The Storyteller.

Marty Stewart was happiest when he was drawing or colouring. He loved drawing super heroes because he'd grown up wanting to be one. Except, he didn't have what it took to be a real super hero. Real super heroes didn't have racing hearts. Well, they did. But not all the time like his heart.

He remembered fondly the very first real cartoon he drew. His hero was simply called 'The Man'. In a world where men were nearly extinct in the world, The Man was one of the last in existence and faced the same sort of struggles with status and sexism that women faced in reality.

Since, he'd created a whole world of cartoon characters. From The Phoenix, who always rose from the ashes. no matter the occasion to the Lone Chameleon, who could turn invisible when everyone forgot about him and be illuminated with attention. He'd even created a hero called The Storyteller, inspired by his grandfather, who always told him how many more stories he had to tell. He said "You'll have to come back so I can tell you another one." Marty thought his grandfather's stories were the greatest ever told. And to his mind, the Storyteller was his greatest creation.

But, his most popular creation was The Beater, who had more of himself than any other character he'd created. Marty had always longer for there to be someone like him. To be able to see himself as a superhero. There wasn't anyone like him out there. So he created someone. One person can make a difference, he remembered his grandfather telling him once. He'd told him about how heroes show people that ey don't have to be perfect and how it's ok to be vulnerable. "Even though they're heroes," he'd said, "they're still human."
I've got nothing to lose, he thought. Maybe. I'll try. The Beater thrived on love. His heart beat wildly when he was unloved. His Grandfather had been the one to reassure him when he'd had bad first reviews. "Everybody needs love, Marty," he'd said. "It fuels us. It's the Beater;'s fuel to keep him going. It's not vain. It's human nature."

The day Marty's fast cartoon was published, no one was prouder than his grandfather. "This is just the beginning, my son," he said. "Excelsior!"

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In memory of the legendary Stan Lee. Rest In Peace.

Rise

I am so used to fighting, to making plans for my every move and every possible eventuality that it takes some time for me to rise again. I rise slowly, but I rise nonetheless. I will rise to stand tall.

I have been waiting for this day for so long, that now it’s finally here... Now that it’s all over and it’s finally the end, I’m strangely lost. But soon, I trust.. I hope the dove will come with it’s offer of an olive branch to bring the tranquility and calm that are now only a distant memory, but that I will soon know again.

Already, I can feel the shadow of the real me melt away as I step forward to take it’s place. The sun has started to shine again and the clouds are beginning to clear. The weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders, and after all this time, finally, for the first time in forever... I am free.

I am free, but it doesn’t feel real. It feels like one of my fantastical daydreams, all too good to be true. Except it’s not. After all this time, it’s really, really real. One day soon, I’ll believe it. But for now, I’ll just revel in this beautiful feeling of freedom. In the wonderful liberation of release. I will rise. Slowly but surely, I will rise again from the ashes and I will be stronger than I was before. When you’ll be sorry that you ever let me slip through your fingers. And then you’ll be the ones crying at all that you’ve lost and all of the potential that you wasted. And you have no one to blame but yourself.

But I won’t look back. I won’t pause. I will keep moving ahead and I will rise again. Better and stronger than I was before.

Elise

I stopped at the sight of her. Suddenly, she was all I could see. Spinning on one leg so fast she was a blur. My eyes swept over her as she slowed to a stand still, drinking in every tiny detail of her exquisite beauty. Her long, luscious hair cascaded over one shoulder in waves of shining chestnut, her chocolate brown eyes glittering as they peeked out at her from beneath long, dark lashes. Like a timid butterfly, she looked away when she noticed me staring.

My mouth open as a small, disappointed gasp escaped my lips. I wanted to slap myself. I know that things that beautiful had to be approached slowly and treated with the utmost care. I know that. Yet, I jumped in, hard and fast, too blinded by her excitement to remember. Closing my eyes, I took a long, deep breath, relieved to find the beautiful girl still standing there, on the opposite side of the rink, when I opened them.

This time, my approach was slow, carefully cautious. No sudden moves for fear she'd flee like a beautiful dainty little butterfly. Like a magical dream, too good to be true. "Hi," I said when I reached her.

The young woman blinked, chancing a glance at me from beneath her lashes, but said nothing.

"I'm Hallie."

"Elise." Her voice was such a quiet whisper, I had to strain to hear it. Elise. Her name was just as beautiful as she was. I looked her over again, blinking in disbelief. Her body was a work of art. She wondered if her tanned, olive skin would be as warm as it appeared. Perhaps it would be as hot as Elise herself was. Regardless, the thought of simply touching her soft, supple skin... Of running her hands up and down her shape in a gentle caress was enough to send pleasant tingles through me, causing me to shiver.

"Are you alright?" Elise asked, snapping me back to the present. "You look cold." Her pretty face twisted in concern, Elise stepped forward, closing the gap between us. I forced myself to freeze in place as Elise moved toward me. I will not pucker my lips in anticipation, for that would surely scare her away. But I did indulge myself in the fantasy of those beautiful lips, covered in a deep shade of Ruby Rose, coming to softly brush against my own. I wondered how they would taste. Was her lipstick flavoured? I imagined raspberry and felt my knees go weak.

"Woah there," Elise slipped a skinny but strong arm around my shoulders. "Let's get you sitting down, shall we? I wouldn't want you to fall!" Awkwardly, we stumbled over to the bench. I moved blindly under Elise's careful guidance, my mind lost in fantasy once more. It was a good thing Elise couldn't read it...

0O0

I wish I could see more of people than just the shell carrying their soul. I wish the nicest people could look the most beautiful and the nastiest the most ugly. I still hold out hope that maybe one day, I'll find love, even when I've been hurt so many times before. I wish didn't have to guard my heart so closely. I wish I could wear my heart on my sleeve. Be open and carefree.

I looked at the woman sitting beside me on the bench, taking her in. Her short, jet black hair was styled in a pixie cut, the ends a deep red, brushes dipped in paint. Her eyes, a deep sapphire blue, glittered as the light hit them. I wondered if Hallie was scared like me. Had she been hurt like I had? I wanted to believe this time would be different. That she would be different. But I don't know. Past experience has proven the old spelling rule true. When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me..

My eyes travelled the length of Hallie's body. She had broad shoulders and appeared reasonably strong. Maybe she'd be the guarder of my heart. Maybe she could be my bodyguard.  But she dressed like she lived on a farm. Black, leather boots; a checked, flannelette shirt. Her pale denim jeans a little worn at the knees. Guarding animals and guarding humans, let alone guarding humans in love, were completely different things.

A smile cracked my lips at the feeling of Hallie’s body next to mine. Maybe this time, I thought hesitantly, I'd be lucky. Maybe this time would be it. Maybe Hallie would be different. Maybe Hallie would be special. She certainly seemed special. I'm not quite sure why. I just have this feeling. I can’t see into people’s souls. She can’t see their true self. All I can do is hope that I'm right. 

“Elise,” Hallie’s deep voice was soft as she spoke my name. The very sound of it released a swarm of butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I blinked myself back to the moment, looking back at Hallie. “May I touch you?” I felt my lips turn upwards ever so slightly at the careful gesture. It was sweet.

I felt myself beginning to shake with anticipation and nodded uncertainly. My eyes followed Hallie’s hand as it extended in suspenseful slow motion from her side, her fingers uncurling ever so slightly, in order to brush my cheek lightly. The sensation caused a warm wave of calm to wash over me, at once putting my nerves at ease. Hallie’s fingers migrated from my face to my arm, travelling downwards from the elbow. She found my hand, and intertwined her fingers with mine. “Ok?” she asked, her voice a little louder this time.

Weakly, I nodded, afraid trying to speak would break my composure. Maybe things were moving fast, but I didn't mind. It's always been a tendency of mine, to dive right in. Fall head over heels. Dangerous, especially given all the hurt I've had in the past. But I can't help it. Every time, it's like a tight, warm hug I never want to be released from. Even if the experience causes my heart to race so fast I wonder if it will be able to maintain the pace. 

“I haven’t felt this way with anyone before,” said Hallie. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel this good with another woman.”

“Neither did I.” I said finally. I felt my cheeks burn as the blood rushed toward them.

0O0

“Are you getting too cold?” Elise asked. “Do you want to get out of here?”

My gaze rose from our interlaced fingers to look into Elise’s deep chocolate eyes and she smiled.

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said.  

Elise raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in question.

“Do they have a fire anywhere near here?” I asked.

There was a long pause. “A fire?”

When I realised the cause of her confusion, I laughed. In part to dissipate the tension and in part because though a logical conclusion to reach, it was nonetheless a little amusing. “Yes, like a fire place.” I touched a hand to her arm, feeling the hairs pricked up on end beneath my fingers. “Goodness, Elise. Did you think I wanted to start a fire? Do you really think I’d do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Elise, her head turned toward the floor, peering up at me through her lashes. “I just met you. I don’t know you well enough to know whether you’d do that kind of thing or not.” She shuddered as the truth in her words. Suddenly wary, she scooted away from me a little on the bench.  

“So why are you still here?” I asked softly, more curious than anything.

“Because…” Elise said slowly. Her voice was a fragile whisper, and I had to lean in close to hear her properly.  “Because I hope.” Her gaze remained on the ground, by her feet. 

“Hope,” I repeated the word slowly, testing the way it sounded on my tongue. Sweet. Promising. Good..

Elise's shoulders dropped as she exhaled.

“Hope for what?” Several possible answers flitted through my mind. Hope... That you like me.. That we might be able to be friends... That maybe, one day, we could be more than friends.. That there'll be a future for you and me. That there'll be a you and me.  I couldn't help but wonder if Elise had the same hopes that I did. Was there something there? Could we be together? That's what I hoped. But, more than that, I wanted her. She is a siren, her beauty a hypnotic spell. 

“Hope that there’d be good in you. That I’d see it.”

I couldn’t help it as her lips relaxed into a soft smile. “Me too.” Hallie hoped too that there would be good for Elise to see. She couldn’t help but wonder with the sudden appearance of these wicked thoughts in her mind whether her good had simply been buried or whether it had vanished completely. Why was I so in love with the shape of her? I want to love all of her. After all, isn't that what love is? All of you loving all of someone else.  

As if reading my mind, Elise gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I averted my gaze from the ground at our feet to our intertwined hands before my eyes came to rest on Elise’s pools of chocolate brown. “I’m sure there’s good in you, Hallie.” Her voice was soft and sugary sweet. If not for the anchor of Elise’s hand holding mine and her presence beside me, I feared I might melt. I fought to maintain the gaze, to stay in the moment of connection, rather than look down at her body. Her ample breasts, her curves, somewhat hidden by her seated position. But the image of my first glimpse of Elise across the room was burned into her retinas. The memory etched into my mind.

O0O

I looked into Hallie’s sapphire eyes, wondering, wishing I knew what was happening in her mind. Mindlessly, I brushed finger side to side across her pale, porcelain, pearl white skin, cool beneath my fingers. I was careful to be slow and gentle, afraid it might break her beautifully flawless skin if  I was just a touch too harsh. I wondered if Hallie would break too. My eyes travelled up the length of Hallie's arm to meet her eyes, a little unfocused and wider than before. I wondered if Hallie was as fragile as her skin appeared. She's anything but weak. I shook her head in an attempt to rid my mind of the absurd idea. How can two fragile people hold each other up? . She looked Hallie up and down. She appeared so tough and strong. She gave the air of someone you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of. Of someone you wouldn’t want to mess with. Yet, looks could be deceiving. One must never assume based upon appearances. That’s what I had always been told. That's what experience has taught me.  

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” The sound of Hallie’s drawl brought me back to the present moment.

“Hmm?” I asked, blinking as her gaze rose to meet Hallie’s.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hallie tried again, chuckling.

“Oh… Um..” I racked her brains for what to say. “I.. uh.. It’s a little cold in here. Do you want to get out of here? Go somewhere warmer?”

“Sure.” Hallie rose to her feet easily, offering her hand to help me up.

“What brought you here anyway?” asked Hallie as they made their way toward the exit.

“I skate,” I answered simply.

“Everybody that comes here comes to skate I think,” said Hallie. She paused at my expression. “Oh,” she said, realisation setting in. “You skate!” She laughed, perhaps feeling a little silly for not understanding. “You’re one of those ice dancers.”

I nodded. “What brought you here?”

Hallie opened and closed her mouth a few times, at a loss for words. “I.. I just wandered in I guess,” she said, shrugging sheepishly.

“Have you skated before?”

“Not on ice, no.”

I laughed. “Well, we’ll have to go back sometime,” I said, thanking my lucky stars for an excuse to see her again. Officially . “I can show you.”

“I.. I’d like that.”

                                                                            O0O

The chills that ran down my spine at the thought of a skating lesson, and the close contact that would necessitate made me shiver. It was only then I remembered another excuse to see her. A skill I could teach her in return. "I could show you piano,"

Elise stopped. "You... You play?"

I laughed at her shock. "Yes." I am careful not to add the detail of one of the first compositions I perfected. Fur Elise.

"I'd love to."  

Elise paused as we reached the exit, "let's get out of here before we freeze to death!" Slowly, she reached out to open the door that led out of the ice skating rink and into the warm summer air, breathing deep as we stepped outside. "Ah! That's better!" Taking her arm from my shoulders, she shook a little, as if to shake off the cold before spreading her arms wide, allowing the summer sun to beam down onto her skin. She turned her face toward the sky.

I watched on from a few metres away, smiling. Elise appeared an angel, the sun's warm rays of light shining around her like a halo. I felt myself relax, as if Elise's beauty might cause me to melt. I inhaled deeply, happy, calm, relaxed and swept up in the beautifully magical aura that was Elise.   

Stormy Seas

Tied by the hands to the ship's mast, Jane wished the pirates had used another scarf like the ones covering their mouths to cover her eyes. She wished she couldn't see what was happening. The seas were rough and a storm was rolling in. The rain had started, pouring down upon them. Yet her captors did not seem at all fazed.

A bolt of lightening cued their movement toward her. The four men side-stepped around her in a tight circle, sharks circling their prey.She looked around her as they came closer. But she did not struggle. She knew there was no point. Not when she was tied to the mast.

Just as suddenly, they lept away, once again circling their prey. Little did they realise, she'd slowly been wriggling and twisting herself free once they'd come toward her, miraculously aiding her. One of them, though she wasn't sure which, must have cut the rope binding her. Or at least loosened it enough to allow her to slip free.

Jane raised her hands in a small show of victory. There were no traces of fear upon her face. Only a fierce determination to escape. But, just as she thought she were free, the men lunged forward once more, grabbing her arms, two on each side. This satisfied her somewhat though. Were they that fearful of her that they felt it necessary for so many to aid in her restraint? Jane waved them off, easily, but another pair came up to restrain her in their place. Again, she slid her arms from their grip.

She stepped forward, bending to gather her skirts. She fanned it out, revealing the intricate gold and navy pattern hidden beneath. She stood tall and strong, staring straight ahead. At them. Daring them to return her gaze. She would be messed with no longer. They would not take her prisoner though. She would not allow it.

Three of the men had disappeared, and the one who remained approached her with matching determination, and an equally steely gaze. Jane wondered whether the others had been scared off by her bird-like display. Bulls that had lost their nerve at the sight of the red flag. But, she respected the man who remained. If he was afraid, he did not let it show on his face. He stood tall, ready to face his fear head on. Brave enough to look her in the eye.

The man extended his arm, scooping it around her waist and turning her in a circle. The entire time, he held her gaze. The intensity between them was so thick one of the others could have cut it with their swords. Jane wondered if the rain falling down on them could melt it away. But she didn't know that she wanted it to.

He let her go suddenly, the speed of it sending her outward. But his grip on her hand remained. All it took was a slight pull and she was sent flying back. He led her down the length of the ship, pausing every few steps to turn and look her in the eye. While any other lady may have beenn fearful of this, Jane was not. But then, Jane was not any other lady.

They stopped when they could not go any further, and Jane reached out, trusting that her captor would not let her go as she leant out, rising to the tips of her toes before she was once again pulled back and away, partially by him, and partially by the force of the wave that had hit. He did not falter, standing strong. He was used to this, she guessed.

Jane and her captor returned to the others, standing at their post by the mast just as quickly .It was almost as if they were frozen in place, ready to attack at a moment's notice. At so much as a breath in their direction from their leader.

Before Jane knew what was happening, she found herself stumbling toward them. The three of them moved into place as a net to catch her while their leader strode away. They dipped her backwards, leaning toward her. Jane could smell the salty spray, almost feel it as it splashed up toward them...


Jane took a moment to gain her composure, regathering her skirts. Her steely gaze of the determination returned, she came at him with flapping skirts. The others trailed along behind her, shadowing her every move as their leader approached once more. He scooped her up and spun her round again. Managing to squeeze behind him, Jane finally got the chance to push him away.

Jane raised her arms above her head. If he wanted a dance battle, a dance battle he would have. And she would beat him at his own game. She moved from side to side, circling her arms in perfect timing with the movement of her steps. The allure of the movement too much to resist, her captors soon joined her as the spun, stepped and circled their arms.

Jane made to move her arms upward in a show of final victory. The moment they were in a perfect line parallel to the floor, her captors lunged. But she swung her arms loose with such force that they were thrown to the ground. She lifted her arms in the air a brief moment before she let them fall again and simply stood tall as the four men surrounding her bowed down. Just as she had planned, she was the victor. 

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Inspired by the paso doble from #TeamMcVal on Dancing with the Stars, which you can watch here

Be

Thin. Mostly tall and tanned, but all of them pretty. I wish I could be one of the women that little girls look at and say “isn’t she pretty?”. But when I look at the TV, I never see anyone like me.

There's never any shorter people with hazel eyes and caramel hair. I’m five foot three, but boy do I feel tiny sometimes. I’m usually the shortest- in my class, my year, my family. Even my mother stands an inch taller than me at five foot four, my father is two inches taller at five foot five.

“Supposed to!?” Francis Scott spits when I explain my thought process on the way from our last class for the day. “Linda, that’s…” he shakes his head when he stops walking to look at me. “That’s just silly. Lin, you could be one of those girls if you really wanted to. Heck, if there’s no one else that looks like you, you should be! Give them someone to look up to. Someone like them.”
“I know. I told myself I wouldn’t fall for that trap,” I say, my gaze gravitating downwards until I’m staring at my feet. “But when there’s all these super pretty, skinny mini people everywhere, how can you not compare yourself? How can I not wonder if I’m good enough?”
"You are enough, Lin," he says, his voice pleading. “You are so enough. No one said it was easy."
Slowly, I look up at him. “But you’re not caught in the trap.”
“There you go again.” Francis rolls his eyes at the cliché. “Comparing.” He coughs and splutters as if it will rid his mouth of the bitter taste of the word on his tongue and eliminate it's poisonous venom from his mouth. “And you’re wrong. I did get caught in the trap. But I’ve hauled myself out again.”
“How?” I ask in a whisper, like the answer is some big, magical secret Francis has to be sure will not be overheard by the wrong people if he is to say it out aloud.
“Let’s just say it’s easier said than done.” He stops in front of me, his yellow-green eyes pouring into mine. “But step one is to stop….”
Francis doesn’t seem able to finish the sentence, so I speak the dreaded word for him, at which he shivers vigorously before resuming walking again.
“Ugh!” he says. “It’s just like Macbeth in the theatre.” He sucks air in through his teeth, as if just entertaining thoughts of comparisons causes him pain. He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to blow out the unpleasant thoughts from his mind.

Francis clasps my hands, his gaze soft and solemn. “Linda, let’s promise to never speak that word again.” He pauses, I’m not sure whether for breath, dramatic effect or both. “Or do what it describes. That should be a sin.” Francis suddenly picks up the pace, and I have to run to catch up.
“Um.. Francis. I think it is a sin,” I pant, trotting beside him as he almost glides along the courtyard. I almost fall flat on my face trying to skid to a halt when he stops, but Francis throws his arm out, effortlessly catching me and gently pushing me upright again. When my eyes meet his, he blinks. “Pride?” I say. “I think what you’re describing,” I gulp, “the whole comparison thing, is known as pride.”
“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose in one sense of the word, but.. Pride doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Lin. What do they say?” He answers the question himself when I say nothing, his voice raised so the answer reaches me as he walks away, approaching the car waiting for him. “Out and proud, Darling, out and proud,” He sticks a hands up in the air and waves, quickly glancing back at me and flashing one of his super-smiles. I wave back as he opens the car door and slides elegantly into the seat. The window starts to go down, revealing Francis’s face, and his finger beckoning me to come over.

“Do you need a lift?” he asks when I get closer.
I glance at my watch. “No, thanks though. My ride shouldn’t be too far off.”
“You’ve made a reservation for tonight, right?”
I nod. “You’ve got the tickets?”
“Yep,” he says, a smile cracking the usual serious line formed by his lips. “Uncle Keys and I’ll be round to get you at five thirty.”
I nod again. “You got it!”

True to his word, Francis and his Uncle are at my place by 5:30 on the dot, and from there we head to Joanie’s, a little local restaurant with a very homey feel to it. “We should have a reservation for three,” I say, my voice barely audible. It's a miracle the girl on the other side of the counter hears.
“What name?” the waitress must be around Francis and my age. Her voice is robotic and bored, like she'd rather just stand and stare at her nails then talk to us. Or do her job. When I say nothing, freezing for no particular reason, she looks up to glare at me impatiently from underneath her lashes.
“Ah.. Linda,” I say. It shouldn’t be that hard to say my own name out loud. It’s exactly like I can forget it. But, I always seem to have this problem around people. Especially strangers. Francis and I have known each other since we were little. He knows how to handle me. I was there when he came ‘out and proud’, even though I’d known long before then. When the last Harry Potter movie came out when we were twelve, Neville, in all his newly blossomed sizzling hot glory, was the one we both swooned over. Francis never succumbed to the hypnotically alluring Veela from Beauxbaton’s like so many of the other boys in our year did. Not that they’d ever admit it of course.

“There's no reservation under that name,” says the bored waitress, not the slightest hint of apology on her heavily made up face.
“Are you sure?” Francis’s uncle steps forward, raising an eyebrow and resting a strong hand gently on my shoulder. “Is there anything like ‘Linda’ there? Any reservations for three?” I appreciate him not questioning whether or not I’ve actually booked, just trusting that I have. Although Keys is not the kind of guy you want to mess with. He’s more than just a pretty face.
“We’ve got a table for three under Belinda,” says the girl finally, looking back up at us, directing her gaze toward Keys this time.
“That’ll be us then,” he says, placing his free hand on my other shoulder and steering my half frozen self after the waitress, Francis trailing along behind.

Once we’re seated and the waitress had gone, I let my head drop into my hands, shaking my head as if this will rid it of the memory. “I’m so sorry.” Slowly, nervously, I look up at them to see no hint of anger in disappointment on their faces. Only a soothing, gentle kindness in their soft smiles, concern radiating through their gazes. 
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” says Keys.
Francis nods. “Uncle Keys is right Lin,” he says, “you’re just being you. Just being Linda.” He chuckles a little, and I can’t help but laugh too.
“Being Linda,” Keys repeats. “That’s a good one Francis.” He leans over and pats his shoulder.
“Well isn’t that what they say?” Francis asks, pausing for a moment before answering the question himself. “Just be.” He winks at his uncle, who nods, a small smile on his lips. We’re just about to see Kinky Boots, so I’m guessing it’s some sort of reference from it and I’ll understand perfectly by the end of the night. Francis had insisted that I come. “You’ve got to see it Lin! This is like the only musical society production Uncle Keys isn’t involved with this year." So here I am, about to see a show about a struggling shoe factory saved by drag queens.

Sure enough, when the curtain falls, I understand what they meant by ‘just be’. It was kind of the central message of the entire production. “Just be who you wanna be,” Francis repeats as we leave the theatre, hands clasped together over his heart.
“Never let ‘em tell you who you oughta be,” I finish slowly, letting the words swirl around in my mind.
“It’s a beautiful thing,” says Keys, catching up to us and snaking his arms around our shoulders, me on one side and Francis on the other as we walk down the street toward the car. “To just be. To be. The freedom that comes with it.” I can’t help but smile as I fall lightly against his side and the lyrics of that last song, reinforced by Francis’ repetition of them like a mantra, settle in my mind.

“They say it like it’s so simple,” I muse softly as Keys pulls away from the kerb.
“It doesn’t seem that way though, is it?” Keys replies empathically, meeting my eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“I wish!” I say, and Keys laughs. “But Keys, you seem cool in your own skin. What’s your secret?”
“I’m not all the time, Sweetheart,” he says. “Looks can be deceiving. But I think they said it beautifully. Just be I've tried on a lot of different hats in my life. I’ve tried to be so many other people. Anyone but who I am. And you know which hat fit best?”
“Which?”
“The one labelled ‘me’.” He smiles in the rearview mirror. “The hat where I just got to be me. Where I wasn't really wearing a hat at all. You are who you are, just as much as I am who I am. To deny yourself that, you'd be denying the world. Now that would be a tragedy. Don't be scared, Linda. Just be you.”

We drive in silence for a few minutes before Keys starts to talk again. “You know that song they were singing? The one about not being their father’s sons?” My brows scrunch together in concentration as I go back through the show in my head, reaching the song after a minute or two and I nod. “I think a lot of the answers you’re looking for may be in that song if you listen carefully,” says Keys. “Because I think that Simon is describing a time when he was in the same place as you are now.” Stopping the car outside my house, he turns, placing a hand on my knee and smiles. “We’ve all been there Honey,” he says. “Francis and I are always here if you need us. Right?” He glances at his nephew.
“Right,” says Francis, reaching out and squeezing my hand emphatically. “Always.”
“Thanks,” I say as I unbuckle my belt and open the door to get out. “For everything.”

Once I’m inside, I dress quickly in my pyjamas and slide underneath the covers. I stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes before closing my eyes. Images of ‘pretty’ girls flash one by one in my mind. Tanned ones, pale ones, taller ones, shorter ones. But all of them stick skinny. Tiny. I imagine the images on the glossy pages of magazines. The kinds I used to use to play ‘pretty ladies’ with my mother when I was little. My brows scrunch together at the memory, realising that even as a small girl, I was judging those women in the pictures by their looks. The very thought makes me feel sick. But seeing them now, ‘pretty and perfect’, really tears me apart. So I imagine reaching toward the magazine pages and ripping them into tiny pieces. Because I finally realise now, that I don’t have to be like them. Because I can just be me. All I need to do is to be.

Francis smiles, just like I knew he would, when I tell him on our return to school on Monday that he’s right. “That whole ‘Belinda’ thing at Joanie’s on Friday night. Embarrassing as. But, you were right with the whole ‘being Linda’ thing. Cause that’s what I do best.”
Francis pats my shoulder lightly, his smile widening. “Ah. See?” he says.
“Maybe I will be one of those girls.”
His eyes grow wide “What do you mean ‘one of those girls’?” Francis asks, his voice quieter than before. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to try and be like...” Francis pauses to shiver. Apparently ‘like’ is another poisonous word. At least in this context. “those ‘other girls’.”
As if reading my mind, Francis says, “Be who you want to be, Linda. Don’t let anyone else tell you who that is.” He smiles, reaching forward to pick at the scarf/blanket type thing I’ve wrapped around myself. I try my best to wriggle away from him. It’s too cold to emerge from this cocoon.
“Be free Linda,” he says. “Spread your wings, my beautiful little butterfly, and fly!” I laugh, understanding what he was getting at. I can’t help but oblige him, wrapping the ends of the blanket around my hands and spreading my arms wide, eliciting more laughter from both of us. We freeze when we hear someone else, and look to see Keys has stopped in front of us on his way past. “What are you two up to?” he asks.
“She’s emerging from the cocoon,” says Francis. “Becoming the beautiful butterfly I’ve always known she is.”
“Being free,” I say as Keys turns his gaze to me, my shoulders relaxing as if a weight’s been lifted from them. I spin around, my smile growing at the feeling of the wind rushing through, making the blanket fly a little in the breeze. The wind washes over me and I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of it on my face.
A smile settles on his face. “I’m glad,” he says. “You don’t have to be like anyone else. There’s no use conforming. What good would the world be if we were all the same?”
“We’re broken and we’re bruised,” says Francis. “But we are who we are.”
“And all we have to do is be.”

Sound Familiar?

You're the heroes, the miracle workers that save people from a living hell. That's what you do. Every day. You wake them from a nightmare and help them build a much better dream. The people you fight destroy everything. Their hope. Their resolve. Their will to keep going on...

And here am I, watching you at work, in awe of the miracles you work. I call out. I raise my hand. Just like you told me to when I needed something. Yet I am dismissed. Sound familiar?

My voice rises to a scream. But it's strength fizzles out on the wind before it reaches you. Again, I am ignored. Sound familiar?

I cannot even whisper anymore. Even if I could, you wouldn't hear me. Even if you did, you wouldn't listen. I am like the Little Mermaid, reduced to silent desperation, crying out to be heard. But pushed into silence. Sound familiar?

Tears fall from my eyes now. So fast a small lake has begun to form at my feet. I can do nothing. I know that now. I know now that you hold all the power. That there is none left for me. I know I am helpless. I know that if I try to rise, I will just be knocked back down again. Sound familiar?

I am nearing the end of what I can take. I am covered in dark shades of black and blue. I am exhausted and I am in pain. The people around me tell me to just hold on. But my grip is slipping and I am certain I'll soon fall. I don't know how much longer I can take this. I don't know how much fight there is left in me, but I don't think it's much. I'm this close to just raising my hands up in the air and screaming in utter defeat that you win. Sound familiar? 

It's what you rescue them from everyday. Is it possible that the very people you oppose is who you're turning into? Is it possible I am in dire need of the help you give every single day? To be built back up? To be pieced together again? To be shown a light to lead me from the darkness? To be shown my worth? To be told that I can stand on my own two feet again, and that I can go on? I am broken and I am bruised. You don't want to believe it. You don't want to believe it's possible to subject someone else to the torturous horror from which you save a lucky few. But is it possible that that's the truth? Is it possible that that's what's happening here?

I'll Be Watching You

Emily had been reading when it happened. The wind seemed to knock her breath from her and she struggled to get it back. Then, her head began to throb with a pain so intense, the struggle to breathe became harder. By some invisible force, she was thrown harshly across the couch, momentarily increasing her level of pain. She swayed slowly, one hand to her head. 

She held her hands in front of her and clasped thin air in frustration, as if she could take hold of her pain and squeeze it into dust, and nothingness. She is exhausted, but it appears that her body is no longer her own. It moves whether she wants it to or not. She is thrown across the lounge again. She breathed a sigh of relief and began to melt into the pliush couch cushions. But too soon, for she found her arm moving upward, leading her body into a seated position. She just let it happen. Too exhausted to fight it. She moved like a robot across the couch, nearly falling face first back into it. 

Allowed to sit still a moment, fear washed over her and she sank back, feeling the soft cushions against her back. Her head still throbbed. She looked upwards, took a breath and finally rose to her feet. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, as the lights went out. 

When Emily opened her eyes again, a series of prickes inched their way up her spine. She could feel the hot breath of someone breathing down her neck. It was then that the memory of her lost love returned. Kyle. She remembered like it was yesterday, as clearly as iff he were whispering the words into her ear what he had told her. I'll Be Watching you. 

She felt his chin brush downwards against her ar. She sucked breath in through her teeth, but it got stuck in her throat. Finally, she looked over to see her worst nightmare had come true. Looking back at her with his dark, haunting eyes was none other than Kyle. "Hi Emily." 

He grabbed her wrist and spun her around, bounding after her as she made to escape. He rushed toward her, lifting her effortlessly from the ground and hailing her over his shoulder, running with her kicking and screaming. Fighting fruitlessly against him. He put her down again, but was sure to retain hold of her wrist. She lifted her arm in the air, trying desperately to slip from his grasp. 

The moment he let go, Emily pushed him hard in the chest, sending him stumbling away from her. She came at him swinging. He took the first opportunity he could, when she had her back turned to grab her leg and lift her from behind. She threw her arms and legs outward as they spun, raising her arms as the faced each other head on. He grabbed her by the neck as did she and they moved with small, swift steps back toward her lounge. He grabbed her by the arms and around the waist, but she managed to slip from his grasp on both occasions. 

Emily took the first opportunity she could and ran for her life. But he ran alongside her, throwing the furniture down and racing toward her across the lounge. She ducked as he jumped purposefully into the air. He landed effortlessly on all fours, missing her by a few mere metres. She came at him again, but he swatted her hand away. He grabbed her by the arms and dragged her backwards. Finally, she grabbed hold of his arms and threw him sliding across the hard wood floor. 

They faced one another again. His hand extended toward her like slow motion, and she suddenly understood what was happening. By some strange, dark magic, he was controlling her. He had been this entire time. Her head twisted momentarily sideways in perfect timing with his wrist. She stumbled backwards as he thrust his hand out, as if throwing a blow to her gut. She landed blindly on the lounge, pulling her feet up after her and covering her face fearfully with an open palm. She closed her eyes, grotted her teeth and took a breath. She was gone when she looked again, and she breathed heavily, relief washing over her. 

But, little did she realise, he was still there. Watching, right outside her window. I'll be watching you... 

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Inspired by the Halloween Contemporary of #TeamFranneyPack on Dancing with the Stars, which you can watch here 

Dreaming of Another Life

To tell you my name is Maggie would cause me to tell a lie. My name is Margaret. Telling you I condone the current state of the world would also be a lie. There are far too many people then there is space. But alas, I should not complain, for the wealth of my family is such that the space in our home is more than ample for the seven of us; my parents, my four sisters, brother and myself.

It would be wrong of me to deny that I am not privileged. Indeed, I am fortunate enough to belong to one of the most privileged families in England. We may not be part of the royal family’s inner circle, but we are privileged enough for my family to have titles. Even if I am only ever referred to as ‘Lady’ or ‘Miss’.

I must admit, it may be better not to have a life in the palace as a royal. There are far too many protocols and rules one must follow without being a royal. You would not be permitted to make even one miniscule error. As it is, when I do, Mother scolds me to no end. I have enough luxury as Lady Maggie. Perhaps too much. I long for a life of freedom. From the strictness of a life of nobility, from the increasingly crowded streets arising around us. I long for the fresh air and beauty that accompanies a life in the countryside. Or by the sea. By the sea would be wonderful.

Oh, the sea, a world all it’s own! Just think of a life beneath the sea. How wonderful it would be! A whole new world to explore. New creatures to befriend. Perhaps even a tail in place of legs! Now how would that be? To swim rather than walk. To float instead of stand.  I doubt the chill of the water would bother me long. I imagine one would get used to it given time. But the freedom a life beneath the waves would afford would aid me in my plight.

I look out the window now, at the gardens surrounding our home. Sighing heavily, I rise from my chair and set off to seek Mother's permission to explore. 

"Maggie, must you?" she asks. I simply look back at her, unsure of what to say. How to explain it. Then, I nod.
Mother exhales slowly. "Oh..." She looks around her, as if she'll find something to give her the answer. "Oh fine. But... Take one of the staff with you."
I feel my eyebrows rise an inch or two, not quite believing it. I shake my head a moment later, snapping out of my freeze from shock and turning to go. I shan't give Mother the chance to change her mind. I am a few metres away when I hear the sound of Mother's voice flying on the wind into my ear. I freeze and turn back. "Hugo," she says, "take Hugo."
Hugo? Around my age, he serves as our second footman, but hasn't been with us long.
Seeing my expression, Mother speaks again. "Give him a chance, Maggie. He might surprise you. Besides, it is pat of his job. I am sure he will be delighted to accompany you."
"If I must."
Mother places her hands on her hips, her face hardening. "Maggieo5dp," she says. "You told me you 'must' see the sea. This is my 'must'. You take Hugo with you, or you don't go. The decision is yours."
"Fine," I say, sighing.

-O0O-

I look around to see Lady Maggie approaching. I draw a deep breath, doing my best not to let too much of my excitement at her presence bubble through. Her long, regal skirts brush the floor as she walks, concealing her entire lower half from view. I look up to see the garment is fitted from the waist up, ending in a tight, crisp collar around her neck. My eyes reach finally reach her beautiful, porcelain face to find her dark, chocolate eyes staring back at me. Her hair is hidden away, tucked beneath the bonnet tied securely around her neck, the exact same shade of deep purple as her dress. I rise when she stops in front of me. "Hugo," she says. "I wish to see the sea. Would you accompany me."
"Miss Maggie, I would be delighted." She loops her arm through mine and we fall into step quickly and easier on route out of Lady Maggie's family's mansion and toward the sea.

"Why did you want to see the sea, Miss Maggie?" I ask as we stroll through the gardens.
She stops to look at me. "Don't you like the sea?"
I nod. "I quite enjoy the seaside."

"It's so peaceful isn't it?" Miss Maggie asks as the sight of the sand and the ocean stretching out as far as the eye can see appears before us. "I like it here. All we have is the sound of the ocean, a few gulls on occasion..." She stops, closes her eyes and inhales. She sighs with pleasure and begins to spin around, arms outstretched.
"You would make a wonderful dancer, Miss Maggie." I say when she returns.
At this, she sighs. "Mother always tells me the same thing."
"Do you enjoy dancing?" I ask.
"I enjoy ballroom," she says, "but one requires a partner to dance in the ballroom."
 "I'm sure you would have no trouble finding a gentleman to dance with."

Miss Maggie sighs again, turning her gaze toward the ocean. "I wish I could explore more under there. Could you imagine? A whole different world. How I would love a tail instead of legs."
"But Miss Maggie, how would you dance?"
"Hugo," she says, turning her gaze back to me. "Though it does make it considerably easier, one doesn't need legs in order to dance." Without hesitation, she takes my hands in hers and begins swinging them from side to side.
"Under the sea, one could sway, move, spin, dance. The possibilities are endless. "
Before I realise what I am saying, I open my mouth. "But up here, on the surface, you have me." I offer my hand. "I would be honoured to dance with you, my lady."
Miss Maggie hesitates. "Hugo, we mustn't."
"Why not Miss Maggie? We've nothing to loose. It's just you, me and the sea."
"No one to hear us but the gulls I suppose," she says in a whisper. I nod, a small smile stretching across my lips. I uncurl my fingers and meet her chocolate eyes with mine. "Miss Maggie, will you dance with me?" 

Brave

Alone, in the darkness of his quiet room, Joshua Keating was fine. There was nothing unusual or unexpected. No surprises or scary things to give his heart an unpleasant jolt. Inside was familiar, comforting and safe.

Until the outside started to creep into his peaceful safe haven. Suddenly, he could hear yelling outside his room. Muffled somewhat, because of the door, but yelling all the same. It grew louder and louder until it was all he could hear. Outside the door, he could hear the yelling and screaming, and then his dog, who was standing guard at the door, began to bark in response. The dog meant well. He was trying to tell them to stop, that the noise was upsetting his boy, but all he was doing was adding to the cacophony of noise assaulting Joshua's ears.

The one good thing was that the darkness of the room meant that Joshua could see little, cutting out another source of potential overload. But, he could still hear the yelling and the screaming. To a certain extent, he could feel the tension the yelling brought with it, and it made him feel rather uneasy. Joshua clasped his hands so hard against his ears that it caused him pain and began moaning, louder and louder until it drowned out the yelling and the screaming and the barking. Until it was all he could hear, but he kept going. It was an endless, vicious cycle. Noise to cover noise to cover noise that never seemed to stop.

Joshua did not know when he fell asleep. He did not have a great recollection of the night before. He just knew that he was glad to have awoken from the nightmare that was too much. Too much noise. Too many thoughts racing around and battling each other inside his mind. Too much stimulation. When he opened his eyes, he saw the sleeping form of his dog laying atop his feet. He saw this before he felt the warmth of the dog's body on top of him, and smiled. This, he could handle. This was all pleasant. Not overwhelming, overstimulating or overloading. This was nice. The yelling had stopped. Everything was quiet and calm. Just how he liked it.

In his room, everything was safe and quiet and calm. Outside, there was noise and light. Tension and emotions he could not understand nor name. But, Joshua remembered his mother telling him that he could not stay in the nest forever. This had confused him. But, she had explained, he was like a bird. A bird that needed to be brave and learn how to fly. "Venture outside your room," she'd said when he'd looked back at her blankly.  "Take a big breath, reach out, open that door and step outside," she'd said. "Your dog can come with you." As if to agree, Joshua's dog had suddenly appeared beside him, under his outstretched hand. He looked down, smiled at him and ruffled his chocolate coloured fur.

Joshua rose from his bed, clipped on his dog's leash, holding it tightly in his right hand. His dog stood obediently beside him as he stood, staring silently at the door. He took a big breath. Then, like the brave baby bird his mother had said he was, he reached out and turned the doorknob, opening it, and himself, to the outside world. Again, he paused for breath before taking a step. Like the baby blue bird, spreading it's wings and starting to learn how to fly.

Something to Believe In

I watch them through the window, all blindly bowing down. They trace a cross across their chests and look up at the ceiling, toward the sky and the heavens, believing God is up there. Somewhere. I can't help but wonder though... If there were a God, then why would he (presuming it is a he) let such awful things happen? Whole populations dying? People told to hide who they are. People told it's wrong. Turn it off! It's just like a light switch, they say, just turn it off. As if it's so easy.

But, why not turn it off when leaving it on opens you up to so much ridicule and just pure hatred? Because, why should I have to? I am what I am. Why should I have to change that just to please someone else? There will be people out there, somewhere, there will be people out there who can see my true colours, the real me shine through. Not just see it, but appreciate it. Accept it. Like it even. They'll be out there somewhere. I just have to find them. Find my tribe.  

Watching from a nearby, partially concealed bush, I watch as the churchgoers emerge following the conclusion of the service, dressed to the nines in their Sunday best, smiling from ear to ear, their skin glowing and eyes glittering with hope. A chilly gust of wind washes over them, causing me to shiver in my cold, shady cover, but it doesn't seem to phase them in the slightest. The wind washing over them seems to blow away the troubles with which they walked in, ensuring they're not collected on the way out. Instead, they are left with a refreshing glimmer of hope for a latter day.

So maybe there is something there? Something good about this odd organised group who blindly follow their leader, who in turn teaches from a book of stories and passages. That's why they call it faith I guess. To believe when there is no tangible evidence.

I used to be one of them once, going to Church each week, dressed in my best formal clothes. But I turned my back when they started telling people to turn parts of themselves 'off'. When they told them to deny who they are, taught them to be fearful and ashamed of who they are. How could I be part of something that condones that? But now, I wonder, is there something else to it? Something good?

"You don't really believe it's all true, do you?" asked Toni when I meet her at a café later that afternoon. "That someone killed their own brother? That the world was flooded in an attempt to rid the world of evil?"
I shake my head slowly, staring at my feet and feeling rather stupid.
"They talk in metaphors. They're symbols," she says, "like rainbows signifying hope."
"And pride," I say, a small smile cracking my lips.
"Yes," says Toni. "Like rainbows colouring the world, and especially our community with hope and pride, and with them, happiness and joy."

She reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers and squeezing gently. "Just because you have faith doesn't mean you have to believe everything. Take the parts that you like, and leave the rest. It wouldn't be right to try and shed parts of yourself because they don't fit the rigid mould created by some sheltered old fart thousands of years ago. Everyone is different. Everyone is unique. No one should get to dictate you like that. So don't let them. Be who you are. Be you."
"Thanks Toni." I squeeze her hand lightly in return.
"But if the thought that there are angels watching over you, or a heaven that you go to when you pass on... If believing those things gives you the strength, the will to survive and go on with this crazy, wild ride called life, then by golly, believe with all your might," she says.

"Don't let anyone stop you." I can hear her voice like a whisper in my ear, almost feeling the warm breath created by her words tickle my ear. And now, I look up at the sky above, almost cloudless, but for a few big white puffs floating along the bright blue expanse and her face appears like a hollow silhouette against the backdrop of one of the clouds and she smiles as our eyes meet. I smile back at her, my angel. "I promise," I whisper under my breath, hoping she'll hear me somewhere. "I promise that I'll keep being. That I'll keep believing. I promise."