The Start of a Christmas Story

       I havent posted anything here in a long time. I havent written anything in a long time, which isn't like me at all. For whatever reason, these characters started talking today and I had the time to write it down. Enjoy...

     I played with the bow on the Christmas present as I walked down the path toward Jamie’s house. My dog, Bear, loped ahead of me, begrudgingly sporting a bright red bow around his shaggy giant neck. My mother often criticized me about Bear, asking why I stopped at a Newfoundland instead of just getting a pony. Bear ate her couch when he was a puppy and she had never forgiven him for it. I claim to this day he was making a statement with that couch, seeing as he never chewed anything else.

            I walked Bear in the woods every morning just outside of town. The first time I realized Jamie was following me, I had been understandably frightened of him. Jamie was a big man, and if I hadn’t been with Bear, I probably would have run screaming. It was lucky I didn’t, because if I had screamed, Jamie would have curled up in a ball and started crying. He was two hundred pounds of harmless. He ran from me the first four times I tried to say hello. I stopped trying to coax him closer and pretended not to notice him. Three months of that ended with him stepping out of the woods and introducing himself to Bear. He spoke slowly, the words of a child in a deep baritone. He petted my dog for a while and I watched until he looked at me.

            “I think you are a nice lady,” he said. “You have a nice dog. I’m allowed to play with nice people. Are you nice?”

            After being assured I was nice, he walked with me every morning. He had a hard time saying Cassidy, so he called me Kitty. I wasn’t sure why. He loved to talk. He showed me how to identify every kind of tree and flower that grew in the area. He brought me back to his house after he declared me ‘The best kind of nice person,’ where he showed me his garden.

            Jamie lived alone, but I knew someone frequently stopped in to care for him. I never saw anyone, but there were always fresh tire tracks in the dirt driveway and Jamie didn’t have a car. He said I couldn’t come inside because it was against Big Dog’s rules. I didn’t know who Big Dog was, but I had a feeling he was Jamie’s primary caretaker.

            I learned early that he didn’t like being asked questions, but he revealed a lot when he talked. He used to live somewhere else with Big Dog, but he liked being on his own. He said that Big Dog needed alone time too. He never mentioned anyone else, and I had a sad feeling that I was the only other person Jamie talked to. He was always so happy when he ran up to join Bear and I for our walks. He loved to read National Geographic magazine and he loved Discovery channel and Animal Planet. He had recently taken an interest in birds. That was why I was walking to his house on Christmas Eve with a book on Northeastern Birds wrapped in bright red paper.

            Jamie had been acting strangely in the past few days. He had asked me some very direct personal questions. Was I single? Did I live alone? Did Bear want a sister? I answered yes, yes, and Bear would love a sister but I would need someone to help me take care of two big dogs. Jamie nodded seriously and asked me to come by in the afternoon on Christmas Eve because he had a gift for me. I had no idea what he was up to.

            Bear erupted in his hello barking as Jamie bounded off of his back porch, arms spread wide in excitement. He wore red sweatpants, a green sweater, and a Santa hat. His big round face split with a grin that had stolen my heart. He dropped to his knees as Bear careened into his arms, licking his face and wagging his tail.

            “Merry Christmas, Bear,” he said, ruffling the dogs ears.

            He stood up as I approached. At five four, I didn’t consider myself short, but I always felt small around Jamie. He was a foot taller than me and brawny. He had brown hair someone buzzed off regularly and warm brown eyes with flecks of green in them. He was clean shaven but usually sporting a few nicks and cuts from the razor. He was a few pounds overweight due to his love of cookies, but his hobbies of walking and gardening kept him in good shape. He wrapped his arms around me and picked me up off the ground.

            “Merry Christmas, Jamie,” I said into his sweater.

            “Merry Christmas, Kitty,” he said, not putting me down.

            “Jamie, where do my feet go?” I prompted.

            “But it’s Christmas. I want an extra long hug.”

            I smiled and rested in his arms. He was so gentle that his size had never scared me. He had cried for five minutes once after stepping on an anthill. He boasted that the squirrels and chipmunks would eat from his hand.

            “I’m glad you came today,” he said.

            “Glad enough to put me down?”

            He set me on my feet. I held out the wrapped present but he shook his head.

            “I can’t open it until tomorrow.”

            “But I want to see you open it,” I frowned.

            An odd look came over his face and he bit his lip. He glanced toward the driveway and looked at his Batman watch.

            “Let’s walk Bear,” he said. Without giving me time to respond, he took off down the path, calling the dog. I set the gift on the porch and went after him. As had become my habit, I slid my arm through his while we walked.

            “What did you ask Santa for?” I asked.

            He snorted. “Only little kids believe in Santa.”

            I smiled. Despite his limitations, Jamie wasn’t a child. Sometimes, he was a lot smarter than me.

            “Are you still going to sit alone and drink wine tomorrow?” he asked.

            I shoved him gently sideways. “Hey, don’t pick on my Christmas plans.”

            “No one should be alone on Christmas,” he frowned.

            “I won’t be alone. I have Bear.”

            He rolled his eyes at me. “Bear is a dog.”

            “He counts.”

            “Not really.”

            “Did you hear that, Bear?” I called to the dog. “Jamie here doesn’t think you count.”

            “Dog’s can’t count. They don’t have fingers,” Jamie said.

            I looked up into his brown eyes to see if he was joking with me. He winked and put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against his side. We kept walking as he started telling me the name of each tree and shrub. He repeated himself often, but he seemed to find comfort in routine so I never interrupted him.

            As we finished the loop and approached Jamie’s house, Bear stopped walking, his entire body going stiff. He sniffed dramatically before erupting in a booming bark and taking off like a bullet. He ran into Jamie’s yard just as a monstrous Saint Barnard came charging from the other direction. I had a moment of panic, producing an embarrassing girly squeak and gripping Jamie’s hand so hard he grunted.

            “It’s only Moose,” he said. “Moose is nice. She won’t hurt Bear.”

            I relaxed as the two giant dogs collided in tail-wagging ecstasy. They howled and barked, tossing up grass and dirt. I wished it had snowed. The sight would have been even more comical.

            “Hey, Moose, come here girl,” Jamie called. He glanced down at me. “Moose belongs to Big Dog.”

            I noticed the truck in the driveway and the man standing in front of it. I didn’t have time to take anything in other than that he was big and wearing a black jacket before Moose collided with me. I was thrown backward like a toy under the dog’s over-eager head-butt and landed on my butt with the dog on top of me. Bear and Moose proceeded to stand on me, licking my face, oblivious that nearly four hundred pounds of dog was making breathing a challenge.

            “Moose, get off,” the man I assumed was Big Dog yelled. I could hear him running toward me. Jamie grabbed Moose’s collar and pulled her back. I squirmed out from underneath Bear, wiping the slobber off of my face. I looked up at two large hands offering to help me up. I blinked as I took in Jamie standing beside Big Dog.

            “Am I seeing double?” I asked.

            The two men smiled and I wiped the last of the dog spit out of my eyes so I could see them better. I wasn’t seeing double, but if Big Dog wasn’t Jamie’s brother, I’d eat my shoes.

            “I’m sorry she jumped on you, miss,” Big Dog said. “She’s still a puppy.”

            “She was just testing my reflexes,” I said, taking Jamie’s hand to help me up. Big Dog was the same height as Jamie, with the same brown hair and skin tone. But his eyes were more green than brown, and his features were sharper, harsher.

            “Her name isn’t miss,” Jamie said, dusting me off. I winced as he brushed the dirt off of my bruised butt. “Her name is Kitty. She’s nice. She’s really nice. She lets me hold her hand when we walk Bear, and she brings me cookies.”

            Big Dog frowned, and I wasn’t sure I deserved the suspicious look I got.

            “She’s my friend,” Jamie continued. “Why are you glaring at her? I told you she was nice. She’s the nicest person ever.”

            I stuck out my hand. “I’m Cassidy Michaels. Jamie has been keeping me company on my morning walks with Bear.”

            “This is Big Dog,” Jamie said as the man’s large calloused hand enveloped mine. “He thinks he takes care of me, but I take care of myself.”

            The man blushed a little at the introduction. “Ah, what did I tell you about that nickname?” he asked Jamie.

            Jamie frowned. “That only I could call you that and that I couldn’t tell anybody.”

            “So why did you tell Cassidy?”

            “She’s not anybody, she’s Kitty. She brought me a Christmas gift. I wanted to let her put it under the tree, but you said I can’t let anyone in the house unless you say it’s ok. So is it ok?”

            Big Dog still held my hand. He seemed to be unaware of that fact as he studied Jamie. I twitched my fingers to get his attention and he blushed again and let me go.

            “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just a little surprised. I didn’t know he had a friend. He doesn’t normally talk to people. I’m Jason Braylo.”

            “My baby brother,” Jamie said, reaching out and ruffling Jason’s hair.

            Jason gave his brother a look and grunted. “Why don’t you take the dogs inside and give them some water and biscuits? I want to talk to Cassidy for a moment.”

            Jamie frowned and poked a finger into Jason’s chest. “You have to be nice to her.”

            “I promise I’ll be nice. Go get warm inside. Tell Moose and Bear a story.”

            Jamie called the dogs. “I’ve got a really great story today, Moose. I hope you like stories, Bear.” He herded the dogs inside, walking past his present that still sat on the porch.

            Jason turned his full attention to me as soon as the door was shut.

            “How did you meet my brother?” he asked, his tone a lot harsher than it had been.

            “He started following me in the morning when I walk my dog,” I said, trying to keep the bite out of my voice. Jason was looking at me with open suspicion that I respected, but resented. “I tried to say hello but he ran away. So I just let him follow me. Eventually he came around and started walking with me. He’s been my walking buddy for months.”

            “He didn’t mention you to me,” Jason frowned.

            “He barely mentioned you to me,” I shrugged. “He just said that I needed your permission to go inside. Look, I’m not sure what I did to piss you off. Jamie is a sweet guy. He needed a friend. I’m not a psycho who is going to hurt him or take advantage of him.”

            Jason sighed, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I’m just protective of him. I’ve had problems in the past with people taking advantage.”

            “I walk with the man in the morning and he teaches me about the trees,” I said. “I bring him cookies because he said they are his favorite food. My dog likes him. He makes me laugh. He’s my friend. That’s it.”

            Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair. The motion opened his jacket and gave me a glimpse of the black shirt that clung to a muscular chest in the best way. I had never really thought of Jamie as handsome because he was completely non-sexual. Jason was the kind of man you walked into sign posts while staring at.  He smiled at me, and my heart did a little flip.

 “Can we start over?” he held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jason, Jamie’s overly protective little brother. It’s nice to meet you.”

            I laughed and shook his hand. He held on to it a little too long again, but this time I had no doubt he was aware of it.

            “Can she come inside for some milk and cookies?” Jamie asked from the porch.

            Jason and I jumped.

            “How long have you been standing there?” Jason asked.

            “I just came out when you shook hands again. Can she come in, Big Dog? Please. She’s my friend. She bakes really good cookies. And she’s pretty. You like pretty girls. She’s prettier than the other ones you know. Please can she come in?”

            Jason turned a new shade of red and closed his eyes while I stifled my laughter.

            “Yes, please come in and join us,” he said without opening his eyes.

            “Should I have found an ugly girl instead?” Jamie asked.

            Jason frowned, opening his eyes. “What?”

            Jamie winked and dashed inside with a giggle. Jason smiled after his brother in a way that did dangerous things to my heart. He glanced down at me.

            “I kinda have a thing for pretty girls who are nice to my brother,” he said.

            “I have a thing for dogs,” I said, startled at the directness of his look.

            He smiled and held the door open for me. As I passed by him, he leaned down and whispered “Woof,” in my ear.

"I like crazy" (Exerpt from Macy's Werewolf)

Shane dragged me into the kitchen. He pressed me against the wall and kissed the air from my lungs.

            “What was that for?” I asked when he finally pulled back.

            He rested his forehead against mine, his shaggy black hair tickling my face.

            “That was an apology,” he said.

            “For what?”

            He sighed. “For everything.”

            His hands ran over my shoulder where the skin was still red from the healed claw wounds. He nuzzled the spot, ghosting his lips over the reminder. His body trembled once, and I wasn’t sure if it was from horror or relief.

            “Shane, it was an accident,” I said.

            “It was an atrocity,” he growled, pulling away from me to pace the kitchen. “I should not be able to harm you. Mate’s do not harm each other.”

            “I’m not a werewolf, Shane. If I was, your claws wouldn’t have done any real damage, and I would have healed it in seconds. The mate-bond is designed for werewolves, not breakable little shifters. It’s my fault I got hurt.”

            “Don’t say that,” he closed the distance to me, his hands slapping against the wall on either side, his arms caging me.

            I ignored my first impulse to start a fight with him. The puppies were in the next room, needing the adults to be calm. I put my hands on his bare chest. “You need to calm down, Shane,” I said.

            He collapsed against me, the aggression gone in an instant. He pulled me away from the wall and settled me on his lap on a chair. He held me for a while. I listened to his steady heartbeat and enjoyed the warmth of him. Despite the comfort of his arms, panic was waiting to ambush me. I was bound in an unholy and potentially volatile alliance to a man I barely knew. The government was aware that I was a shifter and could ruin my life at any given moment. Randy was involved in some shady military activity and lying to me about it. Anti-Supernat terrorists were planning something horrific in a week, and I was supposed to stop them. I needed a new toaster for my apartment, and I was fairly certain I was out of ice cream.

            “I need to go dancing,” I said into the silence.

            “Shto?” Shane asked, then clarified in English, “What?”

            “I have no ice cream.”

            “So?”

            “I have no ice cream. I need ice cream. I can’t have a total breakdown without ice cream. As soon as you leave me alone I’ll go buy some, only I’ll be so freaked out I’ll start screaming and crying into the display case at the store. Everyone will stare at me and some high school drop-out will stop bagging groceries and lead the crazy lady outside. Then I’ll still be without ice cream.”

            “Baby, you’re starting to worry me.”

            “I need a toaster too. But a toaster makes me think of heat, which makes me think of you. And that weird electrical thing I feel when we touch. Once you leave I’ll be tempted to stick a metal knife in the toaster and end up frying myself just so I can feel something like touching you. So I shouldn’t get a new toaster. Or maybe I should, because I could use the old one to electrify myself and have the new one ready to go. If I lived through it. Then I could eat some ice cream.”

            Shane was staring at me like any sane man would look at a crazy woman on his lap. He was obviously trying to find the right thing to say but the only sound he made was an incredulous, “Ah, so, hmmm.”

            At a loss, he nuzzled my neck and held me closer against him.

            “You can be crazy, Love,” he said at length. “I like crazy.”

            “Good thing, cause I’m not thinking that I’m going to be the picture of mental health for a while.”

I Love September

I wrote this about three years ago. I think it is one of the better things I have written.

I close the door on the summer with a contented sigh. Gone are the traffic jams, the irritable tourists, the sweltering discomfort. No more waiting an hour for a table at the local restaurant, or taking your life into your own hands getting in your car. I can go shopping at a reasonable hour again and I have my pick of parking spaces. September is here with its cool winds and chilly nights.

            I put the air conditioners away, open all of the windows and feed the birds twice a day as they swarm the feeder on their migrations south. I stand at the kitchen counter wrapped in a light blanket with my cats, watching them cackle and preen. They can have their love affair with the summer. I look forward to the taste of the chilled air, the smell of rotting leaves, the sounds of fall. I drape colorful soft blankets over the furniture and want to roll in the sound of falling leaves. I laugh at the way my cats hunt them through the window. I love raking leaves into a giant pile. I will never grow too old to jump in them.

            Fruit salad and iced coffee switch over to oatmeal and tea. I’ll miss barbeques on the beach and a cold beer after a long hot day. But sitting around the dinner table in the warmth and comfort of my home while the world gets cold and hard outside is a wonderful feeling. I feel like a bear in my cave. I have everything I am going to need for the long relaxing winter.

            School buses are back, giant yellow boxes of squabbling and laughing children. It makes me glad I will never have more than three or four children in any vehicle I will ever drive. I watch the bus stop on my street and drop off smiling children who run to their parents waving colorful school projects proudly. There is something wonderful about that moment when a child comes home that never fades, not even with age. I get the same feeling when I step through my parent’s front door at the age of twenty four.

            In a tourist community like Cape Cod, the fall is a time to celebrate the end of eighty hour work weeks, two or three jobs at a time, cleaning on weekends for extra cash. It is a time to celebrate having our home back, being able to take left turns on the highway again. It is a time to celebrate our small community that depends on three months to support us all year.

The summer was spent outdoors, on vacations, on adventures, and for most locals on Cape Cod, working overtime. The fall pulls us back inside, back into our families. The excuses of being too busy in the summer don’t settle well with the falling leaves. Fall reminds us to slow down. It reminds us to take time to call our friends, to visit our grandparents, our children.

It is a time to celebrate abundance. Halloween, Thanksgiving, and for some people, football season are some of the best times all year. Thanksgiving has been a personal favorite holiday of mine since I was a small child. I grew up in a divorced family, and both of my parents have moved numerous times. Thanksgiving has moved from home to home, town to town, alternating between parents each year. This constant changing has made Thanksgiving my favorite holiday because it taught me a very important lesson. It is not the house you come home to, but the people living in it, and we should never take any of them for granted.

Fall is possibly the most inspiring time of year. Is there anything more beautiful than leaves changing color? It is like having a sunset on every tree. Even on Cape Cod where we mostly have scrub pines, the fall colors are still breathtaking. I could spend all day searching for the most beautiful colored leaf. Trees have always amazed me. A tree survives the long winter, barren, colorless. It celebrates spring with buds and flowers and seeds. The leaves decorate the summer in a rush of green. But it is in the fall, toward the end of their life, that leaves are the most beautiful. I think that is true of people as well.

            The seasons are a mirror of the stages in our lives. Fall is a few months before the harshness of winter where you can still go outside and enjoy the sunshine as long as you bring a sweatshirt. As I said, I believe it is the most beautiful time of year. There is a playfulness to the fall that most people don’t concentrate on. Some people look at leaves changing color and see it as dying. I see it as becoming more beautiful. They have soaked up so much life and they wear it proudly. Some people see them falling to the ground and rotting. I see them dancing on the wind, finally free of the tree that restricted them. They get raked into piles and twine around laughing children who roll in them. We could learn a lot from leaves.

            Some people mourn the summer. I believe it has its place, but on my list of favorite times is not it. The summer becomes too cluttered, to full. The fall is left open with time to just be. So many beautiful things surround us and comfort us as we settle in for the winter. The summer’s warmth is full of energy, but it is not particularly lasting. The warmth that we can build over the fall will keep us warm through the winter. I love September.

New Song

I wrote this song this morning. It's written as a lullaby for a particular story I am working on, but I think it stands alone also.

Cry with me my baby,

We’ll make an ocean of tears,

We’ll build a boat together,

And sail for years and years.

I’ll hold your hand forever,

You’ll never be alone,

My arms will be your shelter,

Long after you’re grown.

We can be afraid,

And we can be sad,

But we’ll be together,

Through the good and the bad.

Put your head on my shoulder,

Your worries on my heart,

I’ll be with you forever,

I’ve been here from the start.

My arms are always open,

My heart will never close,

Share all your secrets,

Your wishes and your woes.

So come to me my baby,

With all your tears and cries,

I’ll hold you forever,

And sing you lullabies.

Another tid-bit from Saben's story

            Kate made me stupid. She made me unsafe. But she made me real. I was the embodiment of apathy without her. I didn’t have a personality. She gave me everything, but her presence threatened to make it all fall apart.

            “Dishes are done and- holy shit what happened to you?”

            Kate’s voice broke into my thoughts like more icy water. I dropped my head into my hands and extended my wings, shifting them forward to hide behind.

            “I’m fine, Kate,” I lied. “Just went for a swim.”

            “Your skin is blue, Sabe. Normally its copper. Blue isn’t a good color for you. Why would you stay in the water that long?”

            “I have my reasons. Please go away.”

            “Are you safe right now?”

            “I won’t hurt you.”

            “No, only yourself, right?”

            I let my wings and hands drop, her hurt tone forcing me to look at her. She was standing ten feet away, her arms crossed angrily. I hugged my knees against my chest. I didn’t mind being naked in front of her, but it went against my nature to flaunt it. I was mostly just relieved I hadn’t gotten another ill-timed hard-on.

            “I’m just a little cold. I’ll warm up. Don’t worry,” I said.

            “What’s wrong?” she prompted.

            I’m going crazy with lust but I can’t touch you for fear of raging and ripping you to tiny pieces? There had to be a classy romantic way to say that, but I wasn’t coming up with anything.

            “Saben?” she prompted.

            “I, ah, it’s just that, I’m really, ah…”

            She rolled her eyes. “For once can you just fucking spit it out?”

            “I want to fuck you so bad I can’t think straight.” Way to go, Saben. That was definitely romantic and classy.

            Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, bringing more helpful carnal images into my mind.

            “Oh for shit’s sake, forget I said that,” I muttered, standing up and pulling my wet cargo pants back on. My hands were shaking too hard for me to button them. “Forget I can talk at all, in fact. I’m giving up talking altogether, for the greater good.”

            Kate caught my fingers as I fumbled with the button of my pants. I gasped at the warmth of her. I wanted to tell her not to touch me. I wanted to tell her to back away, but I had just sworn off talking. I couldn’t look at her.

            “Saben.” My name sounded like a caress. She slid her arms around my waist, pressing her warm curvy body against me. I was so cold it felt like she was on fire. I stayed still, afraid to move. She wasn’t holding me like a lover. She held me like a friend. Maybe it was because I had just gotten-off, but something allowed me to feel her against me without reacting sexually. I put my arms around her and held her close. She was so warm and soft. I had known very little comfort in my life. Everything had always come at a price. I knew that Kate wanted nothing that I wasn’t willing to give.

            “You are so cold,” Kate shivered in my arms. I nodded, indulging in the fantasy of burying my face in her sun-warmed hair. “I know you said not to touch you, but I had to. You looked so pathetic and frustrated.”

            Well, those were flattering attributes I could check off. I didn’t care. She was gently stroking the back of my neck. I realized I had picked her up to settle her more comfortably against me. Being so tall was often a drawback. I was glad for my in-human strength as I held her effortlessly off the ground.

            “Well?” she prompted. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

            I shook my head into her hair.

            “Oh, come on, you weren’t serious about the whole not talking thing were you?”

            “I’ll say it wrong,” I muttered.

            “Probably. But I want to hear it anyway.”

            I held her close, trying to show her with my body what I knew I could never properly express with words. “No matter what happens at the Den, I want this. I want to hold you. I want to listen to you tell me stories. I want to watch your eyes light up, and trace the line of your nose.”

            She giggled. “My nose is crooked.”

            “It is not. There’s just this cute little bump.” I ran my finger along her nose.

            “It’s not cute. It’s ugly.”

            “I have wings. I’d say they are a bit more disfiguring than a line across your nose.”

            “Your wings are beautiful. They make you who you are,” she barked at me.

            I smiled. “It’s the same thing, mon coeur.”

            “Your wings are beautiful,” she repeated. “My scar is just a scar.”

            “It’s what makes you who you are,” I parroted her words back to her, mimicking her voice nearly perfectly.

            She slapped my chest. “I hate it when you do that.”

            “Will you tell me a story?” I asked.

            “You want me to tell you a story? Now?”

            I nodded with childish enthusiasm.

            “Are you going to put me down first?”

            I sat down with her on my lap.

            “What story do you want to hear?” she asked, leaning her head against my chest.

            “Anything.”

            Back at the facility, they would let her into my cell for hours at a time. I would find a comfortable place to sit and she would start telling me a story. She would move around my cell at first, eventually ending up sitting on my lap or somehow cuddling with me. It was the only way the scientists at the facility had found to calm me down. My time with Kate made me manageable when they took me out of my cell for tests and experiments. She was my reward for good behavior.

            I stroked my fingers through her hair while she began to talk.

            “Once upon a time, there was a little boy who never wanted to grow up,” she began. Despite being, well, whatever age I was, I had a fanatical love of children’s stories. Peter Pan was one of my favorites, although I was partial to Kate’s version where Peter had wings instead of pixy dust, Tinkerbelle had red hair, and Captain Hook wore a lab coat.

            I loved children’s stories because I could always understand them. The adult novels I borrowed from the library were often too complex for me to grasp. Reading was hard for me, and while I could do it, it took concentration. Writing was even worse. They had tested my intelligence at the facility. While they hadn’t ever shared their findings with me, I knew I wasn’t brilliant. Puzzles were impossible for me. I was easily confused by word problems and was unable to count above ten. The average twelve year old could probably make me look like an idiot.

            “Tinkerbelle wanted to follow Peter when he escaped the pirate ship,” Kate was saying, “But as soon as he was gone, her wings went away. She had to wait for the ship to run aground. But by then, she had no idea how to find Peter. She wished she could fly. She was sure she could see him if she could just sit on a cloud and look.

            “But without Peter, there would be no flying. So Tinkerbelle started walking, looking for the boy who never wanted to grow up. She walked for a very long time, but never gave up hope that she would find him.”

            “She does find him, though,” I said. She hadn’t told this part of the story back at the facility.

            Kate smiled up at me and I realized that her fingers were linked through mine.

            “Yes, she found him. He had been waiting for her all that time, but he had forgotten who she was. The pirates had put a horrible spell on him. As soon as he let go of her hand, he had forgotten her. But when she found him, it all came back. And he held her close, and she knew that he would never forget her again.”

            I kissed her forehead, and rocked her gently against my chest.

Saben, previously known as Sabriel

I have been working on my new idea, and the main character informed me as I wrote that his name was Saben, not Sabriel. But the name is unimportant anyway. This is the first chapter. I am having so much fun trying to write first person as a male character. I'll probably screw it up, but I find it entertaining anyway.

Chapter 1

            I raised my face to the sunshine, closed my eyes, and tried to remember what joy felt like. It had been five long years since I had been able to feel any deep emotion. The best I could hope for was a mild interest in something new or complicated. I knew, in the way I knew most things I couldn’t explain, that I hadn’t always been that way. I had been able to feel once. But it didn’t matter. I survived without strong emotion, muddling along without real enthusiasm, but unable to grow depressed enough to contemplate suicide. It was a wasted life, but luckily, I didn’t possess the emotions to be concerned by it.

            My companion didn’t make a sound, but I knew she was trying to get my attention. I opened my eyes and looked at her. The red-tailed hawk perched on a rock beside me, her keen eyes on the fish I had just caught from the river.

            I took the fish off the hook and held it out to her without ceremony. She snatched it with even less ceremony and began to eat it. It wasn’t in the nature of a hawk to be thankful or appreciative. Luckily, it wasn’t in my nature to desire thanks or appreciation. Red was a good companion for me in that respect. She was by no means domesticated. I found her with a broken wing four winters ago. I set her wing and kept her alive, not due to any goodwill on my part, but because she sparked what little interest my broken mind was capable of producing. She stayed of her own volition, probably because I provided easy meals. I couldn’t have been around an animal that needed affection. I didn’t have any to give.

            I stayed by the river until I had caught three more fish. One I would give to Red whenever she nudged me. The other two would be my dinner. I didn’t need to eat often, but I found some small pleasure in it. I also found that when I ate regular meals, I had fewer black-out rages. I didn’t possess the capacity to be remorseful for anyone I killed or anything I destroyed during my violent mindless episodes, but I remembered the emotion and tried my best to avoid doing anything that should have been regrettable.

            I picked up the old metal bucket containing my fish and stretched my legs. I unfolded my leathery wings and tried to enjoy the feeling of the sun on them. My naturally copper colored skin had grown darker as the summer continued. I hadn’t found a style of shirt that comfortably fit over my wings, and living as a hermit in the woods didn’t require clothing. I didn’t possess the ability to be embarrassed, but I always wore shorts or pants out of habit. I also needed to have pockets to store things that interested me. Sometimes, I would find rocks that had the hint of a shape and I would take them home and carve them. It was one of the few activities I had found that resulted in the tickle of my lost emotions.

            Red landed on my bare shoulder, her claws not managing to puncture my thick skin. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but I didn’t have my leather gauntlet with me, so my shoulder was her best perch. She preened her chest feathers while I walked.

            I became aware of a presence a mile away from my cabin. I had a sense of smell that would make a bloodhound envious, but it wasn’t her familiar scent that gave Kate away. I stopped walking. I knew it was her because of the crushing pressure I felt in my chest. It would grow worse and worse as I closed the distance between us. And when she touched me, I would drown in the storm that had been suppressed since our last meeting.

            I only experienced emotion when I was in her presence. She was like a light switched. As soon as she was around, I could feel again. But it came in a maddening rush; an overwhelming attack of feeling that left me huddled on the ground sobbing hysterically. Adding to the misery was that her presence allowed me to be embarrassed by my condition. I might not have been human anymore, or ever, but I was definitely a man. I did not enjoy devolving into a whimpering mess every time I saw her.

            I hadn’t moved since feeling the first crushing slap of real emotion. I was afraid to go forward. The novelty of being capable of fear brought tears to my eyes. I embraced it, pulled uncontrollably toward the source of feeling. Red fidgeted on my shoulder, probably sensing my unease. She rubbed her sharp beak along my jaw in a comforting gesture that had never had meaning for me before. With my emotions returning, four years of companionship-joy slammed into my head and it was all I could do not to pull the bird off my shoulder into a hug. It was good I didn’t do that. She was a wild animal and hugging her wouldn’t work for either of us.

            I kept walking forward, ignoring the stream of tears that lined my face. Five years of emotions were waiting to crush me with her first touch. But I wanted it. I needed to feel again. The bad feelings always came first and hardest, but they never lasted too long. She could redirect me toward the good things I had been missing. But would she?

            I stopped. Why was she here? Who had sent her? How had she found me? I lived in hiding for a reason. It had taken me a whole year after my escape to be sure I had gotten myself well and truly lost. I owned nothing, had no credit cards or bills in my name. I paid for the land I had built my cabin on with cash. The owner of the wooded mountainside was under the impression I was a high functioning autistic with paranoid schizophrenia. I had convinced him I wasn’t dangerous, and that all I needed was isolation. Over the past two years I started going into the small town that was the closest civilization. There was a library there, and reading was as good as rock carving to spark my dead emotions. Going into town was the mistake. I tried to keep a low profile. Considering I was six foot nine, had fangs and wings, one would think that impossible. But I could fold my wings tightly against my back and put a shirt on over them. They still showed, but I covered the odd lines and raised ridges with the lie that I was scarred from a fire. People accepted the lie, and my other lie of autism that kept them from touching me. I went into town once a week to get new books, buy food and to sell my carvings and custom built wooden furniture. It was a good simple life. No one should have been able to find me.

            But she was here. I fell to my knees and threw up as fear and panic tormented my normally calm mind. I couldn’t process the emotions. I wasn’t used to them. I felt my retractable claws extend from my fingers and I began to hyperventilate.

I must have passed out, because I had no memory of slamming my face into the dirt. Red was hopping around shrieking at me. Her unease allowed me to take control of myself. I pushed the panic back. I wiped the dirt and tears from my face and held out my arm to the hawk. I didn’t bother talking to her. She wasn’t like a dog that reacted to the tone of a voice. She responded to body language. She inspected my outstretched fingers critically, her feathers still fluffed. She nipped me when I tried to settle them with a stroke along her breast. A moment later she hopped up onto my shoulder and resumed preening.

            I started walking toward my home with my pail of fish. There was no need to panic. She had come alone. There was no other scent. If she had been sent to drag me back to the facility, she wouldn’t have come alone. But why had she come? Had she been sent, or had she escaped them just as I had?

            She had been there from the beginning; when I was nothing more than a mindless animal in a cage, unwilling to eat anything that wasn’t tossed into my cell alive and terrified. She had watched me, a young innocent girl. I shook my head, upsetting Red. She hadn’t been a girl, only younger than the others observing me.

            She had come to me alone in the dark. I had grabbed her by the throat and pinned her against the wall, intent on killing her. She had looked into my eyes calmly, and cried for me. I set her down, my brain filling with words I hadn’t known a moment before. The first words I remember speaking were an apology. It was little more than a grunted ‘sorry’, but she had smiled at me in a way that I would never forget.

            The night before I escaped, she came to me in a blue dress. She told me they had ordered her to seduce me. She gave me my first remembered kiss, and whispered that she loved me against my lips. I hadn’t said it back. I was unfamiliar with the gentle emotions. I was a creature of rage. I didn’t hold her when she kissed me. I was a breaker of beautiful things, so I kept my hands at my sides. I didn’t feel the softness of her skin, or run my fingers through the silk of her hair. I was made of rage. But she tamed the rage. She stole it with a gentle touch. She terrified me.

            It figured that they would send her.

Sabriel

I wrote this at 330 am after waking from a dream I don't really remember. This simple idea has grown throughout the day into something that I can't wait to put time into writing. Enjoy the first brainstorm of Sabriel.

They were trying to help me. That was what they kept telling me. They said they were trying to restore my memories and that I should be patient. I inspected the details of my cell in the pitch blackness of the night, shifting my weight on my bare feet.

            I couldn’t remember what I had been, and no one knew what I was now. I had a feeling I had been human once. I had this feeling that something was wrong; like it was all terribly wrong. And whenever they tried to help me, I knew in the pit of my soul that they deserved to be bitten for it. There was shame in their aid. I couldn’t explain why I knew it. They swore they were only helping me. At first, I had no reason to suspect them of anything sinister. But I just knew; the way a dog knows that you are bringing it to the vet to be put down. There was a constant tension in my body like I was expecting a blow, or a storm. I had no explanation for it. No memory to explain my fears. They gave me the name Max, but it tasted foul on my tongue; caught on my fangs. They never thought to ask my name, even after I remembered how to speak. It all seemed pointless. Why give a thing a name anyway?

            I shifted my weight on the ledge in my cell. The thick chain scraped against the platform with a metallic whine. I scratched at the collar around my neck. You don’t chain humans. They told me over and over they were helping me, but I knew they were somehow to blame; that I was some horrible mistake and their gentle treatment of me now was in compensation; every touch, every look, burned of guilt and disappointment.

            I ran my tongue along my teeth, tasting blood as my fangs sliced a shallow wound. I felt the claws growing on my human-like hands. I clicked them against the chain just to hear a different sound. I had no memory except for my name; a name only one sad helpless girl had thought to ask me. I didn’t know anything, but I knew everything. The next one to put a hand out to feed me was getting bitten…