, blocked the three-year old from sliding down the wooden banister, answered the five-year old's incessant questions with actual cognitive answers, and kissed the six-year old's tired and grumpy face, I recieved a phone call from my husband. After setting the baby down, catching the three-year old mid-leap and dropping my obnoxiously loud-ringing phone eight times, I put it to my ear and heard him say, "hey, have y'all left yet?" I couldn't help but laugh. Seriously, I held the phone away from my face and laughed so hard that the squirming trout covered in vegetable oil in my arms started to laugh too. "Have we left yet? Do I need to answer that?" I gasped in between chuckles. Three boys all under the age of seven, and a five-month old make my life interesting. They challenge me every single day. The thing is, three of those four aren't even mine.

In a world where blended families are as common as traditional ones, it's easy to say that a step-parent really isn't all that special. It's also easy for men and women who become step-parents to forget what their job is. When I met my husband and he told me he had three boys from a previous marriage, my first thought was; "hell yeah, let's do this!" I grew up with four brothers, no sisters, and a borderline absent mother, so if there's one thing I know how to do, it's how to be around and communicate effectively with the male sex. Upon first meeting the boys, they took a shine to me and I to them, and our weekends together were glorious. The first time the middle son called me "Mom" my heart melted right down the front of my expensive cardigan from Forever 21 (and by expensive I mean 20.99.) There is nothing better than hearing a precious little boy voice saying "Mom", and I knew from that moment on that I was going to love these three scamps for the rest of my life. However, even with this well-intentioned commitment to raise them as my own, resentment and doubt began to fester in my heart. I found myself thinking thoughts like; "Why do I even bother? These kids aren't even mine! All the love and dedication I'm pouring in to their lives just runs out the other side as soon as they go back to their mother's." My husband would shoot down ideas that I had for them, undermine me in front of them (not on purpose, of course, and I was just as bad about undermining him) and even though the boys listened to me and respected me as they should, I still couldn't help the overwhelming sense of underappreciation I was feeling. I started to tell myself that as a step-parent, I was basically worthless. Nothing I could do or say was going to impact these kids' lives. The boys would tell us about some rude and unnecessary thing the parental unit at home had said about us, and for a while we responded in the expected fashion- with a comment that was just as rude and unnecessary. So every weekend my husband and I would hear yet another scathing snippet repeated by the boys and it cut me every time. Eventually we learned to just shake our heads and brush it off without offering any response. After that hurdle, we were faced with the death of all blended families. The holidays and birthdays. The happy celebrations I was used to became a competition to see which set of parents could buy the better present, or which parent had the bigger Christmas tree. It was exhausting and I came to dread the next holiday weekend or the next birthday. I would spend an hour or so on home cooked meals only to have them turn their noses up at them because they were being fed cookies, soda and frozen food at their mother's house. All the good habits they would develop with us over the weekend were forgotten by the next time they came to stay. My heart aches to know how poorly they are being taken care of at their second home, and I used to weep because of my inability to change their situation. I folded their clothes, washed their seemingly endless spree of dirty dishes, cleaned up their vomit and runny noses, bandaged their numerous cuts and scrapes, applied ointment to their plethora of ant bites and ringworm, and even now my husband and I still battle over the weekends to rid them of the cough that all three boys have every single time we see them (some days the coughs are not as bad, but they are still present.) It was I who insisted that the youngest, who was almost three and not even thinking about being potty trained, eat with a spoon, and drink out of a cup with no lid. I taught him how to use the toilet, handle a spoon with his meals, and drink properly out of a cup. My husband and I even taught him how to tolerate the water and even swim a little when he would scream at the top of his lungs if we tried to put him in the pool. The other two boys learned to drink from a cup without a lid also, they were educated in how to help me load and unload the dishwasher, hang up laundry outside, and make pancakes (which is incredibly important to a four and five-year old that love pancakes.) And yet the ex-wife and her lap dog took credit for it all. The insane amount of helplessness and unworthiness that I felt began to drive me up the wall, across the ceiling, and into a heated pool of crazy. It haunted my dreams, consumed my precious shower time, even. A lot of my emotions probably stemmed from the fact that I was pregnant with my first child (a girl!) and of course, totally unequipped to suddenly be a mom to three boys. That first year was total hell. I dealt with simultaneously throwing up into the sink and pouring milk for breakfast, back pain and trouble breathing while attempting to potty train a headstrong two year old. I missed out on so much with my first pregnancy because I was stuck taking care of someone else's kids. My husband had no job, and we were living in the kind of town where everyone knows everyone and if you're not one of them, you're an outsider and therefore unworthy of their time. So we had few friends, no money at all and it was the hottest summer I had ever experienced. Add the trials of living with a man for the first time, and you've got a huge ball of "f*ck you I am so done". I was about ready to peace out and move to the Himalayas with both middle fingers in the air. But one day, things got better. We realized that our first excursion into the world of living independently had plummeted from the sky on burning wings like Icarus. And so we moved into a new house closer to my family, who had offered to help. My husband got an excellent job, we purchased a family van, the existance of which I still refuse to acknowledge (the first minivan is essentially the first step to the death of all fun in your life as an adult and I would rather die than live a life without fun. Sometimes I pretend it's a nice SUV and ignore the coating of unknown sticky substances and Avengers toys and clothes scattered around the floor. How does all that shit even end up in here anyway??) And then our beautiful daughter entered the world after thirteen hours of pretty excruciating labor. My eyes were immediately opened. My heart was changed the instant I looked at her little face. I realized that kids are all we have as parents. "Step" or otherwise, your kids are your life. When you have them, your life goes away until they move the hell out. You are required to make sacrifices you never thought you would have to make. Sure, my independence will return as they get older, but they're still mine and they are my responsibilty. I began to look at my stepsons as blessings and not burdens. I have heard the stories of many step-mothers who believe that their job of "step-mom" is totally thankless. That there are no pros to being what we are. But I disagree. Whether your stepkids are total assholes or totally awesome, they're still part of your family. When I married my husband, I married his baggage and his responsibilities too. The point of being married is to support each other, to keep your family afloat, even if you have to build the raft with different kinds of material. After that mini rant you're probably (still) waiting for me to explain why step-parents should step up, and I promise I'm getting there. First, the biggest pro of being a stepmother is that I suddenly recieved three little men that were already done with their night feedings, diaper changings, and assisted bathtimes. Another, lesser known pro of mommyhood ("step" or otherwise) is that damn, there is no greater legacy to leave behind than children. You as a mother have left behind x amount of people that will go on to better the world and change lives and have tiny people of their own! There are too many women out there that are stepmothers and are believing that they will get no thanks or recognition for their effort. Too long have we stepmoms lurked behind the scenes, busting our asses hoisting the scenery, arranging the lights, and making sure the costumes fit properly, and never getting the spotlight or the big bouquet of freakin' roses. And we've been just fine with being pushed to the back burner, because we have given up on finding happiness with the step kids we have been blessed with. We just trudge through the daily routine and when they go to bed at night, we curl up with a glass of wine and wish we hadn't signed up for this without knowing what we were in for. As stepmothers we should stop wallowing or whining or wine-ing and start showing a little strength. Your influence on your step children will affect them in ways that not even they know yet, and if you spend enough time around them, they will for all intents and purposes, be a part of your legacy, your family.

I may not have carried and birthed Christopher, Alexander, and Raylan, but I would lay down my life for them and I want them to have a rich life full of love and good times. Every time I hear their feet coming up the stairs to the house, my heart skips a beat, and I sweep them up into a hug, and it feels fine. Because we're a family now. I have let go of my selfishness and have decided that it's okay to live for someone smaller than me, it's okay to bust my ass and feel unappreciated sometimes, because my life would be dark without their lights.

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