The transport offered little privacy in a time where everyone wanted nothing other. In one of those strange flips of normalcy, those who always seemed to talk the most (with the least to say) found their vacuous minds staring into the bottomless pit of their inane hollowness as whip to tongue. In other words, the idiots on board kept their frailing mouths shut.
Two more days to port. Two more days of tears. Two more days to the plan, or at least stage two of the plan, whatever the shill that meant, for grief cared not of plans or ambition. John, who perhaps had the most reason, could not cry. Em, who, by seeing nothing, shed the most. Even blind, she found she could not wait for a chance to shed her agony without audience, without the suffocating closeness of tension measured in breath audible, of weep and sigh loping like chained eidolons across the graveyards of regret. Finding a corner in the blackness of her spinning mind, she sat. Her head as lead in her hands, her eyes red as august sun.
“It’s not your fault.”
Em lifted her head as if she could see. “What?”
“What happened is not your fault.”
If Em could have seen, an angel stood in sheer dress white, banes of primrose brushed neat as curtains before sparkling eyes blue. Larger than it seemed they should be. Em sniffled. “Tell me again. How old are you?”
Holding her hand up Ariel counted her fingers. “Six.”
Em quivered. “Six.”
“Your necklace is blinking. You know what that means?”
Em reached for her brooch, one she had hoped to see again, a sight that she felt had rendered exactly what John and Rog had feared. Maybe worst. To live when another had died. To suffer survivorship. But it was more than that. Death had come to others because of her. She was not just a survivor. She was cause and effect. And the cursed blindness taunted. She could not see the hatred the others must harbor and so her imagination multiplied the debt, pushed her deeper below the cold waters of despair, forever suspended in the moment before release into the wet breath of death as likewise denied release into the fresh breath of life.
“It means your mother is playing with my mother.”
Em spoke without breathing. “What did you say?”
“Your mother is happy. I can see her blinking. She has my mom to play with now and my mom is very fun.”
Em started crying again.
“Emy?”
“Yes.”
"Whenever my dad would leave on a trip and I was sad, my mom would say, 'together, we are stronger than we think.' Then she would hug me and we would cry together." There was a slight pause before Ariel added: “Can I hug you?"
11 comments:
Out of the mouths of babes, as they say. I'm at a loss for words at this development, so bear with me. Seeing things as they are, the loss of her mother has nothing directly to do with Emily. The decision to about turn toward Kulmyk was not Em's decision either. We've seen what an amazing child Ariel is, lately how when her mother stalled at the magnitude of what she was being asked to leave behind and to face the unknown, albeit with John, it was a John she was no longer sure she knew so well. The time that she has spent with Em, the relationship that has grown between them, with Em's blindness, her isolation, the ache she feels at the thought of never having a child, her strength, the story of her necklace, that Ariel would not only understand that her mother's death was not Em's fault but seeing her distress and the silence of the rest of the crew would offer comfort and clarification of Em's involvement, it becomes based on the heretofore a smooth transition to see her as she appears here despite the great tragedy that has befallen her. Also, with every other crew member individually encased in a wordless shroud of emotion, determined not to give way to expression while they remain in close quarters, Em's display would draw her too towards the only open door into the heartbreak, and as such sadness shared and the only place she could offer and receive comfort. In short, as I have said before, though the events sometimes are infinitely shocking, you easily through your writing make it seem like a natural course of events. There is never a time when confusion reigns, by that I mean there is flow, there is order even when there is chaos. Even the choice of Cait is tapping on reason, albeit some rather when one attempts to list them eccentric reasons why events unfolded in this manner. John and his decision to go after Bravo, the choices made, the risks taken which could have cost life, which could have cost the important relationships, Rog, Yul, what Trev went through when everyone else was occupied/away, Em's blindness and the connection it has to Rog's actions, it seems to me there has been a host of events where to great extent the crew, John, have been extremely fortunate. Cait being along for the ride, so to speak, due to John, an innocent, someone not involved in such battles before, a mother, also is on that list. Where there is war there are civilian casualties. The crew had already lost Kieran, before that they left everyone they loved behind on Hyneria. The parallels here, just as they occur in life, are tangible. John, Cait and Ariel left Kulmyk, but between they left with each other, they left as a unit, a family, something our Hynerian's did not. They may have lost their home, left behind friends and family but they had in each other all that really mattered. Even as they will be now, they will still have each other, as Em had her father still, as Kyra had Papa. I am getting shivers though at the thought of just how John might react once he gets past the shock, what feelings may overwhelm him of guilt, of regret. The dashing captain, who was(is) attracted to Kyra, who risked to go after Bravo, who numerous times has been in battle to come out with his hide still in one piece through luck and skill, who would come home to Cait, his family always there. To be who he was, Cait had to be a certain way, to accommodate, realizing that there would be times when in order to be who he was, to successfully execute his missions, he would have to forget about them to certain extent. I could put all that under the simple heading of his having taken her for granted, but it is not so simple. In any case, the jist of another item I would put on that list of reason is there. That Ariel should lose her mother is there too, again reflected in John's line of work and decisions made, at any time she could have lost her father, and her parents were aware of the risk that John's missions posed each time he went on one. The link to Em takes on a precedence, not yet quite clear, so it seems to me, which I would have to list too. To Kyra's story told aboard Bravo in those final hours of her sister Emily. Ariel, motherless, John in grief, there are endless possibilities up ahead for the space that they might fill within the story and in relation to the other crew members, Ariel, Em and Kyra in particular. From Kyra, there is so much also that we could see, paths that may travel through her responsibility as leader, through her decision to return to Kulmyk, through her actions in battle, through seeing the grief etched within their circle and thoughts of all those other circles of grief and loss that those unknown mothers, sisters and fathers, through her relationship, thoughts and feelings about John. So much here, so many windows opening, far, far too many to even begin contemplating. And coming to the end, I know I've more than likely forgotten to mention some of the loudest as I dwelled in others. Boughs. :-) The loss of Cait could be a great, great bough in the tree of this amazing, A*MAZING!!!, story. A brilliant, brilliant (you know when I get repetitive, I am truly touched) chapter, sad and shocking, completely unexpected prior to yesterday, fitting today by some strange branch of logic connected to life as we know it into the course of events. Once again, down the line, there is (in me at least) the unfailing belief that this loss will teach and give rather than steal from our characters, that the goal behind the decision to return to Kulmyk will be achieved at some point in spite of and because of Cait.
Ariel's action and words were so touching, I've deliberately skipped commenting on it directly. :-) Completely choked up at the scene you describe here. Loved, loved, loved this chapter and in my best Forrest Gump "that's all I have to say about that". Except to say, Ariel has well and truly crawled into my heart and I don't know whether to hug her to me or watch her through tears tinged with also pride and wonder.
Wow, for good measure.
I may need to amend the dialogue. I had wanted to tie in the phrase "stronger than you think" by having Ariel say to Em, "My mother always said after dad went away, 'together, we are stronger than you think.'" And then the two would hug and Ariel would find comfort in Cait and Cait in Ariel.
Last night this scene popped into my head on the way to pick up C. Another time I wish I could have written in the moment and captured exactly what I was feeling as I imagine words being uttered. When I re-write after the emotion has passed, it never seems the same to me.
Funny thing is, as a writer who kills off a character, one goes through the same, albeit less, emotions of loss: shock, denial, regret, bargaining and then a dawn-like acceptance. I killed Cait and almost immediately regretted it. I started to look for other ways to get out of the corner I was painting. I thought of killing off Pinky, the least of the Bravo characters and then I knew it would ring hollow in the story, seem cheap and I would know in my own mind I just didn't have the guts to do what I knew had happened.
I also imagined how Cait died last night too. Several scenarios, none of which currently stand apart. Not sure if I will have the story tell us, although in time I imagine John will walk through the events. One scenario in particular was bloody and brutal. Two soldiers. They know the mission: Deleo, which means all onboard are to die and so the thought occurs to them they are free to take their liberties (spoils of war), especially with an attractive "traitor's" wife, as John as been framed by the authorities. The animal impulse, of a moment beyond law, takes hold.
I'm not sure that is what happened or whether John just has nightmares. I'm not sure if Ariel was there to witness any of this and that what we see in this scene is a little girl in complete and utter shock, unable to comprehend what had happened, if not a small part of her she has locked away as beyond thinkable. I don't know if John went berserk when he came upon the rape and brutality, if in seeing Ariel cowering in a corner, having to witness the debauchery, of Cait held helpless, impaled not of John but because of John, I saw scenes of blood, everywhere, of Ariel's dress misted in red, of John's hands glistening in crimson, of Tom stunned, standing. And of Kyra. Was she there too. What did she see.
Then again, everything above could just be a recurring nightmare of John's and the actually events much, much different. So many different ways this death could have played out I feel as if I could write five different versions from accident to rape to Cait coming to the rescue of Ariel, etc. Perhaps in time we will learn what really happened.
As always, your sincere and wonderful engagement of the story thrills me to no end. :-)
Amendment made. I feel better now. A little more emotional punch and a tying together of heartstrings between the lives of Ariel and Em with a common phrase.
The new ending is even more poignant, you just made brilliant better. Is there no end(?). That question was answered long ago. :-)
On Image:
The central piece is Ariel as angel before the crying eyes of Em, which is represented by the two larger "fans" left and right. We are seeing as if we are Em and before us is the little angel of wisdom, otherwise known as Ariel, a reincarnation, perhaps, of a little girl from a long time ago called Emily. I think the two of them would have had a lot in common. :-)
Hello, Trée :)
I love this chapter. Even without having stayed up on the events (I just read the last several posts, so I think I'm sorta kinda caught up), I love this chapter.
The Fractal Butterflies caught my eye first - symbols of transformation....transmutation....transfiguration.
Something miraculous happens when two embrace. The Little Butterfly Angel has come to help Em tranform her pain, aloneness and guilt into Something More.
Beautiful... :) (of course, I'm totally project my stuff here! lol)
Trée, I hope you are doing well...I hope that your life will soon be filled with amazing joy and exurberence - once again??? (don't ask me why I typed that).
Hugs,
Grace, of late, I'm been in a joy-free zone. LOL
Work has been a beotch and one not puttin out but demanding as if it were. :-D
I've been on the road more days than I've been home and it only gets worse in that regard over the next two months. Balls to the wall, as we say. ;-)
I love your view of this chapter and the idea of transformation, especially at the hands of a child. A child shall lead them, which is not the first time we have seen such in this story. As you can tell, I believe that children have a wisdom that somehow many of us lose as adults. Or perhaps, adults are thieves and they steal that wisdom from their very children. Anyway, Ariel still has hers.
Nothing quite like a sincere embrace when we most need it. And nothing quite as painful as needing an embrace and finding nothing but indifference or even a facade of an embrace, which reeks of dishonesty and foulness.
Thanks for the kind words. So glad you liked this one Grace. Hugs to you my friend and good luck, again, with NaNo. :-)
this is sad and sensitive, yet strangely comforting
"Em, who, by seeing nothing, shed the most. Even blind, she found she could not wait for a chance to shed her agony without audience, without the suffocating closeness of tension measured in breath audible, of weep and sigh loping like chained eidolons across the graveyards of regret. Finding a corner in the blackness of her spinning mind, she sat. Her head as lead in her hands, her eyes red as august sun."
...so much to relate with...The image is poignantly beautiful.
You are a master of weaving beauty with phrases, of playing with words like they were quick silver...holding them in your palms ever so carefully & letting them break into a million pieces and then gather again to slide so smoothly in your expression!
Oh Mona, you do give such good comment. If mere words could make my heart swoon, you my dear would play me to heaven. Thank you for the gift of a smile so wide my cheeks hurt.
Hugs bond hearts. Brilliant.
Annie, I'll take a hug over most everything else, except perhaps a smile (I think genuine smiles trump everything). And little kids seem to know how to hug the best. :-)
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