A Compendium For The Broken Hearted, Page 4

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  Half an hour later, James and Mary had to pry little Suzy off of Peter. James apologised over and over but the businessman insisted that he would indeed be willing to become a permanent playmate for the little girl or even babysit at times. In the end they took his phone number and promised to call whenever they needed someone to fill in. Peter watched the parents walk away with their daughter clutching each of their hands and felt happiness swell in his heart. At first the couple had naturally been alarmed when they saw Suzy playing with a stranger, but their initial fear had been extinguished by her loud giggles. They had all talked for a while and agreed that it was a happy coincidence that caused Peter to find their daughter and not someone busier. She had stayed with him for over half an hour. Most people would have just pretended not to see the child and let somebody else worry about it. James had calmed Mary’s tears while Peter explained that even young children can wander off at times. Mr Bellamy considered playing with Suzy a job well done, and it was only after sighing in content that it dawned upon him that he might be running a little late.

  Unperturbed, the blonde businessman pulled out his phone and called his secretary, telling her to cancel his appointments for the day. Beth went deathly quiet for a few seconds before asking him “Are you insane? You have a meeting with Mr O’Donovan from Tepco in an hour!” There was a hard edge to her voice, but Peter laughed lightly and he could hear her sigh in tired acceptance as he apologised. “You always do this, you know. Without me you’d go bankrupt.” she complained with a smile in her voice. With that done, Peter made his way to the highest point in this park. It centred everything beautifully, and you could get a nice view. Due to that, Peter came to this park almost every day. He kept it safe from sharks swimming in the market, looking for a place to build new and tall buildings. He’d paid a lot of money to buy it, in fact. With it privately owned, the place was safe as long as he lived, for he hardly needed the money companies offered him to purchase it. To Mr Bellamy, a few million dollars hardly made a difference.

  With a mid afternoon breeze come a plethora of scents. Sometimes, how pleasant a summer breeze really is can be determined almost entirely by what scents it brings with it. Some brought hints of an ocean’s salt, fresh fish, and pink coral. Others had the earthy musk of forest, primal yet calm like an elk. At times, they carried the homely taste best suited for barns and slowly cooking pies. However, it just so happened that almost everyone liked the perfume of roses and flowers. Theirs was the go to, the simple answer to relaxation and happiness. A particular breeze raised Mr Bellamy’s tie just then, and it embodied exactly that scent.

  Peter breathed it in hungrily. Flowers always were good, he thought to himself. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the mixture he’d sniffed out, but he was sure he caught jasmine and Lavender in there. He smiled, thinking that it might be cheating that he knew exactly where this scent was coming from. On the other side of the hill, beyond his eyes but apparently not his nose, lay a long rectangular field of flowers. He had tried his best to acquire most types of flowers he could name, and many he could not. These were all planted there, for the enjoyment of those around. Dandelions, sunflowers, tulips, roses and lilies and orchids lined that field, as well as many more types of flowers, creating a place of simple magic. A smile touched Peter’s face at the certainty that more than a few couples had gone there and held hands today. He wondered how many relationships he had helped bridge unwittingly, with the single act of buying flowers. Mr Bellamy was content, but in the back of his mind he knew he still had to reach the centre of that hill.

  Due to his weight a climb like this one could not be called easy, yet Peter had traversed the distance many times. All it really took was patience and the willingness to take a break here and there. He lacked neither trait, and so the treck was more enjoyable than not. In his breaks Peter mostly gazed at the bright blue sky, tracing shapes in his mind’s eye and then wiping them clean, like a child presented with a blackboard. He wondered how such beauty could be gleaned from something as mundane as colour, but he doubted this was a mystery he was about to solve, lying on the grass in an expensive suit. Still, his suit was practical for sitting on grass purposes. To Mr Bellamy, this suit represented everything in his life. There was no joy in hoarding money, he’d learned that long ago.

  Despite being enchanted by green grass and blue sky and heavenly scents, Peter pushed himself to his feet, huffed and puffed his way up the hill, and waved by way of greeting to the lone figure sitting on a lone bench. Frank looked understandably annoyed, and his only response was, “Next time you stop by I’ll have all your teeth, Peter.” Peter naturally did his best to chuckle, but doing so proved too difficult whilst doubled over and panting. It took the businessman a minute to regain his composure, but even then he didn’t try too hard to apologise. He and his friend have been playing this exact game for years. Instead Mr Bellamy noticed that summer was doing the flowers down below them, on the other side of the hill, quite a bit of good.

  They really had nothing much to chat about other than little nothings. More important was the company, the sights, scents, and quiet. Quiet was a beautiful thing, if it wasn’t the heavy oppressive kind. Their brand of silence was punctuated by natural idle chatter from both men and birds. If not for the skyscrapers all about, it would have been difficult to imagine that this much good waited in a city. The blonde man felt at peace, and then chuckled when he realized that was his usual mood anyway. Frank asked what was wrong with him, and when told the reason for Mr Bellamy’s laugh he merely grunted.

  Peter could hardly imagine a moment in time more isolated and perfect. It was as if the sun’s final rays of the day were kisses captured within a bubble of warmth and distributed evenly between all senses. To accentuate his point he scratched at the bench beneath him absentmindedly, feeling the cool solid wood. It baffled him that such a perspective was within everyone’s hands and yet so few people took the time to slow down and enjoy it. They seemed to him too preoccupied by more complex matters, and could not see the beauty in simplicity. It was strange. People called him an optimist at times, but the term was just as confusing to him.

  To Mr Bellamy it really didn’t matter who you were and how you thought, summer was truly a beautiful thing.

 

  Story 7

  Maximilian, or Max for short, had a horrible life.

  Homelessness greeted his birth. It was a strange feeling, knowing that there are warm buildings all around you, but not being able to go inside. A soft yellow glow coming from windows all around teased Max each night as he went to sleep under whatever cover he could find, whether it be a box or a small crack in between two walls he could use for shelter. Heavy rain would follow the skulking child as he paced streets looking for any kind scrap of food he could find. If he was lucky, it wouldn’t be rotten.

  Children wouldn’t play with him, probably because of the way he looked. Often when he tried, rocks and insults would be thrown at him, and after a few times he learned that there was little place for him in this world. Still, things weren’t always all that bad, as long as you were careful. He and his closest sister would sometimes even find joy in a park somewhere. Miranda, his sister, was the best out of them all when it came to finding food. At first Max thought it was due to scavenging skills, but in time he realized that she was just much cuter, and so was given things. The thought filled him with a strange feeling. One could argue that you should never be envious of your sibling, but it became slightly understandable when they flourished just because of how they look. She only got enough for herself, and though Max was glad that she avoided starvation, that didn’t spare her his resentment when their other siblings began to drop off one by one. Say what you wanted about his willingness to steal, Max had always shared.

  Their frail mother, who had always tried her best to provide, would weep bitterly in a broken manner each time she buried one of her flesh and blood. She would get the rest to help out, and they would scoop up
dirt and rocks to hide their other’s death. In time, five would help, then three, then only Max and Miranda were left to her, and she became more reclusive.

  Miranda survived because of her pretty face and legs, but Max needed to rely on other tools early on, and had developed both a fearful savageness as well as a rogue’s streak a mile wide. In truth, he was a simple child and only wanted happiness, but situation and desperation can drive one to great lengths. Then again, some would argue that happiness was as ambitious a dream as can be. When he was done with his day’s work, he would come back and curl up next to his parent for as long as he could, trying his best to give her the love of seven children combined. Sometimes she’d cry, and he would kiss her and hug her to sweet sleep, the only escape she had.

  In time mother found her other escape, the lasting one. Max and Miranda buried her, and then drifted apart. Despite harsh words being said between them, he couldn’t help but wish the best for her. He roamed familiar streets alone, thinking of what to do. He was now old enough to fare for himself, and thought of perhaps joining a gang or something similar. Safety was in allies, after all, but it was unlikely that he would find anyone trustworthy. In the end, the matter was decided for him, and he joined a group out of desperation. They had a system where everything found was shared, and Max found this ideal useful for the weaker ones, although some members used the opportunity to slack off.

  Within the span of a few months, Max rose in ranks due to a number of fights. He was starting to gain much respect, mainly because in contrast to his huge size, he treated others fairly. Max learned to be harsh, but many feeble members of their gang found protection at his side. Perhaps it was his way of repenting for his inability to aid his siblings.

  Then it happened. One day, Max roamed the streets alone. He now had one long scar running along his face, marring one eye. It gave him confidence, and perhaps even gave his ego a boost. In his mind, no one would dare attack him.

  All of a sudden, a screech came from right next to him. It was a van, pulling to a stop deliberately close. Before he could do anything more than leap and turn around, they’d had him. Three men muscled him into the van, put a sack over his head, and drove off. He yelled and kicked and tried to fight, but they tied him down to restrict his movements. One of them said something in a language Max didn’t understand, and in an instant something sharp stuck into his neck. Then he drifted off to unwelcome slumber.

  They put him in a cage, one of many filled with other unfortunates. There was a girl in the cage in front of him, and she cried often. She wasn’t the only one. There was little of comfort here, other than a bowl of food and water, a spot to relieve yourself, and a heap of hay to sleep on. Twin rows of cages, with a hard cold cement path running down the middle, smelled mostly of fear and mould. Sunlight rarely came through and thus those few harsh white lights hanging from the ceiling provided all the illumination his left eye saw. Max understood that he was in a horrible situation, but could find no way to escape, for the guards left nothing which could be exploited. At least, he thought, he was still alive, and they didn’t seem to want to torture him or, actually, do anything at all. Their captors seemed content with them simply being caged off.

  Horror dawned upon Max, however, when he realized he’d been taken to a slave market. It froze his earlier complacency right in his veins. People would come once every few days, point at one of his fellow prisoners, and a man would drag the unfortunate victim off. Paper would exchange hands, and that was that. At first he’d thought the prisoners might be dragged off to be killed, but one day girl in the cage in front of him was taken kicking and screaming the whole way. Someone told her to go quietly in an old tired voice, but Max felt a tiny surge of pride at her struggle. That old one knew nothing. No matter what, you can never stop struggling or give up hope. A few hours later a guard came in, and through the open door Max glimpsed her leashed by the people who’d bought her and crawling on all fours on the grass, fearful but submissive. It was one of the most pitiful sights he’d ever seen.

  One day, to Max’s astonishment, his turn came. He’d noticed that usually it was the pretty ones who were sold off, for whatever sick reason. He was big and scarred and had only a single eye, but that didn’t seem to faze the man who’d bought him. Max fought tooth and claw every inch of the way, so they drugged him. The man and the slave owner talked the whole time, and as he drifted off, Max wished he could speak their language to curse them. He settled for a scream so unsettling it could make a man’s hair fall off, and in it he packed hate and sorrow in equal measures.

  When Max next awoke, he was in another cage, this one of glass, in a sanitary room. He wasn’t alone in the four by four space, and the old timers told him that they were in a horror house. Here they would be experimented on until they died. He didn’t believe it, and told them that somehow, some way, he was going to get them all free. They smiled at him sadly, as if they knew something he didn’t. Max insisted he would help the old timers but still, he had no idea where they were. The room boasted nothing other than glass cages and a single door. White took over everything, and it frightened him.

  The next year was the worst of Max’s life. People in white coats would come into the room and press a button. Instantly something would hiss, and a few seconds after that everyone in a single glass cage would fall asleep. The coat wearing men would take them out of the room. Max learned the hard way that you can’t avoid it, because eventually your turn will come. He would wake up strapped to a cold metal table with a blaring light in his face. Then they would... do things to him. Force feed him, put things on his face, inject him with strange liquids that would alternately make him sick and then heal him. Max did not know why anyone would do such a thing, but in time he stopped caring. Bouts of healing and illness, strange chemicals, and psychological stress took their toll on him. He aged ten years each day, and felt eager for death. Everything ached, even his pride. In the end, his eyes sank and went dull, like everyone else’s, and he hated himself for it. Eventually he stopped fighting them, and not even a bark would escape him when they did their work. There was nothing to live for, he would just eat and sleep and wait to die.

  One day, two of the scientists came into the room, and that old fear took over him. He started to whine pitifully, but luckily it wasn’t his turn. It was another, a newcomer in a separate cage, who was taken. He had spoken earlier of breaking out of here, and Max felt pity for the young one, knowing he would one day grow old and crooked. Then the two men started talking, and Max instinctively knew they were speaking about him. He didn’t know what they said, because he never managed to learn their language. If he could, this is what he’d have heard:

  “That’s what I call ugly...”

  “Don’t say that, Rob.”

  “Huh? it’s true!”

  “Yeah, but look at the poor thing.”

  “Ugly.”

  “Scarred, hurt, one eye full of sadness. It looks so miserable.”

  “...This is our job, man.”

  “True.” He paused, then “Hey?”

  “What?”

  “It’s our job, but we might as well be decent about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just, like, try to feel bad for them. Maybe be kind.”

  “Meh.”

  “Seriously. I mean, look at this one. Battle scars are pride for a dog. It doesn’t feel ugly, I bet.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah... I dunno, buddy. I just feel bad for it. It must have had a horrible life.”

  Story 8:

  Children bustled about their mother’s feet much like Tolkein’s dwarves, albeit with less facial hair.

  They shouted their various pleads and apologies, as well as a few well intended confessions. Voices not yet harmed with time’s passage rang true and Fredrick could see both women and men all about him talk in what amounted to a crescendo of sounds. In the midst of it all he sat quietly in his armchair, sighing contently.

&n
bsp; The room’s decor lacked modernisation, that simple sleek touch he saw on television. Through a glass screen, he often noted that people preferred a small living room lined with black and white chairs gathered neat and business like around a sturdy metal table. Perhaps a lamp somewhere in the corner would shine with white light, covered with some art cloth thing, all curves and beauty. Here a more cluttered kind of practicality was preferred. Carpeted floor held up chairs of various makes and builds, muffling resident footsteps while one solitary light hung from the ceiling along with a fan that hadn’t been used in many years. That light was of a style Fredrick could not rightly put a name to off his memory, so he called it an upside-down-frilly-umbrella light. A single yellow bulb cast a warm glow upon the rest of the room.

  All in all, this place was special for Fredrick. His relatives stood all around, exchanging polite conversation with plates in their hands. He assumed they were enjoying themselves in such company, for he could see few people sitting down and to him that reflected an eagerness to interact with one another. It was very O’Briany of them, he reflected happily. Even more expected was behaviour he noticed from those few people NOT on their feet. A single shining example was Patrick, Mathew’s son, who looked like he had gained his fair share of pounds this year already and had eyes only for his heaped plate of mashed potatoes and chicken legs. So intense was his concentration that a few strands of his straight brownish hair hung precariously above the gravy. Every so often he would try to tuck these betrayers back behind his ears, but to little avail.

  Similar were the others in that living room, not allowing their eyes to stray too far from their meals unless it was to glance affectionately at the table in the middle of their setting. It was old, older than some people in this room in fact.

  That table had done its fair share of work over the years, and Fredrick could now almost hear it creak with the combined weight of enough food to feed more than fifty people. It shifted uncomfortably each time someone came over from the kitchen to Fredrick’s left to replace an empty plate with a full one. Had it been a living person, he could imagine it as a senile old woman trembling with the effort of cutting an apple. Instead of sadness, the image brought a smile to Fredrick’s face. Being old had its perks, he thought to himself as he surveyed the room and its happy guests. He hadn’t been asked to help with a thing today.

  “Gapa!” intruded a small squeaky voice on Fredrick’s thoughts. That voice came from below his knees, and he saw a small freckled thing, barely two years into her life. She had her hair cut short, which he didn’t entirely disapprove of, although it had been considered highly unusual when he himself was a child. He peered at her again, considered quietly for an instant.

  It was a well-kept secret by grandparents, that they remember far more than they let on at times. What they did not remember outright they could certainly pick up well enough by association. This little girl a certain stubby-ness to her nose that reminded him of Melissa. Her husband, what’s his name, he had green eyes didn’t he? Ah, this must be their youngest, Jessica.

  Fredrick smiled to himself, letting none of his mirth reach his face. He leaned over in his rather comfortable armchair. He had found a perfect spot on it, and would have to shuffle for hours to reach this level of relaxation again, but little Jessica was certainly worth the trouble. “Who is this little imp?” he wondered aloud, although his voice couldn’t carry far in this kind of atmosphere.

  Fredrick peered at her through one eye, taking out his glasses and placing them upon his admittedly long hawk like nose for sheer effect. “I don’t know anyone like you!” he boomed in mock shock, taking the little girl in his arms and giving her a good look over. “You’re mine now though, you cute little girl.” After that performance he affected an evil laugh. In turn Jessica wiped at her dark green denim dress for no apparent reason. That must be shyness, he thought quietly. Smart for a two year old. “Grapa!” she admonished, pawing at his face whilst bubbling. He played with her a bit, feeling proud that his line produced such friendly children.

  After a few minutes children gathered around, a gaggle of about eight ranging between nine years old and two, for Jessica was his youngest granddaughter. Of those five were boys, and after a while all the playing got to be a bit too much for Fredrick, old as he was. He stood up and a few clung to him, but he could see their mothers keeping a watchful eye in case he wanted to be left in a bit of peace for a while. Instead he waved noncommittally at them, conveying that everything was fine. He tasked his namesake, Fred, with taking his plate away to the kitchen and a girl called Lisa to calm the children down.

  Lisa had more of her mother’s side of the family in her than O’Brian, and it showed in her looks and mannerisms. She was less jovial then the others, had raven black hair and sparkling blue eyes, and was paler than most of his family. Her eyes betrayed more than colour, and he could tell that this girl of eight years old would grow to become a young lady to reckon with, for even now Fredrick saw in her reliability and sharp intelligence.

  It was around seven pm now, and the old man thought it best to give the adults a little break for the rest of the evening. If not, they might end up being too tired from playing with children to clean up properly later. Besides, it was the least he could do after such a wonderful visit from his entire family, they came over too rarely for his liking as it was.

  Thus, he called around for the rest of the children to gather around his chair. He gave Jessica to Fred for safe keeping, since she apparently liked him best. She giggled in the boy’s lap as the grandfather, now approaching seventy years of age after many years of hard labour, struggled to get his puppeteering kit from where he had it hidden atop a cabinet nearly as tall as he. That cabinet held many sets of china that got as much use out of them as the living room’s carpet. Fredrick was a sensible man, and certainly not one to buy things he had no intention of using.

  With the set in hand, Fredrick shuffled over to his chair as carefully as he could with kids making way before his slowly moving feet. The old man settled in with a sigh as children already began bombarding him with requests. Some asked for scenes from movies, others parts of books or cartoons that he didn’t even know of.

  Puppeteering was an art that took a large amount of time and preparation. Just making the puppets could take a long time, if you wanted to be thorough. It fit a retired old man’s lifestyle perfectly, and especially helped him capture the children’s imagination with an extra sense of style. In a digital age where kids could go on the internet and watch videos and cartoons whenever they want, puppets had lost and gained a certain appeal. In a way, they died out, but on the other hand they provided a pleasant surprise for children who had never seen them on the streets.

  While he got things set up Fredrick listened out for any particularly good suggestions. Most of his flesh and blood wanted either a fantasy setting or something from his own life. It wasn’t unexpected, for the older children were bound to have heard his own tales often enough and wanted change while the younger ones were fascinated by this old relative of theirs.

  When their voices grew a bit too loud for his poor ears and his middle daughter peered her head out the kitchen into the living room, now devoid of adults, Fredrick came to a conclusion and brought his grandchildren’s excitement back down to a simmer. Still Jane stood there, a tender look upon her face and her hands placed on her hips. Uh oh, he thought, She saw something she wants to draw.

  Jane was an artist, and was bound to take a while to get her things. Still, Fredrick was known for being indulgent and he managed to stall the kids long enough for her to give him the okay. She sat now in that rift between kitchen and living room, her colours waiting on a plate and with a paintbrush poised before her canvas. In his opinion, it was her that ought to have her picture captured in a painting.

  Fredrick’s face was hidden behind the “stage” while his hand, and the cloth puppet in it, popped out the from behind a small red curtain. “There he was,” he starte
d in a grandiose fashion, startling some of the children to laughter. He indulged himself in a smile while the puppet bowed. This puppet wore a helmet with a flashlight on it, wore blue overalls, and appeared to hold what could only be a badly sewn pickaxe. “Our hero, he went beneath the ground, where there was no sun and no trees and no flowers.” His words, despite being simplified, were still too cryptic for some of his younger audience members. Still none of their gazes drifted off him.

  He had been told often that he was a natural storyteller, yet rarely was Fredrick gladder for that gift than when he entertained children. He could not see them, yet he knew that about fifteen eyes were locked on him with earnest gazes. Old eyes closed, let his memory wander and mingle with his imagination. The young ones had wanted fantasy and they had wanted a story about him. Fredrick reached deep into his creativity to oblige.

  “All around, it was dark. Where he could see, he could see only stone. Brown and black and black and brown it went. There were big rocks and small rocks, some so round that you could not step on them and some sharp like knives so you could not touch them. Our hero was young, although not as young as you little ones.” A smirk there as he heard a rustle of movement. Gregory had probably lifted his arms to protest that he was already all grown up and had been hushed down.

  Fredrick continued, knowing each child now had a scene before his or her eyes. “Far behind and above him, he could still hear the ogre shouting at him to get moving. ‘Get to work!’ it screamed with its harsh throat, not meant for human speak, ‘If you want to get paid...’ The threat was real, for our hero needed that money. The ogre was big and green and strong, and it had evil magicians giving it orders, he could not say no lest they... fire him!” to his left, Jane paused in the middle of painting to roll her eyes as the kids gasped. Grandfather puns, his daughter called them.

  “He went deeper and deeper, but still he had no fear. He was going to find a diamond here, so instead of fear his heart sang with hope. The diamond he looked for there was not one like these that you or I know. Our diamonds are clear like glass, but old, old like the sands on the beach. The diamonds HE wanted was a young diamond, black as night with your eyes shut. They’re black like ink and leave marks like a pencil. These diamonds can only be found in some caves deep underground, and above all these caves live ogres and wizards, wanting the coals.”

  “Why don’t the ogres and wizards go get the diamonds, then?” this question was blurted out by Gregory before he could be quieted down. In response the puppet turned over to him and splayed its arms wide.

  “There was another reason why the hero was not afraid,” announced Fredrick to the room, drawing the children’s attention even further in. “He, unlike the ogre and the magicians, had a light inside his heart powering the light of his helmet. It was not wide nor strong, but it was always there. It was the light of hope, and it allowed him to traverse the dark caverns without tripping or falling.

  “In the caves, you see, you cannot carry a torch or a lantern. In these deep and dark caves lives a dragon, old and angry. Where he sat, you could find black diamonds. He gathered them and made them into a bed for himself.” Gregory’s eyes were now shining, Fredrick knew. Gregory loved danger and adventure. “This dragon was large and had spikes along his back. Great big talons he had on his feet, and fangs in his mouth, ready to snap at any unwitting bite sized hero.

  “However, the most dangerous thing about the dragon was his fiery breath. Unlike other bigger beasts, this dragon could spout enough flames to make the mountain shake and crumble down. Due to how powerful such a weapon was, he only used it when he saw an open flame.” He let the question hang in the air for a second. “Dragons kept one eye open while they slept, you see, and they always slept with their mouth clamped shut, storing a fireball deep in their stomach. If he saw a fire, never mind if it was a candle or a campfire, he would think it was another dragon coming to steal his treasure. He would in one swoop plant his feet wide, open his mouth wider, and unleash every single bit of fire he had in his belly!” Children gasped at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Jane was busy with her painting so Fredrick really had no idea if she knew what subtle hints he was making. Thus in this warmly lit and even more warmly furnished room, Fredrick could only hope that such elegant clues were appreciated by someone. Still, the kids were enjoying his tale, and that was really all that mattered.

  “Armed with his knowledge of the dragon’s fire, our hero went deeper and deeper into the caves, knowing that his light would not cause retribution. Due to his light, he didn’t fall over any sharp rocks nor slip on any of the smooth ones. His hands shook on his weapon yet his steps remained firm and strong. Only once did he look back up, and beyond his light’s reach the caves were black and winding. He could see no way home.

  “Still, he pushed further and further on, until... the hero heard snoring! It was a deep and powerful noise, coming from around a corner just ahead. Stones all around him stirred with the sound, until the entire cave trembled from the strength of it and the hero felt pain in his ears. He found that he trembled just as much as the cave.” At that, Fredrick had to pause because one of the kids needed to go to the bathroom. He stopped the others from rushing her and waited patiently, making small talk with Fred junior about the pros and cons of different juice types.

  When the straggler came back, he started again. “The hero trembled, but the light in his heart never faltered, still. When he turned around the corner, he could see him. He was just as frightening and majestic as the young hero had feared, perhaps even more so.” Here, the great reveal came: Fredrick produced his pride and joy, a puppet in the shape of a dragon. Compared to what he described what he had in his left hand was puny, perhaps even cute. That worried him not, for as he spoke he knew his audience’s imagination worked to fill in the gaps.

  “Red and black! Leathery skin gleamed where scales crimson steamed. Talons and spikes up to his tail, all shining like swords! One open eye rolled about, as black as the cave around it! He was the scariest thing our hero had ever seen! In the face of such a beast, he almost turned tail and ran all the way back to the ogre empty handed. But no! There, beneath the fiery dragon’s slumbering form, he glimpsed the deep night of black diamonds!”

  “He was afraid, surely, but our hero was confidant in his abilities. The dragon hadn’t seen him, for it couldn’t glimpse his light. Perhaps he could sneak in slowly and reach the diamonds, grab one and flee the sleeping beast without it even knowing. That was what he thought.

  “The hero’s intentions were so clear in his mind that when he approached the dragon on tiptoes, he forgot to look under his feet. Lights of the heart are very useful, but if you don’t look they cannot help you. The hero, only a few feet from the dragon, slipped on a smooth stone and went tumbling down noisily.

  “That other big black eye flew open. Both eyes focused on him and all of a sudden the dragon leapt up to its feet and roared as loud as it can, shaking the entire cavern like it was jelly.” Fredrick’s brow was almost beading with sweat now. He didn’t recall gesturing with puppets to be so tiring. However, he didn’t let the story go, so clear it was in his mind.

  “The hero grabbed his weapon tightly in his gloved hand, crouching still on the floor. The dragon could see him, and although the hero was in no danger of being blasted by fire due to his heart’s light, his enemy still had talons and tail. He made his decision quickly. Instead of attacking the dragon, our hero leapt at its feet and struck at the mound! Of that entire heap of black diamond, one as large as his fist came free. He quickly stuffed it in his pocket and ran away as fast as he could, boots thumping against the floor and with an angry dragon so close he could feel the heat from its skin on his back.

  “Around and around he was chased with cavern walls on all sides, deeper into the caves than anyone had ever been before. Turning right and left, the hero had nothing on his mind except escape, and so he managed to get away into a narrow cave finally. Here, it was too small for the dr
agon and he could not follow him!” a wave of applause came, and a few drawn breaths were let out at long last, yet Fredrick was not yet done with his tale. “The hero left that dragon roaring behind him, but he was now up against a different enemy,” he announced to his audience, which went silent in confusion. “Our poor hero was lost!

  “He knew not how to get back to the dragon’s room, and the beast was certainly not going to tell him. He did not know his way back to the surface either. Realizing that he was stranded, the hero sat on a stone in a dark cavern with head in his hands and cried. ‘Oh, how am I to ever get home?’ he asked loudly. The diamond he had in his pocket felt heavy now that he had no way of taking it outside to the ogre. He sat there for a long time, sad and tired. Even if he eventually got out without being eaten, he would surely reach the ogre lae. How could he avoid being fired? The cavern was very wide and very dark, despite the small entrance, and moss grew here and there where water dripped.

  “Suddenly, a voice intruded into his sadness. ‘Are you alright?’ asked the voice, which sounded very much like a girl. Looking up in surprise, the hero found out that it was a girl. What’s more, it was a princess.” At this, Fredrick produced yet another puppet, one that hadn’t taken nearly as much referencing to make as the dragon’s had. “The hero could tell she was a princess because she wore a circlet on her head, despite her clothes being unprincesslike and dirty. She had brown hair and brown eyes and she looked quite unhappy to see him in such a state.

  “‘No, I’m not!’ he explained bitterly, ‘I came down here to get a black diamond from the dragon, but now I’m lost and I can’t get home. I’m very not alright.’

  “The girl looked quite puzzled with his words. ‘What’s a home?’ she asked, apparently quite puzzled at this concept.

  “The hero was surprised. ‘Don’t you know what a home is?’ he wondered, ‘A home is...’ for a minute, it became terribly difficult for the hero to explain what a home was.

  “’See? I’m not stupid, it really is hard,’ the girl exclaimed triumphantly, perhaps glad that he wasn’t crying anymore.

  “In the end, the hero explained it thus, ‘Usually, a home is where you live, although it doesn’t have to be. You can live in a house or an apartment and be far away from home. I think a home can move, because it’s the place where you feel happy. It’s where the shop owners know you and smile when they see you and the sky sends an extra bit of breeze to blow clouds away. Home is where the heart is.’

  “’Oh... if that’s what it is... then I don’t think I have a home...’ the girl whispered the words sadly, and the hero felt bad for making her miss something she didn’t have.

  “’Don’t be so upset,’ he said, ‘here, have a biscuit.’

  “Of those, the hero had but one, but he tore it in half dutifully and gave the larger half to the sad girl. She ate it and laughed at the jelly insides, saying she’d never had one quite like it before. She explained that she had always lived in this dark cavern, as long as she could remember. It had always been too scary for her to leave because she didn’t know what was outside the caves. ‘But now I will,’ those words were uttered with determination, ‘I know these caves well. I will take you back outside to your home and then come back here.’ As she said so, her lips trembled a bit. “I’m happy because I made my first friend, so I want to help you. I’m not scared anymore.’

  And so it was. The princess turned out to know the caves very well, and helped the hero get out of the caves even faster than he had gotten in. With this shortcut he could get black diamonds much faster thanks to her, if he ever decided to go back in. The hero was very happy to see the princess’ reactions to everything new she saw, from flowers to sky to sun. It all amazed her and she danced at the sights, as merry as the birds on the trees.

  When it came time for them to part, however, the hero’s heart clenched hard in his chest. What he had told the princess was true, home truly where the heart was. He asked her to stay with him in the sun and the princess with the brown hair accepted, and they headed towards town together. They were friends at first, but then they married. And they lived happily ever after.”

  At that end, there was applause to make Fredrick smile wide. With a grunt he propped himself back up and took his props and stage and puppets back where they belonged. By now it was perhaps a bit after eight and a few of the children were already squite drowsy after such an active day. It seemed that as their grandfather, Fredrick had the duty of wrapping things up here. Thus he went back to his seat, sat with a groan, and asked, “Did you like the story, children?”

  A plethora of nods and yeses assaulted him and he laughed in response. “Well, does anyone have any questions?” he wondered aloud, to which a few hands shot up. Questions popped up about the dragon, what the hero was wearing other than his boots and gloves and helmet, why he didn’t fight the dragon. All these were standard and Fredrick answered them as reasonably as he could. The dragon was smaller than others, the hero had overalls on instead of armour because armour was too shiny for caves, and yes, some fights you need to run away from. Then Gregory inquired of him “What was the hero’s name, Grandpa?” Before he could say anything, little Fred answered with a smile, looking confidant.

  “That story was about Grandpa Fred!” he announced.

  “No it isn’t,” countered Gregory, “Where’s the princess? He said they lived happily ever after in the story!” At that, Fred Jr’s smile froze. He began to answer then hesitated, perhaps unwilling. He looked to Fredrick for guidance and the old man sighed, wondering how he should put this. Every single pair of eyes in the room was on him.

  “We did,” he said finally, “We lived happily ever after.”

  For a while everyone was quiet. One of Melissa’s other children asked, “Where is granny Jessica?” and Fredrick smiled at her, wondering at the simple nature of such a deep question.

  “She went on a trip. I don’t know exactly where, it’s a surprise. I bought a ticket to wherever it is too, and I’ll go visit her there soon enough.”

  “...and then you’ll be home?” That question was from Lisa. She had been quiet until then, but the raven haired girl now seemed intently curious, prompting even.

  Slowly, Fredrick said, “Yes, that’s when I’ll be home.” He was astonished because the words were true. To his left, he saw Jane still sitting in her chair, painting abandoned or perhaps already completed. Her eyes moistened; a hand covered her mouth. He could see the corner of a smile from between her fingers as she cried quietly. Her husband stood behind her in support. In turn Fredrick smiled, showing them that everything was alright.

  An hour later sleeping Tolkein dwarves were carried to their cars by their respective parents. Last to leave was Jane and she hugged him a few seconds longer than she usually did. She had left him a beautiful painting as a gift, of a miner and a princess talking in a faintly illuminated cave.

  “I love you, dad.” Her whisper was quiet yet the warmth from her words was intense like a bonfire.

  “I love you too, sweetie. Take care out there.”

  Story 9

  At least the first fifteen years of Seth’s life were happy.

  A great deal of his childhood was spent on his father’s shoulders or somewhere behind his mother’s skirt, and so he didn’t do much crying. One of Seth’s fondest reoccurring memories was him attempting to help out in the kitchen. Both of his parents were cooks and the child learned that cooks were extremely kind people in general. You’d be right to say that Seth was spoiled, in the good way.

  His mother would usually start their cooking sessions. They’d begin with a glimmer behind her big blue eyes. Martin was less jovial than his wife, which only went to say that he was only a bit happier than others. Whenever Vanessa suggested some outlandish combination of dishes, it was his common sense that trimmed and tweaked them. Then he would go out , taking little Seth, and they would pick out fresh herbs from the garden. They’d walk back into the kitchen’s aromas with f
istfuls of holy basil and coriander, or perhaps some sweet nameless wildflower. Well, nameless only because Martin never learned its name.

  When the cooking started, it looked like the two were playing with one another. At times they barely communicated. Only a few jokes would pass between them at that time and Seth realized early that passion was an important trait to have if you want to master a skill. Despite their silence, each person’s movements mirrored the other perfectly, as if they were held together by strings. It was a beautiful scene to behold, for they looked a little like the sun and the moon, orbiting around each other. Or day and night perhaps, one golden and the other raven haired. It was a scene that truly made Seth appreciate what he had, and he would wish for them to never suffer. Looking back, this memory would come to be tinged with bitterness. Back then, however, he hadn’t known to what extent he was going to eventually break his parent’s hearts, and he’d felt at peace.

  Due to his father’s heritage, there were charms and dream catchers scattered around the house, subtle hints alongside animal statues and totems. At night Martin would tell his son stories, and unlike other children there would usually be little time for princesses and glass shoes. Martin spoke of tribes long gone and warriors returned to their spirit forms. He’d tell legends and myths of animals and they would take Seth’s imagination to a far off place. He was always proud of this part of his family history.

  School, when it started, was an interesting experience. His first day was spent with a few tears shed due to the shock of a leaving mother. Still, Miss Laura was patient and she had a nice smile. The kids would come to be his friends in time. He was not a particularly shy child, for his parent’s constant support, peppered with common sense and a little bit of coddling, left Seth with a reasonable amount of confidence. There were some good and bad teachers, some good and bad children. Elementary school can replicate society in a very real way.

  As he got older, his parents improved their living situation immensely, and Seth never gave them any unwarranted headaches. Sure, he was a child, and children have a way of getting themselves in trouble, but it was nothing more than average. Not then, anyway.

  It started the moment he began going to school. Until then, his father and mother needed to manage their jobs so they could stay with him in the mornings. “They’re finally going to make me head cook!” Martin had exclaimed one day. Seth was happy, although at that time he didn’t understand what the fuss was about. His father was the best cook in the world, after all. Except for Vanessa maybe.

  After that, their talent began to shine through, and rapidly each of his parents rose until they became well established in their profession. On the day his mother was featured in a cooking magazine, Seth took a clipping to school with him. He was in third grade and his friends had already known about his parent’s work, because they would sometimes get invited to family dinners. Still, they had been duly impressed, and his teachers even asked to know more about the restaurant.

  One day in sixth grade, Seth came back home and found his parents waiting for him in the living room. They had cooked an extravagant lunch, yet their expressions were grim. He began to feel apprehensive as he looked from face to face. “What’s wrong?” he asked hesitantly. Such an atmosphere wasn’t normal here.

  “Have a seat, son.” Martin bade of him, gesturing to the sofa opposite their own.

  Seth did as he was asked to, and to his surprise Vanessa opened the conversation with an extremely gentle tone. “How is school, Sethy? I don’t mean your grades,” she added quickly, waving her hands as he began to tell her about his progress. “Your class supervisor comes over to the restaurant from time to time. We talk.” For a second, her sunny grin appeared as if unbidden, but she went serious again. Seth was starting to get worried. Vanessa was never like this. The tall cook was generally so cheerful that even barely into her thirties, she had begun to accumulate beautiful laughing lines.

  “I mean, are you happy honey? Is everything going okay at school? Are you making enough friends? Do you get along with your teachers?”

  At that point, Seth began to feel frightened. He struggled to answer, for if anything he was very much like his mother. “I...” he needed to think about it, he felt like everything was alright, but he’d never really thought about his life critically in this way. “Yes, I think so. Jonas’ parents divorced last month, so we were trying to make him feel better.”

  Martin smiled compassionately: He had spent a while talking to his son about how important it was to comfort his friend, almost as long as he spent reassuring him about his own parents. Seth didn’t really understand what his father had meant about people being their own people before anything else, but he’d learned enough to comfort Jonas.

  “Teachers are fine. I’m leaning a lot into PE and crafts. You know how we need to choose our subjects ourselves in a couple of years, so our supervisor has spent a lot of time telling us we need to try things out and see what we like.” He hadn’t put much thought into what he wanted to do professionally yet, but Seth could at least figure out what he liked best. His parents had never pushed him towards cooking, and although he knew his way around the basics, it wasn’t going to become his job. “Why are you asking, mom? Why are you so... serious?” the word he wanted to say was gloomy.

  “We... Well, I got an offer for a new job.” She stated, letting the sentence hang in the air for a bit. He waited patiently. “It’s a good one, better pay and a lot of opportunities. I might even springboard off it to join a big hotel restaurant.” Seth frowned at that, for there were no big hotels in their quiet town.

  “The thing is,” Vanessa continued, “it’s in another city. If I take this job, we are going to have to move. It’ll be fine for your father, because he knows a lot of places there that need a helping hand. If we decide to do this...next year you will start in a new school.” Seth went very silent. He was going to have to move from this house.

  Seth had lived here his whole life. His childhood was based on the scenes in this kitchen, this room, this town, this school. If he moved, he was going to have no friends at all. There was nothing he knew in any other city.

  “The thing is, I don’t have to do it. It’s just that things will be better if I do take this new job. So, we decided to ask you. What do you think we should do, honey?” The boy looked from his father to his mother in surprise. Both had quiet accepting faces. He hadn’t expected this. “If this move makes your childhood difficult, or it ruins your school life, then I don’t want to do it. We all need to decide this together as a family, and you are a big part of it.” Her gaze was firm, yet Seth could hear the guilt corroding his mother’s voice. Her big blue eyes were on the verge of tearing up. He could tell how much she wanted to preserve his happiness. He considered for a moment.

  “You don’t have to decide now.” This Martin said with a hand held up in a pacifying manner. He scratched at his shaved chin, the expression one of an intelligent man thinking earnestly. “We have a lot of time to choose, and this is a big choice to make, make no mistake. These things are heavy, and if we rush things we could break our bones.” His voice was deep and collected. As usual, his advice was sound. Despite this, Seth knew what he wanted.

  “Going someplace new is scary,” he began slowly, working through what he wanted to say, “but if it’s the best thing for your jobs, then I don’t mind. As long as we stay together, I’m sure I can deal with a new school and make new friends. Besides, I can still call Jonas and Faith and the other. We can also come visit sometimes, right?” the last request came out as more of a plea than anything else. His father smiled and stood up slowly. He pointed at both his wife and son in turn. “The two of you are too much alike!” he exclaimed with a laugh as his Vanessa got up to hug her son, “hot-headed and quick to apologize, but good all the same. I’m proud of you, son.”

  And so it was that the next year, their family moved to a small yet decidedly cosy apartment in the city. They took their tribal decorations and
dream catchers with them, which gave everything a familiar touch. The smells of cooking were identical, although not many herbs could be grown on the balcony. School started off awkward, but Seth managed to make a few friends within the first month, and one girl was particularly nice to him. Despite missing his old friends and teachers, Seth learned to deal with things well. All in all, the move was a success, and nothing saddening happened.

  At least, not that time.