His Shadow

His Shadow

               Does he notice me? Does he even realise I am here? I’m always here, always waiting for him to see me. But he never sees me, and I can never see him.

               Why does he hide from the world? Why does he pretend to be content with life when I can see he’s torn inside? Why will he not notice me so then I would be free to help him? Please, allow me see him. Allow me to brush away that mask he wears and have his true self emerge. He should not hide from anyone; he should not overlook me so.

               I can help him, I know I could. But why does he ignore me? I know I am not pretty, and I am not easily noticed. But I thought he would be different from the rest, I thought he would see me.

               That mask…the mask he wears for the world, it prevents him from seeing me. His determination to remain unhurt causes him to ignore how I exist. But I would never hurt him, I would save him. He is clouded in darkness, a void from life. I just want to help him.

               But we are both but a shadow…he is a shadow of a person, not quite solid, not quite real. Too beautiful and perfect to be real. But no one is that perfect, no one can be so strong. Only a shadow could hold such a power…but then, shadows are not even living.

               I am a shadow too. I am his shadow. I watch him; follow his movements and expressions, trying to find a way to understand him, to become more than just an attached accessory. But what can a shadow of a shadow do? I cannot see him as solid, he won’t allow it.

               I always watch him as he chats with friends, a shadow of a smile gracing his features. I wonder what a true smile would look like on him, how it would pierce through our shadowed existence and allow solid light to shine; a solid life. Can such a life be designed for us? One who is ignored and the other who is seen by all, yet hidden within a mask. What can life hold for two such people, what can we expect to happen?

               Such a beautiful stranger, why won’t he allow me to see him, as he will soon see me. I will allow him to wander through my heart, see my very being. I’ll show him everything in order to let him know I exist, that I can help him. Even if he denies my help he will know I’m here. He will know how I see him and maybe, just maybe, it’s enough. It’s enough for me.

               I will tell him the truth and continue to love him from afar. He will know I exist, and that I alone see he merely wears a mask in life. I will wait for it to crumble. And I will be there to help him through the harsh reality life brings. I will always remain his shadow. And he will see me.  

It’s Jake

It’s Jake

An empty sleeve was all his mother saw. The boy held his breath as he lifted the loose floorboard, placing it on the bathroom floor. He strained his ears and heard the groans of a man and woman from his mother’s bedroom. He reached into the opening, using his thumb and forefinger to peel back the old stained cloth. His expression didn’t change at the sight of the revealed coins.

            “Jake.” The voice was soft now, content. The boy, Jake, scrambled out from the bathroom and met his glowing mother. “Today’s been a good day.”

            Jake smiled as she reached her hands out, allowing him to give a half-hug. Today was a good day.

The door slammed against the wall. George cursed and sat up.

            “I heard you were fired a week ago. Fired! If you can’t pay the rent you’re out of here!”

            George stared at the man, noting the red face was turning purple.

            “Those bastards said I wasn’t needed anymore. I’ll get another job.”

            “How? The only work you’ll find is relief work, if you’re lucky.”

            “I’ll get the money alright!”

            “Make it soon or you’ll be out by the end of the week!” The door slammed shut, the photo on the bedside table landed face down. George stared at the door, cursing under his breath before picking up the fallen photo.

            It showed a man around twenty five with dark blonde hair. His brown eyes were shining with happiness as he held a woman close, hands wrapped around her waist. His face was squared and serious, but possessed a manipulative smirk. The woman was a whole head shorter than him, her short black hair attempting to hide her face. In her arms was a sleeping baby.

            “I bet you’re laughing at me now, right bitch?” His hand ran through his now long hair. He tied it back into a messy ponytail. “There’s no way I’m going to become a charity case.”

George looked straight ahead as he walked, blocking the image of the broken men around him. Some were lucky and had a sleeping bag, the rest were slumped against a wall and huddled by a fire started in a waste bin. The dirt from the ground stained their clothes. He directed his gaze upwards to avoid the pleading eyes, noting the broken windows of the buildings.

            “In just a few years New York has become this dump.” George said to himself. He stopped when he saw the blockade of people in the way. He glared at them, following the line’s direction with his eyes to the small entrance of a soup kitchen. Just a few more steps and he would join the line.

            “What a poor little thing.” The whiny voice made wince but he looked anyway. “He must have lost it in the war.” A high class woman had stopped in front of a child while her husband sighed. The child was pathetic. His clothes were ripped and hanging from his thin frame, his face smudged with dirt that highlighted his paleness underneath. His state was unfortunate, but common. That hadn’t been what made the woman pick him out. This child was incomplete, one sleeve hanging at his side with no purpose.

            “Dear he’s a child; he wouldn’t have been born until after the war.” The man beside her insisted. His wife ignored him and knelt down on the floor.

            “It must be tough, poor little thing. Look after yourself now.” With her good deed done the woman could continue following her husband, ignoring the other people.

            George narrowed his eyes at they boy who held the coin close to his chest.            The kid’s right hand was fast to deposit the money in his pocket before moving to the soup line. George took the three steps that brought him behind the kid.

            “You by yourself kid?” George asked. “It’s dangerous to be here without your parents.”

            The boy turned and blinked at him. The stare irritated George.

            “It’s jake.” He finally said, turning back around. George frowned.

            “Aren’t you too young to know that old phrase? No one’s said it in years.”

            “It’s who I am.”

            No matter what George said, the brat, Jake, gave meaningless answers. George gazed off down the street, his feet longing to just leave the line. It was a long wait before they made it to the front of the queue.

            “Oh hello there!” The woman behind the counter gushed. “What a poor little thing. Is he yours?”

            George glanced between Jake and the woman. She thought they were related? They looked nothing alike.

            “Yeah.” George said, placing an arm on Jake’s shoulder. The boy winced. “I wish he wasn’t so skinny though. My wife is sick you see and I have to take care of them both. I don’t want to lose them.”

            “Well you hang in there!” She handed over a bowl of soup to each of them. “I’m sure your wife will pull through.” She winked, handing him another bowl.

            Back on the street George talked as the kid sipped his soup.

            “That was a decent con we just pulled. I bet you’ve never been given this much before, right?”

            “…No.”

            “Then how about we keep it up? I’ll queue with you and let you keep the extra food, and in return you pay me half the money you get from begging. How’s that sound, kid?”

            “Pay you?”

            “Yeah. You can get to feed your parents this way. There’s no way you’ll get enough food if you queue alone.”

            “But why would you do this?”

George clenched his teeth at the question. “Because I need money moron! Why do you think?” Jake flinched but did nothing more.

            “Okay. But we can’t talk about it. If we don’t talk about it, it never happens.”

            George didn’t even bother to try to understand; he just smirked and finished his soup. 

“How did you get this much?” His mother asked. Jake just smiled.

            “We can’t talk about it.”

            “What? Jake, has some man been bothering you? Don’t let anyone bother you, not unless…” She stopped, her hand going to her stomach.

            “We can’t talk about that either.”

            “…Let’s just eat.”

            The sound of the front door opening drew his mother’s attention. Jake gazed off in the direction of the bathroom.

            “Thomas! I didn’t realise you wanted me tonight.” The man had a grin on his face, his hair a chestnut brown and his eyes a piercing grey.

            “Well I made some money and couldn’t resist.” Thomas said, his hands already touching her body. “I’ll even pay you extra.”

            Jake stood and moved towards the bathroom.

            “Jake? Are you still sleeping in there? I wish you wouldn’t. It can’t be…” Her words were drowned in a kiss. Jake closed the bathroom door. He slept there because he didn’t want to stay in the living room. He’d see the visitors as they entered his mother’s room.

            He fell asleep in the tub only to be awakened by rough hands.

            “What?”         

“Quiet kid. It’s all jake remember? So be a good boy and do as you’re told.” His hands hurt; his grip too tight to break from. Jake screamed, but no one stopped it. She never would.

 At breakfast his mother wouldn’t meet his gaze. The porridge felt too heavy to swallow.

“It doesn’t happen if we don’t talk about it.” He repeated to himself. His mother turned away.

George scrunched up the newspaper page.

            “Where the hell is he? Damn kid.” In the month they had been working together the kid was never late.

            “Are you George?” The man looked to be in his late twenties, his eyes a cold grey.

            “Who the hell are you?” The man shoved a boy in front of him, Jake. His face was bruised and his body trembling. “What happened?”

            “I’m a regular customer of his mothers. I noticed the kid’s been defiant lately. He told me about how you help him get extra food from the soup kitchen.”

            “You beat up a kid?” George stood up and stared down at him.

            “Please stop, Thomas.” Jake sobbed.

            “I don’t like how you’ve been influencing this kid. He’s becoming a real pain when I visit. I’ll give you this one warning to stay away from him.”

            “It’s none of your business what we’re doing. You’re not the kid’s father.”

            “Neither are you.”

            “Stop!” Jake shouted. Thomas’ punch knocked George to the dirt ground. A series of kicks to his stomach followed preventing him from standing to retaliate. He took in a breath and began coughing, choking. “Stop it!”

            “What’s going on?” A crowd was forming. George looked up and groaned, pressing his face into the dirt. The kicks ceased.

            “Come on brat, we’re leaving.” Thomas said, pushing through the crowd. “Now!”

            George felt a small hand wrap around him. He winced and said nothing.

          “I won’t tell you again kid. You know how your mother feels about you defying me.” Thomas said. “I care about your mother and she wants this family to work. Don’t disappoint her.”

            “I can’t pretend it doesn’t happen.” Jake said into George’s shirt. “I can’t.”

            “Damn brat. You better not come back then. Your mum belongs to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Jake said, sitting on the apartment floor. He looked around him at George’s home. The paint wall was faded and cracked. He saw only a bed, a couch, some drawers and a bedside table with a photo on it.

            “Stop saying that already, you’re acting as if I died.” Jake bowed his head. “Stop sitting on the floor and get up.”

            Jake stood and sat gently on the edge of the bed George lay on.

            “Then it’s jake?”

            “Like hell it is! You never told me your mother was a whore! And who is that guy? Your dad?”

            “Dad left a long time ago. He told mum he couldn’t look after her and a child.” He paused a moment and took a deep breath. “That man was Thomas. He does things with my mum, and then he wants to do things to me. I don’t like it but he says it’s jake. Mum thinks if we don’t talk about it then it doesn’t happen. She’ll never talk about it with me.”

            “…My God. Why not?”

            “She’s getting fat. She started getting fat when only Thomas came to visit.”

            “Looking for a way out of her lifestyle then. Even so it’s sick.”

            “I think she loves him. Thomas loves her too; he just needs something more with that.” Jake said. He looked towards the bedside table. He lifted the photo and brought it close to his face.

            “Is this your family?”

            “Not anymore.”

            Jake stood and placed the photo back.

            “You’re going back? That guy will never change.”

            “I have money.” Jake said.

            “What?”

            “I’ve been saving for a long time. I’ll give it all to you if you visit her next Friday. Thomas never comes on a Friday.”

            “What the hell? Why should I?”

            Jake wouldn’t answer.

Thomas sat at the table and smirked as he ate. Jake avoided his gaze.

            “I think the kid understands now. It’s been a week since he’s seen that man. It’s all jake now.”

            “That’s good.” His mother answered, hand on her stomach.

            “Well I better be going. I’m working all day this time.”

            The door closed and his mother turned to him. She reached her arms out. He hesitated but stepped into the hug.

            Jake made sure he was in the bathroom when his mother answered the door for George. He held the heavy cloth close to his chest as he listened to them talk a moment. He frowned until he heard the door close and the two enter his mother’s bedroom. The muffled moans began.

            “It’s working.” He smiled. “It will all be jake now.”

            The sound of footsteps woke him. He began to stand but George shook his head and sat beside him. “Why did you want this?”

            “You don’t have a family.” Jake said.

            “My family left me, I’m not about to force my way into another one.”

            “But…”

            “Look kid, that baby is his, not mine. Your mother wants him, not me.”

            The sound of the front door opening made George tense.

            “Thomas?” His mother’s voice. “What are you doing here tonight? I have a client here.”

            “I thought you were going to stop that now. Only I can have you.”

            “I need the money, Thomas. Jake doesn’t bring extra food anymore.”

            “I’m going out there.” George told Jake. Jake shook his head. “Sorry kid, but you’ll have to make up your own mind whether you’re staying here.”

            George left the bathroom and Jake heard voices shouting. He curled up into a ball and shut his eyes.

          “Thomas I didn’t know who he was! I thought he was just a client. It meant nothing.”

            “It meant nothing.” Jake repeated, gripping the cloth tighter. He stood and left his bathroom, hovering at the doorway.

            “I don’t intend to get involved with your woman. I’m just going to leave.”

            “Like hell you will! I warned you before to stay away from us!” Jake saw a flash of a knife and heard George’s cry of pain.

            “No!” Jake ran in, moving to George’s side. He was clutching his chest but was standing. “Stop it! Don’t hurt him anymore!”

            “Thomas.” His mother pleaded.

            “Fine, then get out. Kid, stand by your mother.”

            “Jake,” she said; arms outstretched. Jake looked at George, he refused to meet his gaze. “Come on sweetie.”

            Jake took a step forward, lifting his hand and placing the cloth in her hands.

            “I can’t.” He said, stepping back.

            “W-what’s this? Jake, please don’t leave!”

            “It’s for your baby. Your child.”

            “You’re my child! Don’t leave me!”

            “I can’t!” he screamed. “I can’t pretend anymore! Even if we don’t talk about it, it still happens! It hurts! Why won’t you admit that? You never admit that!”

            “Jake…”

            “Kid, you’re hurting your mother.” Thomas glared. “Apologise and it will be jake.”

            “No it won’t! It’s not jake! It was never jake!”

            “I’m leaving now.” George broke in.

            “Jake.” His mother said. She was crying. Jake was crying too. “Please.”

            “I’m sorry, I won’t. Goodbye mum.”

A knock on George’s apartment door made him look away from the photo on the bedside table. He groaned; one hand on his wound as he stood, placing the photo back face down.

            “Be quiet would you? Jake’s asleep.” The landlord scoffed but handed over the extra blankets without complaint.

            “What the hell are you thinking? Kids are expensive and you’re a selfish bastard. Why are you doing this? Trying to replace your kid that bitch took from you?”

            “Maybe. More than anything I couldn’t just leave him there. He sees me a decent guy. I like to believe I can become one with him around.”

             George walked to the couch where Jake was sleeping, a smile on his little face. He tucked the blanket around the small boy.

            “Suit yourself. Just make sure you keep paying your rent. I won’t be lenient just because you have a kid now.” The door closed. George stood, staring at the child.

            “Now what the hell do I do?”

In All We Have Been

In All We Have Been

Neither of them had any idea what to do, only what they should be doing. The unspoken agreement was not to mention it. Pretend it was less real.

            “I don’t have a spare room so you can take mine.” Vincent told the quiet child. The child was never quiet. “I’ll take the couch.”

            “You don’t have to.” The twelve year old snorted, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t need a bed.”

            After what he’d just been through Vincent knew it was a lie. He also knew suggesting to share would make it worse.

            “It folds out. I’ll be fine…So will you, Cammy. I promise.” Empty words, but he still intended to keep them.

            “He’ll find me. And I’m too selfish to leave.”

            After that night they tried harder at pretending.

Whenever Cammy thought of the man he would try to block it out with the image of a plane. A small toy plane he had clung to for so long. He wondered where the plane was now, left behind in the moment of escape.

            Planes could fly away from anything. It carried many people inside it but could easily leave others behind. No one could hurt a plane.

            “You think you can leave me? Just like that no good mother of yours. I’ll never let you go. Not unless…”

            “Not unless you find him.” Cammy repeated to his cereal.

            “Find who?” Vincent asked, frowning. It had been two weeks since the twenty-four year old took the boy in and still he had yet to see a smile on his face. It had never been hard to see him smile before the truth had come out.

            “You’re mad.” Cammy blurted out. “You don’t owe me anything, you don’t have to do this.”

            “You asked for my help.” Vincent said with a shrug. “That’s enough for me.”

            “Liar, you feel guilty. You shouldn’t.”

            Vincent had first met him when he was six. He’d been on a college placement at an infant school and been given the duty to watch over the trouble maker. Vincent had felt he was looking at the child he once was. They even looked similar, both with dark green eyes, both with black hair (though Vincent’s was longer).

            “You must be Cameron.” He’d said as a greeting. The boy had grinned and threw water in his face.

            “That’s Captain Cammy to you! If you want to fly on my plane you have to earn your place!”

            And so had begun a strange friendship. Even after Vincent became a teacher assistant at the same school while Cammy moved up to Junior school they made sure to stay in touch. They would meet up, go out to eat and have a good time. No one tried to stop the odd friendship, after all, Cammy actually began to behave when Vincent was around, putting his energy into his work instead of mischief. He was trying to reach his dream instead of just shouting about it.

            Even after six years Vincent had never met Cammy’s family and Cammy hadn’t seen his. He had tried to arrange a meeting, his father and step-mother eager to meet the boy who inspires their son so much. Cammy had been fine as Vincent led him to the restaurant but when he’d glimpsed at the two through the window he had run out of sight, refusing to go in.

            “I can’t! I can’t! They’ll know and I won’t be able to see you anymore.” He’d seemed so scared that Vincent hadn’t argued and he’d never brought up the idea again.

            It had been one of the few times Vincent had seen the anxiety locked in Cammy’s heart. He should have realised then something was wrong. No child could be that happy all the time.

            Yes, he felt guilty for not realising sooner. But it wasn’t just that. He’d vowed to protect Cammy, his surrogate son, from anything that could hurt him. He believed in him, already able to picture him twenty years from now, grinning as he prepared a plane for take-off. He’d already promised he’d be on the first plane Cammy commanded to fly. He wasn’t prepared to lose him. This sullen child wasn’t the Cammy he knew. He had to get him back. For good.

            “Moron.” He smiled, the comment making Cammy look up. “I love you, you’re my family too.” Cammy paled at this but Vincent wasn’t about to stop to wonder why. “At least that’s what I want. That’s why I called Social Services. We can sort this whole thing out and I can…”

            “Adopt me?” Cammy laughed. It was bitter enough to make Vincent wince. “You’re twelve years older than me, single and living in a one bed-roomed flat. There’s no way they’ll let me stay with you.”

            “I’ll move.” Vincent argued. “And I have people who can confirm I’m responsible enough to look after you. You want to stay here. I’ve been acting as a family to you for six years. We can do this.” Cammy said nothing. “If I hadn’t informed them, and then they had found out, I would never have a chance of keeping you.”

            “Keep me?” A smile broke onto the boy’s face. Vincent had never been more relieved. “You’re crazy. Why would you want to do that?”

            “I want a flight discount.” He smirked. The usual happy yet guarded boy grinned full out, hugging his surrogate father close.

            Once at work Vincent allowed a relieved sigh to leave him. He’d finally found the real Cammy and convinced him it would be alright. But he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Social Services would place Cammy with a married couple over him even if he did have recommendations.

            He turned on his mobile and dialled, hoping Cammy would forgive him for this.

            “Hey dad, I need a favour.”

            “Take me with you mummy, please take me too!” The five year old Cammy cried. He’d packed a small suitcase filled with clothes and food, dragging it down the stairs after his mother.

            “Honey, don’t be silly.” She cooed, handing her bag to the man next to her. Cammy had seen the man before. He would come round when dad wasn’t in and give Cammy a toy to play with downstairs. He’d always go upstairs with his mum, leaving him alone. “I’m coming right back.”

            Even a child of five knew this was a lie.

            “Take me with you! Please take me too!” He sobbed, stamping his foot. His mother sighed, fighting back her own tears.

            “I promise I’ll come back for you sweetie. I promise.” She tried to hug him but he refused. Years later he would still regret that. “I have to go, I’ll miss my flight.” She placed a brown bag in his hands before leaving.

            The toy plane in the bag had felt cruel at the time, but he soon came to cherish it. Even when his dad came home and found his partner gone he still cherished it.

Vincent had made sure Cammy would be safe at school. The teachers had been informed of the abuse his father had inflicted on him and would call the police if he came near. He either waited at school for Vincent to pick him up or was escorted to a friend’s house by their parents. He was grateful for that.

            Today he was with El and her father. El was a shy girl and at first Cammy hadn’t noticed her much, being his opposite. He had soon discovered she possessed a fierce spirit waiting to be released, one he tended to bring out. Her full name was Elena but he’d taken it upon himself to shorten it. She never protested and eventually she would insist to others they call her it too.

            The two of them were more similar than people realised. Both strong and both trying to overcome their own limitations. For this reason Cammy had found himself telling El his many secret, even the ones Vincent didn’t know.

            “He wants to adopt me.” He told her once they were alone. “He said I was family.”

            “Isn’t that a good thing?” She asked, confused by his downhearted expression.

            “When he said that I thought…I thought he knew.”

            “…Maybe you should tell him. If the Social Services knew they would be more willing for you to stay together. Cammy…”

            “I know.” He sighed. “But my dad said…he said that they disowned him and any children he might have. Vincent hates him!”

            “But not you. He loves you. He’ll understand Cammy.”

            “…Do you have it then? I’ll need it back for when I tell him.” El smiled, pulling out the photo from her drawer.

            “I need to tell you something.” Cammy blurted out as they walked home. Vincent blinked down at him, seeing the determined set of his jaw.

            “Okay. I have something to say too. Hot chocolate?” The comment brought a smile back. A familiar tradition with unfamiliar confessions.

            “What on Earth were you thinking?” Vincent demanded, dabbing at the cut on Cammy’s face. “Starting a fight like that, do you want to be suspended?”

            “They deserved it.” Was all Cammy said. The triumphant grin was yet to leave his face.

            “Why do you do that?” Vincent frowned. “Why do you always smile?”

            Cammy blinked, tilting his head in thought before finally answering.

            “Because people always overlook their duty to be happy.”

            Vincent hadn’t known what to say to that. Sometimes Cammy felt like an old man to him, as though he’d been through more than most.

            “Ow!” Cammy winced when Vincent touched his back. Beneath was a mass of bruises, some yellowing with age.

            “How many fights have you been in?” Cammy didn’t answer. For the next two years he never corrected Vincent on where the bruises were from. He remained a passing smile to the world.

Cammy had entered the apartment first, practically bouncing towards the kitchen and hot chocolate.

            He was going to tell him. He was finally going to say it. You are my family.

            “Vincent? Is that you?”

            “Mum? I told you I’d call again later.”

            Hannah Roke, formerly Hannah Sellers. She was the mother of Casper Sellers and step-mother of Vincent Roke. 

            Grandmother of Cameron Maverick.

            The woman came into the hall to greet them, her smile fading to confusion.

            “This boy is Cammy? But he’s…”

            “No! Don’t tell him! I’m supposed to tell him! Stop it!”

            “Cammy…what the?”

            “Please don’t leave me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He sobbed, fumbling as he pulled out the photo. “But I knew you hate him and I didn’t know what to do! He told me he’d only let me go if I found you but he said it after we’d already met. I never told him. I didn’t want him to hurt you…”

            “Cammy, calm down.” Vincent ordered, hands placed on his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere no matter what. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

            “My mum’s name was Maverick.” He mumbled, his face now hiding in Vincent’s chest, clutching onto him as though he were about to disappear. “It’s not his name.”

            “Cammy…” A quivering hand shoved a photo into his face before he could say more. Vincent frowned and took it.

            It was a photo of four people. The child of five was clearly Cammy being held in the arms of Hannah Roke, Vincent’s step-mother. Beside him was a younger woman, one Vincent recognised as a girl he’d once known. Beside her was…

            “Casper? He’s your father?”

            His answer was a heavier burst of tears. 

            A sudden knock in the middle of the night had woken Vincent up. He sighed as he left his warm bed, swearing that if it was his neighbour again he wasn’t being nice anymore.

            “Damn it.” He heard through the door. It was definitely Cammy’s voice, except there was a quivering, defeated tone that he’d never heard in it before.

            “Cammy?” He flung the door open, seeing the twelve year old with his head down, shaking. Vincent wasn’t sure what from. “What happened?”

            “I’m sorry but I just couldn’t stay there anymore. I couldn’t.” He had his school bag with him. Vincent led the boy in, now able to see the cuts and bruises on his face and arms.

            “God Cammy…”

            “I don’t know why, I’m used to it after all. But he was so mad at me and I didn’t know why. I suddenly felt I couldn’t be happy this way anymore. I can’t go back Vincent, I can’t.”

            He was torn between hugging him or taking care of his wounds. He soon decided to concentrate on the wounds when Cammy automatically flinched at being touched.

            “Your father did this.” It wasn’t a question. Cammy didn’t answer it. “How long?”

            “Since mum left.” He whispered.

            “You mean this has been going on the whole time I’ve known you? Why didn’t you tell me?” His raised voice made Cammy wince. Vincent took a deep breath.

            “I couldn’t. you would have tried to stop him.”

            “Of course I would have!”

            “You would meet. He would hurt you.”

            “I could have helped you Cammy.”

            “Help me now.” Was all he said. His eyes were pleading, making Vincent’s heart ache.

            “Always.”

            Vincent’s father had re-married when he was four to a woman who had a child from a previous marriage. That was how he met Casper Sellers. Casper was ten years his senior and therefore seen as the older, wiser brother to be devoted to. Vincent would tag along when Casper went out, just to watch him. Casper neither encouraged or frowned over it, and so they continued that way for four years.

            “I hate him, that’s true.” Vincent said softly as he rocked the sobbing Cammy. “But I could never hate you. You’re nothing like him. What gave you the stupid idea that I’d hate you?” Cammy didn’t answer, still incoherent with sobs. He had noticeably calmed though.

            “I’m sorry Cammy.” Hannah spoke. “I should have tried harder to find you again.”

            “What do you mean mum?”

            “After Anne left I went to visit and found Casper in a foul mood. We had an argument about…a lot of things. In the end he moved without telling me where to and I couldn’t find them again. I couldn’t help Cammy when he needed me most.”

            “You can help him now.” Vincent said. “You’re his grandmother, you can claim custody.”

            “No!” Cammy broke in. “Vincent, I want to stay with you! Please…”

            “Cammy.” Hannah began. “You remember me don’t you? I used to visit every week. You came to my house to play. It’s a big house, you can even have your own room.”

            “Vincent said he’ll move! I want to stay with him.”

            “I did say that.” Vincent admitted, a smile suddenly forming. “Is my old room free?”

            “Where are you going?” Hannah asked the eighteen year old Casper. “Not out with those friends of yours again…”

            “I can do what I like mum, stay out of it.”

            An eight year old Vincent watched from his bedroom window as his step-brother disappeared down the street. He would still be watching past midnight, waiting for him to return. That night Casper left home, disappearing for two years before he came back one day, asking to stay for a while. Vincent avoided him, hurt for being left behind and bitter that Casper never thought to apologise. They tolerated him staying, continuing with the lives they had before he’d come back.

            One evening Vincent had been outside the house talking to his crush, Anne, who was four years older than him. Casper had been returning and stopped to join in. Anne’s eyes had practically sparkled with adoration. She never bothered talking to Vincent much after that.

            When Vincent was eleven he came home one day to learn fifteen year old Anne was pregnant with Casper’s child. Anne and Casper had gone to the Oak Tree-the local pub that allowed minors to enter-in order to ‘celebrate’. Vincent had gone to find them.

            “I can’t believe you! She’s only fifteen and you’ve ruined her life!”

            “No Vincent, we’re going to get married when I’m eighteen.” Anne insisted.

            “He’ll never marry you! You’re just going to end up miserable and that baby will never have the decent life it should!”

            “Tell you what.” Casper grinned. “When I’ve ruined all of our lives I’ll send the kid your way.”

            That was the last time Vincent ever saw him. Part of him still wished he’d punched him, no matter how useless it would have proven.

            Vincent made sure Cammy was sound asleep in his new room before leaving the house. Neither of his parents asked him where he was going. They knew. They also knew it would be useless to try and stop him.

            So many ‘if only’ cases ran through his mind as Vincent walked to the Oak Tree. If only Anne hadn’t left Cammy. If only Cammy hadn’t hid his pain with a smile. If only Vincent had noticed it. It only Cammy hadn’t pretended to Casper he didn’t know Vincent.

            If only Vincent were Cammy’s real father.

            “I was beginning to think you’d never come. I’ve already been waiting two weeks.”

            Despite the fact Vincent and Casper weren’t related by blood they still looked similar. His hair was still longer than Vincent’s, this irritated him.

            “He only just told me.” Casper snorted.

            “That kid outsmarted himself. What a dumbass.”

            “Dumbass?” Vincent exploded. “He’s a dumbass just because he wanted to protect me? He’s a good person. He didn’t deserve what you’ve put him through.”

            “Probably not.” He said with a carefree shrug. “Life is cruel that way. Look on the bright side, at least now I can hand over me and Anne’s leftover to you.”

            Vincent clenched his jaw shut in order to resist punching him.

            “Cammy is not a leftover!”

            “Yeah, yeah. You got what you wanted, right? I ruined his life so now I sent him to you.”

            “And when I put in a custody claim you’ll agree to it?”

            “If it’s not too much trouble.” He sighed, pulling out a pen and writing on a napkin. “My number and address. You’ll need them I guess. Once he’s yours you can do what you want with it.”

            Burn it, was Vincent’s first though. But he never knew, perhaps one day Cammy would want to see his father again.

            “You’re my dad now.” Was his reply in the morning, a truthful smile alighting his face. “And what a lame one you are, still living with your parents!”

            Twenty years. Cammy thought as he looked around once more. Twenty years today since I became a Roke.

            “Is that old man here yet?” He complained. His wife El tore her gaze from their toddler daughter to help look.

            “He will be. He always is.” Cammy grinned. He knew that much, he never doubted it. But when? At this rate he wouldn’t be able to give Vincent a tour of the airplane before people started boarding.

            “I can’t believe it took this long.”

            “I can’t believe you’re still complaining, Captain. You did it, that’s all that matters.”

            “Don’t let your past dictate who you are, but let it help who you will become.” A voice broke in. Cammy rolled his eyes.

            “Stop stealing my lines dad.”

            “A parent’s right.” Vincent smirked before looking towards the plane visible through the window. “You really did it.”

            “Of course. You doubted me?”

            “Never.”

            “…Thanks.”

            “Plane!” Little Hope screeched, giggling. Cammy laughed with her.

            “And daddy’s flying it!”

            “Me come!”

            “Yeah you’re coming! And mummy too!”

            “Grandpa?”

            Cammy sighed, his grin dropping into one of his true smiles.

            “Always.”

Mouth

Mouth

The day had begun normally. He had woken up, done his usual morning rituals and had gone to work. As always work had been chaotic, filled with quick-fired orders while picky customers insisted he’d done something wrong. Their mouths would always be thin and their lips pressed tightly together. He hated that expression, mostly because the action caused his own mouth to imitate it.

               Work had been normal. He had left with a tightly closed mouth and a foul mood.

               But then everything changed.

               He wasn’t the only one to witness the accident but he was the nearest. The girl had been crossing, paying little attention to her surroundings. The car had paid even less attention to her…until it was too late. The car continued to try paying no attention to the dying girl as it revved away from sight.

               Now his mouth was open in shock, unable to react for five seconds before his mouth snapped shut and he made his way to the girls side.

               He dimly registered she was a secondary school student. He desperately realised she wasn’t breathing.

               He had to make her breathe.

               Mouth to mouth. His tight tension filled lips pressed against her slack unresponsive ones. He tried to breathe life into her. He tried to give her the his tension, the tension that life brought.

               Unlike his her mouth would forever remain slack. Tension would never fill her again. 

Psychopomp

Psychopomp

Kalkin had never imagined he’d be watching the chaos of a train wreckage two months after he’d died. It was one of those horrific incidents where it was wrong to casually watch yet he couldn’t take his eyes from.

            “What happened?” A gawker asked beside him, the man halfway through Kalkin just shrugged. Both couldn’t look away either. Perhaps they sensed it too; or perhaps they were feeling the horror of death someone still alive only could. Kalkin felt no horror anymore. This was something different.

            “It’s going to rain.” Someone commented. The sky tore open before Kalkin could see who had spoken.

            No one else seemed to notice as four horses descended from the gap, each carrying an Amazon woman above the train wreck. Their figures were too far away to admire but Kalkin could guess from old TV shows what they’d look like. His little sister had once watched a cartoon with figures like that. What had the cartoon character called them again?

            Valkyries. Kalkin had no idea that they were supposed to do outside children’s shows. Who knew they would be involved in something depressing like this?

            “Hey!” He shouted out, beginning to run to the scene. He needed to talk to them. He needed to know what he was supposed to do next. “I know you can see me!”

            The one with fiery hair and a white horse stopped moving, staring down at him before approaching.

            “What am I supposed to be doing? How do I move on from here? Please…”

            “Leave!” She barked out, pointing her sword at him. “Leave and pray to God the others don’t find you. They’ll use your ability for their own gain.”

            “I don’t…”

            “Do it on your own boy! You’ll be more effective that way. Now leave!”

            She left him there, sending out a battle cry to the other women before they left with the souls collected. Kalkin felt his body take heed of her warning as he moved away from the wreckage.

He had been in the town debating whether to visit his living family when he noticed them. At first only two sparrows surrounded the shop, but then it became twenty. Kalkin frowned, feeling compelled to head into the shop but hearing the Valkyries warning in his head. Leave and pray to God the others don’t find you.

            That’s when he heard the creature coming. Kalkin dissolved himself into the crowd of people going about daily life and watched. The black cart passed through people, never straying from the straight line. Two horses were attached, pulling it along. One appeared to be a young and eager black horse practically pulling the cart alone while the older white horse was dragged along. A whip against the white’s backside forced it to speed up, making Kalkin avert his eyes from the horse to see the creature sitting on the cart.

            It was a dark figure wearing a long black coat and a wide brimmed hat, hiding its face from sight. Kalkin wearily glanced at its side, noting the scythe that possessed a handle made of human bone.

            It this really the grim reaper? He wondered, watching as the creature heaved on the reigns and climbed off the cart, taking the scythe with it into the shop.

            Kalkin found himself approaching the cart, avoiding the horses while staring at the pile of bodies on the cart. On the top he could see the body of a teenage girl with a knife wound in her side. He sighed and turned away.

            “Please help me! What’s happening?” He turned back, seeing the girl’s spirit sat beside her body.

            I have to go. He told himself. His body wouldn’t listen, instead moving closer to the cart, climbing up onto the bodies.

            “What’s going on? I don’t understand what’s happening!”

            “Neither do I.” He said, his index finger whispering over her forehead. “We’ll just have to find the answers.” A brief light began to shine through her. Kalkin frowned, moving his hand away. The girl smiled as her spirit began to fade.

            “Thank you.” She said, and was gone.

            Kalkin could only blink.

            “Who the hell are you?” Came a croaky voice. Kalkin spun around, seeing the creature beside the cart with a dead overweight man slung over its shoulders. “You think just because your another psychopomp you can steal my souls? I’ll rip you apart!”

            “P-psychopomp?” Kalkin asked. He climbed off the cart, making sure he was on the opposite side of it from the creature. A hidden grin appeared on the creature’s face.

            “You don’t know what you are? You must be one of the newly dead who has psychopomp abilities, keeping you from moving on.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “You have the power of a psychopomp kid. We collect the souls of the dead and ‘escort’ them to their final resting place. Of course no one notices if you keep a few souls for your own amusement.” Kalkin didn’t want to think about what that meant. “Tell you what kid, I’ll let you tag along with me if you like. You serve me and I’ll help you understand the powers you’ve been given.”

            Do it on you own boy! You’ll be more effective that way.

            “No thanks, I think I understand enough to work alone.” Kalkin said, turning to leave. He was stopped by a death grip on his arm, spinning him around. The creature was close enough for him to see under the hat, see eyeless socket staring into him.

            “You don’t have a choice in this.”

            Pray to God the others don’t find you.

            “Leave him alone Ankou, the angels are already angry at you.” Kalkin looked towards the voice, seeing a jackal and a droopy bloodhound amongst the human crowd.

            “This has nothing to do with you Choronzon; you already have your pathetic hounds. I want this boy.”

            “He’s strong enough to be on his own, you know that.”

            “He’s mine!”

            The grip on his arm tightened. The jackal shifted into the form of a man but he wouldn’t be able to help unless Kalkin was free.

            “Damn you Spitak!” Ankou screamed, releasing his grip. Kalkin looked, seeing the droopy bloodhound hanging from the Ankou’s arm. He didn’t stay to see what would happen next. He ran.

It had been three months since the encounter with Ankou and finally the creature was beginning to tire of chasing him. Kalkin sighed, resting in a quiet street while the two bloodhounds sniffed about the area.

            He had seen nothing more of Choronzon but he had a feeling he was the one that sent Spitak and Siaw to him. He had learnt that Siaw helped the sick and those in pain to die peacefully. Spitak tended to wander off alone when they were in the hospital so Kalkin assumed the hound had no psychopomp abilities.

            “Maybe we should go back to the hospital.” He sighed. Because of Siaw’s ability Kalkin had plenty of practice guiding the souls to the afterlife, giving them the strength to find their own path. It was a strength he himself had never obtained, doomed to become a wandering soul. A wandering psychopomp.

            Spitak gave a muffled bark, drawing his attention to a nearby house. Sparrows were flocking around it.

            “Are you coming Siaw?” The bloodhound just lay down in the grass, refusing to move. Kalkin sighed and followed Spitak into the house. “I guess I don’t need him all the time, I’m starting to learn his ability of helping people die anyway.”

            “Please breathe! Oh God.” Came the voice of a woman. As he watched her words became incoherent, mixed into her sobbing. Her shaking hands hovered over the still baby laid on the table.

            “No!” He winced in sympathy. The baby’s little spirit was already separating from its body. He sighed and began to move closer but was stopped by a bark from Spitak as the hound leapt onto the table.

            “What are you doing?” He asked, growing more alarmed when Spitak moved closer to the baby’s face. “Hey!”

            The psychopomp animal had licked the baby’s face before jumping off the table again. The baby twitched and opened its eyes, a carefree gurgle coming from its lips. The woman let out a choked sob before hugging her baby close, never wishing to let go again.

            “H-how did you do that?” Kalkin asked the dog. It just stared up to him, looking indifferent. “All this time you’ve been doing that, why did I never notice?”

            Between the three of them they provided all the choices. Guide the dead, help those in pain to die and save those who weren’t ready. Perhaps that was the reason the two hounds stayed with him. He had seen how corrupted the psychopomp Ankou was; he had witnessed the single task the Valkyries performed.

            Do it on your own boy! You’ll be more effective that way.

            He was learning Siaw’s ability, there was no reason he couldn’t learn Spitak’s as well. Then even if he were to be alone again he would not be a lost wandering soul.

            To heal, demolish pain and guide the dead. What was his purpose?

            He had finally found the answer.

Nest of Birds

Nest of Birds

            “I love you. No matter what they tell you, or where you end up, remember that.” Whose were the words Mum told me the day I was taken from her. For a decade I had been Leah Renning. For three years before my name was Elizabeth Sampson, or at least that’s what I’d been told after being taken from Mum.

            “Elizabeth Sampson,” I clicked my tongue. It didn’t sound right.

            “You can be called Leah Sampson if you want,” Susan said. She was a decent enough person, and a good psychologist. She had a professional ponytail which kept her dark hair off her face. Her eyes were a startling green.

            Susan Griff’s office was small, located towards the back of the group home’s building. The desk, which Susan positioned herself behind, had a Mr. Happy model sat in the right corner, smiling in Leah’s direction. A small spider plant was on the window sill, its leaves drooping. Children’s drawings were pinned to a pale yellow wall, each addressed to Suzie with ‘thank you’ written on the coloured card. I struggled with a beanie chair set out in front of the desk, trying to find a relaxing position in which to sit.

            “Tell me what happened,” I said, looking at the blue, faded carpet.

            Susan nodded. Paper rustled as she skimmed through my file.

            “Your real mother is Meredith Sampson, who’s a primary school teacher. You have an older brother, Robin, and a younger sister called Donna.”

            “What about my dad?” I asked.

            “I’m sorry, Leah. Gregory Sampson passed away four years ago.  A car accident.”

            My father is dead. I felt nothing. I was completely detached.

            “How did Mum take me?”

            Susan hesitated, pulling out a piece of paper from the file.

            “This is the report your brother Robin Sampson dictated, would you like to read it?” She walked around her desk, holding out the thin piece of paper. I reached out and took it.

            I’ve been ten for a whole week. Dad said big boys with double digits had to be more responsible. Yesterday, Mum fell asleep in the middle of the day, she was so tired. Lizzy wanted to play outside, so I took her to the park on my own. It was fun, she really liked the see-saw. Then I saw Darren from school, he said I couldn’t go on the big slide, I’d be too scared. I told Lizzy to stay by the see-saw and watch me go down. She was there when I was at the top. When I got down she had gone. We searched for her, but she was gone. I asked Darren to go tell Mum while I kept looking, but even Mum couldn’t find her.

            It tried to imagine the little boy he was, losing me and failing as a responsible big brother.

            “Do you feel ready to meet your family, Leah?” Susan asked.

            “What about Mum? When’s her trial?”

            “Not for a while. They need to uncover her real name and past, then call forth witnesses.”

            Real name. Of course, she must have changed everything when she took me. I had never met any of her family. We had moved around so often I had never tried making any lasting friends.

            “I guess I better meet that family,” I sighed.

***

I peered around the doorway of Susan’s office, seeing the family gathered inside. Meredith Sampson was forty-two, eight years older than Mum. She had wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, and her shoulders seemed too heavy for her petite body. Her hair was a dark blonde, just like my natural colour, loose down to her mid-back. Mum had always dyed my hair a dark red to match her own colour, staining it that way. The roots were now revealing my natural blonde colour.

            Meredith had my brown eyes. They all did.

            Meredith was standing just in front of the small desk, talking with Susan. Her black suit top and knee-length skirt similar to the psychologist’s, with black high heels made me feel unbalanced. She used hand gestures to emphasise her words, but only with one hand. The other held on to daughter.

            Donna’s hair was still a baby blonde, a little shorter than mine, cut in a bob. Her hair was straight and tidy, her fringe held back by two pink, sparkly clips. She wore a pink fairy dress, pink tights and shoes. In her free hand she gripped a silver wand that had a star shape welded on its end. She was swishing it through the air, her eyes fixed on the star’s movements.

            Robin was crouched in the corner, his posture huddled so his back was pushed away from the wall. He was looking at me, eyes straining upwards. His brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. His eyebrows were thick, as though trying to hide his eyes. He was the only one dressed in casual clothes; a pair of faded jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He gave me a shy smile. I nodded at him, took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

            Meredith stopped talking. Her eyes met mine, her gaze so intense I wanted to look away. She moved first, reaching me in four steps and lifting a trembling finger to my cheek. The shaky touch made my skin tingle.

            “My baby.”

            Her arms grabbed mine, she pulled me forwards so that our bodies collided. I remained stiff, arms straight at my side, eyes focused on the room beyond her.

            “Mum, you’re making her uncomfortable,” Robin said, watching Meredith’s back. Meredith’s arms clamped tighter around me, but her heavy shoulders straightened. She lifted her head up and I saw the tight set of her lips. Her head turned to her son, I couldn’t see her expression. Robin held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

            “I know you’ve waited a long time for this,” Susan broke in, “but you need to move at Leah’s pace.”

            Meredith’s grip tightened again, almost breaking the skin of my upper arm. She sighed, unclenched her hands from around me and stepped back. Donna immediately ran forwards and grabbed Meredith’s arm, a frown scrunching up her face.

            “I guess she won’t be coming home today then,” Meredith said, looking at the floor. Donna looked at her, then turned to me, flicking her wand up and down in my direction.

            “Let’s just take it slow,” Susan suggested.

             I had a feeling it wouldn’t be slow enough.

***

“You’ll be sharing a room with Donna,” Meredith said. “We bought you some new things, I hope you like them.”

            I looked around the room and hated how pink everything was. I should have expected it, after seeing Donna in the fairy costume a month before. The walls were decorated with pictures of fairies. The only consolation was the lilac covers on my new bed, but even that was closer to pink than I liked. I picked up a yellow teddy from the pillow, noticing the words ‘Press me’ on the stomach. A cheerful “Hug me!” escaped its belly. I dropped it on the floor.

            Both Meredith and Donna were watching me.

            “It’s a lot bigger than my old room,” I tried. Meredith seemed to accept this.

            “I noticed you wore boyish clothes at the group home and realised the matron must have given you them. I’ve bought a wider selection for you.”

             I winced at the bright skirts and tops she began to pull out of the wardrobe.

            “The matron didn’t give me them, they were my own clothes I’d brought with me,” I explained. Meredith sighed and re-folded the clothes.

            “I like them,” Donna insisted. “Can I have them?”

            “They’re too big for you, sweetie,” Meredith said. She sounded tired. I suddenly felt guilty. But I wouldn’t apologise. I had done nothing wrong. I chewed my nails, watching Meredith put the clothes away.

            “You shouldn’t do that,” Donna smirked. “Mummy says it’s not lady-like.”

            I shrugged and kept on chewing.

            “Perhaps these would be better?” Meredith asked, holding up more clothes. I removed my fingers from my mouth. These ones I liked: denim trousers, long skirts, dark coloured shirts and tops that matched my hair. I admired a pair of denim dungarees, feeling the fabric with my fingers. Meredith smiled, handing me a white t-shirt that would go underneath the denim bib.

            “You like them?” Her smile was the first cheerful one I’d seen in the house. I was reluctant to be impressed, but I couldn’t lie to that smile.

            “Yes, thanks Meredith.”

***

It wasn’t until later that day I managed to get some time alone. Meredith was reading Donna a bedtime story in our room. I was in the kitchen getting a glass of water when Robin came home. He was so quiet I wouldn’t have heard him creep into the hall if the kitchen hadn’t been so close to the front door.

            “You work pretty late,” I said as he passed by the kitchen entrance. He did a double take and stopped.

            “Yeah, I’m a shop clerk and have the twelve hour shifts on weekends. Nine till nine. How’s your first day been?”

            “Not too bad, a bit weird.”

            “It must be. I can’t imagine what it would be like, having strangers claiming you as family.” Robin moved out of the doorway. I gritted my teeth, annoyed he’d just leave in the middle of the conversation. I left my glass of water on the worktop and followed him. He walked straight into his room, the only bedroom on ground level. He didn’t seem to mind when I invited myself in.

            His room was blue and plain; the tidiest in the house. The only messy thing was the desk. Newspaper was laid over the surface; a bowl of milky water to the left; small white figures in the centre and some strange flaky paper to the right. I touched the paper, feeling how smooth it was.

            “It’s mod-rock. You wet it and use it to make models. A bit like paper maché but smoother, better.”

            I picked up one of the figures, an eagle with its wings spread out. It looked ready to fly away. The others were birds too: a raven, starling, magpie and robin.

            “Why don’t you go to university if you have this type of talent?”

            Robin shrugged, sitting down on his bed. “I want to stay close by.”

             “These are pretty random birds to be together,” I said, staring at the eagle.

            “They need a reason to stay with each other.”

            Like a nest, I thought.

***

“I don’t see why you have to dye it,” Meredith grumbled, “It can’t be good for your hair.”

            The warm spray of water kept me relaxed and calm, despite Meredith’s complaining. Her hands brushed through my hair, caressing my scalp. The action was so familiar from when Mum – Tori – did it every six weeks.

            “This is the last time. I can’t leave it red if I’m letting my natural colour grow back, it would look awful.”

            Meredith carefully wrapped an old towel around my neck. I heard a rustling sound as she struggled to put the plastic gloves on.

            “Shouldn’t you be dying it blonde then?” She asked.

            “My roots are pretty dark, so brown will work. Besides, I want a change.”

            There was a pause, then Meredith squirted the dye onto my head. Due to her inexperience, it took ten minutes to cover my hair in the paste.

            “Now we wait twenty minutes?” She asked, pulling off the stained gloves and reaching for the instructions.

            “Yeah, I’ll be in Robin’s room. I’ve collected enough twigs and bark to start making the nest now.”

            Meredith just nodded, still reading the instructions. I left the bathroom, heading across the hall into my room to grab the bag of twigs from under my bed. I’d filled the plastic carrier bag over the course of a few weeks while walking home from school.

            “What’s that smell?” Donna complained, wrinkling her nose at me.

            “Hair dye.” I caught a glimpse of her interested face before leaving the room and heading down the stairs. It was a bank holiday, a rare opportunity to see Robin during the day. Bank holiday meant double pay, so all the other employees wanted to work that day. He looked up when I walked into his room and sat on the floor. He’d been painting the starling. I noticed the eagle was still white.

            “I have enough twigs now,” I said, holding up the bag. “Do you have any glue I can stick them together with?”

            “Put some newspaper down first,” he said, opening a drawer. I rolled my eyes at his command, as he handed me a bottle of PVA glue.

            “Wouldn’t superglue be better?” I asked.

            “Not if you stick your fingers together.”

            I laughed and he looked up in surprise.

            “You’re always so responsible.”

            Robin flinched, looking away. “I never expected those words from you, considering.”

             I remembered those words: Dad said big boys with double digits had to be more responsible.

            Part of me felt I should hate him. Yet, without him, I would never have met Tori. “But you were only a kid.”

            “That doesn’t matter. I left you, my own little sister. Because of that you’ll never know Dad. Also, Donna can’t connect to you and Mum missed you growing up. How can anyone fix that?”

            I stared at the back of his head, feeling annoyed and frustrated. Was it because of Tori he was like this? But how could I ever think badly of her; she was my mother.

            I continued to glue the nest together.

***

“You’ve finished it already?” Meredith asked. The liquid screams of the children playing out in the garden poured through the kitchen window. Donna’s seventh birthday had fallen on a Friday. Meredith had brought ten of Donna’s school friends to the house for a party.

            “Yeah, all I had to do was stick a bunch of twigs together. Robin did the birds. They’re on his desk.”

            “Robin has always kept to himself since-” Meredith paused. “Well, I’m glad you two get along.”

            I smiled and continued putting two flying saucer sweets into each party bag.

            “Do you think you’re getting used to us now?” Meredith whispered.

            “It’s still a little strange sometimes, and I miss m…Tori, but I do like you.”

            She nodded. There was a knock on the front door; Meredith paused in her task of cutting the cake.

            “Here to collect their offspring,” she said, striding out of the kitchen. As soon as the first parent entered the kitchen the children began to flock around the party bags.

            “Look, Leah!” Donna beamed, “I won pass-the-parcel!” She held up a hair accessory set. “Can I do your hair?”

            “Yeah,” I said, surprised. Donna had never asked me to play with her before, but I’d noticed her obsession with my hair since I’d dyed it brown. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

            Twenty minutes later Meredith found us in the living room. Donna’s hair was braided in three places.

            “You’re good at this,” Donna complimented.

            “Tori was a hairdresser.”

            “There’s some leftover party bags,” Meredith broke in. “Want one?”

            I nodded, taking one. I was reaching into it for a fizzy cola bottle when I felt a strange, painful flip in my stomach. Something flowed into my knickers. I groaned.

            “Leah, what’s wrong?” Meredith asked, one of her hands stroking Donna’s braids.

            “I don’t know. I think I need the toilet,” I said.

            I had to climb the stairs to get to the bathroom. I was glad Meredith had been distracted by Donna. It would be too embarrassing if I’d wet myself. I felt another pang in my stomach. I reached the bathroom. I closed the door, unfastened my trousers and pulled down my pants. There wasn’t much there, just some dark red gunge. My white knickers had a spot of blood staining the centre. I sat down on the toilet and with shaking hands grabbed some toilet paper to wipe away the red slime.

            “Leah, are you alright?” Meredith tapped on the door. Part of me wanted her to go away, but another part wanted someone to take over.

            “I think I just started my period.”

            “Oh!” Meredith opened the door and rushing into the bathroom. Donna was following her. I stood and yanked my trousers back up. “How are you feeling? Do you need a painkiller?”

            “What’s a period?” Donna asked.

            “It means Leah is a grown-up now,” Meredith said. She stretched out her arms towards me, then stopped herself. “Come on, I have everything in my room.”

            “I want to come too.”

            “Not now, this is for grown-ups only. Play with Robin for a while,” Meredith took my hand and guided me out of the bathroom.

            “But it’s my birthday!” Donna wailed.

***

I was in a park, the park, the letter still clutched in my hand. Painful cramps gripped my stomach. I plonked down on the vacant see-saw, the mid-day sun blazing down on me.

            I glanced back at the letter.

            I had woken up at nine-thirty. Donna’s bed had already been made. I went into Robin’s room, to check on the birds. Donna was on the bedroom floor. Bits of twigs were strewn over the carpet, some even on the tidy bed. Clumps of mod-rock birds had been thrown against the wall, their broken corpses revealing their white centres. 

            “Leah, have you -” Meredith stopped, peering into the room. I didn’t bother listening to her shouting at Donna. Instead I went to get breakfast. I was eating cheerios when Meredith came to the kitchen, handing me the letter. I had opened it, read it, and ran.

            The see-saw’s seat was hard and uncomfortable, making my backside numb. I was facing the park’s entrance, able to see the road beyond it. A little boy entered through the park’s small gate, pulling on his father’s sleeve to drag him to the swing-set on my left. I read the letter again, picking up only a few words: Trial, witness, testimony through video link. There was a name I didn’t recognise, with ‘also known as Tori Renning’ written in brackets. I hadn’t even known my mother’s real name.

            “Leah!” I looked up and saw Meredith running to me. “Are you okay?”

            “Why?” I whispered.

            “What is it, sweetie?” she asked, kneeling down next to me. “Is it about the birds?”

            “Why!” I screamed, lunging at her, trapping her in a desperate hug. “Why did she take me if she was just going to leave?” I choked, tears burning my face. My sobs were so heavy. “Why did she take me from my family if I would one day go back?”

            “Shh,” Meredith soothed, stroking my head.

            “Why can’t I hate her! After all this, why do I love her so much?”

            The little boy was watching me, climbing out of the swing and running past us. For a moment I thought he would come towards us, but he heading for the big slide behind us.

            I was exhausted when we reached home. My eyes were sore, my body ached and I felt drained. I was trapped here with this family, whether I liked it or not.

            Donna was still in Robin’s room. The pieces of birds and nests were gathered together in the middle of the room, where she’d tried to force them back together. As I entered she looked up, her eyes wet.

            “I know you didn’t ask for this,” I said, picking up the eagle with no wings. I placed it in the nest with the others. “But we have to get used to each other.”

            Donna nodded.

Motherless

Motherless

Inspired by the painting Motherless by Arthur Stock, 1883

            I often watch her sleeping. Megan can seem so peaceful, so oblivious to the pain she should know. At times I’m grateful my little girl doesn’t feel the loss. She won’t know the pain I feel everyday.

            At times I hate it. My anger grows at the thought our daughter will never remember the one who gave her life. She will never understand how much she would have loved her. It’s not right.

            Motherless. That’s what Megan has become, my motherless child. She will not have an understanding female for her as she begins to grow. She will be alone in the areas I cannot help.

            She shouldn’t have to be motherless.

            I pause a moment, looking away from the new grave towards the baby I hold in one hand, balanced on my knee. Meg’s young eyes are on the plant I am adding to the grave, a delicate yet beautiful red campion, Mary’s favourite. She looks curious but nothing else. Oblivious to sorrow.

            Oblivious, it’s a word I never did like. To call my daughter the word I had cursed at myself so recently.

            I had been oblivious, I had ignored the signs. And Mary? She had just smiled any concerns away. She had wanted to remain oblivious as long as possible. Now our daughters would always remain so. I watch Megan’s curious eyes and smile painfully when a small arm tries to reach out for the campion plant.

            The plant is too far away; she can’t reach.

            I sigh and pat the soil around the plant, securing its place. It was a guardian; a guardian for my wife. My dear Mary.

Here lies:

Mary Johnson

1860-1883

Beloved wife and mother

            Every time I come here I wish to lay the baby on the grave. Just to see what she’d do. Would she cry? Would she not care?

            Would she know? Would she realise who is beneath her?

            Beneath.

            The soil is moist and sticking to me, but I don’t care. I just want to lay here beside Mary’s grave. Maybe if I want it enough we will sink into the ground and lay beside her, no longer breathing. But if I did that you would hate me for not living. I have to live; I have to do more than just breathe. Our daughter has to live.

            If we had all died then we would be together, we wouldn’t be oblivious or hurt. We would not be at all.

            The baby grabbed the plant pot nearby, the one I had planned to plant on the grave next. A simple poppy. Her little grip tightens, tries to pull it closer.

            It tips over.

            Megan begins to cry.

            I smile. I watch her little face scrunch up in displeasure and I smile. Perhaps she is not oblivious after all. Perhaps she understood.

Meg didn’t understand the reason for it. Every time she mentioned that her mother was dead everyone became cautious around her. She didn’t understand why they felt so sorry for her, why they thought she was missing out on something important.

            Her father was all she needed. He was kind and loving. He was always there for her. Why did they pity her for being motherless?

            “It will start happening soon.” Sarah whispered with a giggle. “Every girl goes through it in order to become a woman. My mother explained it all to me.”

            They were all twelve years old, on the brink of puberty and womanhood. Meg had heard none of this before, this bleeding that would symbolise when she became a woman. Why hadn’t her father warned her about it? Perhaps it was something only women knew of.

            “Does it hurt?” Another girl asked. Meg continued to listen, feeling ill. Why had she never heard of this before? It scared her, knowing that she had been ignorant of this for so long.

            For the first time Meg began to understand.

“Father.” Meg began, playing with her food. How could she ask? It wasn’t proper, it wasn’t dignified.

            “Yes, princess?” He always called her that, rarely by her real name. She’d never thought much on it before. Now she realised. Her mother’s name had been Mary. Mary and Megan.

            “Is it true that to reach womanhood I’ll begin bleeding down…” She stopped, too embarrassed to continue.

            She no longer played with her food, merely stared at it red faced. 

            “It’s something every woman goes through.” He coughed, clearly uncomfortable. “Perhaps you should talk to your friends about it.”

            The moment she was alone in her room her tears were free, her choking fear obvious.

            Meg had never realised why they pitied her. Now she knew.

            She was motherless.

It was a peaceful area. Secluded. The beautiful lesser knapweed and ox-eye daisies always made her smile, flowers that complimented the other in the strangest way. It made her see something other than a graveyard.

            The air smelt crisp and fresh, a clear sense of damp leaves. It was autumn and rain had fallen the night before making it hard for her to sit as usually she would.

            Meg was a young woman now, sixteen in body but mature for her age. She had grown on her own, worked out alone how puberty was to be approached and endured. Her clothes were dignified how her class but not overly showy. Her dress was a light brown, flaring out towards the bottom to add a unique look. The small brown jacket she wore matched the style, but did not prevent the colds seeping into her limbs.

            Her father didn’t understand it. When she’d cried out in pain each month he’d panicked and called for a doctor. When Meg became ill-tempered for no real reason he had demanded respect from her, both his daughter and a woman.

            They had begun to drift apart and she hated it. She spent more time at dinner parties with her friends. She spent more time here, with the mother she had never met.

            “I saw him again today,” Meg confessed. She had removed her fashionable bag and sat on it to protect against the damp floor. She wasn’t going to let the weather prevent her from staying. “He made me laugh. He’s so kind. I want to see him more but..” She sighed, a hand running through her hair in frustration. “I just don’t know. Sarah believes I should wait to see what happens. It’s the decent thing to do. I just wish I knew what to do. I wish I had a mother to talk to.”

            “Megan?” A voice spoke up. Meg looked up to see her there, a plant pot in one hand.

            The dampness of her bag had seeped into her clothes.

            “F-father? Did you..?” She bent her head in humiliation. She heard him shuffle his feet.

            “I couldn’t help but overhear.” He confessed, bending down and carefully using a tool to make a hole on the grave. “It makes me happy to hear. My little princess had grown up.”

            She understood him then. Meg burst into helpless tears. Her father just smiled as he carefully took the plant from the pot and placed it into its new home. A new guardian.

            “I remember when I first met Mary. It was at a dinner party of my cousin. She seemed so quiet and alone, I felt sorry for her. But when I began to talk to her I realised she had a strong spirit. She was an amazing woman. I wanted to meet her again because I knew, I knew she would make me happy.”

            “But how? How did you meet her again?”
            Rain had begun to fall as he spoke but she barely noticed. The two just stared at the gravestone, tracing the name with their eyes while their thoughts wandered.

            Her father pulled her up and wrapped his coat around her before smiling.

            “I organised my own dinner party.”

            Her bag was left behind, forgotten.

A tired smile was clear on Meg’s face as she approached the grave, a baby girl nestled comfortably in her arms.

            “Someone came to meet you.” She spoke softly, looking down at her sleeping daughter. “If only we both really could.”

            Her husband joined her a moment, kissed her briefly to show support before offering her privacy. His actions made Meg love him all the more.

            “I understand so much now, only now when I became a mother myself. All that time I never realised how much you must have loved me. I couldn’t imagine knowing I was going to die and would never be able to know my child. Knowing she’d be motherless.”

            She smiled sadly through her tears, gazing at her tiny daughter. She couldn’t imagine it. And thankfully she’d never have to experience it.

            “You’re late.” She teased her father lightly. He just laughed and cooed at his granddaughter .

            “Who’s this little princess?”

            Meg smiled at him, at her baby and at the grave of her mother, Mary.

            “Megumi. Her name is Megumi.” 

Key

Key

It took me a month to finish the painting. The image came from a dream. A house, a family, peering out from a window while a girl looked in from outside. She held an uncut key in one hand and a nail file in the other. She was trying to shape the key, filing it down to a blunt point. She wouldn’t stop trying.

            I knew I should have said no when the college wanted to display it. I’d hated the thing as soon as I’d finished it. It showed something I didn’t want to see.

            My older sister Saya had hung it in the living room. I took it down and let the college display it.

            “Kyo!”

I looked from my desk and to the classmate. I’m surprised she knew my name; I didn’t know hers.

“There’s some guy waiting in the hallway for you.”

            He was leaning against the wall, a lazy smile set on his face. I had the urge to run.

            “Hi! I’m Fane. I take landscape architecture here.” He stared in a way that made me uncomfortable. “Japanese?”

            I nodded, reluctant. It was pretty obvious. 

            “I saw your drawing near the reception.”

“So?”

“What does it mean to you?”

            “That’s none of your business.”

            He stared at me with blue eyes, “Your name is Key, right? I collect keys.”

            I stormed back into the classroom. He didn’t follow me.

***

I hated mobile phones; they were noisy and drew too much attention to the user. My older brother Akio had given me one as parting gift when I moved to England with Saya. It had never rung. I’d never heard Fane’s ring either.

            “You never wear skirts,” he said as he chewed his lunch.

            It had become a routine. I would eat my lunch in a vacant area at the college and he would find me. I’d given up on making him leave.

            “It’s too cold here. Pervert.”

            “Is Key scared of me?”

            “It’s Kyo!”

            “The girl in the painting was scared too. She was so scared she couldn’t stop trying to shape the key. Was it because she was outside or because she couldn’t decide if she wanted to get in?”

            “It’s just a painting.”

            He watched as I finished eating. “I want to be a landscape architect,” He pulled out a bunch of keys from his bag, searching through them with his fingers. “But my hobby is collecting keys.” He held one up, its end blunted and useless. “This was the first.”

            It looked like a car key. I scanned the others in his hand; they were undamaged.

            “It’s my twentieth birthday next week. Will you come out drinking with me?” He moved closer, one hand resting on my arm. “I want to pick at you more.”

            “I’m only seventeen.” His hand was gentle; I couldn’t bring myself to pull away.

            “I’ll get you in, don’t worry.” He smiled, his eyes looked sincere. “Stay outside with me.”

***

The late night air was helping to clear my head. I hadn’t drunk much. My bare legs were cold. It reminded me of home at winter, when I would stay up late to serve tea and snacks to my brother Akio as he worked until dawn.

            I had left the mobile behind when Fane came to pick me up. Saya’s smile at his appearance made me uncomfortable. Especially when she saw I was wearing a skirt.

            “Where are we going?” I asked the drunken Fane.

            He was stumbling on ahead of me, laughing to himself. “My flat! You live with your sister and I doubt she wants you to come back drunk. You’ll have to share my room. Mum’s back from the hospital.”

            I tried not to think about what Saya would think when she realised I’d spent the night. “What was wrong with your mother?”

            “Key shouldn’t go in her room. You shouldn’t be the first to go in the kitchen in the morning either. You might get scared.”

            We came to a halt. Fane crashed into a garden bush and snorted before leaning on a house wall. “Silly people putting a bush there. If I’d designed this place I wouldn’t have done that.”

            “Why do you want to be a landscape architect?”

            He rummaged in his coat pocket, trying to pull out his keys. They landed a few feet away. “All the keys are running from me!” He dropped onto the floor. He looked pale, the moonlight making his hair look white.

            I moved away, bending down to pick up his keys.

            “I want to control Mother Nature,” Fane said.

            “What?”

            He stared at me, his eyes serious.

            “Mother Nature is a bitch. Why should she be the only one to create beautiful things?” The grin was back. “Gardens, silly girl, I want to design gardens!”

            A light flickered on inside the flat. The door swung open.

            “Ryan, are you drunk again?” asked a woman. She was in her late thirties dressed in a black dressing gown. Her eye and hair colour matched Fane’s. She neither smiled nor frowned. I wondered if her skin would feel cold.

            “Mum, you’re still here?”

            The woman turned back into the flat, her footsteps fading. She hadn’t noticed me.

            “Come on in! I have a sleeping bag you can use.”

I helped him to his feet, letting him lean on me, trying to steady his shaking body. I frowned but didn’t say anything, half dragging him into the flat’s corridor and closing the door.

            The flat was dark and bare; the walls a cream white that had been splashed with red.

            Fane grabbed the door handle of the nearest room and stumbled inside. The room was nothing special. It was small and plain with pale blue walls. Somehow I thought it would be different. The only thing that stuck out was a sketch of a garden design stuck low on the wall opposite the bed.

            “Here you go!” He flung a sleeping bag at me and collapsed on his bed, face down.

            “Your mother called you Ryan.”

            He lifted his head to answer. “Fane means joyous.”

            There was a small bookshelf, a photo resting on top. It was of Fane as an early teen with someone his double. One of them stood there while the other had his arms flung around his brother, smiling. I guessed that one was Fane, no, Ryan. His smile was real.

            Fane was mumbling to himself.

            “Does your brother live here?”

            The mumbling stopped, replaced with a sigh as he buried his face further into his bed. “He went away.”

***

I was an early riser, a habit I’d grown up with. Breakfast at six when Akio was finally asleep and then time to sketch.

            He had warned me not to go in the kitchen first.

            Fane’s mother lay on the floor, staring towards the window. Her bleeding wrists cradled each other, held against her chest. She was still wearing the black dressing gown, its long sleeves pushed up and exposing bare white arms. Her hair rested in the blood on the tiles, both sides of it stained. She must have deliberately turned her head to do it.

            “James?” Her voice was weak. She was still looking towards the window.

            I stumbled back and hit the wall near the door, wincing. I looked around for a phone. “Fane! Wake up!” I was out of the kitchen, moving towards his mother’s room.

            No phone.

            “Where’s the phone?”

            “Why?” Fane asked, stumbling out of his room. He took in my appearance and turned to enter the kitchen. “You don’t waste any time, do you Mum?”

            “Where’s your mobile?”

            “Stupid woman! Why in the kitchen? Can’t you ever slash your wrists in bed and pretend to look peaceful? Is it too much to ask?”

            “Fane!” I grabbed him, shaking him. “She needs an ambulance!”

            “Why bother? Let her get it over with. It’s too tiring.”

            I stared at him.

            He smiled.

            “Get the phone if you want, but she’ll only do it again. Am I supposed to care every time she does it?”

            I found his phone under his bed. He was eating toast when the paramedics arrived, still in his pyjamas. They glared at him but said nothing as they took her away. I watched them leave.

            “You had to see this, Kyo. We have to be careful that doesn’t happen to us.”

***

I’d almost refused when he dragged me out of the flat, but I knew we should see how his mother was. I hadn’t expected this.

            “Why are we here?” I looked at the small park we were in, seeing only a swing set, a small slide and a chalked hopscotch on the ground. I could hear cars from the road close by.

            Fane sat on the graffitied swing. He began swaying. “Don’t you want some fresh air? The flat stinks of blood.”

            “Why aren’t we going to the hospital?”

            “You have to wait around there. People should never stay still.” He began to swing higher, back and forth. His laugh made me jump. “I just realised! Our old house had the phone in the kitchen. No wonder she goes in there.”

            “What?”

            He was a blur as he swung past. “She answered the phone that day.” Fane’s hands released the chains holding the swing in place, staying on by tensing his legs. “And I was waiting in this park for him to come get me.”

            “James can have her! He was the good one she loved, the quiet one. I used to talk for the both of us. He was my shadow around other people. I was the one who went out past curfew. That night I was here, beaten up by some secondary school students. I called James. Mum wasn’t there so he took her keys to come get me, even though he was too young to drive. I waited all night.”

He sighed and my hands curled up into fists.

            “I don’t want to live like her! I miss him, I do, but I can’t stay outside it all. We have to decide. Now!” He swung his legs up and fell out of the swing a few feet away. He began running the moment he touched the ground. I sprinted after him.

            I grabbed his arm and yanked him back before he could step off the pavement. A car horn sounded and then drove on.

            “It must have hurt,” he whispered.

            I couldn’t say anything, only gripped his arm tighter. Despite his strange personality I didn’t want him to disappear. I didn’t want my decisions to force us apart; not like Akio. “Come on, let’s go.” I carefully released my grip.

            “What?”

            “You can’t go back to the flat yet, and there’s no way I’m letting you go off on your own. You can stay with Saya and me for a while.”

            Fane stared at me before giving a little smile.

            I didn’t want him to die.

            “Why? Is Key going to save me?”

            I grabbed his hand.

Bound to Hate

(I wrote this ten years ago while at university. It has very graphic rape scenes in, so please don’t read if it disturbs you too much. At the time my sister was a volunteer with a rape helpline, and I did a lot of research for this story to be as shocking and realistic as possible.)

Bound to Hate

25th March 2004

Dear rapist,

My earliest memory is of you. Your voice through the bedroom wall demanding my mother to behave and suck your cock. She would gasp, but never scream. You would grunt a lot.

            When I was twelve something different happened.

            “Remember your promise, Glenna-chan,” you said.

            “I know, but I’m exhausted!”

            There was a loud thud from your room, then footsteps.

            “Yuri, darling, are you awake?” You opened my door, peered in, then strode towards the bed and grabbed my arm.

            “Let go of her!” Mum screamed, running into the room.

            “Remember what I told you in the hospital, Glenna-chan. If I don’t get it from you, I will come in here.”

            I had started crying. Just like the incident two years before, all I could do was cry.

            And all my mother could do was obey.

February 2nd, 1988. Tokyo, Japan

Ever since she had first visited her friend’s home three years ago, she had known him as Haruka’s older brother. Glenna would often be invited to their house for dinner and he’d be at the table with them. His work suit was immaculate but his table manners were awful.

            “Glenna-chan, please pass the soy sauce.” He commanded, his noodles hanging half-way to his mouth, one falling off and splashing into his ramen bowl.

            “Soy sauce on noodles?” She scoffed, passing it. His hand closed around her fingers a moment before taking the bottle from her. His eyes never left hers.

            Glenna watched him set the soy sauce next to his bowl, but he never used it. His eyes stayed fixed on her.

            Haruka finished her ramen at last, eating the last piece of fish cake, and Glenna held back a sigh of relief when her friend grabbed her schoolbag to go upstairs.

            He was still watching when they left the room.

            “Damn, I forgot to take that book back,” Haruka sighed, digging around in her bag and pulling it out.

            “You can still make it before the library closes,” Glenna said, not looking up from her English homework. She found she memorised the language better when sitting on the floor, book in lap. She would hunch over to read, then sit up and close her eyes before repeating the sentences out loud.

            Glenna found this technique worked better at Haruka’s house, sat on her lavender-carpeted floor. The sliding door was covered with butterfly cut-outs, while the walls were decorated with unicorn and forest paintings. Beneath them was the hint of lavender paint. The bed was a single, with a dream catcher hanging from the ceiling above it. The other side of the room housed the heated low-table, it’s heavy blanket folded neat and out of the way.

            “Aren’t you coming?” Haruka whined, stuffing the book back in her school bag.

            “Masahiro will be there. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.” Glenna laughed, looking up to see her friend’s red face.

            “Just stay in here then. Mum and Dad are out but they’ll be back in half an hour. I don’t want them knowing anything, so I’ll come back before that.”

            “Fine, I’ll finish this English work. We can start our geometry under the kotatsu when you get back. I’m freezing.”

            “If you love it so much why don’t you get your own?”

            “Father thinks they’re too self-indulgent and promote laziness. Hurry up and go flirt so I can steal your heated table!”

             Five minutes after Haruka had left the house her brother peered into the room.

            “Glenna-chan, all alone?”

            She glared at him. “Don’t call me that; I’m not a little kid.”

            “No, sixteen now aren’t you?” He stalked into the room and set himself down next to her. “A young woman.”

            His eyes roamed over her school uniform, a white blouse with a green skirt. His hand gripped her bare leg, and slid up to her outer thigh.

            “What the hell are you doing!” Glenna screamed, pushing him away.

            His grip on her leg tightened enough to bruise the flesh. “I’ve been watching you for years now, waiting for your body to blossom.”

            He pushed her down on top of her books. She kicked out at him with her free leg and her arms, trying to prevent him from straddling her. His grip on her leg moved, instead he grabbed her long hair, his fingers scraping her scalp. Her mouth was half open to scream, but a punch cut her lip and shocked her into silence.

            “Be quiet now. It is time I claimed my property.”

            He’d ripped off her blouse before she’d recovered enough to struggle. One of his hands groped at her breasts through her bra, while the other went back to her leg, reaching to pull at her pants.

            Glenna grabbed her English book and swung at him, smacking him across the face. The collision made him drop off her, cursing. She kicked him in the stomach then scrambled to her feet and ran to the door.

            She’d made it into the hallway before his body slammed into her. Her right shoulder collided with the wall. She winced at the painful position while his vice-grip grabbed her left shoulder, forcing her body to face him and pinning her wrists by pressing them into the wall.

            “I won’t let you go.” His breath was hot on her face; his skin so close she could see small blackheads.

            “Get off me!”

            His body was pressed against her. She barely had room to kick at his shin. He retaliated by punching the side of her face, dragging her back to the room and throwing her on the bed.

            Another slap as he climbed on top of her. With one hand clamped around her throat, he squeezed so hard she could only take shallow breaths. Glenna focused on her breathing.

            He slid off her white pants.

            Breathe in. The pop of a button, the scraping of a zipper.

            Breathe out. The ruffling of clothes and the slump of boxers hitting the floor.

            His hand let go of her throat. She took in air and coughed, feeling something on her inner thigh. It was warm but hard, poking at her skin and rubbing against her pubic hair. Then it steadied its course and pushed, forcing her insides to stretch so it could invade.

            She felt like part of her was being ripped. All she could do was scream.

***

25th March 2004

Dear rapist,

I walked in on that incident when I was ten. I’d come home from school as normal, and you were there. Why had you come home early from Grandfather’s company? I suppose it doesn’t matter.

            You were in the living room, on the dark red mat I used to love laying on because it was so soft and fluffy.

            You were saddled naked on Mum’s chest. Your arms reached behind you to stop her legs kicking. Your legs were on either side of her body, pressing down and trapping her arms. You were waving your male thing in her face, trying to aim it at her closed mouth.

            “Open up Glenna-chan. It’s your job to ease my stress.” One of your hands let go of a leg. She kneed your back.

            I wanted to make a noise when you punched her nose. I should have been louder coming in. Maybe you would have stopped. She wouldn’t have needed to open her mouth to breathe and I wouldn’t have seen you shove your thing in her mouth.

            And Mum wouldn’t have noticed me watching. Unable to stop watching.

            Her eyes were so full of shame I started crying. Huge ugly sobs.

            “You fucking bitch!” You yelled, springing off her. Blood was coming out of your thing. There was blood on her mouth too.

            “It’s okay sweetie, it’s okay.” Mum took me in her arms, shielding me from you.

            All I could do was cry in my ugly way while you hit her. All I could do was stay with Aunt Haruka, a brilliant and dedicated lawyer, while you were both in hospital.

            It’s okay, she’d said then. She still says it.

February 2nd, 1988. Tokyo, Japan.

Glenna had felt an ice cold calm possess her, locking up all emotion and letting her form rational thoughts. Even if he was still banging into her body.

            Her gaze was fixed to the door as he grunted on top of her, hearing the slap of his balls hitting her flesh everytime he impaled her. The pain didn’t register anymore.

            There was a sound of sliding doors opening. The man grunted his release, his sticky substance filling her and dribbling out, staining the lavender covers.

            “We’re back!”

            Glenna shoved at him, rolling off the bed and running into the hallway to the entrance hall. She heard two gasps as she flung herself behind Haruka’s parents.

            “Please keep him away!” She gripped onto the back of Miko-san’s            coat, resting her swollen face on its fabric.

            “What an earth happened here?” Sorata-san looked up to see his son walk into the entrance, his suit changed and immaculate.

            “Glenna-chan and I were just having some fun.”

            “Fun? Look at her face! What did you do?”

            “I made her mine.” He grabbed his shoes and placed them on, calm. “When she’s ready to continue, she can come find me in my new place.”

            “You’re certainly not welcome here anymore! How could I have raised such a son!”

            “See you soon, Glenna-chan,” he grinned, leaving.

            The entrance hall was silent after the front door slid closed. Sorata-san ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath.

            “Glenna, I’m so-”

            “Can you call my father? Mum will be out with her sewing group.”

            “O-of course! I’ll call him right away.”

            “You need to call his work number. The company got an increase in shipping orders and he has to do overtime, sort out the administrational side.”

            “Yes, of course.”

            Miko-san tried to turn and face Glenna, but she stubbornly held her grip on the back of the coat. The ice calm was still there, and she needed it to stay.

            “I don’t need your comfort or pity.” 

Haruka arrived back with a serene smile on her face that was quickly wiped away.

            “Glenna? Oh God, what happened?”

            Her friend was stood in the living room, her face a bloody mess, her school uniform ripped with dried semen staining the skirt. A glazed look was on her face, but it changed when she looked into her friend’s eyes.

            “I-I…” She stuttered, her entire body trembling. “I n-need to go to the hospital. P-preserve the evidence.”

            Haruka dropped her school bag and flung her arms around her friend, trying to calm the violent shaking. Her own eyes were filled with tears, and her sob-filled voice repeated empty promises that everything was going to be okay.

***

25th March 2004

Dear rapist,

When I turned fourteen our teachers gave a brief talk. Sex was something between people in love, reserved for married life.

            Some of the boys boasted about conquests that never happened, describing things I knew were wrong. A little boy’s penis would never be that big, and if it had been, the girl would only be in  pain.

            Hiko-kun was ridiculed because he didn’t make up any conquests. He seemed shy, honest. I think I liked him. I wanted to show him that.

            We went behind the bushes in the park after school.

            “You wanted to tell me something, Yuri-san?”

            I smiled and kissed him. I wasn’t sure what to do with my tongue so I shoved it in and out of his mouth a few times. He didn’t like it at first, so I made it gentler and slower.

            He was a sweet boy.

            I straddled him like you do to Mum and rubbed against his thing, up and down. It seemed to work even through his trousers. It was coming to life and he was making moaning, gasping noises. His face kept making the strangest expressions, like he was in pain but enjoying it.

            So why did he keep telling me to stop? He obviously liked it, why was he crying? Why wouldn’t he look at me after he’d screamed and gone soft again? Didn’t he like me?

            He avoided me after that. He even changed to a different class.

            Did I rape him?

            Am I like you?

***

April 20th 1988. Tokyo, Japan.

The hospital trip had been useless. The examination was painful, the examiner judgemental, and the police that came to get Glenna’s statement never contacted them again.

            Glenna’s father had distanced himself from the whole ordeal. He’d not come to the hospital, but had waited for Haruka’s parents to bring Glenna home, where he told her to clean herself up and forget about it.

            “I don’t know what happened, but it’s over now. It was just bad luck, let’s not have it drag our family name through mud.”

            He had only spoken about it again when she’d told him she was two months late.

            “This is a disaster,” he growled, while his chopsticks picked at his rice.

            Her mother stayed silent, her shaking hands scooping out Glenna’s portion of rice.

            “She’ll have to marry him,” he said, standing.

            “I will never-”

            “You will!”

            Her mother sighed, shaking her head.

            “I’m sorry Glenna, but a baby changes everything. It’s you and that child which will suffer if you don’t. Think of what people will call it, how society will treat it.”

            “I’ll give that bastard a job, seen as he’s unemployed. He’ll become respectable soon enough.” Her father huffed, standing up.

            Glenna just stared down, her hand moving towards her stomach.

            For my child.

October 10th, 1988, Tokyo, Japan.

His forceful thrusting deep inside meant he kept hitting her bulging belly, and she winced each time.

            “Be careful! My baby -”

            He answered by delivering a painful punch to her abdomen. Each time he thrusted into her, his fist would connect.

            “Stop it!”

            He groaned out his release, grinning at her panicked tears.

            “I’ll make you a promise, Glenna-chan.” He heaved himself off her and collapsed on his left side of the bed. “I will never touch our child if you always obey me. Always.”

            Glenna glared at his back, but turned away to stroke her stomach.

            For my child.

June 13th 1998. Tokyo, Japan.

Sometimes Glena really did forget how her daughter had come to be. If only she was a strong enough mother to protect her.

            “Don’t even think about it, Glenna-chan,” he growled from his hospital bed.

            Glenna’s injuries from the beating were painful, but she wasn’t letting them stop her.

            “What can you do?” she mocked, “they won’t let you leave here yet with your injury, and I won’t let this continue now that Yuri knows. I won’t ruin her life like that.”

            “If you run, I’ll find you, I’ll drag you both back. You are my wife, and by law I’ve done nothing wrong. If you try, I’ll end our little promise. I will acknowledge our daughter. She does look beautiful like you, after all -”

            “Don’t you dare touch her!”

            “I will drag you back, and I will have you both. Stay, and I will leave her alone. Your choice, Glenna-chan.”

            Her hand tightened into a fist.

            “Now sit down, Glenna-chan. Stay by your husband’s side.”

            Sometimes Glenna could forget how her daughter was conceived. But his presence would always remind her.

25th March 2004

Dear rapist,

Did you know a lot of adult movies have a rape plot? It’s true, our humble Japanese society has twisted views of pleasant sex for women.

            I stole it from the video store. After what happened with Hiko-kun I wanted to know what type of actions men like in sex.

            The woman got drunk, the man took advantage. She was too drunk to say no and he was too horny to be considerate.

            If that’s what it should be like, I never want to be with someone.

            And I will never get drunk.

***

August 30th 2003. Tokyo, Japan.

Glenna was sat at the kotatsu, reading. Yuri couldn’t translate the title, except ‘The’. She had never been good at English.

            Yuri didn’t say anything, choosing to stay in the doorway with the door half-open, peering in. It was a rare sight to see her mother so peaceful.

            The sound of the door sliding the rest of the way open made Glenna look up, smiling. Another rare sight.

            “Welcome home,” Glenna said.

            Yuri sat down beside her, a comfortable silence between them. She emptied her school bag, placing her books in one pile.

            “What are you reading?” Yuri asked.

            “An American book. It’s called The Color Purple.”

            “What’s it about?”

            “A woman who was raped by her father, and then forced to marry a man she didn’t know. But it ends well.”

            “How?”

            “She decides she’s a lesbian and leaves him.”

            They looked at each other and laughed.

            “No men? Why didn’t we think of that!” Yuri laughed.

            “What’s this?” Glenna picked up a sheet from Yuri’s school pile. “Application for Murasakino High School? Isn’t that in Kyoto?”

            “Yes, I want us to move there.”

            “I’m not sure he -”

            “Not him, just us!”

            “It wouldn’t work, he’d find us.”

            “Then we should report him.”

            “The police won’t do anything. We’re married, he can do anything he wants.”

            “I’ll apply anyway. Just in case.”

            Glenna smiled at that, hugging her close.

25th March 2004

Dear rapist,

I sometimes wonder what kind of person Mum was before you changed her life. I know she likes reading in English, perhaps she wanted to visit England or America? Did she have a secret dream to be a translator?

            I want to know these things. I want to give Mum the chance to be herself again.

            In case you do not know, a legislation was made, allowing women to seek restraining orders against husbands who inflict sexual abuse. Aunt Haruka worked hard to make it possible. By the time you read this letter, we will be gone. You can come find us, but we will never come back. We have Aunt Haruka protecting us, my grandparents, Miko-san and Sorata-san, and the changing attitude in our society. People won’t stand by and do nothing. The laws will change, so you can’t hurt us anymore.

No longer your daughter,

Yuri.

Poem ideas

19:89

A pre-mix ready for

you, easy to present

and delightful to prepare…

But taste will be bland

and satisfaction lacking.

19:90

Feed the animals,

feed yourself,

feed the car,

feed the house.

It all takes

money, yet people

say it doesn’t

bring you happiness.

How happy would

you feel, sitting

there on the street,

starving and freezing

to death?

19:91

Killing me through

your ignorance,

feeding me poison

that tastes good

for you. I am

not what you

think I am.

Accept that,

or watch me

die, choking

on your

good intentions.

19:92

Change the order,

ruffle up the routine,

does it add

some excitement?

Or do your eyes

still glaze over

with boredom?

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