And some days it’s enough to just sit
Sit with the wind in my hair and the sun on my back and let things just be
Even if it means sitting there all alone on a hilltop with death all about me
I cannot regret it
I’d do it again if I had to
I remember how a friend suffered so from blowing up a planet but
I,
I cannot regret it
Perhaps I’d regret it if I actually blew up a planet, but now, now with just eliminating the parasites
I do not
They tell me I’m a traitor
They tell me that Love would insist on keeping them
I do not believe that and even if I did, I’d still do what I did before
Because
I remember
Remember when the wings of birds blotted out the sky
When a man walked across shoals of fish and was called a son of God
When they knew their place and that place was small and harmless
I cannot regret it
I cannot.
Even if it means that I must live with this burning ache
Even if it means that I shall know oblivion along with them
Even if it means I will be gone and the fishes will long outlive my race
Because it doesn’t mean anything that you have gathered the dreams and loves and lusts of a thousand thousand generations when you still paint the waves red with the blood of waste
When you throw away the lives that you took as if it were so much chaff and not the vibrant threads that make up those dreams that you gather so avidly
I cannot regret it
The slumbering coven is us
and we must die
Slumbering Coven
September 5th, 2009Fanfiction: Mask of the Betrayer
September 4th, 2009Pairing: Gannayev and MC
Disclaimer: I do not own Gannayev or anything from MOTB
Rating: Mature (18+)
“Oh, Sir Gannayev.”
I turned to Gannayev, raising an eyebrow in query. Sir Gannayev? I mouthed the words at him, watching in satisfaction as his face turned red.
“Yes, my dearest Anya?”
That all too rare flush vanished, and he paled, then turned a sickly green as those saccharine tones drifted to us on the night breeze. I imagine that hearing that spoken with his voice came as quite some shock.
“Nothing. I simply love saying your name.”
“And it pleases my ears to hear it, my love.”
Gannayev muttered, “I do believe it is the taste of bile that’s rising in my throat. I may be ill, stand away.”
I smirked and inched away, deliberately amplifying my movements for maximum effect. Unfortunately, it seemed that his words had roused the attention of the two lovebirds.
“What? Who is there?” Sir Gannayv turned towards us, pushing Anya behind him.
“Stand back, my love. I shall protect you.”
“Protect her? By the spirits, she’s the cause of all this! And you…” Gannayev all but spluttered, anger tinting his cheekbones with red.
“Gannayev? How can there be two of you?” Anya looked from one to the other, adorably confused.
“Do you know this half-blooded mongrel, my love?” Sir Gannayev pointed at Gannayev with the utmost disdain.
“Mongrel?! What does that make you? A half of a half?” Gannayev retorted, his wit resurfacing as the conversation took a turn for the comic.
Caught off guard by the insult, I wondered if that particular term was something that the other Gannayev had gotten from Gannayev himself or if that term was a product of Anya’s consciousness. Certainly this other Gannayev seemed to be a product of Anya’s consciousness, but how much was the real Gannayev’s thoughts did this Gannayev possess?
“Have a care with your words, villain, or I shall make you dine upon them!” Sir Gannyev all but roared, his hand falling to the sword buckled at his waist.
Eager to deflect conflict, I asked Anya: “What is this place?”
“This is our home, where we are able to be alone without father seeing… I found this glade one night, while –” Anya spoke up hesitantly, her eyes flickering between the two men, clearly at a loss as to what to do.
“While you walked the borders of sleeping and waking, yes, yes, I know how this came about. My mistake was that I didn’t realize that you possessed such power, Anya – an oversight, but I cannot be perfect in all things.” Gannayev sighed impatiently, “Now this fantasy of yours must end – that Gann there, he is a fantasy you have conjured up, and he is becoming a wedge between you and the waking world, Anya. He also has terrible fashion sense, and the nose is all wrong.” He pointed at the other man, derision patently clear.
Anya took a step back, “I do not know who you are, but you are not the Sir Gannayev I know.” She wound her hand through the crook of Sir Gannayev’s arm and drew nearer to him.
Gannayev snorted, “I should hope not. You can’t seem to get me right from the looks of it.”
“Anya, I believe that thing is here to hurt us – stand away from him, I shall handle this.” Sir Gannayev pulled away from Anya and drew his sword.
“If it’s a fight you want, then that is how this must be settled.” Gannyev’s eyes narrowed, a bloodthirsty smile curving his lips.
I elbowed Gannayev in the ribs and quickly interjected: “We are not here to fight – simply to engage you in a contest to see which Gann loves you more.”
“A contest?” I could all but see Anya’s ears perk up and she cast a coy look at the two men, clearly enjoying the attention.
“I would welcome a chance to prove myself. Bring on your “contest”. I am not afraid.” Sir Gannayev thrust out his chest, glaring at Ganneyev. I sighed under my breath and intervened again, before Gannayev became irked beyond calming. “Then we will let “Sir Gannayev” begin.”
Sir Gannayev turned to Anya and placed his right hand over his heart, “I love you, Anya! I am only whole when you are around.”
Gannayev rolled his eyes, “Revolting – and so unimaginative.”
“Are you going to let a shadow of you win then?” Somewhat grumpy myself, I couldn’t help but needle him a bit. After all, it wasn’t every day that a girl had to moderate a wooing contest between her lover and another man who looked almost exactly like him – for some other woman.
Gannayev’s response came perilously close to a squawk, and I could almost see Anya’s estimation of him slide a few points. “What? Of course not!”
He drawled, “I have already won. I need not prove myself to a shadow, or to you.” His voice was silk and sharpened steel, a dangerous light in his eyes.
Gannayev turned to Anya, the look on his face switching from impatience and anger to that of a lovestruck suitor within a heartbeat. “Ah, Anya… This glade around you is a poor home for a beauty such as yours – those clouds in the sky hide the sun’s gaze from you, when all should be allowed to look on your beauty.”
Sir Gannayev pulled Anya closer, “I need share her with no one!” He glared at Gannayev, one hand fumbling for his sword.
“I would not fetter Anya’s movements, I would allow all to gaze upon her – for even if they should, only I can appreciate her inner beauty.” Gannayev was apparently getting into things, as this time he extended both arms to indicate the environs, then clasped his hands to his chest as he looked adoringly at her. Although he was clearly indulging in his love for the dramatic, I felt a twinge of jealousy despite all the calm I sought.
“Oh!” Anya’s hands flew up to her cheeks, flushing becomingly. She pulled away slightly from Sir Gannayev, one hand reaching towards Gannayev before she came to herself, blushed to the roots of her hair, and dropped her hand again.
“What? He tells lies! I am only whole when you are around.” Sir Gannayev loudly repeated his previous sentence, clutching at Anya. She broke off gazing at Gannayev and looked towards him, her mouth opening slightly as if to say something and then closing again. She glanced at him and then lowered her eyes, one hand nervously plucking at her skirt.
“Anya, I am whole at all times – for you are with me always, no matter what distance separates us.”
I shivered slightly as the full force of Gannayev’s charm hit me, that smooth silken voice winding itself down my spine to my core.
The other Gannayev shuddered violently, turning pleading eyes to Anya, who only shook her head slightly, backing away. He groaned, a terribly sad sound, and just vanished.
Anya blinked at where the other Gannayev stood, “Oh! Oh my, I’ve been such a fool for a Gann I’ve created out of nothingness. It’s time for me to wake up now.” With that, she also vanished.
I watched as Gannayev dropped the illusion of love as easily as if he had shed a mask. He stared at where the two lovebirds had stood, an unusually inscrutable expression on his face.
“Let’s go.” I bit back the urge to snap at Gann, jealousy writhing like a hunger, the hunger. Not bothering to see if he followed, I strode towards the glowing portal. Only an errant wisp of breeze warned me of his attack, but it was enough.
I whirled around and sidestepped Gannayev as he rushed me, but I didn’t quite manage to duck out of reach and he still brought me to the ground. Blinking away the dancing white spots, I tried to persuade my lungs that they did indeed still function after having the breath knocked out of them. When my eyes refocused, I glared up at Gannayev, not even bothering to attempt to move him.
“What, pray tell, are you trying to do?” I asked icily, my previous irritability fueling my ire at being knocked to the ground and pinned as if so much prey. The hunger twisted inside of my chest, my control over it slipping as I wrestled to keep my temper in check.
Gannayev smiled lazily, one hand coming up to brush a wisp of hair away from my face. “I thought that it seemed a waste for us to simply leave this place. It’s not often that we are in such pleasant surroundings.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling the anger flare and feed the hunger clawing at my innards and wished that I could unleash all that fury upon him. “I am not one of your fiery-loined farmer’s daughters, Gannayev, Gann-of-Dreams, to be tumbled in the grass with the sky as my coverlet.”
When I saw the amused glint in his eye fade, I briefly regretted my bitter words and even harsher tone. I didn’t want him to know that I was so painfully jealous. I had always felt at a distinct disadvantage in our relationship, but I wasn’t about to let that slip when I had managed to squash it this entire time.
He silently flipped off me, stood, and jerked me to my feet – all in one smooth motion. I took a step back so I could look him in the eye.
“If you’re going to accuse me of dallying with her, why don’t you just say it to my face?” He looked me straight in the eye and all but snarled the question at me.
His fury only splashed oil upon the burning hunger within me. I gritted out, “And if I don’t care?”
Gannayev’s face tightened and a terrible look came over his face. He grabbed my arms and leaned in close, crooning in that silken voice that now had a core of venomous steel. “Don’t care? Don’t care for what? That I might have whispered sweetened promises to Anya? That I might have enticed her to allow me to walk in her dreams?”
He pulled my hands behind me and manacled my wrists with one hand, the other caressing me from neck to hip, “Then you don’t care if I have done this to her? Or this?” He pulled my tunic up, leaned down and bit my breast. I gasped and bucked against him, unwilling arousal rising hard and fast. I could feel the hunger shifting focus, now it was concentrated on him and it definitely wanted to push him down on the ground for a long, hard ride.
He ripped my skirt away from the bodice of my dress with one angry motion, then cupped my sex in his palm, breathing against my ear: “You don’t care if I’ve held her in my hand, never done to her what I’m about to do to you?”
Outraged, I tried to twist away from him, but he held me fast, pushing two fingers into me even as I struggled against him. I froze, both afraid the slight pain from being stretched would become worse if I fought against him further and unwilling to give up the pleasure that he was kindling in me.
He laughed coldly, “At least you can’t tell me that your body doesn’t care for mine.” He pushed further into me, my traitorous body dampening for him even as my fury came back with a vengeance at his words.
“See how wet you are for me. Now tell me that you don’t care.”
I bit him, cursing his leather jerkin that kept me from actually inflicting pain. Unsatisfied and craving blood, I lashed out: “It’s just fucking.”
Gannayev swept my feet out from under me, and not only did he not bother to cushion my fall, he dropped his full weight on me, further knocking the breath out of me so that I could’ve sworn I saw stars.
He pulled his fingers out and I breathed a sigh of relief, only to catch my breath again as he thrust into me. I wasn’t quite ready for him yet, but he didn’t seem to notice my flinch of pain and I wasn’t about to beg him for mercy.
He pushed steadily deeper, his expression taut and his eyes narrowed with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. Once he bottomed out in me, he rasped out, “I never made the vows to her that I did to you.” He pulled out slowly, so tantalizingly slowly that I felt exactly when the flared head of his cock was about to slip from me. Just as I thought he was going to pull out, he started a slow glide in again.
“I never gave her anything more than the usual courtesy due to your host’s daughter.” He bent his head and nipped my breast, laving the hurt when I gasped at the sharp pain. “I never encouraged her – not unless you count a polite smile encouragement. I meant it when I said that she was flower that was not ready for plucking. ”
At this point, all my awareness was focused on the smooth glide of his flesh against mine. I strained towards completion even as my anger melted away under his reassurance.
Still, I wasn’t quite ready to forgive. I turned my head away and deliberately gave no indication of softening.
“I never desired her the way I do you.” His voice was husky and strained, every reverberation echoing down to where we were joined. “I never wanted her under my body like this, and nor did I ever want her to carry my child.”
I turned my face back to him, wondering at the mention of children. I knew that the topic was a sore point with him since he thought he had been abandoned as a child. That he had thought of children between us was somewhat noteworthy. I laid my hand against his cheek, “I believe you.”
As if my words had released some lock, he quickened his movements, both hands entwining with mine and bracing us as he pounded into me.
He reached climax before I did, the sensation of his seed pouring into me triggering my own release.
Still fighting for breath, I sighed. “I wonder how we’re going to explain how she left so much earlier than us…”
Water
August 8th, 2009I jumped on the bed, unheeding that my hair was streaming water, and pressed my back up against the heater beside the bed, keeping a close eye on the door.
Not that vigilance would keep me safe from what I saw in the shower.
I shuddered.
It had all started innocently enough. I had taken many showers in the dead of night, and I hadn’t expected tonight to be any different. I didn’t pay much attention to the drawn shower curtain that obscured half the shower stall, shrugging it off as some lazy person who didn’t draw it back when they had finished their shower.
However, halfway through rinsing the suds out of my hair, I noticed that the bubbles were tinged pink. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to it, since I was on my period, but then I saw the faint curve of a woman’s body that I had not seen before, half hidden by the shower curtain.
My imagination had gotten me into trouble before, so I tried to dismiss it as a trick of the light. Seeing things at three in the morning wasn’t surprising, after all.
However, when I caught the sight of ghostly feet kicking at the shower curtain and causing it to shiver — that was when I figured that it may not have been just my imagination.
I resisted the urge to look up, suddenly remembering the tale my friend told me, of the girl who had hung herself in the bathroom because she couldn’t take the pressure of college. I glanced at the floor in the effort to not look up and promptly regretted it, as I saw fingers where there hadn’t been before, reaching out of the drain.
I swallowed hard and had high-tailed it out of there after hurriedly twisting off the water, not even bothering to make sure to make sure it wasn’t leaking.
I shook my head hard, dismissing the images of what I had seen, not even daring to blink, afraid that I would see more horrors if I let my guard down for even a second. I stayed up until daybreak, finally collapsing of fatigue after the sun was well across the sky.
Dreamscape
August 8th, 2009I stretch, luxuriously reaching back and yawning.
It’s been a slow night at Dreamscape, and the tips haven’t been coming in as they should.
Suddenly, the bell above the door jingles.
Interested, my eyes meet those of Luna’s. She raises an eyebrow and casually hits the button below the counter.
I turn to watch the stranger approach the bar.
He wears a gold chain with no charms around his left wrist, and a white poet’s shirt tucked into sleek black jeans. He pauses at the door, scanning the odd table or three that came in tonight and then makes his way towards us. He stops in front of me, half glances at me, and orders a lemon drop.
I raise my eyebrows. It isn’t often that a man doesn’t look twice at me when I’m trying, even if they are a patron of Dreamscape. And less often if he were a first time patron.
I shrug as the music starts up. I would have glared at Luna for the bother since it was being a really slow night, but it was my job, after all.
I slip from the bar stool and move to stand in front of him, “Does m’lord want a dance?”.
I see his eyes widen for a brief second before they shutter and he graces me with a short nod. He glances about briefly before sitting at one of the over-stuffed couches surrounding the dance floor.
The music builds, it is almost an itch in the blood. The shoulder strap of my dress slips as I’m grinding to the music and I cast a glance over my shoulder at him while I smooth the other strap down. I put my bare foot on his knee, opening myself for his gaze, knowing that he can see how I’m bare and wet. As I languorously circle my hips to the beat, I shrug as I half-turn towards him so he’ll see how the bodice of the dress stays on my body only through inertia.
I bend towards him, and twine my arms around his neck, my foot slipping off his knee as I slowly rub myself against him. The dress slides to pool around my waist as I tauntingly brush his lips with my nipple, nuzzling an open-mouthed kiss against his neck. Sliding down the length of his body till I’m breathing hotly against his erection, I teasingly kiss my way down it until I have my face all but buried between his legs.
I rub my way back up his body and turn, bracing my hands on the armrests of the couch as I settle myself in his lap. I draw circles on him, alternating between feather light brushes and pressure that all but drives him into me.
The metallic sound of a zipper warns me of his intent and I cast a look over my shoulder. His eyes are hooded and a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. Shrugging, I rub myself against and on him, the head of his cock sliding in my cream. It slides in once or twice and I allow him a few moments as I clench around him before twitching my hips so he slides out again.
His hands clench on the armrests and I feel a brief flash of pride even as I wonder if he wanted to set them on my hips and drive himself into me until he came.
He shifts minutely on the couch and braces his feet against the floor. The next time he slips in, he seats himself to the hilt, and I allow it, continuing to circle my hips. His breathing grows shallow and I quickly pull myself up. Widening my stance, I bend over and spread my labia so he can see how wet with need he made me. The music slows and I wipe my fingers on his pant legs just as the song ends on one single violin note.
He curses under his breath and finally grits out, “What can I offer you to give me another dance?”
I slowly pull my dress back up, noting with pleasure how some of the other patrons are studiously looking away even as their hands move furiously in their laps.
“Nothing — but I might be free after work.”
Scarborough faire
August 8th, 2009It began, as always, with a faint shimmer to the air.
I sat in the basket swing, made by careful hands so long ago, and sang to the night.
“Are you going to Scarborough fair?” The notes hung in the air as I waited for the response.
“Tell her to make me a cambric shirt, without any seam nor needlework…” A husky male voice stirred in the shadows, touching for one incendiary second that long ago pain.
I gave myself to the song, seeing as clear as if it were daylight the play of love and jest across their faces.
Foolish children, to so carelessly cast their vows upon the wind, heedless of who might hear and take note. All the more binding that it was set to tune and sang over and across the breadth of England.
“Remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine.” A soft breeze caressed my cheek, cooling the tears that had fallen once again without my notice.
I gathered up the pile of fabric in my lap, carefully brushing away any stray lint and held it up to the light. It had taken ages to weave it with the hand-loom that I had clumsily carved out of bone, made more so by the endless trailings of thread that forever would tangle.
To call it a shirt would be to flatter; it was more of a tunic, shapeless and long. Two rectangles for the front, one for the back, and two long ones for the sleeves. Two braided lengths of cotton wound through would serve to close it and then all that would remain was to weave all the stray ends of thread together so it wouldn’t fray.
I held it up, forcing myself to look at it, to see how it was grimy from much handling, the weaving perhaps not as tight as could be, the braided laces that wound through the uneven holes made with a dull knife.
It was a far cry from what finery had passed through my hands, once upon a time. Lengths of silk that could have passed through a child’s ring, dyed silk for embroidery that seemed as if they would take off from the cloth, and enough gold thread to gild the king’s throne.
Shaking off the black mood, I laid my hands on the bone that framed the last of the weaving, pricking my fingers anew on the spurs on the bone.
“Ask him to come for his cambric shirt, for he is a true love of mine.”
Loss
August 8th, 2009I close my eyes and spread my arms, the night air rushing over my skin like a lover’s impatient caress. It is at times like this that I most regret my loss, shoulders twitching with the memory of gliding upon the air on another night such as this. I lean forward, tempted to just fall past the railing, let the air embrace me one last time.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and tense, lowering my arms to rest my hands on the railing. He should have left already.
The hand slides upwards, cupping the side of my neck in warmth and barely veiled threat.
“Come away from the railing.” His voice cuts through the night like steel through silk. Lifting my left shoulder in a shrug, I do not answer.
He steps closer, covering me with his heat, his other arm sliding around my waist to hold me flush against him. My hands tighten around the stone of the rail, the delicate carving digging into my palms.
“It’s dangerous.”
I laugh, a choked sound that is almost a sob. Since when did heights become dangerous? I look at the waves pounding against the rocks below the balcony and stubbornly refuse to answer.
He shrugs, the hand at my neck finally moving, sliding down my body in a smooth caress. I start to relax, then jolt alert again when his hand drifts to cup me in his palm. I’m strung so tightly I’m surprised the wind doesn’t sing through the strands of my hair.
He presses against me, slips within me, the path made easy by the seed that still runs down the curve of my thigh.
Pleasure spikes, heady as wine, dangerous and glittering as broken glass. I hone myself on the sensation that floods me and keep my eyes on the stars, only closing them as climax approaches and washes over me, bringing me just that much closer to them.
Random snippet I
July 31st, 2009It swept over me, that destructive urge with all its siren call, breaking over me and my defenses as easily as the incoming tide sweeps away words written in the sand.
I slipped into the room, heart pounding in my throat, every breath a fight to keep my stomach down.
He waited by the side of the bed, head lowered, wearing only a pair of loose pants. Dark hair curled over his ears and hid his eyes, hands paler than my own curled into fists at his side. He didn’t seem that much older than I was, if that. His build still had the slender cast of adolescence that hadn’t yet crossed the threshold into manhood.
At the sound of the door closing, he raised his head and looked straight at me. I shivered as our eyes met, as hesitation finally found its way through the madness.
“What would milady desire?” His voice was smooth and emotionless.
Almost incredibly, my heartrate sped up further and I could feel the gathering damp in my clenched fists. I opened my mouth, hesitated, then closed my mouth again.
Golden eyes narrowed, his gaze suddenly glinting with some indecipherable emotion. I swallowed hard, feeling a sudden chill run down my spine, but the urge was irresistable — made more so because it was the only road I could see before me.
Dropping the cloak that hid my nakedness, I walked further into the room, knelt, tilted my head and brushed my hair away from my neck, baring it to his gaze.
I shivered, harder this time, the wait for him to walk towards me almost interminable. The little voice in my head was screaming at me, telling me what I already knew: that I was being unbelievably stupid and to run.
He crouched down before me, still and silent. Without warning, his hand shot out and fisted in my hair, pulling my head back to meet his eyes. I let my head fall back, meeting his eyes. Some sick part of me reveled in his cool look, the contempt in his gaze all but tangible.
He jerked me to my feet, and pulled me over to the bed. I didn’t protest as he pushed me facedown onto the mattress and bound my limbs to the posts. After he secured the last tie, he leaned in close and breathed silkily into my ear: “The lady wants a taste of what it’s like to be a slave, is it?” His voice took on a cruel edge as he continued, “Then I shall give milady what her heart desires.”
I stayed silent, his caustic words almost cleansing fire. Almost laughing at the irony of it, I buried my face deeper in the pillows.
I jerked uncontrollably when the first stroke of the lash lit fire across my back. I had thought I would have gotten used to pain by now, after everything, but I still almost cried out and asked him to stop. Instead, I gritted my teeth and tried to soften into the next blow.
Soon, it felt as if my entire back was on fire, my head starting to ache from how hard I had my teeth clenched. Pain is not my kink; never was, never will be. But that night, I all but welcomed the pain. It has a sort of crystalline totality to it; there was nothing but the pain exploding across my nerve endings.
When he finally stopped, I didn’t even realize it for long moments, my head awash. I didn’t exactly entirely reinhabit my body until he reached a hand under me and roughly pushed a finger into my passage. Without thinking, I tried to kick out at him, jerking away as best as I could whilst bound.
He tensed, then pulled his hand back almost as quickly as he had forced it into me.
“You’re not enjoying this.” It wasn’t a statement.
I tensed in turn, then deliberately relaxed as much as I could. A part of me almost wanted to go through with it, but I turned coward at the last second. Not least in the decision was my unwillingness to answer any questions he might have had and besides which, I had no desire to make him a rapist.
“Untie me. I’m done here.” I tried to keep my tone as cool as his was, and I had no idea if I succeeded or not, but at least it was as calm as his.
He silently untied me, standing aside as I gingerly got off the bed and put my cloak back on. I half turned towards him before I walked out the door, and simply said, “Thank you.”
Grandfather: a series in work
May 12th, 2009I was woken by the doorbell. It seemed far too soon since I fell asleep and so I merely surfaced from sleep, still half cradled by dream. I didn’t realize what the sounds were at first, her sobs were much too raw. All I could gather from eldest aunt’s gasped out syllables was “Pa. Pa.”
Jolted completely from sleep, I lay there on the couch, frozen.
From her sobs and the only words I could decipher, my first thought was that my grandfather had died in the night.
I wasn’t sure what I thought then.
I breathed shallowly; each attempt to take a deeper breath greeted by nausea.
Finally, she started talking, almost babbling in hysterics.
It seemed that my grandfather had turned his eyes on my uncle, her husband. Apparently, he stated that for every day away from his job, every employee would have part of their pay deducted.
“I called him, because I’m going out of the country today. It was strange that he didn’t call today, but then I found out why. He told me, and then I couldn’t say anything to comfort him; all I could say was to tell him to go back to sleep. But I didn’t sleep. The entire night. How could I sleep?!” Her voice rose upwards in a wail, and then she burst out into fresh sobs.
“You know he was ever like this.” My grandmother’s dry voice, both harsh and yet oddly sympathetic.
“How could he? Why would he do this to me? I’ve worked all my life for him, and yet this is what he does to me!”
“It’s one of those little games he play. Why must he not let things be at his age and always try to stir things up?” A mutter from my grandmother.
“You’ve seen what he does to me, why are you surprised?” This, from my mother.
My aunt works in Taipei, but my uncle works with my grandfather in China. My uncle usually makes at least one trip a month back to Taiwan, so it was no wonder that my aunt thought that this new rule was aimed at them.
“I never talked back to him nor was I ever rebellious. Have I ever said anything against any of his decisions?”
I bit my tongue.
“And have I?” My mother, indignantly.
No answer but renewed sobbing.
I picked up my stuffed pig pillow, walked into the room, curled up against my mother, and just laid there, listening.
My mother didn’t let the matter rest, but asked again, “I never said anything against him after I started working for him.”
“At least you earned money and you have all your real estate. What do I have? Even my own son’s education was paid for with loans. Not loans from him, oh no. It was paid for, one machine at a time, each one a hard made sale. Did he offer to pay for my son’s education as he pays for third sister’s children?”
She continued, unabashed and unrelenting. “And what about third sister? She does nothing and yet he gives her money whereas I and my husband must work hard for every penny we get from him.”
I kept my eyes closed and held my pig tighter. I knew that there was some jealousy there, but I wasn’t quite prepared for it all to be so ugly.
“Why compare? It doesn’t help…”
She flared up again, “Why not? He is so unfair. He buys one house after another for his useless sons, and we daughters are as nothing.”
My grandmother sighed, “Even on the same hand, all the fingers are of different lengths. You know him and his ways, why torment yourself with this?”
“If he must be cruel, why not to third sister? Why me? It’s not fair! And to think that my husband’s father has only recently passed away and he must return for the 100th day ceremonies…” She almost choked on her words for sobbing.
“Even if he’s heartless and couldn’t care less for family, I don’t see why he has to expect other people to follow suit.” My grandmother muttered.
I pressed my lips together at eldest’s mention of third aunt; her obession was quickly becoming tiresome. I curled up tighter against my mother, willing her strength. I couldn’t help but worry that her old nightmares would be roused again by all this drama.
She smoothed my hair back and leaned close. “It’s all right.”
I relaxed slightly, and drifted into a doze as eldest aunt went into another repetition of her woes.
When I woke, it was much later in the morning, almost noon.
As soon as I could, I discreetly asked my mother if my aunt ended up confronting my grandfather. My mother nodded grimly, “He said that he didn’t have to give any of his daughters money and that this was the new rule and that was that.”
I nodded, and gave up the topic.
Until my littlest aunt came to visit. It was a rare occassion that she would visit and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she had caught news of the drama in the wee hours of the morning.
“Pa’s leaving tomorrow.”
Mom blinked. “Didn’t he say that he was leaving next Thursday?”
My littlest aunt smiled a bit cynically, “Eldest’s husband is coming back on the 12th and after all this drama, he’s leaving early.”
Grandmother smiled a bit maliciously. “Couldn’t take the heat after this, could he?”
Littlest aunt nodded, “Well, it was a tight fit for him to be sleeping in third sister’s house anyways, considering that she had to give up her bed to him and sleep in the living room but yes, this morning was probably a big factor as well.”
After she left, I didn’t give the matter more thought, more than a bit tired of all the drama at this point. As I mentioned to my mother, “If she’s crying this hard about this little thing, I’d hate to see how she’d carry on if she encountered what happened to you. It’s more than true that it simply never hurts as much as when some thing is done to you.”
Mom just shrugged, “Yes. Well.”
Later on in the night, my third aunt called to say that my grandfather would be leaving tomorrow early in the morning at about seven, in case my mother wanted to go say goodbye to him.
Mom hung up and looked at me, “Don’t forget, seven in the morning.”
Half teasingly, half seriously, I raised an eyebrow at her, “What does that have to do with me? You can go send him off.”
She just smiled, “Third sister said that when he saw the ladies practicing their dance in the courtyard, he said that I should go join them and get some exercise because it will be good for me.”
“Hrumph.” I looked away and deliberately snorted at her.
She walked away to get a glass of water, deliberately swishing her bum at me. I rolled my eyes, “And this makes you soooo happy?”
“Well yes, it shows he cares.”
I sighed. How like my grandfather, to casually dispense with one daughter and just as casually say something to another to raise them into happiness.
Not that it really took much to make my mother happy when it came to her need for good attention from my grandfather.
Speechless @ the airport
January 29th, 2009Muttering imprecations, the girl stormed into the elevator, shoving a luggage cart ahead of her. A stream of abuse spilled from her lips as she turned the cart around to face the young man who was walking behind her.
I looked sideways at the young man, curious as to what she was saying. It sounded like Korean, but I wasn’t positive. Arms folded, he merely glared back at her, pointedly staying outside the elevator doors.
Was that a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as the elevator doors closed on her rising voice and violent hand gesticulations?
I bit back a laugh as I studied his set jaw.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened again, and to my slight surprise, the girl was still in the elevator. She poked her head out and started shouting at the man. As no one made any move to keep the doors open, the doors slowly slid shut on her, her screaming still audible for a full minute after the elevator went upstairs.
Secretly, I hoped that my father would not find a parking space soon, as I found the entire situation hysterically funny. A laugh bubbled out before I could catch it and I quickly slapped a hand over my mouth, feigning a coughing fit.
Ding
The elevator doors slid open again, and she started shrieking from the second there was a crack in the door. Her expression was a study in rage, her hair seemed slightly more mussed than it was before, and she started shaking her fist at him.
He merely raised an eyebrow and looked back impassively.
The doors closed on her again, her cursing muffled for a few seconds before an aggravated scream echoed down the elevator shaft.
The man closed his eyes briefly, his expression somewhat pained. This time, when the elevator doors opened again, he stepped into the elevator and hit the button to close the doors