My Friends and I, Page 2

  Butterflies ram against the cage of Mira's ribs as the houselights dim, and spotlights focus on the center ring.

  The show is about to begin, and there's no turning back now.

  Toma Alexandrescu's regal, imposing figure commands the arena, and his voice blares over the speakers with great fanfare. “Ladies and gentleman! Kids of all ages! Welcome to the Alexandria Brothers Circus!”

  Mira turns away from the outer shell of the show and moves to the portable dressing table to focus on the internal—a final check of her makeup, straightening her costume.

  Strong arms slip around her from behind, and a large hand comes to rest over her slamming heart. She watches in the mirror as Raul rests his head on her shoulder, his dark eyes filled with concern. “Your heart is pounding, querida. What's wrong?”

  “Nothing. I'm fine.” Mira wants to shrug Raul off, rebuff him for becoming enamored with another, but love binds her to him too tightly. A flash of anger burns through her at the perceived weakness.

  Raul kisses the side of her neck. “Get your head in the game. This is how accidents happen—when you're distracted.”

  Mira bristles, turning in his arms and pushing hard against his chest. “I've got this! You think I'm a liability?”

  Raul stares into her eyes for a long moment, looking for something. He finds it and shakes his head. “You're okay. You wanna talk about it?”

  Mira hears the music of the act before theirs. A mixture of steadying calm and light adrenaline rushes through her, and she puts on her best show-smile. “About what?” She winks at Raul and leans up to kiss his soft lips.

  “You.” Raul shakes a finger at her. “I'm going to get you later.”

  “Promises, promises.” Mira does a pirouette, then runs into the ring on light feet with Raul behind her.

  Mira and Raul perform their tightrope act flawlessly, as they always do. When she's high above the crowd, Mira usually transports herself to a different reality. The big top, the people, the restless animals below—everything disappears except their special music, her, and Raul.

  Toward the end of their act, she almost loses her concentration. Thoughts of Ruby—the outsider—sizzle in Mira's gut.

  Raul catches her eye, sensing something is off. He steadies her with his eyes, and Mira pushes the sight of him kissing Ruby on a blanket in the woods and his later proclamation that it was “just a grope that didn't go anywhere” from her mind. The slight hiccup in the act isn't noticeable to the audience, and the two grasp hands with their arms sweeping out as they take their bows.

  When they reach the dressing room, Raul's warm hands caress Mira's bare shoulders sending tingles zipping under her sweat-damp skin. “What happened up there?” His voice is soft, concerned. There's no accusation in it, though a mistake on her part could have sent him tumbling to his death tonight.

  “Let's get out of here, Raul. We have a few hours.” She holds her hand out.

  Raul fits his fingers between hers, his touch so gentle, and they race off to the pond Mira spied as the crew was setting up a few days ago. They sit quietly for a while, soaking up nature. Crickets and bullfrogs serenade them; water splashes as fish surface; a shooting star streaks across the night sky.

  Mira snuggles into Raul, but part of her is wrenched back to the big top when Ruby's intro music starts. She feels no guilt. Ruby intruded on Mira's family, then tried to take her man.

  Mira pulls away from Raul and walks along the edge of the pond. He's right behind her, worried. “Tell me what's wrong. You know I love only you. I could never . . . It was a moment of weakness. We didn't—”

  “I know.” Mira's palm curves over her abdomen. The gesture exudes sadness and protectiveness.

  “Mira . . . are you—?” Raul rushes to her side and turns her to face him.

  A single tear, the only one she allows herself, rolls slowly down her face. “Not anymore.”

  “Baby, why?” Raul crushes her to his chest, and Mira allows herself to absorb his strength as they rock back and forth in silence and grieve together.

  Mira knows when it all goes wrong for Ruby. The distant roar of the crowd morphs into horrified screams.

  No evidence will be found in the investigation. No suspicion will be thrown Mira's way. It'll be considered a tragic accident, and she's pretty sure Ruby won't be performing in any more circuses.

  Mira caresses her empty womb again and reflects on the need for sacrifice.

  ********

  Sarah Aisling hails from the East Coast of the US and loves living by the ocean with her incredibly indulgent husband and precocious daughter. She’s currently editing her upcoming novel, The Weight of Roses. When Sarah isn’t being enslaved by her characters, she can be found with her nose in a book, obsessing over nail polish or anything leopard, biking, hiking, camping, and spending time with friends and family.

 

  Twitter: @SarahAisling

  Website: www.sarahaisling.com

  Facebook: SarahAislingAuthor

  IF I CATCH YOU / Heaven Lindsay-Burtch

  IF I CATCH YOU / Lillie McFerrin

  The small golden key shined up at her, almost mockingly, from where it landed beside the scuffed toe of her boot. Fitting, she thought, that the things she needed most continued to slip through her fingers. His name whispered through her mind again as she bent to retrieve the key, letting herself into the house.

  Grayson. The only name that caused her pulse to race.

  Lucy made her way toward her bedroom tossing keys on the table, shoving her boots in a corner, dropping her jacket and purse onto the couch. If only she could discard his words so easily. Without an ounce of grace, she sank face-down onto her bed. Her nose wrinkled at the smoke from the bar that had seeped deeply into her pores, leaving her in desperate need of a shower, but right now she didn’t care.

  Too tired to be angry, too angry to be sad, she just lay there trying to empty her mind. Blank slate, white paper, empty trash can, washboard abs. She grinned ruefully at herself.

  Grayson.

  She continued on with imagery, searching for something that would quiet the chaos of her mind. Instead of finding emptiness, she began to replay the night.

  Grayson had been perched on a wooden stool, confidently strumming his guitar as his perfectly arranged words washed over a buzzed crowd, hungry for more. Stage lights bathed his angular face making him appear both strong and vulnerable. The combination was intoxicating. He sang their songs, words he and Lucy had written together when they were deep in love and high on life. They had lived the cliché and loved every second. Despite herself, she’d hummed along with him. His words were the story of her life, her soul set to melody.

  “Lucy, what are you doing here?” he had asked.

  She had delighted in seeing the mix of emotions on his face when his eyes found hers in the crowd. The bar was small, so she had known he would find her. Grayson always found her.

  “I heard my songs were being played here tonight.”

  “Our songs.”

  “I wondered if you remembered that part. Being up there by yourself now.”

  “Are we going to do this again?”

  She raised her chin, steeled it against a tremble. “You came to me. I didn’t ask to speak with you.”

  Stalking away, with only a shake of his head, he left her alone. Always alone. Walking away was his specialty, and she’d let him do it again.

  Her bed was cold. It was always colder when she let herself think of him. She curled her fingers into the sheets, squeezed her eyes shut and tried to be taken away, back to a place where the things she planted grew nothing but beautiful blooms, but when she opened her eyes she saw her drab and sparsely furnished bedroom. Life on the road hadn’t left much time to decorate.

  The silver guitar pic that sat on her bedside table reminded her who she was, even when life tried to beat her down, make her forget, feel less than adequate. A self-deprecating smile splayed across
her lips. Often the creative life was like an addiction to Russian roulette. Sometimes it was a life full of magic, others it was a suffocating dread of failure.

  Plucking the pic from the table, she sat up. She held it out between her thumb and forefinger, turning it side to side, watching the play of light as it cast shadows against the wall.

  Remembering the words of the first song she and Grayson had written together, she began to sing.

  “In a day far from here, I will still stand by you. After we’ve crossed the desert and fought the dragons, it will still be just us two. With the determination of steel against a hurricane, I’ll stay,

  I’ll be your strength, I’ll show you what a love like this can sustain.”

  After a quick shower, she tossed a few things in her travel bag. Tonight she would sleep in her car. Tomorrow she would follow his caravan to the next venue where she would stand in the crowd again, hoping she would have the courage to ask for forgiveness this time when he found her. They had been having the same conversation after each of his last twenty gigs. But, after months of standing in the crowd, when her place was on the stage, she was determined to swallow her pride and fight.

  If she could just catch him.

  ********

  Lillie lives on Amelia Island with her King Charles, Georgia. She is currently hammering out a novel outline in anticipation of this year’s National Novel Writing Month. When she isn't at her desk, she's most likely kayaking or lost in the wonder of a book.

  Twitter: @LillieMcFerrin

  Facebook: lilliemcferrin

  Website: lilliemcferrin.com

  UNDER THE OLIVE TREE / Rob Hill Band

  LION TAMER / Jenn Monty

  The Lion Tamer walked into the sideshow tent and took a seat in the back row. He was expected in the main ring in forty-five minutes but the Ring Master knew he never missed this act and would stall if necessary. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness; any breaks in the fabric had been sealed tight to keep out the daylight. As the show began, a single spotlight came on to illuminate the center of the ring. In the middle of the light stood the most beautiful creature the Lion Tamer had ever seen. The rest of the audience gasped, startled by the woman’s unusual appearance, but he simply smiled and waited.

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd, discussing the woman’s blue skin that shimmered like a lake in the sun. Her pale turquoise lips offset the darker hue of her face. Her deep sea-foam green hair sparkled against the dingy spotlight. Her midnight blue eyes radiated with white pupils, mimicking the stars in a new moon sky. The program book cast her as the Water Phoenix. Her feathered costume completed the Phoenix persona but the Lion Tamer felt certain she was from the night sky itself and that stardust glimmered on her being.

  Her lovely white and blue eyes scanned the crowd until they found his, locking him with a knowing gaze. A single tear shone in the spotlight as it slid down her cheek. He smiled sadly, anticipating the part of her act that would break his heart a thousand times. They both heard the slip of the rope through the pulley. A flap in the tent ceiling opened and the first few tendrils of sunlight shot down into the center of the ring. A small wisp of smoke replaced the tear on her cheek as soon as the light touched her face. The Water Phoenix erupted into a fierce blue-white flame as the crowd oohed and awed. Her back arched and her body lifted off the ground slightly as the fire engulfed every inch. It took only a moment for the beautiful woman to become nothing more than a smoldering pile of ashes. The Lion Tamer watched, hoping the act wasn’t as painful as it appeared.

  The audience began to fidget, wondering if the show was over. The Lion Tamer knew the best part was yet to come. His stare remained glued to the center of the ring. A hush fell over the first few rows of seats as the middle of the embers shifted. First, the silky blue-green hair appeared to lift from the ashes followed by the deeper blue of a forehead. Her eyes emerged next, then her luscious turquoise lips. The crowd remained riveted to their seats as little by little the Water Phoenix surfaced from out of her own ashes, feathered costume and all. As the last blue toe pulled up from the grey ground, the Water Phoenix smiled. She glanced to see if the Lion Tamer remained then bowed to the patrons. The audience cheered and thundered with applause.

  The Lion Tamer slipped quietly out of the tent and back into the daylight. He studied the crowd as it spilled out, each person chattering about what he or she had just witnessed. Was it real? How was the trap door concealed? What kind of makeup glittered like that? He grinned at the familiar questions; the same questions he had asked after his first experience. Five minutes after the last patron filed out, a figure covered from head to toe in a heavy wool cloak passed through the entrance and moved swiftly toward the carnival housing. Finally alone, the Lion Tamer walked back into the empty tent and stopped in the center of the ring. He bent and scooped up a handful of ash from the ground, placing it gently into the inside pocket of his coat. He then proceeded to the main ring to prepare for his own act.

  Later that evening when the crowd was gone and the circus had grown quiet, the Lion Tamer emerged from his apartment and set off toward a farm just down the road. He had taken the same walk every night for the past five years and had grown quite fond of the ritual. He enjoyed the clean country air, glad to be rid of the sticky sweet smell of caramel and popped corn for a few hours. He never asked anyone else to come along but he felt sure on this night someone followed him. He walked through the fields until he came to the olive grove. He wandered through the grove, admiring each twisted trunk, finally stopping under the largest olive tree. He reached into his pocket and removed the ashes he’d taken earlier in the day. He sprinkled the grains along the base of the tree and watched in fascination as small blue flowers with bright white centers sprang up from the ground.

  “Why do you take my ashes each day and bring them up here each night?” The Lion Tamer smiled when he heard the velvet voice.

  “Because everything about you is precious,” he replied.

  He turned to see the Water Phoenix staring down at the blooms. He reached out and touched her face, the smooth skin soft under his fingertips. She smiled, leaning into his hand. The Lion Tamer tilted slowly until his ruby red lips touched her pale blue mouth. The kiss felt like soaring through a hundred years in an instant. He reluctantly pulled back but left his hand on her face.

  “Have you seen what happens when moonlight hits this tree?” he asked.

  She shook her head. He positioned their bodies so the tree was between them and the rising moon. When the first rays spread over the horizon, the tree began to twinkle like a thousand burning stars. The Lion Tamer turned and whispered into his love’s ear.

  “It is the only thing I have ever seen that is as beautiful as you.”

  ********

  Jenn Monty is a fanatic of all things brewed – coffee, tea, beer, and especially stories. This love of percolating things coupled with an extreme case of wander-lust, led to the nickname Brewed Bohemian.

  Fueled by caffeine and music, Jenn spends her days crunching data and her nights writing poetry, flash fiction, science-fiction, dieselpunk, and even a smidgen of romance from time to time.

  Jenn’s other passion is for Girl Geekdom. She enjoys gaming, comic books, Japanese anime & manga, and general computing nerdiness.

  Visit www.brewedbohemian.blogspot.com or follow her on Twitter @BrewedBohemian to learn more.

  RUNAWAY TRAIN / Cole Thomason

  RUNAWAY TRAIN / Jeff Tsuruoka

  I asked a guy I found sitting on a bench outside a barber shop for directions to The Runaway Train.

  He wore a hat faded two shades lighter than his beard and his brown suit clung like he'd slept in it.

  “'Bout a hundred yards that way, bo.” he croaked, pointing down the empty street.

  “Ain't no bo, pal.”

  He grinned at me with both teeth. “Don't get sore. We're all bos here.”


  I wasn't that sore. With my jacket slung over my shoulder, shirt sweat-stuck to my back, and crumpled hat in hand, I could see it.

  “Say, whachoo want up at the Train anyhow? Lookin' for old Gus?”

  “Suppose I am.”

  I watched the dust blow around in the wind, kissing the barren sidewalk and boarded up shops.

  “What happened to this town?” I asked.

  He laughed.

  “Same thing that's happened everywhere since '29, fella. Just more of it.”

  The Runaway Train was the kind of place you'd walk right by, unless you had to stop. Even if you had to stop you might still walk right by.

  Imagine that somebody put a tin roof on an old rail car and dropped it near the end of a road the county never bothered to finish.

  Wasn't quite that nice a place.

  A bare bulb sat next to the door, above a hand-painted wooden sign that read, “Beer”.

  Another sign, this one featuring a decent rendition of a train steaming down a steep hill, hung from a nail in

  the middle of the door

  Inside was a rickety plywood counter with a couple of shelves behind it in an otherwise empty room.

  Gus must've blown his decorating budget on the sign.

  The man himself looked as dusty and down as his adopted town.