FAIRY ASSASSIN copyright m.s. 2012

In all of his 544 years of being, Harek had never killed a human. Being a Fairy assassin has it's perks, it's disappointments. Even great glory and legend can from it. But failure brings you even greater fame and the worst kind of grief imaginable. He was given the wrong name by a Specter, and he knew he should not have trusted this creature.

His wife, Uria, twenty children, and servants are protected under the Sideworld laws. But not everyone honors the laws.

Harek realized something was terribly wrong when the Troll in Human form did not change to reveal it's real identity, or turn to dust. The Human lay on the floor of his cottage with a huge hole in his chest, blood flowing like rapid currents of a river. Harek looked at his glowing hands that spawned the golden beam of sunlight that had cut through the man like a hot coal through snowy ground.

He took a few steps back from the body to avoid blood on his boots. He turned to the mirror which was his entrance into this world and tried to return to the Sideworld, but the portal had closed up. That was that, Harek thought. I am here until the Guild of Assassins have killed me.

No trial. The Guild did not believe in innocence or reason behind crime. Only guilt, and the guilty shall be punished by death.

Harek heard the echo of boot heels in the next room. He drew his blade from it's sheath. He tied his long blond locks into a bundle on top of his head. The symbols on the hilt of his sword told the story of his coming of age and all that had happened since the war with the Troll Alliance. He positioned himself at the door, but no one came through.

The first strike was across the back. Harek screamed, nearly fell to his knees. He turned instead to face his enemy. It was a Guk. Guks were were tall, spider-like creatures. Defending yourself against eight arms are not easy. Guks can walk through walls, an advantage Harek had forgotten about.

Harek struck to the head just as the Guk second left arm sliced through Harek's midsection. Harek touched sword of the Guk, the Guk felt a jolt to his body, fell on it's large hump on it's back. Harek swung, his blade separated two of the Guk's arms from it's body. A loud shrill cry came from it's slit of a mouth. It's large black eyes were loosing color. A white film formed around it's mouth. Harek stepped back as a long spool of venom shot past him.

Harek came down with one swift blow, the head of the Guk fell to the floor and rolled a few times before Harek stopped it with his boot. Harek reached into the dead Guk 's robes and produced a small silver case containing a mirror. Now he can get home. But not without others following him to the Fairy city of Stridle.

For killing a Human, his free roam of any mirror has been revoked. So to get back and forth between this world and the Sideworld, he'd have to use stolen mirrors. He wasn't sure where this mirror would take him, since Guks don't have an actual land or homes of their own. They find weak victims and kill them so they can move in with ease.

Harek said a prayer to the cloud Gods before he took to a new journey through the mirror. He bowed his head, both hands on the hilt of his sword, blade to the floor of the cottage. A few words in Fairy. He felt the twinge in his heart, the Human world became a swirl of blurriness. Harek felt his body transitioned between the human world and the cleft of nothing, deposited to the Sideworld.

When he opened his eyes, Harek found himself on the green hills Lyceria, the heart of Fairy country. Lyceria is wheat industry of all of Sideworld. Harek's family made their fortune on the wheat beer they produced for all the taverns in Sideworld. Harek looked around the three uneven hills and saw his beloved city below, the capitol of Lyceria. In the heart of Stridel was a castle looming over top of thousands of smaller houses with circular rooftops. In the castle was where his family were safely harbored.

The dark gray castle was bestowed upon Harek's Father, Archduke Zara, for services above and beyond to his people. In the third war between the Fairy and Troll, Zara burned down a forest of dreaming trees that the Troll wizard Kherin had bedazzled into giving off terrible nightmares to the those who lived in Stridel, paralyzing the city, opening her up to it's enemies. On his way back home for Rand R, Zara saw what was happening. He set flame to the beautiful dreaming trees outside Stridel. Thus the guards of the city defended her.

A pivotal victory for the Fairy alliance in that war.

Harek opened a pouch from his belt and swallowed three Grousen berries to heal his wounds. A Grousen, a snake like bird , lives underground and only appears above ground three times a year to lay the berries.

“You aren't going down there are you?” Harek heard a voice from above.

Harek looked up and saw a cloaked man perched in a tree limb like a bird, his head bowed. It was Specter, creatures whose magic is not significant, but has great foresight.

“What of it, Specter?” Harek untied his long blond hair, then retied it in a ponytail with the sash of his wife Uria.

“As soon as you start down that hill, another Assassin is lurking in the shadows to take your head...sell it in the markets to the highest collector. Make an example of murderer of Humans.”

“I did not mean to kill that Human,” Harek shook his fist at the Specter.

“ I'm afraid that matters little to the Assassin Guild.” The creature stirred very little in his perch, the limb bowed underneath his weight.

Harek knew very well what the Specter spoke of. Although he never participated in the hunt of Fruel the Troll that murdered three humans last moon cycle, he was hunted down in twenty-six hours and of course his head was on display for all Market Barons and Hierarchy to purchase.

“Specter, I think you should take great care for what lies next for you,” With that said, Harek laughed moments later when the Specter fell to the ground as the limb previously held him snapped in two.

The Specter dusted himself off. “I know things that can help you,” He said.

“As always, Specter, your word can be trusted, eh?” Harek began down the hill.

“Please, stop,” The Specter placed a hand on Harek's shoulder. Harek stopped. He turned to the Specter curiously. The job in the scheme of things is for the Specter not to involve themselves in the affairs of others, only advise. Something was different about this Specter. There are cases when a Specter is hired by a person to lie, stall or advise wrongly for profit. But never to physically intervene. “I beg of you, Harek, do not go down that hill. Death awaits...”

“And what of it to you, Specter? Who has passed silver to your bone-white hands?” Harek touched the hilt of his blade, drummed his fingers across it, waiting for answer.

“I am not to speak of a name...only this person needs your services. I am to take you to him. Secrecy is of the utmost importance.” The Specter let his words trail off.

Harek drew his blade and pressed it to the Specter's throat. “You will tell me his name!”

The Specter dissolved into thin air. Harek heard boots upon the ground, several in fact. He turned to meet his adversaries when he was struck across the brow with a morning glory. Six Trolls stood over top of the unconscious Fairy. The Specter reappeared

“Take him away,” The Specter said. “Kherin the Great awaits you.”

“Shut your gap, ghost man!” Fok, the General in command of the National Troll Front said. His tusks from under his upper lip lost a dribble of spit. “We don't take orders from a ghost!”

When Harek came to, he was in the court of the Troll Legion. It's King, now a fugitive from his own country for Crimes against his own kind, was the leader or chief of the rebel group National Troll Front.

Kherin was ugly, no doubt. But he was now even stranger looking than Harek remembered when he did recon for the Fairy 1^st army. This small creature was now showing it's true side. A sight nearly no one knew of the Troll king. Kherin was a fat, bloated Troll, and he was an astonishingly beautiful Troll. His right side was a bug- eyed thing with jowls and a tusk from his bottom lip.

Kherin' s left side was voluptuous, albeit somewhat disproportional raven-haired beauty with a pug nose and large juicy red lips. Her long lashes seemed to be prison bars over that blotchy pale blue eye that has been said could put a Fairy in a haze long enough to subdue it.

All in all, Harek was sickened by Kherin's appearance.

“Why have you brought me here?” Harek struggled against the leather that bound his hands.

“Harek, the legendary Fairy assassin. Before my eyes,” Kherin's female and male voices intertwine, battle for control. “You are good at killing, not very smart. Isn't it obvious why you are here?”

Fok stepped forward on the crystal floor of the Troll castle. He brought the end of his morning glory across the Fairy's back. Harek fell to his knees. “Respect his Majesty, Fairy scum.”

Harek shook off the pain. He got to his feet, cleared his throat. “Please, Kherin the Great, inform me of my reasons for troubling your presence,” Harek said with a malicious smile on his face.

Kherin rose from his throne made of simple wood, a far cry from the chair that had been fashioned from pure gold. “We, as Trolls have been at war with your people for a long time, Harek. This is the third war between us.”

“A war you began thirty years time by raiding the villages to the east--”

Once again Fok took Harek down, this time by the heel of his boot in the back of the leg.

“Respect the Majesty, scum!” Fok spit a long yellow glob on Harek, landing on his cheek.

“That's enough, Fok. We are in engaged, back to your shadows.” Kherin commanded. Fok did as he was told, retired to the corner of the near bare room with four of his guards.

“What do you want from me?” Harek picked himself up.

“I want you to help me end this war, Harek. I want peace. The one that ousted me, the Troll Senate and their weasel Prime Minister Colif, want to continue shedding the blood of innocents.”

“It was YOU--”

“That goes without saying, Fairy! I want to end it! Politics and differences aside, you do wish an end to suffering of your people, do you not?”

“We are not suffering, Kherin. You Trolls are. Our land and our people will go on as they always have. We farm, we continue to pray to the Cloud Gods. We thrive.”

“Enough of this insolence! I was not going to tell you. But all of this is a great plot to have you in my services. My Specter sold you the wrong name of the Sage I wish to kill. It was on purpose. That was a real human you murdered.”

“I will avenge my good name with your blood, Troll!” Harek said through flared nostrils.

Kherin laughed, tossed his raven hair from his shoulder. “So you say, Fairy. Guards, please retrieve the prisoner. I believe Harek would like to speak to his son.”

Harek was stunned. The only member of his family not protected was his oldest son, Gilmore. He was protected by the Fairy Clergy he had joined some years back.

The Guards brought a scarred trembling Fairy dressed only in a loin cloth. He'd obviously been starved and burned multiple times. Gilmore fell to his knees, reached up to Harek. “Father,” Gilmore managed a bleak smile.

“We will kill him, if you do not do as I say. I love saying that. Almost as much as doing the deed. If your hands are not soiled by the blood of innocents, then you have failed yourself.”

Harek bowed before the Kherin. “I am in your services, Troll King.”

“Oh, happy days!” Kherin clapped his hands. “You are to take this mirror,” He handed Fok a silver case containing a mirror. Enter the Human world and kill the Sage who drew the tea leaves and persimmon that caused my outcast. Your son will be released. Back to his Temple, and worship of those silly Cloud Gods.”

“And my name?” Harek offered his hands to another guard to untie.

“I'm afraid it's the same standing with the Assassin's Guild. You killed a Human..naughty, naughty. But achieve this and your beloved son will live. Now, off you go.”

Harek was whisked away in the silver stream from the mirror. He found himself back in the same room as before, the Human he'd already killed. Harek was baffled. The old man was standing over a desk, rifling through papers. He turned to the strangely dressed small man that had his sword drawn. The old man smiled, took a puff from his pipe.

“I assume you are not here for an autograph or my latest book, are you lad?” The old man said.

“I already killed you...” Harek said.

The old man shook his head. “You killed a version of me. I am a Sage, lad. You're here on behalf of King Kherin.”

Harek nodded. He thought a second. Then said, “ Then why am I wanted for murdering a Human if I did not kill you?'

The old man sighed. “Alas, for the sake of innocents being killed, you had to be sacrificed.”

“I do not do favors for Trolls!” Harek took a step toward the old man.

The old man held up his hands. “Hold it, lad. I'm no Troll. I'm a Henning. Have you ever known a Troll to be smart enough to be a Sage? I arranged all of this to bring Kherin's downfall. In the tea leaves, I saw everything work out. Even for you, my friend.”

“If I don't bring a box containing your Lifesource, Kherin will kill my son.”

“I know. I saw that in the tea leaves.” The old man handed Harek a wooden box with the Fairy symbols for a safe passage to the land of smiles. “Give him this, it is the Lifesource of an old friend recently deceased.”

“Why should I help you and your cause?” Harek waved his blade in front of the old man's face.

“For the great good of all..Harek. It will be a long and terrible road for you...a lot to ask...I know..but in the long run, it will end this war with the Trolls and eventually Sideworld will be united.”

“For this---I will have to play the game as a wanted criminal?” Harek sighed, snatched the box from the old man.

The old man bowed his head. “Thank you, Harek, Fairy Assassin. You will be rewarded.

Harek was carried through the mirror by the silver stream. He entered the Sideworld at Kherin's castle. Only the castle was at siege by the Troll army. Troll's lay dead every turn in the castle, and Harek's son was nowhere to be found, nor King Kherin.

Harek slipped out of the castle through the kitchen, where Kherin's servants also lay dead. Outside the castle, Harek saw Fok running from three other Trolls, bleeding from the wrist where a hand once had been attached. “Serves him right,” Harek spat.

He saw the Specter at the gates of the castle, watching the skirmish. He approached him. “You said you had information for me, what was it?”

The Specter kept his eyes on the action around them. “A message from your wife.”

“She paid you to deliver a message?”

“That she did.”

“Then tell me, ghost man.”

“She assures you the family is safe, but your eldest could not be found to help with protection. You now understand why she could not find him.”

“Is he safe, ghost man?”

“That I do not know. There is more. She says, 'Travel safe, my love. I will be waiting for you when you arrive home.”

Harek wiped tears from his eyes. He missed his family, his neighbors, the Fairy festival of Life they hold every spring.

“Thank you,” He said, but then realized the Specter was gone. He was alone as a weary traveler.

THE VENETIAN BRIDE copyright m.s. 2012

 

It was here on the Beach that Dave and Hilda found the plush colored stone. Gary was visiting, actually living at the cottage just below Dave and Hilda, who owned not only the cottage and beach house on the cliff above, but the beach front as well. After Gary's bad turn at marriage, only two years of screaming and uncontrollable jealousy, he'd sought solace in his oldest and dearest friends. He'd known Hilda from Sherwood college. She studied English and Drama, Gary was a History major. The two of them met during a terrible double date.

Dave was holding the stone between two fingers and Hilda was picking the seaweed from his hand. Gary laughed, shook his head.

“It seems every time I'm here, you two find something extraordinary on the beach. What was that..? five years ago?”

“Finding a pair of boots washed up on the beach is hardly extraordinary, Gary,” Hilda said.

“Unless those boots bring an abundance of good luck to a poor soul without any shoes to start with,” Dave quipped.

“There he goes again,” Hilda stole the tiny stone from Dave's hands. “Trying to be witty.”

There was a struggle between the two which, as usual, ended with Dave on top of Hilda tickling her. For Dave, it was something to be envious and glad to see still going on in a marriage that has lasted twenty-one years. When Dave kissed Hilda, Gary had to look away. Hilda noticed Gary being awkward, she whispered to Dave to let her up.

“Would you like to come over later for dinner?” Hilda pulled herself up from the beach, wiping sand from her brown shorts. She took Gary's arm. They walked on. Dave trotted to catch up.

“Maybe he's busy, Hilda,” Dave said.

“I don't want to trouble anyone. You guy's have already given me a place to stay.”

“Gary...you're no trouble. Is he, honey?” Hilda turned to Dave.

Dave shook his head. “No trouble at all, Gary. We like having you here.”

Gary stopped, took the stone from Hilda. “This stone...” He looked at it in the sunlight. The plush color had changed to a green now. Swirls of green overtook red particles in it's crevices. “I've seen this before...I just can't remember where.”

“You can stop being a Professor, Gary,” Hilda smacked him on the arm. “You're with friends who care for YOU, not what you know.”

Gary laughed. “I know that. I can't turn this off,” He pointed to his head. “It's who I am, Hilda. I have this need to know.”

“Know what?” Dave laughed.

“Everything, my friend. Everything.”

Later at their house, after going out to Andre's for drinks, Dave and Hilda found their front door wide open. They stood in the doorway. Hilda reached in and turned the lights on, but remained with Dave outside the house. Nothing seemed out of place. It was as they had left it.

Hilda sighed. She looked at Dave. “You think anyone took anything ?”

Dave shook his head. “So far, no. I don't think anyone is still here or we would have heard them...”

Hilda walked in, Dave followed. “Would've seen them as well. Only other door beside this one is the backdoor in the kitchen.” She checked in there, Dave went upstairs. Hilda heard a knock at the front door. The door was now shut. Dave rushed downstairs. They stared at each other. “Did you shut the door?”

“No,” Dave said. “I was going to ask you?” He opened the door cautiously. Gary was standing there.

“Okay, guys. I've got the board games. You got the wine, right?” He walked in with three boxes under his arms. No one answered him. “What's going on?” Gary looked worried.

Hilda grabbed his arm, showed him to the couch by the fireplace. “The front door was wide open?”

“Somebody broke in?” Gary's eyes sought glances from both of them.

“As far as I can see, no one took anything,” Dave placed a bottle of wine on the coffee table. Then he took three wine glasses from the bar that was under the staircase.

“That's strange,” Gary said. “Why would anybody break into a house and not take anything? You have enemies here?”

Hilda laughed. “Not enough people in the town to have enemies.”

“I'm retired from the insurance business. I don't have any enemies anymore.”

Gary was solemn. He rubbed his eyes with a hand.

“What?” Hilda asked him.

“Jessica,” He said. “Jessica came back here looking for me.”

“She couldn't,” Dave poured a glass of wine. “You said two hours ago she called you  from LAX airport telephone.”

“Yeah,” Gary smiled. “Paranoia set in, I guess.”

“Let's...just chalk it up to a weird incident....nothing more.” Hilda took drink of wine.”

Dave nodded. “How about that game of Clue, then?”

“Can I have that stone you found on the beach?” Gary glanced at both of them.

Hilda looked at Dave. He nodded. “Yeah,” She shrugged. “Sure.”

“Just for the night. I want to look something up on the internet.” Gary opened up the box for Clue, placed the board on the coffee table.

The door to his cottage was wide open. Gary stood in the doorway, in the half-light of the moon, he saw a woman with hand toward him, beckoning him. She was in a black gown that exposed the olive skin of her shoulders and frills that hung past her heels. Her long dark hair was like waves in a black sea. But her face was for the most part covered by a Venetian Moretta Mask, which was a black oval shaped mask, usually held in place by the wearer biting a button or a bit.

The woman did not walk toward Gary, she floated. She was inches off the floor and swayed slightly as she came at him in a slow minute flight. She spoke to him. Or rather, he heard a deep voice as if it were coming from under water.

“Vieni, il mio amante,” She said. “Ho bisogno di possederti .... si tiene fino a quando non siamo più.”

Gary ran, tripping over his feet. He fell over backwards, landing hard on the ground. He picked himself up, sand that had gathered in his shirt and trousers rolled down his back and legs. He ran. Looking over his shoulder he saw the woman floating above the beach and was right on his heels.

He lost his footing again, falling face first. Gary blacked out.

He awoke and the sun was rising. Two pair of hands were shaking him. He heard Dave and Hilda's voices. Slowly, Gary rose to a sitting position. A blurry vision of his friends apeared, Hilda dabbing at the large bloody gash on his forehead with a her blouse.

“What happened to you,” Hilda said. She was in her black lacy brassiere and once Gary's eyes could focus, he couldn't stop staring. Dave noticed, feeling his blood boil slightly. His eyes were two daggers aimed at Gary.

“I had something strange happen to me,” Gary said.

“Looks like someone attacked you,” Hilda kept dabbing, then blowing on the cut.

“Someone did. A woman.” Gary looked up at Dave. He saw him looking at indignantly. Gary's eyes moved slowly back to Hilda.

“A woman..? You don't think it was--”

“Jessica?” He finished Hilda's sentence. “No. It wasn't her. This woman you could practically see through her. She spoke in Italian, wore a black gown and a carnival mask. Oh, by yhe way, did I mention she floated in mid-air?”

“The hell you say,” Dave said through flared nostrils.

'What?” Gary stood, his body language was the attack style of a gorrilla.

“Okay you two, stand down,” Hilda rushed to get in the middle of the two of them.

“You're saying a ghost—excuse me—a woman in white attacked you? Bullshit.”

“No. I said a woman in black. You think I'm lying?” Gary stepped forward. Hilda pushed him back.

“Not saying, I know you are. You did it for more attention.”

“More specifically Hilda's?”

“You got it. I want two things from you, Gary. 1) Get out of my cottage by tomorrow. 2) Give me the stone.”

“Please, Dave, no, please,” Hilda begged. Tears had formed in her eyes and cheeks were stained by mascara.

“I don't want this bum drooling over you anymore, Hilda!” Dave screamed in her face.

Gary tossed the stone at Dave's sandaled feet. “Have it your way,” He said, walked away.

“I always do,” Dave fired back.

They argued. Dave and Hilda, argued all day, kept silent in between arguements. She mostly stayed upstairs in the bedroom, he stayed in the living room, watching TV with the sound off. Neither cared about food, both drank heavily as they did in the past. Throughout the string of arguements, Carol 's name was brought up. Hilda never forgave Dave for that month long affair fifteen years ago.

Carol never wanted to give Dave up, even after Hilda knew about everything. So Carol gave up her life for Dave. They lived apart from each other for three months, when Hilda gave up and came back to him. Dave cut his buisness schedule in half. Ten years later he retired, bougt the beach, house, and cottage.

Eventually Hilda let things slide by, Dave let things slide by. Arguements were fewer, not as constant, as well as the drinking. Neither was in charege, both agreed to live in the moment.

Dave realized that jelousy monster never left him, it was just well hidden.

Hours later, both had fallen asleep. He rose from the couch to find a blanket draped over him. She still cared. He rubbed his eyes, noticed it was dark outside. He looked at his cell phone, it was well after midnight. He had slept that long? He felt hunger pains and wondered if any chinese left overs were still in the fridge.

Dave stood, walked around the coffee table and rum bottles on the floor. He was startled to see a woman in a black gown standing in front of him. She wore a moretta carnival mask. Her flowing dark hair rested on her olive-skin shoulders.

“Vieni, mio amante,” She said.

Dave went to her. She touched his chest with a hand. Dave sighed.

“Si sarà mio ... sarò tua ... per sempre.” She removed her mask. The right side of her face had been destroyed somehow, and the skin had grown over her eye and part of her blood red lips. The skin had turned a sick gray, sores embedded over the spongey exterior.

“Ci deve essere uno,” She drew him close to her, pull him by the shoulders, and kissed him.

The longer she held Dave 's lips in place with hers, the more it burned. The right side of his face taking on her damaged skin. Dave tried to pull away. He tried to scream. The flesh seered over his right eye, cheek, and bottom lip.

Hilda appeared at the top of the stairs. “Dave!” She screamed. Hilda saw the steam rising from his face. She ran down the stairs to him.

The woman in the black gown let go of Dave. He fell in Hilda's arms. He was wimpering, hid his face in Hilda 's nightgown. The woman floated up in the air high above them, inches from the ceiling. She hovered a few seconds, disappeared.

They heard a voice say, “Lui è mio ... la mia vendetta ti distruggerà.”

Hilda held Dave close, kissing the top of his head, as they both wept.

In the morning, Gary had everything packed except his laptop. He searched for hours for any information about that stone. Finally he found a website regarding fameous jewls and trinkits that were cursed throughout history. The Hope diamond was among them. The story that caught his eye was The Venetian Bride.

Born in Milan in 1756, Maria Christina, daughter of Maria Theresa, ruler of the city. She was wed to French Duke Antoine Louix in 1775. He'd given her the Lui è mio ... la mia vendetta ti distruggerà, Ring of Eternal Love. A red stone set in a solid gold band with enrgavings of the Alpine Swift, a bird in his native France. On their third year of marriage, during a carnival in venice, the ballroom that hosted a party, caught fire. The Duke Antoine, died in the fire along with several hundred. Maria was one of the few that survived, but not without damage to the right side of her face. It is said that she lived on another six years roaming the streets of venice in a black gown and a Moretta mask. She'd drowned herself in a canal on western side of venice. It was said she was wearing the Ring of Eternal love when they found her body, the stone was missing.

Years later, stories were told of The Venetian Bride haunting those who found the stone--

Gary turned off his laptop. He sat there a few moments, lost in thought. He lept from his chair and rushed out the door.

He ran across the beach just as the sun was rising, up the hill where Dave and Hilda's house was. He found their door wide open. Inside, he saw Dave curled up in a fetal position sobbing at the bottom of the stairs. Gary rushed to him. He pulled Dave's arms away from his face. He saw Dave's face and recoiled.

“Where is Hilda?” Gary asked with immediacy.

Dave didn't answer. He just crawled away from Gary to a dark corner and continued to weep.

Gary stood back, looked at the top of the stairs. Something told him to check the bedroom. He dashed up those stairs, nearly tripping over the well-worn steps. The door to the bedroom was ajared. He saw a shadow on the wall near the canopy bed. The shadow was hunched over another shadow laying in the shadowy bed.

He ran in. The woman in a black gown and moretta mask was overtop Hilda, holding Hilda by the shoulders in the bed. Hilda struggled, her arms flailing in the air. She was gasping for air. On the nightstand by the bed, Gary saw the stone next to a lamp laying on it's side.

Gary grabbed the stone. The woman immediately removed her hands from Hilda. Hilda sat up, her body dripping wet, she spat out water and tried desperately to catch her breath.

The woman turned to Gary. She spoke to him, easing toward him.

“Amore mio, sei tornato da me,” The woman said.

Gary held the stone just enough from her, backed out of the bedroom, into the hall.He led her down the stairs, past a weeping Dave, and out the house. They went down the hill, and out to the tides rolling in, recreating the edge of the beach.

“Voglio solo stringerti ... un ultimo bacio ...”

With a great wind up, Gary threw the stone into the ocean. The woman in the black gown walked into the coming tide, disappearing under the currents.

Gary sighed. He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment. Then he turned to the beach house on top of the hill. He watched for Dave or hilda to appear. No one came out.

Gary turned from the beach house on the hill that looked down him. He walked away, feeling drained.

EVEN IN ASHES, SHE SMILES copyright m.s. 2012

Martine sat uneasily in her chair as a moth fluttered around, trapped in her florescent clear body. Martine would listen to it's humming as it drew closer to the glowing light bulb situated near her furiously pumping heart. One of Arthur's inventions, keeping his wife alive.

The darkness fell quickly on the city outside Martine's window. Decayed and depraved gray buildings that lined up beside each other for as far as the eye could see. Martine never went out of her apartment. She only sat at her window and watched the world go by. Watching blue-pink spheres rotate in the sky, leaving a gray film over the city. The poisonous gas in the air would shatter her clear plastic body, if Martine would step outside, others, without a gas mask, would turn into a lump blackened flesh as if they had been in an oven.

She would sketch the happenings out there, people walking along the sidewalk, to their jobs, back to their homes. Children playing in the streets, or going off to school. It was a way to try to forget all their troubles, especially the bills.

Arthur came home.

Martine was glad to see him. She ran to Arthur and hugged him. He took off his gas mask and threw it in the corner of the small one room house. He stood there, gently shut the door as he put his arms around her. She looked up smiling at him. Arthur kissed the top of her head.

“What have you been doing all day, then?” He went to the kitchen table with her hanging on to his arms. He sat down, tossed his duffel bag on the bed that was only a few inches from the table.

“Just drawing,” Martine said. She sat next to him. “How was your day?” She handed him her sketch book.

“It's always the same at the factory, Martine,” Arthur thumbed through the pages quickly until he came across a picture he liked. He laughed. “Mrs. Quran and her awful kids. This is a real good one.”

The sketch was more of a caricature than a resemblance. It showed a large woman with three heads, one smiling at a man on street, one crying, another with large teeth biting at her children.

“What did you make today?” Martine asked. She went to the stove and stirred a brown liquid that bubbled to the top of the rusted pot. She returned to the table, placed the pot in front of Arthur. She sat down, her eyes transfixed on him.

“It's the same everyday, darling. Creating the perfect flower and planting it to restore oxygen to the atmosphere here in our city.” No. That wasn't what he was making. He was mass producing the Police cameras, a robotic EYE.

“Eat,” Martine touched his hand.

“Are you having any?” Arthur took the metal spoon and scooped some of the brown goo out. He put it to his lips and cringed. With eyes closed, holding his breath, Arthur swallowed the only nourishment the Uppers allowed his people to have.

“No,” She shook her head. “I ate yesterday. I'll be fine for the rest of the week.”

It was true that brown muck was made from a wheat germ grown inside the testicle of a pig, which itself is grown in laboratory; has all the requirements a human body needs to survive.

Arthur ate the entire pot, immediately he felt his stomach ache. He ran to the bathroom. Just a room with a non-working commode, a cracked mirror, and a rusted sink. He sat on the commode just in time.

There was a knock at the door. Martine answered it, precariously. Standing in the doorway was a tall, thin man in a black trench coat and a gas mask, which was surgically attached to his face.

She screamed and slammed the door shut. Martine ran to the bed and crawled underneath the cot. There was the sound of continuous rapping. A voice calling out Arthur's last name. Martine was shaking. She closed her eyes and wished the situation would disappear.

She felt hands on her. She was being pulled from under the cot. She opened her eyes and saw Arthur. She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing loudly.

“I'm sorry,” Martine said.

“It's okay.” Arthur whispered. “You didn't know who it was.”

“I just thought it was one of the neighbors...Mrs. Quaran. or her kids.”

“Mr. Hope...you owe the City Corporation four thousand crowns,” The voice was computerized with no human touch involved at all. “Pay or face the consequences.”

Bill collectors were Automated beings. Once activated, you either pay what you owed, or everything inside the building is destroyed. You can not argue your way out of the situation. But, they can not come inside the building unless invited in or acknowledged.

Martine acknowledged it.

Now the second faze has been activated. It will find entrance at all cost.

They heard it on the roof of the building. Footsteps echoed, the ceiling bowed. Tile and dust fell upon Martine and Arthur's heads. Arthur was not going to be a sitting duck. He left Martine and went to the window to see if the lights from the Police vehicle the Bill collector had rode in was still shining.

Martine rolled back under the cot. She closed her eyes, still wishing it would all disappear.

Arthur slipped on his gas mask. He put on his bomber jacket and took a screwdriver with him. Outside, the sky was a velvet cover no stars could enter. The only light the city was allowed outside was the EYE, a Police vehicle that a huge silver ball-shape with long spider-like legs and a camera attached that could see up to a thousand miles from it's resting place.

Arthur approached the EYE, it lowered a it's gun, it's target was set. An automated voice sounded off a warning. Arthur ignored it.

Arthur fell to the ground on his stomach, just as the EYE fired a green beam from it's gun. The beam just barely missed Arthur. He rolled left, another beam shot past his face. It burned a larger hole in the city street than the first. Arthur was still holding his screwdriver in his right hand. He placed the point of the screwdriver into a crevice between the the ball and the legs.

As soon as Arthur could feel electricity move from the EYE to his fingertips, he dropped the screwdriver and rolled from underneath the machine. Blue and pink sparks covered the EYE, an electrical prism had been born.

The EYE crumbled from the lack of stability. It's front leg fell to the asphalt, wires still attached to it's now exposed hardware, a circuit board going haywire.

Arthur watched the machine fall apart completely, dust and rubble enveloping it. Soon the human Police will arrive. An entire army. He will be shot on sight. But who will take care of Martine?

Then he remembered Martine. He remembered the Bill collector. He remembered

the danger she was in.

He ran inside the house, or what was left of it inside. The table was obliterated as well as the bed, where he left Martine. Large holes in the walls , sharing the outside world, poisonous gas and the red glow from other Police EYES swarming the night skies.

There, in the middle of a mattress turned to pulp, was what was left of Martine's body...pieces of her...her clear plastic chest cracked wide open....her internal organ lay disconnected from her circuit board.....the light bulb that was once beside her beating heart, now in shards next to her along with remnants of dust from the Atom ball. She had a peaceful smile on her partial face.

From behind him he heard the Bill collector's voice. “Paid in full—or suffer the consequences....” The Bill collector held in both open hands the particles from the personal Atom ball he'd just cracked open.

Arthur was motionless. Stunned. Only his hands shook, his mouth was left gaping, a tiny gurgle meant as a scream rose from his dry throat.

A moth fluttered by Arthur, momentarily taking his eyes from the Bill collector.

The moth flew to the Bill collector and disappeared into a tiny crack on the left side of his gas mask. He flinched, began waving his arms desperately. The Atom particles fell to his trench coat and immediately blew him apart. A small mushroom cloud formed from detached body.

The moth flew from his gas mask and fluttered around Arthur's face. He opened up a hand. It gently fell on the palm, crawled to the end of his index finger. He brought it up to his gas mask. It crawled around until it found a slight opening on the right side, eased itself inside.

Arthur heard it whisper his name and he knew it was Martine's voice.

THE HUNGRY FACE copyright m.s. 2012

Franz could not rise from his chair, nor leave the table, for the Face on his stomach would not allow him to leave a feast especially prepared for him.

Every time he would try to stand, the weight of the Face on his mid-section was so great, he would have to sit again or fall forward on the table. The Face would screw up it's eyes and laugh heartily.

“You can not leave the table until you are full,” It told him.

“But I am not hungry,” Franz spoke in weak voice.

“Make yourself eat!” The Face growled.

The Face had always been with Franz. It's horrible scowl on it's large square pink canvas. It spread as far as Franz big round belly was wide, but not as tall as his chest. Even when he was a baby, that old man- face, wrinkled and dimpled forehead, had been born as a birthmark. Or as the wet nurse said a curse. Franz Father turned to the bottle, which caused quite a bit of problems being the village school headmaster. Franz Mother refused to believe the Face ever existed. She pushed for Franz to be treated as normal as everyone else. She never allowed him to acknowledge the problem.

“I never liked your Mother,” The Face said. Mira, his maid entered She put more dishes down containing more vegetables, corn, eggplant, asparagus. The Face made lewd sounds at her. Mira wrinkled her nose at him.

“Shut up about my Mother,” Franz picked at a turkey leg that had been placed on his plate by Mira. She leaned across him, letting her breast brush against him. “My Mother was a saint to put up with things.”

“You are speaking of your Father, aren't you? Not me, of course. Now, your Father, that was a fellow only bums and cheap guys could have respect for.”

“Are you alright, Mr. Franz? Should I gag him?” Mira smiled big, those lovely ruby lips sparkling under the lights. She put a hand upon her dark hair, making sure it was still in the bun she'd fixed. Her green eyes danced back and forth between Franz and the Face.

“No, Mira, thank you. It wouldn't help matters now. He still wouldn't permit me to leave the table.”

“As you wish, sir,” Mira pranced to the door of the kitchen. She stopped, turned to Franz, blew him a kiss.

The Face felt stirrings in Franz nether parts. It laughed. “You know she only likes you for Uncle Havel's money.”

“Leave it!” Screamed Franz. He placed his hands over his head and wished there was something he could do with The Face. Perhaps, it was right. Mira only found Franz attractive because of the vast family fortune Havel made from black market electronics he sold on the streets of Prague in the nineties.

“Eat!” The Face demanded. “I'm starving!”

“God have pity on me! You are always starving! Please let me up...give me back the use of my legs. Just for a few minutes. I wish to go to bed.”

“Eat! Damn you, you're trying to starve me. I know it.”

“All right! I'm feeding you, you demon from hell!” Franz grabbed a bowl with potatoes and sucked them down. He ate like a wild man, just as much turkey fell on the floor and his clothes as it entered his mouth.

Then Franz stopped eating. He heard The Face enjoying the food from Franz plate. The sounds it was making was sickening and annoying. Franz threw his hands over his ears. Still, he could hear The Face gurgling and cooing. Smacking it's lips.

“More!” The Face growled once more. “Feed my face! Or you will never leave your chair!”

Franz could take no more. He had snapped. He laughed uncontrollably, tears welled up in his eyes. Franz had made up his mind.

“Yes,” He said, ringing the bell and Mira swashed in. He motioned for her to bend down. Franz whispered his diabolical plan in her ear. “Let's both never leave the table.”

Mira was horrified.

“What do you mean?” The Face said. “Have you lost your mind. Yes I can tell that by your pernicious laughter. You always want to leave the table.”

Mira left. Ten minutes later she returned with two mirrors. She set one on a smaller end table she'd moved to the right of the table. She placed another mirror on the other side of the first mirror to catch the image from it, pointed the second mirror toward Franz midsection.

She drew a chair next to Franz, pulled him and his chair away from her.

“What madness is this?” The Face said nervously.

“Madness indeed,” Franz retorted with a small giggle.

Mira carried on with her work, an infinite amount of sadness overtaking her emotions. She took from pockets a large spool of thread and a needle. She pushed through the eye of the needle the end of the thread, weeping softly.

Franz looked in one of the mirrors and saw The Face closing it's eyes. “Oh, no, you demon. Don't close your eyes, by all means. You wouldn't want to miss this for the world.”

Mira forced the needle into the left side of Franz lips, pulled the thread through. He winced, blood dribbled down his chin. Mira carried on, with a shaky hand, tears falling from her cheeks, the needle and thread made a long zig- zag across Franz lips.

“Nooo...” The hungry Face cried out, petrified by the terrible mirror images.