Death

Water tears away at her,

Ceaseless in its fury.

Wind winnows at her back,

Heedless in its erosion.

Fire burns beneath her skin,

Reckless in its destruction.

Rebirth

Water pulses through her,

Building new veins.

Wind weaves over her,

Winding new paths.

Fire heals old wounds,

Melding the rifts.

Life

She is Ouroboros

She is Earth

#poetry

As she walked along the old footpath, it had an indent on the left & the right, just wide enough to fit her foot, she thought to herself how many people would it take to make such an impact?

Impact to scoffed to herself, people probably notice the impact on the footpath from so many people more then her, it’s as if they look right through her, just invisible.

The thing was Eloise thought to herself, she liked to be invisible, she didn’t like too many people to notice her, Eloise knew she was odd, the less who knew the better.

Eloise had been an odd child growing up, always in her own world made up in her head. She had been known to have walked into walls, she shook her head as she walked. Walk into walls? She realised she really must have been somewhere else then where she was.

Just as Eloise was thinking this, she automatically took the step down the gutter, she knew this walk home from the office, she could do it blind!

She stepped onto the road, took 2 more steps, when a car screeched & blasted its horn at her. ‘Sorry’ she says , giggling in her head, nothing has changed, I still prefer my own worlds.

At the age of 17, Eloises parents had finally had enough, & took her to another psych, the best they could find.

Eloise laughed, they were always the best they could find. This one however was different, he could sense something was not quite right, & pushed her for months to open up.

Eventually she did, she told him how she felt there were 5 people living inside of her, all with their own name & personality.

He nodded his head, made a few notes, & told her she had Multiple Personality Disorder. All of this Eloise didn’t take in, she just listened & nodded her head.

When she left, her parents were handed a script. She could hear the medication was meant to stop all the ‘nonsense’ within.

Know that Eloise is older, now 29, she does not understand why people call it nonsense, or just don’t understand.

She sees what they don’t, every single person she meets behaves a different way, subtle changes, they don’t seem to be aware.

Like the guy at the cafe today, he was wearing a very smart blue suit & teal tie, shoes were polished, hair was done well, clean shaven & she could smell his aftershave.

His order when it arrived wasn’t what he was expecting, he made that clear in a loud voice.

Eloise laughed in her head when he did this, I bet you do not behave at work or at the pub that way do you?

Different environments mean people act a different way.

Eloise stepped up the curb, on to another footpath. She turned left, &!there she relaxed, this was her home. Her sanctuary away from the world.

Inspired by AJR “Humpty Dumpty”

Once upon a time there was an egg named Humpty Dumpty. Every morning all the eggs of all the houses would sit atop the great big wall with wide smiles and watch the sun. Every day that Humpty Dumpty climbed the great big wall to join them. The eggs would sit and smile until the sun reached its peak and until it took its rest.

Humpty Dumpty liked the wall. Everyone was there and everyone was happy. Though sometimes he felt a bit dizzy and scared with the height of it, he tried not to think about it.

One day, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. He tumbled down and down the great wall. He landed hard with a crack on his head. A scream built up in his throat, but looking up he saw all the other eggs staring down at him. Slowly and carefully, he pushed down the pain and pushed himself back up with a smile on his face.

“I’m ok,” Humpty Dumpty said.

Humpty Dumpty climbed back up the great big wall. He joined the others as they sat and smiled. He looked straight forward at the sun, not looking to the left or the right or up or down.

When he climbed down at the end of the day, he waited until everyone had left. He climbed down slower than he ever had before. He had to pause a few times to wipe his tears and stop his hands from shaking in fear, but it was ok, no one was around to see.

The next day Humpty Dumpty woke early. He covered the crack on his head with white paint and practiced his smile. Humpty Dumpty climbed the great big wall with all the other perfect eggs. His mind was consumed with anxiety every minute he sat on the wall. The wide, wide wall felt like a sharp thin wire but all the other eggs sat so surely so Humpty Dumpty pretended to too.

As Humpty Dumpty sat, he began to shudder and shake. The shuddering and shaking started small, but slowly got bigger and bigger. It didn’t take long for him to tumble down and down the wall again. He landed with a loud smack. He felt the crack on his head widen and a new one split open on his side. He opened his mouth to let out a scream, but remembered the faces up above. Humpty Dumpty morphed his mouth into a smile and rolled back to his feet.

“I’m ok,” Humpty Dumpty said.

Humpty Dumpty took his white paint out of his pocket. He covered his cracks. Even after he looked perfect again, he stayed standing at the bottom of the wall. The eggs above continued to sit. As he was trying to work up his courage to go back up, he saw a fractured egg lying on the ground. The egg wore no smile.

“I need help,” the egg groaned out.

Humpty Dumpty scrambled up the great big wall. With his perfectly painted skin and wide smile, he joined the others as they sat. That night, after he had finally gotten down the wall he cried himself to sleep.

The next day, Humpty Dumpty put on his paint and big wide smile and climbed up the great big wall. He sat next to the others, but couldn’t help glancing down at the ground far below in fear. As he looked, he saw eggs with wide ugly cracks walking below. He tried to stare ahead like all the other happy eggs, but his eyes kept being drawn down and down. The height made him dizzy. As his vision swam, he tilted sideways and rolled off the wall.

He landed with a thump. His cracks widened and a small piece of him broke off.

A hand stretched down towards him. It was one of the eggs he had seen from above.

The egg had dark disfigured lines all over its body, places it had cracked. The egg didn’t even try to hide them. There was no smile on its face, but a rather serious look. It was not very pretty. Past the outstretched hand, he could see the crowd of faces watching from above.

“I’m ok,” Humpty Dumpty said.

Humpty Dumpty rolled back on his feet by himself. Picking up his broken piece he put it back and plastered on his white paint. He plastered on a smile and began to climb. He got half way up, but as he reached up with his hand he heard a snap. His arm broke off and tumbled down and down to the ground. The rest of him soon followed.

He landed with a shatter. Humpty Dumpty splintered into a hundred pieces.

The same ugly cracked egg from before walked over to Humpty Dumpty’s scattered pieces.

“Do you need help?” the egg asked.

“Ok,” said Humpty Dumpty.

The egg smiled the most beautiful smile Humpty Dumpty had ever seen.

~THE PEARL~

The knife glitters, golden-white like daylight, but Halcyon does not just hold it. The blade is one of his fingers grown longer, flatter, sharper. A Dragon’s claw.

His eyes, metallic slivers of the sky, point at Jun’s hands on my wrists. “Do not touch.”

“No one’s touching you.” Pike leans across the table, palms hovering low over it as if to keep it from leaping, and his voice wavers beneath a forced buoyancy. “Seriously, Roomie, we’ve talked about being weird like this.”

Instinct wills me to place myself between the Dragon and the islander, but I lack the strength. Beneath my fingers, Jun’s blood dries and flakes. His skin seals, new and soft. I lent his body the energy to heal, but now I am empty. His grip is all that keeps me upright.

Warmth grows alongside Jun’s touch—a second set of hands. Sal’s hands. My vision swims, but for an instant, he fills my view. He stands where I should be, between Jun and Halcyon. Light plays with darkness, trailing streaks of color—the blue of Jun’s eyes, the rich brown of my hands. Sound and silence perform the same dance—Sal’s voice, Pike’s.

Jun’s grip tightens, though it feels so far away, as if these are not my wrists he holds. As if these arms belong to a fish at the very edge of my perceptions back when I would sink into another’s mind.

“Pearl, are you okay?”

Jun, do not let go. I am falling.

Sal’s salty scent surrounds me. His arms catch me, the crook of his neck cradling my face. My fingers tangle in his jacket, and I pull him closer. His warmth is energy. Perhaps he will not mind if I take just a little of it.

~THE SWINE~

He smells of death, and it takes everything in me to keep my face from twisting in disgust or pity. Every moment I’m even remotely near the islander, my gut turns in tighter knots. I take the first excuse to get away.

At least the Sky worm seems to be trying to hold up his end of the bargain. He keeps the Pearl from sitting next to Jun. So, when I spot Issoria, I go after her. In the hallway, she navigates the crowds. Her pixie wings bulge oddly beneath her jacket, though she tries to disguise it with a backpack.

Like me, she’s not old or strong enough to shapeshift on her own, and without her Essence’s support, her transformation’s coming undone. Does she miss flying at all? Much as I don’t want to admit it, I miss the freedom of swimming. This crowd wouldn’t be such a problem then. I could swerve over or under, not just around. The ocean regulates space much better than the land.

Maybe someday I’ll bring the humans there and teach them to make a home in the open waters. Mare will never allow it, but maybe her rule won’t last forever.

The thought is a tide, coming and going but never really gone. The humans are trying to kill her, and even if they don’t succeed, she has a new sibling. The Essence of the Night, a sister she’ll have to share her realm with part of the time.

She’ll hate it.

I’ve lost Issoria. I’ve lost myself, actually. From the pale blue tint of the lights set in the center of the wall’s cogs, I must be somewhere in the science wing, but beyond that—and how to get out—I have no idea. The corridor is narrow and tall. The lighting tricks the eye into believing the walls are purely vertical, but slight discrepancies in proportion give away the existence of higher walkways. This is an inverted pyramid. If Issoria can fly, she’s at an advantage here.

The further I walk, the less people there are, until I am alone. A thousand embers crackle at once, and I’m hurled into the wall. Fire crawls across me, burning into every seam in the weave of my skin. Tiny hands squeeze every organ. I can’t breathe.

Issoria alights in front of me, butterfly wings flashing gold and silver as they flutter. “Tell Halcyon to leave. If he doesn’t, I’ll kill you.”

I lift my chin, shoulder pressed against a spinning cog. It helps me straighten, but I don’t have the breath to speak yet. In lieu of words, my lip curls.

She points a long, black cylinder at me. “This is only a prototype, not nearly as strong as a Baker Arrow yet, but it’ll do the trick if I hit you enough times.”

“Halcyon doesn’t give a worm’s behind about me.” I swat at the black pipe. It’s nowhere near within my range, but the action makes me feel as if I have some control here.

Her needle teeth flash the same silver-gold as her wings as she grins. “Perhaps I should kill you in the name of research, then.” She twists and primes the weapon, each click louder than the one before, like footsteps drawing too close.

I shove off the wall, both hands splayed in front of my chest. “Wait, please? What even is that thing?”

“The wisdom of humankind. I’ve seen what they can do, Swine. Whether they belong here or not, they will rule this world.”

“That’s why you side with them? You’ll help them kill Caelus?”

She flinches, then steps forward and presses the pipe into my breastbone. “Think it’ll kill you faster this way?”

“How many of them know what you are?” My chest heaves, pressing the circle further into my flesh with every spasm. I’m about to lose my breakfast.

“I don’t want them to kill Caelus.” A sheen comes over her blue eyes. How alike they are to a Koa’s, but hers are so much paler, larger, shallower. “I belong to Caelus, but I want to continue seeing what the humans can make, even the things Caelus won’t like. He’ll stop them, or try, and I won’t let him. So, I can’t tell him.”

“Tell Caelus that.” My hand cups the pipe and forces it down one thread’s width at a time. “Not the last part. Tell him what you find so curious and how much you want more. He’s an airhead just like you. He’s bound to find it just as fascinating.”

She shakes her head, silver curls flying. “He won’t like them having something that can hurt him.”

“Does anybody?” I look pointedly at the prototype weapon she holds against my chest.

She fires.

~THE PEARL~

It is music, the rhythmic thrum against my cheek as energy seeps into me. It possesses a cold and hollow cadence, liquid yet crisp and heavy. How long have I been siphoning Sal’s life force?

I only meant to take a little. I must stop.

My palms flatten against his chest, and I push away, but it is not the green or gray of Sal’s eyes that meet mine. These are fragments of the sky, framed in bronze curls.

“You have no connection to an Essence,” he murmurs.

“Halcyon, what—” I try to pull away, but his arms form an iron cage around me. The thin metal chair bows beneath our combined weight. A struggle will likely snap it. Even if it survives, glass vials array on counters all around us, filled with liquids set aglow by the blue-tinted electric lights strung above.

I calm, though I do not lean into him again. “Thank you, Dragon, for sharing your energy.”

“Even from far away, I draw strength from Caelus, but Mare does not feed you. Eventually, that will kill you. You should not accelerate that by giving away the little you have.” He releases me and pulls a strip of meat from his satchel. “From the deer I had for breakfast.”

I accept it and chew greedily as I slide off his lap and stand. Steam cloaks the sight of the distant walls but not the sound. Gears churn. So do my intestines. “Does physical food not grant you energy?”

“Some. Yesterday, you said the dragon eats the deer if the dragon can, so today I decided to try one. Or five.”

“And?” I finish off my piece and peer hopefully at his satchel.

He hands me another. “The taste is pleasurable, but it takes a lot to fuel a Creature of Essence. Even a hundred deer would not replace what I get from Caelus.”

The Essence of the Sky has many Creatures in his Company, as does the Essence of the Sea. How powerful must Caelus and Mare be that they can give so much of themselves away.

Halcyon rises. He is a cliff, wily and serpentine. His pointed face pivots to keep his eyes locked on mine. They are narrow and almost entirely filled with metallic blue surrounding a pupil that is not quite round. “Why does she not feed you?”

I fight instinct and do not retreat from this mighty predator. The deer in my mouth bitters. “Mare has never fed me. I belong to Terra.”

“A Swine once wanted to belong to Caelus, so Mare killed him.” He swerves around me, scooping up a pair of vials. One contains a barely living flame. The other holds liquid shadow.

“She has granted me the chance to win my freedom.”

“Then why would she send a Swine here to fetch you?” He tilts a vial, and the shadow slides into the second tube. As it meets the flame, bubbles form, then foam. It has a certain beauty, yet it reeks with a dull, pulsing musk. “She wants you home. It is not safe here with humans.”

“Who is the Swine?”

He fidgets, voice so quiet, it may only be the breath of my imagination. “If he has not told you, then I should not either.”

“Where are Jun, Sal, and Pike? What is this place? Why have you brought me here?”

“Whatever you did to Jun made him lose his breakfast, and he went to the healers. Sal refused to share his energy with you, so I did.” He lifts the foaming tube. It is about to overflow. “I am not very good at science, but it is interesting.” He gulps the bubbling shadow, eyes shifting as he evaluates its taste.

I grab his wrist as if that can prevent him from doing what he already has. “I do not think you should ingest the humans’ experiments.”

He hiccups, and flames dance on his tongue.

I duck for fear they will leap out. “You failed to say what became of Pike.”

“Because I do not know what became of Pike. He is missing.”

Missing. My mouth forms the word with no voice. Ghostly fingers trail across the backs of my knees, and they threaten to buckle. A monster attacked Jun last night, and when I healed him, I made him sick. Now, something may have taken Pike.

A door squeals, and Beau saunters in. “You think they built it like that on purpose to prevent sneaking around?” His question does not appear to be directed at anyone until his eyes fall upon me. His brows rise, and his smile swells like a river gorging a monsoon. “Didn’t expect to find you in the Science Wing Study Hall, but I’m glad to have done so.”

“Have you been searching for Pike?”

“Why would I—” His smile withers as he traces my grip on Halcyon to the Dragon’s face. “You alright there? You haven’t been drinking this stuff again, have you?” He takes the vials from Halcyon and squints at the flames struggling to escape the Dragon’s lips. “Didn’t I tell you not to do stuff like this when you’re alone?”

“Pearl was here.”

A pillar of fire spears from Halcyon’s mouth, and we dive aside.

Beau is at my back, a hand on either elbow, though from our angle to the danger, it is not clear whether he would shield me or have me shield him. He smells of iron and something sharper.

“Pearl doesn’t—” He faces me with a renewed smile. “Glad to see you up, by the way. Our resident weirdo said you would be fine in a couple of hours, but...” He shrugs, and I turn toward him, trying to squirm out of his hold. “Professor Pi told Halcyon he couldn’t keep you on his lap like that, but he called you a dumb infant and insisted you would die if he left you. She eventually gave up arguing with him.”

“She banished me here,” Halcyon says with another plume of flame.

We duck.

“Yeah, I remember that now. This thing with Issoria just had me distracted—”

“What happened with Issoria?” Halcyon’s long, slender hands grip Beau’s shoulders, pale spiderwebs against the deep blue of his jacket. He is huge for a human, a head and shoulders taller than even Jun and with Sal’s breadth.

Fire licks at Beau’s hair, and he swats it out. “You need to keep your mouth shut for a while.”

I tug him free from the Dragon’s grip. “Was this before Pike went missing?”

“Weirdo number two is still gone?” Beau grimaces, and his hands drop. “I thought he was just ditching Professor Pi’s class since they have a lot of differing opinions.”

I shake him. “Did you not even search?”

“I have better—”

The door squeaks again, and as if summoned by my worry, Pike appears in its frame.

“Excuse me.” He bumps Beau aside and stops, a package held on upturned palms as he bows. “For you, Milady.”

The scent of fire and all things burnt clings to him even more than Halcyon. I gingerly take the cloth-wrapped item, though it is heavier than I assumed and my grip must stiffen to keep from dropping it. The wrappings flap open to reveal a plaque. An inscription darkens the wood in the most elegant script I have ever encountered, so fresh, smoke and heat linger.

Your ire turns me inside out

I might as well be a trout

Won’t you please forgive me

Let our friendship be as eternal as the sea

The flow is crude, nothing like Terra’s poetry, yet it owns a sincerity and quaintness that reminds me of the golems’ thought patterns. A silly grin leaps upon my face, and my heart pinches. This must be what he was working on when he hurt his hand this morning.

He points below the final line, where his name is scrawled in crimson. “I signed it in red, like blood, but symbolic blood. It’s not real blood, I promise.”

“Why so morbid, Pike?” Beau slaps him on the back.

At the same moment, a fiery belch escapes Halcyon, rattling the vials.

Eyes wide, Beau turns to him. “What are you, a pig?”

My ears perk. Are not a pig and a swine the same?

Pike’s cheeks flush, but with a long blink, he straightens, and his voice emerges evenly. “That shouldn’t be an insult. Pigs appreciate the finer things in life, probably more than you.”

“I appreciate pigs.” With a wicked grin, Beau folds his hands behind his head and closes his eyes as if he dreams of a better locale. “Bacon is delicious.”

Pike resembles a porcupine—a million disjointed angles. “Would you say that to a pig’s face?”

“Yes.” Beau peeks sideways at him. “The pig wouldn’t understand me.”

“Some would,” Halcyon whispers. More vials occupy his hands.

Beau snatches them away. “You mean the mythical Swine? It’s a cruel world. Not even Mare’s Sea Swine are safe from predators.” He pauses in deathly silence, and the non-sound pounds in my ears. Then his seriousness breaks into a toothy smirk. “If they’re even real.”

“They aren’t,” Pike insists.

Halcyon performs something between a cough and a grunt.

Pike swivels to him. “You have something to say?”

“I…also like the taste of bacon.”

“Funny.” Pike glares. In this lighting, his eyes appear almost as blue as Jun’s. “Anyone want to hear the mess this dragon left me yesterday?”

Halcyon stills, and my breath hitches. Does Pike know what Halcyon is? Because Pike is the Swine?

He hooks a thumb in the direction of the Creature of the Sky. “I get back to my room after a long day to catch this guy slinking out the door, and something smells off, you know, so I ask him what he’s been up to.”

“Cleaning.” Halcyon hunches his shoulders.

“Which is what you called it then, too, and I thought, ‘Okay, cool. How nice of you. I’m lucky to have at least one roommate who knows the meaning of the word hygiene.’ But.” He pauses, and every line of his face flattens. “Setting the bathroom on fire is not cleaning.”

“It does kill germs, though.” Beau chuckles and throws an arm over Pike’s shoulders. “Or are you against killing germs, too?”

With a scoff, Pike spins on his heel and heads for the door.

Before he passes the counter, Halcyon blocks his path and stands like a monolith. “Why do you say you do not believe in the Essences?”

“I came here to be a man of science.” His eyes glitter. I could believe them stone like the golems’.

A slow smile crawls over Halcyon’s thin lips. “Why do you want the Pearl?”

My breath stills. How does he mean this question? As a Creature of the Sky asking the Creature of the Sea what he wants with me? Or as someone who cannot feel love asking a human if that is at play here?

Pike squints at him.

Halcyon glides closer. Grace and power ride in every curved line, promising a strike at any moment, and I open my mouth to remind him that Pike is not a deer.

Halcyon speaks first. “The dean wants her here because the scientists do. Same with Issoria. Same with me. Yet, she is more relevant to your project than we are.”

“What does he mean, Pike?” I say instead, and my musical human glances back at me.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, I—”

“He’s obsessed with the sea.” Beau approaches me from behind again and rests his hands on my upper arms.

I want to pull free, but that would mean stepping closer to Pike, and I am not certain I should. The gears of the walls still groan as they spin, but my insides turn faster, coiled in impossibly small, painful whirlpools. “Pike?”

“Look, I grew up on the sea.” Each word lolls on the tip of his tongue, not quite in song. Each word slows my heart. “My mother and her armada do what they want out there with impunity, a queen of the sea uncontested by some ethereal rival.” A chuckle shakes his shoulders, but it bears a deadly edge. “Or maybe my mom is Mare. Aren’t I lucky? The Essence of the Sea dotes on me.”

Continued in chapter 21

Thank you for reading!

While I wish I had the ability to separate myself from the whirl of activity in my brain, I can't. Trying to wind down only leads to winding rabbit holes of stored memories and worry, trapped in a burrow but not shielded in the least. Causing nervously tapping fingertips, and knuckles being popped like dollar store firecrackers on the Fourth of July. It's as if a frantic movie is playing, overlapped by an old State Farm commercial and the day's droning lesson from school on replay. Darting down darkening tunnels of thoughts, from one to the next, toppling like dominoes.

Things don't have to be rational, they never are, and "stop worrying" is a sorry excuse for helpful advice. But in the evenings tinged with the smell of tulips through open windows and the sweet scent of a flower candle, things slow down. And though they aren't quiet, there are trains passing somewhere in the distance and sirens echoing through the city blocks, the evenings provide a little peace. When everything goes to sleep, my winding, whirling thoughts can settle into a still layer of silt in the cool indigo depths of my frantic brain.

In mid-1811, an earthquake hit New Madrid, about forty miles west, but the effects were felt when a catastrophic flood threatened to wipe Bristol off the face of the earth. For the first time ever, due to the earthquake, or so it was believed, the Mississippi River flowed backward and destroyed several smaller towns down to practically nothing. People in Bristol did their very best to fill burlap bags with dirt to block the rivers onslaught. People worked day and night, and Flower was one of them.

She would sew the burlap together as quickly as she could, doing as many as possible. She felt as if she couldn’t keep up with the demand.

But she did. When the flood finally receded, Bristol’s dirt streets were thickly muddied and covered with a good foot of water, but damage to homes and life especially were spared. No one lost their life.

There was one young man near her own age, He just happened to have the unfortunate luck to be visiting friends when the flood struck, but his looks, the way he carried himself, sent a shiver of joy (or was it apprehension) through her being. Flower had never known love, only pain and fear she lived daily, but this—this was different. Whatever this feeling called love, had drawn her right to him like a moth to flame.

After the flood had dissipated, William actually came to her house.

“I want to personally thank you for the extraordinary work you have done. Were it not for you, this town would have perished.”

“Why, thank you, William.”

“No, it is I who thanks you, Flower. You have done us all a service that I am not sure could be repaid properly. But—I would like to invite you to be my guest at a friend's home tomorrow evening for dinner and perhaps some dancing? You do dance?”

Flower laughed.

“It seems ages ago since I have, but I do remember how.”

“Good. Then it is settled. I shall arrive at five tomorrow afternoon. Dinner is at six.” With that, William gently raised Flower’s right hand and kissed it gently. Then he was gone.

The rest of that day into the night hours before sleep, she couldn’t stop smiling, as she sometimes pirouetted around several rooms humming a bright lovely tune.

“Run, Rosie, run! They are getting closer! I can hear them catching up!”

“Flower! Your hurt! The arrow! Let me help you up! We have to keep moving!”

“OW! It hurts Rosie! It hurts so bad! I can’t, can’t run any longer ….”

Flower woke up drenched in sweat, reliving the truth of what happened.

That man, Hamilton saved their lives and she nearly lost her leg, but she carries a painful reminder. A jagged five-inch scar along her calf, and a permanent limp because of it.

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like dancing.

September 1811

The weather was just beginning to cool, and Chadwick was once again at a crossroads. The survey work had come to an end and his travels has taken him north into Kentucky.

He had taken time to rest in a small town called Logan. The horse given him was part of his severance pay and of course it beat walking. For a dollar, he had his horse, Friendly, taken care of and fed at the local livery, found a small place to grab a meal and a room with a real feather-down bed. Until he laid down, he had almost forgotten what that felt like.

Chadwick was slowly making his way back home. It would be good to see mother and father again after years of being away. He had hopes of seeing his sisters as well, but he wasn’t betting that that would happen. But tonight, a long-awaited good night's rest was in order before he made his way home.

The following morning, after dressing and having a morning meal of cornbread, beef, and eggs and three cups of coffee, he made his way to the livery where he heard a commotion taking place.

“I said give me that knife or I’ll bash you into the ground, runt!”

“NO! It was a gift from my father for my birthday. He would tan my hide if’n I just up and let you have it!”

“Me and my friends here’ll do more than tan yer hide, whelp! We git done with you, there won’t be much to recognize.”

Still, from Chadwick’s view, the boy, rather thin, held his ground against the three older boys surrounding him. Chadwick had to give the boy credit. He was incredibly brave.

“You want this knife? You’ll have to take it from my dead body!”

That was all it took. The three boys were all over him. Thrashing fists landed over and over again. Still, the one who dared them fought back as best he could, and the odds were well against him.

Chadwick moved swiftly. Grabbing the collars of two boys, he wrenched them backward and the third he spun around and land ed a hard deep blow to the belly.

“I will say this but once—get out of here or you will get a beating like never before.”

They didn’t have to be told twice.

Turning to the boy with a cut lip and what would soon be a black eye, he helped him to his feet.

“Thanks, mister. Thank a lot.”

“Your welcome. I didn’t like the odds. My name is Chadwick Kincade.” He stuck out his hand of which the boy grabbed, and they shook hands heartily.

“I’m James Bowie but my friends call me Jim.”

“You must sure love that knife a great deal to take such a beating for it.”

“Yeah, I know, but it came from my father. He’s a smelter and made this knife for me for my birthday.”

“Then I can see why you fought back so hard. Good for you. May I see the knife.”

“Sure.” James reached down into his boot and pulled out a knife with a four-inch blade and handed it to Chadwick.

“Nice balance. Not heavy, not light and the bone handle has a nice feel in my grip.”

“Yeah, I like it and one day, I’m going to have a knife people will talk about for weeks. I’m thinking when I turn eighteen, father will make me the ultimate knife.”

“Well then—Jim, I wish you success in that, but I have to be going. On my way home to visit family.”

“Well, I do thank you again and if you ever come this way again, stop by to say hello.”

Twenty minutes later, Friendly was saddled and Chadwick started his ride north to Vermont.

Late June 1812

The War of 1812 took its toll in lives on both sides. One person was lucky enough to have a minor wound but was sent back from the front lines by his stepfather. Now, William Farragut had free time for at least ninety days.

One of the very first things he did was return to Flower.

When hearing a knocking at her front door, Flower opened it and a smile as long as the Mississippi River spread across her face.

“The war? Is it over?”

“It is for me, Flower. I rode here fast as I could because I have something important to ask you.”

”My, my, aren’t we in a hurry. Now that you are here, pray tell, kind sir, what is your question?”

“Flower Kincade, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

October 1812

Chadwick stayed with his mother and helped to run the store for the better part of four months. He understood why she had such a difficult time explaining his father’s passing, considering it would be something she would have to do four times.

Know though, in the last thirty-five days, his mother, Hope, had taken ill, and the night of the thirty-first, she passed on in her sleep. The work, the responsibility, the continued worry over her children had taken their toll on Hope.

Chadwick no longer had a reason to stay and sold the store to a Mr. Alfred Brimford for a tidy profit which would become his stake for a new life.

He would find his sisters somehow and give them the grim news. In the process, he would search out new lands to call home, maybe buy a farm. He was young still, barely twenty and four. Surely, something out there was calling to him.

I don’t remember much of high school. The childhood summer mansion where we played out our fantasies for the future: this was where my life started, ended, and currently resides in a daydream.

What is the present moment, in what was our high school experience? I struggle for it. Is it the moment we die a million little deaths at the hands of our little minds? Are we constantly fighting internal battles that, if they don’t kill you, will cause so much damage as to render you useless?

I ask because high school was a battleground, a war against ourselves we didn’t survive.

I don’t think I ever apologized to her for it.

The endless doctor’s appointments, the medicine scripts, the forms that asked, on a scale of one to five, how much I wanted to die: this was all separate from her and her experience of high school. And yet there I was, in my hospital gown, and I will always be in and out of the institutions that push us further apart.

In there somewhere, in my swirling disaster of a brain, is hope that our relationship can be the future we had dreamed of.

I want her in it. I want a sister, and above all, a warrior to count on in the moments I go under.

I looked in the mirror & sighed, I was all lumps, bumps & boobs. It seemed I had 3 chins & just a tired look on my face.

I had to just stop for a minute, hang on I said to myself, who are you? How strong are you? Are you a survivor?

Hell yes!! I said in my head, I have been through more then most.

Right, said a little voice inside my head, stop with the self depreciation, stop with the negative, the voice was getting louder, you are in control, take back your own self.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath, I slowly opened my eyes & looked in the mirror.

Look at you, you are strong, relsiliant. You are caring & loving, you are generous & talented.

So what if you have lumps & bumps, your body is your story.

Own your story.

there's this myth we expel a little of our soul as we breathe. so the people we spend the most of our time around slowly exchange more and more of their soul with ours.

there's proof, too. it's in out transferred mannerisms, inside jokes, subtle preferences, opinions that are shaped by conversations. how we go about our day, like who we want to talk to first thing in the morning, if we clean our desks all at once or over time, how we view others and their hobbies. everything we know is a reflection of our memories and experiences and the people around us.

i believe i'm the person i am today because of everyone around me, and their soul. my parents, friends, even fictional characters. cheesy? perhaps. true? yes. we're influenced by art and social expectations and ideas and ambition.

but, most importantly, we become who we are because of the people around us.

and my soul is only mine as much as it is theirs.