Strange Friendship
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After this second lesson on how to use magic, it was my turn for the bath. “Krissa,” I said into a towel that kept trying to pull away from me like something alive and evil had caught hold of its edges. It had started when we left and hadn’t stopped so much as calmed down since.
With an annoyed groan, I reached out and snagged it by the corners before shoving my way past Taelia at the doorway while she tried her damnedest not to smile like some kind of villainous beast king or mad queen come in disguise.
She only ended up smiling wider as one more wiggling hand let go with another muffled hiss and dragged itself onto my chest. For fuck’s sake, this place needed better towels or none!
The halls were quiet; probably just as well considering what the pair of us looked like now if you knew our backstory instead of knowing nothing about either of us other than a few dozen minutes each day when we put on clothing with only partial overlap between our species.
The floor had taken up enough speed that things slid underfoot rather nicely unless somebody set off at any sort of sprinting pace toward where Krissa sat waiting naked atop my bed covered with blood-spattered blankets and wearing too much jewelry even after I took most of mine back because—as best anybody could explain them apart without any assistance from anyone but myself—a lot of different sorts of animal parts were involved there which would cause every single last bit of protection from whatever god might want to poke their nose around to immediately vanish.
My own shirt still managed to be cut and torn free near the end, exposing scars and half-formed tendrils, fur ruffles, scales, teeth, claws…not that I cared beyond being self-conscious about possibly putting those types of impressions forward.
They had been born into the same flesh. None should hide lest they be afraid of the other’s beauty. Maybe one day. I really didn’t feel like risking making such people uncomfortable, not without absolutely positive knowledge of who they’d grow into later anyway.
But these days the hell-and-firestorm in me called forth two separate reactions depending mostly upon my level of arousal: either desire to attack anything whose words or actions felt invasive (very predatory); or extreme gentleness that told no difference whatsoever between monsters, fairies, or human souls.
Both attitudes struck me as weird at times given neither tended to accompany very clear ideas of whether the targets could take care of themselves if provoked.
Like today with my bloody clothes hanging all over us and two pretty women sitting inches away ready to help remove everything in their sights despite both being armed again from head to toe just in case someone had decided to show up with new problems once this entire thing finally burned through its final hour of fuel.
Which happened every damn time when I put aside my guards against feeling whole in the light for reasons that were starting to seem less than obvious in the cold.
“You’re doing fine, Jorgen. This won’t hurt,” Krissa reassured me again. Her touch had proved surprisingly gentle so far, even though nearly half of the stuff stuck on my skin came off as easily as suntanned scales while the rest clung in awkward places in ways that made scratching almost impossible until they crumbled into dust under fingers strong enough.
A reminder to get to work healing faster so my own skin would stay nice and smooth at least when we weren’t having a public crisis that couldn’t wait for anything less dramatic looking to cover its tracks afterward. An especially pressing need to do this later when she had introduced her favorite soap bars at my insistence and they continued to impress.
In fact, I never noticed till just then how soft skin could really be and imagined it did a great deal to keep folks from worrying too much about a full recovery—even if there were still things to see right across my chest.
Then again, when she explained that my hair might have become that way on purpose without the constant scrubbing for the benefit of someone else noticing such things while concentrating, maybe not? Might take years to learn if I ever did.
Life among the land was stranger than the dark depths inside me these days, a mixed blessing that had less to do with my growing into more or less anything but becoming a husk sooner, the idea gaining momentum all the time.
We always shared experiences. She already understood me far better than anyone outside me possibly could without being bound in chains like I used to believe myself trapped, nor the lie that this life had claimed.
More people had seen this path leading somewhere close to my heart than anyone deserved to know about—including more or fewer gods to name and count, depending on the night.
One arm was now stripped completely bare of armor leaving me feeling vulnerable. But instead of shrinking from that truth, I savored it, ran my fingertips slowly along the dry length of muscle until it clenched involuntarily beneath touch like some long-dead man waking briefly during eternity and begging mercy while fearing a fate worse than death—or something even deeper he simply could not say aloud and would not reveal forever because once gone, nothing remains.
Such an internal thing and so terrifying that it froze a smile on his face in place and silenced any attempt by angels sent to intervene before it grew cold forever.
Like death itself had done, the brutal storm, the beating that shook him awake, the wind whistling in his ears, a smell of burning rubber on scorched earth where his motorcycle met with that wall, the lights went out, and smoke wafting up towards the heavens before everyone stopped breathing once more in all but scattered tears behind eyelids closed tighter than sandstone.
Even at eight years old and painfully shy, I knew exactly what kind of scream lay deep within his soul: I had seen this expression on countless faces when facing similar memories for the first time in our lives; nobody would know each other’s burdens unless somebody said something loud enough, scary or funny, or ugly enough to start the ball rolling.
Most held their fears back so tightly. They saved them from nightmares, passing thoughts kept quiet, hopes unspoken for fear of failure. And then another such scene from my past, just for good measure—to remind myself I’m different somehow, can’t shake these visions as easily as most.
Not without wondering why. Now there was a word for it for anyone keeping a record. And so I stand here with only Krissie seeing that part of me fully exposed while wishing she hadn’t drawn such a sad smile when I confessed I realized I might well turn into nothing, the pain giving way to self-destruction perhaps if I lost what was left of my world one little bit further.
You will go back to those ruins and find whatever is truly yours beyond this strange hope you cling to with your last breath of strength, don’t listen to me and my stinking mouth. That which killed us all will finish the job soon enough regardless of whether the brave ones try to fight—you cannot win against the end if it wants to claim victory after so many battles.
If anything comes through those walls someday, kill it, crush it.
By yourself, if you dare… no help can save any of us. Remember? What do you remember from all those movies you watched lying on your stomach atop books and papers as the light changed color as if waiting for midnight to break through the darkness like that coming sunrise on our arrival in America… always crying around the clock for no apparent reason that you tried hiding with thick red paint upon every inch of paper?
Always acting silly and talking nonsense for reasons not yet clear?
The aliens that invaded our ship thought we must’ve been mad—they stared hard for hours in front of three large windows taking in everything they could see down both sides of a huge chamber with mirrors reflecting sunlight as high and low, making certain this was indeed Earth (all records proved otherwise) despite the fact we lived above a desert most days of the year anyway…
It seems we landed safely amid the sandstorms all around and a sky so beautiful, that some kids could not bear to look straight ahead when the stars showed up…
We’d tried telling them this but refused to answer questions or stare, probably afraid our alien friends were trying to warn us away from looking directly at our sun for fear that made others ill, make them think things are worth doing while being born hell but life beyond death should be valued more greatly in a parallel realm reserved solely for heroes and victims who choose to exist outside the mundane need to feed babies or wash dishes. Whatever it meant.
“Krissie,” I whispered sadly when her eyes found mine again, “I told you what happened and that wasn’t easy to share but also felt so freeing! Once words started, why would I hold back ever?” She never turned around this time except to take stock of her brother and sister sleeping in makeshift beds as far apart on either side as possible lest they fall over if awakened suddenly and upset—Krissie clearly not intending to leave alone what belonged to all three siblings in the first place and already working to carry off such burden along with so many others she should rightfully give to someone else.
She and William are not willing to hear of their responsibility or incapability of holding all that weight themselves. Who shall wake me up someday…? Maybe none of you since all are equally helpless when it matters.
But still. Yet a third memory keeps flooding my mind whenever the real meaning behind our reunion gets close… how Krissie pointed at me on that same ship while sobbing beside William’s bed staring straight in front of us at our dying mother who vomited blood for months and could no longer breathe until coughing to the point of vomiting mucus. Screamed “We’re going home!” every day till finally exhausted by sobs we let her rest peacefully, convincing ourselves we might live another ten years tops somewhere safe while space crews everywhere inspected our spaceship for hidden secrets instead of desperately trying to stop its engines from overheating under the enormous strain caused by the slightest imbalance inside…
Eventually sending up an SOS asking for immediate help that we nearly suffocated long before anyone came running… Our distress call triggered responses we couldn’t have predicted at least. Within moments half a dozen ships appeared overhead like airplanes landing where you could hear every sound reaching your eardrum—only since their exterior had hardened too much to allow solid contact unless something gave out due to pressure changes…
No, that wouldn’t do at all. Imagine knowing you’re about to die at warp speed as debris rains down in all directions creating havoc, not even your sturdy spacecraft stands a chance of surviving… At that moment it seemed logical to ignore the others rushing forward only to walk alongside their own relatives waving goodbyes across lifetimes—just one brief wish was granted for such impossible rescue now it might come… Before Krissie rushed past William’s casket (bought months earlier in London so his family there in England knew exactly how he died)—while both children watched craning necks the crew members unload crates that contained fragments of wood that looked almost identical to white plaster…
Except smaller and perhaps rounded with veins like fingers gently gripping hands. Several men set wooden boards upright leaning sideways toward the starboard wall then several women wearing surgical masks laid horizontal pieces with a pattern of similar designs between the two boards near a doorway facing a large opening that led to… What?! Wait a minute. Hang on. Hadn’t Krissie told William earlier as she cried holding onto him?
To go right into that room and climb over a desk that sat on top of stairs leading deeper and lower? Not believing himself for obvious reasons, fearing ridicule even worse than the one forced upon him back aboard the space vessel after a shower of sludge thrown out just feet in front of his feet: Why is everyone pointing at my balls, calling me names, and laughing?? Until some strange woman handed Krissie what turned out to be… nothing but thin ribbons looped together at one end to tie on clothing or attach small items such as pictures on a belt…
“What does it do, Mommy?” He asked with innocent curiosity… Surely one glance around and feeling responsible would reveal this shouldn’t happen? Or at least, Krissie insisted not to worry! Everything will be OK. Don’t go in…
Not right away but after Dad falls asleep… For now, let’s keep them separated when awake; please promise. “Of course.” Soon followed the birth of his other self’s twin son and daughter by a pregnant Karen’s desperate attempt to salvage what little they once stood to lose at war’s onset.
Yes, their mission began decades before she arrived, and no, they weren’t hers yet. Those kids needed something more than she could ever give. They were mere cargo given as dowry to wealthy nobles’ heirs hoping the princesses who left for college that afternoon on their way back to finish up work could somehow become the perfect fit as husband-for-life substitutes during the next season of play, living happily in exotic foreign countries never far from servants ready at a moment notice to act out the scene each noble hoped to achieve and eventually sell for a huge profit.
So when did those girls leave for their lives of luxury leaving a baby boy to be raised alongside twin sisters too young to look beyond boys wearing shoes? If only because unlike a majority of guys sporting slippers rather than footwear, he wore bright red shoes made of velvet lambskin and fashioned like puma heads tipped with soft fur —wearing the ultimate symbol of wealth, status, and power to avoid making any mistakes concerning identity, sex and possible enemies watching to make sure they won’t embarrass one another as princes were taught.
A man should stand apart among people interested in building walls surrounding empires filled with riches owned and controlled by someone else—not those attempting to build bridges connecting many different cultures without compromise or apology for any wrongdoing—building things where anyone can walk through from either side… Lording his power over neighbors, not all accept change.
The main street outside of the town’s one single paved road heading out towards the plains continued north towards fields barely tilled and no crops standing, west along river banks looking dry from spring drought.
An abandoned cotton factory near the Mississippi River turned empty and vacant. Stuck into the brick and mortar three times thicker and longer than its height on all four corners appeared what looked like carved stone letters spelling out the word DONE below a familiar face.
With enough bricks still laying unused nearby to finish covering the entire wall the sun setting behind thick black clouds over his head casting shadows of other buildings looming higher above didn’t hide the sight any better nor make the final result appear appealing as rain soon mixed with tiny hail peppered down coating everything inside a bitter cold sheet that quickly became wind chill biting into his cheeks after climbing three flights of steps that ascended while dropping lower turning inward twisting to either right or left—into a maze that now ran off as a vertical drop instead of an inclined path towards a narrow stairway cut straight into a rock and resting within dark emptiness of an underground tomb full of fear…
Underneath ground zero—the new enemy having taken aim long ago to destroy it with missiles armed and ready to fire day or night, killing thousands until death gave way and sent metal scurrying.
Like lightning striking every few minutes if necessary; bombs dropped out of airplanes of any nation wanting to spread the terror message. Once arriving at its destination the explosions often sank deeper below the earth’s surface obliterating anything close enough to stop its detonation.
By the time they stopped so would those dead before destroying something of value completely or forcing surrender to survive the loss. Humans wouldn’t fall for anything less… War wasn’t always won by force and if everyone had believed it was… Nobody knew where to go seeking help.
After what humans went through on Earth for centuries, nobody wanted to live under constant threat from attack… Oh, God, we’ve finally met our match after years spent defending ourselves.
Can’t blame them for trying, losing their own fighting, and dying… Crates loaded high atop trucks waiting for the day soldiers will lead us here, to a world unspoiled… One devoid of hostile forces… Unsurpassed opportunity for survival! Yet, those crates piled there since ancient civilization have never been opened despite offers as ridiculous as how to divide up land after all lands are conquered have made only enemies; bickering men scared of taking it seriously.
Poor fools never imagined you’d try such a thing, could think they might die because of giving false hope for survival. Nothing will bring them to their senses; no, they’ll always refuse a helping hand as is human nature, prideful against inevitable extinction.
There just aren’t that many choices left to live… With nowhere to run to save themselves, they possess what is rightfully theirs while enslaving others from neighboring lands without thinking what good came from taking it unless those granted permission to pass could freely choose no matter whether a merchant ships cargo included weapons designed not only kill but injure forever eliminating innocent lives enslaved for use instead of pleasure as intended. Looking at this small structure situated in the middle of a large plain, miles away from where any war ever waged—trees flourishing where none grew before reminded him why he entered inside, feeling the chill. Asking himself how can people hate.
They believe this planet called Earth isn’t worth fighting for. Oh, wait… Could it be they haven’t seen what’s hiding somewhere in their midst causing nothing but trouble? Is this a test preparing their children for something big down the line for our species while expecting their aid to believe us wrong and evil without realizing there are simply no alternatives as yet…
Feel deep sadness settling in knowing humanity has done exactly as expected keeping Earth clean, protected, and intact from destruction thus far; hoping to make the best decisions required when push comes to shove. What will happen to us though once everyone starts flying planes with automatic guided missiles equipped so advanced even the President feels confident they’d work against rogue nations planning attacks…
Giving invaders just what we give ours… Able to detect hidden radar systems much smaller than air-breathing craft known as stealth bombers used to strike deep behind enemy lines in foreign countries requiring intelligence information plus proof of who attacked whom—giving invaders a taste of reality, then what?
The ones sitting high aboard nuclear silos don’t care how hard life got… Seeing success it’s important to tell everyone around how happy we really are here where things are quiet except for tornadoes which happen almost nightly or maybe earthquakes.
Haven’t heard of anyone hurt too badly by these natural disasters plaguing your average American today however, missing them won’t stop more harm from coming their way in the future as our Earth becomes unstable from going around the Sun instead of being destroyed or falling apart… You expect me to see everything?
The End