Done for SEASAC Arts Festival. :]

I... have this weird, uh, thing where I start feeling itchy when I don't update Syndication. I've got no idea why, I'm realistic: this blog is really for me, to force me to be productive because creativity's a muscle you have to exercise just like any other. But, well, whatever. I just don't like not posting.

So here's a story I wrote last year. It's... different. There's no sex, no violence, no death, and no drugs. But, it's, well... weird. Yeah.

wishes (keep walking backwards and you’ll find the other side)

Allie stands on her balcony, watching the highway next to her apartment building.

That morning she took Mom’s favorite vase, the white-and-blue one from China, and put it right in the middle of the highway. It’s an interesting experiment. She likes the way cars avoid it. The vase looks oddly magnificent, not fragile at all. It’s a circle of color against the dark gray of the road.

The vase is a gift from Michael, who Allie called Dad until she was seven and her parents decided to tear her world apart. Gifts from Michael are common. Only last week he sent her a gorgeous necklace, silver, with a beautiful aquamarine. Allie had called him as soon as she received it. “You got my birthstone wrong," she told him. “It’s diamond, not aquamarine."

The best part was, he had believed her. Allie is expecting another gorgeous, silver, diamond necklace soon. She plans to give it to the bearded, homeless man that lives on the side of the highway.

That’s later, though. Right now, Allie is waiting for something to happen, because watching cars avoid Mom’s favorite vase isn’t fun anymore. And then, as if a wish-granter were listening to her thoughts, something does happen: a red car stops right in front of the vase, right there in the middle of the highway. A person steps out and picks up the vase. Then he looks around. He’s confused, maybe. It’s funny.

Except that he looks straight up and sees Allie, even though she lives all the way up on floor 23A. And--impossibly--their gazes meet. She can clearly see his eyes.

They’re gorgeous.

They make her think of the diamond necklace Michael is sure to send her, bright and captivating.

The single moment stretches on. And then Allie feels a sting, like a rubber band was just fired at her skin. The man is getting back into his car. Allie thinks she’s just fallen in love.

-

-

-

When Allie was younger, and Michael had still been Dad, they would sit outside on the balcony every night, and they would tell each other stories. Most were ridiculous, and they fought to come up with the wildest, most improbable situations: boy-birds who saved worlds; monkeys that made an elephant cry; a little deer that became a king’s advisor.

But the stories about the wish-granters were what Allie loved best. Michael would talk in a low, soothing voice, so that when Allie closed her eyes she was convinced she wasn’t on Earth anymore, but in a fantastical world where wishes floated softly like balloons and wish-granters picked the very best ones to come true. And afterwards she always asked, "Would they pick mine?" and Michael laughed and hugged her and told her yes, of course they would, her wishes were as beautiful as she was.

-

-

-

That night, the doorbell rings during dinner. Mom gets up with a heavy sigh so she can answer it, looking irritable. Allie feels sorry for whoever it is that’s visiting.

A foreign voice says, "Excuse me--" at the exact moment Mom says, "That vase--!"

Allie scrapes her chair back. It’s the man from before, and he’s holding Mom’s vase out, an apologetic expression on his face. "My name is Sam," he begins awkwardly. "I think this belongs to you?"

Mom is amazed. Allie is, too, because she’s just been saved from a month of being grounded. But Mom pointedly doesn’t invite Sam in, which is just rude, so Allie jumps up and runs after him as he’s leaving, ignoring Mom’s protests. "How did you know I live here?" she demands, catching his sleeve.

Sam stops walking and smiles at her. He’s got amazing black hair and amazing white teeth, although his clothes are not-so-amazing. "I just asked the vase," he says, and Allie decides right then that this man she’s definitely in love with is magical.

"Give me your phone number," she demands.

He looks thoughtful. "Your mom wouldn’t like that," he points out.

Allie doesn’t care. She just pulls out her phone, and Sam laughs and gives her his number. "Don’t tell your mom," he says.

"It’s our secret," she says, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. When he leaves she watches him go, clutching her phone tightly.

But when she gets back Mom is frowning. She was obviously watching from the door. She doesn’t say anything about Sam, though, just tells Allie to please do the dishes. Allie doesn’t. Instead she pulls out every vegetable they have in the fridge and systematically chops them all up into slices and squares. Then she sits down on the tiled kitchen floor and arranges them into a face right in front of the door. Maybe Mom will trip on it when she comes in tomorrow morning.

The carrots become skin, and the cabbages and lettuce become eyes and hair. The broccoli Allie arranges into a neat, circular border around the face.

She takes a picture of the face with her phone and sends it to Sam.

The reply is immediate: If you don’t clean that up, she’s going to sprain her ankle.

Allie is delighted. She doesn’t clean it up.

-

Allie finds the door the next afternoon.

It’s an ordinary-looking door, plain and wooden. Except it’s floating two inches above the ground, frameless.

They’ve just come back from the doctor. Mom didn’t say a word the whole trip, just pursed her lips and gave Allie tired looks. Mom just now limped to her room, favoring her right foot and announcing that she was going to take a quick nap. "I hope you sleep forever," Allie had said. She’d thought the whole situation was funny until Mom started the silent treatment, which is elementary and immature and anyway, who’s supposed to be the adult, huh?

The door floats on the balcony as if it’s always been there. Allie tries to open it, but it’s locked.

After a moment, she decides to call Sam. "I’m at work," he tells her. She likes that he picked up anyway.

"I’m on holiday," she says cheerfully. "Where does the door lead to?"

There’s a pause. "That depends," he says finally, "on where you want to go."

The fear she feels at his words is completely unexpected.

"But I don’t want to go anywhere right now," she replies, unsure.

"You do," he assures her, but his words aren’t comforting at all. It’s not that she just doesn’t want to go anywhere; it’s more like she doesn’t want to want to go anywhere. It feels like escaping.

She wants to ask him something, like, Go out with me tonight, but when she looks at the phone she realizes that he’s already hung up. She doesn’t redial his number, though, just steps back inside and slides the balcony doors closed. Then she locks it. When she looks through the glass she can see that magical, mysterious door. She’s angry. It’s a good gift, but it’s not what she wants. And anyway, her balcony is her sanctuary. Sanctuaries aren’t supposed to change. Whenever they do, worlds fall apart.

She slips her phone back into her pocket and goes into the kitchen to clean up the mess Mom made on the floor.

-

The doorbell rings as soon as the sun sets. Allie is forced to open it because Mom hasn’t woken up yet. She’s entirely unsurprised to find Sam standing outside. He’s better dressed this time, in a dark red shirt and black jeans. His eyes are as beautiful as always.

He has a box in his hands. It’s long, thin, and black, with an elegant, silver ribbon. When he gives it to her he does it with both hands, lending the process a strange feeling of formal unreality. Allie takes the box and says, "It’s a diamond necklace, isn’t it?"

He grins. "How did you know?" he asks.

Allie doesn’t reply. She’s crying, and it makes her feel unbelievably stupid. Who cries when guys give them diamond necklaces? But she can’t help it; the tears keep coming, and her chest keeps heaving.

He slips a hand under her chin and gently turns her face up. "What’s wrong?" he asks, and his voice is perfectly gentle.

"You’re amazing," she tells him. "You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met." Only the words come out garbled because she’s crying. He seems to understand, anyway, and gives her a small, sad smile. He doesn’t bother with hugging her or saying meaningless words of comfort. Instead he takes the necklace out of the box and fastens it gently around her neck.

Then he steps back, appraising her. "You look beautiful," he says finally. And she believes him, believes him completely and totally, even though she knows her nose is blotchy and her eyes are red. It’s just the way he says it--like it’s the truth just because he says so.

-

They go out.

Sam takes her to a park. It’s small and secluded, hidden behind a series of buildings forever under construction. Allie toes off her shoes and walks barefoot through the grass, which is damp and green. Overhead the sky is a dark gray-blue.

As usual, she can’t see the stars, but the city-lights are dazzling.

Sam trails behind, looking relaxed. He’s magical but he’s still just a man, and he keeps reaching up to shove his hair back and out of his face. Here the light reflects perfectly off his eyes. They look like they’re glowing.

Allie takes his hand. "Thank you," she tells him, and smiles.

Sam looks down at her necklace. "Of course," he says.

Allie turns her head and watches the glitter of the city lights through the foliage. Like this they look like stars.

Minutes pass by, filled with silence as warm as the night’s wind. And when the moment ends, and the sounds of traffic sneak back into the background as if they’d never gone, Allie suddenly realizes that she has made a decision. "Let’s go back," she says, and Sam nods.

Back in the car, he turns and presses his lips to hers. It’s a quick kiss, but sweet. Then Sam starts up the car. Allie wonders if the kiss is just another gift or maybe something more.

As they drive back, they pass by the homeless man. He’s walking right by the highway, as usual.

Allie doesn’t want to give him the necklace.

-

As soon as they step through the front door, Allie walks straight to the balcony, sliding the glass open and stepping through. The door is still there, floating. When she presses her palm against the wood she finds that it’s warm.

She turns her head. "If I open this door," she asks Sam, "what will I find?"

He puts his hands in his pockets and looks thoughtful. "Why don’t you tell me?" he says.

She doesn’t reply for a while, just turns and stares at the door. And, unbidden, a memory comes to her: Of a soft, gentle voice, and stars overhead, and a dad who is still a dad no matter what she calls him.

Her hand moves.

But just as she’s turning the handle, she feels Sam’s hand on her shoulder, and his breath against her ear. "Tell me," he says. It sounds like a plea. As if he’s scared. "Before you open that door, tell me what you’ll find."

"Dad," she replies. "I’ll find Dad. I’ll find--"

--She’ll be seven years old. Dad will still be Dad, and Mom will smile at her like she used to, before years of mean pranks wore her down. The night will be perfect, and the balcony will still be a sanctuary. And as they nurse mugs of hot chocolate that Mom made for them, Dad will turn and look at her and say, "Imagine--"

--The doorhandle feels ice-cold under her skin. Or maybe she’s the one that’s turned cold.

The weight on her shoulder reminds her that Sam is waiting for an answer.

"If I open this door," she tells Sam, "I’ll find my wish. The wish I made when I was seven years old."

She has already made her decision. Now she acts on it, and tears her world apart again.

-

-

-

Allie loves nights like this.

"Imagine," Dad is saying, "a world filled with nothing but sky. In this world, there is no ground, and the sky is limitless. And in this infinity float people’s wishes."

"Like balloons," Allie says.

"Yes," Dad says. "Like balloons."

"And the wish-granters?" she asks.

"Well, they catch them. Because normally wishes float just out of reach. So the wish-granters catch people’s wishes for them."

"What if they don’t?"

Dad smiles. He makes her wait before he answers, taking a long, generous sip of his hot chocolate. It’s as perfect as always. Mom makes the best hot chocolate.

"Sometimes, it’s actually better if they don’t," Dad tells her, in that low voice that means he’s telling an absolute secret.

"Why not?" she whispers back.

"Because wishes aren’t all good," he says.

And Allie turns her head, because she thinks she sees something out of the corners of her eyes: the very lightest outline of a rectangle, and the glint of something like diamonds.

She decides she doesn’t like Dad’s answer. It can’t be true. "What about mine?" she asks. "Would they pick mine?"

He laughs and puts his mug down so he can hug her. "Of course they would," he says. "Your wishes are as beautiful as you are."

She hugs him tightly back.

-

The next day, Allie finds the door.

At first she thinks the door is small. Then she figures out that no, it’s not small. It’s the perfect height for a seven-year-old; when she reaches out for the doorhandle, she finds she doesn’t have to stretch up to reach it, like she normally does. She’s delighted. It’s plain and wooden and perfect.

She opens the door.

When she steps through, she finds nothing but limitless sky on the other side, with no ground below.

-

In an apartment in floor 23A, a man named Michael peacefully sleeps, unaware that when he wakes up, there will be no daughter to tell news of the impending divorce to.

Labels: _fiction, verse: misc.

... Wow, I've been really bad about posting lately.

Er. Here's my excuse: Stress. It kills my ability to draw and it makes everything I write fantastically violent, bloody, and gory. The one I'm staring at right now ends up with some poor fucker's head flying off within the first few lines.

This says something about the kind of mood my teachers have been driving me to lately. It really does.

Sigh.