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pengychan · 6 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 8

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices H��ctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[Tag with all chapters up here.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: Ernesto isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. Also, art in this chapter is by Dara.

***

“He said he loves her!”

“That he did.”

With a shout, Miguel jumped up on the chair and threw up his arms. Ernesto and Sofía exchanged a quick, amused glance when he gave a drum-shattering grito of triumph. “I knew it!”

“I think we all did,” Sofía said, but Miguel had his full attention back on Ernesto.

“And you told him to tell her? Did you really?”

“No, I told him to write his confession on a piece of paper, roll it up and stick it up-- agh!” he yelped when Sofía suddenly pinched his side, hard, and immediately pasted a smile on his face. “I mean-- of course I told him to tell her. That’s what I said I’d do, no?”

Miguel jumped from the chair to the table to be at his same eye level, smile impossibly wide. “And he said he would?”

“When the time is right.”

Just like that, Miguel’s face fell. “What?? Oh, no. That means he’s never going to do it. I know him, he just says that when he’s not going to do anything!”

“Oh, I think I will eventually. It’s just that this has better odds to work if done at the right time,” Ernesto reassured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know something of this kind of thing.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow. “You’re a priest,” he quipped, gaining himself an unimpressed glance.

“Not for lack of women willing to throw themselves at me, I assure you,” he said, and pretended not to have heard Sofía’s absolutely fake cough. “Trust me, he’ll just wait for the right moment, and seize it.”

Miguel gave him a long look. “The right moment,” he muttered, then he suddenly gave a bright smile and nodded. “Of course! He just needs the right moment to tell her,” he exclaimed, and jumped off the table, bolting out of the room the next moment. “I need to speak to Óscar and Felipe! Thanks for your help!” he yelled over his shoulder, causing Ernesto to blink at his retreating back.

“You’re... welcome?” he called out after him, and shrugged. “Who are Óscar and Felipe again?”

“Imelda’s brothers.”

“Oh, right.” A pause. “You don’t think they’re going to do something stupid, do you?”

“You know they probably will.”

“As long as they don’t let Héctor know his confession didn’t stay a secret,” Ernesto grumbled. Last thing he needed was useless drama and additional headache.

Sofía shrugged. “I’m sure he won’t. Well, I hope he won’t, but it’s too late to take that back anyway. Now, Padre,” she added, poking his chest, “it’s time for you to get into the confessional.”

“Uugh. Do I have to?”

“Are you or are you not the parish priest?”

No. “All right,” Ernesto grumbled, standing up. Maybe he’d get to hear something interesting and, if not, at least he would keep Padre Juan from holding confession and causing more trouble. Speaking of which… “Where’s the gringo? I haven’t seen him all day. Or yesterday. Or-”

“What, do you miss him?”

Ernesto snorted. “Like I miss lice,” he muttered. That man was such an absolute pain in the ass, it was no wonder his own family had written him off. Ernesto was ready to bet that his conversion to Catholicism - lucky them, huh? - had only been an excuse to finally get him out of their hair. “Doubt even his mother misses him.”

Sofía rolled her eyes. “Careful there. You’re not supposed to know that, I am not supposed to know about Héctor’s confession--”

“And neither of us is supposed to know Miguel caught the gringo smoking in the grove,” Ernesto cut her off, holding back a chuckle. Amazing, how no secret seemed to stay such in that parish. Except for his own, of course. That one had to be protected - whatever the cost.

Unaware of his thoughts, Sofía was shrugging. “No worries, I know when to keep my mouth shut. Didn’t go around telling anyone about that blessing at the Marques household, did I? Unlike a certain someone who went and boasted the second he returned,” she added.

All right, fine,so maybe he shouldn’t have told her that, but it wasn’t every day you went to someone’s house to give a blessing and end up bedding the woman who asked for it while her husband is in the fields.

“Por favor, Padre - my husband and I have been trying for children for years. If you could come bless our bed, I would be so grateful. I don’t know what else to do,” Mónica Marques had implored, her voice trembling, and of course he couldn’t really say no.

He’d picked up the holy water to spray - he supposed a generic blessing for fertility in plain Spanish would do, without Padre Culo Blanco breathing down his neck - and showed up at her place. He’d expected it to be a quick job; he hadn’t expected to turn to the woman to have her say a prayer with him or something, and realize that she’d taken off her shawl. And blouse.

And was halfway out of her gown.

Honestly, some women clearly had a thing for priests and well, he was only flesh. What was a man to do if not accept the offer?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ernesto finally said, shrugging off the memory. “She was asking for a blessing, and I gave one.”

"Padre. What you described sounded just about nothing like a blessing."

"It does when I'm involved."

"As if."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Ernesto frowned. “I’m pretty sure you said something, sister.”

“Well. If I may speak freely--”

“You always do,” he grumbled, only for Sofía to entirely ignore him.

“-- You and I have different opinions on what’s good enough to be considered a blessing.”

“Hey!”

Sofía shrugged. “Told you I’d speak freely. Now go and confess sinners, Padre. Did you at least give her absolution, by the way?”

“Of course!”

“Did you bother to get dressed first?”

“That’s entirely irrelevant,” Ernesto scoffed, but he finally sighed and stood. “Ah, well, back to my duties. Maybe I’ll get to hear something interesting,” he added, but of course he highly doubted anything he may hear would be quite as surprising as the blessing the previous day.

He was so, so wrong.

***

“He loves her!”

“Duh.”

“We already knew.”

“Everyone did.”

“... What are the three of you doing in my shack again?”

Chicharrón’s grumble caused Miguel, Óscar and Felipe to turn to look at him. He was sitting on an old chair, scowling and massaging his stump, peg leg on the floor next to him.

“We’re not in your shack,” Felipe pointed out.

“We’re right outside it,” his brother echoed.

“On the porch. That’s still my property,” Chicharrón snorted, and turned his attention back to Miguel. “Run this by me again. Padre Ernesto told Héctor it may be best if both he and Imelda dropped the vows and got married?”

“Yes. I mean…” Miguel raked his brain for an explanation that did not boil down to ‘if he’s a priest you’re Emiliano Zapata’. “He said that if you’re not sure you want to take the vows you shouldn’t do it, you know?”

“Well, I’ll be. A priest with half a brain,” Cheech muttered, and started pressing fresh tobacco in his old pipe. “Not sure Héctor will ask. The boy turns into a complete chicken in front of Imelda.”

“Bwaaak!”

“Lo siento, Juanita. I didn’t mean you,” Cheech said, entirely ignoring the glance the boys exchanged as he reassuringly patted the rooster’s head. “What I’m saying is, I wouldn’t put money on Héctor telling her a thing, even with Padre Ernesto telling him to.”

Miguel grinned. “He needs to find the right moment, so this is the time to act!” he exclaimed, jumped on the porch before he reached to pull both Óscar and Felipe closer. “We must make the right moment happen!”

Both twins’ face lit up like candles. “Oooh, is it a mission?”

“A secret mission!” Miguel grinned. “To get him to confess! And propose!”

“She’ll say yes!”

“She’s got to!”

“This is the best idea you ever had!”

“This is the recipe for trouble, but at this point anything goes,” Chicharrón muttered, putting the pipe in his mouth. “All reasonable attempts failed, so may as well-- what the-- give it back!”

His yell caused Miguel to blink and turn where Cheech was pointing an accusing finger. A few feet from them, was his peg leg - in the mouth of a scrawny, hairless dog with a furiously wagging tail. “Oooh, a Xolo!”

“A thief, more like! Get it to give me my leg back!” Cheech barked, causing Juanita to squawk - that was odd, he was usually so aggressive but hadn’t made a peep while the dog approached - and the dog to wag its tail even more furiously before he barked through the wooden limb and darted off, away from the cemetery. “AH, PINCHE-- don’t stand there, go get it back!”

“Sí, señor!”

“Right away!”

“You wait here!” Miguel yelled over his shoulder as they ran after the dog, leaving behind a very disgruntled man wondering aloud how roasted Xoloitzcuintli would taste as he lit his pipe and took a long drag.

***

“So he’s a convert - is that all?”

Contrary to popular belief, Héctor could make a very good liar; the fact alone it was contrary to popular belief was testament to that. Still, with Imelda’s gaze on him, Héctor found it very difficult not to squirm. She could read him better than most back when they were kids, on the few occasions when she was allowed to play with an orphan like him, and all of his acting skills seemed to disappear whenever around her.

He hated having to lie to her, but this time, he had to. Father John’s inclination was clearly a source of great turmoil to him, and it could destroy him if word came out. Not that he thought Imelda would go around talking about it, but it was his secret to keep, and… well, it was of no relevance to them, none at all. There was no point in spreading it.

“Yes, that is all - I already told Sofía,” he finally said. “And his family disowned him.”

Something in Imelda’s gaze softened for a moment in a look of pity. It was gone quickly, behind a somewhat guarded expression, but it wasn’t lost to him and oh God, she loved her all the more for those glimpses. He should tell her that, for sure. He had to tell her.

“At worst, she says no and all stays as it is,” Padre Ernesto had said, and Héctor knew he was right… but what he couldn’t admit was that a no would have felt like a knife between his ribs.

Not yet. When the time is right.

“So, that’s what the letter is about?”

“Yes.” That, at least, was not a lie. By itself, the letter could very well have been about the different religious stance or… anything, really. It was only the underlined passage from the Leviticus that had given Héctor the context he needed to understand. “I don’t know why he kept it all this time, but… it’s an entirely personal matter. Nothing to do with us, or what is going on here. You can tell them that we have nothing to fear from him.”

“Except for the usual headache,” Imelda muttered, a half smile on her face. “I can’t pretend I didn’t wish we had an excuse to be rid of him for good, but I wasn’t looking forward to sign his death warrant. Maybe he’ll grow tired and move on,” she added, her tone hopeful. She glanced back at the group of children playing swords with a bunch of sticks, perched on each other’s shoulders like knights on their horse as they had a go at each other in the middle of the church’s courtyard. “At least I never had to deal with him personally. If I had to, I don’t know if I could--”

“Ah, Brother Hector! And… Sister Giselle, is it?”

Héctor cringed inwardly at the expression that crossed Imelda’s face when Father John’s voice rang out. She was able to wipe it away before turning, but she was unable to keep some coldness out of her voice. The sun still shone, but Héctor had the distinct feeling the temperature around them had dropped by several degrees.

“Sister Gisela,” Imelda pointed out, only for Father John to nod absentmindedly and turn his full attention on Héctor, like she were a potted plant rather than a person who had just sharply corrected him. He was even paler than usual, and seemed shaken, fidgeting with his sleeve.

His smile looked forced, and it didn’t take a genius to realize he was trying, and failing, to strike up a conversation to distract himself from whatever bothered him.“I was just passing by, and… well, I observed the children wasting their time on such brutish games, and--”

“Play fighting,” Imelda said, her voice a few degrees colder. “I am certain that is something children have in common everywhere.”

This time, Father John couldn’t ignore her, and turned to her with a rather septic smile. “Children everywhere need guidance,” he conceded. He turned back him. “I had an idea,” he added, and Héctor had to suppress a shudder. “As these unfortunate children can’t read or write--”

“We do teach them, in the orphanage,” Imelda interjected.

“I am certain you do. But I was thinking Brother Hector and I may teach them some Latin, as well as some English. They only speak Spanish, after all,” he added. He said it in a tone that made it obvious he had very little regard for the language, and Héctor could almost picture thunderclouds forming above Imelda’s head when she opened her mouth to speak.

Luckily for all of them, she never got to. “Ruff! Ruff!”

“Hey, come back! Someone stop him!”

“Imelda!”

“Héctor, watch out!”

“Wha--”

He didn’t get to see what hit him. One moment he was standing and the next something had slammed into him, knocking him off his legs and all air out of his lungs; he got an instant to stare up at the sky before the ground rushed up to meet him, and something - someone - landed on top of him. “Oof!”

“Ow…!”

“Sorry, Héctor!”

“Lo siento, hermana!”

“WOOF!”

“I got him! I got him!”

“Come on, give me the leg, give it-- oh, good! Good boy!”

Héctor groaned, lifting himself on his elbows and blinking, trying to regain bearing of his surroundings. He blinked fast, and looked up to find himself staring very closely at Imelda’s face as she grimaced and rubbed her head, the headdress askew to let a few locks of hair fall out.

“Uh,” he managed, realizing very suddenly it was her weight keeping him pinned to the ground. She didn’t seem to take notice, and reached to fix the headdress.

“What just happened?” she asked, and looked down at him. And stilled. And fell silent.

“Ah,” she said, and after another few moments she quickly pulled back and stood. The weight gone, Héctor stood somewhat shakily, clearing his throat. His eyes darted around, and he found himself blinking when they found the cause of all that mess: a hairless dog standing in the middle of the yard, tail wagging and tongue flailing as children ran to pet it and Miguel stood by it, panting, something in his hand that looked an awful lot like Cheech’s peg leg.

“What. Is. That,” Imelda all but snarled, causing her brothers - both still trying to catch their breath - to recoil. They made a rather brave attempt at a smile.

“A dog?”

“He took Chicharrón’s leg, and we chased him, and--”

“Can we keep him?” Miguel was calling out. “Héctor, look! He likes me! Can he stay? We’ll feed him and look after him and--”

As he kept pleading and half the orphanage joined in, none of them saw Father John - who had become even more deathly pale at the sight of a dog - recoiling as the town clock chimed, and leaving quietly to head inside the church, doing his utmost to go unnoticed.

***

“Bless me, Padre for I have sinned.”

“Something something, the Lord, something. Go on.”

Outside the confessional, Sofía gave a small chuckle. “I have committed sins of the flesh.”

“You don’t say,” Ernesto muttered, grinning a little. He knew it already, of course - he’d been there. Still, it was a reprieve from what a series of very full confessions. “And with whom?”

“Do you want the short list, or the long one?”

“... Never mind.” Ernesto rolled his eyes. Way to kill the mood, he thought, glancing at the wall. “You don’t sound very contrite. Why should I absolve you?”

“Oh, shall I repent and promise to never do it again?”

Ernesto held back a guffawing laugh. “I don’t think you can.”

“I mean, never with you aga--”

“Absolved,” Ernesto cut her off, and they shared a snicker. He took another swig from the bottle. “You know, you could get in here with me if no one else is waiting for confession.”

“Isn’t that a too harsh penance?”

“You’re hilarious,” Ernest said flatly. He didn’t see her shrug, but he could picture it so well from her tone alone.

“I know. Also, no. Someone else is waiting for confession, so have fun. See you at dinner.”

The next person turned out to be an old guy with a tendency to cheat people in the market out of small change. Ernesto listened, gave a penance of three Hail Mary, blessed the guy, and waited for the next one to kneel at the confessional… except that nothing happened for a while.

Well, that’s it. I’m done for the day, Ernesto thought, and he was just about to get out when suddenly there were steps, and creaking wood as someone knelt. All right, so he wasn’t done at all. With an inward sigh, Ernesto sat again.

There were a couple more moments of silence, a long sigh, before a male voice finally reached him - low, slow, little more than a whisper. It wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but it wasn’t one he recognized, either. Either the guy had a bad sore throat, or he was trying pretty hard not to make his identity known. “Pordóneme, Padre, porque he pecado,” he whispered. “It’s been… a while since my last confession.”

“Uh… speak freely, my child.”

Maybe the old gravedigger? No, he sounds more like he swallowed a porcupine. Can’t picture that guy coming to confession, anyway.

“I was…” the voice got even lower. Something was off about it, but it was too muffed for Ernesto to put his finger on it. “I sinned in thought, Padre. I have been having… lustful thoughts.”

All right, now Ernesto really hoped that was not old Chicharrón, because that wasn’t a mental image he needed… although, to be fair, he may or may not have cracked a couple of crass jokes about that demonic rooster the old man insisted on calling Juanita. It had stopped being funny when some guy whose identity he hadn’t wanted to guess had come in with a confession that involve a donkey.

“I see,” Ernesto said slowly, reaching to pick up the bottle of mass wine from the floor. Still half full, thank God, in case he needed it urgently. Whoever was on the other side sounded too anguished for a plain old confession of lust towards some pretty girl. “What sort of thoughts?”

Another brief silence, a shaky breath, an unintelligible mumble.

Ernesto frowned. “I couldn’t hear you,” he said, faintly wondering if he wanted to hear in the first place. There was a sharp intake of air, and something not too far away from a sob.

“Thoughts about-- another man,” he managed, causing Ernesto to still and blink.

Oh, he thought. Oh. Right. That made… more sense. With no small measure of relief, he cleared his throat. “I see. That is--”

“An abomination.” The man was weeping now, he could tell, the voice still as hushed. “I have tried so hard… I thought I was cured… I don’t know what else to do. I need…” a shuddering breath, a sniffle. “I need penance, and… and absolution… and advice… on how to fix...” the man’s voice faded, and he suddenly began to sob, harsh broken sounds that seemed to tear all air out of his lungs. Ernesto sighed.

Ay, you’re asking the wrong man. I’ve had more than thoughts, and like hell I told a priest.

Of course, saying that was out of question. “All right, all right,” he muttered, and took a quick swig from the bottle - don’t think of the barracks don’t think of the barracks - just as the man began to downright sob. He raked his brain for something to say. “Don’t despair. It’s-- er…”

Not that bad? Can’t say that as a priest. Think of something else, tell him to pray it away.

“Well. Did you ever, er, act on such thoughts?”

“I-- no! Never!” the man exclaimed, his voice suddenly louder, cracking. “I would never-- I never! I always resisted! Only in my sleep, I rarely-- when I had no control-- over my… my…”

The voice faded into silence, but it was too late. In his rush to explain himself, its owner had neglected to muffle it quite as well, and it was impossible not to recognize. That accent that had come through couldn’t belong to anyone else, and to be honest Ernesto really should have recognized it sooner.

“Juan?” Ernesto heard himself blurting out, so surprised he didn’t even register the bottle slipping from his fingers, the dull thud of thick glass on the wooden floor and the sloshing of spilled contents. There was a gasp on the other side, a noise like that of a scared dog, and suddenly the creaking of old wood, hurried steps, a door being thrown open and closed again.

For a long time Ernesto just sat in the dim light inside the confessional, blinking, trying to come to terms with what he’d just heard.

***

“Absolutely not! This is a parish, not some kind of refuge for mangy coyotes!”

“He’s not a coyote! And-- and he’s not mangy! He’s meant to be hairless and you know it!”

“Could have fooled me,” Gustavo grumbled, glaring at the dog - who, in turn, growled at him from behind Miguel. Didn’t like him, huh? Well, the feeling was mutual.

Of course, that wasn’t enough to get the kid to relent. He was almost as annoying as Héctor, and twice as stubborn. “Héctor said we can feed him!” was the next, predictable retort. Gustavo snorted and glared at Héctor, who shrugged.

“It’s not like we’re taking him inside the church. If he sticks around, I see nothing wrong with leaving out a few scraps--”

“That’s not the point!” Gustavo snapped. Sure, the golden boy would tell those brats to keep the dog, of course - not like it would be a problem for him. Oh no, it would be Gustavo to have to pick up the pieces and clean up whatever disaster that beast caused. Well, he wasn’t going to let him get away with that crap now - and he didn’t care how much a bunch of stupid kids, or that damn nun who could never shut up, glared at him. He had enough work to do as it was, more than enough to worry about. “You don’t take decisions! You’re not even a priest yet!” Gustavo growled. “If I catch that mangy thing anywhere around here, I’m going to make sure it never comes back to bother anyone!”

“You don’t make the rules, either!” Miguel snapped. “You’re just the sexton!”

Three things happened quickly: Gustavo stepped forward, moving to raise his hand; Héctor stepped between him and the kid; and, most of all, a voice rose up like the crack of a whip.

“You won’t dare, Gustavo,” Imelda - or Sister Gisela or whatever the hell she should be called now - snapped, and it was that, more than anything, to make him still. He turned to glare at her, only to get a cold gaze right back. “Accidents happen,” she said, her voice oddly sweet. “So you better not get any ideas involving the rat poison you keep on the shed.”

Wait, was that-- was the threatening him now? All eyes on him, Gustavo scowled and opened his mouth to snap back - when suddenly he caught glimpse of Father John walking out of the church and across the yard, and smirked. “Well, let’s see what Padre Ju-- Father John says!”

Miguel scowled. “Padre Juan isn’t the parish priest! Padre Ernesto is! He gets to decide!” he exclaimed. The dog barked as though in agreement. “We’ll ask him and I’m sure he’ll say-- er… is he… is he all right?” the boy added, the tirade turning into somewhat hesitant stammering.

“Huh?” Gustavo blinked, and looked back. Now that Father John was closer, he could tell that he didn’t look good at all. He was walking away from the church as fast as one could without running, hand tightly clenched together on the crucifix at his neck, eyes wide and skin white as a sheet - which wasn’t a huge change from usual, but a change nonetheless.

“He looks upset,” one of Imelda’s brother, hell knew which one, muttered.

“He looks ill, ” the other echoed.

“... Father John?” Héctor called out, taking a step forward, and the gringo recoiled as though he’d heard a shout, stopping to look at them. His reddened eyes paused on all of them - the three adults, the kids, the ugly-ass dog - but didn’t seem to really take in any of them. “Are you… is everything all right?” he asked. Nothing was all right, very clearly, but of course that was not the answer. Father John gave them the emptiest smile Gustavo could recall ever seeing.

“Yes, I… my apologies. I do feel quite faint. A walk will do me good.”

“If you’re feeling faint, that is about the last thing you should do,” Héctor pointed out. “Would you like me to help you back in? Maybe Padre Ernesto can--”

“No, no. I-- just-- If you’ll excuse me,” the man mumbled, and just walked fast past them all, away from the yard and heading towards the outskirts of the town. The dog whined and Gustavo blinked, then turned slowly to look at Héctor, who seemed just as taken aback.

“Any idea what that was about?” Imelda asked, and they could only shake their head.

“No clue,” Héctor said. Gustavo scratched his head.

“Maybe he walked into Sister Sofía having fun,” he muttered. Miguel blinked up at him.

“What’s so wrong with having fun?” he asked, confused. Behind him the twins had slapped a hand on each other’s mouth not to laugh, Héctor frantically shook his head, and Imelda downright made a slashing motion across her throat with a finger. Gustavo swallowed.

“Ah, er... nothing at all. You-- were going to ask Padre Ernesto about keeping the dog, sí?”

To his relief, the kid didn’t press the matter: he just gave a grito before ran off towards the church, barking dog in tow, and no one tried to stop him.

***

“... And I wanted to call him Dante, like your horse! Oooh, look! He likes the name! Dante! Dante, sit!”

As the pup dropped on the ground, flopping like a fish out of water, Ernesto smiled and finished the wine. He’d always had a soft spot for dogs himself, so he couldn’t say he minded letting this one wander around the parish. And even if he did then it wouldn’t matter anyway, because he had something else entirely in his mind.

Padre Juan, a maricón. Now that was some news he hadn’t been expecting. Absolutely none of his business and he had no high ground to stand on - don’t think of the barracks don’t think of the barracks - but still, it had sort of blindsided him. And now, to be honest, he was slightly worried over who may be the object of his lust. Not that he could think of many options: the guy ducked out of whatever room he was in the moment Ernesto walked in, but he had insisted to give Héctor English lesson, one on one. Therefore…

He wants Héctor. It’s obvious. Well, sorry, gringo, but he’ll be taken soon.

The thought was amusing, but he wasn’t that worried; given how anguished he’d sounded throughout the confession, good old Juan was more likely to cut off his right hand than to attempt anything. For a moment - all right, maybe a couple of moments - Ernesto even felt sorry for him. Seeing him again was going to be awkward as hell, no question, but once he told Sofía they could at least have a laugh and… and…

“... Hey, are you listening?’

“Huh?” Ernesto recoiled, and looked down to see Miguel raising an eyebrow at him, still scratching Dante’s back. The dog's hind leg twitched, tongue splayed out across the floor.

“You weren’t listening at all.”

“Not past the name,” he admitted with a shrug. “I was wondering where my Dante went.”

Miguel’s expression immediately turned sadder. “Maybe he’s fine and will come back,” he said, hopeful as only kids can be. Ernesto had strong doubts, but he smiled a little.

“Here’s hoping. What else can your dog do?”

That caused the boy to pause. “My dog?”

“Well, he seems to have picked you,” Ernesto replied, and as the kid seemed to glow a little at the thought - his dog! - he took another sip wine. No, he thought, better not tell Sofía a thing. She may know how to keep her mouth shut, but with the gringo universally despised as he was, Ernesto could only imagine how tempting it would be to say something if he stepped out of line.

But this was more than a funny story: it was something that could completely destroy Padre Juan, there in Mexico and back in his country as well. It was the heavy artillery, so to speak, it may be wise to keep it under wraps, for now. Unless he freaked out and revealed himself to everyone and their dog, of course, which was not beyond the realms of possibility.

“I wonder where he came from,” Miguel was saying, rubbing the ecstatic dog’s chest. “I have never seen him around here.”

“Well, stray dogs do wander. It’s what makes them strays.”

“But he’ll never have to stray anymore! He’s home now, isn’t he?”

Ernesto smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. Dog was an insult he got often from civilians while in the army, because of course he would. It was fitting, after all. Huerta’s dogs, on a tight leash. Too tight, and so Huerta’s dog had turned stray - wandering all the way to Santa Cecilia.

He’s home now, isn’t he?

Something clenched in Ernesto’s chest. “I suppose he is,” he said slowly, and emptied the glass.

***

“No, no, no! Are they all drunk? We can’t got back!”

“Those are the orders, and you will obey as the rest of the Regiment.”

“We need to keep going south! We’re rooting out rebels in each and every village - at this rate we’ll leave none in all of Oaxaca! This is far more useful than going to Veracruz!”

“In case the Constitutional Army tries anything, the port must be protected--”

“Then someone else can do it, we’re already doing our part--”

“Enough, Santiago!”

Nando’s snarl caused Santiago to trail off, more out of surprise than actual fear, because Nando rarely raised his voice. But now he was scowling, and it was clear he wouldn’t listen to any of his reasons. “I’m not an idiot, boy. I know exactly why you want to keep searching Oaxaca. It has nothing to do with rebels and everything to do with one deserter.”

“Everything to do with a murderer.”

Beto’s blood on the sand. His body with his face to the ground. The carrion birds already descending on him. The letter to tell his mother, written and torn and rewritten so many times.

Unaware of his thoughts, or perhaps all too aware, Nando scoffed. “Find me one man of arms with clean hands these days.”

Something twisted in Santiago’s stomach. “He killed him like a dog!”

“You shot a woman in the face.”

And I see her every night. “That’s not the same thing! She threw herself at me--”

“On her knees, to beg you to spare her husband--”

“I had no time to think! She could have been armed!”

“... Or maybe you were just too angry to be lucid, because he was not there,” Nando replied.

Santiago fell silent for a few moments. It was true - he knew it to be true - but he refused to dwell on it. “Taking pity on rebels now?” he asked instead, coldly.

“No. You take pity on no one if you want to survive this.” Nando made a face that might, with some imagination, have been a bitter smile. “It’s you I’m worried about. The war comes first - then your personal vendetta.”

“He’s out there somewhere.”

“We don’t even know for sure he headed south. He might have gone west to Yucatán, or taken the long way around to go back north - hell, for all we know he may have crossed the border into Guatemala, and good luck getting him then.”

“I’ll follow him to the ends of Earth.”

“But you don’t know where he may be. You’re guessing he’s somewhere south of here, but--”

“I know it!”

“Oh, did you have a prophetic dream? Holy Mary told you? Can you tell me my fortune?” Nando snapped, only to sigh when Santiago scowled, clenching his fists. “Look. We don’t know where he is. If you’re meant to find him, you will and I promise I’ll be by your side to have him hanged, as Beto’s friend and yours. But until then, I am your superior. You are a soldier, you will do what you’re told, and you’re coming to Veracruz,” he added, and turned, walking away.

I could shoot him now and leave anyway, Santiago thought, and his fingers twitched by the gun at his hip. It was so very tempting, but then the thought struck him - is this what de la Cruz thought, too, before he shot? - and he let his hand fall down his side like a dead weight, head spinning and fingers limp.

***

Padre Juan showed his face again at dinner time, and it was enough for Ernesto to wonder if he’d hallucinated the entire confession that morning: he sure was acting like nothing at all had happened. He barely glanced in his direction but, well, that was the usual. He sat stiffly in the chair, back never touching the backrest, and spoke to Héctor only about some bullshit idea to teach kids Latin.

Yes, it almost made him wonder if he’d been wrong… but then Héctor asked good old Juan how he was feeling, that he’d seemed ill earlier, and that was all he needed to hear. The way the gringo winced when asked and quickly dismissed it as a headache only confirmed his thoughts.

That had been his voice, his accent; the confession had been his, Ernesto was sure of it. The gringo was a better actor than he gave him credit for, that was all, and he wasn’t the only one who could put up an act. So he acted like nothing was wrong, too - until dinner was over, Héctor stood to leave, and Ernesto spoke. “Padre Juan. May I have a word?”

And oh, that worked. The gringo stiffened like he’d just heard him uttering his death sentence, growing paler for a moment, and spoke in a tight voice. “It’s Father John. And yes. You may.”

Héctor gave him a somewhat curious gaze - did he seem slightly alarmed? - but left them alone, closing the door behind himself. Padre Juan folded his hands tightly, in what Ernesto guessed was a pitiful attempt at keeping them from shaking. “What is it?” he asked, voice more controlled. Did he really hope he could make him think he’d been mistaken?

Ernesto shrugged, and gave his most reassuring smile. “I simply wondered if you need any counsel. You seem upset,” he added. Funny thing to say to the guy he’d slammed against the wall only weeks earlier, but the whole situation was odd and the gringo did not remark on that.

“I-- I had a brief episode of vertigo earlier today,” he said, gaze resting on absolutely everything in the room except Ernesto. “I will be fine after a good night’s sleep, and I am-- quite tired.”

“... I understand. But surely, if something is bothering you, you’ll let me know. Won’t you?”

That caused the man to look up at him. For just a moment his expression twisted into something so painful it was gut-wrenching, but then it was gone, and he looked away. “... I will keep it in mind. Will that be all?”

Ernesto nodded. “That will be all,” he said, gaining himself a brief nod before Padre Juan left the room in silence. Not a bad actor overall, but it would take more to fool Ernesto de la Cruz. He knew what he was and he knew what he desired - Héctor, clearly.

“Can’t hide a thing from me,” Ernesto muttered to the empty room, and poured himself a glass.

***

“All right, time to--”

“Ow!”

“What?”

“Your elbow is in my ribs.”

“Sorry. Should have built this doghouse bigger.”

“Well, we’re not supposed to be in it.”

“And yet here we are.”

“... Why are you here?”

Sitting cross-legged with Dante leaning on him, Miguel grinned. “To make plans! We must create the right moment for Héctor and Imelda, so he can seize it!” he exclaimed, and put his arms around the twins’ necks, pulling them close. “Now, here’s my idea…”

***

[Back to Part 7]

#pixar coco #miguel rivera #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #felipe rivera #oscar rivera #chicharron #coco #fake priest au

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yukaigenohogosha · 6 years

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The Bullet and The Blade... Prt 2

A Detroit Become Human Mafia AU FanFic: This one maybe a little longer than the the first one. And I want to keep it that way...

Excuse the Grammatical and factual errors and miss conceptions. It’s just for fun. Also NSFW and very gay with a hint of gore, angst, and foul language. Viewer discretion is advised.

Prev Prts : Prt 1 Next Prt: Prt 3

They’re going to take the bull by the horns. But is that a good Idea?

Gavin’s Charger hums as he reaches Ferndale pass the subways and buildings. Gavin taps his steering wheel to the beat of Ariana Grande on the radio. Lucky no one’s there to watch him lip-sync and bop to Greedy. He’d rather shoot himself than let anyone know that. Tina does and it is torture.

But at least this is able to calm him. Going to Jericho wasn’t exactly on his top priority. In fact, being in someone else’s territory is unsettling enough. But like Hank said, Jericho might give proper backup. Even though we have no idea who they’re dealing with, we’re not taking any chances.

Gavin turns a bend and reaches a ship. As he got out after of the charger, Gavin approached the old clunk of rusted metal that still held Cargo on it’s deck. It stood completely still in the midday and yet Gavin kept getting chills. He looks around and see’s Hank’s Sedan driving through.

Hank got out with Tina following suite. Gavin felt slightly relieved. At least he’s not doing this alone.

“What?” Tina smirked calling out to Gavin as she walked closer. “Too chicken to do it alone?”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “You wish. As I would recall, I had to drag a certain Someone to the edge cuz that certain Someone wouldn’t stop crying.”

“It was one time and I had no idea that there was a net!”

Before Gavin can muster a comeback, Hank clipped both of them at the back of their heads. “Knock it off and move. Believe it or not, I got other shit to do!”

Gavin rubbed the back of his head and sticks his tongue out at him. Tina just shook her head and followed orders.

All three walk toward the edge of the rusty catwalk that seems to be used as a connection from the docks to the decks but now stood a rusty broken bridge that halfway to the ship.

But none of them minded it. They weren’t gonna using it to cross anyway. As the trio looked over the edge, Gavin’s having second thoughts.

Tina leaned in to Gavin “Bwaaak bwak bwak. Bacawk!” mimicking the flapping of the bird with her arms.

“Fuck you” Gavin adds before he see Hank disappear.

Seeing Hank go first, makes the whole thought trying to follow suite a lot easier.

Tina beats Gavin to it and moves in to enter Jericho.

Gavin watches Tina do a mid air back flip before disappearing in to the darkness.

“Show off...”

Gavin takes a deep breath and pockets his shades in to his inner pocket before finally taking the initiative.

He jumps.

***

“I don’t understand why they can’t just install a door like a normal person.”

Hank scoots out of the net. His suit wrinkled and his hair messed up. the net bounces around as Tina and Gavin reach the net. Tina was giggling like a child and Gavin was struggling to get his footing.

“Total rush!” Tina shouts as she looks back at Gavin before she rolls out of the net.

Gavin, after failing to find balance, gives up and mimics Tina by rolling off the net and hitting the ground in unceremonious thud.

Gavin groan and stood up to brush off dust from his jacket. shoved his hands in his pocket. three walked on as they climb the flight of stairs upwards into the cabin. Tina and Gavin softly wheeze after stair number 9 while Hank seems to be doing just fine.

“You move fast for an old man.” Gavin mustered through his paved breaths.

Hank smirked as he leaned on a the railing. “You guys just gotta work on you Cardio.” And continued with more stride. 53 and feeling fine.

Tina and Gavin grunt through 12 more flight before reaching the Hull. Despite what the outside of ship looks like, the interior looks modern and recently upgraded. With open windows, soft redwood coloured walls and men and women in white suits.

Walking behind Hank, Gavin can see that he’s looking for someone. Hank then smiles as he sees a senior in wheelchair who seems to be strapped to machine that lifts him 6 feet off the floor. Hank starts walking towards him who’s occupied with painting a gigantic mural, a dynamic revision of the the Detroit River in the sunset.

“Got too much free time on your hands, old man?” Hank spoke up. The said “Old man” turned and smiled “Hank Motherfuckin Anderson!”. The machine descended until he reached ground and he wheeled himself out of it towards Hank. “Hows it been, old timer?” Hank bent down to give him a strong hug.

The man return the hug before pulling away. “Well, retirement’s been nice but having nothing to do is getting old.” He cracked before looking at his master piece. “still, it’s nice.” He turned back round to the three. “But I know you didn’t come here to see me. Especially knowing that you hate falling into that net.”

“Speaking of which, Get a door.”

“Not my call anymore”

“Oh right, You know where Markus is, Carl?”

“Check the captain’s cabin. That’s where he usually is these days. Being the new leader of Jericho get’s busy as it is.”

“Thanks. Anyway, nice work on the wall.”

“Shut up, you can’t tell red from fucking purple.”

Hank give a low warm chuckle before turning around waving the Carl from behind. Carl just shakes his head and get’s back to his mural.

Gavin’s head is solely straight on on the task at hand. That is, until Tina elbowed him and signaled him with her eyes. Gavin turn to the direction she was insinuating and saw him. Through the rush of people in white suits, a man stood out. In Gavin’s eyes at least.

“Hey, Um... I’m going for a piss. Catch up with you later.”

Before Hank could even respond, He was off. tailing a man in white suit and blond hair. His eyes fixated to this person like a he was prey. Keeping safe distance making sure his remains undetected.

All the way up to the forecastle. He watches this man look out into the distance. Breathing in the fresh air and feeling the calming breeze and sun. Gavin marvels at the man, smiling behind a container.

“I know you’re there.”

Gave froze. He sees the man looking straight at him with a knowing smile. Gavin smiled back and shows himself.

“Hey, Si.”

“Hey Reed.”

Gavin raises an eyebrow “You still using my mom’s name?”

“I thought you like that.”

He approaches the Simon. The soft baby blue eyes staring back at him makes Gavin smile ever so pleasantly.

“Yeah, I do. You look well”

“Yup, got to be right hand man. Now that Markus is leader.”

Gavin let’s out small chuckle.

“It’s yeah, not yup. Stop sounding like a T-ball preschooler. You’re in the big leagues now.”

Simon pulls out an earnest smile that melts Gavin heart.

“Oh, right!” Simon turns to his left side and pulls out a double edged dagger.

Gavin’s face drops “Don’t make me say it...”

Simon then pouts and looks at Gavin in expectation. Gavin could only sigh.

“Let me see what you have...”

Simon bolts away pass Gavin. “A KNIFE!”

“NO!”

And they’re off. Two grown adults playing cat and mouse chase, recalling fond childhood memories. Till they’re age caught up with them and their legs gave out. They start panting and laughing like two idiots with nothing better to do.

“So, what brings you to Jericho?” Simon finally catching his breath and stood up straight before fixing his suit.

Gavin completely forgot as he too stood up. “Now that you mentioned it, We got to head off to see Markus now.” start walking over to the Captain’s cabin

Simon tilts his head but follows suite. He then give Gavin a pat on the back.

“It’s good to see you again, Reed.”

Gavin’s heart made a slight lurched between happy and hurt.

“It’s good to see you too, Si.”

***

As the two walk leisurely to the cabin reminiscing about old times, a woman slams open the door startling them both. She looks up and furrows her brows at Simon.

“Good, I was about to get you. Made my job easier.” Her tone serious and hard, but this was North we’re talking about. Never not an angry moment. “Get in.” She moved aside to grant them entry.

Simon and Gavin looked at each other before entering. Hank and Tina sitting opposite to the desk and a man with tanned skin and two different coloured eyes. As Gavin observed, he can see that this calm yet determined figure of Markus is the reason why Carl handed Jericho to him. If anything, he’s impressed.

“Everyone’s here then?” Markus looks around before continuing. “Good. Josh, If you please.” He looks over to another man African american man in white no older than 25.

Josh pulled out some files and looked over to the rest. “I have a bit of information on about the cut signature on John. It’s not much and some look doubtful but comparing them with Elijah’s notes, I’m able to certain some of the facts.”

“Well?” Gavin getting somewhat impatent.

Josh hesitated before proceeding. “A katana blade.”

The room became silent before Gavin, like a complete moron, started laughing hysterically.

For a good 5 minutes.

Eventually it died down slowly as he looked at everyone else. Catching Hank face palming and Tina cringing on the spot. He realized something.

“Oh shit, you’re serious.”

Josh huffed lightly. “The brand of the blade is still illusive, but through the others we found-”

“Others?” Tina sat up. Shocked.

Josh looked back at Tina. “It seems John wasn’t the only victim.” Pulls other files to Tina and Hank. He offered Gavin but he promptly refused.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Hank looks into one of the files. “Hold on, some of these people were shot.”

Gavin looks over at the file in Hank’s hand and as if he read his mind, Hank held out the file to Gavin. Gavin peered into the files and Winced.

A number of individual portraits of corpses splayed out on the floor. This time, their neck and forehead shot. leaving two bullet holes and a gruesome dead stare. He closed the file. Even if it’s less gory than the first, it doesn’t make it easier to look at.

“Do we have an address to these signatures?”

“With the intel I’ve sent to Elijah, he has located a location worth noting. An establishment known as Zen Garden Towers.”

Hank now sits up “Wait a sec, you mean that hotel? On Belle Isle, Detroit River?”

They all look at Hank like he’s grown a second head. Markus tilts his head curiously. “You know something?”

Hank stand up, ready to leave. “I think I’ve got a good clue of who’s behind this.”

***

They all make it to the Zen Garden Towers. To say it was big hotel was an understatement. It had more than 40 storey and the area was bigger than the seem to make up most of the isle. It’s a little sad, Gavin thought. Remembering the Belle as a conversed isle park only to be turned into a luxurious bed and breakfast.

They walked in to the futuristic interior of blue and white with Hank and Markus up front and the rest following behind. At the receptionist, Hank spoke up.

“I’m here to see Madam Stern.”

The receptionist calm as ever “Do you have an appointment?”

“Call her up and say “Anderson” is here.” He said grimly

As the Receptionist did as so, Gavin leaned over to Hank.

“How many fucking people do you know in Detroit?!”

“If you’ve lived long enough to make as many connections as I have, some names will stick.”

The Receptionist then nods and hangs up the phone. She stands up and leave a will return soon notice on the counter. “This way please” She walks out to guide them to the elevator.

As they got into the uncomfortably spacious elevator, three men can be seen entering the lobby. “Hold the elevator!” One of them yelled out as they walk towards it.

The Receptionist was holding down the open button, when Gavin out of pure idiotic mischief, decides to smack the hand away and close the doors. The trio seeing this, start sprinting across the lobby. The tall one of the group starts getting exceptionally closer, which makes Gavin press the button continuously.

But in the end, the glass doors closes only for the man to slam his hand on surface, so hard the sound slightly resonates in the elevator. Delaying the ascend. Gavin pulls satisfied grin on the mans face as he looks into the cold Ice blue stare full of annoyance.

“Take the stairs...” He mouths as the elevator starts to leaves.

***

The low elevator hum puts Gavin in a better mood than he thought, he glances over to Simon who returns them before rolling his eyes and silently chuckles. Tina on the other hand is not amused. She leans over to him again and whispers silently.

“Seriously?! All that to impress Clueless Mc-Blondielocks?!”

Gavin jumps slightly. He eyes Simon, hoping he hadn’t heard anything. He didn’t

“Get off my tits, Ching ching!”

Tina huffed and left it at that. Surprised Hank didn’t sound his opinions.

the elevator dinged as they reached the top floor. the roof. What they saw was beyond words. An oriental garden filled with a built in lake and Asian influenced paths, bridges, and a lake island with a rose trellis.

Standing on the lake island is an African woman in cyan and turquoise robes. She had an elegant air to her as she tends to the roses.

She turns and smile. But it seems somewhat malevolent than sincere.

“Anderson...”

“Stern”

She turns around, focusing on the roses again.

“What brings you here?”

“You know what...”

Sterns stops. And turns again.

“I do...”

Gavin’s hands readied on his holster. But Hank signals him to stand down.

“Which one of your men did it?”

“One of my sons. Richard.”

“Why...”

The elevator dings again indicating someone is entering the floor.

“Speak of the devil. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Everyone simultaneously turns around. The colour in Gavin’s face drained to pale.

The trio earlier, walked in. With the tall one in the looking straight at Gavin with his blue icy stare and his right hand gripped on to a katana pommel strapped to his belt.

“Oh, Fuck me...” Gavin thought.

Because “Richard” did not look amused.

End of Prt 2 ----> Prt 1 , Prt 3

#detroit become human #gavin900 #connor x hank #elijahxconnor-60 #mafia au #gavin and elijah are siblings #Tina Chen #dbh #markus x simon #carl

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ninjaofthepurplethings · 6 years

Photo

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY @titosims!

Bwaaak boc bok boooooock bocbok…. boc…. bok

I hope that you have an amazing day today! 🎉🎂

Much 💜 from me and Dolly 😘

#TS3 #Sims3 #titosims #HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!#Boc bok boc bwaaaak BWAAARK!#BWAK!#Have an amazing day!#lots of love!#💜💜💜

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haikuandy · 2 years

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haiku 20220907

my neighbor’s chickensbwaaak at me —I bwaaak back

View On WordPress

#daily haiku #dhap #haiku #haikuandy #micropoetry #poetry

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llulabeee · 2 years

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I love that little noise chickens make when you pick them up. “Bwak bwak bwaaak?” 100/10 would pick up again

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gemgeminox · 6 years

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MYSHUNO MONDAYS: Seasons Let’s Play, Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Funland at the Beach

JESSE

Telling Jesse there was a beach nearby was the one thing guaranteed to spring him out of his bad mood.

Jesse had grown up near the beach; smelling the salt of the ocean, surfing on the weekends, playing volleyball on the sand. The beach was one of the things he’d missed most when he’d accepted the scholarship to the fancy Redlands Boarding Conservatory of Education; the campus was great, but no amount of soaking the beach up on his school holidays could make up for missing it in term time.

By the time he chose Waterford Ridge as a university, he’d accepted that he’d be without the beach again. Moving to the city, post-degree, was another step in the same direction. It was part of what had made him so grumpy on the drive over; with every mile they covered, they swapped a bit of seaside scenery for the claustrophobic grey of the city.

If Rachel had told him about the beach earlier, they might’ve all been saved a few snide remarks.

It wasn’t a real beach, obviously; only a city pop up, with imported sand, and a chlorine-filled pool instead of the waves of the sea.

But.

There was a diving board, giving him the opportunity to cannonball…

And it was a lot harder to hold a water balloon fight on the beach, even if it took a bit of provoking to get your friends to join in.

‘Chicken. Bwak bwaak bwaaaak!’

SPLAT!

‘Who’s the chicken now? Bwaak bwaaaak bwaaak!’

‘Rach! It’s two against one – any help, here?’

‘Sorry, babe. I’m a little busy.’

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pelagiios · 7 years

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‘ even strangers are callin’ y’out on bein’ a CHICKEN, max. ‘ bwak bwak bwak bwaaak.

#★ ◜◟ ▉▍✕ ❜ BURSTING BUBBLES « ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ »#( but honestly is it really #is it really crack )

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tolipops-blog · 7 years

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High as a kite

REALITY: “WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING!” I could hear her yell through my closed bedroom door. “YOU ARE THE OLDEST, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THE EXAMPLE!” I could faintly make out as she slammed the washer door shut. I was in my room, fumbling around with my ear buds trying to untangle them, which always feels to me like I am a magician pulling off some spectacular stunt. My mother was still yelling at me through the closed door, but I couldn’t hear anything she was saying now, as I had successfully untangled my ear buds and was currently drowning her out with the rhythms and beats of one of my favorite alternative rock tracks. Listening to music is my only real escape at this point. I mean I can’t really go anywhere or do anything. I just got home from the hospital. I broke my arm and my leg. Should have been much worse though, it sounded much worse when it happened. As I lay in my bed listening to my music, I started drifting off in thought. I suppose she is right I said to myself inside my head. I mean I am the oldest child and I do know my brother looks up to me. But its that whole jump off a bridge thing. I mean, mom raised us to think and act for ourselves. Just because I do something stupid doesn’t mean he has to, Heck, my little brother is a smart kid. He probably wouldn’t even do anything I do at all. But I see where I could have made a smarter decision, but I was backed into a corner. I was under a lot of pressure. I mean you would have done the same thing if you were faced with the same situation. I mean come on my social reputation was at stake.

FLASHBACK: This morning after I got ready for school and ate my breakfast, my brother and I set out to the bus stop to wait for the bus to pick us up to go to school. While on the way to the bus stop we ran into our neighbor and my best friend Danny Dalinbar. We greeted each other with our secret handshake and spent most of the walk talking about how instead of going to bed like we each told our parents, we were up playing zombie horde 4 on our gaming console. It was a typically cold morning for our part of the country and we could see our breath as we continued our walk to the bus stop. The whole time pretending we were some cool, suave dudes smoking a cigarette with our buddies. We finally made it to the bus stop, and while Dal and I were in the middle of a conversation my little brother interrupts us and is pointing up at something in the sky. “LOOK!” he shouts, “up in that tree in Mr. Ratsan’s yard” “Do you see it?” he questions. “Well do you see it?” I look up at the tree and I notice something tangled in one of the branches and moving violently in the breeze. “It’s a kite” Dal Says. “I’m going to climb up there and get it” I hear Dal say. “Not if I beat you to it” I say back to him. “Pssssh,” Dal says, “you can’t beat me to that kite, you are too scared to climb that tree” he says in reply. “I am not!” I holler back at him. “You are nothing but a big chicken” Dal continues, “Remember that one time at my house, you came over to play catch with my new foam football and you threw it to hard and it got stuck on the roof” he said. “You were too scared to go on the roof to get the football, so we couldn’t play anymore.” “Yeah I remember” I say with an attitude. “But I was like 10 at the time, I’m 14 now and I’m not scared to climb up high anymore” I say back at him. “yeah right, I’ll believe it when I see it, you big chicken” Dal says. Dal then proceeds to mimic the movements and noises of a chicken, “bwaak, bwaak, bwaaaak!” he says to me at the same time he is moving his arms up and down as if he is flapping his wings. “Cut it out, Dal!” I say forcefully. “im not a chicken and I can climb that tree and get that kite” I say with confidence. “Oh yeah, well than prove it chicken wuss” Dal replies.

REALITY: This is where my mom thinks I should have been a good example to my little brother. But I mean what could I do? Dal had me cornered. I couldn’t risk my social reputation and friendship with him. If I didn’t climb that tree he would tell it to all our other friends when we got to school and who would want to be friends with a chicken wuss?

FLASHBACK: “Dal” I say with my chest puffed out, “Im going to climb that tree and I am going to get that kite and I am going to make you eat your words” I say with arrogance. And just like that I walk across the street and into Mr. Ratsan’s yard. As I stand face to face with the behemoth in front of me I glance up ward toward the top of the tree. I can’t really see a whole lot on account of the sun shining through the gaps in the branches momentarily blinding me. One thing I could tell for sure is this was a tall tree. As I stand looking up at the tree, I seriously start to doubt that I can make this climb. “This doesn’t seem like a good idea” I say to myself. I don’t think I can make it up that high, and if I do how in the heck am I going to get down? All these thoughts are racing through my brain. Then just like clockwork, like he knew what I was thinking, I can hear Dal on the other side of the street taunting me. “You won’t do it, you big Chicken” I hear him tease. “Bwaaak, Bwakkk, Baaaakkkk!!!” he continues. That was just the motivation I needed to snap me out of these thoughts of self-doubt. I search for a good first footing and I find a knot in the tree that looks to be the beginning of my trek up this tree. I place my left foot on the knot and put all my weight on it as I hoist myself up and give the tree a friendly hug, like you would a friend you haven’t seen in years. From this position I look for my next move. I see a branch just within reach. With my left foot stretched out on my tippy-toes I reach for the branch just above my head. I am able to wrap both of my hands around it, and at the same time sort of walk myself up the tree until I reach the branch. At which point I hoist one leg over the branch and then straddle it as if I am riding a pony. Once I feel safe and settled in, I break the first rule of climbing, I look down. I feel a rush of fear push from my stomach up to my brain and as if it were one motion I feel myself lay back at the same time.

REALITY: I physically felt it. I know because I almost feel of the branch. It like physically moved me. It was one of the scariest moments in my life. I thought for sure I was going to fall of and die. Luckily, I didn’t.

FLASHBACK: I quickly pull myself against the mysterious force and slam my chest down on the branch and hug that limb as tight as I can. I hear my little brother from the other side of the road yelling something. It takes me a few seconds to regain my composure, but once I do I am able to make out what my brother is saying. “Quade, be careful up there” he yells. “No Duh!” I want to yell back but I am still a little leery, so I don’t do anything but continue to hug that branch. After a few minutes of hugging that branch, I finally regain my confidence to continue my journey up this tree to get that kite. I slowly but steadily, climb up the next few branches, until I arrive at the final branch. The branch that contains the kite. I fight back the urge to look down, that got me into lots of trouble last time. I instead focus my gaze on that kite. I know I am close to the kite because I can feel the cold breeze vehemently rake across my face. The same breeze is also causing this kite to do all kinds of tricks. Flips and spins as it whips sadistically in the wind. This is going to make it that much harder to grab I think to myself. I continue to internally dialogue with myself, trying to talk myself into taking those last few steps towards the kite. “Just a few more steps”, I say to myself “and this is all over”. I run through the game plan in my head take slow careful steps, grab the kite, then return to this position here, and begin my decent down to precious ground. I continue to go through the steps at least 5 more times. I am still hesitant to take that first step. All of a sudden, the wind picks up and a forceful gust moves the limb just enough for me to lose my footing which as a consequence drives me to adjust to save myself from falling. Another scary moment, I think to myself. I’m getting tired of all these close calls. I can feel the wind start to pick back up again, I pull myself in tight to the closest limb and brace myself for the fight. To my surprise, instead of fighting to not fall, I find that I am being smacked in the face repeatedly by the kite. I have to carefully think on how I can loosen my grip with one hand and grab the kite, while at the same time holding on to the tree to prevent from falling. Once I figured that out, I reach for the kite, and right as I feel the cold plastic material between my fingers, I hear a deep booming voice, “Quade Alexander, get down from off my tree right this instant” It was Mr. Ratsan. That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part is that he startled me just enough for me to lose my concentration. Which as a result made me lose my footing, which chained the next few sequences of events that led to me falling about 18 feet in the air until the ground decided to be helpful and catch me.

REALITY: I won’t go into the gross and gory details of how bad my leg sounded when it connected with the ground. I’ll just say it was loud. I won’t mention the weird and unnatural angle my foot was turned either. I won’t mention how you could see the bone sticking out of my arm. I will of course leave out that I may have cried and blacked out. What I can tell you is I don’t really remember to much about the fall or what happened after. All I really remember is waking up in the hospital and not really being able to move. I soon realized my movement had been restricted by casts and drugs. I don’t really remember much of my stay at the hospital, but I do know I won’t really be doing much of anything for the next 6-8 weeks, maybe longer. You know come to think of it, that was a really dumb idea, good thing none of that ever really happened.

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