The Kite in the Sky

Way back my freshman year, back when people still used aim to talk to one another, when xanga was cool, in the days when facebook was just a little sprat trying to insinuate its way into all the colleges across the nation, I had a conversation with a friend about a writing assignment she'd been given. That conversation led to this little bit of a piece. It's raw, but I kind of like it.

A long time ago there lived a strange people. They were strange in many ways, but our story is only concerned with a certain tradition they had regarding kites. Every spring the young men of the land would fly a kite with the colors of their house. They would stay outside every day from sunrise to sunset flying their kites, and the young ladies would visit with them all.

Now as spring began to draw to a close they would spend more and more time with the same person every day, until on the last day of spring each young man would go to a chosen place to wait. While they waited they would fly their kites to guide their beloved to where they were. Meanwhile the young ladies would spend the morning inside, preparing for their wedding. At noon, each young lady would set off to find the kite of her betrothed.

One year it chanced that a virtuous young man of modest descent was awaiting a very special girl. She was all that he could dream. Her smile shattered and consumed him, and the day before she had told him what none of the others thought would ever be – that she would be his wife.

And so he waited through the morning, flying the colors of his house with pride and gazing at the wonder that lay around him.
When noon came his heart began to race. Soon he would see her floating across the plain. Then together they would return to the city, where they would be joined in the holy bonds of matrimony.

As the afternoon progressed he began to be worried. He could not believe she would betray him, but she should have arrived long ago. He could not have known what was happening in the town, where the girl’s family, outraged at her humble choice, had locked her in her room.

Through the night he waited; she did not come. Five days later his heart sank inside him, for he knew he would never see her again. Whether or not he knew of her death is not mine to tell. She did die, though – locked in a room far from his love she died, lonely and afraid.

The young man then made a vow to never again set foot in his homeland. He ran off to the mountains where it is always winter. There he waited for his love, sleeping in the day and flying his kite in the dark hours, when his heart was coldest. He is there still, and if you look to the north you can see his kite in the sky, where it guides all travelers except the one that he most longs to see.

Bridge of Sighs

Back in higschool, I dreamed I was a political writer. This is a blatant ripoff of Roller Ball with some Red Dawn thrown in for good measure. Read it slowly while listening to Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor.

I suppose I should tell you who I am and why I am here, but I don’t see how it matters; for who I am will soon be irrelevant, and as to why I am here, well, perhaps I should explain that, but I simply can’t. All I can think about is Her. Well, after all, she is the reason I’m here. Wait, my name. Well, what does it matter? Nothing! But I already told you that.

If only I could forget, then all would be right; if only I did not see her face constantly before me, her bright eyes glistening with love and sorrow. If only her voice did not haunt me so. But no, over and over I hear her telling me that she loves me, that she won’t forget, and I see her slender fingers stretched out, reaching for a vision that they could not hold. I see her, clawing frantically at the empty air in a vain attempt to recapture the past, and finally collapsing helplessly in the arms of her captors as the tears stream down her face and leave a glistening stain on her beautiful features.

Oh! Dear God why did I ever love her? Why did I ever think they would not care? I’ll tell you why, because she was poor, and I was poor, and The Three don’t notice the poor. But they noticed her. Oh! They noticed her. I thought we were safe in our love – that nothing could come between us. Safe! Yes, until one of Them cast his eyes in her direction…just a glimpse of her beauty, and all this.

All this – wet, cold, dark, the rats scurrying about the cell much as my thoughts scuffle through my mind, flitting to and fro – the water dripping monotonously on the stone floor, driving me slowly, ever so slowly, into insanity. Why, why, why? But it’s too late.

She is gone, forever gone from me. If only she had not loved me then I could have born it. If she had never been kind to me, or shown any care toward me, then I would not miss her so. But now all I see is her face, kind and sweet, like a brook that ripples quietly by; her tiny little mouth that could break into the widest and most beautiful smiles; her black hair cascading gracefully down over her shoulders, its velvet sheen a rich frame for the creamy white of her skin. And her eyes – they were blue, as bright and clear as the summer sky. Oh, blue, blue, so wonderfully blue that every time I saw her I gazed deep into her eyes and could not look away. She loved me. I knew that; I could see it in her eyes. When she smiled, I had no need of heaven, and if she ever frowned I knew that I would prefer hell, but for the one thing, that even when she was angry her eyes were still the most beautiful in the world. Nothing could separate us, nothing but the jealousy of The Three.

This is our freedom; this is the Republic. At least we’re safe, that’s what they say. Safe! Am I safe? Is she safe? Tell me that. You can’t can you? She is with Him because he wanted her. I am here because I loved her. Oh, she is very safe…for that matter so am I. Nothing can reach me, except these rats. I’m safe all right, safe until they take me across the bridge. And then I’ll be safe too, for who would dare to harm me? Yes, I begin to see it. I will be safe, all the way up the scaffold, until they tie the noose around my neck. Then I’ll drop safely into space, kicking safely at our safe air, as I yank frantically at the rope, that assurance and sign of my eternal safety. And at last I will die, and then I will be safe forever. Ah yes, this is the great safety of our Republic.

Oh! Have you ever felt it, have you ever known what it’s like to have someone care so much about you, to hold on to her and know that all is right because she is there, and she always will be? Have you? No you haven’t. You can’t know how it feels until it’s gone. You can’t understand what it is to love and be loved until the one person dearer to you than anything on this earth, dearer than life itself, is ripped from your arms and dragged away while you watch, helpless. Have you ever heard her cry out that she loved you as the hands of her captors cut her words off like a sharp knife? Have you seen her eyes, those beautiful eyes, locked with yours in love for that last eternal moment before she disappears forever? When you have done all this, then you can come crawling to me with your words of safety. And you can tell me how much better I have it, now that I must die for my love, because The Three care for our safety. Then I will listen as you say that love and freedom are false happiness, and that the only true joy can be found in complying with what The Three say is best. Oh go your way, and may it be to the devil for all I care. You have never lived, never loved as I have loved. You have never suffered as I have suffered. Go your way and don’t insult me with your words of safety. Yes, go to the devil and tell him that it is best for men to lose all they hold dear at the hands of those great guardians of our safety, The Three. Surely he will nod his head wisely and say that you have learned well. And he will show you your appointed place, and when you ask what your sin is he will tell you that your sin is that of a man who mocked the innocent suffering of his brothers. Then he will laugh and tell you to bear your tortures in safety, for you shall never need fear death again.

Soon they will come for me and lead me across the bridge. They may be coming now. Yes! I hear footsteps in the hall. They are coming. At least it will be finished. No more memories, no more pain, no more of these visions that torment me out of my mind, nothing but darkness.

Oh my God, avenge me. Avenge me and let them reap the horror of their wicked ways. May they live and die as tormented in mind as I am now. Oh God! I see her before me now. Punish them for her sake. Avenge her Lord. Oh! her face, her eyes. She is crying. I can’t comfort her, I can’t reach her. Oh my sweet dear, hear me. I love you. With every fiber of my being I love you. Do not forget me, even when I am gone do not forget me. Oh God, avenge me!

They are coming; they are here at the door. I hear the key in the lock. I can see the bridge and hear the murmur of the canals. It’s over…over…

The King's Prerogative

[My current writing project is in the non-fiction realm: a column for the diocesan newspaper. Once I finish that, I will return to posting new fiction. I got an idea today that I think will be good.]

Honor and modesty are ornaments of the soul without which the body, beautiful though it be, should not be so esteemed. – Don Quixote


The newly crowned king of the land strutted confidently – almost arrogantly – down the aisle toward his throne. Yesterday had been the coronation; today he would choose a bride, and two days later they would be married. His mother would bless them, and they would be king and queen.

“This is the good life,” he thought to himself as he settled into the throne to await the beginning of the ceremony. No thoughts of his father clouded his mind, because his father was still alive and well. No man ever died king, unless he died in battle. The new king’s father was old, older than most were when they handed the crown to their son, but he was healthy. Still, the king had felt it was time to hand the kingdom over to his successor, and so yesterday the old man had taken the crown from his own head and placed it on that of his only son. The king had looked him in the eye and said, “The responsibility is now yours. Do you undertake to serve your God, your country, and your family?”

The young man had replied, “I do.”

“Then I place into your hands the welfare of the people, the safety of the land, and the care of your parents and sister. May the weight of the crown never be a burden to you. May it serve as a reminder of the cares you will face in this life, and may its glory be your glory.”

The old man had then turned toward the court and announced in his strong voice, “People, your king!”

Yes, that had been a fine day, when his father had entrusted him with the responsibility of a man, and a king.

Today the ceremonies would continue with the selection of the new queen, who would then be allowed one day and two nights to take leave of her family and prepare for the wedding.

The young king looked around him at the faces in his court. Some were old – the faces of his father’s friends who would now serve to moderate his youthful passions. Others were no older than he. They were the friends that he had grown up with and that he trusted.

A herald approached to announce the beginning of the day’s ceremonies.
“My king, I present to you – in all the fullness of their natural beauty – the fifty maidens deemed most worthy of your choice, both in character and personal beauty.”

The king’s stomach tightened with anticipation as he spoke. “Maidens,” his voice thundered through the hall, “approach, that you may be judged.”

The monstrous doors swung wide and the girls began to step slowly into the hall and down the aisle toward the king. They were, indeed, in the full state of their natural beauty, for not a single one of them wore a shred of cloth to hide herself from his eyes. The king sucked in his breath at the sight. As the girls reached the end of the aisle they spread out in a horizontal line before him, their heads held level, their eyes averted but not fixed on the floor. Their hands hung close to their sides without giving any impression of awkwardness.

The king allowed his eyes to scan from one end of the row to the other as the girls continued to file in. There was a slight commotion in the back of the hall and the king looked up to see the last girl in the procession marching down the aisle. She was fully clothed in a simple but elegant cream colored dress that formed a stunning contrast with her thick black tresses. The king was shocked.
“Do you dare to ignore the law of your land? You were selected to appear before your king, and you have the impudence to defy all laws and traditions? Speak, but speak wisely, for such defiance is no light matter, and your life may depend on your words or my whim.”

The girl curtsied so low the king thought she must lose her balance. “Majesty,” she began, “do you not have a sister?”

“Yes, what of it!” he snapped.

“Majesty,” she tried to look calm, but her shaking hands betrayed her fear, “do you allow your sister to parade herself around in public?”

“Certainly not.”

“Majesty, may I ask why not?”

“You have no right to ask such a question. I do not need to justify myself.”

She continued, “Of course, Majesty, but would you allow your daughter, if you had one, to parade around in such a way?”

“My girl, I most certainly would not. Such behavior would be a disgrace upon the royal family.”

“Is it not a disgrace for the future queen to be seen in such circumstances?”

“Eh?” he finally began to see some sense in what she was saying, but he held his ground. “Sister, I certainly have no wish to disgrace my wife; however, I must be allowed to make an informed decision. This is what the law provides for. Would you buy food without first examining it for flaws?”

“Majesty, you called me sister just now,” she whispered.

“Eh? So I did,” he caught her drift. “The title is an arbitrary one. You are no blood relation of mine.”

The girl kept her voice steady. “Majesty, of course I examine food before I buy it, but the food has no shame to be concerned over. Would you insinuate that we are but pieces of fruit and bread?” She was stepping further onto the ice and she new it. “I did not ask to be selected to appear before you…”

The king interrupted her with a glare, snapping, “Do you mean to imply that you are not honored to be here? The idea is a disgrace to yourself and your family. My patience wears thin…maid,” he uttered the last word with a hint of disgust.

She dropped her eyes and her voice softened with humility. “I did not mean that, Majesty. I am honored beyond what you can imagine to have been chosen to appear before you, but remember that I, too, am a sister and a daughter. I cannot put my father and brother to shame anymore than you could let your sister or daughter do what you ask me to do. That it is the law does not make it right.”

“My dear, you have no choice. This is my prerogative.” As he said this, though, his heart began to tighten inside him. He admired the girl’s courage and modesty, even more than he admired the haunting eyes and slender figure. He could not make up his mind. The law clearly stated the procedures for how the king was to choose his bride, but he was finding it difficult to think about what was prescribed for those who defied the law.

“Majesty, the beauty of the soul far outweighs the form of the body. My honor I cannot compromise. What the king would not allow, he should not require.”

“Those are bold words, my dear. You do understand that you could be hanged for them, do you not?”

“Majesty, I have appeared before you that you may judge my beauty. Look upon me. Does beauty require the absence of modesty?” She lifted her head and looked straight into his eyes.

The king had been looking at her – all thoughts of the other forty-nine beauties had left his mind. He was intrigued by this girl, and he found himself becoming more and more attached to her spirit. Those eyes…they were…captivating. That was the only word for them.

“Majesty,” the girl said, “if I must be hung for my act, then I must be hung, but I refuse to compromise my honor and shame my family. If you are not pleased with what you see, I beg you to let me return home unharmed, if only because my helplessness touches your heart. If, on the other hand, you are pleased with me, I would be willing and honored to be your wife.”

The king marveled at her words. Never had he heard a girl speak so firmly in his presence. He scanned down the row one more time, but his eyes kept returning to that cream colored dress that stood before him. Her head was bent now and he could no longer see her eyes, but their image was still burning in his mind.

“Guards…” he said, almost musing aloud.

The guards stood ready and the girls visibly tensed.

“Guards, I have made my decision.” He paused. “Escort these others back to their chambers. This one,” he indicated the girl who stood humbly before him, hands clasped loosely over the front of her dress, “let her return to her family, that she may prepare herself for the wedding day.”

The girl lifted her head a little and blushed scarlet, but her face broke into a subdued smile.

“My dear, what is your name?” the king asked.

“Starla, Majesty,” she replied.

“Starla,” he whispered, “Starla with eyes like the stars. Very well, Starla, go – prepare yourself. Your courage and beauty have served you well. Two days hence you will become my bride.”

Starla curtsied and turned to go.

The king watched her as she left, fascinated. Those eyes, he could not get them out of his head. They were so blue, almost violet. Well, being a king wasn’t exactly what he had expected, at least not so far, but he had a feeling that this was a good start. What a girl she was. She would make a good wife, a good mother, and a good queen.

A thought tugged at the back of his mind. Was he right to disregard the law? Well, why not? After all, that was the king’s prerogative.

Scotch and Seamonsters

Alone, he sat on the sand and watched the sun hover above the tiny ripples on the lake. Nearby a bird sang an evening song, thanking his maker for a beautiful day and longing for a companion with whom he could share this charming view. At least, the man on the sand thought that was what the bird wanted. The solitary warbling, with never a response, was haunting and lonely.

His fingers found a rock buried in the sand, worn smooth by the beatings of time. Digging the rock free, he reached back and hurled it toward the water, smiling as it skipped out over the waves. Behind him his friend stopped singing.

“Don’t stop now, Sam. You’re all the company I got until Katy shows up… if she shows up…” his voice trailed off. Sam must have heard him, for he began to whistle a new song, another mournful tale of solitude and woe. The man wondered if birds ever felt sad or lonely or happy. Probably not, he decided.
Something caught his eye in the distance and he spoke to Sam. “Here she comes, sing her in softly now, don’t scare her away.” Sam ignored him and continued singing just as loud as before. Together they watched as the thing grew closer, rising and falling gracefully in the water, outlined against the setting sun, and then disappearing again.

“Katy…” he whispered. He couldn’t remember why he’d settled on that name. Katy was a pretty name, and as good as any for her. Sam kept on singing, his voice rising in pitch, wailing about some lost love, one that likely had never been.
Katy was majestic, gliding through the waves, now and again leaping into the air, sailing, twisting, seeming to fly and then slapping down back into the waves. A monster she surely was, but he had known fine, highbrow ladies with less grace and fewer manners than this creature. She seemed perfectly satisfied, rejoicing in the beauty of life, of the evening sun and the chilly water of the lake.
In awe the man watched. Even Sam, who rarely thought of anything but his romantic endeavors, changed his song, weaving the notes in with Katy’s dance, rising and falling, swelling his chest with pride in the knowledge that he alone could accompany the display.

The dance and song continued for a time and the man leaned back on his elbows, smiling as every care seemed to melt in the beauty of the moment. At last, Katy disappeared under the water. She did not resurface for a time. Sam stopped singing, and the man popped the cork from his bottle of Scotch and held it up to the fiery horizon. “Goodnight, my bonny lass.” He took a drink, sighed, replaced the cork, and stood up to leave. Then, a short way out, where the water was deeper, she burst from the water, shooting into the air to a height he would not have thought possible. Spreading what looked to be wings she twisted in the air, curled over like a monstrous dolphin, and plunged back into the depths.
Unconsciously he uncorked the bottle again and, taking a couple more pulls, muttered the word “impossible.” He stood there, staring into the fading light. Sam tried to sing, but even he was too astounded. Well, once one accepts sea-monsters, is anything really impossible?

“Good night, Sam,” he said, and the bird lurched into a sorrowful tale filled with black nights and empty hearts as the man turned his steps homeward, away from the beach, away from his friends, to return to a cold, empty bed.