The alien in the cornfield (Halloween horror short story, Write Anything challenge)

It was a rainy afternoon, the kind that makes you put on your coat, open the door, sigh heavily and then turn back to flop down on the couch and stay there. But not for Bill. At least not this time.

The Surgeon's Assistant (A Halloween horror short story)

The Surgeon’s Assistant

Her quick feet thudded through the empty corridor. The wind howling through the broken windows could not drown out the distinct clang of metal against metal behind her as he ran his scalpel across the cracked wall.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He bellowed, bursting into hysteric laughter.

“Please let me go!” She panted, her back against the wall.

He gestured with his smoking cigar and leisurely puffed the fumes in her direction, filling the hall with a breathtaking heaviness. Lightning set a ghastly light to his blood-stained scrubs. 

Episode 4 - The raid

Also see: Episode 1 (chronologically a much later part in the story) - Episode 2 (start) - Episode 3

The raid

She nipped her drink by the bar and watched the others dancing. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something made her feel very nervous. Maybe it was just that she could not shake the truth. She was the only one around who knew what was going on, what was going to happen, that everyone in the club was really in danger.

She held onto the bar to steady herself against the upcoming faintness and took a deep breath.

“Come on, girl.” She muttered to herself, downing the drink in one gulp. “You can do this. Just think of it as a game.” Looking back, her friend Michael was waving at her, motioning to come back already. She forced her lips into a convincing smile and set her foot forward to make her way back to her group on the dance floor.

Then a loud noise drowned out the music and froze her in her tracks. The sturdy door caved in. A squad of soldiers in all black suits, helmets and machine guns stormed through the gaping hole screaming ‘move, move!’

The DJ stopped playing, people stepped aside. She stumbled back into the bar. The place had a reputation for drug dealing, was it a raid?

They fired five warning shots in the dark, they lit up and echoed loud through the silence. This wasn’t a raid. Glass breaking, people screaming, scattering into the corners, tugging at each other and the horrible sound of so many heavy boots stamping along the floor after them. “Everybody out!” The commander yelled and they went about grabbing at arms, shoulders, elbows, pulling at hair and motioning the guests onward with their guns. Alice saw one haul Michael over the floor, thick with broken glass, by his clothes and rushed to help him.

“You’re hurting him!” She prised the man’s claw open, allowing Michael to scramble up, rubbing his sores. The soldier pushed her away so hard she fell backwards and took off his helmet. As soon as she saw his curiously gleaming eyes, she knew this wasn’t a raid but an invasion. They were Svarts. She gasped.

“Go home!” He spat at her and clutched the next victim. Michael helped her up.

“Michael, you’re limping.”

“It’s nothing, let’s just get out of here.”

Leaning on each other, they got out. The streets were full of Svart troops, going door to door in public places, hurling everybody out.

“What the hell are they doing?” Michael asked her, coughing.

Alice watched them for a moment. As it turned out, they hadn’t paused. Either that, or enough of them were already here in the first place. They had been fooled. “Establishing a curfew.” She said, feeling as if all life had drained out of her. “They’re taking over the city.” She looked up at the horizon. It would be many hours until the break of day. She should go look for the other knights and round them up for battle.

With a sigh, she whispered to herself. “So it begins.”

And that was the day they invaded our world.

(video that has a lot of screaming in it, but parts of it might give you a good idea of what is going on in this episode, so it is kind of appropriate and may have influenced this part of the story in a latent fashion)

Episode 3 - Through the glass

Progress Report (not really relevant, if you're just here for the story, please skip to 'read more' at the bottom of the page ;) )

Here's the next part, which comes immediately after episode 2 (since now I know where to start with it all it's a bit easier to be more coherent, for the time being). Sorry this had some delay. I was nearly finished last weekend, and then my computer shut down suddenly and the whole Svart file had DISAPPEARED... That's like a writer's worst nightmare. Strangely, once I got over the shock and saw clearly, I realized it wasn't that bad and I got to see my personal calamity as a blessing in disguise. I was really spinning the chapter out too long, getting carried away and just basically messing everything up, so being forced to start over entirely was the best thing that could happen - I don't really have the heart to 'kill my darlings', I guess my comuter felt sorry and decided to do it for me. That part did get better, I think, more concise (which isn't really my thing, unfortunately, I could take some classes on brevity). AND, it's also a case of Serendipity (always wanted to use that word) since thanks to Bagle's handy tips on file recovery (thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!), I found a back-up of 9 out of 12 pages of a book I was working on just before I joined Blogger. The file got corrupted very badly, so I couldn't open it and I still haven't been able to gather up the strength to start over, since it would never be the same and  didn't feel it needed improvement like Svart did. So it just sucked. But now I have the crucial parts back and can pick up where I left off anytime :). I'd post some of it, but it's in Dutch, so, sorry...

And after that, I got sick and I was exhausted for a couple of days after school work, so I couldn't find the strength to write, specially since it meant starting over from scratch (luckily I'd already posted the first chapter, so I at least had a backup of that one). Instead, I did quite some fairy research, some useful stuff turned up which I hope to integrated in future parts (though most of it was suitable for Macy's world rather than Alice's and some of me just confused me or confronted me with my own lack of originality where I thought I WAS being original, which sucks).

Anyway, here is part 2 and part 3 is also done - it on the short side through, 2,5 pages - I'll schedule it for some time next week. Probably Wednesday. I do have to say I'm not entirely okay with this part and the next one yet, but there sort of a rough outline, a first draft. I'm just trying to get from point A to B as fast as possible and then I'll see from there when I'm done so I can rewrite it in the end. Oh, and the titles are pretty random now. The themes they refer to aren't always there yet or emphasized enough. I may call the novel '(The) Nightingale. Chronicles of a revolution' or something like that.

On a more cheerful note, I noticed that readership for the blod - followers but especially page views - have rocketed *dances around like a retard yelling 'whoohoo!'*, so I just want to give a big welcome to all of you who are a new and another big thank you for sticking with me despite all the craziness and irregularity lately to all the regulars. I really appreciate having you guys here giving me advice, I really really really do. I know I haven't been responding to all comments, but I will in due time. Circumstances are making it hard enough to keep up with posting the best I can, so I kind of have to 'eliminate' everything else.

/delay. Onto the story...

Episode 2 - The Eve Of Battle

Another novel start, it is getting hard to keep up. I don’t know where to place this exactly, but it may very well be the start of the episode cycle. It is meant to be a little mysterious and vague. It is the onset of a novel, after all, so it has to keep you guessing at the whole story. Song that brought this writing spree on:

I heard it again and got flashes of scenes like this, the other ‘episode’ bits and other parts I didn’t know about before. Hope you enjoy it ;)

Holiday (1) - a short story about 'meeting the parents'

Holiday

“Can’t you at least try to be nice?”

She grabbed his sleeve to keep him standing, he turned to look at her, fighting to remove his reproachful glare from the child fingering his freshly polished car. She followed his glance and intensified her mental pressure on him by running her fingers along his upper arm.

“Just this once?” She said, in her sweetest voice.

He sighed. “Fine then.” With a faint smile, he pulled her close and kissed her briefly.

“Let’s go. Can’t be late.”

Beaming, she got in the car. It was a clear statement; no more delay and no excuses.

“If it must be done...” He muttered under his breath. They drove out of the city in their suburban cruiser in silence.

He watched civilization getting smaller in his rear-view mirror and drifting away, the high rectangles collapsing into a single line at the horizon and finally disappearing. Trees in lush spring green and wide open pastures with every tone of flower flashed by. The landscape sloped.

“Slow down, already, take in some of the scenery. It’s so beautiful outside.” She resorted to a complacent smile. “Now aren’t you glad you came along?”

They passed a meadow full of cows and acres enveloped in a manure scent so pungent it corrupted their last bottled up city air inside.

“Why? I think it stinks.” He sped up.

She sighed and fell back against the seat with folded arms. “You’re being impossible today.”

He raised his voice a little. “Well, duh. Why do you think that is?” He took a deep breath to calm himself and swallowed his upcoming agitation.

“Why did it have to be today?” He continued, his voice a little clenched.

“Why not? You had to meet them sometime.”

He looked at her, pleadingly. “Baby, I just thought we’d finally have some time to ourselves. Just the two of us,” he gently put his hand on her knee, “do stuff.” He made desperate gestures. “You know, go to the part, row on the pond in one of those neat little white boats, eat out.”

She raised an eyebrow in mockery. “Looks like you had the whole thing planned out.”

He knew in an instant there would be no chance she would back down. He looked out the window and mumbled. “Well, yes.”

She shot him a compassionate look, then made it very clear there was no way out of this.

“Well, big deal. There will be other days off to spend together. Next time, we’ll do whatever you like, but for now, you’re just going to have to get over it. You can’t always have your way.”

“I just had big plans for today, that’s all. It’s not like we have much of a chance for anything like that. It’s our anniversary, for god’s sakes, doesn’t that mean something? And now I’m going to be bloody spending it meeting your damn parents.”

“Well, I think it’s important to introduce you to my”, she shot him a look full of daggers set on fire, “damn parents, and they feel the same way. It’s a big tradition at home to get together for things like this. It keeps the family close. It’s my mum’s birthday, we can’t possibly stay away. If we are to get serious, you’re just going to have to learn to deal with coming here every single year. Her birthday is always going to coincide with a holiday. No excuses! We’re going over, like it or not!”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and ran his hand through his hair, with a  thoughtful look.

“Don’t mess it up!” She immediately undid the damage and smoothed his locks back into the slick, professional look she’d insisted he use.

“You have some...” She brushed something off his cheek and he noticed she was being  a bit too thorough in her rubbing her knuckles over his skin.

He turned to her. “Are you checking whether I shaved well enough?” He bit his lip remembering how she actually made him shave off his prized sideboards and chin strap. Not to mention remove his piercings. The visible ones.

“I just want you to make a good impression. That’s all. My parents aren’t big on second chances. They usually make split second decisions about people. I know it isn’t fair, but it’s their way.”

“Thanks for the comforting speech, babe...” He pulled his collar, sweat beads dripping down his neck. How could he possibly think with this thing cutting off all oxygen to his brain?

“Sorry.” She smiled at him apologetically. “There’s nothing to worry about. I know what they like in people, trust me on this. They’re going to love you.”

“Yeah, as long as I play my part right.”

“Just for the time being. Once they get used to you, they’ll learn to accept you for who you are and embrace it. I’m their only child, they’re just very protective.”

“Right.” He felt like he was tied to the tracks and with every second a train was coming nearer. Except that the foot on the gas of that train was his own.

“Speaking of which, you might want to adjust you’re driving.”

“What’s wrong with my driving?”

“You mean apart from the fact that you’re speeding up like some race track lunatic and you don’t see the difference between straight bits and bents? You do want to make a good impression, don’t you?”

“Whatever.” He slowed to an old lady’s pace and made his turns excruciatingly careful.

“We’re here.” She pointed to a big country house, the kind he’d only seen in his worst nightmares, with neatly kept flower beads and tulips and hyacinths and rose bushes all over the place. And garden gnomes, of all things, that smiled... He shuddered.

“This is what I always imagined hell would look like...” He said dryly.

She gave him a playful shove. “Shut up!”

It was as if the car turned unto the driveway all on its own, and used his body for an auto pilot. He turned off the engine and looked around, where a curtain moved very discretely in every neighbour’s house. See or be seen. Lovely.

She spoke to him gently, caressing his now smooth chin. “Just relax, honey.” She got out of the car and then changed her mind and leaned back in. “And be polite.” And again. “And mind your attitude. And keep your hands out of your pockets.”

Sighing, he got out of the car, head low and back bent as if the weight of the world pressed him down.

“Oh, and you may not want to mention we live together.” She whispered to him with a gentle pat on his chest. “They’re pretty old-fashioned.”

The sweat beads now also appeared on his forehead and swelled. Very much with aversion for it, he let her brush his shoulders and straighten the suit she’d picked out for him like he was a dressing doll. She redid his tie.

“You look smart.”

“I feel dumb.”

He leaned back against the car and she rose on the tips of her toes to wrap her hands around his neck and kiss him. As soon as the door opened on them his baby immediately leapt away to put the appropriate distance between them.

“Hi, mum. Come on, sweetie.”

He took a breath and steadied himself. He would rather have done this after – long after – his all planned out date. Reluctantly, he followed his girlfriend to the door, faking a rather unconvincing smile.

“I’ll go see what’s keeping your father. Isaac?”

As soon as her mother looked away, his girlfriend mouthed to him behind her back, “be nice!”

“Whatever.” He soundlessly responded. It looked like he’d have to go all out. Then he remembered he’d left the presents in the car. “Oh, I brought something for your parents.”

Her eyes softened into a smile. “Honey, how thoughtful.”

“I’ll go get it.” He ran back, careful not to smear or rip his clothes, and got everything out of the trunk. With a bunch of flowers, a carton box of pastry and a good bottle of wine – to be safe, he’d specifically asked the clerk at Wallmart for advice – he made it back to the door.

Mustering his complacent winning beam, he handed his offerings over to the elderly woman in the flower print dress by the door. He had this in the bag...

“Oh, dear, you shouldn’t have.” She said. He knew better.

“I wanted to.” He responded benevolently.

She opened the box and her smile froze. She immediately threw the top back and composed herself.

“Well, it’s rather chilly, isn’t it, why don’t you come inside.” And turned away. They exchanged a glance of confusion.

“What did you get?”

“Plum. You’re mother liked plum pie, didn’t she?”

“She’s so allergic to it one bite would kill her. Don’t you ever listen to me? Jeez.”

She disappeared into the house. He scrambled after her.

“Keep smiling, keep smiling.” He muttered to himself.

A deep voice bellowed from inside “are they here yet?” and her father came out to meet them, both stretching out their hand before their glances met. “You!” They cried out simultaneously.

Hush Nightingale

Hush Nightingale

The noises of the city intruded on her in her quiet room.

Sometimes she’d quit staring at the drab white walls and just close her eyes.

She’d pull her knees up on the ground and let her mind follow the cars, the honks and the voices in the streets.

When it got warmer, the sounds picked up and the people outside were cheerful. High voices laughing, chatting and deep wolf-whistles reached her dulled ears and she listened with rapture to the people she could never see.

Once, she nearly tumbled out in an attempt to look down on the street; crawling onto the high window frame, she lost her balance without even catching a glimpse of what went on. She never tried again, contented just to listen to the world below.

On days when the sky was clear and open, the distant echo of music would seep through the windows, too far away to make out the words, but near enough to sway to it, making dreamy pirouettes and turns across the empty floor. She leapt about on the tips of her toes, bending sideways on stretched legs like once was her habit, making figurines in the air. Suddenly she remembered the tones of Tchaikovsky and gently sung, swirling round and round her still room.

She’d often sit hunched in a corner and hum to herself bits and pieces of songs she still remembered, residues of lullabies from her childhood. She’d curl up and suck her thumb, like when she was little and had not a care in the world.

She sat there, by her wall, and drew circles on the plaster, over and over, lining the rays of light as they lowered into the room from the windows. All of a sudden she wondered what her face looked like in the sunlight. She had forgotten.

And then it came back, something demonic, it kept banging inside her head and nearly split her skull apart. She pulled her hair and screamed, covering her ears, pushing them shut until it would go away. It had to stay quiet. ‘Shhh.’ She whispered again and again, her slight shoulders shaking with the heaviness of her load.

She did not go out, no, she dared not and so she stayed, basking in the light unseen, forever, forever, until her limps turned to stone, and with a face like breathing dark-veined marble, she lifted her weary eyes at the windows and slowly dimmed to grey.

Macy and the fairies, a bedtime story for children

Hey guys!

How is life? Enjoying spring? I am :)

This is actually the novel I was working on when I joined Blogger, but my skills weren't/aren't enough to complete it. It is set in what I now believe is the Western Kingdom, counterpart of the Eastern Kingdom where my cycle about the three brothers was set (It's in the story list for those who don't know it and got curious ;)). Anyway, it was always my intention to make a short story version for children out of the first chapters and I did. I actually finished it hoping I could give it to Matthew Funk, who has an awesome fundraising project to help the survivors of the Japanese indescribable catastrophe; fairytales for Japan, but I haven't heard back from him and I'm not very patient with not publishing something finished. It's a vice, I know, can't help it.

The story is suitable for all ages, but targeted at children, so I'd appreciate any feedback on whether or not you'd tell this to your (future) children, so I can mend it where needed. I hope to post it on another blog - still in progress - for kids.

And sorry if I'm being terribly slow to respond lately, it's been awfully busy. I really need a break... (from life, so I can finally get my stuff finished and catch up on things that are important).


So, enjoy!

The Witch of Dreiden, a magic realist short story

Author’s note: some of you may already know this story – I posted it quite some time ago on HubPages, so I’ll probably get sanctioned for double-publishing – but despite having posted a link in the list page, there wasn’t too much inter-traffic between this blog and my hubs account, so I’ll post the story here as well for all of you to read. Especially since it’s been so long since I’ve posted something non-poetic (though I did write a lot… Don’t ask, it’s complicated). This is a clear example of what I (and other people?) call ‘21^st century romanticism’, which I really love and feel at home in. Anyways, I digress yet again; enjoy ;).

---

The Witch of Dreiden

---

She was never in a hurry, but always on the move. They’d see her darting across the streets of Dreiden. She does not linger and she never speaks. It made them wonder.

Dressed in an ankle-long moss green gown. Never was she seen in anything else, come rain or shine. As if she stepped out of a long forgotten fairytale and is not aware.

Her face hidden in the hood of a dim greyish cloak, held together with a pin in which those brave enough to go near her, mean to recognise the emblem of the Pagan Trinity.

From time to time, mostly at dusk, she was spotted bobbing through the village holding a bunch of white flowers, which later turned up somewhere in the graveyard, yet it was certain she had no ancestors among our dead.

No one had ever seen her eat, or drink, or sleep and not a soul knew where her house was. If she lived in one. A few believe she lives in a cave, like a dragon. All that could be said, was that she dwelled the woods. That was as far as they had managed to track her, before she disappeared.

Her name was unknown. Some said it was Mary, others called her Beth, at least one believed it to be Lilith. She would respond to either one with a complacent nod.

She was very beautiful, in a mystifying way, and of a disposition so dreamy, it was almost childlike. Chestnut brown hair she had, waist-long and thick as a carpet, and the deep, gleaming eyes of a wolf. She was rumoured able to see in the dark and reported running with packs. Several drifters went as far as to assert having seen her fly through the air.

Her smile was, to say the least, mysterious, her gaze hypnotic. It led young men of the village astray, luring them into the woods at night and into the swamps. Some say the witch had killed them. Their bodies were found occasionally, mutilated to such a degree that it was certain the witch had fed on them, our sons.

She is known to the oldest and wisest of the women, respectable and virtuous from the first to the last, as a bringer of catastrophes. Floods were her specialty.

Wanderers claim that at nights of the full moon, they can hear her voice resound through the forest, that she’d be singing. On such nights, she would bathe in the river, causing the water to rise. And surely, heavy rains would fall.

Whenever showers threatened to make the streams of the valley overflow, the old wives would bring baskets of bread, cake and honey to the edge of the forest, peace-making gifts for some offence on the part of the village.

No one was ever seen collecting them, but the next day, all would be emptied. Naturally, afterwards, the rain would stop.

It was a generally held notion among the elders that whomever spoke ill of her, would die in the course of a month – it was proven many times among their fellows – and so would those sacrilegers who dared hunt inside her woods. When scorned by an individual, a basket would no longer suffice to save the poor soul. She’d smite him with sickness and calamity.

Despite having never uttered a word, she was known to be fickle. She held the pass to the nearest city, the great Danbourg, and those who did not pay her toll, would return no more. Nor would some who did.

As to what she was exactly, opinions were divided. She was called a demon, a vampire, a succubus but the majority held her for a witch. It was often discussed at council meeting if they shouldn’t dispose of her – like had been done before in other towns –but in the end, they dared not. It was especially the question of her possible immortality that made the leaders afraid to push a decision that would incite her wrath against the village. All were anxious. Surely, she was one who lived untouched by time. If they failed to kill her, her vengeance would be eternal.

Never did her appearance alter. It was said, over pints in the cafe or muffled in church, that the fathers of grandfathers had claimed to have seen a strange young woman from the forest, even in their own time. The stories were passed on through the generations and were remembered clear as daylight. More culturally developed among us, swore to discern her silhouette in ancient paintings. She must not  have aged a day. It could not possibly be otherwise.

Whatever she was, the girl was devilish.

Something had to be done. It was decided. For their children. The annual bonfire of San Marc was coming up. This year, they would personally invite her – for the first time in village history – and keep all foreigners at bay. Poke the flames up higher.

It was decided. They would never talk of it again.

The Great Evanescence - a poetic story

Alright, I should be doing a post on the awards I got now – especially the ‘versatile Blogger’ one came with rules I haven’t followed yet – but I just finished this and simply can’t wait to hear other people’s thoughts on it... So, sorry, Taylor... What the heck, maybe there will just be two posts today.

When I started writing this, I was determined to write a story, but since I’m still switched on to poetry (that happens from time to time, the two alternate), I ended somewhere in between a story and a poem, which I suppose has a charm of its own. I think if I let this one simmer for a few years and rework it, it could be great. For now it just happened. Please let me know what you think in the comment section.

Cheers!

The Great Evanescence, a poetic story

Though I am old and from long bearing torn from mould,

it feels as though it were just yesterday

when a child I met young Mason Gray.

I was a boy, no more, and full of fright

until one day I lost my way

on a whimsical starry night.

I wandered through a moonlit street

for hours on end

until by chance I got to meet

a boy who’d be henceforth my friend.

There was no house in sight, no hunk of car

and I could see clearly a shimmer from afar

and ran towards it intoxicated

to where the strangest creature waited.

Beneath a lantern stood in ghostly light, all set aglow,

a boy whose face served but to show

the world had not yet killed its verve

and angels would still walk the earth.

I stumbled forward quite in awe

the creature stretched its well-shaped claw

and though his burning gaze revealed a fire mean,

smiled the sweetest smile I’d ever seen.

I like a moth drew ever nearer

for nothing to me ever dearer

then in that sacred flame to smoulder

and so my eyes turned even bolder.

His cheeks the softest crimson blush,

his lashes lush

his skin the purest peach and cream

his eyes as bright as in a dream

tainted by fever great

I met this fairy child of late

tolling a heart-shaped jojo in ennui

at an hour only demons roam free.

When the world was rather dim

this mystic child of light beckoned to come with him

and so I did and together we would knit

the wildest lore forevermore.

Games new and old we’d play

and from the village led astray

we roamed from meadow, bush to wood

where we would act out Robin Hood.

There we would, with sticks and rods,

take for models only gods,

split the forest and feign

to spear even the heavens in our reign.

Until morning bared its teeth

and bit away with pain and grief

at what was our youth

with roses underneath.

All at once the thorns sprung up and marred our face,

robbed us of our innocent grace

and our wondrous camp of clay

faced the stream, was washed away.

Like all things young and fair

my childhood friend dissolved, went up in night air

and left me forlorn in life’s grime

to swallow those sour grapes of time.

And now in death’s shade I stay,

worn from long decay

and as remedy to all that’s gone amiss

have nothing but to reminisce.

Dance, 2

We come across a nice, cosy, informal cafe. It’s nearly empty and there’s a candle on every table. Perfect!

I hold the door open for her. So many beautiful tables shrouded in a romantic glow. She takes a seat at the bar. Damn it!

Now what?

I walk up to her and say:

“It’s always warmer in the back.”

I don’t know if that’s true, but she gets up. I grin at myself as I follow her. I know how much she hates the cold.

We sit down at a small table in a niche. No one will disturb us here. We, of course, order coffee. There’s genuine gratitude in her face as she accepts the steaming hot cup from the waiter, as if it is a benevolent gift rather than something she ordered and paid for. Wouldn’t you just bend over and kiss her?

Her spirits are lifted a little. Now? I’m trying to work up my courage, figuring out how to begin.

“Daphne?”

“Hm.” She responds absently, enjoying her coffee as if she’s in love with it. I’m feeling a little jealous. Ridiculous! In any case, I know how she’s going to devour it, cup and all, when she’s done toying. Don’t stall!

“You know I care about you.” A lot. She doesn’t look up. Is she listening?

“Don’t you?” No response. “Daphne?”

Suddenly her face clouds over. She starts sobbing.

What am I to do? How can I make it better for her?

Everything she’s been bottling up the whole day starts spilling out all at once, I can’t even make out every word no matter how I strain.

I just want to get up and take her in my arms, hold her, soothe her until she stops crying. Instead I sit here, listening, while she falls apart. I’m such a coward.

“They say they can’t keep living together as if everything’s alright. They don’t trust each other. I can’t even trust them anymore, either one of them.” She’s looking for something, something that’s not within her grasp. I offer her my handkerchief. Thank goodness I haven’t used it. She accepts it graciously, twisting her mouth into the closest she can get to a smile. “I knew it was coming, that it would end up like this, eventually, so why does it still hurt so much?”

How can I answer that? So much desperation. I can see in her face how much it hurts. Her pain squeezes my throat shut.

“Why now?” I enquire in a raspy voice.

“Because my mother’s a liar and my father’s a slut.”

“Who is it?”

“Our next-door neighbour.” She makes a face at me. I try to picture her, have I seen her before? The image of a sturdy woman in her thirties with thick blond curly hair pops up. A family woman.

“You mean Ann?” I can’t believe it. I would never have imagined... With two young children and all.

She nods. “Among many others.”

She has another sip and stares off into space, tears streaming down.

“Can you believe I actually say hello to that... woman every single day? Well, said.”

She takes a big gulp and starts taking more vigorously. She’s clearly furious.

“So did my mother by the way. She was so shocked, I fear for her health.” She bangs the cup on the table. Did it break? It could’ve. “She hardly ate or slept all weekend.”

“How did she find out?”

“He left his cell phone lying around. She was already suspicious, they’re always suspicious of each other. He was texting all day, he couldn’t wait to get us out of the house, he was acting funny, nervous... The messages made it obvious.”

She turns the cup around between her hands.

“The things they said and did to each other, all these years, you wouldn’t believe if I told you. No one would. It was bound to happen.”

She starts crying. “I’m so sorry to bother you with this. I feel like if I don’t tell someone, I’m going to burst.”

“You never bother me.” I say, from the bottom of my heart. “You couldn’t possibly.”

She sniffs. “Thanks.”

I reach out to briefly touch her hand across the table.

“Hey, it’s okay. I understand. I’m here for you.”

She puts up a brave face, she’s thankful. That knowledge sends a warm glow through my stomach.

“You can tell me anything. I’ll always listen.”

“Thank you, you’re such a good friend.”

Ouch! The warm fuzzy feeling retreats immediately and the anxiety returns.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

I drink my coffee.

We must have spent at least an hour like that, practically in total silence, staring ahead of us, alongside each other. The cafe is filling up. The bartender turns on the TV, the sports channel. Loud, soon to be drunk people have come to enjoy some game. A couple of them are eying Daphne. I want to get out of here. So does the bartender. He’s eying us too. We haven’t ordered anything since that first cup and we’re still here, taking up space. But if we go now, she’ll go home. The men elbow one another and point in her direction. They’re whispering, louder and louder, pushing each other forward. Alright then.

“Wanna get out of here? Believe me, you wouldn’t want to get caught up in a soccer war.”

She looks around, she hadn’t even noticed. “Yeah, sure.”

We leave the cafe with the overwhelming backing sound of “GOAL!!”

Right in time.

To be continued...