Mia Darien - Good Things

For you, sweet lass, I would lasso the moon and pull it down for you… If only I could.

The moonlight spills across the bed. You sleep soundly. I could watch you sleep all night and for the rest of my life. I’m too restless to sleep or stay still, and my empty stomach urges me to hunt for food. Rising from the bed to not wake you, I silently step into the hall.

I don’t know what the day will bring. I don’t know what any of this means. What games Death plays. It was from an old story that I first heard her name and how, if you knew that name, she could be called upon for a favor. Little did I know how much it would cost us.

I follow the hallway down the stairs to the grand foyer. A moment later, I’m searching the kitchens for something on hand while I think about what I have in the fridge, but I can’t steal my mind from Death.

Abandoning the fridge, I head to the library. I browse the books, gliding my finger across the spines, until I find the title I’m looking for.

“Mara,” I read aloud. I pull the book from the shelf and open it to the page marked with a scrap of paper covered in my hurried handwriting. A moment later, I’m scanning the text for anything at all that stands out.

“Mara,” I read. “Of death… Nightmares.” The passage goes on to describe its roots in Hinduism, Buddism, Slavic, and Scandinavian cultures as well as Old English and Greek.

“Known in many cultures as being of and/or related to nightmares, death… In some cultures, she is the Succubus…the ancient Druids…Celts…”

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

I look up from the book, closing it quickly on the note, bookmarking the page I was on as I gaze into Death’s cool, black eyes.

She’s here, sweet lass. The light bathes her body like a fine cloth. She possesses me. I feel it. It’s all I can do not to ravage her right there. I fight a primal ache that I know stems from her games and not my desires. That’s when I realize she has the power to puppet me like a marionette on shackled chains if the wish becomes her.

“Your instructions were clear.”

Her voice is like silk. “You knew what would happen if you spoke to her again.”

I know I have no time to barter. On a whim, she could strike you dead.

“Anything,” I say. “Anything at all.”

“You said this once.”

She turns her back to me and pretends to browse my collection of books.

“Anything, Mara,” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Name it. It’s yours,” I say.

“You possess nothing that I want,” she spits.

“Is it my memory you want?”

My words provoke her, and before I can blink, she is on me. Her cheek presses into mine. I breathe deep her intoxicating scent meant to torment the strongest of men. Her lips graze my ear. I drop the book.

“I want you writhing in pain,” she says then pulls away. Her spell thickens and I try to shake it off. If she lacked her venomous poison, I’d be inclined to scrub her filth from me, the wretched bitch.

“Me,” I say.

“You?”

“My life.”

She scoffs.

“Your life is nothing to me.”

“My servitude then.”

I see the desire dilate her pupils at the thought of keeping me as her obedient plaything. I know I just found my bargaining chip.

“That’s what you want,” I say. “What you’ve always wanted. Me…bound to you for all eternity…” I let the words marinate as she rolls them over. “Name your command. I’ll obey.”

“Slavery…” Her lips rise in a smile that pours a chill down my back. “This is the price you’d pay?”

For you, my love. Anything.

“Yes,” I say, knowing I’m binding my fate to Death’s will. Hating that once again, I find myself bartering with Death.

“No letter this time,” she says. “No goodbye. No answers. This time, you’ll just go.”

No answer. I imagine you living and never knowing what or where or why… Never knowing what happened to me. Would such a life be worse than death?

“Vanish. Gone…without an answer,” she croons, spelling out the terms for me. “Only then will I let her live.”

Live. With life, you’d have a chance to love another. With life, you’d have a chance to forget and go on. With life, there is such possibility. Whereas with death…

Just then the solution is clear. Possibility, this is what I was exchanging my freedom for. And just like that, I have no doubt. For you, my love, I’ll do anything.

I gaze into Death’s black eyes and speak the word that seal my fate.

“Done.”

And just like that, I am no longer of this realm.

Sweet, lass… Will you ever forgive me?

I watch from the other side as you scream and writhe in torment. I am here, always here, since the moment you woke. I am still here, watching as worry turns to fear then panic.

Those first few hours were the easiest. Once realization set in, the real hell began.

You stopped searching the house and calling my name. Now you just sit on my bed, breathing me in, rocking and screaming. I thought the first several hours were agonizing…then you started to scream. Part of me wished for Mara’s orders, but they never came. I think she wallowed in watching my agony as your pain set in.

You passed the first day in bouts of panic and screams. The second day came and went in one endless scream. On day three, your screams were interrupted by long stretches of silence. By day four, there was only silence. I watched helpless as you lay staring off into nothing. Still, Mara didn’t call. So I sat beside you and waited while you muttered my name.

How long has it been? Weeks? Months? The life in your eyes is gone now, replaced with a deadened stare. Today, you finally showered and dressed. You tried to eat, but threw everything up. Next day, you tried again. After a week, you finally kept it down. A month later, you left the house. I thought you would never return, but not you, sweet lass. You returned hours later with your barest of essentials. By the end of the day, you had made my vacant house your own as if perched in my nest, waiting for me to return.

Your work consumes you, but the spark and life in your eyes is gone. Nights always were the hardest. With no club to escape to, you spend your nights pouring over my books. You’re still looking, sweet lass. Let me go. You talk in your sleep and I listen. You call for me less and less. Then you wake reaching for me and I watch helpless as another bout of weeping takes you.

Your love seems like ages ago. Mara now calls constantly and, as promised, I do her bidding. On occasion, I check in with you. Life seems to have resumed for you. While, for me, eternal imprisonment has just begun.

In silence, I gaze, forever watching only inches from you, but a world away. You’ll never see me. Never hear me. But you’ll live, sweet lass. Perhaps one day you’ll find another. Live long and hard, find another. Forget me, lass. This I do for you.

Thank you for your support. – Angela B. Chrysler

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Water poured from the showerhead, hitting Alex with enough pressure to be pleasurable without being painful. She rested her head on her forearm against the back wall of the shower. Every single stress of the day melted away with the pounding pressure. As she watched, she saw black streaks of mud trailing down her body. It had been a hard day, but then every day seemed hard for the young woman lately.