Check out Parts 1, 2, and 3 of Tristessa's narrative to get caught up on her journey. -m
The package on the table taunted me. I could hear it: "Triiiiiisteesssssssaaaa.... I'm waiting for yooooouuuuu. Just waitiiiiing. Open me....open meeeeee..."
In any other circumstance, those words would be creepy, even terrifying. But instead of being worried, I was strangely comforted. I was not the only peculiar thing in the village. If I could hear the voice of a brown paper package, then surely there were stranger things than me. For the first time in months, I could feel my spirit lifting.
And then I realized that the shadows on the edge of my vision were not normal things.
The realization came one night when I snuck out of the house. Ravigie was sleeping. I still wasn't supposed to go any further than the front stoop, but being outside at night was the only freedom I had left. And with the package taunting me, outside was the only place that the voice stopped whispering in my ear.
I'd been outside before, on other nights, but this night felt different from the moment my right heel touched the other side of the threshold. I shivered and cleared my throat as my stomach tightened. Something was wrong. Adrenaline beating like drums in my veins, I looked inside, back into the shadows.
Dark smoke poured into my peripheral vision, clouding things until the only thing I could see clearly was the package on the table. Something like the sound of feet scrunching on gravel happened behind me, and I turned back around to face the outdoors. The smoke followed me, taking on the shape of a young man.
The darkness poured first into his shoes, then up to his knees and waist. It was only a nanosecond but it felt like I watched for hours as this person was formed out of the night. When he spoke, I heard my name. "Tristessa."
"Who are you?"
His face was clearer now; I could even see that he had a sort of a nose and broad shoulders on top of a rather lanky frame. "I'm...a shadow."
"I can see that. Is it parts of you I've been seeing?"
"Parts of me?"
"Sometimes there are dark things over here," I said as I motioned with my hands near my temples. "Like shadows." The smoke was making me feel light-headed, though, and I accidentally scratched myself on the forehead.
The man shook his head slowly, and then nodded. "It's possible. Ravigie can sense when I am near, so why wouldn't you see parts of me?"
"What's your name?" I asked. His skin was solid now, and was taking on a tint like the men from Italia. "Why can Ravigie sense you?" I added as an afterthought.
"Ambreel," he said after a moment's hesitation. And then, without warning: poof. The smoke that had poured into the smoke-man Ambreel seemed to shrink, like it was inhaling. With one great explosion, the smoke exhaled and Ambreel disappeared.
My hair was blown back and tears were pulled from my eyes. I held my breath. In a moment it was over, and the shadows were gone, leaving only the blank darkness of the night. I grinned, unexpectantly feeling powerful. My nerves were jumping in my fingertips and my blood was pumping hot through my chest, though it felt different from normal adrenaline.
I stretched my hands, looking in wonder at my palms. They even looked different. What had that smoke done to me? Tiny swirling designs played on my skin like a kaleidoscope. I turned my hands over and looked at the backs of my fingers. Smoke curled around them like tattoos of vines, then sunk into my skin with tiny electrical shocks.
For the first time in almost a year, I didn't miss my mother.
11 November 2011
Tristessa's Story, Part 3
Be sure to check out Parts 1 and 2... Tristessa's story begins there. -m
In the days after I threw the egg at the boy, Ravigie refused to speak to me. She was so angry with me for throwing our last egg that she didn't even make me toast for breakfast. She set a cup in front of me, which I had to fill with milk myself. The well was dry; we were lucky that the goat was still alive.
The yard in front of the coop smelled strange, close to something like rotten eggs. Every time I walked past it I held my breath, and soon it became a sort of game to me. In a week I became very good at holding my breath for no reason in particular.
It was at the end of that week that the package arrived. The courier was dirty, sweaty, and smelled worse than I did. But his clothes had once been very fine, and even though he looked ready to collapse, he held his head as high as a prized stallion did during a parade. Ravigie met him at the corner of the property, a little ways away from where the garden of eggs had popped up. I stayed out of sight, watching and listening.
"I have a package for Ravigie," he said. "There's no last name."
"I don't have a last name," Ravigie said, holding her hand out for the brown paper-wrapped thing.
The man held on to it just a second longer. "You are Ravigie?" Disbelief was bright in his voice. He obviously had been led to believe that Ravigie would be housekeeper to some grand woman.
"The only one," she said. "Give it to me, boy." She glared at him so strongly that immediately he handed it over. Ravigie took it and tucked in under her arm, clamped beneath her armpit. "Well?"
The man looked like he was about to say something about being called "boy", but he wisely thought better of it and took a couple of steps backwards instead.
I don't know why, but I chose that moment to come out of hiding. The man jumped when he saw me. I started to smile, to try to clear his mind of worry, but it was too late. His mouth gaped and he staggered backwards, fingers splayed open as though searching for a handhold.
"You..." But he wasn't looking at me anymore, he was looking somewhere behind me. I turned around, curious. Just on my peripheral vision, I saw the flicker of something dark. Trying to follow it, the shadow stayed on the edge of everything, but it took on the form of what could have been a man, or the reflection of a man.
"Me?" I asked once I had faced him again.
He shook his head, turned on his heel, and ran away.
Ravigie came to stand near me, putting her hand on my shoulder and shifting the package under her arm. "Come inside, Tessa."
"Why?" I was looking after the running package-carrier, watching his heels kick up dry dirt clods as he ran back to town.
"Just come," she said, pulling me towards the door. She, too, was looking at something behind me. Looking again, the shadow became only more distorted, seeming to be obscured by smoke. It was certainly the form of a man, but I couldn't see his face.
I shook my head, trying to clear my eyes for another look. "There's someone there, Ravigie," I said, pointing. She didn't respond, but she did pull me swiftly into the house.
The old woman put the package on the table in the kitchen, then sat down on a chair and put her face in her hands. I waited silently for a minute before she lifted her head again.
"I don't want you to go outside for the rest of the week, Tristessa." When I didn't respond, she went on: "And don't touch this package."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Ravigie pushed herself up and walked through the back door to the garden, leaving me in the kitchen. I stared at the crinkled brown paper wrapped around the courier's delivery. It was the first time I had a chance to really inspect it.
The wrapping job was haphazard and sloppily tied with several loops of dirt-caked brown twine. All in all, I believe it was about the size and shape of a dinner plate, and floppy, not like a wrapped box. And I wasn't allowed to open it. After sighing once, I poked it. The paper crinkled and stayed pressed in where my finger had been, a clean smudge on the brown surface. I looked at my finger; it was covered with dust. Wiping in on my skirt, I sat in the chair and stared at the package, thinking about the garden of eggs and the shadows that were flickering at the edge of my vision.
In the days after I threw the egg at the boy, Ravigie refused to speak to me. She was so angry with me for throwing our last egg that she didn't even make me toast for breakfast. She set a cup in front of me, which I had to fill with milk myself. The well was dry; we were lucky that the goat was still alive.
The yard in front of the coop smelled strange, close to something like rotten eggs. Every time I walked past it I held my breath, and soon it became a sort of game to me. In a week I became very good at holding my breath for no reason in particular.
It was at the end of that week that the package arrived. The courier was dirty, sweaty, and smelled worse than I did. But his clothes had once been very fine, and even though he looked ready to collapse, he held his head as high as a prized stallion did during a parade. Ravigie met him at the corner of the property, a little ways away from where the garden of eggs had popped up. I stayed out of sight, watching and listening.
"I have a package for Ravigie," he said. "There's no last name."
"I don't have a last name," Ravigie said, holding her hand out for the brown paper-wrapped thing.
The man held on to it just a second longer. "You are Ravigie?" Disbelief was bright in his voice. He obviously had been led to believe that Ravigie would be housekeeper to some grand woman.
"The only one," she said. "Give it to me, boy." She glared at him so strongly that immediately he handed it over. Ravigie took it and tucked in under her arm, clamped beneath her armpit. "Well?"
The man looked like he was about to say something about being called "boy", but he wisely thought better of it and took a couple of steps backwards instead.
I don't know why, but I chose that moment to come out of hiding. The man jumped when he saw me. I started to smile, to try to clear his mind of worry, but it was too late. His mouth gaped and he staggered backwards, fingers splayed open as though searching for a handhold.
"You..." But he wasn't looking at me anymore, he was looking somewhere behind me. I turned around, curious. Just on my peripheral vision, I saw the flicker of something dark. Trying to follow it, the shadow stayed on the edge of everything, but it took on the form of what could have been a man, or the reflection of a man.
"Me?" I asked once I had faced him again.
He shook his head, turned on his heel, and ran away.
Ravigie came to stand near me, putting her hand on my shoulder and shifting the package under her arm. "Come inside, Tessa."
"Why?" I was looking after the running package-carrier, watching his heels kick up dry dirt clods as he ran back to town.
"Just come," she said, pulling me towards the door. She, too, was looking at something behind me. Looking again, the shadow became only more distorted, seeming to be obscured by smoke. It was certainly the form of a man, but I couldn't see his face.
I shook my head, trying to clear my eyes for another look. "There's someone there, Ravigie," I said, pointing. She didn't respond, but she did pull me swiftly into the house.
The old woman put the package on the table in the kitchen, then sat down on a chair and put her face in her hands. I waited silently for a minute before she lifted her head again.
"I don't want you to go outside for the rest of the week, Tristessa." When I didn't respond, she went on: "And don't touch this package."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Ravigie pushed herself up and walked through the back door to the garden, leaving me in the kitchen. I stared at the crinkled brown paper wrapped around the courier's delivery. It was the first time I had a chance to really inspect it.
The wrapping job was haphazard and sloppily tied with several loops of dirt-caked brown twine. All in all, I believe it was about the size and shape of a dinner plate, and floppy, not like a wrapped box. And I wasn't allowed to open it. After sighing once, I poked it. The paper crinkled and stayed pressed in where my finger had been, a clean smudge on the brown surface. I looked at my finger; it was covered with dust. Wiping in on my skirt, I sat in the chair and stared at the package, thinking about the garden of eggs and the shadows that were flickering at the edge of my vision.
11 September 2011
Tristessa's Story, Part 2
Be sure to look at Part 1, or, if you'd like to start with a mystery, read how Meli and Tristessa first meet in the "Twelve" series. -m.
Ravigie did her best to protect me from the neighborhood children, and it worked well for about three months. But nothing the old housekeeper could do would stand up against an entire village deciding to hate a young girl. I had dark eyes, yes, but to this superstitious clump of adobe huts and withered farmhands, they were the eyes of the devil.
It didn't help that the day before I arrived was the last day it ever rained.
You may laugh and say that is impossible, that surely in three months it rained at least once. I shall counter with the fact that the only reason children could no longer push me in the mud was that there was no mud to push me in.
The land was brown, dull, and fading under my very eyes. I tried to keep the flowers at the back of our hut alive, but without rain they had no will to live. Ravigie was growing thin and sallow. Fewer children ran and yelled and played in the rutted roads; they were all at home, sinking into a thirsty starvation. No one washed themselves. That would have been a foolish waste of water.
It was near the end of my third month staying with Ravigie -- I had had no word from or of my mother in all that time -- when the children came.
I was collecting eggs. Egg. There was only one that day, and I gently took it out from under the younger of our two remaining chickens. I was cradling it in my dirt-caked palms when something clunked on the wall of the coop. I heard snickers, then another clunk. Wary, I pushed my hair behind an ear and peaked around the corner of the doorless opening to the coop. A rock zipped past; I felt the air being pushed around it as it almost hit my cheek.
"Devil's child!" screamed one of the kids.
"Black eyes!" yelled another. I squinted out into the sun. The people in the city had said this about my mother, but it had been in reverent whispers. What black eyes she has, they had said behind their leather gloves and feather fans. Like an inky, starless sky.
Another clunk. I narrowed my eyes, took a breath, and stepped outside. I could not let them trap me in that coop. A small rock hit me in the neck, then got caught in my tangled hair before falling to the ground with a soft plop. One of the children laughed, but they swallowed their humor as soon as I looked over.
"Go away," I said. The menace in my voice surprised even me, and the boy closest to me, the tallest and cleanest, sneered.
"We live here. You go away," he said.
This was the first moment I had ever really felt angry. I say it like this because it really was years before I truly discovered what that emotion was. What it was that make all the muscles in my entire body tense. What it was that made that egg fly out of my grasp and land with a satisfying cracksplickysplat in the face of that boy.
The boy was screaming, the children were screaming, Ravigie came out, yelling. There was so much noise, so much going on at a frenzied pace, that I had to close my eyes. But when I closed them, it got worse. Almost like the noise was louder. I opened my eyes again and saw something flicker at the end of my vision. Turning, I saw a garden of eggs on the ground.
The noise stopped.
"Geh," said someone.
"Are those...eggs?" said Ravigie. Her voice was choked and she tried to make her way over to me. I backed away, holding my hands out as if to fend her off. A child exclaimed.
"They're gone!"
I whirled around in a tight circle, looking for the eggs. It was true; they were gone. Vanished like the rain. Like my mother.
Ravigie did her best to protect me from the neighborhood children, and it worked well for about three months. But nothing the old housekeeper could do would stand up against an entire village deciding to hate a young girl. I had dark eyes, yes, but to this superstitious clump of adobe huts and withered farmhands, they were the eyes of the devil.
It didn't help that the day before I arrived was the last day it ever rained.
You may laugh and say that is impossible, that surely in three months it rained at least once. I shall counter with the fact that the only reason children could no longer push me in the mud was that there was no mud to push me in.
The land was brown, dull, and fading under my very eyes. I tried to keep the flowers at the back of our hut alive, but without rain they had no will to live. Ravigie was growing thin and sallow. Fewer children ran and yelled and played in the rutted roads; they were all at home, sinking into a thirsty starvation. No one washed themselves. That would have been a foolish waste of water.
It was near the end of my third month staying with Ravigie -- I had had no word from or of my mother in all that time -- when the children came.
I was collecting eggs. Egg. There was only one that day, and I gently took it out from under the younger of our two remaining chickens. I was cradling it in my dirt-caked palms when something clunked on the wall of the coop. I heard snickers, then another clunk. Wary, I pushed my hair behind an ear and peaked around the corner of the doorless opening to the coop. A rock zipped past; I felt the air being pushed around it as it almost hit my cheek.
"Devil's child!" screamed one of the kids.
"Black eyes!" yelled another. I squinted out into the sun. The people in the city had said this about my mother, but it had been in reverent whispers. What black eyes she has, they had said behind their leather gloves and feather fans. Like an inky, starless sky.
Another clunk. I narrowed my eyes, took a breath, and stepped outside. I could not let them trap me in that coop. A small rock hit me in the neck, then got caught in my tangled hair before falling to the ground with a soft plop. One of the children laughed, but they swallowed their humor as soon as I looked over.
"Go away," I said. The menace in my voice surprised even me, and the boy closest to me, the tallest and cleanest, sneered.
"We live here. You go away," he said.
This was the first moment I had ever really felt angry. I say it like this because it really was years before I truly discovered what that emotion was. What it was that make all the muscles in my entire body tense. What it was that made that egg fly out of my grasp and land with a satisfying cracksplickysplat in the face of that boy.
The boy was screaming, the children were screaming, Ravigie came out, yelling. There was so much noise, so much going on at a frenzied pace, that I had to close my eyes. But when I closed them, it got worse. Almost like the noise was louder. I opened my eyes again and saw something flicker at the end of my vision. Turning, I saw a garden of eggs on the ground.
The noise stopped.
"Geh," said someone.
"Are those...eggs?" said Ravigie. Her voice was choked and she tried to make her way over to me. I backed away, holding my hands out as if to fend her off. A child exclaimed.
"They're gone!"
I whirled around in a tight circle, looking for the eggs. It was true; they were gone. Vanished like the rain. Like my mother.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)