I wrote this poem this past fall and it seems very fitting for this challenge :)

Here goes:

And when they ask me,

Why do you write?

My answer is quick and my answer is from my inmost being.

Because when there was nothing there was writing.

And now when there is something there is still writing.

I’d forgotten you existed!

The very one that shattered me at one time.

I think back, or forward really just with memories, and I remember how incredibly cruel you were… how violently you broke me.

I would wait, wait. On edge. On edges of beds that you would drunkenly push me onto. On edges of passenger seats because you locked the car doors so I couldn’t get out. Edges of cliffs you made me want to jump off of. I would wait. Wait for any moment that you might look me in the eye with ones that weren’t evil. I waited for your mouth to say something that didn’t indicate my death was encouraged. I waited for the man I thought you were to show up.

I remember how incredibly cruel you were. I wondered if you even wondered what it would be like to be kind. I remember I prayed at night that you would say to me “I don’t want you to die”. But you left me to it! You did.

I didn’t die though.

Almost.

But not fully.

It’s a big thing—almost dying and actually dying.

It’s not close like light blue and sky blue.

It’s different hues on the scale.

There's the almost dying and coming back to life, me.

There's the almost dying and stay dead inside, you.

I smile at what I know I'd hear about you, if I ever remembered to waste my time asking about scum. I know nothing will have changed. Kind under pressure. Evil under cover. Having mommy save your ass. Having daddy save your cash.

But your brother. He's real. He's different than you - he said, and i quote, "He never deserved you."

I’d forgotten you’d even existed! Ever!

Dear John,

Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to see how much better my very own existence is ever since you blessed me with your absence.

This story is part of a collaborative project with additional talented writers. The previous chapters can be found here: https://theprose.com/post/438830/tag-list-and-schedule

Olban knew he had to consult with Master Stell immediately, especially with the new knowledge that Wellick hadn't acted alone. He didn't know how close Wellick's boss was, and he didn't wish to find out. He observed traces of blood, salt, and residue from the golden thread he had sliced remaining on his dagger. He also noticed the six rings Wellick had originally sported in his fake human form sprawled on the ground. Olban quickly grabbed the rings and took one last look at the hideous creature that was thankfully no longer alive. Seeing nothing else worth taking, he ran out of the cave to head back to his own master.

"So Wellick isn't the big bad antagonist after all, eh?"

"Seems that way Gareth."

"Look, I'm really sorry you guys. I put my trust in that creature thinking he was my friend, and he almost killed us all."

"It's fine Eloise. I have forgotten about your bad judgement call already. We have more pressing matters to attend to with Wellick's master. It is safe to say that whoever they are, they will be a more troublesome foe."

"What are you planning to do with those rings? Are you sure it's safe to keep them? What if Wellick left one last F you before dying?"

"The thought crossed my mind too, but the rings and the mess on the dagger are the only things we have left from our enemy. If we give Master Stell access to them, perhaps he may be able to learn more about our adversary's powers, and could then help us figure out a countermeasure for dealing with them. We won by tricking Wellick this time, but I doubt we'll be that lucky again."

*****

"And that's everything that has happened so far, Master Stell."

Master Stell set his cup of tea down on the table where he and Olban were sitting. Much like Olban's attire, his master wore a tunic, a tight woollen hose, a leather jerkin and leather boots. Master Stell had silver hair and a face that reflected his 70 years of life experience, yet he also possessed a youthful, energetic aura. Olban questioned if his master aged well due to one of his magical experiments, or if it was from simply taking good care of himself over the years. His house wasn't much, but the vast amounts of metals, liquid vials, and books in this room alone certainly kept things interesting.

"So you and the two freeloaders in your head ran into some opposition, and you managed to prevail and escape despite your lack of cohesion together?"

"Ugh, another person to insult me? All of this is new to me, yet all I get is criticized for not understand-"

"Get over yourself Eloise, he's directing this at all three of us. It isn't all about you, ok?"

"Knock it off you two, all you're doing is proving Master Stell's point!"

Master Stell cracked a smile before full on belly laughing at his former apprentice.

"Trouble in paradise? You were a fine apprentice, but you have a ways to go before reaching master status Olban. I will applaud your judgement in coming to me though, as I have heard some rumblings about this master of Wellick's from some of my colleagues."

"Really?" Olban lit up. "What can you tell us?"

"Well, the master is a mystery, but from recent reports, other creatures similar to Wellick have been popping up around the land. Drumble from the town of Shelon had encountered a creature that matched the description of your pal Wellick's true form, and Drumble had even managed to get the creature to talk before it fled. Apparently these creatures spawn from their master, yet each have distinct personalities of their own. That's all we know about them though."

"The six rings I brought back, along with the residue on my dagger.... would any of these help us in learning more?"

"Well, they're better than nothing." Master Stell smiled. "But there's only so much knowledge they will bring, if any. However, I can tell you this much with certainty. I definitely sense an evil essence from these rings, but other than that they are powerless. Any magic that was within them seems to have died with Wellick."

"But Wellick told us he had trapped other beings within the rings, including my childhood bully Aiden!" Eloise cried out within Olban's mind. "Does this mean those beings died too?"

Olban relayed this concern to Master Stell, and he pondered it for a moment.

"Without knowing the enemy's true power, it is hard to say if this is true. If Wellick was truly capturing others within these rings, those lives may have been freed upon his defeat. However, it is more likely that this was another mind game he used on you. As I said, we have much to learn. Fortunately for you fledglings, I have a plan."

Olban lit up again, pleased that Master Stell seemed to have the situation under control. Even with his apprenticeship over, he still looked up to Master Stell as a father figure, and felt safe as long as he knew what to do.

"I will experiment on these rings and find a way to destroy them. Chances are other minions of the enemy, or even this mastermind has more of them, and knowing how to dispose of them should help in future conflicts. I will study the remnants of what is on your dagger as well, but truth be told, I really need a live specimen to truly make progress. That is where you three will come in. Olban, hand me the armband please."

Olban did as he was instructed, and Master Stell carried the rings, dagger and armband to a table. After some unseen tinkering with the armband, Master Stell brought it back to Olban. He also carried a clean dagger and a piece of paper with two sets of mysterious words on it.

"I have added a new power to the armband." Master Stell explained. "If you perform the steps properly, the armband will perform binding magic that can capture anything of your choice, and transport it back to me here. This spell is three times more powerful than an ordinary one."

"So our new objective is to find and capture one of those creatures alive?"

"Don't get the wrong idea, your mission of restoring the balance by freeing yourselves and the others through the creation of your own rings is the same. But when you inevitably face opposition by another one of these Wellick like minions on your journeys, you will not only have a way to fight back, but you can also send them to me so I can hopefully learn more about them and their master."

"How would he find out more from a live minion?" Gareth questioned. "Ask him for us Olban."

"I would interrogate them of course, and if necessary, experiment on them to find a weakness. If these minions truly come from their master's body, maybe their weaknesses are the same."

"Experimenting on other lives? That just sounds cruel, and makes us no better than them!"

"Are you kidding me Eloise? These are the bad guys, and they deserve anything Master Stell dishes out at them! We're not the ones in the wrong, they're the ones trying to kill us!"

"You two are giving me a migrane, can you stop bickering in my head already?"

"Oh boy, mastering the binding spell may be a bigger challenge than I thought."

"What do you mean master?"

"To initially cast the binding spell, three must say the incantation in unison. Once the subject is bound, three must say the second incantation in unison to send the captive back to me. If you, Gareth, and Miss Parker are able to recite the incantations together, then the binding spell will work. However, your minds are wildly out of sync, and you will need to figure out how to work together if this has any chance of working."

*Meanwhile, in a neglected voicemail box*

"Hello Gareth, this is Dr. Connors calling you once again. You were not at your previously scheduled appointment, and I really need you to call back to reschedule. If you are not comfortable coming in person due to the pandemic, we can meet online via Zoom. Please return this call as soon as you can, it is urgent that I speak to you all. Thank you, and I wish you a good rest of your day."

Sad and sick of seeking something better suiting our sensitivities elsewhere. We tip toe around a minefield of better left unsaid rhetoric to get back to there.

Situated in that sensational station we found formerly agreeably fare. The place the passion that pleased us previously presided. Even though it was absent that last innumerable number times we tried to find it. At that spot I thought and you exclaimed was the same. Appearing to have experienced such. But unfortunately for I and you. Your act was overplayed a touch. Ensuring my ego wouldn’t allow itself to be saved.

By your gracelessly delivered lie. I tried to be hush hush but you probably garnered as much. When I didn’t gush but brushed over that fact in a rush to ferry your focus elsewhere.

Because the misery we grown to know. Beats the thought of searching thru a sea of psychotic suitors. Just to settle on another sycophant we don’t. Whatever we loved. The times of it coming regularly are long gone. So sporadic it’s become barely a memory.

Liar! Liar! Flame retardant pants? Don't catch fire! Hey this just dawned on me. "To infinity and beyond" is a dumb blondes catch phrase.

Chapters 1-5(Please tell me your favorite name for the book)

Chapter One

James

I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE UP. I FELT LIKE IT WAS TO EARLY, AND I DIDN'T WANT TO FACE THE DAY.

But mom was pushing harder, and I knew I couldn't hide any longer.

“James, get up,” Mom kept saying.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” I told her.

“Get up, you have work to do.”

She leaves and I get up and get dressed. Then I walked downstairs, and I noticed that it was about time that I weeded the garden, so as Gavin, our hired hand, started his shift, I weaved through the pretty well stocked storage room, and exited the tavern at the back. We were backed up to the woods near the edge of town, but it was on the main road allowing us to be the first place travelers see when they enter the small town of Lonelyton, in Tallis, the Crown of the Dragons.

Lonelyton was an unremarkable village near the southeastern border of Tallis, and it still is. The main reason anyone went there in the first place were the rumors of magical protection from attack, caused by the surrounding, heavily wooded Dragon Claw Mountains, the rumored home of the ancient mother dragon. It’s the kind of town where everyone has met, and no one can get away with anything, because someone will recognize your shoe or something like that. Well, except for the rich kids. They do something, and their parents protect them. Mostly to protect themselves.

Now this is my family

Dad, whose name was John, was the biggest guy in town, so everyone had to look up to talk to his bearded face. His rather intimidating appearance is accompanied by his hard-earned money, and he is a trained sword fighter, because he was some knight's squire at one point or another, so he’s a match for basically everyone. So, no one wanted to make him mad, unless they were too drunk. In that case, Dad had a way of sobering them up rather quickly.

Mom, whose name was Laurie, was kind of mousey, meaning she was small, and had a love for books which she had passed on to my sister. A love that my dad and I couldn’t understand, mostly because he couldn’t read very well, on account of him never being taught how, and me being too impatient to sit through more than a page. She had back hair, and a smooth, soothing voice. She was also really fast, which had been passed on to me, while my dad's beastliness went to my sister in ways that were more mental than physical.

Shara, my sister, when we were not working the tavern or doing a sword or bow lesson with Dad off in the woods, would spend most of her free time reading, while I mud-wrestled my friends. She gets her facial features mostly from mom with dad's brown eyes, and blond hair. I on the other hand look more like Dad, with Mom's bright green eyes, and more of dad’s blond hair. She was stubborn and would eat you alive if you crossed her. She also got that from Dad.

I was weeding the garden and I was not paying much attention to anything, just kind of listening. As the sun rose, it became easier, and easier to see what I was doing. My other family members were getting the tavern ready for the morning rush, as the travel weary travelers and merchants will want to feed themselves, and since the Keeled Koder burnt down, the old Happy Dog was the only inn or tavern in the sleepy little town of Lonelyton.

Other than me, everything seemed still, as the town had not yet shaken the bonds of their mattresses and their blankets.

Suddenly, I heard something running in the woods. I stopped and focused on the sound of this moving creature. It was two legged by the sound of it, but that didn't suit me. It could still have been a thief, a small minitour, maybe even a werewolf?

I drew my knife, my weapon until dad decided that I was deserving of, and ready for, my own sword. The small blade was tipped with silver, to deal with werewolves, the edges were serrated, as to be able to shred flesh, and the pommel has a heavy metal ball to break windows, but it would work well on bone too.

I could hear the thing coming closer, and closer. It vaulted right over the nearly ten-foot-tall fence, and I turned… as it fell on its face.

It was a man, maybe twentyish, as he appeared to have a scruffy beard.

I inched up to him to find that he was younger than I had originally suspected, about my sister's age of sixteen summers. As the sun crested the fence, I rushed to his side, as I saw why he fell. His light brown hair was coated in blood, assumably from the large cut on the back of his head. His ankles, wrists, and neck were encircled by rings, each with a heavy looking chain dangling from them. From his back three arrows stood proudly, happy that they made their mark. His ribs popped up under his skin like little hills, his belly dropping dramatically into a valley. His legs were covered by a pair of tattered wool pants. He was cold to the touch and was breathing shallowly. His back was covered in dry blood, and whip marks crisscrossed all over his back, along with the obvious arrows. On his chest rested a raw crystal of some sort, tied with a rope around his neck. A necklace.

“What happened to you?” I asked his battered and unconscious body. "Dad!?”

“What?!” Called the deep resonant voice that was associated with my father.

“I need you in the garden!”

“Why?!”

“You got to see this if you’re to believe it!”

Thunk, thunk, thunk, went to the floorboards as dad walked on them.

“Alright what is i-, oh, what even happened to that guy?”

“No idea Dad, but he needs help.”

“He’s alive?” He jogged over and picked him up. “I'll bring him to the surgeon.

Just finish setting’ up the tavern, and your mother ‘ll work the tavern ’till I get back.

Chapter Two

Shara

I COULD’NT BELIEVE HOW GOOD THE BOY LOOKED.

His square jaw, his luscious hair, and the strange streaks of white mixed in, and his sculpted chest, with that strange necklace. So handsome.

Stop, I said to myself, you don't even know the guy. You can when he wakes up, which means you need to help him feel better, which will not happen if you goggle at him instead of bandage his wounds.

The tavern was empty. The other day, the surgeon had helped them bring the man to a room, and told them to replace his bandages as needed, and to apply a fowl spelling green salve when we do.

He looks so strong, I thought as my mother, and I finished wrapping his stitched-up body. Mom had applied the paste to his back, but he still hadn't moved much, though he had accepted the broth we feed him with.

He will be fine, I told myself, as I descended down the stairs into the mid-afternoon calm, in-between lunch and dinner, Gavin, the helping hand, was just getting back from serving at another table. I knew he fancied me, but the feeling was not mutual.

The man was a coward, and a liar. He looks like the kind of man who would sell the devil his mother's soul for two silver chips. He was the guy that your parents point out and say, “Stay away from him.” He’s the one that acts like your friend as he slips poison in your coffee. He is skinny, weak, and silky.

His face even bore a resemblance to that of a weasel.

That was his nickname, infact. In Lonelyton, everyone had a nickname that everyone called you. I was Miss Library, James was Garlin (after the burrowing dragon of legend), Dad was Big Man, Big if you're lazy, Mom was Madam Word, and Gavin was Captain Weasel Boy.

I personally hated him.

But sadly, he liked me, and wouldn’t leave me alone for too long.

“How are you darling?” he said in his nasally, oily, and sickening voice.

If he knew I hated him, he definitely wouldn't show it.

He was set on me being with him. Bagh!

I decided not to acknowledge him at all.

I can feel his eyes boring into my back.

Why me?

Why not Betty Morgs, the daughter of the farmer next door? She’s nice, and pretty.

Actually, scratch that. She is my friend. Sandra Gorg then. She is pretty, but also a jerk. She deserves him.

He just needs to go away, before he gets booty hurt… again.

Chapter Three

Four

SOME TIME AGO...

I was surrounded by the same walls that have surrounded me for so long. Their cold stones are as cruel as ever. I don't know why I’m here, but I am, and I can barely remember anything beyond the bricks and the pain. I didn’t even know my own name... I was just called Four. I used to get mad, but that just caused them to hurt me more. I barely even tried anymore.

What does the world outside look like? If they let me see... I’d be happier, but they won’t even give me a chance!

No. They don’t like when you do that.

Hide it.

They can see it in your eyes.

Hide it.

Bury the flame.

Hide it.

Kill it.

Hide it.

They don't like it.

They see it in your eyes.

Hide it.

Hide it.

Kill it.

Bury it.

Hide it.

Bury it.

Chapter Four

James

IT’S A REGULAR DAY.

The only thing that was new is the very sleepy guy, and he made his grand entrance a week ago, and hadn’t woken up. He kind of does, but barely, and sporadically. Barely for a few moments. Where his eyes fluttered, and he tried to say something, but sleep reclaimd him first.

It was late, as I listen as my sister reads. My foot is wiggling as I impatiently wait for sleep to take me. I don't understand why she is able to sit there for so long, just reading.

Someone is knocking on my door.

I tell them to come in.

Speaking of the devil!

“What’s up?” I’m asking Shara.

“I have a question.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Well... shoot.”

“Do you think... will the new guy wake up?”

“Well, we did all we could. Don’t see why not. He’s eating, and he is noticeably rounder. All to do now is pray, right? That’s really all anyone can do.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, just worried.”

“Makes sense”

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

“Well, see you in the morning.”

“See you.”

She is gone, off to bed, and finally, sleep is able to take me.

Chapter Five

Shara

THE DAY WAS ABOUT ENDED, AND MY SHIFT IS OVER.

I’m going to the new guy's bedroom.

Ba, ba, ba, ba my feet said as they climb the stairs.

Clomp, clomp, clomp my feet said as I walked down the hall.

It’s quiet. Those in the rooms above are asleep or are preparing for sleep.

Creek says the door, and thud, a hand stops the door from opening.

“Gavin, don’t.”

“But why, my beautiful buttercup?”

“One, I am NOT ‘your buttercup’ and two, I don’t like what you're doing, and you know how Dad will have you dealt with if you continue.

His hand is gone, and I enter without ever needing to look at him.

I see the man in his bed, his eyes still closed.

I sat on the chair next to his bed and read to him from an old book of tales about the ancient dragons who apparently protected the land of Tallis. He responds well to these stories. I read to him for a long time, and I only realized that I fell asleep when I woke up, head slumped back, the book in my lap, a crick in my neck. I opened my eyes to see, the bed empty, and the blanket over my lap.

The next two weeks pass quickly. With the end of the school year approaching, our teachers have begun to assign more test, more projects, and more papers. Not to mention all the festivities still being planned for Easter.

At this point Easter’s beginning to feel like a chore, not a holiday. Sister Anne has assigned a five page paper about the meaning and importance of Easter, which is irritating because we’d all written the same paper but shorter last year. Unfortunately, we can’t reuse any of our work because Sister Anne read them all last year, and told us she’d be comparing the two, to verify that we’ve improved in our studies.

Easter also means the Easter Rising Talent Assembly, which I’d thought wouldn’t be so bad. Usually it’s quite entertaining to watch other kids perform songs, or dance, or dribble a basketball. The elementary kids, in particular, are always funny to watch, since they’re too young to be embarrassed.

However, I’m going to have to sit and greet everyone at the assembly, which I don’t want to do, but Maggie will be there with me, so I won’t have to do too much talking, I hope. What’s worse, though--what’s the worst--is that I somehow agreed to be in the talent assembly. Mrs. Vena had really liked my English paper, and she’d told me I should read it to everyone. In the moment, I’d frozen, and my brain had let my mouth say, ‘ok’. Now I don’t know how to tell her that I absolutely do not want to read a paper in the assembly. In front of everyone. I get sweaty just thinking about it.

What’s not so bad about Easter, though, is that Kelly and I hung up all the decorations around the school. We’d stayed after one day and taped up a bunch of garland and pastel streamers. We even cut out pale yellow and pink and blue egg shapes and taped them to everyone’s lockers. And, right before we left, he pulled a bag of plastic eggs out his backpack. This hadn’t been in our plan, but he started hiding them around the school, telling me they’ll be fun for people to find.

I’d opened one up, and inside was a small print-out of Principle Sumner’s face, with “Happy Easter!” written underneath. It was strange, and it made me smile, and Kelly had taken that egg and hidden it in under a bench in the front lobby with a gleeful laugh.

That, at least, had been fun.

Speaking of Kelly, I was glad that we continued to meet up at the library every Thursday. I truly don’t know how I ever got my homework done without him. When I have a question, he always knows the answer. And when he doesn’t, he puts his chin in his hand and reads my textbook and scribbles on a random scraps of paper until he’s figured it out.

Thursdays are now my second favorite day of the week.

And on my favorite day, on Fridays, I still see Pearl. The weather keeps fluctuating between warm and cool, as spring tends to do, but we’ve been able to sit outside every week. She seems better, though every once in a while she’ll mention something about YRJ, and she’ll frown, and a darkness will pass over her. I’ve found that if I touch her hand, she’ll come back. She’ll smile at me, and in that moment I think everything feels ok, for both of us.

Today, however, isn’t a Thursday or a Friday. It’s Wednesday, the day of our monthly all-school service. I sit down in the pews next to the rest of my third-period class, and immediately zone out. Easter’s just a week and a half away, and I still haven’t said anything to Mrs. Vena about the Easter talent assembly.

The pastor is talking, but I’m not listening. I stare around the chapel, realizing that Pearl isn’t here. I scan the crowd again, and it doesn’t surprise me that I can’t find Henry either. How do they always get away with sneaking off?

I sit and stare at my hands for a couple of minutes, thinking, waiting. Then everyone stands for one of the songs, and, with my heart pounding in my ears, I shuffle across the pew to the end, muttering ‘excuse me’ as I go. Sister Bertha stands at the end of the row, and my voice sticks in my throat for a second before I ask, “Can I go to the bathroom?”

Her eyes stare into me, and I swear she knows that I don’t have to go to the bathroom. I think a year of silence passes as she considers me. Then, “Yes.”

I tiptoe out of the chapel, then outside. I march myself across the campus to the school building, since the chapel doesn’t have any bathrooms. I’m already certain this is a terrible idea. Pearl was probably sitting behind me, and I just didn’t spot her. I’ll just go to the bathroom and go right back to the service.

Those plans are immediately dashed when I enter the school building.

“--won’t you just admit, then? I spent all that time trying to fix you, and–”

“He does not need to be fixed!”

“I–”

“Don’t you–!”

The voices overlap, but I recognize them. I rush around the corner, stopping just outside the bathrooms, where the voices are coming from. Well, it looks like I will be going into the bathroom, after all.

I push open the girl’s side door, and the all the noise stops. The door squeaks on its hinges. Henry bolts to his feet, swaying from the movement. His eyes are red. Pearl’s got a grip on his arm, her gaze hot and angry, her mouth screwed into a frown. And at the sink is Katherine, a hand on the basin. She whips her head around towards me, and I’m surprised to see tears on her cheeks, her eyes shiny.

Katherine is the first to speak, her tone clipped. “Leave us alone, Trinity. Use one of the other bathrooms.”

“I think it’s time you should go,” Pearl spits back, letting go of Henry. He’s scrubbing a hand through his hair, his gaze on the bathroom floor.

I stand just in the doorway, and the door swings shut behind me. I make a move to go further into the bathroom, but Katherine puts out a hand, and I stop. “Listen. I’m trying to talk to Henry, ok? That’s all.” She rubs the cross necklace at her throat with two fingers. Her tone borders on hysteric.

Henry doesn’t answer her, he just holds his head, his breathing uneven. I wonder if this is one of his panic attacks.

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking to Pearl.

She’s got her hands on Henry’s shoulders, and she asks him gently, “Do you want to sit down again?” To me, she says, “Just get Katherine out, please.”

Katherine’s breathes out heavily and turns to me. “No. No, you want to hear something? He’s gay. Yeah, they’re not dating at all. Henry Foley is gay, and he wouldn’t let me fix him. I could do it! He was so much better, then. If he would just let me pray with him again, God will fix him, I’m sure. Then–then we can be together, like we’re supposed to.” She’s crying openly now, her hands over her face. She doesn’t even look angry. In fact, I barely recognize her as Katherine Davies at all.

She comes towards me, and I think she’s going to knock me over and run out of the bathroom, but instead she puts her forehead on my shoulder and cries some more. I exchange an incredulous glance with Pearl over her shoulder. When Katherine doesn't move, I pat her awkwardly on the back with one hand.

“He’s the best boyfriend I ever had,” she tells me tearfully. “I loved him.”

Henry’s sitting on the floor now, his head bent. He’s breathing in and out steadily, like he’s meditating. His eyes are closed, and Pearl is murmuring to him, sitting next to him on the ground.

Pearl glances up at me with her wide eyes, and she doesn’t need to speak for me to understand. I give her a curt nod and gingerly reposition Katherine so I can open the bathroom door and guide her out.

She pulls away from me and wipes at her eyes, and the hallway feels thick and silent and too bright. I rub my palms on my skirt.

“You know you can’t fix him, right?” I say lowly.

She turns her head sharply in my direction, and, embarrassingly, I flinch. She sniffs. “I must. Otherwise, he’s just… he’s-- It’s against the bible.”

I watch her hand, still holding her cross necklace, and I think of what Amber had written on that sign. We are called to discriminate as He discriminates. Why is this what’s being taught? When Henry can’t help the way he is?

“If I can’t fix him, then he’ll go to Hell,” Katherine whispers to me, her face pale. “And he shouldn’t, because other than that, he’s a good person, he really is.” She hiccups and stares into the lights on the ceiling, trying not to cry.

“But he doesn’t need to be fixed. Don’t you think being a good person is more important than who he likes?”

Katherine doesn’t respond right away, and then she doesn’t get a chance to. Footsteps interrupt us, followed by a deep voice. “Miss Reeding, Miss Davies, have you lost your way back to the chapel?”

Sister Bertha stands in the hallway some feet away, still as a statue. Her face gives away nothing. She doesn’t look upset, or disappointed, or annoyed. She just looks at us.

My face heats, and Katherine dabs at the corners of her eyes. “I just, uh…” Katherine starts.

Sister Bertha procures a tissue from the skirts of her habit. “Why don’t you step outside for a moment, Miss Davies? Fresh air will help.”

Katherine gives me a look, and I’m not sure what it means, then stalks away, taking the tissue from Sister Bertha as she goes.

Sister Bertha’s eyes move from me to the bathroom door. “How are they?”

I start, and I think my heart stutters. She knows! How does she know?

She folds her hands together in front of her, the picture of serenity. It only makes me fidget more. I don’t know what to say.

“Everyone’s fine,” I squeak out. That doesn’t implicate anyone, on the off-chance she doesn’t know what’s going on. She’s silent. “I’ll go back to the chapel now,” I say, my head bowed.

“God is with you whether you attend service or not, Miss Reeding. I think He’d rather you stay with your friends when they need you.” I stare at her open-mouthed, and a thin smile lights her face. “You’re right, Miss Reeding. I believe that God cares more about us being good people than anything else.”

And then, she walks away.

Confused, I turn back to the bathroom door. I stare at it, I frown, I look back down the hallway. No one’s there.

I laugh. A short, little laugh. I’m not in trouble. Somehow, Sister Bertha knows everything, and still, none of us are in trouble. I shake my head, and enter the bathroom again.

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(first part: https://theprose.com/post/432343/trinity)

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(previous part: https://theprose.com/post/457738/pearl-39)

(next part: https://theprose.com/post/459253/trinity-41)

Softest at the beginning

And hardened slightly each day

Callused by their creation

Scars tattooed by fate's dismay

Extended to another

In such a tender embrace

As eyes meet and souls mingle

Before parting with no trace

So nimble are these fingers

Conveying both love and hate

Capable of destroying

All the wonders they create

Weathering beneath the strain

Skin grows wrinkled and thin

Every day invaluable

As time chooses to weigh in

Clasped between those warm with life

Another goes limp and cold

But the story only ends

When tales are no longer told

"You're a baby, Caleb."

"Man, forget you, Nick. It's hot!"

Nick checked the thermostat. "It's 75 degrees, man. That's seriously spring temps."

"Too hot. Look at me! I'm melting!"

Nick shook his head. "What do you want it set to, then?"

I thought for a second. "68."

Nick looked at me with shock. "Dude, what are you trying to do? Make me freeze?"

"Man, you're a baby. Even that's warm for me. Those seven degrees is the difference between me dying and being semi-comfortable."

"68 is kinda chilly, man."

"Dude, I can be outside at 40 degrees and feel fine. I'll put on a hoodie if I know I'll be out there for a while, but other than that…"

"We are talking Fahrenheit, right?" Nick asked.

"No. Kelvin."

Nick shook his head. "You're something else, Caleb. You're something else."

"I'm a Nord. 15% resistance to frost damage."

Nick looked at me with a puzzled look.

"Skyrim reference."

"Oh," he said, walking to the control panel. "The crowds waiting. You going to get on there or what?"

"No, I have a plan."

Converting the bird suit wasn't that difficult. I went to the guy who helped my design and create the suit and had him make me a tailcoat entirely out of black feathers. It did split down the center, as I find tailcoats that don't split unclassy. I'm a classy man, so you have to have that split. The feather pants seemed to shine in the sunlight, and my orange tie brought the whole look together.

I had been preserving the snow since it fell last week. It never snows down here in the Hellish temperatures of the South. On the bright side, the two weeks of spring that rapidly turn into a scorching summer are absolutely gorgeous… if you go to the right state parks. Though nothing will ever compete with the rolling plains of the Mid-West or the majestic mountains of Colorado, the South can be a beautiful place.

I snapped out of my trance and checked the integrity of my machine. Everything seemed to be in working order. I pressed the timer, set off in a dead sprint on the catwalk, dove off of it, tucking my arms in and spinning as I fell.

"Three… two… one…" I muttered as the ground grew ever closer. On one, the ground being way too close for my comfort, I spread my wings and began to soar, only a few feet from the ground. Simultaneously, my machine erupted, sending a shower of snow down onto the audience and the stage. Soon, the entire Pen to the Paper Arena was covered in snow. Real snow that I paid way too much to get scooped up and hauled here. Luckily for me, the Pen to the Paper audience was large enough to splurge on cool things like this.

Doing a flip mid-air, I landed on stage, sliding sideways to a halt in front of the microphone. "I don't do these entrances because they are absolutely epic," I said. "They are just genuinely fun.

"Y’know, I had a lot of fun in the little bit of snow we had last week. Melted next day, as is typical, but because it had rained before, we were able to grab the sleds we hadn't used in years and go sledding in the two centimeters of snow we had. The snow fight that followed was just super fun… I suck at throwing them, though. My aim is awful. So of course the only time I hit someone is when my grandmother came outside with the garbage… Sorry, not sorry, Grandma. Then, for old time's sake, we headed inside and made some hot chocolate, even though we were only wearing sweaters out there.

"Keeping the snow from melting was tough. Especially with Nick putting the darn thermostat on 75… I love the dude, but, man… he gets cold easy.

"But enough about that, who's ready for some announcements!?!?!?"

The crowd went wild, cheering. Or were their teeth chattering that loudly? It was hard to tell. And I was getting some angry glares…

Smiling smugly, I said, "Well, let's get on with it then!

"In third place, we have Rosemandle's Lonely. It was a beautiful poem about waiting for the right person.

"In second place is none other than Sanjana_S! Her wonderfully descriptive work Decades Wrapped in the Dark made you feel as if you were in solitary confinement with the man, it made you think like he thought, it made you confused like he was. It was amazing. Which is why it was difficult to not give her first place… but I definitely think that first place is deserving of its place.

"First place was a beautiful piece of literature. It pulled on your heart strings really well, and the ending was very well done. In first place, we have Love Letter Found in the Ruins of the War by roboggeek! I loved everything about this!"

I stood silently for a moment while the crowd cheered in congratulation.

"Some honorable mention," I said after a while.

"I really enjoyed All Hail! (Pen to the Paper 17) by StephanieMarie. The rhyme scheme was great! I'm a sucker for a good rhyme scheme, and the poem itself was wonderful.

"Time at the Typewriter by jtwannabewriter was also a wonderful read! I absolutely loved it.

"Spiral… by michaelistrans was a great mind-wandering that I enjoyed reading."

"LovelyNB's I Fall to pieces in the NICU was another great write! Though I will never be a mother, she did a wonderful job giving a peak into the thoughts and feelings of a mother separated from her baby, unable to do the motherly duties she likely longs for. To hold the child, to feed the child… it was an amazing little write.

"Finally, but not lastly nor leastly, we have Roses311Sublime's Filler. I had a few good laughs in it!

"Thank you one and all for entering! I'll see you guys next month!" I said, pulling something out of my inner pocket. Throwing it to the ground, a puff of smoke exploded in front of me. By the time the smoke cleared, I was gone.

Once the elevator clicked into the floor of the multi-purpose room that I call the dressing room, I approached Nick and slapped him across the face.

"OW! WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?"

I pulled off my jacket and pointed at the wet spot beneath my arms. "Did you turn the thermostat up!?"

He put his hand on his neck and laughed nervously as I stared angrily at him, cracking my knuckles.

i love the things i hate

that my hair is curly

my skin is dark

my fragile fingers

my brown-green eyes

the way i can think forever

and find the deeper meanings

how i can feel so unforgivingly

i love the things i hate