Confessions of a Teardrop on the Floor

Her voice carried out over the cool night air like incense, filmy and sweet. The court was feasting on roasted mutton, rabbits, and one particularly large goose, alongside the traditional sweetened potato bread and sugared almond milk, the staples of the kingdom here in Araniza. There were fresh summer berries, swollen with their inherent juices, and tiny savory onions, brown and pungent. Tirayn’s nose itched with the mingling scents, and only her extensive training as the court nightingale kept her mouth from watering along with it.

The song she sung was dreadfully vapid, but the First Heir liked it best. He of course, was similarly vapid, in her opinion, though she would never dare to voice such thoughts. She was meant as an audible art piece, and not even her value there would keep her from execution if she spoke against the King-to-be or any member of the royal court.

She turned her attention off the food, toward the court children. These young ears were Tirayn’s greatest joy. They would sit as close as was permissible, and stare at her while she sung, adoration on their faces. They were still too young to have been bred in the snobbery of the royal court, and with her high crystal voice and her pale butter skin offset by chocolate hair; she was an image of serenity to them.

The corners of her mouth snuck upwards into a smirk between songs, at a little cinnamon-haired boy with big coal eyes. His hair fell across his face in a mischievous way, and he watched her with one hand idly pawing the unruly strands out of his eyes. As she resumed her singing, his mouth hung slightly open, a mask of concentration on her next song, which told of a menagerie of rare speaking animals coming to pay respect to the great kings of every land. Aranzia was of course, included in this list, but she was certain that it had been modified for this purpose, as Aranzia was far from a great land, and the pompous royal bloodline that ruled it certainly inspired no lyrics to any sane person. The children giggled in delight as she sung about the huge ash-colored beasts with leather for skin and a tail for a nose, who bowed to the divine wisdom of the kings of the northern world, their tusks sparkling. The children’s eyes were wide and twinkling, and she imagined them running back to their nursemaids excitedly, bubbling with questions about the strange animal they had never seen.

Tirayn felt a bittersweet joy in singing these children. She would pretend for just a moment that they were her children, that when she was done singing, she could sweep them into her arms and giggle with them about the silly animals, distant dreamy places, and daring knightly feats. But she would never have her own children; in fact, this was as close to children she was even allowed to be. She had not so much as touched a child since she was sold to the palace at eight years of age, when her voice promised sheer beauty and her features promised even more. Extensive training and coaching from the then-declining court nightingale, Fayette, had kept her shrouded from all other contact until she was fourteen, when Fayette’s voice was no longer suitable for court appearances, and Tirayn took her place. She did not blame her mother, after all, most peasant children starved to death before becoming true contributions to their family, and by selling her, Tirayn was ensured a life well cared for. Her family in turn, had a touch of prosperity on them, and so everyone ended up for the better. That is, in theory at least.

Sister, why hold me in this cage?
I wither and I wilt
Your bitter heart has smothered me
Do you feel no guilt?

My Twin, you do not understand
The perils that you'd face
The otherworlds are fearsome
You're safer in this place

But Sister, in this casket
I cannot breathe or see
Without soon my freedom
Little will be left of me

Dear Twin, it is my love
That has hidden you away
On this side your sweetness
Cannot be made to stay

Sister you must free me
Else I will disappear
You cannot hold me prisoner
Because of your own fear

Twin, you do not understand
You can never be paroled
The remains of my riven heart
Are all left in your fragile hold

"What the fuck is your problem, lady?" the Santa shouted at me. My breath came in ragged rushes as the policeman pinned me to the floor. I must've been a sight for the festive crowds to see as they pushed by, a mess of shiny gold curls, my sapphire eyeliner smeared, my shimmery blouse covered in dust as the policeman pressed me into the filthy linoleum. I wasn't the least bit concerned to think of what my skirt wasn't covering anymore, and one of my sparkling heels had managed to get knocked across to the other end of the aisle. Instead; I was thinking about just how much I hated Christmas.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I suppose I'd have been scared
If I had known where I stood
Instead I plowed on boldly
Like any dreamer would

The path, it seems to shake
My imagination, I suppose
You call to me, "Onward!"
My anticipation grows...

I never really had a chance
The reporters will decree
No hope to catch a fading dream
For a blind girl, like me.

A blossom fell
From high above
She tried to reach
The sun, her love

And on the ground
To which she fell
A blade of grass
Did to her tell:

"The sun is hot
It burns and sears
It's in the earth
You'll lose your fears"

A raindrop fell
Down from the sky
Into the ground
And there he lie

The pool in which
He soon became
From small to big
His loss was gain

And in the ground
The raindrops went
And to the seed
Their virtue lent

A teardrop fell
Along his cheek
So new to him
To feel so weak

And next to him
A sapling grew
So small and frail
Yet fresh and new

And when he rose
With mind now sound
A blossom fell
Unto the ground

Ode to a Liar

Your words pour out a filmy smoke
This incense calms my heart
You smile at your imprisoned one
I grin and play my part

My mind, she knows of all your sins
She shrieks as you draw near
I steel myself against her blows
My heart, still knows no fear

But even now I start to break
My pretense cannot hold.
A fool alone could make this trade
Deceit, bought with our gold

You'll feed your lies to her now
My eyes will grow no wetter
Despite my chains, I hold the key
It's I who chose this fetter

Milk Carton Child

Huddled under the table, she stared at the faces around the room. Her brother, younger by only a bit over a year, laughed and giggled as he opened his presents. There were a few other children there, but they were of no consequence to her. It was the adults who commanded her gaze.

Her grandmother bustled about cleaning up, cooking, caring for anything she could. She wore her trademark mask of concentration, but Emily had learned to see the frustration and exhaustion under the façade. Her grandfather quietly nursed a drink on the sofa in the other room, the television flickering against a toneless countenance.

Her father was there, somewhere. She could hear his deep chuckle in the distance. Had she any premonition of the future, she would have sought him out, entreating upon him to sing and dance and throw her in the air, just once more. Instead she looked toward the living room, where her aunt was bustling towards her. "What are you doing down there? You're going to make your brother sad with that sour face!" She chided, pulling Emily up from the floor. Emily mumbled her apologies, and walked towards the backyard, where her mother was setting up the piñata, an elaborate racecar swerving down a murky paper road. She had spared no expense in making this party perfect for her sweet little boy.

Emily's eyes drifted back to her brother. How she envied that he could be content in his artificial world, oblivious to the hurt in the people who had created it. If only she could be like him. All the lies, custom cut, just to give this boy enough security to be himself.

Her vision flooded with tears.

*drip* strawberry milk mustaches
*drip* go fish, candy land
*drip* saturday morning cartoons
*drip* christmas tree ornaments
*drip* swingsets, treehouses
*drip* stuffed animals and dolls
*drip* laughter….

Her grandmother saw her go into the bedroom, and observed a few minutes later, when she reappeared. Emily had put a bow in her hair, and her smile was constant and generous. But her eyes hinted at the sad reality. Emily the little girl is long gone, never to be found again.