Tis the Season

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Happy Holidays as well.
I hope the coming months bring what you wish from them
and that you are able to live your life in the way that brings you the most happiness
with those you love.

Stars

Stillness.
There is no wind.
Not a branch moves
overhead.
The grass is as quiet
as the sky -
black and framed by tree-fingers.

The world is away,
hidden by white trunks of old
aging aspens.
We lay together in the quiet,
hands entwined.
Eyes reflect the span of the stars.
How small we are.
How large we can become
on the grass,
hand in hand.

Seascape

The ocean waves lapped at the shore, surprisingly calm given the storm that brewed out at sea. Purple-blue clouds hung low on the horizon, fading to more pastel shades in their relatives as they approached the shore. The water reflected the sky, green-blues highlighted with violet, turquoise, and the whitecaps of waves. A strong breeze gusted off the water, filling the air with salt spray. A lone seagull cawed overhead.

The shore seemed to be waiting for the oncoming clouds. Waiting for the bulging, blue-violet forms to move overhead and release a torrent of rainwater that would pulverize the sandy shoreline. For the waves to grow in size, rising like luminescent skyscrapers before collapsing onto the sand. They would shatter into white foam and liquid shards of glass. The ocean would collect the remnants, drawing the foam and the shards back just far enough so that the next towering wave could fall. The shore would take it all – the falling waves, the pounding sky-water. It would last for a few hours and then the ocean would quiet itself as the sky tamed its winds. They would both apologize to the shore with soft breezes and gentle waves, soothing the tousled sand.

That was hours off yet, however. The ocean was still being sullen, fighting with the sky as they worked up the courage to come to land. The shore was left to wait, listening to the seagull flapping overhead.

Gaming

I wrote this a couple of months ago, and felt that it should be cleaned up and shared again. WARNING: Spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age II, and all three Mass Effect games below.


I know that gaming in general has become more main stream and socially 'acceptable' than it was a few years ago, but there are still varying levels of gammer and how gammers are percieved. We all game for different reasons, all very valid and very real. In finishing the Mass Effect series with the completion of Mass Effect 3, I've had to let go of my cannon Shephard, Kai. Sure, there's still much to be written about the end of her story, but I don't like endings - I don't like letting go. So her story's still unrefined and unfinished in a word document on my hard drive. That being said, she is still present, even though her in-game story is technically finished.  It's made me realize how dear to me gaming is and how these characters, seemingly insignificant pieces of code combined with a visual, have helped me through some of the darkest points of my life.

In high school, it was Adrianne Tabris - my city elf, dual wielding warrior from Dragon Age: Origins. Dealing with the emotional tumult that were my final years of high school, Adri was the calm in the storm - she knew what she had to do, and set out to get it done. And she did it with a smile, this job that was forced into her hands as leader of the Grey Wardens and eventual Hero of Ferleden. She found love and held on to it, in spite of duty, giving up pieces of herself to protect those she loved. Writing about her with a friend at the time, she provided an outlet for confused feelings and immense hurt. She helped to mend some broken bridges, or at least air out some dirty laundry in tandem with my friend's Mahariel. She became an outlet for my anger and frustration, a leader to aspire to, a safe place where I could leave my teenage angst behind me.

College came around and my gaming became limited to my visits home, cramming in hours between visits with friends and dates with the boyfriend. When my college buddy came back from winter break with an xbox that she offered to let me play, Ferrel was born. My sweet, naive mage was my protagonist for my first play through of Dragon Age II, falling hard for Anders early on. Shortly before I beat the game, I broke up with my long distance boyfriend, calling it off due to a need for space and a general air of disconnection between us. Not a week later, he came clean to me over a skype call. He had been sleeping with my best friend almost the entire time we had been dating - over a year.
Never have I been so hurt, so angry and hateful all at once. I ceased trying to contact the girl I had called 'friend' for so long, wrote with, cried with, grown with. It was the first time my college friends had seen me break down, and I'm still trying to let go of the resentment and hurt. Dragon Age II became an escape, a support alongside my friends and family. So when the Chantry exploded and Ferrel was faced with Anders' betrayal, the feeling was eerily close to that of my own real life betrayal. And I realized that Ferrel had become a symbol of myself as I had been; that her change, post-betrayal, mirriored my own. Neither of us were the women we used to be: young, childish, naive. We grew hard, wary, but didn't let it change us. It made us stronger. It took Ferrel for me to see that.

Now, as I sit before the document that will be Kai's final chapter, I don't know where to begin. Sophmore year of college kicked my ass.  Between a full class load, the Resident Advisor duties, and the unexpected Presidency of the DePaul Swing Society, I was grasping at straws to get everything to come together. I managed, it's done, but I never had any time to just sit back and be myself. If one thing was finished, there was always something else on its heels: another duty, another paper, another test. Even when I could steal a few minutes for myself, the lingering sense of my titles and who everyone else needed me to be weighed heavily. So when Mass Effect 3 came out in March, about two weeks before finals, I dove into it with fervor. I had recapped and set up Kai's files, ready to see where this last game would take me. I never imagined that it would lead me here.
Powering through, doing as much as I could on a schedule, I felt the urgency and pressure settling on Kai's shoulders. Do this, solve that, make this work while the Reaper threat blared in the background. The woman was cracking at the edges and there was nothing she or her lover, Garrus, could do about it. It was just too much - the galaxy needed Commander Shephard, not Kai. DePaul needed RA Sarah, or President Sarah, not just Sarah. Sarah had to wait.
I cried when I thought I'd killed Grunt on the Rachni mission, sobbing hard enough to have to pause the game when he came out of those tunnels alive. When Mordin went up into the Shroud, singing as it exploded, I cried for Kai, since she could not. Thane, Legion...so many friends, for both of us. Garrus was Kai's strong rock, balancing her, keeping her sane. So when the final push came, that last weekend before Finals, I was caught in Kai's desperation and wish that it would just be over. When she finally chose Synthesis that first time and the credits rolled, I couldn't help but sob over the peace she felt, the she had done her job and could rest. I toyed with what happened after, but it was done. She had done it, living on in spirit through the synthesis.
As satisfied as I was with my original ending, little pieces niggled at me and got me excited for the Extended Cut. I had gone back to play through Mass Effect with Alexis 'Alex' Shephard, my charming, ice queen Commander who had survived Mindor and became the Butcher of Torfan. She was Kai's opposite: cold, calculating, get the job done regardless of the cost. Kai was a bad ass, but personable - Alex is just as bamf, but terrifyingly calculating about it. So, jumping back to the final hours before striking Cerberus with Kai threw me for a loop. I forgot what it felt like to play her character, more going through the motions than anything else. And then came the final evac scene.
My boyfriend at the time was watching me, keeping his distance as I had requested when I warned him that I was going to play. The evac scene played, and I couldn't stop the tears. Kai, my baby girl, had to order her turian lover to leave. The same one who had been at her six all game long. The same one who fought to stay beside her, bloody and all, claiming "You've got to be kidding me. We're in this together!" The goodbye wrenched my heart, made all the more potent by the presence of Kaidan, her love interest from ME all those years ago. She was saying good bye to him too. The two men she loved most, her mate and her brother-in-arms, could only watch as she faced the end alone. There was not a damn thing they could do. And Kai knew she wasn't coming back. Not this time. So when the choice came, fleshed out with new information and insight, she chose Destruction. She begged EDI's forgiveness, Legion's forgiveness as she fired, praying that she'd die this time. Only, she didn't. And she doesn't know what to do with that.
And now it's officially done, Kai's game story. All that's left is whatever I can write to do her justice. Going through ME3 with her mirrored my own frantic nature, allowed a little bit of 'self' escape through her. She got me through the rest of the year and is helping me process. I think writing the end of her story with provide closure for both of us; something to look back on and face with acceptance. Something to learn from.

All of these characters, Kai in particular, have grown with me, shaped me, supported me in ways that only they can. Their stories mean more than just mere games: they are their own beings, fictional, but real in strange ways. It's a hard thing to describe, but it's special and true and why I love video games in particular. It's been a blessing to take these journeys with these characters, and it's been eye opening. At the end of the day, I can only hope that I can write a story that can help someone else as much as these stories, these characters, have helped me.

So now, as I sit down and write Kai's story, I hope her ending is what she wants it to be, something that does her - and the force she's been in my life - justice. We'll see where she takes me next, no?

Break

            Exhale.

            Her eyes focused on the boards in her mentor’s hands. Around her, the dojo was quiet as the blue-padded floors and white walls absorbed any sound. The parent spectators were still. She knew her mother and father were seated there, waiting for her. Overhead, the Korean flag hung alongside the Tran’s Tae Kwon Do logo. They beamed down at them all, while her fellow test mates watched patiently behind her.

            Her mentor nodded.

Shouting, her hand leapt forward, clenched tightly into a fist. It passed easily through the wood, snapping the pair of boards cleanly in half. The lines of her mentor’s face crinkled in approval as he scratched his beard. In unison, her fellow blue belts cheered. 

Old Shorts

It's odd, returning to a life so old.
It's like those shorts you wore in gym class two years ago
that are a size too small now,
even though you haven't grown since then.
It's stiff and tight in all the wrong places -
a mold that never worked back then
and still won't work now.
It's the old expectations:
straight As,
curfews,
set the example for your siblings,
that still crowd in like the walls of your room -
now too small for what you've become.

You're life has expanded now,
beyond the place you called home those years past.
It's the wide open dance floors now,
the friends who hold your hand as you fall asleep.
It's the ones who open their home to you for a weekend,
the ones who you never feel anxious sharing your favorite song with.
the ones who make you smile when you're curled up in a ball on their couch,
fighting the memories that make you tremble and cry.
They are your family now.
Your life is them,
the spaces you inhabit together.
This old life doesn't fit anymore,
like those old shorts.
Embrace the new one -
that's where you belong.
You fit there.

Your Text

As I type the words, "I don't fit,"
You text me otherwise.
I don't know how you do it -
how you can tell when I'm feeling heavy
and how you just know what to say.
The phone lights up,
the text shines bright,
and I can't help but smile.

Hesitiation

Based on Alfred Stevens’ Hesitation (Madame Morteaux).   

Just outside the pinewood door, she hesitated, her most recent needlework in hand. She had modeled it after a painting her betrothed had bought home from his last voyage to China, imbuing the piece with porcelain, fans, and women dressed in patterned robes with long, wide sleeves. It weighed heavily on her fingertips, pressing against her leg through the fabric of her gown. Was it ready? Would her mother approve? She tucked her knocking hand to her chest and closed her eyes as she listened to the ladies within the sitting room. At her throat, the blue ribbon itched.

As she glanced back at the circular thread cabinet, the glimmering sapphire on her finger caught her eye. Images of her betrothed’s delight flashed through her mind: the afternoon sunshine washing the green walls and family portraits of the sewing room. The way all of the furniture gleamed with the new wood polish her father had used that morning. The way her betrothed’s face split with a grin as she showcased the almost-finished product. She sighed and straightened he hair. If it was good enough for her husband-to-be, it would have to be good enough for her mother.

She rapped confidently on the door before letting herself in. 

On Playing Games

You know how people like to play games? Stringing gullible souls on with a little touch of hope? Making them believe there may be something ‘special’ there between them, when really all they want is the thrill of the chase? You know whom I’m talking about.

I’m talking about people like that cashier your eyeing, that works at the grocery store on the corner. The one with the long hair and green eyes? With the black-framed glasses? Yeah, that one. The one that always has a different woman on his arm when his shift ends. I’m talking about people like him. People that flirt with almost every woman who comes through their checkout line, dropping little compliments everywhere. Who collect the scraps of tissue fished from deceptively large Channel purses, and never call the phone numbers on them. The ones who will tell one ‘special’ lady to wait: “I’m off my shift in 15 minutes.” You’ll see them sometimes, hovering by the firewood that the grocery always has stacked by the door. People like him always leave with a different woman who waited for them to get off shift.

Do you see what I’m getting at? With this guy and these women? He’s playing games: he’s roping them in with compliments, taking their numbers, and leaving them all waiting. He never calls – only the woman who leaves with him at the end of the day gets any attention, and that’s only for one afternoon. I’m trying to warn you about people like him sister. People who like to play games with other people. I want you to know the signs – to have an example – so you can see them coming. So you can steer clear of them. You’re better than game players. And you can do so much better than the guy at the grocery store. 

Molasses

The kitchen was warm when I came downstairs

Leaving my luggage at the front door.

It smelled like pumpkin and molasses.

The dog’s in front of the oven,

And there’s flour on the floor

While a bowl, filled to the brim

Sits amidst the baking pans.

Mom’s there too

In her sweater and jeans,

Rolling out the dog treats

With her trusty wooden pin –

The same as always.

Off

Something's bottled inside
locked in tight,
bursting at the seams.
The tremors rock through my chest,
through my finger tips,
making it hard to carry a conversation.
My voice vibrates,
my chest feels fizzy - off -
I don't know what's wrong.
Is there something wrong?
I'm sick to my stomach -
can't sit in class anymore.
Walks don't help.
Talks don't help.
Mom and Dad don't know what to do.
I'll just sit here and wait
for the fizzy and the sick to go away
so I can sleep
and not feel another day.

Tired.

I sit in that chair,
in that room,
across from yours.
The table on the left
holds a clock
and a box of tissues.

Sometimes there are tears -
sometimes not -
but I always want to sleep after we talk.

It's draining, carrying on like this;
fighting the dread every morning,
fearing that everything will go wrong
         I'll get hurt.
                 I'll hurt someone.
I'll lose my friends.

But the sun comes up
and life moves on.
Class
work
life
keeps moving forward.

Life keeps me busy
and distracts me from the weight on my chest.
The ghosts of the past at my back
as I take that next step forward.

Work To Do

My soul cries.
I can't do anything but sit here and work in the hopes that I don't think too much, that I don't feel. If I feel right now, I'll never finish these finals. God, but I feel like something should change. I bright light just went out of this world and nothing changes. Finals are still due. Life keeps moving on. And there's nothing I can do. No amount of wishing or willing or praying or screaming will change what happened. She's gone. She's not coming back. Damn it. I saw her only a few weeks ago! She was fine!
Now she's gone.
There's no coming back, no see you next time. There is no fucking next time.
Nothing will fix it. Nothing with change it. The tears, the hate, the rage - nothing can change it. I can't even imagine what the driver is feeling right now. One stupid choice and they took a life. I'm angry about it, but my rage will do nothing. They have to live with this for the rest of their life. That's the reality they face. Why add my anger, my hate to that? Maybe it's cold. Maybe it's wrong of me to leave it like that. They'll condem themselves, feel the remorse, face their actions and their consequences. Anything they do to themselves would be worse than anything I could dish out.
Why add to their suffering? Why make it worse? It won't bring her back, won't change the loss or heal the wounds. Is there not enough suffering here as it is? Don't we all hurt enough?
I don't understand why this happens. Why God takes the best of us far too soon. A friend described him as a selfish bastard. Right now, I'm inclined to agree. I know, all is on His time, His will. But this is stupid. She was, what, 25? She had her whole life ahead of her! She touched so many lives, so many people; why cut that short? Why steal her away now, when she could do so much good? I don't get it. I won't ever get it. And it angers me beyond words. Confuses me.

I'm back to being numb. Anger always leads to despair, and that can't happen. I've got work to do.

Goodbyes That Come Too Soon

I saw you at the end of October. You were dressed as a Viking for Halloween, full of smiles and energy as always.
I don't think I even gave you a proper hello.
Now you're gone. I didn't know you well, but your presence was infectious - even to those of us who only ever spoke to you in passing. You were sweet, amazing, bloody fantastic. Everyone I spoke to had nothing but good things to say.
Tragedy strikes again, that cliche son of a bitch. God took you too soon from us. We're left reeling the wake of your absence, cold claws raking fresh wounds in too-raw hearts.
Disbelief is all that remains.
Grief.
A pounding headache in the wake of the tears that just won't stop.

Rest In Peace Kelley.
We love you.
We miss you.

Platonic

A night by your side
no strings attached.
No expectations.
No labels.
Just a warm body at my back,
your arm around my waist
and all is right with the world.

This is why we make better friends
than partners,
right?

I Love You

I love you but you're unavailable
I love you but you're blind.
I love you and you know it.
I love you but you've chosen not to care.
I love you but I'm emotionally fucked.
I love the fact that you're emotionally fucked too.
I love you but I love him too.
I love you but you avoid me
         like a dog avoiding a bath.
I love the way you pretend I'm invisible.
I love the way you move.
I love you because you hate me.
I love you because you love her.
I love how your voice drops an octave after you dance with me.
I love the press of your body against mine,
         our hands intertwined as we move.
I love to hate the way my stomach flips when you're around.
I love to hate how you make me feel.
I love how we're best friends.
I love how I can tell you anything
         no strings attached.
I love you but I can't be with you.
I love that you love me too.
I love you but you won't commit.
I love this deadlock we're in.

Sighs and Half Remembered Dreams

Sighs and half remembered dreams
color the hours,
filling the space between awake and asleep:

The ghost of his arms,
pressure about my middle -
wrapped so tight -
the heat of another
burning at my back.
The imaginings of what was
linger in my shut eyes.
Breaths falter with the rising tide,
water staining the sheets
as the space is filled by
my opened eyes.

Tension

Tight shoulders,

Short breath

Fanning across our faces.

Fingers on my spine.

Fingers in your hair.

Eye to eye,

Chest to chest.

You inhale:

I exhale –

We step apart.

Silence.

Words Never Spoken

Around us the baseline pulses,

Stringy guitars and the patter of drums.

Husky vocals whisper in the empty space

Filling the void with words.

Dance is, after all, no more than words,

Than sounds filling an empty space;

Whispered voices overlaced with

Music.

Feet shuffle

In a pattern if you’d like –

A different kind of language.

Of the body, not the voice.

Barriers dropped and conversations had,

Words spoken while lips don’t move.

Chest to chest

Hand in hand

Swaying

            Pulsing

                        Enraptured.

For is dance not a conversation?

Words without words?

A connection of two beings,

            A getting to know you

Even though we’ve never met.

The guitar wails on in its thrilling lament

Blue swirling betwixt our toes,

Around our shoes.

Dancers shuffle with eyes closed and minds

Far from the words whispered softly

And never spoken.

Of Betrayal - A Villanelle

Look me in the face,

Tell me the truth.

Don’t hide your sins in this sick race.

Though your heart is muddled as you pace –

The dreams and what-ifs are proof –

Look me in the face.

You’ve led me on this chase,

This farce, enamored spoof:

Don’t hide your sins in this sick race.

I should have sprayed you with mace;

Taken my shattered pieces and left you, face the truth.

Look me in the face.

I said no to your advances, tried to be safe

As you pushed the issue and made me guilty, made me deny what was there in truth –

Don’t hide your sins in this sick race.

I loved you once, for the friendship on which all was based,

But you – he who I trusted most, knew me best, best friend –

Look me in the face.

Don’t hide your sins in this sick race.

I Should've Known Better

I should've known better
than to look at those pictures.
I should've known better
than to look back through those letters.
I should've known better
than to reminisce on what was.
I should've known better.
I should've known better.

Thinking of You

and the way your hand feels in mine,
the beat of your heart,
the heat of your breath at my ear.

Thinking of you...
the pulse of the baseline as we move -
one unit -
in tandem.

The guitar wails a lament,
husky voices telling a story of the blues,
as the quiet shuffle of feet and
whispered voices
fill the empty space.
Drums patter out a staccato,
our bodies moving in unison,
my chest pressed to yours.

Our connection is an embrace,
home,
something I can always trust to be safe,
good,
comfortable.
Trust comes like second nature -
our closed eyes,
your cheek pressed to my hair,
arm about my waist -
something others only try at,
can only mock with their efforts.

Your body whispers to mine;
a quick foot shuffle and
twist.
A dip.
The guitar patters out:
as the last note lingers
I open my eyes
and smile
at you.

Where I'm From

I am from the bed,

From comforters and dog hair and warm flannel sheets.

I am from snow-covered pines,

Elk hoof-prints and flatirons.

I am from the old Volvo parked out front,

Thirteen years old,

Glistening champagne,

Still running strong at one hundred thousand and two miles.

I am from beaches and salt air,

The warm kiss of the sun and sand

Caught between the toes.

I am from the green and the woods,

From the trails behind my old house.

I am from the fairs,

The cartoons,

The games we played:

Pretend,

Legos,

The books stacked too tall at my bedside.

I am from tea,

From lamb on Sundays with

What’s-his-name next door.

I am from old friends,

Their habits,

            Nuances of speech and

inflection.

I am from the late night talks with my sister,

The Thomas trains that my brother played with

Once upon a time…

I am from the Disney movies,

The animated Pixar shorts.

I am from the old ballet slippers

And dusty tap shoes

In the back of the closet.

I am from the cat hair of pets long gone,

Of pictures long yellowed and tucked away.

There’s a box

In a corner of

A shelf

Back in Boulder.

Memories overflow and pictures

Scattered across the kitchen table

Remind me of what was

And how it’s made me.

Where I’ve been,

            Where I’m from.

                        And who I am.

Pantoum

Our lives mix, convoluted

By the streams which we cross:

Others of the muddy tides

Driving across the bridges we built.

By the streams we cross

We find others who, like us,

Build new bridges and drive across them,

Searching for our completeness.

We, who find others like us:

Those forever searching and seeking,

Striving to be whole,

Find nothing but broken vases in the shapes of things they knew.

Those forever searching and seeking-

Our lives mix, convoluted;

Finding nothing but broken things we knew once,

Those broken bridges we used to drive over.

Of Magical Matters

This piece was written for my Creative Writing course. We were provided the first line to start, then told to compose a six page story. This was my result.

            The night seemed filled with new sounds and each of them struck him deeply. Had he known shape shifting would be this profound; he would have been more receptive to his mentor’s initial lectures.

            The earth fell away with every beat of his wide wings, sound fading to silence and the whoosh of the air he moved though. His mentor soared beside him, her eyes gold in the moonlight. He hooted at her. She screeched back.

            Above them, above the clouds and other earthly things, the night stretched on, endless. Purple-black velvet bridged the horizons in an arc, encrusted with millions of little silver pinpricks of light. Smaller particles dusted the spaces in between, creating heavenly clouds unlike those seen below. The moon hung heavy amidst them all, voluptuous in its fullness. He brushed the beauty of it all with his wingtips and was encompassed in the joy in the night.

            Rapid wing beats shattered the stillness. He swiveled his head, eyes piercing the darkness to find the sleek black form of his mentor as she climbed higher. Her glossy feathers shimmered in the moonlight as she angled her body downward and into a shallow dive. He followed.

            Branches clattered against each other as he flopped through the landing. The tree limb he finally settled on groaned on impact, swaying wildly. He clutched the wood in his talons, wind-milling his wings in an effort to keep balance. His mentor squawked cheerfully at him. Clicking his beak irritably, he settled.

            A bright flash of light changed his mentor back into her human shape, all ruffled silver hair and a toothy grin. “Your turn Tex.”

            ‘Tex’ attempted to roll his eyes before squatting as close to his perch as possible. Another flash of light and he was hanging off the branch by a hand, his snow-white owl feathers fluttering in the air about him. His mentor cackled.

            “Oh stop laughing and help me!”

            She snickered, gracefully moving from branch to branch as she traveled to his particular handhold. She gripped the bark tightly as she settled onto his branch, reaching down to him. She caught his free hand.

            “Now let go with your other hand,” she said.

            Tex squeaked. “Kash, are you shitting me?”

            “Let go. I’ve got you.”

            Out of his owl form he couldn’t make out her face in the dark, but he could swear she was grinning like a mad man. Woman. Whatever.

            Taking a deep breath, he gripped her wrist more tightly. One, two, th-

            “Come on Tex. We don’t have all night.”

            He glared in her general direction. “Fuck you.”

            Muted starlight glinted off of her eyes.

            He let go.

            She grunted as she took his weight, body splayed over the branch he had previously occupied. His wrist and shoulder throbbed in protest as she began swinging him slowly back and forth.

            “Kash, what are you doing?”

            “You’re going to catch the branch I swing you at, and pull yourself up.”

            “But you could just ease me down-!”

            “None of the branches below you can support your weight with the downward momentum.” Her glowing gold eyes found his in the darkness. “Trust me Tex.”

            Tex swallowed. How had he ended up with such a crazy mentor? “Okay.”

            “On the count of three then. One-“

            “Two-“

            “Three!” they both crowed as he swung forward. He released his grip on her wrist, blindly groping for a branch. He hit one with his stomach, hands scrabbling over the coarse bark for a purchase. He managed to mount the branch, wheezing hard.

            “That’s gonna bruise.”

            With an awfully effeminate shriek, Tex scampered backwards to the trunk of the tree. He snarled at the woman above him. “How in God’s name do you move so damn fast!?”

            She lightly dropped down to his branch. “It’s a secret.”

            “It’s always as secret with you,” he huffed, brushing his sweaty brown hair out of his face.

            Her silhouette shrugged. “Such is the way of magic in this age. You know that.”

            “Yeah, yeah.” Tex stretched. “So, how’d I do?”

            Kash perched herself opposite her pupil on the branch. She ran a hand through her short hair. “Pretty well, for a first flight. The landing could use some work though. Also, your initial shift wasn’t complete. At a distance, you looked like a barn owl, but if anyone had been able to see you close up, they would’ve seen too many discrepancies. Let me see the mental image you used.” She roughly grabbed his head, pressing her fingers to his temples. He winced but remained quiet.

            It was always an odd feeling, brushing consciousnesses with Kash. Or any other human, for that matter. Kash in particular had an interesting aura, more blues and purples in his mind’s eye than the usual red and gold variations most humans possessed. But auras were complicated things that changed with the people they represented. No one persons’ aura ever stayed the same for long.

            “Ah, that’s why.” Kash’s voice echoed quietly in the wood, drawing him from their blended consciousness. “You had your birds mixed up.”

            Tex snorted, focusing on the connection. Didn’t want any stray –

            Kash snorted. “My, my. Got a thing for your lab partner in Bio, do you?” 

            His face heated as he violently tore his mind from hers, blue eyes glaring through the night. He could almost feel her smile in the dark. “Shut up.”

            She chuckled. “Focus Tex. I won’t see things like that if you focus. Shall we try again?”

            “I thought this was an exercise in shape shifting.”

            “It is, but your focus is why you shift was off.”

            Huffing, Tex closed his eyes. “Fine.”

            “Then find me and find the image I used to shift.”

            He stuck his tongue out before inhaling, pushing all errant thoughts to the side. He focused on the silence of the sky, on the blue-violet of Kash’s consciousness. Gold flickered off in the trees, but he paid it no mind – probably a squirrel or something. Tex exhaled. Gently he probed Kash’s aura, finding a number of closed doors – the visualization she used to block him from her thoughts. He flowed through her mind, finding a door ajar amidst the twilight of his mentor’s mind. He nudged it open.

            The sensory assault was nearly overwhelming. Smells, sounds, sights all slammed him at once, overridden by the need to run and so much pain. Howls echoed through the recesses of his being and he screamed with them, hatred and loss and agony coloring the wordless sounds. Over his head, a hawk circled.

            “Tex!”

            The door slammed shut and Tex came back to himself, the blazing colors of Kash’s aura fading in his normal sight. Her hands were on his face, gold irises flashing as she examined him. He felt the tickle of her consciousness against his.

            “What the hell just happened?” Groaning, he batted his mentor away. “What was that?”

            She rocked back on her heels. “Wrong door.”

            “That’s a hell of a wrong door!”

            “You weren’t supposed to see that,” she muttered.

            Tex scowled. “What was that about focus?”

            “There was something else, someone else –“ She sighed. “Never mind. We’re done for tonight.” Kash stood up on the branch, turning away.

            “Done!? The hell we’re done!” he shouted. “What happened? How the hell did I end up in, in, whatever that was!?”

            “It was a memory. There was someone else who tried to access my mind when you did. I was trying to keep them out.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “That’s why you found that memory.” Without another word, she dropped from the branch. He could only watch as her shadow swept away through the dark, leaving him to find his own way down and back home.

            “Son of a bitch.”

--------

            His walk home was less than comfortable; his clothes tattered and stained with sap. He could swear he had bark in his boxers too.

            “Damn. These were my good jeans too.” Tex growled, kicking a stone as he walked up the pavement of his driveway. Clambering hand-over-hand up the drainpipe, he slinked across the roof to his window. Popping it open with a whispered spell, he slid into his dark room. And promptly jumped as the light turned on.

            “Tex Jerimiah Smith, where have you been?”

            His father stood in the doorway, a hand on the light switch. The elder Smith’s graying-black hair was tousled from sleep, robe tucked loosely about his thin frame.

Tex swallowed thickly, avoiding his father’s green gaze. “Out in the forest. I went for a walk.”

“At three in the morning?” Mr. Smith nearly yelled. The man crossed his arms. “It was that Kash woman again, wasn’t it?”

“No! I just – “

“Don’t lie to me boy!” Tex’s father drew himself to his full height, towering over his soon. “Your mother saw you with her this afternoon!”

“To work on a project!” The lies flowed easily from Tex’s lips. “She and I were working, but then I left to go on a walk and got lost!”

His father scowled at him. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.” Turning on a slipper-ed heel, the elder man left his room.

Tex sighed heavily. This whole “wizard” thing was getting really difficult. He knew he couldn’t tell his dad, or mom for that matter, but he wished –

A cold, gold-blue consciousness brushed against his, setting off all of his internal alarms. It spoke before he could react.

“That’s a poor idea boy. They wouldn’t believe you!”

He nearly jumped out of his skin, tumbling over his bed to face the now-open window. “Jesus Christ! What is it with people sneaking around today!?”

The woman perched in his windowsill shrugged, her long black hair falling into her face with the movement. Violet eyes glimmered behind her bangs. “It’s something we’re good at.”

“’We’?” Tex raised an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we’?”

The woman’s grin grew almost feral. “So she hasn’t told you?” Throwing her head back, she cackled. “No wonder you were so surprised!”

            The teen growled. “What are you talking about?”

            “Tell Kash that Sasha’s back in town,” she said, stepping back onto the roof. She smoothed her lacey dress. “And that she’s gotten a new flavor for her to try.”

            “What?”

            But the woman was gone, a crow flapping away into the night. Tex swore, slamming his window shut. “Crazy fucking magic users,” he mumbled, stripping. He threw himself into bed, mind whirling with unanswered questions and doubts. Kash had always been different, but she was good to him. She was a good mentor, and a good friend, even if she was a bit nuts sometimes. Yeah, he didn’t know much about her, but she was his mentor. She helped him handle his power when no one else understood. He trusted Kash. Right?

            Sighing, he rolled over. He’d talk to her about it. He’d get things sorted.

-----

            For most of the day he waited for someone to pick up the blue scarf lying in the street. It gave him something to do while he waited. Leaning against a tree on the edge of the forest, he looked up at the overcast sky, wishing for wings. It would make things so much simpler.

            Kash had disappeared. She had literally fallen off the map. Ever since that shape-shifting lesson, that night where everything had gone sidewise and weird, she had been missing. And then proceeded to leave him a note a week later, out of the blue. Woman was damn crazy.

            Leaves crunched to his right and he stood upright, a spell on his lips. A silver wolf strode out of the forest shadows. He exhaled, examining its aura. Gold eyes watched him cautiously.

            “Kash.”

            With a flash of light, she was standing there – same messy hair, same golden eyes. Only she looked worn, burnt out. She spoke.
            “I don’t have much time. Sasha’s onto me. I’ve got a new teacher coming in from London to finish mentoring you. He’s an old friend and will suit you well, I think.”

            He stepped forward, confused. “Wait, where are you going?”

            “Away. Where she can’t hurt anyone.” Kash began to pace. “I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that I’ve got a history. That woman that visited you? The crow? She’s from my history. The one that caused that memory.”

            Tex shuddered. It was still as clear as day in his mind.

            “We’re not human Tex.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re not normal.”

            He laughed. “Right. Good. My mentor’s not human. Sure.”

            She glared at him. “I’m not kidding Tex.”

            “Then what are you?” Her pupil snarled at her. “I’ve trusted you thus far, and you haven’t seen it fit to tell me that you’re not human!?”

            Kash frowned, eyes on the sky. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t need to know.” Her gaze dropped back to his. “I’m a changeling Tex. I know you’re angry, but I don’t have time to explain.” Her head snapped to the south, eyes narrowing as her lips pressed into a thin line. “Maybe you can forgive me one day, but I’ve got to go. Take care of yourself Tex.”

            “Fuck you. Don’t come back,” he spat.

            The woman he called mentor, friend, flinched. She shifted forms.

            Tex watched as the silver shadow disappeared into the foliage. Numbly he turned away, trying desperately to ignore the crow cawing overhead as the blue scarf fluttered down the empty street with the wind.