Flash Fiction: Sub-Genre Mashup

Here's a fun unpolished and unfinished bit of flash fiction I did a while back. I was using a prompt from Chuck Wendig's blog to randomly mash two genres together. I got Weird West and Shapeshifters. Anyway, it was meant to be 2,000 words but I got close without being near finished... it reads as the start of something much longer. Then I never went back to it because.. life. Anyway, it was a great little challenge to play with.

As for me, I'm back hard at work on the novel, so I don't know if I'll have much to publish here. Depends on time demands between uni and writing, but I want to do more flash fiction or other writing challenges if I can. I'm also finally brave enough to start workshopping my writing, which is terrifying and very exciting. But what I can learn definitely outweighs the terror. I am pretty determined to keep growing and improving as a writer.

~ ~ ~

     Dust kicked up at my heels as I walked along the edge of the deserted main street, creamy orange rays of sunshine peeking above the horizon. I took in a deep breath of the cool spring air, savouring this quiet moment to myself. On the boundaries of the small town lay the brand new schoolhouse, unpainted wood still bright and fresh. I moved to the frontier to teach just four weeks ago, lured by generous pay and solitude. The steam trains connecting the far reaches of the continent with the capital city were still months away at best, so we relied on a fortnightly courier to carry our mail, replenish supplies, etc. It was all very old fashioned, and my family scoffed when I’d announced my plans to leave the familiar comforts of the city behind, but it suited me just fine.
     I was about to bounce up the front steps of the building when I noticed a trail of small, dark splashes on the ground. Curious, I followed them around back to find a figure slumped in the grass against the school’s foundations. I gasped and ran over, dropping my small lunch basket in the process. My gaze was immediately drawn to the blood soaking through their rough spun shirt, their face hidden by a worn broad-brimmed hat. Their breathing was shallow and laboured, but I was relieved to see they were still alive. I thrust my hands over the wound to put pressure on it and stem the bleeding. Slowly, the stranger roused and looked up at me in response.
     I managed to keep my hands steady and on task, but my eyes went wide. The hat may have rested on what you’d recognise as a head, but the face was like nothing I’d ever seen. The eyes seemed to contain only grey wispy clouds, no other colour or pupil. The opalescent skin surrounding them was nearly devoid of features entirely, though there were the faint shadows of a nose and mouth. As I studied them, it felt as if my eyes couldn’t focus, everything about the creature constantly shifting.
     “Thank… you…” I wasn’t sure if the mouth had even moved at all, but I could clearly hear a voice come from it, though it was weak. It snapped me out of my shock.
     “Y—you’re pretty badly injured. We need to get you to the doctor right away.”
     It shook its head. “No… no doctor. They…” it paused, taking in an obviously painful breath, “They couldn’t help.”
     I glanced down at my hands, now bright red. The wound was very deep, the pressure I was applying not actually doing much to slow the flow of blood.
     “It—it is too late. But I thank you… for your kindness…”
     They were obviously fading quickly. They were right. They wouldn’t last long. My mind raced. There was one thing, a last resort— No!, I thought. I swore I wouldn’t. Never again. Last time… last time…

     But they weren’t human, that much was obvious. It might not affect them the same way, and it was their only chance. They were dying already, so wasn’t it worth trying? If it did go wrong, though— no, I couldn’t think about that now.
     I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I concentrated on the feel of them beneath my fingers, on the blood I felt pulsing out of them with every heartbeat. Heat began to radiate outward, flowing from my core through my palms and into the wound. In my mind, I could see the damage within, body ragged and torn nearly all the way through. The heat intensified and slowly, so slowly, I began to mend the flesh and organs as if sewing them back together again. I’m uncertain how much time passed while in my trance, but it was a while later when I finally finished and fell forward heavily onto my hands, exhausted.
     Healing always drained me, and this wound was particularly bad. I trembled and gasped for breath, weak from the effort. I felt the creature shift beneath me. Turning my head to look up at him, I was surprised to see the rugged face of a human man staring back. He appeared the same as any frontiersman you’d see in town, a solid build and a little rough around the edges, but he had very kind blue eyes framed by thick, brown waves of hair.
     His mouth was agape. “You’re… I didn’t think there were any of your kind left.”
     I knitted my brows. “My kind? Am I like you?”
     “Ah.” He smiled softly. “You’ve saved my life. The least I can do is explain what you are. Though, let’s get you inside somewhere. You’ve obviously exhausted yourself with your magics.”
     I had no energy to protest as he gently extricated himself from beneath me and helped me to my feet. Neither of us were going to make it back to my little house on the other side of town in this shape, so I directed him up and into the schoolhouse. I wrote a quick note on a chalkboard tablet on the door, there for that purpose, stating I was ill and there would be no school today, and then locked us securely inside.
     The stranger sat me down on one of the benches the students normally used, and I gratefully leaned against the nearby desk. Sitting at the other end of the bench and facing me, I still couldn’t get over his change in appearance. I wondered if I hadn’t somehow hallucinated the vague face I saw at first.
     He reached out a hand towards me. “I suppose it’s only polite I introduce myself. I’m Cailan.”
     His grin was infectious, and I was surprised he seemed so chipper though he must still be weak from loss of blood. My healing mended flesh, but it still took time to recover. Still, I took up his hand and he shook it firmly, but gently. “My name is Evelyn Padstow.”
     His face formed a look that was all too familiar to me. “The Padstows?”
     Even this far away from the capital, I could never quite escape them. My great-grandfather was the first great industrialist, having invented the steam technology that now ran the backbone of our great nation. The pride, of course, was the steam trains which allowed the expansion out west, ever furthering our borders. If I never heard again about how wonderful and important my family was, it would be too soon.
     I nodded a bit curtly at Cailan.
     “Sorry. Sore subject, huh? I’ve just never met anyone—“ he paused, thinking carefully, “well, anyone so highbrow. I guess.”
     I raised an eyebrow. “I’m just a teacher, nothing more, Mr.—“ I realised he never gave me a family name.
     “Just Cailan, Miss Padstow.” He tipped his hat as he said this.
     I laughed. “Then call me Evelyn. Now, I believe you owe me some sort of explanation for saving your life. Was I imagining that you looked different before?”
     “No. You saw what I truly look like. I’m a Shifter. We can take many forms, but what you see now is the one I use to blend in.”
     Unthinking, I reached out to touch his arm, reassuring myself he was actually real. He smiled at me. “There are more like you out there?”
     “A few, yes. Not nearly as many as there used to be, sadly. You, however, are truly rare. I haven’t heard of one of your kind having existed for the better part of a century.”
     I looked down at my hands, almost afraid of what he was going to say next. For years I hid my magics, and not just at the behest of my family, though they were certainly frightened of my abilities. No, I’d sworn never to use them again after— I shook my mind clear. It didn’t matter now. I was simply relieved nothing had gone wrong this morning.
     Cailan must have sensed my conflict, softly putting his hands over mine. “Let me guess, you and that steam technology your family invented don’t get along so well.”
     “No, definitely not. That’s part of why I moved so far away. How did you know?”
     “Magics and tech are two sides of the same coin. They don’t live in the same space well. As tech has taken over our society, magic has been slowly dying out. To put it bluntly, you shouldn’t really exist.”
     “That doesn’t really explain what I am.”
     He gave a lopsided grin. “You’re a Witch, and I’m guessing quite a pure one, at that. The healing you performed on me is some very powerful magics. It’s no wonder it drained you so thoroughly, untrained as you are.”
     “A witch? With the green skin and broomsticks and black cats?”
     Cailan laughed heartily. “You have looked in a mirror recently, haven’t you? Obviously, none of that is true.”

~ ~ ~

If you got this far and actually would like to see where this goes, comment below. I wouldn't mind continuing to expand on this. :)

That Day (Edited)

I have reworked this piece a couple times now for submission, and I thought it might be interesting to compare to the unedited version that appeared on this blog earlier. Most notably, this version is about 125 words lighter. The edits have mostly taken the form of paring things down for style or flow, as opposed to any major changes to the story.

     We sat in a cafe courtyard on a grey, rainy day, a steady rhythm beating down on the corrugated plastic above our heads. My hands caressed a nearly empty mug, nothing but beige foam as a dim reminder of the cappuccino it once held. The air was damp and refreshing, the spring rain filtering through the leafy trees surrounding us. We were alone among half a dozen empty tables, the silence between the raindrops deafening. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was sitting alone in a forest meadow, far away from the urban hell in which I found myself. Instead, you broke my reverie with a heavy sigh, eyes barely meeting mine.

     I wanted to look away, but couldn’t, the intense blue drawing me in. What I saw there was the truth you found so difficult to say, and the pain it caused you. Yet I refused to accept it, so I concentrated instead on the black waves falling upon your forehead. As my gaze dropped slowly to the rough stubble along your sharp, strong jawline, my thoughts wandered; the feel of it beneath my fingers, how the thick, short hairs tickled me as we kissed…

     “Dina,” you said, snapping me back into reality.

     I caught your eyes again and began chewing on my lip, unsure what to say or if I should say anything at all.

     You ran a hand through the dark tousles of your hair, buying time by staring down at your own untouched coffee. I waited, heart pounding desperately in my chest, a seeming attempt to will itself free from the impending devastation. The moments that passed felt endless. I went to take a sip from my cold cup, disappointed when the dregs of foam slid slowly towards my lips. In embarrassment, I set it down again a bit too quickly, the loud thump as it hit the table startling us both.

     As if it were a signal, you spoke again. “I… I can’t do this anymore. Things haven’t been going well between us for a while, and…”

     You trailed off. It was my turn to let loose a sigh. I knew it was too much to ask that you make the killing blow quickly and cleanly. My heart caught in my throat, tears I was desperate to hide welling in my eyes. I swallowed and blinked hard, looking away to the wooden fence surrounding the courtyard. Concentrating on the patterns of the lattice, shadowed and intertwined beneath the dripping tree branches, the sound of the rain echoed my racing heartbeat. Despite knowing that you were lost to me long before this moment, pain stabbed its way down through my breast. I wished that I could exist in any time, in any place, but this one.

     To add insult to injury, I felt the warmth of your fingers gently encompass mine, my grip on the cup tightening in response. “Dina,” you said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

     That was the moment everything snapped, broken shards of my heart crumbling away inside me to nothing. Through the tears I could no longer contain, I glared steadily, unafraid. Anger grew in place of the hurt I refused to feel any more. I could see your confusion, unsure what to make of my reaction, but the dam was burst now; I was beyond caring, yanking my hands away from yours so violently that my cup toppled over onto the table with a loud clatter.

     “You think I haven’t known? You’ve been pulling away for months. Things were already over between us. Now you finally have the strength to tell me the truth, and that’s all you have to say for yourself? That you’re sorry?”

     “Dina…”

     “No, Grant. I deserve better. I deserve an explanation after giving you five years of my life.”

     Your head dropped into your hands, as if the thick wavy strands of your hair could protect you. Still crying, I looked down at my spilled cup, foam slowly draining into the crevices of the table’s wood grain. My eyes followed the trail with morbid curiosity, the viscous liquid reminding me of blood wending its way down my arm as it oozed from a shallow wound. The thought roused deep, dark impulses within me, and I bit down hard on my lip without thinking. The sensation brought me back to myself, and I looked up to see you staring down at your coffee, mindlessly stirring it with a small spoon as if that would bring it back up to a drinkable temperature.

     “Well?” I crossed my arms, attempting to keep my voice steady.

     When you finally raised your eyes to me, I saw the stain of your own tears glistening upon your cheeks and my anger failed me. Cruel barbs pierced my chest once again. My hands dropped into my lap and I fidgeted uncomfortably, berating myself for pushing you so hard as a familiar sense of guilt washed over me.

     “I just… I can’t deal with this anymore. With you. I love you, Dina, more than I’ve loved anyone, but it’s too much and I’ve been feeling overwhelmed for so long now.” You paused to take a deep breath. “I can’t fix you, and I can’t help you anymore. I don’t blame you for your illnesses, but they are dragging us both down, and… and I have to do what is best for me.”

     I felt dizzy, my thoughts spiralling into chaos. I nodded slowly, your words skidding off the surface of my mind. My stomach lurched, waves of nausea washing over me. Despite dreading this moment for so long now, it still hit me like a brick wall. Only one thing was clear: it was truly over, unsalvageable. This was the end of us, and there was nothing I could do to change it. I realised that part of me had been harbouring some minute hope that I could talk my way out of this, out of whatever reasons you threw at me, but this wasn’t something that I could resolve with mere words. The finality of the situation drained all the fight out of me.

     Unable to form any sort of coherent response, you took my silence for acceptance. “I am sorry, love. I didn’t want things to end this way. Please take care of yourself.” You stood, your metal chair scraping painfully on the stones of the courtyard as it was forced backwards. In slow motion, I watched you reach into your back pocket and pull out your wallet, flipping it open and throwing a five dollar note down onto the table with an incongruous casualness. You grabbed your damp umbrella from the ground and started to move away, then paused, as if thinking better of it. My heart skipped a beat and I was unable to breathe, my chest tightening.

     “Goodbye.” Your voice trailed into nothingness as this time you walked away with purpose, not looking back. Numb, I couldn’t force my gaze away as I watched you go back inside and disappear beyond the counter, out of the cafe and out of my life.

     I sat unmoving for some time before I finally came to my senses, the chill of the cloudy and wet late afternoon becoming unbearable. Your nearly pristine latte sat across from me as if waiting for you to return, the reminder of your absence reflecting the emptiness I felt. Without realising, tears fell from my eyes again, splashing down onto the wooden table to mingle with the remnants of my coffee. In movie-perfect timing, a cloud burst exploded overhead and the rain came pelting down twice as fast, striking the plastic above me with a particular violence. I dropped my head heavily into my arms, sobs reflecting the turbulent storm raging around and within me.

     It was nearly dark when the mirrored tempests finally eased. The silence rang in my ears as I choked to catch my breath, exhausted and drained. I found some comfort from the irregular patter as the sky squeezed the dregs from its temper tantrum, the last few drops of spiteful rain before the clouds finally moved on. With what little strength I had, I pushed myself upright, wiping my face clean of mess and emotions both. The worst of the weather was over and all seemed to be clear and calm.

     In a numb daze, I gathered myself as best I could and grabbed the money you left behind, paying for the coffees back inside. The barista politely averted her stare from my own puffy, red-rimmed eyes and smiled kindly as I thanked her quietly.

     Stepping outside into the cool humidity, I paused and took a deep breath. Observing the glittering rain-soaked city street I found myself on, I felt renewed, reborn. I was a different person than the one who entered the cafe with you hours ago. Hurt still ached deep beneath the surface, but I knew that would ease with time. Not long ago I might have wallowed in the misery, allowing my emotions to overwhelm and control me, self-destructing bit by bit. But what I realised then, and what you would never know, was that the strength to move on and move forward was already within me; Strength built up from years of succumbing to my mental illness with failure after failure, picking myself back up every single time.

     For the first time I could remember, a small smile crept over my lips as I walked towards the train station, unbothered by the chilly mist settling over the city. And I never once looked back.

Thoughts and Updates: A Blog

One of the hardest things sometimes is to force yourself to sit down and simply keep writing. My novel is one of the longest, most difficult projects I've ever worked on, but I feel that it's worth it. There's a story in my head that I know could be really good if I just keep working at it. I assume that's how a lot of writers feel, that there's something inside them that is worth telling? Obviously there's some false sense of becoming rich and famous if you get really lucky and sell something super popular, but although I intend to at least try to sell my work, I can't imagine that as a goal. I wouldn't complain if I were the next J.K. Rowling or something, but the chances of that are so slim as to be pretty much impossible. I will be insanely thrilled if I ever write something someone feels worthy of publishing someday.

I guess it helps that I have no intentions of doing this as a career. I have other goals to pursue, even if writing is something that has been and always will be important to me. It's always been a main outlet for my creativity, and I'm the sort that has to be creating something at nearly all times. I love writing simply because it requires nothing more than a pen, a piece of paper, and your imagination. Or, these days, some sort of tablet or computer, if that's more your speed. Sure, that's pretty much true of visual art, as well, but there's something just so simple about weaving words together in a pleasing manner. I've studied a lot of art and design over the years, and it's something I love to do, but I guess it also comes less naturally to me in some ways. They are pretty different skill sets, after all. Maybe it comes down to the fact that the book world can sometimes be a lot less complicated than that of fine art. Words don't always have to fit some vague notion of truly being 'art' to find a fairly broad appeal. They don't need to always be topping one another, or fulfil any sort of 'shock value' requirement to be taken seriously. There are probably a lot of arguments why this is or isn't purely true, but that's how it seems to me, and that's partially why I've chosen words to create the story I want to tell.

Anyway, I have been thinking about submitting some of the short works I have on this blog to competitions or something of that sort, mostly as an exercise in building up some confidence that I am actually any good at this. As with anything creative, what you make never really feels good enough or it seems like you just can't get enough space from it to evaluate it properly at all. So, I'm gonna see what other people think, outside of those few people I often ask specifically for feedback. It's kind of scary putting your writing out there into the wild, so to speak, but it's probably time to see where I'm at and what I can learn to apply to the big project. I found a couple good places to attempt submitting some of my recent short stories on here, so I'm going to polish them up a bit and then keep my fingers crossed. I'll keep you all updated on how it goes.

In the meantime, I keep poking away at my novel as often as my concentration lets me. Progress varies, and at the moment it's a bit slow, but I'm not going to get anywhere if I don't keep at it, either. Determination is often just as important as inspiration, after all. That and great music to listen to as you write.

Trust

     I let him in, to the deep dark places within me that no one else has ever been. Opening the door to my soul, I laid everything bare, naked demons squinting in the long-forgotten brightness. Twisting and exploring, his hands delved into my chest and didn’t stop until he held my wildly beating heart in his grasp. Too late, I realised it was a game to him, and I was merely a doll; a marionette whose strings were tightly wound around his bloody fingers. At my most vulnerable, he clenched his fists, threads and flesh melding into a shapeless pulp within me. He laughed as I writhed around him in pain, savouring the salty tears falling from my eyes which he greedily lapped up off my skin with his soft, flickering tongue. My demons in the darkness screamed and wailed and desperately fought back, razor sharp teeth and claws sinking into the tips of his fingers. Yelping, he jerked his way out of me, my torn, dripping heart still between his hands.

     As I fell before him, I saw him raise the shredded remnants of my most vital organ to his mouth, sliding them down his throat as if it were a feast of the most exquisite sashimi, a rare delicacy the like of which could never be had again. Taking his time, he devoured every last scrap of flesh he had stolen from me, licking his fingers clean with a satisfied smack of his lips. With no more use for me, unsympathetic eyes glared down to meet mine as I lay on the floor at his feet, clutching at my empty chest in a vain attempt to staunch the profuse flow from within. A red grin slowly spread across his face, light fading from my eyes as I flailed about in a growing pool of blood and tears, gasping for air. Without a second thought, he turned and walked away from the site of my demise, leaving a trail of sticky, gory footsteps in his wake.

Novelly Tidbit: Reworking Chapter One

I've decided I need to spend time rewriting the very sad first chapters of my novel, as I've learned so much since then. It's very hard to balance introducing the world, main character, etc. while making it interesting at the get go and drawing you in to the story. Still dunno if I'm there yet, but it's definitely improved. Here's a bit of the new beginning I've written recently (caps denote things I put in to keep the flow going but will be addressed later. i.e. ignore the terrible Latin):

     Fear. It’s not so much my earliest memory as it is my earliest feeling. There are hazy shadows on the edges of my mind when I delve as deeply as I dare, but the terror that grips me is clear as day. As long as I can remember, it’s been a constant throughout my life. It’s formed the core of my entire existence so that I’m unsure how to live without it now. And, despite everything, I’m not sure I’d want to, either. It’s given me strength to face the trials that have been put before me, one after another. When you’re fearful, when you’re desperate, you find reserves within yourself that you never knew existed. I’m not certain I’d be here today without the challenges that have pushed me ever forward, persisting through sheer stubbornness. You could say I’m known for this trait.

     It’s not that my childhood was a particularly difficult one. I grew up in relative luxury compared to most children in our fair city. I come from the Imperial family of our Empire, clan Cassinii, the line of rulers unbroken since my ancient ancestor founded the capital city of Vetus. I was named Setina, for a winter flower that grows on the mountains some days outside our city and bloom despite the thin air and frigid temperatures. I can’t imagine my parents knew just how appropriate and well-suited a name it was at the time. I was also called Taleria, in honour of my mother, Talina, and her mother, Valeria, as was the custom in our family. So, in full, I was known as Setina Taleria Cassinia, daughter and eldest child of Tirenal Tipinius Cassinus, also called Imperator. As I grew, my father controlled our vast lands from our large, lavish palace atop the central hill of Vetus surrounded by the homes of all who were rich and influential, particularly the families who formed our empire’s Senate. From our perch above the city, the upper classes kept themselves aloof from the lowly plebians which made up the general population. In the palace, slaves and servants attended to all our needs and I can honestly say that I wanted for nothing. At least, that was true from a material sense.

     My family has always been just my father, my younger brother, and me living in the palace my entire life. My mother died while I was yet still too young to remember when giving birth to my brother. Other than that, I knew nearly nothing about her, as the loss was far too painful for my father to discuss. I only learned of how she died through my nursemaid when I was barely older than a toddler, asking her if she was my mother once I learned that children usually have two parents instead of just the one. Mallia looked down at me, heartache radiating from her dark eyes. Kneeling down to my level, for the one and only time in my childhood, she took a deep, slow breath with what seemed like her entire body. Then, she explained that, no, she wasn’t, though I did have one at one point. She didn’t seem keen to keep going, but one word kept swirling around in my mind, and I couldn’t keep my childish-self from pressing her further. Why? I already knew that we were different from many other families. It was literally written on our skin. Or, more importantly, it wasn’t.

     I’m uncertain when and where the tradition came from, but in Vetusian society, everyone wore a Mark upon their forehead denoting their clan or guild or some other allegiance. Once a citizen came of age, they would gain their Mark in the form of permanent scarification, a ritual shrouded in secret with techniques and ingredients closely guarded by the group performing it. For instance, the two largest clans by far were the opposing political groups and their associated families. One was the PLURES REPROBA, whose Mark was a series of interconnecting rings the length of the forehead in a gaudy red colour. How the colour was added and the scar healed so clearly, only the ritual keeper of the clan knew. The other was much more modest, the UNUS VERUM wearing a simple triangle several shades deeper than the wearer’s own skin colour. The variety of Marks was nearly endless, though everyone had one. Even slaves had a simple X carved into their skin, denoting their status. Only the Imperial family remained Markless and unblemished, no allegiance except that to our family and our empire. We were meant to be neutral in all things, and thus kept ourselves separate from the rest of society, as much its servants as its rulers.

     Still, I didn’t understand why we had to be different in this way, as well. I’d seen some of the fellow children around the palace with their mothers, usually servants of ours, and I became painfully aware that my life was missing something essential. Mallia sighed and tutted, obvious reluctance crinkling the X upon her brow. After thinking for a moment, she made some brief explanation that babies come from mothers, but it’s difficult, so sometimes the mothers don’t survive. I wasn’t entirely certain what she was trying to say. The thought that women somehow wielded the magic to create babies was a bit too strange to get my head around, but I knew who to blame now: my younger brother Sercinal. This was what my young mind clung to, and I doubt anything would have convinced me otherwise in that moment.

     I went to him in our shared quarters afterwards, barely a toddler himself, and wailed and cried, asking him why he had to kill our mother. Of course, this set him off as well, and once we both got going, nothing could calm us down. Mallia tried futilely for what felt like ages before finally giving in and sending a guard to fetch our father. He was never happy when we children were too difficult for the servants to handle without his interference, and this occasion was no exception. My father’s face was stern, lips turned down in a frown. Mallia hurriedly explained the situation, eyes downcast with guilt. Though I hadn’t imagined it possible, my father’s expression soured even further.

     “I will deal with you later,” he said to her, voice strained.

     Mallia nodded and hurriedly left us alone with him.

     I had ceased my tantrum long before that moment, too frightened of my father’s presence. Next to me on the stone floor, Sercinal was still whimpering uncontrollably. I nudged him with my elbow as my father walked towards us, the braziers in the room casting his long shadow over us. But what he did next surprised me.

Ooh, cliffhangery. I'm interested to hear thoughts and criticism on how it reads, how you see the world beginning to form, etc. if you got this far. Feedback will only help me improve!

Analogues

Swirling tempest within
Beyond all control
Hearts clashing
Minds in conflict
Duelling dualities

Flames of anger
Fuelled by cruelty
Casual apathy
Mired by immaturity
Equal inequality

Pain flash floods
Washing all away
Absence echoing hollow
Wound left bleeding
Avoid devoid

Waves churning
Tossed about freely
Disorienting blue surrounds
The horizon endless
Connection disconnect

That Day

     We were sitting in a cafe courtyard on a grey, rainy day, a steady rhythm beating down on the corrugated plastic above our heads. My hands caressed a nearly empty mug, nothing but beige foam as a dim reminder of the cappuccino it once held. The air was damp and refreshing, the spring rain permeating the trees surrounding us. We were alone together, the silence between the raindrops deafening. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was sitting alone in a forest meadow, far away from the urban hell I found myself in today. Instead, you broke my reverie with a heavy sigh, eyes barely meeting mine as I opened them once again.

     I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t, the deep blue colour drawing me into the depths of your soul. What I saw there was the truth you were finding so difficult to say to me, and the pain it was causing you. Still, I refused to accept it, shifting my gaze to the black waves falling upon your forehead, then down to the rough stubble along your sharp, strong jawline. My thoughts wandered to the feel of it beneath my fingers, how the thick, short hairs tickled me as we kissed…

     “Dina,” you said finally, snapping me back into reality.

     I caught your eyes once again and began chewing on my lip, unsure what to say, or if I should say anything at all.

     You ran a hand through the dark tousles of your hair, buying time by staring down at your own cup of coffee, barely touched.

     I waited, heart pounding desperately in my chest, a seeming attempt to will itself free from the impending devastation. The moments that passed in silence felt like days, maybe even weeks, that would never end. I went to take a sip from my cold cup, disappointed when the dregs of foam slowly slid towards my lips. In embarrassment, I set it down again a bit too quickly, the loud thump as it hit the table startling us both.

     As if it was a signal, you finally began to speak. “I… I can’t do this anymore. Things haven’t been going well between us for a while, and…”

     You trailed off. Now it was my turn to let loose a sigh. I knew it was too much to ask that you make the killing blow quickly and cleanly. My heart caught in my throat, tears I was desperate to hide welling in my eyes. I swallowed and blinked hard, averting my eyes to the wooden fence surrounding the courtyard. Concentrating on the patterns of the lattice, shadowed and twisting beneath the dripping tree branches, the sound of the rain echoed my still-racing heartbeat. Despite knowing that you were lost to me long before this moment, hurt stabbed its way through my chest, radiating down to my core. I wished that I could exist in any moment, in any place but the one I found myself in now.

     To add insult to injury, I felt the warmth of your fingers gently cradling mine, my grip on the cup tightening in response. “Dina,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

     That was the moment everything snapped, the broken pieces of my heart crumbling away inside me to nothing. Through the tears I could no longer contain, I glared at you, finally unafraid. Anger began to grow in place of the pain I refused to feel any more. Staring deep into the oceans of your eyes once again, I could see that you were confused, unsure what to make of my reaction. But the dam was burst now, and I was beyond caring, yanking my hands away from yours so violently that the cup toppled over onto the table with a loud clatter.

     “You think I haven’t known? You’ve been pulling away for months. You were lost to me long before you were able to admit it to either of us.” I paused, gasping for breath in between the sobs wracking my whole body. “Now you finally have the courage to tell me the truth, and that’s all you have to say for yourself? That you’re sorry?”

     “Dina…”

     “No, Grant. I deserve better. I at least deserve an explanation after giving you 5 years of my life.”

     Your head dropped into your hands, as if the thick wavy strands of your hair could protect you somehow. I grumbled impatiently, but said nothing. Sniffling and wiping my cheeks dry, I looked down at my spilled cup, foam slowly draining into the crevices of the table’s woodgrain. My eyes followed the trail with morbid curiosity, the viscous liquid reminding me of blood wending its way down my arm as it oozed slowly from a shallow wound. The thought roused deep, dark impulses within me, and I bit down hard on my lip, unthinking. The sensation brought me back to myself, and I looked up to see you staring down at your coffee, mindlessly stirring it with a small spoon as if that would bring it back up to a drinkable temperature.

     “Well?,” I asked, prompting you, arms crossed and attempting to keep my voice steady.

     When you finally looked up, I saw the stain of tears glistening upon your cheeks, and the pain in my chest stabbed cruelly once again, my anger failing me. My hands dropped into my lap as I fidgeted them uncomfortably, regretting pushing you so hard as a familiar sense of guilt took me over.

     “I just… I just can’t deal with this anymore. With you. I love you, Dina, so much, but… it’s too much and I’ve been feeling overwhelmed for so long now.” You paused to take a deep breath. “I can’t fix you, and I can’t help you anymore. I don’t blame you for your illnesses, but they are dragging us both down… and I have to do what is best for me.”

     Suddenly, I felt dizzy, my mind spiralling into chaos. I nodded slowly, your words barely sinking in. My stomach lurched, waves of nausea washing over me. Despite dreading this moment for months now, it still managed to hit me as if a brick wall appeared out of nowhere, and I struggled to comprehend exactly how I was feeling. One thing fully occupied my thoughts: it was truly over, unfixable. This was the end of us, and there was nothing I could do to salvage it. I realised that part of me had been harbouring some minute hope that I could talk my way out of whatever reasons you threw at me, but this wasn’t something that I could resolve with words. The finality of the situation drained all the fight out of me.

     Unable to form any sort of coherent response, you took my silence for acceptance. “I am sorry, love. I didn’t want things to end this way. Please… take care of yourself.” You stood then, your metal chair scraping almost unbearably loud on the stone floor of the courtyard as it was forced backwards. In slow motion, I watched you reach into your back pocket and pull out your wallet, flipping it open and throwing a bill from within down onto the table with an incongruous casualness. You grabbed your damp umbrella from the ground and began to move away, then paused, as if thinking better of it. My heart skipped a beat and I was unable to breathe, my chest tightening.

     “Goodbye…” Your voice trailed into nothingness as this time you walked away with purpose, not looking back. Numb, I couldn’t force myself to look away as I watched you walk back inside and disappear beyond the counter, out of the cafe and out of my life.

     I sat unmoving for what felt like hours before I finally came to my senses, the chill of the cloudy and wet late afternoon becoming unbearable. Your mostly untouched latte sat across from me still as if waiting for you to return, the reminder of your absence reflecting the emptiness I felt. Before I even realised it, tears began to fall from my eyes, splashing down onto the wooden table to mingle with the remnants of my coffee. In movie-perfect timing, a cloud burst exploded overhead and the rain came pelting down twice as fast, striking the plastic above me with a particular violence. I dropped my head heavily into my arms on the table, my wracking sobs mimicking the storm raging around and within me.

     Some time later, the mirrored tempests eased and began to quiet. The silence was nearly painful as my breathing finally slowed, and I was left feeling exhausted and drained. I found some comfort from the irregular patter as the sky squeezed the dregs from its temper tantrum, the last few drops of spiteful rain before the clouds finally moved on. With what little strength I had, I pushed myself upright, wiping my face clean of mess and emotions both. The worst of the weather was over, and my mind felt calm and clear.

     I gathered myself as best I could, and in a numb daze, I grabbed the money you left behind and went to pay for the coffees back inside the cafe. The barista politely averted her gaze from my own puffy, red-rimmed eyes and smiled kindly as I thanked her quietly.

     Stepping outside into the cool humidity, I paused and took a deep breath. Observing the rain-soaked city street I found myself on, I felt reborn and renewed. I was a different person than the one who entered the cafe with you some untold hours ago. Pain still ached beneath the surface in my breast, but I knew that would ease with time. In another life, I might have wallowed in my misery and allowed my emotions to overwhelm and control me. But what I realised then, and what you will never know, was that the strength to move on and move forward was already within me, built up from years of succumbing to my illness with failure after failure and picking myself back up every single time.

     For what felt like the first time in forever, a small smile crept over my lips as I walked towards the train station, unbothered by the the cool mist settling in over the city. And I never once looked back.