12.16.13.

I remember closing my eyes and pressing my hands up against my ears as tightly as I could, wishing I could scream. Max’s voice would grow thunderously loud and Papa’s throaty tone rippled with frustration as their discussions grew and longer and more heated. Every night it was the same. Mother would never do anything but cry piteously and beg them to get along. It was no good. I could see after only a few short weeks of Max living at home with us that they would never get along again. He was a man in his own right, and had grown too accustomed to his own views to heed our parents’ any longer. I couldn’t blame him. Papa was set in his thinking and defended the king with bold loyalty, even when no one else in Dunleemar agreed with him. Mother supported him with her every breath, but I could tell from the way her mouth stretched into a thin line whenever we were in public that she would have rather turned the other way and followed Max’s way of thinking. In her youth Mother had been something of a rebel, but every spark of spirit she’d been born with had been drummed out of her by her tyrannical father and six older brothers. After that she’d been married off to an opinionated man with a solid brow and a dark, threatening face which could frighten a bear if he wished it to. So was it any wonder that she was afraid to stand up for her beliefs?

Only Max defied Papa’s thinking, at least to his face. During the village meetings no one questioned my father’s defense of the king because he was a respected leader in the community. But behind his back we would see them whispering. And everywhere from the castle to the coast, a sprouting whisper was growing collectively in the minds of the people.

Revolution.

Revolution.

The word was synonymous with treason, but as the pirate raids grew worse, and more innocent soldiers died fighting a hopeless battle, we were forced to think it.

“Why won’t you see the truth?” Max shouted. His face broken and sad as my father sat there stubbornly, his own gray eyes set in resolution. “Why won’t you help me?” My brother murmured softly, surprising me with the loneliness of his words.

“Because,” Papa muttered. “I am loyal—”

“Loyal to what? A king who has deserted you!  Not your own son.” Max retorted hotly.

“If you had any sense I would support you.”

“But I do have sense. I know that in your heart you agree with me, and so do you.” He shook his head, confused and abandoned. “Why won’t you make a stand, Father? Why won’t you fight?”

He turned and slammed out the door.

They were the last words my brother ever spoke in that house. He didn’t come back.

After Max left, the quiet solitude of our home was almost worse than the arguments. I took to the hills, strolling further and further each day. As I grew up, the nameless hints of the revolt grew stronger, and still there was no war. At the village meetings there was dark gossip, deepening the resentment towards the king. Even some of his officials turned against him. Three of them came to one of our meetings one night, bearing ill stories of ill winds.

“No one’s seen him in days.” One said.

“Days? You mean months. The northern wing is completely sealed off, but some have said that they’ve seen him. I’ve heard he goes every day to the tombs of the ancestors, and sits with his wife.”

“He reads to her, stories and tales that are hardly fit for children.” Muttered the third.

There was bitter laughter.

“And this is our king.” Mordule, the village leader shook his head.

“War is upon us. If we do not revolt our kingdom will fall to ruin. Already there is unrest in the Sal, and then to the East where the Lydians are training an ever-growing army of mercenaries. We’ll be defenseless in a year, after these pirate hoards have sapped us of our strength.” Dargal clenched his fist.

“Isn’t there any other solution?” A few quaked.

People cast about for suggestions, but there were none. Desperate, my village stared into its fate with dismal gloom.

My father said nothing. He looked so much older and more tired than usual that I was afraid. There was a new gray showing at his temples and his eyes were cloudy and dull. His once ruddy face was thinner than ever and pale. I tugged on his sleeve as I had done as a child.

“Are you alright, Papa?”

He smiled down at me. “Shh. I allowed you to come on the strict rule that you would stay quiet, daughter.”

I bit my lip.

“Maybe it would be best if you went home to keep your mother company.” He chucked me lightly under the chin and pressed me away. With tears in my eyes, my reply was a whisper that I had never meant for him to hear.

 “Oh dear,” I sighed. “If only the king could fall in love again, and forget his grief.” Even as I said the words, I hurried out into the murky black night, a lantern in my hand. Behind me I left angry men and a room full of fear, but also something far more dangerous.

An idea. 

12.15.13.

I waited, still leaning against the same tree, my back pressed hard into its rough surface as he wandered off, searching once more for game. The dogs howled and bellowed, and I wondered how they ever managed to catch anything unaware, making such a racket. One of them lingered, still curled by my side. She was a quilt-patched black and white and grey, her eyes vibrant and blue. Her warm pink tongue brushed my hand.

The huntsman disappeared into the brush and I wondered if he thought I was following him. At this point didn’t care if he left and never came back. I wasn’t even sure if I could go back with him, not if he knew. I plunged my hands into the dog’s deep fur, craving warmth, and the unbiased love of any creature willing to suffer through my clinging presence.

“What’s your name, beauty?” I murmured. As soft as I had spoken, my voice still sounded like a crack of lightening against the silence of the surrounding snow. It began to fall freshly from the sky, a gentle blanket of white. I closed my eyes, leaning into my new friend, who burrowed her nose beneath my arm. Slipping into drowsiness, I swallowed my tears and thought back, remembering all that had been, and all I could never escape, save through death.

~*~ 

The king of Dunleemar was a widower. He had no children and no interest in life outside of his grief.

“Our kingdom will die out if our king continues in this way.” My brother had said angrily, slamming his fist against the table.

“Don’t speak against your leader, Max.” Mother chided disapprovingly. She agreed with him though, and we could see it in her face. Max glanced at me, his face etched in despair: confirmation of my worries. He sank into his chair, preoccupied and exhausted, and I longed for the days when my teasing older brother had been carefree and cheerful. Now, he was stretched thin. Max had been at work for months, a soldier defending the outposts on the edge of the sea. Mercenary pirate clans sailed to and fro, raiding small towns and villages and looting every household. The Dunleemar troops were strong on land, but the pirates always escaped by sea.

“Why don’t you build boats?” I asked innocently.

Max smiled in amusement, but he never seemed to tire of explaining things to me when I didn’t understand.

“We can’t just build boats of our own accord. You see, the king gives the orders to captains and generals, sister. And our king will not. So the captains and generals cannot act. And we, the soldiers cannot act without their permission,” His dark brows narrowed. “Though I doubt the king would notice whatever we did.” He added bitterly.

“Why doesn’t he care anymore?” I wanted to know.

“Because his wife died and left him childless.” Mother interjected, her face sorrowful. “The queen left him alone, and too tied up in his grief to see to his duty.” She shook her head. “It’s a sad business, but I don’t see what can be done about it.”

Max and Mother talked on grimly, but I drifted away, wrapped in imaginings. They said that it was wrong of the king to act as he did, neglecting his people, and maybe it was, but my romantic soul thrilled to the idea of a man losing his mind over his first love.

“It’s as if he died with her,” I murmured absently, glancing up at the silhouette of the looming stone castle where the king and all his court resided through the winter months. My mother and brother looked over at me in surprise.

“My daughter has a way with words,” My father said, smiling proudly as he tramped in through the door to drop a kiss on my cheek. “Speaking of the king again, are we Max?” He raised a brow at his son, and Max turned away. Mother looked distressed. She hated it when they argued, but fathers and sons often have different opinions and none more often than Max and Papa.

“Are there other things to speak of?” Max answered shortly, gritting his teeth.

“Yes. Many other things.”

“Maybe for you. You aren’t met with defeat and failure day after day because you aren’t given the means to defend your post.” My brother hissed angrily.

“Steady, Max. You do good for your country in deed, but not in word. No good can come of criticizing a king.”

“Perhaps good will come, if enough of us grow bold enough to make a change.”

My mother put a hand to her throat.

“What do you mean?” She asked breathlessly.

“Surely you and your friends wouldn’t be rash enough to challenge him?” Papa’s voice was low, but somehow deafening. He and mother had gave faces as they looked at their son. Hers was twisted in fear. 

Max’s gray eyes glowed hot with the fire of youthful zeal. But he said nothing in reply, and mother clumsily moved the conversation to other subjects.

Worried and unsettled, I retreated outside to the fields of snow, while my family endured the growing tension inside. My crimson cloak trailed after me, blowing in the wind, as I walked steadily up the hill to my favorite vantage point. From the top I could see the castle and the city, and all the way down to the edge of the sea gleaming beneath the night’s first stars. When Max was away I would watch the glint of lights from along the shoreline and wonder which was his. Now, I glanced back again at the castle spires, as evening fell and purple twilight bathed the snow-covered landscape in a rosy glow.

He was in there somewhere, up in his towers: our young, broken-hearted king. I watched until Mother called me in, hoping for a glimpse of him. But if duty and honor would not call him out, the admiration of one young girl certainly wouldn’t. 

12.14.13.

 The dogs kept me warm, burying me beneath a soft heap of rich, downy fur. They snuggled close, watching their master as he went about his work. I couldn’t bear to watch, so instead I stared aimlessly at the snow and the rocks, as the huntsman piled the carcasses and lit a fire around them. He instructed me to tell him at once if the fire got too close to the trees.

I said that I would, but the sight seared my heart, and I didn’t dare look up more than twice. Fortunately, the snow damped the flames until they sputtered out altogether, freeing us from the cloying scent of burning flesh and decay. Again, I cried, and again I murmured a silent thank you that the man I’d found was unable to see my tears. They fell in a silent stream across my cheeks. Ashamed as I was, I couldn’t hold them back. 

12.13.13.

 We walked for miles. The huntsman had a steady gait that never slowed, nor quickened, and I tired easily after trying to keep up with his long strides. Gasping for breath, I panted and wondered what had possessed me when I stepped out of the door, without even asking where we were going. The dogs were on a trail, their noses working double shifts, yet dinner seemed to elude us and we hadn’t found any game, even after several hours. My stomach began to cramp with hunger as midday approached and the snowy sun waltzed across the sky.

Then we stepped into the clearing, and the dogs began to scream in frenzy. I recognized the spot too late.

The huntsman sensed the change in his animals, and perhaps in my silence. We had walked quietly, and I hadn’t said a word for miles, but still, the aura of guilt is a strong one, and even a blind man can spot a murderer if he tries hard enough. I prayed he wouldn’t.

“How many are there?” The huntsman asked me as he knelt before the circle of dead men. Feeling for his lead dog, he followed her to the body of Dale, lying stiff and frozen on the snow. Lodged in his back was the blade of his young friend, whose green eyes were open and crusting in the light of day. The charred remains of the fire cast a dismal black shadow over the group of dismembered comrades. I shuddered, wishing I could forget.

“I think about twenty.” I replied, my voice too steady and too low for a young girl facing such a sight.

“Can you tell who they are?” He asked, a deep sorrow in his voice.

“Soldiers, I suppose.”

“But whose?”

The barrage of questions unnerved me. “They look like they’re from the north. Probably allies of Dunleemar, coming to fight in the wars.” Aghast, I could have bitten out my own tongue after saying so much. I’d brought up the very topic I wished to avoid most.

“These wars have cost too many lives already.” The huntsman shook his head, disapproving, and my face flamed fire with shame. “Are all the men from the northern country?” He added, bowing his head in respect.

“I believe so,” I said without thinking.

“That’s odd.” The huntsman stood. “It can’t have been a complete slaughter. The men from the Sal must have taken their dead with them when they left.”

“Of course,” I agreed hastily.

“Unless there were none.”

“None?” Trepidation slithered into my soul. 

“No men from the Sal.”

“Who else would have killed them?” My words were like alternate paths on a map, begging him not to say what I knew he would. Panicking, I backed away from him. There was still time before he guessed—I could slip away. His dogs would find me, but if I could get to the river before they did, I could make it into Aubryan before he had the chance to slit my throat. Still, I hesitated. Perhaps he would say ‘wolves,’ or 'a mountain lion that had attacked.'

But when the huntsman spoke his deep voice was soft, and his handsome face was etched in thought.

“It might have been the sorceress.” He said. 

My heart felt like a beast driven mad with disease. Fear, my ever-present friend, bit into me again. 

“She is said to be the cause of the wars.” He added. 

Pulling myself together, I grasped for words, before silence could make him suspect. 

“I don’t believe in sorcery.” I said flatly, masking my voice with an air of scoffing, as if I found the suggestion ridiculous.

“I’ve heard that her magic is in her beauty. One look and even strong men go mad, killing out of jealousy.”

I could have dropped dead. An icy wind whistled through my hair, like a grasping hand. The huntsman’s husky voice uttered the words so softly, with no trace of fear, nor even full belief, yet he had heard the stories and there was curiosity in his tone. He might not believe them, but then, he might. Right then I knew. Eventually, he would guess, and I wouldn’t be safe, even with a blind man.

The huntsman had a conscience. 

12.12.13.

Once breakfast was through, I helped him wash off the dishes in a large wash pail. After that I watched as he fed his hunting dogs. They were large creatures, all of them, and covered in a soft, thick downy fur that was made for enduring the cold and burrowing in the snow. There were eight of them in total and the din they raised was deafening. Out in the cold, the huntsman tossed his fur-lined gloves aside, running strong hands across backs and heads, patting and ruffling; each movement was a gentle caress for the friends he loved dearly, in spite of the language barrier. The dogs lifted their noses and called loud enough to bring the moon back into the sky.

The huntsman tramped back into the cabin, shaking the snow from his feet.

“Are you coming with me? It’s not dark out—at least, I imagine that it’s not.” His mouth curved at the joke, and his teasing manner even surprised a smile out of me. For a moment I forgot my grief and nodded, before I remembered that he couldn’t see the motion.

“Yes.” I said. “That is, if you don’t mind the company.”

The huntsman said nothing as he jammed a small blade into its sheath and tied a hunting horn securely over his shoulder. Still, I gathered that my acceptance had been acknowledged when he handed me a pair of small, soft winter boots. They were beautiful in the intricacy of their design.

“Thank you. They’re lovely.” I murmured. The huntsman smiled. I began to see that the huntsman had a treasure trove of smiles, each unique in its form and meaning. This one was clearly a smile of pride. “Did you make them?” I asked, taking an interest. The shoes managed to be both sturdy and practical, yet also dainty somehow, in spite of their bulk.

He nodded.

“You have a talent.” I said. The huntsman only gazed beautifully at nothing, his dazzling broken eyes veiling his emotions. I pulled my cloak across my shoulders, fastening the clasp tightly to keep out the biting wind and we stepped out into the light of day. I closed my eyes, feeling that they would burn up completely under the dazzling sun. Against the snow, the glare was heinous. 

12.11.13.

“Good morning.” I said as cheerfully as possible. The huntsman looked at me quizzically, raising his brow.

“Good morning.” He replied.

“Can I help you fix that?”

His carefully trained hands slowed in their motion as he beat the eggs.

“Thank you but no, I’m done. Would you like milk or raspberry cider with your breakfast?” He asked me absently, his eyes still clouded with deep thoughts.

“I’ve never tried raspberry cider. Can you spare some?” I said, my curiosity peaking. It had been weeks since I had had anything decent to eat, aside from the delicious supper the night before, and I had been too worried to enjoy that. The huntsman only nodded, and I began to recognize that he was a man of few words. Was it any wonder, when he spent every day alone with no one but his pack of hungry hunting dogs for company?

Once we were seated with steaming plates of eggs, biscuits and a meat I didn’t recognize before us, the huntsman spoke.

“You came back. I admit I’m surprised. What made you do it?”

The memories of my late night walk making me heart-heavy, I spoke quietly. “How did you know I left?”

“It is a quiet house. On most nights.”

“I tried my best not to wake you up.”

“I know; you almost succeeded. You have a quiet step. Still, something brought you back, when I had imagined that you wouldn’t stay at all. What was it?”

I sipped my cider and wondered how I could possibly answer. “You were right.” I replied. “It isn’t safe out there, even in the dark.”

“Even? I said it wasn’t safe because of the darkness. And you say, in spite of?” He smiled and shook his head. “You are a funny girl, Anna.”

I thanked heaven he was blind for the thousandth time as tears slipped down my cheeks.

“I know.” I said. Biting my lip, I fought desperately against the fear that clamored in my head. I was so utterly wretched, so afraid and so undeserving, and for the first time, sitting there in that small, quiet little house, with a strange, quiet man sitting across from me, I wished fervently for death.

12.10.2013. 605

My feet felt like clods of earth as I crept out into the nighttime world. The huntsman’s door swung open easily, however, sending a rush of icy air against my face. Outside, the snow lay freshly layered on the ground. I pulled my cloak over my face, dipping beneath sculpted boughs.

Venturing north, I hurried my steps through the darkness. The grooves in the ground led me nowhere in particular, which was exactly where I was hoping to go. Though the cold chilled me, it was a relief to be alone, without fear and without even the huntsman’s unseeing eyes to worry me. I breathed deeply, savoring the silence of the woods. Even as I did so, a sound caught my ear. It was voices.

“Who’s there?” A man called. I crumpled to the ground, my back against the rumpled roots of a tree. Boot stomps shuffled nearer.

“Who is it?” A second voice murmured, tinged with anxiety.

“Probably nothing.”

“But there’s wolves out this way, aren’t there?”

At this bit of unwelcome news, I remembered the safety and solitude back at the cabin and bit my lip.

“It’s not wolves. Those steps were much too light for a wolf, and besides, they travel in packs. We’d be meat by now if it had been them. Besides, why should they stop just when I call out to them?”

My heart beat like a battering ram. Peeking out, I saw silhouettes against the glowing embers of a fire. The shorter of the two men bent and stirred it up into flames again, and in the pools of light I saw bedrolls and sleeping men, all resting comfortably around the glowing warmth. The two watchmen cast glances out into the woods, and I ducked back behind the trunk again.  

“Who do you think it is, then?”

“A soldier no doubt, strayed away from his platoon.”

In the quiet that followed, the only sound was the crackle of flames. Then, the crunch of snow. To my relief, it was the sounds of shuffling as the men sat back down against the earth. But my intuition told me they would still be watching, so I waited.

“Dale, why are we going to fight? Why really?” The second man’s voice was higher and strongly accented. My guess was that he was a young northerner from up past the Gate of Havens. The other man, called Dale, seemed older, and his accent was Eastern, revealing a richer upbringing. If I was correct, he must have been the captain.

“Because. We’ve been called upon to help our allies.” He said, full of assurance in the way of things. A quick peek at his past would reveal him to be duty-bound and concerned with affairs of honor more than anything else. 

“But we don’t even know what this war’s about.” The younger man spoke softly again, his doubts obviously giving him grief.

“Steady, there. A man’s allegiance matters more than logic when it comes to battles.”

I pieced it all together, feeling sick. The heavy weariness of guilt sucked at my eyes until tears of blood threatened to spill out. I pulled them back, my shame overwhelming any sorrow. I suspected what their words pointed at, but I had to be sure.

“You are allies of the King?” I whispered. Both men stood instantly. I could feel their surprise and sense their coming trepidation.

“We are,” Dale replied softly, after a moment of searching for me with his eyes. “And who are you, lass?”

I smiled sardonically, rising to my feet. 

“Not a lass at all. I am your war in the flesh.” 

Time for a little Fairytale

“Who are you?” He asked, his unseeing dark eyes staring kindly at the nothingness which hung over my right shoulder.

“My name’s Anna.” I said, deciding on the most cliché fake name in the book.

“Where are you from?” I was surprised at the subtle confidence of his actions. For a blind man, he moved like a crouching tiger, smooth and graceful. He poured me a mug of tea, and served himself after I’d taken the first sip. The brew tickled his short beard and bubbled. He smiled, a handsome expression which set me at ease, much to my surprise.

“I’m not from anywhere really,” I said sheepishly, sighing under the steady influence of the hot tea. It tasted like winter snow and soft cinnamon.  The huntsman’s eyes finally landed on me, and their density was chilling. It was as if he could see me after all, and for a moment, I was afraid.

“Everyone’s from somewhere. Only people who are afraid of their past believe they have no hometown, Anna. I’m sorry to hear that you are one of them.”

Surprised at his bluntness, I stared at him. “Where are you from?” I asked quickly, clumsily shifting the attention back to his side of the table. He buttered a biscuit without fumbling over it.

“Me? I’m from right here.” He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that awaked a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach. “I was born in this very house. It hasn’t always been an exciting existence.” The huntsman shrugged, obviously bored by his plain circumstances. I glanced around the small cabin with a twinge of envy, remembering what I had given up.

“I’d say you were blessed. These days most breeds of excitement aren’t good.” He closed his eyes, seeming to ponder my words as if they had been a map leading to my character. He wouldn’t find me that easily. I sighed, standing.

“It’s been a wonderful meal. Thank you for your generosity.”

“You’re not going?” He stood too, and I wondered how he’d sensed my actions.

“Why not?”

“It’s snowing.”

I smiled, amused. “Isn’t it always?”

“But it’s nearing dark. Won’t you get lost?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. In the physical he was as strong and mighty as any warrior, yet still somehow as naïve as a child.

“I’m a survivor, huntsman. My kind survives no matter what. Can’t you find your way in the dark?”

“Well that wouldn’t really make much difference to me, now would it?”

I blushed hotly at the stupidity of my question, but his grin showed that he wasn’t offended.

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. But stay the night. Things will look better in the morning.”

I frowned. “How do you know how things look?” The words were a petulant accusation.

“Because. You have no home and no real name. Things must be bad for a girl to go traipsing around the woods in the middle of the night, hiding her past and her identity.”

My red cheeks when pale again.

“Who are you really?” He asked, and I saw again that childish curiosity. He couldn’t suspect me. But I still worried.

“If I told you, you’d be dead tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s what all the strangers say.” He joked.

Again surprised, I wondered what it would take to impress this man with the seriousness of my situation. He stood in my way to the door, and, exasperated, I figured it would be better to let him fall asleep under the impression that I meant to stay safely through the night.

“Oh alright. I’ll stay if you insist on making me. But the name stays “Anna,” for now at least.”

The huntsman twisted his mouth in satisfaction and amusement. His boyish grin succeeded in making me feel like a toy puzzle that had proved to be much easier than he had expected. 

100

“Who are you?” He asked, his unseeing dark eyes staring kindly at the nothingness which hung over my right shoulder.

“My name’s Anna.” I said, deciding on the most cliché fake name in the book.

“Where are you from?” I was surprised at the subtle confidence of his actions. For a blind man, he moved like a crouching tiger, smooth and graceful. He poured me a mug of tea, and served himself after I’d taken the first sip. The brew tickled his short beard and bubbled. He smiled, a handsome expression which set me at ease, much to my surprise. 

448

“What am I supposed to do about it?” I asked, pouring splashy lemonade into a tumbler.

“Everything. You’re the only one of us who can fix it.” She said simply, drilling into me with doe-brown, pleading eyes. I sighed.

“Because I’m the only one with money.” The statement came out cold and flat, and harsher than I’d meant it to.

“You make me sound like a fortune hunter.” She laughed. There was an edge of nervousness in her shrill voice.

“Aren’t you?”

“No. You’re my brother.”

“But you want me to fix this?” I swore in disbelief. “Even now? What’s wrong with you anyway, Ilsa?” She looked hurt by my blunt words, but I didn’t care. I’d have done anything to get the point drummed into that thick skull of hers. She couldn’t see past her love for him. No matter what he did.

“I can’t help it.” She whispered, her face downcast, and hands clasped.

“Well, learn to help it.” I took a drink, savoring the sweet froth of lemonade.

“It’s not that simple,” She insisted indignantly, pink cheeks burning with resentment towards me. Me who she’d always looked up to and adored. I’d babied her too much and this was the result.

“You can’t expect me to fix everything in your life for all eternity.” I said in my best fatherly voice.

She stuck out a pouty lip and smiled drolly, with that small slash of manipulation peeking out of her eyes. It showed more and more these days and it made me uncomfortable. “Why not?” She said. “You always have. Why should I believe that anything will change?” She dropped the subtle pride and fell down into the seat next to me, pulling my drink from my hand with a puppy-like innocence that almost wiped out the memory of slyness I’d seen only a moment before.

“I love him.” Her eyes were haunting.

“Why?” I asked, unable to feel any pity for the man, however much I might feel for her.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not true.”

“Alright. I do know.” She looked ashamed. “Because he loves me. No matter what he does or says, I know he loves me more than anyone else ever has. Maybe it’s shameful, but I can’t live without him now.”

“More than me? What’s he done for you that I haven’t?”

“Oh don’t be that way, Teddy. You know you never really loved anyone in your life.”

Flushing hotly at this cool accusation, I stood up, falling out of her grasp.

“That’s a terrible thing to say!”

“Why? It’s true isn’t it?”

For a moment I could only breathe and glare. Then—

“Goodnight, Ilsa.”

I slammed up the stairs.

12.8.2013.

How dare you.


        you weren't there the night she died.
you'll drink your brew
you'll sit around and laugh and act like a child.
 
       and it's okay with me if you want to fall down that path of insanity.
it isn't my fault
    and don't say i didn't try

So don't you dare come crying anymore
                     
                you're problems are your own. Not mine. Never mine again. I can't let myself fall down your lazy path. You'll fight for everything you know you do not need.

But you won't fight for me.

Person vs. Technology

“I hate you!” I screamed. “I hate you, I hate you!” Near tears, I slammed my palm down on my desk and waited angrily. But still the maddening printer refused to work correctly and print my homework on time. Therefore, I was going to be late.  I hated being late. 

Person vs. Destiny

“Goodbye sweetheart,” I said as she sipped her coffee. I knew somehow, but she didn’t. She murmured “’Bye,” absently, and kept reading. I bent and kissed her, long and slow.

“What was that for?” She asked, surprised.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The light turned red too fast. 

Person vs. Supernatural

I shivered under my blankets as the phones rang again and again. Walls creaked. Lights flickered on and off. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Hello?” On the other end was nothing but whispers: Don’t look back.

I looked back, and the whole city must have heard my scream.

 It laughed.