The Lone Chameleon

 Dear Mr. Stewart, 

My name is James and I live in Australia. I have been a fan of your art for a long time now. Particularly, your work The Lone Chameleon. I feel like a chameleon a lot because I feel like I'm invisible. No one really sees me, and if they do, they don't want to know me. I only wish that I could really turn invisible like the Lone Chameleon can. It might be better that way. I wouldn't be able to be seen to be picked on any more. 

Anyway, I have a chance at a friend, but whoever they are.. They want it to be secret. At least for now. I guess it's safer that way. I really like The Lone Chameleon and I wanted to know if it'd be ok for me to borrow the name to use with this new secret friend of mine? I hope you write back and it's ok. 

James

-0O0-

Dear James, 

You can call me Marty if you'd like. Mr. Stewart makes me sound a bit old, but I'm really not sure if I'm that much older than you. I'm really happy to hear you like The Lone Chameleon so much. It's one of my favorite creations. You're welcome to borrow, or should I share the name. I'll just ask one thing if I may- if anyone asks where it came from, tell them about me, ok? 

I'm not sure if you've seen or know about it already, but if you look on my website, I've written the story behind The Lone Chameleon there. I thought that might interest you, but want to say for now that you're not alone. Also, it sounds like things might be a little rough for you- I'm real sorry about that and hope it gets better soon. All the Best, 

Marty 

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Marty Stewart was first featured in my short story The Storyteller, written in honour of Stan Lee, which you can read here. 

You can also read more of James's story in my latest longer release, Cam & Goldie, over on Wattpad here. The first few chapters are up now. 

No Words

 The sky overhead was covered with big clouds. Not a touch of bright blue in sight. Rain ran down, drenching everything it touched with it's freezing cold droplets as darkness descended upon her world. 

She lay on the ground, alone, silent and stuck in place. She'd long ago given up on trying to move. It was no use, being trapped by invisible chains that kept her bound. No longer could she scream or make a tiny sound, for all of that had long been lost to her. Even if she'd been able to manage some kind of small squeak, there was no one to hear it. At least, no one who cared. Those who did, those who tried, were all ripped away and she was beaten further down. Just to reinforce the lesson. Don't bother trying. No matter what you do, it won't be good enough. If it is good, you'll be laughed at for your efforts. And most importantly, no matter what, you are on your own. 

So she lay still and silent, wishing that she could just melt away. That she could somehow evaporate into the ground and cease to exist. That was the only out she could see. The only way to make it all stop and go away. But she couldn't do that. She couldn't do anything. 

It seemed to go on for forever, until finally, one day, it stopped. After so long in pitch blackness, she was blinded by the sunlight streaming down upon her, as if from a crack . The light illuminated something. Squinting narrowed her focus enough to allow her to recognise the something as a hand. On immediate instinct, she recoiled and flinched. Her heat beat faster, nearly jumping up to her throat. Hands weren't good, she'd learned long ago. They got ripped away, and both of them would pay a price in the end. 

For long enough to lose all track of time, she stared at the hand reached toward her. Steady and unmoving. Still there. Her entire arm shook as she moved it at snail's pace toward the hand outstretched. The hand moved closer. Fingers curled around her wrist and a gentle pull helped her to her feet. 

She blinked. The stranger that looked back at her wore an expression that had become foreign to her. Their face bore a soft, gentle kindness she wasn't used to anymore. The sad sympathetic smile reached to fill their eyes with tears. A sorrow and sorry for what she had been through. For the darkness that had completely enveloped her and overshadowed her entire world. She felt the air leave her lungs. The hand still holding hers squeezed, as if to say that it would be ok. But also that it was ok if it wasn't ok. 

Slowly, as the hand kept on holding hers, she grew used to the light re-entering and taking over her world. She learnt that the sun wouldn't burn her to a crisp and instead, she allowed it, and the stranger's care to rewarm her freezing cold soul. 

After a time, the hand let go of hers. But the stranger, now a friend, stayed standing beside her. Still there, just in case. Their very presence was all she needed to let herself be brave as she started to learn to move and walk again. They stepped forward when she stumbled, offering a hand to catch her before she fell to the ground. They helped her find her stability and steadiness when the ground beneath her feet felt shaky and fragile. They supported her balance when she needed to tiptoe so the ground beneath her wouldn't crack. 

But then, the ground did crack. Her eyes darted around as she started to fall, looking for the kind stranger who had become her friend, and something of a saviour. But she couldn't see them anywhere. Their hand had disappeared. Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't sure if they'd been ripped away, but those same feeling as if they had been flooded her now. Terrifying fear. She was frozen in place, unable to move, barely managing to breathe. The light and warmth that had filled her world disappeared and she was plunged into icy darkness. Her universe was pitch black, and it was just like she was right back there, all over again.   

But just as the horrible darkness returned, so too did a hand. And not just one this time, either. Many hands all appeared to take hers. She couldn't believe her eyes as she looked at all the people around her, willing to pull her to her feet and support her shaky steps. Now, her eyes were the ones brimming with tears. A lump filled with emotion prevented any kind of speech as she allowed a few to help her up, slow and steady to stand. 

Then, her breath caught, picturing what seemed like the inevitable. Every single one of the people belonging to the outstretched hands being beaten black and blue, just because of the offer of a hand. She shook her head, not wanting that for any of them. She fell hard and fast to her knees, tears streaming down her face. I'm not worth it, she wanted to tell them. 

But still, the hands remained, waiting. But you are, they seemed to say, and she was reminded of that first stranger. The one who had made her feel like it was ok. She found their face amongst the many people surrounding her as they all came closer. With a collective effort of everyone, she was supported to stand, and a tight embrace ensured she would not fall again. 

She felt warmth emanating from the bodies around her. Warmth that was fuelled by a genuine kind caring. By love. The warmth of several who knew she was more then she'd been led to believe. Then she now thought herself to be. People who saw her, even though she'd lost sight of herself. Who remembered, even when she'd forgotten.  

She looked at all of them. She wanted to say something, to tell them all how much it meant. How much they meant. But the lump of emotion was still rock hard in her throat. Even if she had been able to speak, she wasn't sure she'd be able to find the words. She had none. No words would be adequate to begin to describe everything she felt, how much it, and they, all meant. There were no words. No words at all. 

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For all of the people who have helped and supported me. You know who you are, and I have no words adequate enough to thank you. For everything. 

Man of Contradictions

 Somewhere deep in a valley between some of the tallest mountains around, was the cave where he hid. Well, it wasn't exactly hiding... Not when he was likely the only person around for miles, but all the same, he doubted anyone knew he was there. He was that quiet, he doubted anyone would even notice him if they were aware of his presence. 

Tony Benjamin had learned long ago to keep to himself. Associating with people hadn't gotten him very far in his life. All it had brought was hurt and heartache. And yet, there was still a yearning to find the special someone it seemed so many others had. So for better, or perhaps for worse, Tony wore his heart on his sleeve. Just in case- you never know right? But, he still kept his distance. Just in case. 

Tony looked up and down at the man opposite him, in the mirror. He saw himself as he was, but he saw too the Tony only he knew. The Tony he hid away out of near indestructible instincts to protect himself. He saw the complex contrasts; wanting connection, yet actively avoiding it, how chill and laid back he was in the rare moments he spent with others around, compared to how internally anxious he was inside.  

 "You confuse me," he said, shaking his head.  

"I know. I confuse me too." 

No one would ever guess his age from looking at him. Whether it was his anxious ruminating, intellectual ponderings or something else. Whatever it was, the facts remained the same. His worry lines were deep and he had gone grey. If you stopped at appearances, Tony Benjamin was an old man. But, if you looked deeper and gave him a chance, you'd see how young he really was. Tony was standoffish (at times) but super soft and sweet at his core. He was incredibly smart and at the same time, astoundingly anxious. Anxious because he was smart, yet at times, a little dumb because he was anxious.. How that worked, even Tony wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that he, Tony Benjamin, was a man of contradictions. 

"So, knowing all of that, knowing my complex contradictions, my faults and attributes that contrast each other. Knowing all of that, would you take a chance on me?" He waits with baited breath. 

 

Winds of Connection

 They shrug. “Call me, he, call me she..” They slide their shades a little further down their nose to reveal focused, dark eyes beneath, bearing into your soul, almost like a test. "But what I'd much rather is that you call me they. Or even better yet, call me, me." They grin. "When it all comes down to it, that's who I am, more than anything or anyone, after all. Me."  

You'd like to get a word in edgewise, but they rush on so fast, you don't stand a chance. 

"I am me, just as you are you," they say. "Why do we have to attach labels to everything? What does it matter?" 

You open your mouth again., but again, they push on. 

"It doesn't." With those two words, they speak for the both of you. 

Holding their gaze, you just nod. 

"Now labels..." they trail off, thinking. "Labels," they try again, "are funny things. Labels seem to highlight what is different about us. Now don't get me wrong. Differences are great. But labels seem to take away from that. Labels seem to taint the difference, and paint it in a bad light. Now, we don't want that, do we?" 

You shake your head, feeling like you have no choice but to agree, even though you're really not sure, about the idea, nor where they're going with it. "No." 

They tut, as if their own view wasn't already apparent. 

With a sharp inhale, they raise a finger in the air. "In that sense, differences can drive us away. What I'd really like is to focus not on difference, but on sameness. What is it that we have in common? What is there that brings us together? That unites us?" Their eyes are trained on you, as if expecting you'll have the answer. 

Just when you don't think you can take it anymore, they wave a hand in the air and you feel the relief course through you like a great big sigh. 

"That's what we have to find out, isn't it?" 

You nod, perhaps a little too quickly, grateful. 

They raise their arms, their striped poncho falling like wings and spin around, swirling the poncho in the air. They throw their head back and laugh. "Feel that." The movement of their arms creates a warm breeze that tickles your cheek. "How sweet is it? How freeing and beautiful."

You simply look back at them, at a loss for how to respond. 

"That's what we need. Shared experiences. Sameness. We need to be brought closer together. What we need, more than anything, is connection."  

Wish

 With a name like Jewel, anyone would be forgiven for thinking she was a gem. That she had a heart of gold. It's an easy mistake to make, I guess, when you don't know her like I do. Anyone could easily fall into that trap. I should know. I did... 

I thought Jewel was amazing. I thought she may well have been the best thing since sliced bread. See, Jewel is the kind of person who oozes charisma. She radiates charm. She's the kind of person who could light up a room and have everyone in it eating out of the palm of her hand with a mere snap of her fingers. 

One such night, I watched on in awe as she spoke to a growing crowd of people. More and more of them gathered around her, all of them laughing heartily or with beaming grins that illuminated their whole face. And over in the corner stood I, her quiet, shy kid sister, wishing I knew how to talk with people the way she did. To connect as effortlessly as she had. 

Little did younger me realise that while I looked on with wistful wishing, she was also stealing glances back at me, secretly wishing the crowd that surrounded her would all just go away and leave her alone, just like they were with me. They did eventually. Because eventually, she figured out how to make them all go away. Every single person that tried to get close. Not straight away though. For a while, they all kept coming back. Kept trying. But eventually, they realised, and eventually, they gave up. Eventually, I did too. But I persisted longer than the others. I was the biggest sucker of them all. 

With a sigh, I concede to myself that she is my sister after all. Of course I didn't want to give up that easily. Of course I wanted to believe something else, something better. Of course my view of her was rosey coloured. Of course it's only now, that it's all been going on so long that I'm starting to really see. And of course it feels as painful as it does to me, because that's who I am. 

I am the bleeding heart who feels everything almost too deeply. I care, too much. Love too much. I peer at my sister across the way. She puts on a good face, pretending like a professional, as if her life depends on it. In a way, I suppose, it kind of does. Or at least, this facade she has going does. I squint, as if this will give me clearer vision. It does a bit, but not into what I really want to see.

I can't help wondering if Jewel's heart is encased in a thick layer of ice. Or had it long ago turned to stone? Either seems like a possibility, for how little she seems to care or feel for others. If she feels at all. But what does it matter? Knowing these facts won't change the way Jewel is. It won't change the mask she puts on in front of everyone, nor the fact that she never seems to take it off. None of that will change. I just wish it would. I wish that somehow, knowing could help me fix it. Stupidly, I just wish. 

If wishes were horses... Our father has said this to me so many times that the words are so ingrained in my brain and I can practically hear him saying it, even though he's nowhere near me. 

"Beggars would ride," I finish in a whisper to myself. "I know, Dad." I sigh. Even though Jewel and I might balance each other out with our levels of feeling and caring, this is our problem. Someone always ends up hurt. 

"Could enough blood melt ice?" I wonder aloud to myself. "Could it crack stone?" 

Across the way, Jewel steals a glance on my direction. Just for a moment, our eyes lock, and I know. We both wish.  

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this story follows on from How Do You Solve a Problem? which you can read here

How Do You Solve A Problem?

 When my parents named me Maria, I don’t think they realised just how fitting it would be. I was named for my great grandmother on my mother’s side, though I’ve grown up to have more in common with a certain classic musical heroine.

 

My family would sing the lyrics to that song of hers whenever my symptoms might show themselves.

My father shakes his head. “Maria,” he tuts. “You care too much.” As if I can help it.

“You feel far too deeply.” My mother says with a worried frown. As if I can make it stop.

 

My best friend Effie, on the other hand, calls it endearing. And sweet, like the way I always want to run around and take care of everyone else. How it seems to physically hurt when someone important to me is in pain and struggling. Like the time I cried a river when Effie’s grandmother died when I’d never even met the woman. Or maybe I’d been crying in response to Effie’s pain. Either way, that’s just me. It always has been, and I have no idea how to be any other way, which leaves me with a burning question.

 

Is it really a problem? How? Why? And who on Earth gets to decide? Yes, there are physical symptoms associated with it. Similar to with a panic attack, it can feel like my heart is being squeezed to within an inch of its life sometimes, other times it feels like it’s crying. But how and why does that make it a pathological problem? I don’t feel like there’s anything wrong with me. I don’t feel like I’m diseased. I’m a bleeding heart and damn well proud of it. It’s something about me, like my mousey brown hair and blue eyes. Why does there have to be something ‘wrong’ with it? It’s not affecting anyone. If it is, it’s for the good. Doing good makes me happy. There can’t possibly be a problem with that. Surely.  

 

Take it from me, Effie would say, having someone like you who cares so much… I’ve never had a friend quite like you. A friend who would hold me and cry with me about my Grandma.  A friend who would do anything for me.

 

I remember that day. It had been one of those heart squeezing occasions. Oh wait. I think I might get it now. It’s the physical sensations, isn’t it? That’s why it’s been pathologised and labelled a syndrome. And, I suppose they are annoying, but it feels relatively minor. Like a tiny price to pay for what I get in return. For the chance to share, live and laugh with some really amazing people. For the privilege of being loved and cared about by them.

 

So let me ask you now, do you see a problem? Am I really ill? Am I really a problem in need of solving? Or am I just a bleeding heart?

Everything's 'Fine'

The frame sits on one side of your desk, protecting your most prized possession. You remember the day the picture had been taken, on one of the family holidays when you were both kids. Oh, how you wish you could go back there. Back to that time when you were younger, free and unburdened by the worries that plague you now. Before any of the craziness that's unfolded recently had occurred. You wish you could go back to when you were blissfully oblivious and unaware of the demons that have been around all along. Looking back, you’re not quite sure how you could have missed them.

 

You gaze at the picture awhile, studying the features you share, noticing especially those you both inherited from your mother- dark hair and eyes, stark against milky skin. For you, that’s where the similarities stop. But your sibling inherited more than that. They also got to share in the monsters that mislead our mother's mind. The all-consuming demons that leave her so deeply troubled. The ones that haunt her every moment and turn her every dream into a nightmare.

 

Their demons have them convinced that the demons don’t exist at all. And yet, the demons taint their every thought, a constant threat hissing in their ears. The demons are always there, influencing all they do. They've always been there, for as long as you can remember, like constant companions. Back then, you were just too young to know about them, but you know better now. You were too innocent to notice the flashes that would pass by their eyes like lightning, present only for a brief second. Although, you've never had any idea what the demons do, only that it corrupts them. If you could get into their heads, hear what words the demons whispered, know what ran through their minds, maybe you might have half a chance of getting to the bottom of all this.

 

You wonder why you can see the demons so clearly when the rest of your family are so blind to their existence. How can they not see? How can they not understand that the demons are why everything feels so hard all the time? That the demons are the reason every step feels like trudging through quicksand? But then, it’s hard to see something clinging to your back without a mirror. You’ve offered to hold up a mirror so they can see for themselves, many times. But they always decline. “Thank you,” they say, “but I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.” Their eyes pierce yours, searching. As if they’ll find the answer hidden somewhere there. As if the problem lies not with them, but with you.

 

"I've had enough of 'fine'!" You jolt from the chair with such force it flies away behind you. You whisk your hands through your hair, fingers catching with increasing frustration-fuelled friction. Then you stop. Your eyes narrow when they fall upon the picture frame sitting on your desk. You glare at the people in the picture, your younger selves, reaching to lash out at the image. "What is it anyway?" Your fingers freeze, curling around mid air, as if the mysterious 'fine' might be something you can grasp.

With a heavy sigh, your arm falls back to your side. Instead, you take a big breath before unleashing a scream that could easily shatter glass and knock the very roof from above your head. At times like these, the burden upon your shoulders seems far greater than the weight resting upon theirs.

 

A pang of guilt settles in your stomach at the thought. They’re the ones with demons tarnishing their wrecked, wounded and troubled souls, not you. You don't have their demons deluding you. They’re the ones in dire need of help. Except, they won’t let you. They don’t ‘need’ it. The looks they give you are seared into your memory; are you sure you’re not the one who needs help? 

 

You've tried arguing back, but they've never listened to reason. At this point, you’re verging on pulling tufts  from your head. That pain might be easier to handle than this… this utter agony. You drag the chair forward by the arm rest and fall back into it. Blinking away tears, you run your finger along the edge of the picture frame. With a sigh, you remove your hand. You struggle for breath, throat clogged with lumps too large to swallow. Your hands are bound by powerlessness and helplessness and there’s nothing you can do but shake your head in despair.

 

Share the love … At least, that’s how the saying's supposed to go. Except, not for you. For you, it's more like share the pain. You’d take it, too. If it helped them heal or get better, you’d take it all. But then, if your love were enough, their minds would be free from worry, their souls well and their hearts unburdened. If your love were enough, they’d be set free from all that imprisons them. Instead, your love for them rests a heavier burden upon you. A load you must carry alone. They are all you have, but they don’t need you. They’re 'fine'. Fine. The word drips with poison as it runs through your mind. You might break something if you hear it uttered just one more time. Because that's all they ever tell you. It's all you ever hear and you're sick of it. Because what even is it? What is ‘fine’? You have no idea, but one thing you do know is what it’s not- them.

 

They’re not 'fine', as much as they'd like to believe it. They're not 'fine', yet they don't even realise it and because of that, you're not really fine either. How can you be, when the people you love most aren’t? When they don’t even realise how not fine they are? When there's nothing you can do because they're the only ones who can change themselves? You can’t help but worry. It’s like you don’t have a choice. It’s like it all falls to you, and then the anxiety becomes three-fold, because you’re worrying not only for yourself, but on both of their behalves as well, because they can’t.

 

Or maybe they won't. Why is anyone's guess. Maybe because there was one time when a little bit of reality seeped in and it was too much for them to bear. They couldn't handle it, so they turned and ran the other way.

 

You shake your head, imagining them standing in front of you. "Yes, you can totally run away from all your problems. You can deny everything. Because that will make it all disappear, as if none of it ever happened at all." You sweep the air with one of your hands. "Because that's totally how it works." Now, your words are the ones filled with poison.

 

With a heavy exhalation, you turn your gaze upwards, as if you’ll find the answer you long for in the ceiling that covers your head, in the clouds in the sky or maybe even further up than that, in the heavens high above. How do you go on loving someone when loving them is so painful? How can you catch someone on the run from it all? How can you help someone when they can’t, or maybe won't, see the truth? 

Why Not?

 Not that anyone knew, cause she'd rather have stuck pins in her eyes than tell a single soul, but there were so many more reasons that Kelly was so hardcore into celebrating Shelly De Luca than anybody realised. Though now that she though of it, if she were being really honest, she wasn't just celebrating- understatement of the century. No, she was completely loving Shelly De Luca. 

Kelly balked at questions of how or why. "Nuh uh." She raised a single finger in the air. "No, no, no. The real question," she paused for dramatic effect. "The real question is why not? The question is how could you not." She scoffed at the attempted rebuttals. 

You don't really know her. You think you do, but...  

Kelly cut in before there was the chance to say any more. "That's what you think." 

She's a big star. You're an ordinary person. She doesn't even know you exist. 

"Wanna bet?" she challenged. "Cause I'll bet that one day, she will know who I am. Just wait. You'll see." 

She's half a world away. She's across the pond, love.

Kelly shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll find a way." 

Eventually though, Kelly started to get sick of all the doubters. Of all the reasons why not. She gazed at the homemade poster of Shelly that adorned her wall and sighed as she surrendered to the flood of warm, fuzzy feelings that washed over her. The flood that washed away everything bad and made it all feel ok again. "Why do they have to try and pull me down, Shell?" Kelly asked the poster. "I like being in my bubble. The clouds... I love the clouds. I like being among them. I don't want to be brought down. The earth is hard." 

Kelly's breath hitched in her throat. "I know it's a fantasy, Shell. I know that. But I don't care." She looked around her room, the poster seeming to stand out, as if it were bordered with some sort of glow, maybe a spotlight shining behind it with light creeping out around the edges. Kelly nodded. Shelly was definitely the brightest thing in a world that seemed pretty dull and grey otherwise. It was like.. no. It wasn't just like.. Shelly did make Kelly's world better and brighter than it ever used to be. "The fantasy isn't hurting anybody, so why does it matter?" A hint of a smile played at her lips. She was vaguely aware it was just a projection of her imagination, but it didn't matter. She didn't care. Shelly's poster seemed to whisper to her: it doesn't. 

Kelly's grin grew a little bigger. "Which brings me back to one of my original questions." Just because she was alone in her room didn't stop Kelly from pausing for dramatic effect. "Why not?" 

There is no reason, Shelly seemed to say through the poster. 

"Exactly." Kelly's eyes sparkled with delight. "And I promise you Shell, that I will love you the way I always have. I will stand by you and be there through thick and thin, just like you've done for me. Cause why not." Kelly shook her head. "Why not? I'm hearing that so much it's like a broken record. But why not, when there are so many reasons why." She let out a breath of hot air, somewhat exasperated. "Those are what I want to focus on, Shell. More than anything. Not why not, but all the reasons why."    

You

 The young man sat on the back steps with a heavy ‘hmph’. “Why is it that all the best ones have to get stolen away?” He asked the empty yard. “First, it was Jay, then Mia, Renee, Tommy and Arnie.” His head hung low. Though no one was around, he still felt a need to at least try to hide his tears. “I know,” he whispered, picturing the face of his lost love in a puddle on the ground. “I know, Beau. You didn’t want me to cry. But losing you... it was the worst. It is the worst. Because you... you were the best. The best of all of them.” Each word he spoke was harder to get out then the last as tears streamed down his face.

The young man took a breath, trying hard to steady himself. He wanted to keep going and push through, but he wanted... no needed, to do so without having his voice quiver or break. He figured he owed Beau at least that much. “You,” he started again, “are the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten. Just you.” A montage of images, many of them moving, flashed through his mind. Of Beau, of the both of them together, happy and in love. The small smile that stretched across his lips was tinged with sadness. But he was ok with that. “If this is the price I have to pay, then so be it. Because anything is worth the chance to love and be loved by you.”

He remembered one time when they were together, laying quietly as the sunlight streaming in through the window warmed them. “You want to know something?”
“Tell me.” The young man had whispered against his lover’s lips.
“You’re my forever love.”
Just the sound of the words, spoken in Beau’s voice, almost melted him. “You’re my forever love,” he’d argued playfully. “And my every day Valentine.”
Beau’s giggle was etched in his memory, along with the cheeky smile.
“It just fits that your name is literally Valentine.” The young man smiled, both back in that moment, and again then, as he remembered the moment and relived it in his mind.

“Beau Valentine.” The name tasted like sugary syrup on his tongue, the sound a sweet symphony to his ears. “My Beau Valentine.” Beau’s smile had melted him too.

“My Beau Valentine,” the young man told the imagined reflection of his love. “My everyday valentine, my forever love. Because I choose you. Every day and forever.”

Aisling

I looked at the young man... or maybe more of a boy, tucked up tight in his bed sheets and sighed. There was no way he would go unless he was made to. I had no choice but to go and guide him on his way. So I returned to his bedside, night after night and sang to him. It was the only way.

 

All it took was one look at me, one glimpse of my face, and he was mesmerised. I knew from his eyes, glassy and glazed over. He was in my daze. Just where I wanted him. At the mercy of my will. I could've done whatever I had wanted...

 

To my horror, the boy opened his mouth, perhaps to protest. I had looked away. But I was quick in pressing a finger to his lips to silence him. "Shh. Come."

 

... correction- he'd do whatever I wanted, as long as I kept singing to him. My looks were one thing. Just a glimpse of me, a slightly transparent, yet glowing ghostly figure, would make any man weak at the knees. The reason I had to wear a veil everywhere I went. But my voice was what held the real power. So I opened my mouth and allowed my song to lap over him like waves. Once again, his eyes glazed over and he was hooked. I could have done anything, but I didn't want much- only a friend. This life of mine, lady of the lake, is a lonely one. You can hear it in my song if you listen closely. No one ever did though. No one ever has. Which is why I'm left with no choice but to use the charms of my voice. I didn't want to. Though, can someone who's been enchanted to you ever really be a true friend? Whether they can or not, he's the closest I have. Even then, I feel we're not quite there. I have sung to him for longer than I can remember and still, nothing. Whether it is he who disappears and breaks the connection or I, the problem remains. He does not. 

 

One day, he will come along with me. But that time will be different. Because that time, he will stay.