Velli

I don’t think things can get better. There is no “better” for things to get to. If I’m alone with my thoughts, they will show me this. A fact as logical as algebra. I want to escape. I’m ready to die now. The gun’s on the table, and I have the strength to pull the trigger. This won’t take four shots. I’ll do it when the one phrase enters my mind and won’t leave. I have no defense for it, and it will be appropriate penance for my sins.

“My mother’s dead, and it’s my fault,” my brain will say, and I must acknowledge it as true because it is. Yet I can’t let that thought remain, because there is another truth. If there is another life, my mother will cry to see me in it so soon. I am afraid and aware that I will live alone and unloved for the rest of my life. I will die alone, but I will not disappoint the dead. I can accept the pain of my existence if I change the world before I die.

The cost of living is misery, and we all choose what will make us miserable. For my price, I chose to ease the pain of all those like me, whom the world abandons, either because of their mistakes or the world’s cruelty.

So, unfortunately, I must keep living. I can’t let Fate win or Prometheus kill me just yet.

Velli

Today is the day Prometheus will kill me unless a miracle happens. I need Rose. Rose would let me know where Dream is. She won’t answer her phone, and she’s not at her parents’ house. I buy a ticket to one of Rose’s readings from her poetry book. The money doesn’t matter. What do I have to buy? The venue for her reading is a quaint, low-lit auditorium made for theater and about the size of a high school gym. A quiet, reserved atmosphere that’s becoming of Rose and would never be in a high school gym lofts through the auditorium and even outside of it. To many, Rose’s writings are the thoughts of a goddess. They wear suits and walk in herds like sheep. It’s so nice to be lost with them. At one point, my legs won’t move through the stadium lobby. I’m ushered through the mass of slow and confident steps toward the door. Only when I must scan my ticket do I have to stand on my own two feet.

The ticket taker’s words come to me like echoes from a faraway land. I nod twice to pretend I understand. She repeats the same sentence twice. Her lips look large and intimidating. The third time, I realize she wants me to enter the stadium. I would be embarrassed, but I don’t have enough pride left for that.

The darkness of the stadium brings relief. No one knows my name. They can’t see me. I can melt within it. I find my seat only three rows from the stage and sit statue still throughout the performance. At one point, Rose comes on. The spotlight stays on her as she sits and reads excerpts from her book. The sight of her white dress gives me a flashback to the sewer. I shiver once in my seat, then I compose myself. At some point, I’ll signal to her. She’ll want to see me. Until then, I enjoy being in the dark, invisible and forgotten in a new place.

XXX

The lights turn on. It’s over. I wasn’t asleep, but I wasn’t all there, either, just in a depressed daze. Rose bows and makes chilling eye contact with me. I was supposed to see her first. I should have been paying attention. Flowers—every species of beautiful flower except roses because of superstition—and notes filled with prayers and thanks flood the stage. Rose bends to take up each one, then she points at me. The crowd moans in jealous anguish, and with that same finger, she motions for me to join her on stage. I follow her instructions and walk up the stairs.

In a well-practiced hug, she whispers in my ear, “Go through the curtains to the left and down the hall. My dressing room is the first one on the left. Go in there and wait for me.”

Maybe I mumble the word, “Okay.”

Regardless, she breaks off the hug and waves to the crowd again.

Someone else hops on stage.

“No, no, no,” Rose says as calmly as a pond. “I’m sorry, only he can come with me at this time. I would love to speak with you right here, though.” She does.

The curtains are large and thick, and I’m surprised by how much effort it takes to push through them. If I weren’t so constantly tired, would it take this much effort?

The curtains lead me through a wide and tall hallway with actors’ portraits on both sides. Her dressing room is smaller than I would expect for someone of her status. Maybe because this theater is smaller and more intimate, they don’t have more room for her elsewhere.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A plant occupies one corner. Three mirrors hang on the wall, a table beneath them to do makeup along with a fancy high chair, the kind directors use. I head toward it. I need a break. I’m sure by the time she gets done waving and greeting everyone, I’ll be out of it. I only need to rest for a minute. I only need to get my energy back. I slink into the chair. Not bad. Easy to close my eyes, so I do.

Liquid and cold metal hit my lips. I spit it out. Someone’s drowning me. I leap up and am immediately pushed back down by something soft and firm. It’s Rose. She has a metal cup of water in her hand. She pushes me back into the seat.

“It’s only water, child.” She offers it to me, raising one hand to show her innocence.

I take it more to ease the awkwardness than anything. I don’t like how she calls me child. She’s only three years older than I am. I want her to say my name. She knows it.

“When I came in, you were asleep and did not look good. I thought you might need it.”

“Thank you.” I take a loud sip. “I, um, I’m not very good. My mom died.” It hurts to say, and it stings to know I said it so sloppily, no deft introduction, no congratulations on her book, just blurting genuine feelings.

She clutches her heart. “Oh, Velli…” is all she can offer.

“Yeah.” I swallow hard, nervous about my request. “That’s why I need to see Dream.”

“My condolences, of course, child. The Heirs—or I—have no problem paying for the service.”

Hahahahahahha.

“Thank you. That’s very generous.”

Maybe she didn’t hear you. Ask again, bucko.

“It’s been extremely tough these last couple of days,” I say. “Seeing or even speaking with Dream would really help me. I could use a friend’s support.”

“Support is…” Rose pauses and looks at my reflection in the mirror. “Extremely important. When the data scientists come in and try to improve Heir activity, they tell us not to be so self-reliant but to work as a team more.” She tightens her lips and looks me up and down.

Then she grabs my chin and brings her face so close to mine, I can smell her sweet breath. Her grip is strong. I couldn’t escape if I wanted to. She looks in the mirror again, as if comparing images. Then she lets go. I can’t make sense of it. I can’t even comprehend what’s happening. Fate hollers in laughter.

“Dream is my support” is all I say.

“No other friends?”

“Not really.”

Loser.

“Well, that’s okay…” She turns away from me and clutches her hands behind her back. Her fingernails are painted white to match her dress. She paces in the small room and looks at my reflection in the mirror as if she’s trying to determine something. It’s coy, though, just quick glances. “Sometimes, we have to do missions solo, as Heirs. You won’t believe it, but I actually had to fight Wulf recently.”

She knows.

Why would I risk this? I was so sloppy. She’s going to kill me. I’m already dead.

My acting skills activate as she says it. I dig into my emptiness and manage a look of apathy, a way of saying “What does this have to do with me?” My heart pounds, though. If she had any sort of hearing advancement, I’d already be dead.

“I… don’t… Wulf died when his building collapsed.”

“Nope, I fought him and three other folks underground.” She spins, faces me, and leans on the chair’s armrests. Her chest hovers in front of my face. “He’s dead now though, for sure.” Rose grabs my arm with both hands in a grip to rival a noose. Her face is stern. “I ripped his head off just like this.” She twists my arm, and it hurts.

I fall from my seat. My knees bang against the ground, and I grab my arm in a fruitless attempt to ease the pain. It burns. I scream. I’m awake now. This pain is horrible, invigorating. I don’t want to die yet.

She towers over me, and I scramble backward. It’s her turn to look bored and apathetic. When she takes one step closer to me, I leap back and bang against the wall in a vain attempt to escape her.

“Were you underground with Wulf when I killed him?”

“No.” My voice runs from me. It’s frightened, existing somewhere between a whisper and a scream.

She’s going to confirm it. I’m a threat to the Heirs now. She’ll make me swear by my name, and I’ll die doing so.

She shrugs. “Works for me.”

You’re not a threat to anyone.

“Let’s talk about my sister,” she says.

My heart thumps to the point of embarrassment. It’s so bad, I can imagine she sees it.

“That little burn I gave you? That was just my version of a wrestling move we used as kids to torture one another. My version hurts a little more. However, some men and women out there can do that to your neck. You can’t prevent it. For her own safety, why would I let you anywhere near my sister?”

“I love her,” I say more like a whisper than anything, then I announce it again because it’s true and it matters. “I love her!”

Rose shrugs then bends forward to touch my face. “ So do I. Someone that matters will love her as much as you do.” She stands straight, walks out of the room, and turns the light off with me inside. She doesn’t bother telling me to lock the door when I leave.