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Twins in Death: Chapter Two – Part Five

Twins in Death

A Tale of The Weirdo

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Chapter Two: Love Lost

 

 

March 29th, 2002

5:41 p.m.

 

            The Weirdo looked out at the lake, the place where he dared not go. He hadn’t swum in that lake. In fact, he couldn’t remember an instance in which anyone had ever swam or even dipped a foot in that lake. It was an ultimately cold and forbidding place. It was deep and cold, like the resting place of an ancient thing. No one would ever go in that water again if he could help it. There was now something sacred and unbroken about it. It was in fact a place where mortals dared not tread or swim, or some such nonsense.

 

            He was imagining the wedding he was never going to have now, the child he would never hold in his arms, never teach to walk, never tuck into bed at night. The child he would have told stories to, the child he would have taught how to ride a bike and how to swear properly. The tiny child he would have taught to hold a gun and to stay out of trouble, the child that was never going to come now. The nights where his wife and daughter would have been curled up with him on the bed watching cartoons and movies were gone like smoke on the wind.

 

            He was thinking about the years of joy he would now not have, would never have. His path was now clear; the other sunnier path was closed to him. He had been ready to give up fighting, to quit with the killing. He was resentful that someone in the universe had made the decision for him. He didn’t like his choices being dictated to him, he wanted to choose. He had fully had enough of his choices being dictated to him.

 

March 29th, 2002

5:41 p.m.

 

            “For God sake, let us sit on the carpet and tell sad stories.” He whispered lightly to himself. He was quoting Elizabeth the First, but doing it badly.

 

            He turned away from the lake and into the room, where a woman sat. He hadn’t heard her enter, or even sit down but there she was. She was sitting as if she had been waiting for him to turn, but too polite to make a noise. She was clothed in gauze and her golden hair was so entwined with spring flowers one might think they were sprouting from her head. She smiled warmly, although slightly uncomfortably.

 

            He was six feet away from a cabinet where a small handgun rested in a drawer, and eighteen feet from his coat, where the black gun rested. She was between him and the coat at any rate, and he wouldn’t make it if he had to. He worked his way towards the kitchen where the knives were on display. He didn’t exactly have a plan, but he wanted to be close to a weapon if he had to use one.

 

            “Hello.” She said.

            “Hi.” He said flatly. “You are?”

 

            “I am Eoster.” She said, “The Goddess of spring and re-birth.”

 

            His back stiffened at the word re-birth. Re-birth was a bit of a thorn at the moment, if some one was going to talk about dead coming back to life he had a perfect and deserving candidate in mind. It was a fine time to come when she was below the waters and unreachable forever. It would be a bad time for people to talk about resurrection and the kingdom of heaven to him.

 

            “And you want what?”

 

            “I have come to offer you comfort in this time of need.”

 

            “Why didn’t you offer comfort while she was dying?” He asked. “Instead of letting her gasp out her last with a piece of glass in her throat?”

 

            “I wasn’t allowed.” She said looking slightly uncomfortable like a secret was sticking in her throat. “There are greater forces than you know at work here.”

 

            This didn’t seem to her like the sort of thing a person should argue. She would have thought that some one who thought things out as much as he did should know this. However The Weirdo had stopped thinking, and was simply acting, he might think again later, but not now. He stalked forward and snatched a chair from the table and sat it down in front of her so that he would have to straddle it. It made a loud bang as he slammed it into the floor. The shock waves of energy seemed to move through the air with about half the speed of sound and appeared to move her dress every so slightly.

 

            “Is that a fact?” He asked sitting down across from her.  His voice wasn’t actually taking on a sarcastic tone, but an accusational one. “Oh do tell. Please! I want to know what force stops a God from doing what they like. Isn’t that the point of being a deity? What could possibly prevent you from saving the single most deserving person in the universe?”

 

            He crossed his arms and looked to her like he was the single most aggressive late night talk show host on earth. His rage was boiling up and he thought he might pop, but he suppressed it down. After all, this rage wasn’t for her. He had to fold it down and compress it into a small nugget. He might be annoyed at her but that was no reason to be overly rude. There was a certain amount of acceptable rudeness and he was too well bred to cross that line.

 

            “It was not for me to choose.” She said again.

 

            “Then who chose?” He growled the words.

 

            “I’m not sure, but I was prevented from helping.”

 

            “Were you? Well isn’t that horrible, I must remember to go to Hallmark and get you a sympathy card.”

 

            “I know how much of a loss this is for you.” She said, extending a thin and pale hand to him.

 

            “No you don’t.” He said, unwilling to accept that or her hand. “My life’s mooring is lost. I am a wheel without an axle. My direction is gone.”

 

            “It doesn’t have to be that way.” She set her hand on his.

 

            There was warmth, and some feeling of joy, which crept up his arm from where she touched him. He pulled away from her and the feeling of warmth. His instincts might have been wrong, but he felt this would do him no good. He was also resentful that anyone would talk about healing his pain when he was just getting to grips with the fact that pain was in fact what he was feeling. It seemed rude to try and take something away from him when he was just beginning to understand it. Besides he wanted to have the pain right now. The pain of loss meant that he loved her and the more pain he felt the more he loved her.

 

            “Why her?” He asked quietly. “Why not me?”

 

            “You ask questions I cannot answer.” Eoster said, standing, coming closer to him “I was not sent to give answers, only comfort.”

 

            She reached for his face, with the thought of laying his head against her ample breasts, but he pulled away from her. He didn’t want comfort at that moment he wanted answers. He would take comfort from answers. He would also take comfort from using the answers to make whoever had taken Shannon away from him give her back or pay. His face drew from her touch.

 

            “I am in mourning.” The Weirdo said gently pushing her away from him.

 

            “I have been sent.”

 

            “Well I’m sending you back.” He said. “I wish to be alone if you please.”

 

            “I will go then.” She said. “I can tell you one thing before I go though.”

 

            “Yes?”

 

            “You were saved from being destroyed whether you believe it or not.”

 

            “What do you mean?”

 

            “You were built for something greater than this. If you had been there, you would have been destroyed and unable to help what is to come.”

 

            “I would rather have her.” He said.

 

            “I thought you would say that.” She said.

 

            “I love her.”

 

            “I know.” She said, “Just don’t forget what’s important.”

 

            There was a golden glow that filled the room, and the Goddess was gone. All she left behind was the faint smell of roses in the air. The Weirdo looked at the space where the Goddess had stood and then his stare continued out into infinity.

 

            Don’t forget what’s important. That was an absurd statement to make in his opinion. People always act like there is some greater good; that the sufferings of one person are to nothing in the grand scheme of things. As if by letting one person die you can save the lives of hundreds. People like this pissed him off fiercely. They were just lazy and unwilling to do what was necessary to save everyone. Any person who knew that someone could have been saved and chose not to for the greater good was either a coward or a liar.  He had known what was important in life. There was only one thing important in the world.

 

            He spoke softly, but loud enough for those who could hear to hear.

 

            “She was important.”

 

 

 

 

© 2012 Autumn Knight Productions

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June 17, 2012 Posted by | Fiction | , | Leave a comment