The Dark

Markee learned how to control the dark and how to let the darkness speak for her.

She listened to those that feared monsters, but Markee had grown up seeing them. They were her friends, or so she thought. The monsters were as real to her as the blanket her mother covered her in or the bottle of apple juice she sipped on.

Some monsters had long red tongues that hung out of their faces like a dog. Other were like twigs with skin stretched taunt over the frame. Long limbs, short limbs. Smooth, furred, feathered skin. Floating faces, red eyes, sharp teeth. That’s how one described Markee’s circus of particular monsters. Some would call them scary or nightmares. But they weren’t monsters. They were her friends.

And they accepted her. She was close enough to being like them that they saw her and she saw them. But she was still different from them. She had a trickle of light in her that could beat down the darkness inside of her. 

Feebe, her mother was normal. Normal enough. She still cringed at the sight of school bathrooms. She’d never forget the slippery feel of the floor after the baby had slid out. Feebe hated monsters. She never truly believed in them. If there was heaven, hell never existed. If she let herself believe in the darkness for a moment, she was doomed and her thoughts would race and Markee would be left alone. 

Markee woke up in her room with a start. 

One of her friends hissed over and over in her ear. Wake up. Wake up. It’s time.
She didn’t ask about time for what, but grabbed her blanket just incase it would be long. She sucked on her thumb, padding softly through the lightless apartment.  The apartment wasn’t large, but the hall and rooms seemed to grow and warp when the sun went down. The shadows of her friends grew and slinked as they moved together to her Mom’s bedroom.

The door was cracked open, revealing the white moon casting a light over Feebe’s bundled form. A low snore came out of her mouth.

Feathers fluttered near Feebe’s ear. Let it go. Change. Be like us. It’ll be fun.
Changing confused Markee. She liked her skin, even though the buzzing had increased inside, like water beginning to boil.

Markee shook her head, but the long, shining teethed grins of her friends made the head shaking meaningless. 

Give in, and dance.
Markee released her thumb and dropped her blanket to the ground before peering into her mother’s room. Her friends flew around her in a faster frenzy and Markee could smell blood and death. A sick feeling dripped into her, like an upset stomach. She scratched at her skin, wanting to be rid of it. 

Soon she would. 

The monster within her awoken and fluttered, and grew. 

Her body arched back, back breaking back before she was tossed forward on the floor with a thump. 

Her lungs couldn’t get enough breath and it felt like something was trying to climb out of her. 

Don’t fight, it’ll be okay.
“How?” Markee cried.
She let it crawl out of the part of her that she hid away.
The monsters let out a sharp breath before grinning at Markee. She was one of them.

The Bang

An origin story. It was tricky to think of a beginning. The beginning of what? A world, a character? It hit me yesterday, and it happened. -Kristian

It started with a bang. 

Not a big bang, by any means. It was more of a hand half heartedly hitting the wall type of bang. A bang that ushers in winter compared to spring.

Markee Owens slid into the world on the newly mopped floor of the Acres High girl’s bathroom.

Feebe’s last priority had been finishing this last floor, this last bathroom. She was a thick girl, with her hair tied back in a severe ponytail that stretched her pale skin and gave the skin around her green eyes premature crow’s feet.  She was well past high school but still young enough to be figuring out what she wanted. She wore old, worn sneakers and loose tan pants and a once loose button up. She’d gained plenty of weight in her stomach the last couple of months, and yet no one asked. 

Feebe had just continued trucking on, rolling out of her small twin bed, shuffling in the morning into the bathroom, often hunched over the toilet puking. A new step in her morning routine. No one asked how she felt. No one asked if she’d seen the doctor. No one asked who the father was. No one asked if she was pregnant.

So she convinced herself that the night never happened. That the brief and intense happiness had never occurred. It’d been a dream.

Until her shirt tightened. 

Until her sick spells became more than a cold, more than a sudden virus or infection. 

That’s when the doctor came into play. And the news was spelled out in clear letters. Pregnant.

Feebe had just finished mopping, as if she knew inside, the inside you hid from, that her contractions and birth would speed up at such a rate that the bathroom would serve as the newborn’s first exposure to the world.  She prided herself on her cleaning speed: bending over, whipping that hand towel into nooks and crannies, and catching the smallest debris.

Now those hands held a newborn baby that was staring at her through slitted eyes, mouth open with no scream. 

That night had really happened. Her calloused fingers brushed over the baby’s wet skin, stopping at the pointed ears. Larger and more shapely than human ears.

That's what one gets when meddling with nonhumans. 

Markee continued to stare at her mother in a quiet, nonhuman fashion, like she was staring at prey.

Feebe brushed off the dread, remembering the brown eyes, lean muscle and soft voice of Markee's father. Everything would be okay. 

Feebe stood up, looking down at the mess she’d have to clean up, and began what she knew best. Cleaning. This time her own flesh and blood.

I Blame The Toast

I've been bad and have been avoiding the origin story. I started it, but currently the background of my world is still in progress. So here's a short story that's a moment between two characters. *hopefully*-Kristian

I Blame The Toast

What was to be said of it? Nothing. Nothing was the state of avoiding, where I let the waves of frustration and anger flow over me, as I entered the void of just being. The images of what I would say, how my body would move seemed so real that I could imagine my nails digging into my palms. But after each discovery I never felt the gratifying pain.

What was to be said? Everything. But everything would cause change, and change would be uncomfortable.

So I moved around the annoyance, brushing off the chip of steam that rose within me. The gifts just large enough to be noticed and small enough for Jem to forget to hide. The need to scream grew within me like a kettle but I swallowed the unsaid words.

But I was always alone, never with anyone for the steam to be directed towards. It was always an item, or a note. Something small.

Until today.

He did it.

The toast was in the oven instead of the toaster. We had a toaster for a reason. I stepped into the kitchen, the tension heavy on my tongue and a veil across my body.

The steam was rising. He had on the watch she bought for him, including the shoes that he bought after receiving her money.

“So. The toaster wasn’t good enough?” I said.

Jem looked up,the rush of oven heat reddening  his cheeks. A slow smirk spread on his face, and his green eyes moved from my face down past my sweatshirt, yoga pants, and finally my shoes. I was wearing everything that I had bought myself thank you very much.

He brushed his black hair from his face. “I tried this at a place and I liked the flavor better.”

I tapped my nails on the counter, tap tap tap. Tap for his ‘place’. Tap for liking the freaking flavor better there. Tap for him not knowing that I knew he was having an affair..

“Oh, the flavor was better,” I said.

He smiled, nodding. He caught my eyes and then squinted for a second before the smile disappeared and turned into a frown. Frowns looked like bad photoshop on him.

He moved past me, and retrieved a plate.

“Yes, the flavor was much better, so I thought I’d try it here,” he said.”What’s wrong?”

I moved to the opposite side of the counter, grabbed my coffee,  and sat down in my chair. I combed my fingers through my thick hair, staring at the black refrigerator that clanked from making ice, and the first picture we’d snapped of each other at New Years years ago. She had been there then.

“Well, I don’t know Jem. Maybe use the equipment we bought to use,” I snapped. “We bought a toaster for toast, just as we brought an oven to---”

“Stop. I wanted to experiment and see if the toast would taste better,” he calmly cut me off.

His fingers touched the toast, the butter bright and yellow and greasy. The edges were a golden brown. Jem took a bite and smiled. “Tastes just like I knew it would.”

I pulled a handful of grapes and smashed them into my mouth. They tasted sour, but I didn’t let it show.

“You’re off today,” I said.

Jem looked at me and began to nod but stopped. “Ye-no. No I am not. I must work to bring honor to the family.”

He laughed. A loud belly laugh while also waving around the second piece of toast. I wanted to trip him to wipe the smirk off of his face. Honor to the family? Were we in Disney now?

“Whatever.” I said, and got up.

Jem ate the second piece of toast with loud chompy chewing. The worst liars were the ones who thought they had everyone fooled. And Jem fit that well.

She and I looked completely different. I was tall, with a bush of black hair and moderate sized body. My eyes were hazel with flecks of grey. Jem said that I was caught up in my head, and only spoke when words needed spoken. We were barely out of college and he couldn’t control himself already. She was in our friend circle. Her, with a sweet smile, slim body and humor that would rival a comedian. And she had baked me cookies. The nerve.

I turned to him, slamming my cup into the sink. “I know.”