You pass me by as I disembark. Another statistical blip indicating decreased commercial demand. And from this moment, I can extrapolate your future and your past.

The morning you ran out of milk
The pervading warmth of that blissful day at the beach
The night you found him with someone else and were unable to say a single word
Laughter in a dorm room about nothing at all

I see how the city got smaller. You lived in circles that turned into well-worn ruts, hemmed in by money, time, and responsibility. Soon you will drag a sullen child from school to another place he doesn’t want to go. Eventually your hair will stop its flirtation with the wind and resign itself to a fading fate. But I won’t look any further. This way I can still imagine the smile of pure childish delight I hope will one day cross your face again, and again.

I love you, Mr. Red Line
But you don’t love me
The world blurs when we’re together
But you can’t wait to leave
I take you for granted
But you never take offense
I’m just another two dollars and twenty-five cents

Sometimes, Mr. Red Line, I wish that you had spite
And if I hurt you, you’d desert me in the cold of night
Sometimes, Mr. Red Line, I wish that you would care
I wish that you’d feel something when you see me standing there

Don’t judge me, Mr. Red Line, for trying to be your friend
For adoring the faint glimmer of your light around the bend
Am I wrong for loving you? This is my foolish heart
Don’t close your doors upon it, I can’t bear to be apart

Above ground and below
Flitting through the light and dark
I know I’m not the only one who sees and feels these sparks

http://darkdreamr.deviantart.com/art/Mr-Red-Line-62399094

Oh, Bess and Cup. Those two rascals were our prize milking cows, and I knew ‘em since they were calves.  Always looking out for each other, they were. Milk one of ‘em too roughly and the other’d kick you right silly. Their mothers died in the big storm of ’96, so they really had no one but each other. They were just like sisters, those two, and one look’d tell you they were best friends forever.

Bess and Cup got into trouble most every day. I’d see ‘em in the morning and sometimes not again till late, late at night. Who knows what they got up to? They knew all the holes in the fence and they came and went as they pleased, whispering jokes to each other that would send them into rippling spams of laughter. As they grew up, I guess they strayed farther and farther. More than a bit curious, they always were. But I didn’t question ‘em or try to rein ‘em in. A happy cow gives good milk.

It’s funny how worried we were about something happening to them when they wandered off. My brother used to say cats are the only ones get nine lives. But I reckon the beginning of the end for them was right here on the farm, with a seed of dissatisfaction. See, Bess and Cup thought they were in heaven. Adventures every day, good food every night and good company to share it with. Till one uneventful evening, they saw the bull.

The bull belonged to our neighbors. They usually kept it on the far side of the hedge but I guess they’d left the gate open and it wandered over.  Across the driveway separating our fences, Bess and Cup stared at him, and he stared back. There was something about his look that must’ve intrigued ‘em more than our own bulls did. He lifted his head slowly, towards the rising moon, and then glanced back before walking away.  I saw Bess and Cup share a quick look then, a half-smile, and pretend nothing had happened. But something had happened. I reckon it was the first secret they had ever kept from each other.

Things kinda changed after that. There weren’t as many adventures out into the woods, and I never saw ‘em laughing up a fit anymore. I think they were wondering what lay out there, beyond the fence. Not just what was out there in the world, but what was out there for them. They spent an awful lot of time at that fence, staring out into nothingness. Their conversations became stilted, and polite. They were formalities that drifted too soon into silence. There was a certain tension, a feeling of things being just a little bit uncomfortable. And often times they would just stand there side by side in silence, chewing their cud, imagining themselves farther and farther from home in their own separate daydreams.

Dear me,

What can I tell you that you don’t already know?  I could remind you of my favorite things, but you probably have new favorites by now.  My hopes and dreams?  I’m sure you’ve adjusted those too.  Maybe all I’m good for is story fodder for your wife.  You are married, right?  (That’s just in case you miss those conversations with mom.)

Seriously though, there is something I hope you remember.  We had a deal, you and I.  I sacrifice now and you benefit later.  And by goodness, you better be enjoying yourself.  Please don’t disrespect my work by saying you’ve settled for less, or you never got around to it, or it’s too late.  We climb upward, even if we fall.  I gave you a gift and I expect you to use it.

Don’t feel guilty though, you gave me a gift too.  You don’t know how often you reminded me that there was going to be a tomorrow.  When I thought I had no more reasons you were always there, and you helped me take that next step.  Don’t miss me, ’cause I don’t miss you.  We’ve been down this road together.

Oh Charlotte,

The past few months have been unforgettable.  I’m so glad I missed that Purple line last year, and had the guts to strike up a conversation with you, huddled under the heat lamps.  You’re so right, they don’t work very well!  I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you – your laugh, your dimples when you smile, and your adorable angry shiver when you’re cold.  Remember that time we went to the Indiana Dunes lakeshore in January and I forgot the scarves?  I don’t think I’ve seen anything so cute as you cursing your way out of that snowdrift.

Well, I’m gonna get you two scarves for your birthday ’cause, funny story.  I actually lost a bet with Steve and you’re kinda on the hook to do the Lake Michigan polar bear thing with him now.  I hope you won’t be mad.  I know that even if the rest of you turns to ice, your heart never will.  And you look really good naked so you won’t even need to worry about that part!

I should get going but I can’t wait to see you.  The way your southern accent comes out when you’re excited…I just love that.  And our legendary wrestling matches where you pretend to be mad?  God I miss you.  It’s been a long summer and I think I’m finally ready for winter.

Yours truly,
Mark

The organ sounds its eerie chords
As if calling to heaven
Silence falls, there are no words
The bells ring to eleven

The audience shifts nervously
The priest looks out with dreadful gaze
He beckons one up to the front
She stands and silently she prays

He questions her, like every year
But she puts on her best false face
For even if the priest did hear
The truth of it he could not trace

He leans and whispers in her ear
The penalty for sin is death
And as she tries to hide her fear
The audience all hold their breath

A glint appears in the priest’s old eye
The time for reckoning is nigh
It is of course a crime to sin
But more perilous still to lie

The Voice speaks deep in the priest’s mind
Guilty! And guilty you shall find
The rest of them not far behind
Laughing at you, thinking you’re blind
Burn them in fire!

He raises his hands with a glower
And feels the rush of newfound power
He looks at her and something snaps
Can’t forgive this, nor any lapse
Burn them in fire!

Her feeble smile’s the final straw
He’s only carrying out God’s law
And with resolve he screams most dire
Liar, liar, liar, liar!
Burn in hellfire!

She shrieks and fizzles into flame
The priest slowly turns to the rest
One by one he does the same
To each and every one, no less

The priest looks down and shakes his head
‘Twas my duty to God, he said
Yes, said the Voice, you’ve done it well
And I’ll be seeing you soon in Hell
For there’s one more soul that must pay for his crimes
And one last time, the organ chimes.

It hadn’t been such a bad life, upon reflection.  Sure, there’d been better times, quieter times, where he had almost felt that elusive and fleeting thing called peace.  But then Jack came along, and sure as the Earth goes round the Sun, rounds go in the gun.

He’d been made in the days when handguns were sturdy, and meant to last.  He couldn’t say for sure, but he thought he remembered the searing smell of molten metal, the assembly line, the stamping of a serial number 3-4-8-2-2.  He’d been pristine, but not innocent.  He knew his purpose, it was built into his being – it’s just that back then, it didn’t bother him.  He was tested, proclaimed worthy, and sent into Vietnam twice.  He made it out twice, once only after a panicked meeting in a small clearing.  There were two shots fired; his hit.  He’d never been so proud.

Ten years later, he’d been cleaned only twice almost ceremonially.  He’d watched the color in the world around him sort of fade away.  He moved out of the house into an apartment, and then onto the street.  This was peace?  Those were trying, frustrating times, with nothing to shoot.  Maybe the enemy could not be shot.  He was sold, and he didn’t care.

But Jack was like the black ash on a piece of burning paper, and when his serial number was filed off he felt for the first time that he was old.  No longer kept in a case, but a dank basement, he began to rust.  He lived in darkness now.  And little by little, he felt the red cancer spreading in him and he held himself together solely by force of will.  He wanted to achieve something again.  He wanted to make things right.

When the moment came, it wasn’t like he’d expected.  It was cold, and calculated.  The blood spurted all over him, and he realized it wasn’t red at all.  It was so richly dark, almost purple, and there was so much of it.  He had been wrong about so many things.  He felt the ebbing life wash over him, and as the last round left the chamber, he felt something else leave with it, and he knew it was the end.

Blowing sand stung his eyes.  He wasn’t supposed to walk around at night but it was the first clear night since he’d gotten there and the desert was cool and bright with moonlight.  The valley was bathed in an inviting glow, so off he went.  Besides, he could take care of himself.  The sand irked him – he didn’t even like the beach.  But if he closed this deal, his future would be assured; he stifled his annoyance and negotiated as best he could.  To be honest, the other side didn’t have much leverage.  He’d be out of here by day after tomorrow.

Brushing sand from his face, he climbed farther outside the valley, and rounding a hill he saw it all of a sudden.  The Milky Way, bright in the sky like he’d never imagined with jewels of light strewn over a pitch-black sky.  It stopped him in his tracks.  The sand whipped up again but even with his eyes closed he could see the brilliant swaths of stars and cloudy whiteness in the midst of nothingness.  Ten years later, he still saw those stars whenever he closed his eyes, and he wondered sometimes what had happened to the man he used to be.

The wife sat curled up on the chair, sipping her favorite wine.  There was music playing but she barely heard it.  She closed her eyes and saw him getting out of a cab with the other woman, who almost tripped getting up the curb and had to be caught.  They made their way laughing into the restaurant.  The wife took another sip of wine.  He and the other woman had decided to skip dinner and just get drinks at her place.  She tripped going up the stairs and he caught her.  Laughing, they made their way inside where he kicked his shoes off and sat down on the couch.  The other woman came back with the drinks and sat down right next to him.  They were sharing a single cushion.  The wife almost laughed.  She saw him take the other woman into a hotel room.  They both seemed like they had done this thousands of times before, and all the hotel staff knew them.  They were kissing before the door closed.

The wife got up from the chair and wandered over to the mantle.  There was a photo of him with the son at college graduation.  How proud he looked.  There he was, accepting an award at work.  There was a candid shot of herself laughing at something he said.  She could see his eyes as he looked at her in the photo, his expression frozen in time but the look so familiar it could be conjured up at will.  The wife got a similar look in her eyes as she sat back down and took another sip of wine.  A smile played over her lips.  She felt so warm inside.  She trusted him.

Screams and grunts filled the air, and beneath them the unmistakable sounds of pain.  The Marisan scout cursed the thorn that had crippled her foot, she cursed the forest her company had been in for the better part of the month, and she cursed whatever fates had conspired to put her people in this sickening war.  Just when she thought she was used to it, the gurgle of a dying acquaintance would serve as a grisly reminder of the Maggites’ brutality. It was almost better when they were already dead. She loathed having to leave a wounded comrade behind, seeing the desperation in their eyes, having to turn away with a cruelty that caught her in the gut every time. She hated what the Maggites had forced her to become.

She tried to take her mind off the pain and paused for a ritual prayer to Marisa.  But it felt artificial.  She no longer drew any pleasure from the Sun, not when its light shone so indifferently.  It was hard to focus.  She thought involuntarily of her boy back home and his innocent face.  She knew her husband would be taking care of him, teaching him the arts and histories, but she couldn’t help thinking that their once proud culture had been irreparably tainted by this violence, and she felt a surge of pity for her child and what kind of life he would have, under the dark clouds of the Maggite threat.

* * *

The Maggite hunter took another step and paused, waiting for the wind.  This was an exercise in patience, as were so many things in life.  She was hunting during the day, not out of preference but out of determination to catch up to her quarry, a near-invisible Marisan that had been bringing death and fear to this edge of the woods for three weeks.  They had tracked down most of the intruders but the leader had always escaped.  The hunter felt disgusted at the Marisan’s dedication to her mission.  That coward had left her comrades to suffer instead of allowing them the mercy of a quick death.  She had to be stopped at any cost, and eventually, she would be – by Maggie’s grace.

The wind had shifted back, and she took another step.  Her target was bleeding, probably from the foot, and it made it easy to track her.  The only challenge was retaining the element of surprise.  If it were night, under Maggie’s quiet watch it would be easy.  Damn this blinding yellow light.  But, oh – what was that?  She drew her bow and moved forward quietly.  She allowed a small smile as she aimed at the slight figure in the distance.  But just then, the sun broke through the branches and she saw the expression on the Marisan’s face.  Something in that expression made her pause, and in that second the wind changed.  When the arrow reached her enemy it hit her shoulder instead of her neck.  The next second the Marisan was gone.

Damn!  She drew another arrow and fired it where she thought the sunlover might have taken cover.  She started running in the direction of her first shot, taking the most direct route she could without being suicidal. The shifting rays of light threw confusing shadows and she blinked  in anger.  By the time she heard the twang of a bow from her left, she only had time to dive headfirst into the dirt.  She struggled to free her knife as a shapeless form came at her from her peripheral vision.  Throwing out her legs she kicked out hard and made contact.  She got to her feet, knife drawn, and stood face to face with a completely alien bloodstreaked face.  She felt chilled to the bone as she swung her knife way too carelessly. A quick chop to her wrist caused her to drop it, and then she was fighting for her life, dodging blows, countering kicks and looking for some kind of opening she could use to win, or escape.  The strange thing, she thought as her punch missed again, was that their fighting styles were so similar.  She could almost anticipate the next move of her opponent, and she felt a deep certainty that her opponent’s uncanny anticipation of her own attacks was the reason they were in this ridiculous stalemate.  She looked in the Marisan’s face and realized her expression was probably identical.  In that eerie moment of looking into a mirror, she saw something almost familiar.  The next thing she saw was a fist approaching her jaw, and everything went black.

* * *

She finished stoking the fire and walked back to her prisoner, who was beginning to regain consciousness.  She was worried that she hadn’t gotten farther from the scouted zones but she was more worried about getting lost in the dark.  The lake at least would provide water and limit the approach of anyone who might have been following them.  She winced at her aching foot and stiff shoulder, and wondered again why she hadn’t left the ghastly-looking Maggite dead in the forest. Right on cue, she heard the Maggite growl.

“Release me, Marisan.”

“I’m more likely to kill you, after I find out the location and strength of your army in this area.”

“You must be joking.  You’ve been all over these woods for the past month, you probably know better than I do.  What do you really want?”

“Very well, my cheery moonbeam.  What I want to know is how you were able to block all my attacks back there.  It was as if you’ve been fighting me all my life.”

“Hah.  That’s what you dragged me here for?  To ask me about my martial arts training?  You should have much greater concerns, such as death.  In fact, with those wounds, you better eat something if you want to survive the night.”

“Marisans do not eat by moonlight.  Meals are a time for pleasure and companionship, to be shared by friends under the benevolent light of the sun.”

“Who told you that, your daddy?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?”

“Everything.  Why I refuse to eat by moonlight, why we are fighting this war.”

“And why are we fighting this war?”

Her voice rose angrily, “Do I need to remind you of the great betrayal?  Do they teach you nothing in that forsaken place you call home?  Once our people were just as you are, with no sense of morality or decency. We were like animals. Then we met Marisa.  She taught us how to grow our own food, how to keep track of time, how to record our histories and take pride in them.  She taught us how to live…until the darkness came.  When she was taken from us it was all we could do to survive.  We looked to the sky and saw her memory there, and resolved to always honor it.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Remarkable how similar that story is to the truth.  But it was Maggie who was sucked into the sky and taken from us. Marisa gave us nothing.  It was Maggie who taught us how to keep track of time, how to find food in winter, how to navigate the seas…and now, now we can only look up and curse the sun that chases her out of the sky.”

“And so we are locked in eternal struggle, as are they,” the Marisan sighed.

“You sound like my sister.”

“In another life, I could have been.  I think that, but for circumstance, your people and mine might have turned out quite similarly.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

The Marisan stared across the fire.  “Inside everyone there is both that which we love and that which we hate.  Is it so hard to believe that our two peoples might have once shared the same goal, and might still again?”

“Is that why you’re keeping me here?  To indoctrinate me with this propaganda?”

“I brought you here because I saw myself in you, and I know you saw yourself in me, back there in the forest.  Isn’t it funny?  We’re two sides of the same coin!  We’re twins, you and I, twins who’ve lost their parents.  We’ve been blaming that loss on each other for generations.”

The Maggite was silent for a while, but when she spoke, it was with a new tone.  “I’ve always wondered at the assumption that Maggie and Marisa were chasing each other around the sky.  It might be that when Maggie is tired, Marisa takes over.  It might be that they are like partners, companions for each other in those lonely heavens.”

“It might be that they are the same person with two names, and that’s why they are never seen together at the same time.”

“Who are we to say?  There’s no way to know for sure.”

“We are the only ones who can say.  Marisa and Maggie are silent now. There are no more divine absolutes, the closest we can come are convictions and beliefs.  And I believe that I met you for a reason.”  The Marisan rubbed her shoulder and gave a sad smile.  “I don’t pretend to hope that things will change between us.  But it is some small consolation that perhaps I have been lucky enough to meet the sister I never thought I had.”

She put out the fire and untied the ropes around the Maggite’s wrists and ankles.  “You have to go before it gets light and my company starts looking for me.  The road is on the other side of the lake.”

“Thank you,” the Maggite said.

Dawn had come, and the last of the stars faded behind the dim grey growing in the sky.  In the ambient light they walked the path by the lake that led to the crossroads, the pale Maggite with deliberate steps and the tan Marisan limping slightly. They did not speak, but when the Maggite stopped, the Marisan did too. They stared side by side into the swirling water, and to their eyes, only one reflection gazed back at them.