Pele - Nighttime Stomach
5. Nighttime Stomach
Short story, 1097 words
At Aerie, she laid perfectly quiet, under the sheets. Somewhere beyond the isolated realm of her closed eyelids, a concerned masculine voice droned on and on about the recent events on Exile, about what she had missed during her dead days, and about how they were so so worried about her health. Gently, she exhaled like the lull before a storm and her bony fingers clutched around sharp, fleshy impressions-the strain of a hungry ribcage against her sides.
She could not eat. She would not eat. She was not hungry, over and over again, and out of frustration, her foster father even suggested that Tobias or Dan should teleport food into her aching stomach. The young summoner would curl up under the sheets and feed off of her red memories, of gritting teeth and hurling fists. Fists with knuckles so worn that blood dripped down her fingers. Fists for settling petty disputes among friends, because at that time, they had been reduced to mere animals and she had to play god because no one else could shoulder the hatred.
From outside the sheets, Tobias requested, for the millionth time, “Tell me about the island.”
Her eyes squeezed tighter and tighter. Funny thing-she never had nightmares. No, only the truly terrified experienced nightmares. Instead, Chime only saw red, bright red. The summoner would lay in the darkness and forget about black, the soft velvet of night, and simply stare into deep, blazing crimson.
“You told Robert about the island,” Tobias reminded, as that were an encouragement.
“I’m going to kill Chaos,” Chime whispered.
Tobias sighed. They had already been through this one, the futile cycle of the summoner’s fury. He relocated to the bed and placed a hand over the taunt slope of Chime’s shoulder under the sheets. They had already discussed this, again and again, demon after demon, impossibility after impossibility. The inner fire. The summoner had never exploded, not once-instead, she would inhale the smoke and sleep on the smothering coals of her anger until, piece by piece, her skin flaked away until only burning bones shone under the hellish wind. Only a skeleton laid under the sheets. Tobias knew. But he could not understand.
“I’m going to kill Chaos,” Chime repeated. “He put me on that island.”
“You can’t kill a god,” Tobias insisted.
“I don’t care. He put me on that island. It was hell, for me, for the innocent natives. Hell. Pure hell.” The skeleton’s shoulder shifted and cracked beneath the white veil. “I’ll find him. I’ll kill him.”
Tobias shook his head. Useless, it was useless. How many had it been? Robert. Venus. Dan. Even Raphael dropped by and once he assured Chime that he was not angry, attempted to dissuade her of her lunacy. Yet, she persisted, gathering like rumbling distant clouds. Red skies dawning. Tobias tightened his grip around her shoulder.
“Do you want to know why?” he whispered.
Perhaps, she scoffed under the sheets. “Does it matter right now? I’ve gone through it. Can’t take that back. I don’t give. Don’t care. I just want him dead. No. I don’t want him dead. I want to kill him.” The white veil rippled with waves as the body, so thin, trembled with anticipation.
Tobias gave up. “Well, at least let me ink you.”
The quivering paused, questioningly. Chime rolled over under the sheets and a deeply scarred hand peered from the darkness. “Ink?”
Later that night, Robert claimed to have heard some form of avian warfare outside. He glanced out the window at the Aerie, only to see it swarmed with squabbling crows. He did not think much of it until the next morning, when the Aerie fell silent with absence. Immediately, the Lord of Nysa rushed to call upon Tobias and Daniel. Chime had left, chasing an impossible murder.
“We can kill him first,” Dan announced, pointing at the suspiciously nonchalant Tobias. “He helped her.”
“What,” Robert exploded.
But Tobias accepted the broken bottles and verbal lashing with alarming clarity and quiescence. After all, he had always known, for since he discovered her survival, those golden eyes never stopped watching. He watched how she clawed her way off the island, stumbled into Nysa, cried for forgiveness in Raphael’s arms, and clung into Dan’s shoulder. He watched as she shifted, like the whipping sand dunes in the southern deserts, before the Aerie’s vast windows; how she stared into the churning darkness and fed ravenously off her anger. He watched as once again, revenge consumed her minutes and seconds, until she could no longer eat because her body grew fat from fury. He watched, until he could bare no more.
When Robert ordered Tobias to get out of his sight lest he rip those golden eyes out, Tobias simply smiled. “She’ll be okay,” he quietly assured. “She’ll be okay."
In the depths of the smoky forest which smothered the mountains of Chaos’ current residence, Chime still saw red. Her skin burned with the scrawled ink of hurried protection spells, for Tobias had seemed almost afraid of touching her thrashed, sea-worn skin. Yet, those spells were powerful enough to ward off the haunts of the Grove, and she silently thanked Tobias for expediting her journey.
Chime led the horse through the high, ornate gates, and approached the entrance. The young summoner called out Chaos’ name as if this were a playground dispute rather than the relentless pursuit of a ruthless god. She screamed and screamed out the name, even though she could easily perform a mediocre summoning, until the god descended from the Tower. In her eyes, fresh blood soaked his midnight robes.
He seemed mildly surprised. “Wha-”
Her hands flashed and gunmetal rang through the air. Bam bam bam. Click. Bam bam bam. Breathing hard, she fired six rounds into Chaos’s chest, and her teeth gritted with delight as each slug pierced and splattered through that mimicry of mortality. Eventually, the ringing subsided into the low hum of satisfaction, like lapsing into sleep after fucking.
Chaos, blinking at this absurdity, simply stood there. He could not even bring himself to bleed. Finally, amusement flickered across his face. “So you’re driven by anger once again. That was completely useless. At the rate you’re going, what’s become of the morals to your story?”
Chime grinned shamelessly and reloaded her gun. “I know. I know that this is useless. And I don’t care. I don’t give a damn about my story. There is no moral. But you know, this feels damn good.” Six more rounds. She cocked the gun and aimed.
Short story, 1097 words
At Aerie, she laid perfectly quiet, under the sheets. Somewhere beyond the isolated realm of her closed eyelids, a concerned masculine voice droned on and on about the recent events on Exile, about what she had missed during her dead days, and about how they were so so worried about her health. Gently, she exhaled like the lull before a storm and her bony fingers clutched around sharp, fleshy impressions-the strain of a hungry ribcage against her sides.
She could not eat. She would not eat. She was not hungry, over and over again, and out of frustration, her foster father even suggested that Tobias or Dan should teleport food into her aching stomach. The young summoner would curl up under the sheets and feed off of her red memories, of gritting teeth and hurling fists. Fists with knuckles so worn that blood dripped down her fingers. Fists for settling petty disputes among friends, because at that time, they had been reduced to mere animals and she had to play god because no one else could shoulder the hatred.
From outside the sheets, Tobias requested, for the millionth time, “Tell me about the island.”
Her eyes squeezed tighter and tighter. Funny thing-she never had nightmares. No, only the truly terrified experienced nightmares. Instead, Chime only saw red, bright red. The summoner would lay in the darkness and forget about black, the soft velvet of night, and simply stare into deep, blazing crimson.
“You told Robert about the island,” Tobias reminded, as that were an encouragement.
“I’m going to kill Chaos,” Chime whispered.
Tobias sighed. They had already been through this one, the futile cycle of the summoner’s fury. He relocated to the bed and placed a hand over the taunt slope of Chime’s shoulder under the sheets. They had already discussed this, again and again, demon after demon, impossibility after impossibility. The inner fire. The summoner had never exploded, not once-instead, she would inhale the smoke and sleep on the smothering coals of her anger until, piece by piece, her skin flaked away until only burning bones shone under the hellish wind. Only a skeleton laid under the sheets. Tobias knew. But he could not understand.
“I’m going to kill Chaos,” Chime repeated. “He put me on that island.”
“You can’t kill a god,” Tobias insisted.
“I don’t care. He put me on that island. It was hell, for me, for the innocent natives. Hell. Pure hell.” The skeleton’s shoulder shifted and cracked beneath the white veil. “I’ll find him. I’ll kill him.”
Tobias shook his head. Useless, it was useless. How many had it been? Robert. Venus. Dan. Even Raphael dropped by and once he assured Chime that he was not angry, attempted to dissuade her of her lunacy. Yet, she persisted, gathering like rumbling distant clouds. Red skies dawning. Tobias tightened his grip around her shoulder.
“Do you want to know why?” he whispered.
Perhaps, she scoffed under the sheets. “Does it matter right now? I’ve gone through it. Can’t take that back. I don’t give. Don’t care. I just want him dead. No. I don’t want him dead. I want to kill him.” The white veil rippled with waves as the body, so thin, trembled with anticipation.
Tobias gave up. “Well, at least let me ink you.”
The quivering paused, questioningly. Chime rolled over under the sheets and a deeply scarred hand peered from the darkness. “Ink?”
Later that night, Robert claimed to have heard some form of avian warfare outside. He glanced out the window at the Aerie, only to see it swarmed with squabbling crows. He did not think much of it until the next morning, when the Aerie fell silent with absence. Immediately, the Lord of Nysa rushed to call upon Tobias and Daniel. Chime had left, chasing an impossible murder.
“We can kill him first,” Dan announced, pointing at the suspiciously nonchalant Tobias. “He helped her.”
“What,” Robert exploded.
But Tobias accepted the broken bottles and verbal lashing with alarming clarity and quiescence. After all, he had always known, for since he discovered her survival, those golden eyes never stopped watching. He watched how she clawed her way off the island, stumbled into Nysa, cried for forgiveness in Raphael’s arms, and clung into Dan’s shoulder. He watched as she shifted, like the whipping sand dunes in the southern deserts, before the Aerie’s vast windows; how she stared into the churning darkness and fed ravenously off her anger. He watched as once again, revenge consumed her minutes and seconds, until she could no longer eat because her body grew fat from fury. He watched, until he could bare no more.
When Robert ordered Tobias to get out of his sight lest he rip those golden eyes out, Tobias simply smiled. “She’ll be okay,” he quietly assured. “She’ll be okay."
In the depths of the smoky forest which smothered the mountains of Chaos’ current residence, Chime still saw red. Her skin burned with the scrawled ink of hurried protection spells, for Tobias had seemed almost afraid of touching her thrashed, sea-worn skin. Yet, those spells were powerful enough to ward off the haunts of the Grove, and she silently thanked Tobias for expediting her journey.
Chime led the horse through the high, ornate gates, and approached the entrance. The young summoner called out Chaos’ name as if this were a playground dispute rather than the relentless pursuit of a ruthless god. She screamed and screamed out the name, even though she could easily perform a mediocre summoning, until the god descended from the Tower. In her eyes, fresh blood soaked his midnight robes.
He seemed mildly surprised. “Wha-”
Her hands flashed and gunmetal rang through the air. Bam bam bam. Click. Bam bam bam. Breathing hard, she fired six rounds into Chaos’s chest, and her teeth gritted with delight as each slug pierced and splattered through that mimicry of mortality. Eventually, the ringing subsided into the low hum of satisfaction, like lapsing into sleep after fucking.
Chaos, blinking at this absurdity, simply stood there. He could not even bring himself to bleed. Finally, amusement flickered across his face. “So you’re driven by anger once again. That was completely useless. At the rate you’re going, what’s become of the morals to your story?”
Chime grinned shamelessly and reloaded her gun. “I know. I know that this is useless. And I don’t care. I don’t give a damn about my story. There is no moral. But you know, this feels damn good.” Six more rounds. She cocked the gun and aimed.