The Stained Glass

Hello Everyone,

This story was written for a short story prompt called "Stained Glass". Unfortunately, the competition closed before I was able to get it submitted, meaning this is the first time I've ever shared the story. I would enjoy any feedback on whether it is any good.

Hope you are all enjoying these last weeks of Summer!

James

The Stained Glass

by James J Meadows III

                Lady Andrea ran her fingers along the smooth red stained glass window. The dark crimson tint discolored the sunlight streaming through it, giving an eerie feeling to the room. Further, a strange energy radiated from the glass, tickling her fingers as they brushed across it. Yet, most disconcerting of all, were the images she beheld as she gazed into its surface. 

                “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice asked from the doorway behind her. “Do you like it?”

                Andrea spun around, raising the knife in her hand and pointing it at a tall man, whose robed figure formed an intimidating silhouette against the entryway.

                “Stay away from me,” she shouted, backing along the wall away from him.

                “There is no need to react like that,” he replied, in a casual manner. “I mean you no harm.”

                He entered the room, striding toward her without the slightest trace of fear. Andrea continued backing away, trying to keep as much space between them as possible. The knife, which she really didn’t know how to use anyway, shook violently in her sweaty hand, probably not helping her attempt to keep him at bay.

                “Keep back,” she warned. “I don’t know what you’re doing but I won’t be a part of it!”

                “Of course you know what I’m doing,” he replied. “You asked me to do it, didn’t you? You all did!”

                “You were supposed to protect us!” she cried. “We came here for protection.”

                “Yes. You wanted to escape the plague ravaging the kingdom. And so you are. I provided you a safe haven, a place where no plague can touch you, a place where you can stay safe until the plague is past.”

                “Where are my friends?” She said. “What have you done with them?”

                “Some are in the blue room; others are in the green room; some are in the purple room; still others are in other rooms. Some of them are in red rooms, just like you!”

                He continued advancing toward her at a casual pace as he talked. She, in turned, kept backing away, sliding along the wall. The odd-asymmetric shape of the room with its various angles made it hard to avoid getting cornered. Fortunately, her antagonist appeared to be making no attempt to actually corner her. He was merely following her, walking along the wall, tracing her own steps as she moved.

                “What have you done to them?” she demanded.

                “I protected them.”

                “Liar! I saw the faces in the glass! I saw them shouting at me from the panes, screaming and pounding to get out. You trapped them inside the windows!”

                “What could be a better way to protect them? As long as they are in there, they are safe. No plague can reach them. No infection touch them. They can live forever, free from the nightmares taking place outside.”

                “You’re a monster!” she screamed.

                “I’m a protector,” he argued. “What more could nobility want from their prince than for him to look after them, protect them, and ensure their safety. That is what you asked for and that is what I’ve done.”

                Andrea’s eyes darted around the room. The door was still standing open. If she could keep him talking, keep him following her, she might be able to get close enough to make a break for it. Her eyes returned back to him, gazing into the cold void of his icy green orbs, which looked back without the slightest trace of emotion.

                “There is no need for you to be afraid,” he continued. “Once a cure is found for the plague, I will let you out. Then you will be free again, and no longer have any reason to fear for your safety.”

                “What if a cure is never found?” she replied. “What if it takes centuries for the cure to be found? What if you die before the disease is cured?”

                “Then you’ll just have to wait,” he answered. “I’m sure a cure will be found someday. Besides, if I pass away, surely someone will find a way to release you. It’s not like something will happen to you. You won’t age. You won’t hunger or thirst. You will be able to wait here however long it takes.”

                His face grew hard and a cruel smile covered his lips.

                “Besides, I’m sure all the peasant laborers, slaves, and citizens, who you left to die, abandoned inside their castles and cities, without the least concern for their welfare as you fled here, intent upon saving yourselves, will come looking for you, right?”

                Andrea’s eyes went wide at the accusation masked in his words.

                “They are just peasants,” she said. “You can’t punish us for abandoning them. We are their nobles; they swore to serve us and look after our welfare. We couldn’t protect them anyway. All we could do was protect ourselves, so that is what we did.”

                “Yes, that is what you did,” he replied. “You took their food, their money, and all the wealth of your castles, which they might have been able to use, and raced here, begging me to shelter you while they all died, helpless against the ravages of a disease that you were more concerned with protecting yourselves from than trying to help the very people whose hard labor produced the gold and food you ran off with!”

                “A nation needs it nobility,” she argued. “The people needed us alive and well. By protecting ourselves and the kingdom’s leaders, we are protecting their best interests!”

                Andrea was only a short distance from the door now. She just needed keep him talking a little longer.

                “Well, then, so am I,” he said. “I am protecting their leaders too. Whenever the people need them and ask for them, they can have them back! Until then, you and are your friends can enjoy the safety you wanted so badly!”

                “No,” she screamed. “I won’t let you trap me!”

                She turned and made a mad dash toward the door. She reached the entryway, racing at full speed and dove toward it. With a thickening crash, she slammed into the opening, as though it were solid rock. She pressed her hands against the smooth transparent surface, pushing with all her might.

                “You don’t understand,” the man said. “You already have. I hope you like the red pane. You are going to be seeing it for a long time.”

                He advanced toward her and past her, moving through the opening as if it were empty air; though, try as she might and pound upon it as she would, Andrea could not make so much as a dent in the transparent prison!

                “Help!” She screamed. “Please, let me out! Please! I beg you! Please!”

                Her shouts followed him, as he walked the wide black hallway separating the various brightly colored rooms, each casting their glows throughout the area, as the sun passed through them.

               

                

Muscle Memory

Greetings,

My story for this week was based upon my short story group's prompt, "Muscle Memory". I am classifying it into the category of "Science Fiction", though the machine in the story isn't much more far fetched than some of the various devices you see in many modern movies or spy films that would not be considered Science Fiction. 

I have to thank my morning run for helping me come up with the story. It is kind of interesting how one little idea can end up becoming a full story after an hour on the running trail. Though it is always hard to tell if the story is going to be any good.

Anyway, let me know what you think! I would enjoy the feedback!

Thanks,

James

"Muscle Memory"

by James J Meadows III

                The tears in my wife’s eyes nearly caused my heart to break as I kissed her one last time before leaving the house.

                “Don’t do this, Edward,” she said.

                “I’ve got to, Anne,” I replied. “I need to know. After all these years, I need answers.”

                Answers were the one thing, above all other things, which had eluded me so far these last ten years, ever since I was found washed up on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain with a severe head wound and no knowledge of my previous life. Even the modern twenty-second century psychological techniques were unable to restore the memories. Now, however, for the first time, thanks to recent advances in neuroscience, I finally had a chance to get those answers. I wasn’t prepared to give it up.

                “What if you don’t like what you find,” my wife pleaded. “What if you discover you have another wife, another family? What if you forget about us?”

                I reached up to wipe the tears away. We had met a few months after I was found by the police. I didn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight, yet if such a thing existed, this was it. While my past was a mystery to me, how I felt for her and for my family wasn’t.

                “Nothing will change who I am,” I replied. “I will always love you. I will always love our family. Nothing can ever change that!”

                My daughters seemed on edge too. Though they were only two and four, too young to understand what was happening, they could sense their mother’s tension, and it made them uneasy. I knelt down and gave them each a tight hug and kiss, promising to bring them back some sweets and toys when I got back from the hospital. Then, with one last kiss to my wife, I headed into the garage, where I climbed into my car and let it drive me away.

                The throngs of reporters were already waiting for me when I arrived at the clinic. This didn’t surprise me much. From almost the day of my discovery, the media was crazy about me: the mystery man, with no identification, no fingerprints, no one able to identify him and not even capable of remembering his name, only that it started with an ‘E’. My accomplishments since the day of my discovery had only added to the media frenzy which often accompanied me.

                “Move back! Move back! Give him room!” Several police officers shouted, fighting to maintain a path for me as I headed to the facility.

                “Thanks Stephen,” I said to the first officer, as I started past. “How is the family?”

                “Doing well,” he replied, coming to join me, while another officer took his place fighting off reporters. “How is yours?”

                “Nervous,” I answered.

                Stephen and I were fairly close, thanks to five years spent as partners on the force. Though he wasn’t my partner anymore, not since his promotion last year, I had served with him longer than anyone else. My physical fitness, knack for investigation, skill at tailing and talent for information gathering, none of which I could explain, made going into the force a natural course of action for me following my discovery.

                Thanks to my skills, and of course the help of partners like Stephen, I accumulated almost a dozen awards and honors in the eight years I served.  I suppose this only added to the mystique surrounding my past. Still, it was a mystique which bothered me. Where did I develop all those skills? What did I use them to accomplish?

                None of the reporters or cops or even my family could understand what it was like to not have a past, to not remember anything: your parents; childhood friends; or even your own name. That was why, even though I was happy with my life, I needed to do this procedure.

                “Hello Edward,” a young woman, in her late twenties, with dark black hair greeted me as I entered the clinic. “We haven’t met before. I’m Nurse Johnson. I was brought in from out-of-town, to help operate the machine. I am one of the designers. Are you ready for your procedure today?”

                “Yes,” I answered, as security teams fought to stop the news crews from flooding inside.

                She led me down a hall. Stephen, who seemed to be intent upon accompanying me through the process, followed as we walked.

                “Now, as I’m sure Dr. Burke explained, this is a relatively new procedure,” the nurse said. “Essentially, as you know, your muscles remember their past actions and behaviors even if you can’t directly recall them yourself. What we do is stimulate those muscles. As we do so, synapses in the brain will fire, causing it to unconsciously recall actions. The devices we will be attaching in your head will detect the electrical impulses and project them into a visible form on the screen, essentially reading your unconscious mind.”

                “You, and those of us in the room, will be able to see the images stored in your brain, associated with the muscle memories as they come up. So far, even though this has only been performed a few times, we have noticed that once one memory is collected, the brain begins to regurgitate more and more, connecting them with the previous. In this way, we should be able to get a pretty good collection of visions from your past.”

                “Excellent,” I said.

                We were just about to enter the room when the nurse stepped in front of me, placing her hand against the door.

                “Officer Edward,” she said. “Are you sure you want to go through with this procedure? Remember, we don’t know what we’re going to find. You’ve done a lot of great things in your life and I don’t want to risk anything that might wipe them out. Think about it. With your skills, you could be a foreign spy. You could find yourself in serious trouble if the truth comes out. Or perhaps you were some other sort of investigator or researcher, who someone tried to do in because they knew something they shouldn’t. That information coming to light could endanger you and your family! There are all sorts of consequences of this procedure which you should consider.”

                “Nurse Johnson,” I said. “Are you attempting to discourage me?”

                “All I’m saying,” she replied. “Is that, as the operator of the machine, I have watched all four uses of the device to restore memory. I’ve learned that you can occasionally see things you don’t want to. Sometimes it is best to let the ghosts of the past stay there.”

                “I’m determined to see this through,” I replied. “There is nothing I cannot deal with.”

                “Very well,” she said, with a somewhat resigned voice.

                Stephen and I were led into the room, where the doctors started hooking up various pads, cords, and devices all over my body. At the same time, I was strapped down, to prevent thrashing or uncontrollable spasms while my muscles were stimulated. Finally, an IV was placed into my arm, apparently to allow them to administer any medications necessary throughout the procedure. Once the equipment was settled, the doctor and nurse informed me that everything was ready and a monitor was hoisted above my head for me to watch the images they retrieved.

                “Last chance to change your mind,” Nurse Johnson said, giving me a sideways look.

I didn’t even considered the idea. My determination to know my past, to finally get my memories back, to at last uncover the missing pieces of my life, and to become a whole person again, drove me forward.

                “You can begin whenever you are ready,” I replied.

                “Very well,” she said.

                The lights were dimmed. Within seconds, I felt my muscles begin to contract as though performing various acts. At first these acts were somewhat random. Yet as time went on, I felt myself performing normal everyday activities which were a part of my life. Of course, I wasn’t really performing them; I was strapped to a table. To my muscles, though, it seemed like I was living out my daily routine.

                Gradually, over the course of many more minutes, images took shape on the screen above me. They were not thoughts I was consciously thinking. Sure enough, as described, they were images which appeared to be stored in my unconscious, which were associated with the movements, seen as if I were looking out of my own eyes. I felt completely lost in the awe of what I was experiencing. I watched myself kiss my wife, practice with my pistol at the police station gun range, and exercise at the gym.

                At first, all of the memories were ones I could recall. It wasn’t until my brain got to the point of crawling out of the river, where I found myself making a sudden jump to the past. Without warning, I found myself, for the first time, staring at the faces of my parents, racing through a snow covered valley, shopping at stores, which listed their currency in Canadian values, taking martial arts lessons and studying in a modern computerized high schools.

                I watched in awe for what felt like hours, though in truth I knew it was far less time. It was amazing. At least, until I noticed, something wasn’t quite right. I saw myself sitting in front of a computer, using my research skills to uncover information. But the information I was researching was specific women. I also saw myself using my skill at tailing. And what I was tailing was other young women.

                From there, things turned even darker. I watched as I burned my fingers with acid to cover my finger prints and acquired fake ids. I saw myself sneak across the Canadian border into the US where I went on a rampage, stalking, raping and murdering one young woman after another, making my way across the country. I wanted to scream. This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t really be me!

                All of the sudden, I saw a familiar face on the screen: a young woman walking the streets of Baton Rouge with her college friends. I watched as the group broke off for a bar, while she continued on, apparently heading for their hotel, which lay along a bridge beside Lake Pontchartrain. I saw her spot me and start to run. I watched, through my eyes, as I charged after her, pulling a knife out of my pocket. I was practically on top of her when she turned around with an expandable night stick in her hands.

I didn’t pull back fast enough. Clearly, I had grown over confident from years of killing. When she spun on me, swinging it with all her might, I was not prepared. It struck me hard across the head. I saw blood spatter everywhere and watched as I stumbled to the railing of the bridge, not realizing there was an opening with steps leading down to the water. I fell, tumbling down the steps, smashing my head again. A moment later, I watched myself roll into the shallow water. Everything went black.

Long minutes followed as I stared at the dark screen, feeling my muscles relax when the electrical pulses stopped. With some effort, I pried my eyes off the television and turned them toward the woman who I had followed on that fateful night, the one who hit me with the club as I attempted to kill her, the one who now, ten years later, had attempted to convince me not to get the procedure done: Nurse Johnson.

“I’m sorry, Officer Edward,” she said, in a soft quiet voice. “I told you: sometimes it is best to let the ghosts of the past stay there.”

A long silence filled the room. I looked toward Stephen, who was still gazing at the screen in stunned horror. Then, I watched him reach into his pocket and withdraw a pair of handcuffs.

“Officer Edward, I’m sorry, I’m afraid you are under arrest,” he said. “Doctors, please remove the straps from him, so I can take him away.”

I had finally regained my memories and lost everything else.

The Physics Test

Hello Everyone!

This is another short story that I wrote several years ago. It was originally written for a writing contest with a prompt of "Dream Come True". I was inspired to pull it out again and tamper with it this week when an online short story group I recently joined posted the topic "Back in Time" for their prompt. It is a little different from what I normally write, so let me know what you think. As always, I appreciate any feedback!

The Physics Test

by James Meadows

When a forty-five-year-old single accountant wakes up in the morning, he expects to see his bedroom ceiling and feel the familiar sheets of his plush bed. As my consciousness left the world of sleep, I experienced neither of these sensations.  The bed was hard and unfamiliar. The sheets were thin and ragged, very different from my normal linens.

I opened my eyes and gazed around the blurry room, allowing my vision to focus. The bed chamber was definitely not mine. This was not my house. The room was very small. There needed to be more space for the bed, small desk, and nearby dresser. High on the wall, a long thin window ran perpendicular to the foot of my bed. The small window was just large enough to flood the entire room with the bright light of the early morning sun.

The shock of finding myself in the unexpected surroundings caused me to bolt upright in bed gazing around the room. I knew this room. This was my college apartment. I lived here during my junior and senior years. What was I doing here?

As my stunned mind attempted to digest the revelation, I heard footsteps outside the door to my room. The knob turned and my already puzzled mind was greeted by an even more incredible sight. Sarah entered the room.

“Good morning sleepy head,” she cooed, running her hand through my hair as she sat beside me on the bed. She noticed the odd expression on my face. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t know what to say. My mind was swimming. I just sat there for a second.

“I am…incredible,” I said.

“Well, you better be,” she teased, giving me a quick kiss. “You have your physics final today and better not fail it!”

She rose from the bed and walked toward the doorway. As she passed through, she added, “You better get cleaned up. I’ll have breakfast on the table in a few. I’m making your favorite.”

Sarah gave me a wink as she disappeared around the corner. My eyes flew open in alarm. I remembered this day. This was the last day of my junior year. The details soared back into my mind. I had struggled with physics all semester and needed an ‘A’ on the final to pass the class. My parents had told me, if I failed physics, they would take me out of college and bring me back home. Sarah had spent all week, neglecting her own classes, helping me study for the final. We both knew what would happen if I failed the test.

I thought about her as I went to my closet and got dressed. Funny how I still remembered where everything was after all of these years. I grabbed an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt before heading into the bathroom for my shower. After bathing and dressing, I stopped to look in the mirror. I ran my hands down my face. I couldn’t believe how young I looked. My body was strong, healthy, athletic, and agile again. This wasn’t possible.

My first instinct was to lower my arm and pinch myself very hard. It hurt. I turned the shower onto full heat and placed my hand underneath. The burning water scalded me. I even cut myself shaving. It stung like a bee. I wasn’t dreaming. How was this happening?

Washed, dressed, and shaved, I walked into the kitchen and sat down across from my girlfriend. She was tying her long black hair into a braid. Her deep blue eyes stared happily at me. I stared back. I had forgotten many things over the years but I had never forgotten how beautiful she was. Still, no memory could do justice to the reality before me. After a few moments, she started laughing.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” she giggled, “Eat your food!”

I took my eyes off her and began eating the eggs and bacon she had made for me. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her for long, though. I still loved her. And I missed her.

Today was a special day in our relationship. I did make an ‘A’ on the test. In our excitement afterward, we made love for the first time. She would move in with me for my senior year. Afterward, I would ruin everything.

Following my senior year, I was offered a job in Seattle, about as far away from Sarah and College Station as physically possible. I left her behind to take the job. She had to stay to finish her last couple of years of college. Long-distance relationships were not easy in the early-90s prior to the advent of the internet and smartphones. We didn’t make it. I lost her.

Two years later, I lost my job as well. I never met another woman like her and spent the rest of my life praying, wishing, and dreaming for a second chance. I didn’t know what miracle had brought it about but somehow, someway, this was that chance.

I finished my food, still staring at her in wonder. She rose from the table and went to my room. A few seconds later, she came back holding my backpack. I thanked her for the breakfast and rose to put on my backpack.

“Good luck,” she said, giving me a soft kiss on the lips and the beautiful smile I remembered only too well. She turned to get the dishes. I couldn’t contain myself anymore. Years of dreaming, longing, and wishing seized ahold of me. I raced up behind her and threw my arms around her.

“I love you, Sarah,” I said, pulling her close to me. “I love you so very much!”

She smiled and pulled me close. Together we embraced and kissed with unbidden passion. Then she patted me on the chest and took a step back.

“Go do me proud,” she smiled and turned back to the dishes.

I didn’t want to leave her. I didn’t want to take my eyes off her. But I knew what was at stake, so I hurried out the door. I was within walking distance of the campus. Once again, to my surprise, I remembered the way to my old class as though it were yesterday. As I made the long trek, I thought about the incredible potential of this suddenly realized dream.

Not only could I save my relationship with Sarah, I would be rich. I knew the results of every major sporting event for the next twenty-plus years. I knew the best stocks in which to invest. By the time I was forty-five again, I could be a billionaire. The world was at my mercy!

For the rest of my walk, I consumed my mind with visions of wealth and the endless possibilities awaiting me. Soon I was at the door to my class and choosing a seat in the auditorium. As I sat down, the teacher entered and ordered everyone to put all of their belongings beneath their desks except for scantrons and pencils. He then began handing out the tests.

A dark cloud passed over my mind. Perhaps my previous twenty-year-old self knew the answers to all of the questions on my test, after a full week of studying. I, however, had not spent a full week studying. I hadn’t studied a word of physics in more than twenty years.

The teacher placed the test in front of me, along with a spare sheet of paper to work math formulas on.  I scanned the questions. I didn’t have the vaguest idea on any of them. The equations for calculating various masses and ratios were long absent from my mind.

A chill went up my spine. If I failed this test, I would lose Sarah anyway. I would be taken home to the northeast, many days drive from Texas. She would be here at college. She was still a sophomore with several years left in school. The long-distance relationship didn’t work in Seattle. I had no reason to believe it would work from the other side of the US. She would meet other guys; find other loves. I would be left alone, again.

I tried to rack my brains. Somehow, I had to pass this test. The information had to be in there somewhere. I was back in my twenty-year-old body and, even though my mind was maintaining the memories and thoughts of my older self, my brain must still be my twenty-year-old brain. Somehow, after a week of study, some of the information must still be accessible somewhere.

Focusing my thoughts like a yogi, I attempted to clear my mind. If I could just access the memories stored somewhere within my younger brain, I would find the answers. I stared at the question and gradually, like a blurry image cleared to reveal a vibrant picture, the memorized learning from weeks of study took form inside my mind. I could remember the answers. I quickly bubbled in my answer to the first question; then the second question; then the third.

A smile spread across my lips. I could still remember everything, even after….after….I couldn’t remember. How old was I before? I looked up in surprise. I was forty-something, I thought. How can I forget my previous age? I could remember everything about my life after the test. I could remember the job in Seattle, losing Sarah, my new career, sporting events, etc. Strangely, however, the images were growing blurry. As I concentrated on them, they became clearer.

Confused, I returned to my paper. I couldn’t remember the answers to the questions anymore. I focused my mind on my twenty-year-old memories, just as I had before. Again, the answers became clear. I started bubbling in my selections again. I would pass the test. I would stay here with Sarah. And, this time, I would not leave for the job in…where was the job in?

I looked up again. The memories were growing blurry again. I couldn’t remember where I had taken the job. I couldn’t remember my previous age. Everything from before I was given this second chance was growing blurry. After some effort, I was able to remember most of the details, much to my relief.

The memory was little consolation. Each time I focused on being in the mind of my twenty-year-old self, the memory of my alternate future grew blurry. I looked at the various questions in front of me. I still had most of the test left. I needed to pass this test to keep Sarah. But I also needed to remember the mistakes and errors of the future or I would repeat them and lose her anyway.

Frustration flared inside of me. My sudden dream of getting a second chance was turning into a nightmare. I was caught in a lose-lose situation. I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the clock on the wall. Time was ticking away. There was only an hour remaining. I had lost a third of my time trying to answer the first few questions. I had to do something. I couldn’t lose Sarah again. I wouldn’t lose Sarah again.

I needed to pass the test. At the same time, I had to find a way to make sure I didn’t lose Sarah. I looked at my piece of notepaper. I could write a note, some words to my twenty-year-old self, to prevent me from making a mistake. What could I say?

My mind flashed to all the sports scores I knew, all the stock knowledge I remembered, all the things I wanted to say to myself. There was not enough time to put them all down. I needed to complete the test and already I was under time pressure. I would only be able to tell myself one or two things. What should I do?

I pictured myself as a millionaire, rich from stocks and sports betting. I pictured myself living in plush mansions with beautiful cars and wealth. In those pictures, though, I was without Sarah. On the other hand, I looked at myself with Sarah, poor and yet with her. If I were rich, I could have other women: I could have supermodels, actresses, and star-female athletes. Yet if I gave them all up, I could have her.

I looked down at the piece of scrap paper beside me. Raising my pencil, I wrote these words: “Justin, this is your future self. If you remember nothing of your life before being given this second chance, remember this: Whatever you do, do not take the job in Seattle, and do not leave Sarah. Stay with her, love her, and treat her as I wish I had treated her the first time. Nothing else matters.”

Folding the paper, I stuffed it into my pocket. I gave a small sigh and allowed my mind to drift back into the memories and thoughts of my twenty-year-old self. I looked back at the test and its many questions. The answers came to me. With each new question, I could feel my future self, my alternate self, fade from existence. I smiled.

Most people could only dream of getting the chance to relive their life, to fix their mistakes, or even just write a note to their past selves. I had gotten my chance. I wouldn’t waste it. I may lose myself, my memories, all my knowledge, and even the fortune I might have otherwise. But I would not lose Sarah. This was all that mattered.

The Broken Mirror

Hey Everyone,

This week's story is called "The Broken Mirror" and was written for a prompt of a similar name. I would be delighted for any feedback!

The Broken Mirror

by James J Meadows III

John’s trembling fingers slid the first cylindrical shell into the magazine tube of his twelve-gauge shotgun. Then, he loaded the next cartridge.

Sweat rolling down his brow mingled with the beads already coating his cheeks before coursing through the long ravines of his face to rest upon the weathered lips. He licked the sweat off, not daring to take his hands from the gun even long enough to wipe it away.

A third cartridge, then a fourth and a fifth, filled the gun until there were no more shells left in the box. He pushed the box aside, his free hand coming to rest on the pump. He slid it backward and forward until he heard the familiar ‘click’ of the bullet entering the chamber.

Rising from his chair, John lowered the rifle in front of him and advanced carefully toward the bedroom door. He pressed his back against the side wall, reaching slowly toward the handle. Fingers wrapped gingerly around the icy metal knob, twisting it so slowly someone looking on might not even be able to tell it was turning. The act made no noise.

Once the knob was turned as far as it could go, John thrust the door open and lowered his rifle into the hall. No one was there. That was okay. He didn’t expect anyone to be there. He was just being cautious.

He knew where the killer was. The killer was in the attic. Advancing slowly into the hall, his eyes shot wildly in all directions. His breathing was sharp and fast; his body trembled to the point of being almost uncontrollable; and his eyes kept twitching. Yet the hands grasping the rifle were quite steady.

John reached the stairs leading to the second floor. Already, he could hear the distant taunts and laughter of the maniac: the maniac who had killed his children; the maniac who had killed his wife; the maniac who was responsible for all the bloody deaths that had occurred that night.

The laughter grew steadily louder as John approached the door leading to the attic.

“Come on!”

He could hear the maniac raving at him, the voice wild, frenzied, and delirious.

“If you think you’ve got the guts to do it! Come on! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

The door was open, but only a crack. John extended his foot, placing it against the inside of the door, and slid it open as slowly as possible. It gave a small creak. He only hoped the killer couldn’t hear it over his laughter.

Advancing slowly through the door, John ascended the stairs, his already trembling body cringing with every whine of each step as his weight came to rest upon it. He tried to be careful, treading as gingerly as possible. The laughter was growing wilder and more deranged with each step. John couldn’t imagine how the killer could hear him move over the laughter, yet he couldn’t shake the suspicion that everything was not what it seemed.

Sure enough, John had just emerged onto the top of the stairs when he found himself staring directly into the face of the killer. And the killer was staring right back at him.

His clothes were dirty and disheveled. Dried blood stains still glistened on his shirt, sleeves, and even his arms. His hair was messy, his hands were shaky, and there was a wild feral gleam in his eyes, reminiscent of a madman, one who had lost all touch with sanity and reason. In his hands, he gripped a shotgun, which he held at the ready.

“There you are,” John heard his adversary jeer. “Armed and all! Now we just have to see if you have the courage to use it!”

Gaffaws of hard, crazed laughter filled John’s ears as his adversary mocked his incompetence. Rage burned in John’s heart coupled with a thirst for vengeance, which no words could possibly describe. John lifted his gun, pointing it straight at the killer’s head. As he did so, the killer raised his gun. For a moment, they stood motionless, each holding their weapons pointed directly at the other’s forehead. 

It was a long tense moment. After which John heard the killer say, “What did I tell you, you just don’t got the guts. But I do.”

Boom!

The sound of John’s shotgun echoed through the attic, stinging his ears as the kickback nearly threw him down the stairs. The bullet hits its mark. Glass and wood shattered, exploding against the impact, covering the floor with the shards and debris of the now obliterated mirror.

There was a brief pause. Then the rifle fell from John’s hands. With a cry of agony, John collapsed to the floor, gripping his hair in his hands. Images flooded his mind as everything came back to him. 

He could hear the screams, the cries, the shouting as the people died at his hands. He hadn’t meant to kill them. He didn’t want to kill them. He was trying to defend them from the killer. But there was no other killer. 

He shook his head, trying to get the images and visions out of his mind, trying to come to grips with the realization of what he had done, praying that it was all just a horrible nightmare, begging God that he would wake up and discover none of it was true.

As he did so, he heard laughter, wild maniacal laughter coming from the second-floor bathroom. All memories faded from his mind. It was the killer, the killer who had murdered his family. He picked up the gun and with slow deliberate steps, descended the staircase, following the sound of the killer’s laugh. He pressed his back against the wall as he descended, trembling hands gripping the loaded shotgun.

He still had plenty of bullets. And there were lots of mirrors in the house.

The Choice in the Maze

Greetings Everyone,

While I write a lot of different things, one thing I don't write is "Fan Fiction". Nothing against those who do, that just isn't my forte. So, when the short story prompt for my group turned out to be "Game of Thrones", I tried to come up with a different direction for my story.

This story is called "The Choice in the Maze". I would be intrigued to receive any feedback on how the story flows and if it works!

Hope all of you are enjoying the last weeks of Summer!

James

The Choice in the Maze

by James J Meadows III

                It was a day I knew would change my world forever. Though, truth be told, even as I stood there, resolving myself to carry out the plan I had placed into motion, I still couldn’t foresee the results of my actions. Not that it mattered. I had made my decision and there was no turning back now. Whatever the consequences, my mind was made up.

                “Are you okay?” Kim asked. “You seem nervous.”

                Kim, my girlfriend of two years, stood next to me, looking ravishing in her Daenerys costume, as we waited to enter the Renaissance Fair. She didn’t know what I was about to do. She thought this was just another trip to the festival, an opportunity to enjoy ourselves and spend time together. She couldn’t know the true reason we had come here today.

                “I’m fine,” I lied, “Just excited.”

                My eyes fell on the security guards, standing at attention outside the gates. Their eyes swept over the crowd looking for any suspicious faces. The one at the front of our line kept looking at me, over and over again. His eyes made me nervous and I shuffled several times. Why did he keep looking at me? Why couldn’t he look somewhere else?

                “You look really good in your costume,” Kim ventured, apparently trying to break the tension. “I swear you look just like him.”

                I smiled, thanked her for the compliment, and reassuringly squeezed her hand. My costume for the day was Jon Snow, one of the protagonists of the Game of Thrones series. It went well with her costume. More importantly, the collection of thick garments provided ample room for concealment, a convenience I needed if I was going to succeed in my plan.

                Pressing my free hand nonchalantly against the side of my costume, I felt my pocket. The feel of a small bulky object told me it was still there. My eyes rose back to the security guards. There were no metal detectors, scanners, or any other equipment for checking bags and possessions. There was nothing to stop me from walking right through the door without anyone ever knowing what I carried in my pocket.

                We reached the front of the line, handed the man our tickets, and were just about to pass through when the security guard grabbed me by the arm. I froze for a moment, uncertain of what to do as I turned toward him. He gazed into my face for a second, a second wherein the world seemed to freeze. Then he smiled, saying, “Nice costume! You look just like him.”

                My heart, which had momentarily stopped beating, resumed its rhythm as I returned his smile with a simple, “Thanks.”

                He released me and I headed inside. For the next several hours, Kim and I wandered the park, visiting shops, catching shows, and otherwise doing what we always did when we visited. Yet, whenever she wasn’t looking, I found myself checking my watch and my hand drifted toward the pocket, whose interior concealed the true reason for our visit.

Over the preceding weeks, I had planned the exact time and the exact place. Still, as the minutes passed, I found it strange how each second seemed longer than the last.

As the time drew closer, I put my plan into place. Casually, in as nonchalant a manner as I could manage, I steered our shopping and walked in the direction of the main jousting arena, where I knew hundreds of people were gathered to watch the various shows. She went along with me, not suspecting anything as she laughed and looked at all the sights there were to see.

The minutes ticked closer. The arena was only a few stores down. Everything was going according to plan. Then, it happened.

“Hello, my lady,” a man’s voice broke in upon our conversation. “Would you like to visit the Dark Maze?”

The man was dressed in black armor with frills on his shoulder blades. His costume was almost identical to mine, although his clean-shaven face and short hair meant he looked far less convincing. He smiled at us, pointing to a large multi-story building painted all grey with a thick fence around it, clearly designed to look like a small castle. 

“What is it?” Kim asked, her eyes taking in the man and the fake keep.

“It is a pair of identical mazes, one on each side. You have to go through each room, answering trivia questions about Game of Thrones, Princess Bride, Harry Potter, and other classic movies and stories. You race against another group of people going along the opposite side. The team that gets out first is the winner.”

“Sounds like fun,” Kim declared. “Wanna go?”                                                   

She looked at me, excitement and adventure sparkling in her eyes.

“Well, uh, I mean, it, uh, sounds like fun,” I stammered, uncertain of what to say.

I checked my watch and glanced at the arena. I could hear the cheers and shouts coming from the stadium as the people celebrated the announcement of the knights entering the ring.

“Oh, come on!” She pleaded. “It’ll be fun.”

“I know,” I replied. “I think it’ll be great. I’m just not sure, you know if this is quite the right time. Maybe we could wait and do it in a little bit.”

Kim was about to reply when I felt a hand land on my shoulder.

“Hey, stranger,” a female voice said into my right ear.

            

            Kim gave a shout of excitement and I turned to find myself looking into the faces of Justin and Marie Kardo. Marie was Kim’s best friend from middle school. The two were practically inseparable, even going to the same college. In many ways, dating Kim meant dating them also, and we spent large amounts of time hanging out together as a couple. 

            

            “Oh, hey,” I replied, my response rather flat compared to the excited squeal Kim gave as she leaped forward, throwing her arms around Marie.

            “What are you doing here?” Kim shouted.

            “We were given free passes for the day, so we decided to take advantage of them,” Marie replied. “We just finished watching a show at the arena. What are you doing?”

            “We were just about to play the castle thing,” Kim said, pointing back at the structure. She quickly told them all about the maze and the game.

            “Sounds fun,” Justin said. “Wanna race? I bet we can beat it faster than you.”

            “Oh no, you won’t, 'cause we’re gonna kick your butts!” Kim laughed, putting on her ‘tough act’. “What do you think?”

            

            Three pairs of bright excited eyes turned toward me, waiting for my response. Clearly, this was going to happen, for better or worse. There was no way out of it now.

            “Sure,” I replied. “Let’s go for it.”

            The four of us got in line. Though there were not many people in front of us, it seemed to take forever. With each passing moment, I became increasingly anxious. By the time I paid the man the money to enter, my hands were almost shaking.

            “Are you sure you’re alright?” Kim asked again, clearly beginning to sense my tension.

            “You do look awfully pale,” Justin noted. “Scared of being beaten by us?”

            “As if,” I replied, trying to put on an air of cockiness, and hide my growing agitation.

            Once inside the maze, I tried to remain calm, an emotion which contrasted sharply with Kim, who was all but bouncing off the walls in her eagerness to answer questions and beat the maze before her friend. Yet, despite my attempt to maintain a calm demeanor, I felt completely out of sorts, my mind so focused on other thoughts that I badly missed several questions that I knew.

            For what seemed like an eternity, we moved onward, answering questions and solving puzzles. I could feel my pocket growing heavier, as though weights were being added to it every second. By the time we reached the last room, my pocket felt like a hundred-pound dumbbell, weighing me down with each step.

             Half a dozen cloaked figures stood around us as we entered. The leader addressed us.

            “You have reached the final room in the maze. On the other side of this door lies freedom along with the revelation of either victory or defeat! To see it, you must answer this question. In the Song of Fire and Ice novels, what are the words for the House Lonmouth?”

            I knew Kim would know this one. She virtually had the books memorized. Sure enough, right on cue, she spouted the answer, “The choice is yours.”

            “That is correct,” the leader declared.

            If it wasn’t for the fact that my nerves were so on edge, I might have sighed with relief. The maze was over. At last, I could carry out the plan that had brought me here, the act that I had waited for all day, the final conclusion of all my plots, schemes, and actions. The wait was over.

            Kim laughed and hurried toward the door, pulling me behind her. Just when it seemed we were about to be released, however, the figures suddenly raised their swords, blocking her way and moving toward us.

            “What is going on?” Kim asked, stepping back. “I answered the question.”

            “You did,” the leader said. “But you have not answered the last question. There is one more question you must answer. And, ‘the choice is yours’. You must choose!”

            “Choose?” Kim said, stepping backward as the figures advanced toward us. “Choose, what? I don’t understand. What am I choosing? What is the question?”

            “The question is,” I said. “Will you marry me?”

            I pulled a large plastic case from my pocket and knelt before her, flipping it open to reveal a ring. At the same moment, two of the cloaked figures dropped their hoods, displaying the grinning faces of Justin and Marie, their eyes sparkling in the darkness of the room. Other figures dropped their hoods too, revealing various other family and friends, all collected by me over the past weeks, all arranged to be here at the exact time and moment, which I’d planned from the very beginning of the day, though the part of meeting Justin and Marie at the arena had gone slightly awry.

            Kim’s hands shot to her mouth. For one long second, I remained kneeling on the ground, my nerves screaming as I awaited her answer. Then, at last, a smile broke across her face.

            “Yes,” she said, lifting me up and giving me a kiss.

            It was a day that would change my world, forever.

The Fairy of Avery Loch

Greetings,

My short story for this week is another one inspired by a short story group prompt. The prompt for the week was "Tone Deaf" and I found the prompt a little challenging. So, I would love to get some feedback on the story. It is called, "The Fairy of Avery Loch". Let me know what you think!

James Meadows

The Fairy of Avery Loch 

by James J Meadows III

The fairies of Avery Loch aren’t known for their benevolence. Neither are they known for their animosity. Rather, like most denizens of the unseen realms beyond the laws and limitations of human reason and comprehension, they are known for their bizarre tendency to see into a person’s heart; delivering their usually unsolicited blessings and curses based simply upon what the person deserves or needs, rather than what the person necessarily wants. Still, to the good and pure in heart, the fairies of Avery Loch traditionally pose little danger or threat, if they take any interest in them at all.

Perhaps it was for this reason that Arthur McGuill felt neither nervous nor apprehensive about spending a bright sunny day camped out beside the cool waters. Flute in hand, he strolled down the lush green slope of Wallace hill, to the lake’s edge, where he sat down upon an old fallen log. There, in the warm sunlight of a gentle summer’s morn, he lifted the small flute to his lips and commenced whiling away the hours with his first and only true love: music.

From his earliest memory all the way to his twenty-fifth year of life, which he enjoyed now, music was at the heart of Arthur’s existence and his one respite from the loneliness which haunted his days. For unlike his friends and family, who had either passed on or moved to new lands, music was always there for him.

He heard the melodies of laughter, the symphonic songs of the birds, the harmony of the winds flowing through the mountains, and the crashing cymbals of thunder in the storm. He strove to model this majesty in his songs, filling his tunes with his glorious medleys of the world’s splendor. As he played the current tune, he visualized the beauty and serenity of the morning, expressing the glory of the dawning day with each flowing note.

Suddenly, Arthur became aware of a figure watching him. He lowered the flute and turned to greet the stranger, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the sight of her. Yes, it was a her, and she was beautiful. She wore a long flowing white dress, whose untarnished silky strands glistened like daisies in the morning sun. Her body was slim and fragile, with delicate unblemished skin, smoother than a glassy pond on a warm windless day. Platinum hair streamed from her head down to the grass behind and her thin red lips wore a peaceful expression. Her most remarkable feature, however, were her eyes; a deep dark reflective grey, promising depths of unimaginable feeling and unfathomable intelligence. He knew those eyes belonged to no earthly woman.

She was kneeling on the ground with her hands in her lap. Upon seeing him stop, she smiled and nodded to him.

“Please, go on,” she said. “Play some more for me.”

The voice was sweet and light, child-like in its innocence; reminding Arthur of youthful days spent rolling in the clover as the clouds passed overhead. He found himself unable to resist the request, if only to reward the blessing of hearing her speak, and further the hope that he might hear it again.

He lifted the flute back to his lips and started again. Even as he played, he found it impossible to take his eyes off her. He gazed into her stormy eyes, imagining the swirling white of morning fog, the cool touch of gentle mist, and the soft crunch of dew covered grass beneath his feet.

Arthur watched the young woman listen. Her eyes closed, her body swaying with the music. When he finished, she burst into a series of giggles and applause!

“That was so beautiful,” she said. “Play me a new song.”

Arthur never considered refusing the request. He had to play another song, if only to hear the sweetness of her laughter one more time and delay her departure for another moment. He lifted the flute and began playing a new song. He looked at her flowing platinum hair and envisioned a gentle brook trickling down the heart of a cool mountain forest, rolling over rocks and across fresh leaves, providing drops of life to tired, thirsty animals coming to savor its vibrant waters; on its way to merge with the fathomless depth of a brisk sparkling lake.

The girl again closed her eyes, smiling gently and releasing a peaceful sigh. When he stopped playing, the woman opened her eyes, gazing deeply into his eyes. He stared back enraptured, wanting more than anything for her to ask him for another song; praying she would stay.

She reached out, placing her hand on his arm.

“Please, play me just one more,” she said. “Play me the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.”

Her touch was warm and soothing, radiating through his body with an almost intoxicating affect. When she removed her hand and sat back, it was like a void opened in his soul. He almost found himself begging her to put it back. Instead, he lifted the flute to his lips one last time.

He paused, trying to picture the most beautiful thing he could think of. Then, he began to play. And what he played was her. He played the melody of her voice and the beauty of her laugh. He played the warmth of her touch and the depth of her eyes. He played the serenity of her sighs and the passion of his desire to not spend a moment away from her.

As he watched, tears filled her eyes. Though she smiled, her smile appeared sadder now and she held both hands gripped tightly over her breast, as though shielding her heart, lest it break.
When he finished the song, he looked around. To his surprise, it was nighttime, and the moon shone bright in the sky. Without a word, the woman rose and turned to leave.

“Wait,” he called after her. “Don’t leave!”

She froze but did not turn to look at him. He tried to think of something to say, anything to make her linger longer.

“I have played a melody for you,” he said. “Won’t you sing a tune for me?”

“You would have me sing, so I will stay,” she said, her voice soft and mournful. “I understand, for I long to stay with you. But your world and our world are forever separate, and our moment together is as fleeting as my song would be.”

“Then I would have your song be the only song I ever hear, and our moment be the only moment I ever experience, for I cannot bear to be apart from you.”

He fell down on his knees, imploring her to stay. “Please, I have given you the one gift I have to give, grant me this boon.”

The woman turned around and knelt before him. She placed her right hand in his hand and her left hand on his cheek.

“As you wish,” she said. She leaned forward, and gave him a tender kiss on the lips, flooding his body with warmth.

She broke off the kiss, pulling back and facing him, her hand still caressing his cheek, as she smiled at him. For a moment, that seemed to last an eternity, they gazed into each other’s eyes in rapture. Then, she sang a single note; only one note; a long simple note anyone might sing. And, yet, in that one note, Arthur heard the sounds of all the songs he’d ever heard and felt the fullness of all the emotions he had ever felt. In its steady hum, time seemed to stand still, revealing the beauty behind all beauty, the majesty within all nature, and the purity within the heart of the all purest loves to ever love.

At last, the note ended. Arthur blinked. The woman was gone. From that day on, Arthur never heard another song. Every note on every instrument whether high or low, sounded in his ears as a single note; the note sung by the woman. Any song sung by any singer was merely a monotone hum, repeating her note again. The wind in the trees, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the waves lapping across the shore, no longer made their lofty tones, only repeating her song over and over again to his ears.

Yet, whenever Arthur heard that note, he smiled. For he felt the touch of the woman’s hand on his cheek and the warmth of her kiss in his skin. And when he opened his eyes, he saw her face, gazing back at him with love.

Many said it was a shame for him to lose his music and pitied him. But Arthur was content, living out the rest of his days in peace and joy. And it is said, that the descendants of Arthur McGuill, if they sit in silence and listen closely, can still hear the fairy’s note ringing in their ears, extending its blessing and joy throughout the ages, to the end of time.

Second Kidnapping of Persephone

Hello Everyone!

     For this month's post, I thought I would fall back to my passion for Greek Mythology. The story is called "The Second Kidnapping of Persephone". With the first months of spring approaching, I thought it was a good fit. As you might guess, the story was written for my short story groups prompt "A Kidnapping".

     I hope everyone enjoys it. Please leave feedback and let me know what you think!

Thanks,

James J Meadows III

"The Second Kidnapping of Persephone"

     “How long have you been waiting for me?”

     The woman’s voice, though light as air, seemed to startle Aeneas. The warrior leaped to his feet as though bit by a snake. Turning his head in all directions, he looked around, apparently trying to spot the source.

     From a grove of tall Cypress trees, just a short distance from where Aeneas previously sat day-dreaming, emerged a long-haired woman. She wore a wreath of fresh flowers around her head and a long green dress, whose great tail merged with the earth as though nothing more than an extension of its surface. Upon seeing her, Aeneas knelt low to the ground, his massive frame more closely resembling a rolling boulder than a prostrate servant.

     “My lady, Persephone,” he said. “I have waited for you since the crops of summer faded and before the snows of winter blanketed the land. I have done so many times before and will continue to do so for many years, hence.”

     “You really ought to get a life,” she replied.

     Giving a sigh, she turned away from him, her gaze falling upon the budding flowers and rolling brooks dotting the land around her. Aeneas straightened back up and rose to his feet.

     “You, of all people, should understand that my life is to serve,” Aeneas answered. “What your mother dictates, I do. Right now, she dictates that I wait here to bring you home.”

     “Whose home?” Persephone answered, not looking at him. “Surely, not mine. No! You wait to take me back to my prison, where I must spend the long seasons awaiting my return to my husband, my children, and my kingdom.”

     “You know as well as I do that your return is necessary,” he said. “You bring hope to the people. You bring the spring to the darkness of their winter.”

     “I end the winter of their discontent by bringing the spring of my own,” she said. “And I have no more choice over my fate than you have over yours.”

     “Your mother is strong-willed,” he agreed.

     “My mother is a control freak!” She retorted, turning upon him. “You know it! Perhaps not as well as I do, but you know it, nonetheless.”

     “Your mother loves you,” he protested.

     Persephone gave a harsh laugh.

     “Yeah, the way a python loves his prey,” she said.

     She mimicked the motion of giving someone a big, smothering hug and squeezing with all her might.

     “And long as it doesn’t try to wiggle free, all is well, right?” She asked.

     She dropped her arms, giving a grim smile, at the expression of horror on his face.

     “Is it a crime for a mother to want to be around her child?” he asked, giving her a side-way look.

     “Considering that she doesn’t even pay attention to me half the time, I suppose so,” Persephone answered, turning away. “I’m like a living security blanket. She wants me around, but ninety percent of the time, she doesn’t even do anything with me.”

     “You get to spend time with your sister,” he hinted.

     Persephone gave a scoff.

     “Are you trying to talk me into going or out of it,” she asked. “Despoina thinks she is the ‘Master of the House’ and everyone needs to serve her every whim and desire. If I could find a self-less bone, anywhere among the gods, I’d insert it into her body, so she’d have one.”

     Apparently, Aeneas had heard enough, for his face turned red, and his body assumed a fierce, intimidating manner, seeming to grow in height to match his fury.

     “You can complain all you like,” he said. “But you will come! You have no choice! It is the law, a law we are all bound to - even your husband and your father.”

     “Father,” she repeated, smirking. “Talk about being bullied into a decision. He would have sided with me if he could. Goodness knows he couldn’t stand his mother’s controlling demands and endless manipulations, either. Then again, he ended up marrying Hera, so I guess he didn’t do any better. Still, he tried looking after me.”

     “Looking after you?” Aeneas protested. “He let you be kidnapped!”

     “He let me escape,” she retorted. “Seriously, if I didn’t want to be there, would I have swallowed those pomegranate seeds, knowing full well that eating them meant I would have to return.”

     “You were tricked,” Aeneas said. “You were just a child!”

     “I was old enough to know what I was doing,” Persephone argued. “I know the stories you tell, the stories everyone likes to tell, claiming I was defenseless and naive. What do you expect people to say, when my mother provides their harvest! That’s the benefit of having all the power among a group of people that need you. She can tell them anything she likes. They’ll believe it, too, as long as she continues feeding them. But she can’t deceive me, I was there!”

     “This is nonsense,” Aeneas said. “We are wasting time. You will come with me!”

     “And what if I refuse?” Persephone replied. “What if I turn right back around and go back!”

     Whirling toward the trees, she made to leave. Aeneas was faster. He seized her by the arm, pulling her around to face him.

     “You are mad,” he said. “Are you really going to tell me that you want to go back there? Are you really going to claim that you’d rather be there than here?”

     “Of course, I will!” she argued, vainly trying to yank her arm free of his grip. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that while my return to the upper world brings my mother such joy that spring spreads across the land, spring only comes to the ‘Land Down Under’ when I return? My sorrow at leaving my husband and children brings winter to the lands below as surely as my mother’s sorrow brings winter to the lands above!”

     “You will come with me,” Aeneas ordered, tightening his grip.

     Still holding her arm, he turned away from the forest, pulling her after him.

     “And who’s kidnapping me now?” She protested, struggling against his grip, as he dragged her along.

     Aeneas gave no response. Face resolute, he continued to pull her behind him, marching toward Olympus.

     “I see,” she said. “Is that what this story is to be then- the second kidnapping of Persephone?”

     “It is, if you make it so,” he said.

     He stopped walking and spun to face her.

     “By your will or against it, you will come with me!” He declared.

     “And why is that?” she barked.

     “Because this is about more than just you and your controlling mother,” he said. “It’s about more than you and your kingdom below! It’s about more than your children, your husband, and even your desires!”

     Persephone stopped struggling as she listened to him. Noticing the change, he released his grip, staring into her eyes with unwavering conviction.

     “What is it about then?” she asked.

     “It is about the world,” he said. “It’s about the people in it. They need the spring as surely as the people below need the fall. The seasons created by your sojourns make their agriculture and society possible. Without the cold, icy regions melt and waters cover the land, drowning the crops and burying the fertile fields. Without the heat, the crops refuse to grow, for they lack the warmth to live.  Either way, without the seasons, there are no people. And, without people, we are nothing!”

     “So, you’re saying I need to suffer to make the world work?” Persephone replied in disbelief.

     “Sometimes that is how the world works,” he responded. “Sometimes, that is the only way it works. In life, you have to endure the harsh seasons and bad times, for the greater good, knowing that, in time, the good times will return. If you are patient, you will see that, soon enough, you will be able to return to your home, your kingdom, and your family. Until that time, though, you must make the best of the difficult times. Besides, if you’ll just change your attitude a little, you might find the bad times are not as bad as you think. They may not be as good as you want; but, at least, they aren’t as bad as they could be.”

     Persephone sighed.

     “Very well,” she said. “Take me away, if you must. I will not claim to go willingly. But, I will go – for the sake of the people!”

     Aeneas smiled.

     “A decision truly worthy of a queen,” he said. “Now, let us depart – your mother awaits.”