Things That ‘Did Not’ This Week

Her teeth white and painful and fake

My X-Ray the fuel for her finessed façade of interest

“You nearly fractured your elbow,” she says

But I didn’t

“All the damage is here except for an actual fracture,” she says

But I didn’t

“You should have paid attention to your body,” she says

But I didn’t

“You should have listened to the pain, come in sooner,” she says

But I didn’t

“You should feel very lucky,” she says

But I didn’t.

 

 

You sit in front of me with your despair dripping like melting ice cream

The need outweighs the discomfort found in every pause

“I wanted to,” you say

But you didn’t

“They say I am at risk,” you say

But you didn’t

“It’s heavy, it’s everywhere, I feel like I’m drowning in it,” you say

But you didn’t

“I want to end all of it,” you say

But you didn’t.

 

 

3:00 AM wears thin on my ceiling as I stare up into the morning darkness

The paint of that hour dries faster than my eyes drift to sleep

“You could choose stay,” I say

But I didn’t

“It would be safe, you should feel safe there,” I say

But I didn’t

“You could have found a boring, beautiful happiness,” I say

But I didn’t

“Don’t run away, just this once,” I say

But I didn’t.

 

 

God makes His plans known to his people by blowing kisses through gusts of wind

He sits in a tall tree above an empty wooden swing

“You could write beautiful things instead of sad things,” He says

But she didn’t

“Listen, the world is asking for you, don’t you want them?” He says

But she didn’t

“If you left Me, the whole world would applaud you,” He says

But she didn’t

“I think your sad things are also your beautiful things,” He says

But she didn’t.

 

 

what are you running away from?

 

what are you running away from, child?

what are you running away from when you sleep with your windows open no matter the cost of temperature, no matter the ease with which bad men could make their way up those walls, no matter the wings that fly in to lose their life to the light?

what is it about that breeze that keeps your stir crazy self sane, that breeze that makes you tame your mane instead of letting it fall dirty and matted and free around your shoulders, that breeze that makes you breathe with your eyes closed?

aren’t you afraid you might fly away with it?

or perhaps you already have, and you keep those windows open in hopes you will one day return.

I know you’ve spent long days with your head hanging over the edge of the bed, eyes half open, heart fully broken, trying to believe that there are no whispers on the wind telling you to go.

what are you running away from when you sneak out of crowds when the lights go down and the voices are loud so your friends don’t notice your absence the way they notice the trees when they first start to bud?

what are you running away from when you pray to wake up invisible?

and God, how do you answer Him?

He sees you running from miles away and yet He stays, He stays where He knows you will stop when you are ready to talk and He waits with the diligence of a marble Roman statue.

and what is your excuse?

who made it so you cannot even open your mouth to scream “Why?” when He tries to reach out His arms to you, but rather you stand, brimming with boiling waterfalls, shaking your head in distrust as you turn away to start running again.

where is the start of your damage?

what made the first break in your mind?

I’ve found my freedom at the top of mountains too tall for demons to climb, but what goes up must come down, and I always came down.

it seems that now, I’ve stayed.

I was trained far more in cross country than in combat so when the mistakes I have made and the men who have made me mute and the demons who don’t dare stop their destruction finally catch up to me, I look for my open window instead of my weapon. and I run.

I am tired of walking the plank just because my vessel has the potential to turn from ship to shipwreck.

I am tired of calling it quits at the hint of connection.

I am tired of feeling guilt at the thought of resurrection.

but this life seems to spin too fast for my liking sometimes so I run to keep up, or to out last, or to not be left behind.

running away is what I do best

it’s what I do instead of being the lady that doth protest

but I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut and my lungs over capacity, I want to turn my forward motion into forward tenacity

I want to see the roses bloom where I plant them

 

you can stop running anytime, love, anytime.

the wind still blows even when your window is not open to feel it.

don’t believe what they say about once a goner, always a goner; the Lord will you meet you where your legs stop working and He will carry you to the finish line, stroking your hair all the while.

there is kindness the color of glaciers and hope as important as bees, they will rest upon you once you start growing, so start growing and stop running and know that your feet deserve a rest just as much as your mind does.

stop running and start growing:

you’ll find that your soles know how to take root, and how to take root quickly, you’ll find that your shoulders are mountains in themselves and your waist is small enough to slip through the cracks in their armor.

your hair is South Dakota wheat waving in the wind and your voice is the wind in itself.

your spine cracks like the trees and grows even taller and your ribs have the stars trapped between them.

just stop, take a break, take a rest, take a breather, take enough time to photosynthesize into a reminder that you are more terrifying that the things that chase you.

you’ll find that they might stop dead in their tracks once you do too.

Lyrics to Let Me Be Your Sun/Let Me Be Your Moon

I was out picking flowers

I had no concern for the hours

I had no concern for the time I was given

I had yet to realize I wasn’t quite living

 

So much life all around me

The bees and the trees were abounding

Nothing was painful but nothing was daring

But then I saw you and was quickly comparing the night to every day

The night to every day

 

And I sang:

 

Ooh, O Dark you

Ooh, such a deeper view

Ooh

Let me be your sun

Let me be your sun

Let me be your sun

 

Ooh, I’ve been waiting for you

Ooh, I will see this through

Ooh

Let me be your sun

Let me be your sun

Let me be your sun

 

 

You stayed there in the shadows

They all said you’d came from the gallows

but all I could notice was how you would smile

When I would sing just to make you stay there for a while

Please stay for a while

 

One day you walked towards me

I wasn’t scared or abhorring

Cause those who know death well know life all the more

And those who know neither I find to be quite the bore compared to you

All bore compared to you

 

And she sang:

 

Ooh, O Dark you

Ooh, such a deeper view

Ooh

Let me be your sun

Let me be your sun

Let me be your sun

 

Ooh, I’ve been waiting for you

Ooh, I will see this through

Ooh

Let me be your sun

Let me be your sun

Let me be your sun

 

 

Ooh He walked towards her, he walked towards her, he walked towards

Ooh he did adore her, he did adore her, he did adore her

 

I heard your song from below

And somehow knew where to go

Above to the land where no one wants to see me

I’d all but lost hope but in you I found meaning

 

How could someone like her love me?

The thought alone was astounding

So I took what I was given, was enough just to listen

I didn’t need much, just to have what was missing one day

I only needed one day

 

But then your eyes looked towards me

They weren’t scared or abhorring

So I came back here as long as I could

Just to listen and finally believe in good

Who knew I could, you’re` good, who knew I could

 

And he said:

 

Ooh, then I took your hand

Ooh, I know my past is black

Ooh

Let me be your moon

Let me be your moon

Let me be your moon

 

Ooh, though I come from darker lands

Ooh, I swear I’m a better man

Ooh

Let me be your moon

Let me be your moon

Let me be your moon

 

cancelled contract

he is growing inside of me even as you stare and search for new cracks in my surface

even as you watch with a wary eye for the weakening of my worn heart

even as you say your hands are out to catch me when I fall

even when I see your hands are shaking

 

he is growing and I am growing with him and I will not need your hands anymore

 

I know you do not know how to love me without needing a toolbox

burn that manual that was stained with my tears and creased beneath your hands before they began to shake

throw away those nails you used to pound into my skin telling me that the blood was painful but necessary, that the healing would come in time

bury those hammers in the back yard

those hammers you would hand out to the team of healers you recruited in my honor

those hammers that blocked the light enough for me to realize there even was light I had been missing

those hammers I tried to throw right back at you

give that wrench to someone else, to someone who is still in pieces, to someone who has yet to become a home for anything other than pain

break in half that staple gun I would press to my own skin just to show you that I felt no pain, just to show you that I was stronger than anyone else, just to show you that I was so empty, just to show you there would be no blood

squeeze out all that glue you used to bathe me in when I came home at the end of night with my own body scattered between my own arms, the glue you said would keep me together long enough for morning to come

burn those tarps you and the team would wrap my body in as I lay shivering on the floor

 

I am no longer a house for you to reconstruct

I no longer have a demolition wish for myself

I stand on the top of a crane called faith and I have no fear

though the wind blow and tempt me to fall into it’s cradling, lying arms, I stand firmly rooted, a million miles above the collapsed shack I used to be

and I shout “I am no building but the forest they want to chop down for wood!”

and I shout “I am no system of pipes but the rushing river they cannot tame!”

and I shout “I am no mess of wire but the electric shiver the earth feels when the lighting kisses her cheek!”

he is growing and I am growing with him and I have long since surpassed the cage I used to need to stay alive

he is growing and I am growing with him

he is growing and I am growing

he is growing

he is

You are Good with a Capital G

I’ve been writing a lot of music lately. I’ve been writing a lot of music and it’s all been sounding like nothing. I’ve been writing a lot of music about mountains and God and girls who don’t eat and nothing I lay beneath my fingers or behind my lungs seems to hold enough talent or depth or whatever you want to call it to be something worth listening to.

 

That’s been my problem for most of my life; being something worth listening to. Even today as I talk to my new friends and message my old friends, I find that my stories are led with a question and followed with an apology, I find that my mouth falls shut more than it falls open, I find that I lose a lot of words inside my head than out in the open air. And even then, there are very few people I trust enough to sit in silence with, without feeling the need to put something, anything, no matter how pointless into the air between us. There is just air between us.

 

This time it’s not a language barrier thing; it’s a people barrier thing. It’s my music sounding the same day after day and all the words I write sounding too much like 14 year olds listening to Panic! At The Disco. Is it wrong of me to want to write like a 27 year old listening to Grieg or a 65 year old listening to Radiohead? Don’t get me wrong, P!ATD got us all through a lot of our years, but I’m tired of being blonde and black at the same time and I’m tired of people mistaking my angst for youthfulness. I’m tired of keeping my mouth shut. But when I do open it to scream, I find that most of the time nothing comes out in time for anyone to stay long enough and if something does, it sounds a little too much like Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky” to make anyone believe I am serious.

 

If I come home to find someone has shut my window while I was at school, I am afraid that the good spirits have already left after getting tired of knocking on the glass pane all afternoon long.

 

Maybe the music thing is that I am living too much here to have time to process what it has meant to be alive, maybe the music thing is my ears are too busy hearing a new continent to want to hear myself, maybe the music thing is I am much more empty than I thought. Or maybe I am enjoying being full for the first time in my life.

 

All I know is that I’ve heard a lot of laughter here that I want to remain belonging to the atmosphere instead of trying to trap it inside my piano strings. I’ve got notebooks full of scribbles and Word documents full of lines that rhyme, but nothing inside my mind seems fine enough to line up in front of you saying “Listen, this is mine.”

 

I wonder what it felt like to be David writing the Psalms, I wonder if “Divine Inspiration” leaves room for creative liberty and expression, or if the pen God held to David’s head felt more full of lead than ink. I’d like to think that God wasn’t exactly expecting the profound amount of anguish and sorrow that David put into the Psalms, but when He read them He found favor upon His creation because he saw that David’s sadness was good.

If you’re reading this, I hope you’re sadness is good, too. I hope you understand why the word “death” is feminine in Spanish and I hope that you have periods of time when whatever art you make stops coming to you and you have to take the energy to figure out why. Please don’t become complacent in your goodness, because things change and people change and you will sometimes have to rock yourself to sleep at night. You are good, with a capital G and even zeroes for O’s if you want, G00D. You are good and you deserve to eat ice cream at 10 in the morning and you deserve to know that even though God gave him the pen, David got to choose whether or not he put it to paper and started writing. Please choose to start writing, even if its just scribbles in a notebook or lines on a word document, please choose to start writing. You are something worth reading.

 

-HA

The Sea Will Rise

The Sea Will Rise

lyrics by Hannah Asfeldt

 

The world is howling and there is no light around. The wild storm magnifies the lack of hope that’s found.
Our cries distinguished not in wind that never ceases. For if we give up hope we’ll surely fall to pieces.

There is no submission in eyes made of mirrors
Lungs that hold their breathe will soon turn to glass

The sea will rise, the sea will rise, the sea will rise but we will not sink
Because in your eyes, in your eyes, in your eyes we are worth saving.
In your voice, in your voice, in your voice we’ll find promises of what’s to be;
With you we’ll breathe.
The sea will rise, the sea will rise, the sea will rise but we will sail on
In our eyes, in our eyes, in our eyes you’re a faithful God
Though we pray, though we pray, though we pray for an olive branch
We’ll sail straight through
We’ll breathe with you

Lord your faithfulness will lead me through these waters
Lord your faithfulness will lead me in the truth
I will gladly drown to show the world you chose us
I will gladly drown to show that I choose you

Though there is no silver lining in our vision
You have made the promise no more waves

The sea will rise, the sea will rise, the sea will rise but we will not sink
Because in your eyes, in your eyes, in your eyes we are worth saving.
In your voice, in your voice, in your voice we’ll find promises of what’s to be;
With you we’ll breathe.
The sea will rise, the sea will rise, the sea will rise but we will sail on
In our eyes, in our eyes, in our eyes you’re a faithful God
Though we pray, though we pray, though we pray for an olive branch
We’ll sail straight through
We’ll breathe with you

You baptize us when you bring the floods.
Hear a voice cry out, begging pleading “Father let us drown”
You baptize us when you command the floods.
Hear the world cry out begging “Father cleanse us in your blood”

The sea will rise, the sea will rise, the sea will rise but we will not sink
Because in your eyes, in your eyes, in your eyes we are worth saving.
In your voice, in your voice, in your voice we’ll find promises of what’s to be;
With you we’ll breathe.
The sea will rise, the sea will rise, the sea will rise but we will sail on
In our eyes, in our eyes, in our eyes you’re a faithful God
Though we pray, though we pray, though we pray for an olive branch
We’ll sail straight through
We’ll breathe with you

Chasing Magic

This is the piece that I submitted for my Genre Writing final. The italics at the beginning and end of the story are for context, because this story isn’t complete. But I hope that I can continue working on it!

———

Chasing Magic

Charlotte (Charlie) is a wizard who is approached by a prince who wants magic to change his father’s mind about an arranged marriage. Charlie refuses him, explaining that wild magic will just force people into fairy tale roles. She collects magic in her locket.

 

Charlie could tell something was wrong before she opened her eyes. Her bed had become oddly hard, and her forehead felt rubbed raw. The back of her head was one huge ache as well. Am I sick? She moaned and forced open her eyes to see Theo’s side.

Finally. I thought you were going to sleep all day. Theo languidly stood and stretched, walking away from where Charlie was lying on the floor.

The floor. Charlie staggered to her feet clutching her aching head. “What happened? Why does my head hurt? Were you licking my forehead?”

I was trying to wake you up. And unless you hit yourself on the head with that frying pan behind you, I’d say that someone attacked you. Theo’s tail trashed in anger. Fortunately for them, I was still following that fool prince from yesterday.

Charlie snorted. The kingdom was in for a world of hurt when that boy inherited. Wanting to unleash wild magic just to get out of a marriage that he would have to go through with anyway. She shook her head again and reached for her locket. Her fingers brushed her skin instead. Her locket was gone. “Theo you have to go in to town now! The locket’s gone and it could be leaking magic by now!”

Charlie didn’t waste time watching Theo scamper down the tower steps. He could handle himself around enchantments. Instead she dug her magic mirror out of the closet, dusted it off, and propped it up on the table.

Charlie hadn’t used the mirror in so long she couldn’t remember the actual spell to call another person. She hoped the mirror was in an especially good mood today. “Good morning mirror, could you please ring my foster-father?”

After a small argument about why she didn’t use the proper wording and whether or not a magic mirror cared about emergencies (apparently they don’t), she found herself looking through the mirror into her foster-father’s study.

“Dad?” Charlie called hesitantly. She could hear him, but couldn’t see him. There he was, suddenly, his round face and receding hairline filling up the mirror. He looked as if he’d been under quite a bit of stress. His hair had more grey in it than it used to, and his ever-present smile was missing.

“Charlotte, dear, lovely to see you! But there’s been a bit of an emergency near the southern mountains, so I’ll have to ring you back later.” He shifted his weight and fidgeted, torn between wanting to talk to his daughter and needing to get back to his work.

“Dad, there’s a problem here too. Someone stole my locket. I don’t know how long it’s been gone, but it’s bound to be leaking wild magic all over the place now! I sent Theo to the town to see if anyone’s been affected, but I’ll probably need help cleaning this mess up.”

“Oh no.” Charlie’s father’s face looked haggard. “Charlotte there was a dragon attack on three cities near the southern mountains. Every wizard that could be spared has gone to help. I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it on your own.”

Charlie sat at her kitchen table making a new magic container, when Theo padded back into the tower room. He jumped onto the table and spat a silver object at Charlie before moving to the armchair. The silver something was Charlie’s locket.

“I don’t understand,” she said, examining it. “It’s completely empty. Even if it had been away from me for a week, it shouldn’t have leaked magic that fast.”

Someone knew what they were doing. They managed to release all the magic in the centre of town. There are Fairy Tales popping up everywhere. Having delivered his news, curl up and pretended to sleep.

Charlie sat at the table thinking about the implications of Theo’s idea. With a start, she remembered what else he had said. Charlie grabbed her locket and rushed to the town as fast as she could.

Charlie sat on the edge of a fountain in the town, exhausted. It had been seven hours since she had left her tower this morning, and she had finally finished surveying the chaos the magic had caused. There was little she could do to fix it at the moment. When the locket was opened, the magic it contained exploded over the town. It wasn’t organized and it didn’t focus on anyone, so some of the fairy tales were incomplete. Charlie had no idea how to fix them. Her focus as a wizard was more on collecting magic and creating small enchantments to support herself. She just didn’t know enough. She needed a lot of help.

On the bright side, some of the stories were easy, even for Charlie to clean up. She had discovered eleven young boys and girls who were caught up in The Little Match Girl tale, and two sets of siblings suffering as Hansel and Gretel, but all Charlie had to do was siphon the enchantment back into her locket.

There was a Cinderella girl and her family, but no fairy godmother. Charlie thought she could deal with that on her own, with a little research. A newly married couple on the outskirts of town seemed to be suffering from the Bluebeard tale. At least Charlie hoped that’s what it was; she didn’t know of any other fairy tales that involved husbands forbidding their wives from parts of the home. She advised the young wife to go visit relatives until she came up with a solution.

But Charlie knew she couldn’t handle it all by herself. She would need help, especially with the Sleeping Beauty household and the Beast that had been roaming the town. Charlie levered herself to her feet and started trudging home. A little girl, one of the little match girls, ran into the street to give Charlie a flower. It was the thing that had entranced her to the point where she disregarded her life, during the enchantment. Charlie smiled at the little girl and took the flower.

Charlie examined the flower all the way home, as if it held the answers she needed. Her foster father had already told her that no wizards could be spared. But who said she needed a wizard? Wizards tended to be very powerful because they could both control and contain magic, but Charlie didn’t need any help with containing. Witches were far better than wizards at manipulating and controlling magic, and Charlie knew one nearby who might be willing to help. She finally reached her tower and began climbing the stairs, twirling the flower as she went. She laughed when she noticed that it looked like the letter O. Maybe the flower had been hiding the solution she was looking for.

­­­—

Charlie made it to her living room and wondered – for perhaps the hundredth time – why she thought living in a tower would be a good idea. She sat in her armchair to catch her breath. Theo emerged from wherever he had been hiding to curl up on her lap, a rare display of affection.

“I’ve got an idea Theo,” Charlie mumbled, still slightly out of breath. “But I can’t do it on my own. I think I have to ask Oliver for help.”

Theo hissed in response.

“Oh come on Theo. Don’t hate Oliver just because of Asphodel! She was just a puppy when that happened. I’m sure she won’t chase you up a tree this time.”

It’s not proper. Witches should have cats. We are much more respectable that puppies.

“Don’t be so traditional!” Charlie stood and put Theo back in the vacant armchair. She went to the table where she left the magic mirror that morning. During their argument that morning they had come to an arrangement: the mirror would let Charlie place calls without using the proper spell, and Charlie wouldn’t alter its basic functionality so that it couldn’t talk. Charlie felt ever so slightly bad that she had been so mean, but she couldn’t argue with results.

“Mirror? I would like to talk to the witch, Oliver, please.” She asked, trying to be polite. There was no point in aggravating the mirror more.

“Of course you would.” The mirror sneered in its odd, gravelly voice. It was obviously still miffed about that morning. But it didn’t argue, and Charlie soon found herself looking at a wall.

“Oliver?” No one answered, but Charlie heard something in the background.

“… better be very important. I was monitoring the effects of long term versus short term weather spells. If that was ruined for nothing I’ll be very vexed!” The voice grew louder as it went on, complaining about how difficult the experiment had been to set up, and how much work it would be to replicate, until the person it belonged to opened the door.

“Hello Oliver!” Charlie said brightly. A positive attitude was key when dealing with Oliver.

“What do you want Charlotte? You interrupted an important experiment on-“

“Yes, I already heard. I am sorry about that, but something rather more important has come up here.”

“What could be more important than my experiment?” Oliver asked.

Unfortunately, Charlie knew from experience that he was absolutely serious. She thought quickly; the only way to make sure Oliver helped in a timely fashion would be to interest him in an experiment. “Well… have you ever had the opportunity to study a partial fairy tale?”

Oliver scoffed. “There’s no such thing. It would go against the basic principles of magic.”

“I have more than one incomplete fairy tale here, waiting for you to come examine them.” Charlie explained the full situation to him, and she could tell that her plan had worked.

“Fine!” Oliver snapped. “I suppose I can come help you clean up your little mess. But your dratted cat had better leave Asphodel alone!”

Charlie smiled. “Don’t worry, Theo will be on his best behaviour.”

Oliver ended the conversation without a farewell; Charlie didn’t care. He would arrive in three days, and she was determined to have the situation in hand as much as possible before then. She made herself and Theo a cold dinner before retreating into her library. She had a lot of research to do.

The next morning Charlie woke to sunlight pouring in the library window. She had fallen asleep leaning against the table, with a book of classic fairy tales on her left and a book on magical behaviours in front of her. She blinked groggily and tried to remember where she had left off before falling asleep. It was something about the secondary characters, but she couldn’t remember exactly. Charlie got to her feet and instintivly headed toward the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea would help her memory.

As Charlie woke up, she remembered what she had read the night before. The collection of fairy tales was an old one that included Bluebeard. It had mentioned, as a side note, that most occasions saw magic affecting not only the husband, but the forbidden room as well. Charlie smiled; this fairy tale, she could handle on her own. She stuffed the fairy tale book into her satchel. It was joined by the spare magic container she had made the day before, some paper and graphite, and a bit of rope, just in case. After a moment’s thought, Charlie also added the magical behaviours book to the bag. She double checked that her locket was around her neck as she watched Theo pretend disinterest in her actions.

“Come on Theo,” Charlie called over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. “You know you want to.”

Charlie sat in the road in front of the Bluebeard manor explaining her plan to Theo, who was pretending not to care.

“Okay so, after I put him to sleep, you make sure he stays that way while I go take care of the forbidden room. If he starts to wake up, come and tell me quickly. When I’m done fixing the room, I’ll take care of him.” Charlie knew it probably wasn’t the best plan, but it would do. Hopefully it wouldn’t take her that long to find the room.

Why can’t you take care of him first? Theo asked with a yawn.

Because this dratted book seems to think that won’t work. I don’t want to waste time finding out if it’s right,”

What if that little potion of yours doesn’t work? Charlie had made a sleeping potion with herbs from her garden as they walked toward the manor.

“Well, if that doesn’t work, there’s always plan B,” Charlie showed Theo the rock in her other hand. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that; Charlie had never tried to knock someone out, and wasn’t entirely sure if she could. “Alright, let’s go.”

Charlie marched up to the door of the manor and knocked sharply. The door was opened by a man she could tell was Bluebeard. It was like a mental itch, telling her there was loose magic around.

“Hello sir, my name is Charlotte, I’m the wizard that lives in the tower outside of town.” Charlie smiled, hoping to come across friendly.

“My name is Henry. You told my wife to go visit her mother, because some of your magic got loose. I don’t understand why she had to leave.” he said rather huffily. Charlie was interested in the fact that he didn’t know magic was affecting him. Most people could tell, even if they couldn’t do anything about it. But it was something she’d have to think about later.

“Henry, I have a strange request, but it involves cleaning up the magic that was released yesterday. I know it’s odd, but would you please drink this? I promise it won’t cause any harm.”

Hesitantly the man took the potion and drank it. He blinked a few times at Charlie, waiting to see what would happen, before collapsing in a heap on his front steps.

Theo sat down by the unconscious man’s head. Aren’t you going to tie him up?

“I don’t want to waste time.” Charlie kept a hold of the rock and ran in to the house. As an afterthought, she locked the front door, before concentrating on the magic around her. The bit behind her was Henry, she needed to ignore that for now. Everything else came from… Down.

Charlie ran around, looking for stairs to the basement. She wasn’t sure how long the sleeping potion would last since it was fighting other magic. She found stairs in the kitchen and followed them down. Charlie felt again for the magic. This time it was off to her right, close by. She created a light that would hover a few feet ahead of her so she wouldn’t trip. Looking around, Charlie saw a small door set into the wall. As she approached it, her mental itch grew steadily worse. This was what she was looking for. She opened the door and found herself in a completely ordinary broom closet.

Charlie had just pulled her locket over her head and flicked it open when she heard loud banging from above her head. She hesitated for just a moment – maybe I should have tied him up – before closing her eyes and willing the magic to leave the room and enter her locket. It was exhausting and took a good amount of focus; the enchantment didn’t want to let go. But as the banging from above her head became louder, Charlie became more insistent. Slowly, the magic gave in.

When about half of the magic was gone, Theo came bursting into the basement. He stumbled down the stairs in his haste and rolled to a stop in front of Charlie. Her concentration wavered as she focused on her cat. Theo was never that clumsy. But as the spell began to slip out of her control, Charlie refocused on her locket.

He’s coming. Luckily for you, he isn’t interested in finding a different way into the house. But I don’t know how long that door will hold him.

“What happened?”

Charlie redoubled her efforts on containing the spell as Theo explained that Henry woke up soon after she entered the house and began attacking the door. What are you planning to do now?

Charlie smiled as the last bit of magic slammed into her locket. She shut it and put it back around her neck. “Now we try plan B.” She closed the door to the broom closet and hid in the shadow behind the stairs. She put out her floating light as she listened to the sounds of the front door splintering. “How did you get in if he’s having such a hard time with it?”

The windows are open all around the ground floor. If he was really trying, he’d have been down here ages ago. Theo sniffed disdainfully.

The attack of the front door abruptly ceased. There were sounds of debris being kicked out of the way, followed by deliberate steps toward the stairs. Henry paused for a moment in the kitchen and the sound of metal on wood made its way to Charlie and Theo.

Charlie focused on the shadowy figure stomping down the stairs. She saw the sharp gleam of metal in his right hand as he stepped past her toward the broom closet. When he opened the door Charlie crept up behind him and slammed her rock into his head with all her might. He stumbled forward, but didn’t stop moving as he turned to slash at her torso with a kitchen knife.

Theo darted forward and clawed his way up Henry’s leg.

Charlie hit Henry with the rock three time while he was distracted by Theo. The third proved to be enough to knock him unconscious, and Charlie immediately set about collecting the magic off of him. It was much easier than it had been with the room, because there was so much less magic to deal with. Finished, Charlie moved to sit on the steps, her breath still coming in gasps.

Hopefully the rest of the fairy tales would be easier to deal with.

 

Together, Charlie and Oliver fix the remaining three fairy tales, and discover that the prince’s older sister was behind stealing the locket and releasing the magic. She was a witch and wanted enough magic around so she could cast a spell making herself inherit the throne instead of her brother. Charlie manages to stop her.

Catalyst

This is the piece that I turned in as my final for Becoming a Writer

———-

Catalyst

“Hey Isa! Do you want to grab some drinks later?”

Isabelle looked up from pipetting buffer into the test tubes. “Jeremy! Is it time to go already?”

Jeremy nodded. “You’re the last one working. Again. Anyway I was thinking we could all go for some drinks, at that bar on 23rd and 3rd?” He gestured to the group of graduate students lingering by the door.

“I don’t know if that’d be such a good idea…”

“Come on Isa, we all just got paid yesterday!”

“It’s not that, genius.” Isabelle said, moving around him as she packed up her things. “I don’t think that Chris would be very happy about it. Besides, it’s a Wednesday!”

“But you only live once! And just because he’s your boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s in charge of you.”

Isabelle sighed. Chris had changed a bit lately; his job had become stressful, and he started using alcohol to take the edge off. She hated being around him when he was drunk. Isabelle smiled, maybe she could avoid that tonight. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“Yes! We’re all going to meet there around 8. See you then!”

Isabelle smiled as she watched Jeremy leave the lab. They had become good friends when Isabelle started working in the lab the previous year, and they remained close, even though he was awarded her fellowship, when it was renewed.

She packed up her things and got on the subway towards her apartment. She had time to change out of her lab clothes and grab a quick dinner before heading over to the bar, and maybe leave Chris a message. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too annoyed that she was going out with her co-workers.

                                                                                                —

Isabelle checked her watch with the light from the neon sign over the bar. 10:07. She should probably head home soon, Chris would probably be less angry if she didn’t stay out too late. She looked back the tables her group had commandeered. Isabelle rarely got to see any of her co-workers outside of the lab, and the change was interesting. At work they were all serious students, working on Master’s Degrees or PhD’s, but here they were just young adults who didn’t care that they had to get up and go to work the next day.

Isabelle smiled and turned back to the bar to grab her refilled glass. On her way back to her friends, she noticed she had a few texts and a voicemail. They were all from Chris. Her heart sunk as she skimmed the messages.

“Where are you?”

“Who are you with?”

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Isabelle deleted the voicemail without listening to it. She didn’t want to listen to him yell at her, and she couldn’t defend herself to a recording. She went back to her table, half-heartedly joking around with her friends as they all told stories about each other, and savoured her drink, trying to make it last. Then she said goodbye to everyone and headed home.

Chris was waiting for Isabelle, watching TV, when she got home. “Did you get my messages?”

Isabelle looked at him as she took off her coat, wondering how angry he was going to get. “I didn’t check my phone until I left the bar.”

Chris nodded, his eyes returning to the television, and Isabelle sighed in relief; maybe he didn’t mind much.

Still watching the show, Chris asked “Was Jeremy there?”

“Yes” Isabelle replied, careful to keep her voice even.

“You know I don’t like it when you go out with him. I really wish you would respect that more.”

“Chris, Jeremy is just a friend. Besides he wasn’t the only one there. A bunch of the guys came.”

Chris ignored her and continued, “Also, it was kind of inconsiderate to just leave me a note instead of calling me. Or inviting me. What if I wanted to go? Not that you care.”

“Chris that’s not true!” Isabelle tried to think of a way to get him to listen to her. But he just kept going, complaining and blaming her for things until she was in tears. “I’m sorry Chris. I won’t do it again.”

Chris smiled, carefree again. “It’s okay Isabelle. I have to get home, but I hope you don’t have any plans for tomorrow night. I want to take you somewhere really nice!”

Isabelle smiled weakly, still upset, as he kissed her on the way out.

“I love you, babe.” Chris called over his shoulder as the front door shut between them.

“I love you too,” Isabelle whispered to the empty room.

The next day Isabelle went to a thrift shop to treat herself to some new clothes. All of Isabelle’s clothes were second-hand, except for the suit she had for business meetings and interviews. She used coupons to buy food, rarely ate out, lived in an economy apartment, and tried to maintain some kind of savings, all on a tiny budget. She was, unfortunately, getting desperate. Isabelle was a scientist, who was overstaying her welcome at her post-doctoral fellowship; she was paid practically nothing to mutate the same strand of DNA in different ways to see what would happen. Her supervisor, Dr. Johnson, was very kind to keep paying her once the fellowship ran out, but she was having trouble finding a job. Isabelle had sent a resume out to every major medical and pharmaceutical company she could think of, but hadn’t had any luck. She knew what job she wanted, and had even made it to the final round of interviews, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up. What was the likelihood that the World Health Organization would hire her anyway? Besides, if she stayed local, she could stay close to her sister.

Isabelle’s phone rang. She checked the name before she answered. “Sara! I was just thinking about you!”

“Weird!” Sara’s brassy rang out of the phone. “What’s up little sister?”

Isabelle adjusted her grip on her bag. “Nothing, I just treated myself with some shopping on my lunch break.”

“Oh, feeling fancy, are we?”

Isabelle laughed. “I wish! Honestly Sara, I really need to find a job.”

“Still haven’t heard from the WHO?”

“No”

“I’m sorry kiddo.” Sara’s voice filled with sympathy. “Why don’t you come out with me tonight to take your mind off it? My treat.”

Isabelle grimaced. “I’d love to Sara, but I can’t. Chris was really upset last night because I went out with some guys from work, and we got into a fight. He wants to spend some time with me tonight.”

“Isabelle I…” Sara hesitated. “You know I don’t want you to make my mistakes right? I’m here for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? I’m talking about your relationship! It isn’t healthy Isabelle. I don’t want you to turn out like me.”

Sara had graduated college and moved straight in with her boyfriend. She found a job fast enough, but it didn’t pay well and she didn’t fit in with her co-workers. As the atmosphere at her office became more toxic, her boyfriend became abusive. It started with him wanting to know where she was; then he didn’t want her to go out, except work, without him. He started calling her names, but it progressed so slowly that Sara didn’t realize what was happening until he actually hit her. She couldn’t afford to pay for her own apartment so tried to fix the relationship. But it just got worse until she moved back in with her parents to get away from him.

“It’s not like that Sara! Chris has just been stressed from work recently. Everything will go back to normal soon, but I need to be there for him.” Isabelle protested weakly.

Sara sighed. “Isabelle you’ve been saying Chris ‘has been stressed lately’ for, like, six months!”

“It’s not what you think.” Isabelle checked her watch. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work.” The phone was silent. “I love you Sara.”

“I love you too little sister. I’m here if you need me.” Sara could hear the worry in her sister’s voice. She headed back to the lab, shaking off a feeling that Sara might have a point. She was just overreacting.

Walking in to her apartment after work that day, Isabelle started water for her shower and laid out her dress for the evening. Chris hadn’t told her where he was taking her, but he messaged her during the day, telling her to dress fancy and that he would pick her up at 8. She quickly checked the mail she had grabbed from the lobby before getting into the shower. Between a bill and a takeout menu for a new Chinese restaurant was a manila envelope with a return address in Geneva, Switzerland. Isabelle felt the envelope, trying to guess if it was good news or bad. Either way she should have gotten an email…

Isabelle dashed to her computer and opened up her email, clicking through every folder. After a few minutes frantic search she found an email from the World Health Organization Human Resources that had, for some reason, been sorted into her spam mail. She skimmed the email as fast as she could. They were pleased with her application, she had made a wonderful impression during her skype interview, she could be expecting an offer letter via post within the next five to ten business days. Isabelle ripped open the manila envelope, impatient to see what she was offered. It was almost perfect: slightly less pay that she had asked for, but still very reasonable, in Swiss Francs, and assistance with getting a work visa. Isabelle wanted to jump up and down and dance around her apartment, but she jumped in the shower instead, realizing that she only had 45 minutes before Chris showed up.

Halfway through her shower, Isabelle’s euphoria began to wear off a little. She realized she would have to pay the moving costs herself, and find a place to live. She would be leaving all her friends, her sister, and Chris behind. She needed a real job and working at the WHO would be a dream come true. That’s why she applied with them, even though she didn’t think she would actually get the job. But then she got an interview. Isabelle just put on her suit and her most dazzling smile, and decided to think about everything else later. She knew how competitive the position was and never expected to get an offer. But she had, and now she needed to make a decision. Isabelle weighed the pros and cons of accepting the job all evening, barely noticing when Chris picked her up, where they went, or what she ate.

Try as he might, Chris couldn’t capture her full attention. He got more and more frustrated until, when he had walked her back up to her apartment, he suddenly asked her how Jeremy was.

She was pulled from contemplating how much it would cost to move by his question. “What?”

He snorted and ran his hands through his hair, looking agitated. “You’ve been thinking about him all night, haven’t you? Jeremy?”

Worried, Isabelle tried to count how many drinks he had with dinner. She couldn’t remember. She quickly denied that she had been thinking of Jeremy at all and reiterated that they were just friends, all of which was true. She almost told him about the job offer, but decided to wait until he was more calm and less drunk. Instead, she told him that she had been thinking about her apartment.

“It’s a piece of shit. You should just move in with me. You’d be stupid not to realise that.” Chris’ speech was starting to slur. He kicked the coffee table as he stumbled toward the bedroom, and Isabelle winced as the table collapsed. She would tell him soon. She would have to.

Chris gently shook Isabelle awake the next morning, to tell her goodbye and apologize about the table. He told her there was breakfast in the kitchen. She stumbled groggily toward the kitchen. Next to the plate of bacon and eggs that he left for her, there was a note. Chris wrote that he was serious about her moving in with him. It would save her money, and make finding a new job less important. He was sure they could work something out with her landlord.

Isabelle suddenly felt nauseous. Chris had been getting more and more controlling lately, but this was going a little too far. She knew this was what he wanted, but they had talked about it before, and it had never felt quite right. Now, with the opportunity she was considering, it felt completely wrong.

Isabelle jerked herself out of her reverie to check the time. Oh no… No no no! She was already late for work. She rushed to her closet, tripping over the broken table. She threw on a pair of jeans and an old shirt; a plus of working at a University was that no one cared about what she wore. Isabelle glanced in the mirror long enough to see that her hair was a lost cause, and she threw it up into a ponytail before tripping over the table one last time as she ran out the door. When she finally did get to work, she went straight to the cold room. She wanted to thaw one of the DNA samples from her last round of mutations. One of them had looked like it was actually expressing different characteristics. But one of the graduate students took over for her, saying that Dr. Johnson wanted to speak with her. Isabelle went to his office and immediately began apologizing for her tardiness.

“That’s not it, Isabelle. I mean, you shouldn’t be late, but…” He looked at his desk, as if embarrassed to be the bearer of bad news. “Jeremy’s fellowship is officially starting. I can’t afford to pay you anymore.”

Isabelle froze. She knew this was coming, but she thought she’d have more time.

“I’m sorry Isabelle.”

Isabelle could tell that Dr. Johnson meant it. “I understand. I’ll just… go home then.” She didn’t want to make him feel worse, but she just wanted to get out of the building.

Isabelle left as fast as she could, but Jeremy caught up to her.

“I’m sorry Isa.”

“Don’t worry about it Jeremy. It was only a matter of time until I had to leave. Besides, you should be happy that you got the fellowship. It’s a great opportunity.”

“I know.” Jeremy sighed. “I just wish that I hadn’t gotten it at the expense of your job.”

Isabelle surprised herself by laughing. “Don’t worry, I’ve got some golden opportunities in my future. I’ll see you around, Jeremy.” She shook her head as he walked back to his lab bench. She would definitely miss working there.

Isabelle thought about calling Chris, but she knew he would just use her lack of employment as ammunition for his ‘you should move in with me’ argument. She didn’t want to hear that at the moment.

She tried to call her sister instead, for some perspective, but there was no answer. Isabelle went to the nearest park and walked around, trying to make a decision. She wanted to take the job with the WHO. She was officially unemployed, and her relationship with Chris wouldn’t survive much longer if he kept trying to make decisions for her. But she didn’t want to leave her sister.

Isabelle’s phone rang; it was her sister, calling her back. “What would you say if I moved to Geneva?”

Her sister laughed a little, startled. “What, are you serious? You got the job?” Isabelle’s silence answered the question for her. “Well I would miss you, little sister. But maybe it would be a good thing for you. What about Chris?”

“I haven’t told him yet. But he won’t want me to go. I think you might be right about him Sara.”

“Oh.” Sara didn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Isabelle let out the breath she had been holding. She thanked her sister and hung up with the promise of another call soon. She sat down on the nearest bench and made her choice. She would take the job with the World Health Organization. She would break up with Chris and move to Geneva. She would figure out how to pay the moving costs. Isabelle knew she could do this.

 

If I Could Have Children…

This is a poem that I wrote inspired by the love and compassion the children at the JD McCarty Center for children with developmental disabilities have continuously taught me. I volunteer there on a weekly basis and have come to develop strong relationships with some of the children in my classroom. The names have been changed for privacy reason.

 

If I Could Have Children…

 

If I could have children right now I would want them to be like you, my darlings.

I would want them to dry my tears with their kisses and heal the rope burns around my neck with their arms.

I would want them to know what it is to play with reckless abandon.

I would want them to have John’s green eyes, Susan’s lopsided pigtails, and Carol’s crooked teeth that make a 1,000 piece puzzle look easy.

I would want them to be like you.

 

Your vivaciousness invites me to see sense in forsaken society, saturated with souls who seek not to save but to squash.

They will squash you because you are different.

They will squash you because you are kind.

They will squash you because when you look at the sun you see a tumultuous time bomb tossing and turning in the sky, taunting you to take a leap towards it.

They will squash you because you are not them.

 

Them, my darlings, don’t desire after them.

Desire after me and I will protect you, I will raise both fists against the world.

When the battle cry rises it will be for you that I raise my voice.

Determined to demonstrate how your heart has had to beat for far more than theirs ever had reason for, and that because of this, you will outlive them everyday.

 

Every day I walk into your kingdom I feel my chest squeeze as I say please God, let them all still be as free as Kings and Queens.

I hold my breath holding back panic as my brain holds the thought that someone who does not love you is deliberately not holding you right now.

But to see you is to catch the forgotten eyelash that fell off of God’s upper lid.

 

You, my darlings, are the picture the three year old girl at my church drew,

Hopelessly broken to the eye of the critic,

Unboundedly beautiful to the eye of the mom.

 

Even though I am not your mom, I will hang that picture on my fridge

And everyday, as I pour myself a glass of milk,

I will pour out words of affirmation and adoration for you

My words will swirl and spin and stick like pins in your flesh

Drawing forth your sweet, sweet blood, proving to the rest of the world that you are just as alive as they.

But do not ask for Band-Aids, let the sweetness flow

The world needs more blood like yours in it,

Not ashamed and not pretending.

 

You have all taught me that sadness is sadness and joy is joy and to deny either one is to employ the mind of a destitute daydreamer set on champion, destined for destruction.

You have all taught me what is emptiness and what is fear.

So don’t fear, my children, I will be here.

Even when I am not here I will be here.

Constantly

Speaking for you,

Advocating for you,

Longing for you.