You’ve been asking us a favor. Why do you hesitate now?
I spin again. The water around my shins protests with a grumpy swish-swoosh. “Who’s there?”
Something like sharp talons tickles my spine, tapping each bone on the way down from neck to pelvis.
I flail, slapping away whatever it may be, but nothing’s there.
Nothing solid anyway.
Squinting into the night, I ask, “I’ll ask again. Who’s there? Is this Wind? What do you want of me?”
Laughter, deep and resonating like thunder, surrounds me. We thought you believed but now that we answer your call, you doubt.
“I…”
A stronger breeze knocks into me, pushes me up the hill. I scale the terraces until I reach the very same spot Na and I had climbed to earlier.
Where I had so boldly and rashly called Wind.
I had no business doing such a thing, voicing my dreams, exposing them to the real world. Now it seems they’ve crossed over, escaped out the base of my skull to frolic among the paddies.
Yin and Yang have met, my slumbering nightmares confronting my waking wishes. And I’m standing in the middle, torn, confused, raw.
Na’s words surround me like a vice. I think the family is cursed and you’re the one showing it. I drop to my knees, curl my shoulders down, breaking under their grip until I’m facing the life-giving water I spend day after day standing in while harvesting rice. The place my gaze should always be trained on instead of where I want it to be—the sky above.
“I am cursed,” I say, blinking back tears that refuse to remain restrained. They flee from my eyes and drip into the paddy. Ripples blur my reflection, distorting my face. A strong jaw, carved from stone like my father’s, a steady nose squared between high, rounded cheeks and balanced over a mouth with a perfect cupid’s bow like my mother’s, my squinting eyes so different from everyone else.
No, you are gifted, but it is your choice whether or not to accept the gift or leave it slumbering inside you. Be warned, once you choose, there is no going back.
I dig my fists into the mud, grimacing as the grit presses into my skin. “What gift? What do you mean?” I ask.
Shed your mortal skin and find out.
The voice, being, element is insane. Crazy.
Or maybe I’m insane and my cursed mind is making this all up.
Or maybe I am in fact home, safe in my bed, suffering from yet another nightmare. Any moment, Na will jostle me to consciousness and Mother will pour a hot draft of tea down my throat, scorching and scalding the bad memories from my mind.
Gasping, I lift a shaky hand and pinch the inner part of my arm. Sharp pain torques my flesh. “Ow!”
I am not asleep.
More laughter sprinkles over me like raindrops. That is the strangest way I’ve ever seen anyone shed their skin before. What are you going to do, pluck it off piece by piece?
“Well, I’ve never ‘shed my skin’ before, so how would you suggest I do it?” I snap.
I’d imagine it’s similar to undressing.
Frustrated, I swat water around me, splash, splash, splashing in the paddy like a deranged animal. “I cannot remove my skin like I do my jacket.”
Let us help you, then.
Wind rattles the paddies, tugging at the remaining rice plants, ripping some out by the roots. Aggressive. Rough. Determined. To protect myself, I cover my face with my arms, squeezing my eyes closed.
“Stop!” I yell, choking on the air as it stuffs itself up my nose, into my mouth, down my throat, as it tunnels itself in my ears, and as it drags me to my feet. Another strong gust and my feet leave the mud, slip out of the water, and my toes wiggle in…nothing.
I’m not attached to the ground. I’ve left the earth. I’m airborne.
A yelp blurts out of me. “What’s happening?”
We’re helping you undress.
The swirls of air form into purposeful bands. Steady as fingers, the bands unfasten my jacket, yank it off my body and then set themselves to work on loosening my pants. I try to lower my arms to halt them, but more bands wrap around my elbows and wrists.
“No! Wait!” I cry, fully helpless, hovering over the rice paddies, a naked, featherless bird. A wingless bird.
But not a flightless one.
Now for your skin, Wind says.
“What? No!”
The bands tighten their grip around my limbs. More form around my knees and ankles. Still more poke and prod my belly, my spine, and my chest. Searching for entry, for a hole in my mortal flesh.
“Please,” I beg.
Wind responds by shaking me. As my brain scrambles, the words, Come little one, open your eyes, your slumber has ended. Be free, stab at my mind.
My stomach clenches, ready to expel my dinner. The knots building in my gut slither lower, deeper, settling into the bowl of my pelvis, like a stubborn toddler refusing to leave the nest of blankets they’d slept overnight in.
Wakey, wakey.
A groan vibrates my abdomen. It shakes my vertebrae. Something is inside me. Something old. Something wild and feral. A stretching sensation takes over when the groan ends. It spreads from my lower bowels to my chest and hooks its claws into my lungs.
Time to wake up.
The claws drag downward, slicing everything in its path, ripping me open. A scream leaps out of me just as my flesh falls away in ribbons.
Pain.
I’ve become pain and it has become me.
It infuses me, inside and out, boils my flesh, suffocates my mind.
I lob another shriek into the night. It goes on and on and on until I’ve gone beyond losing my breath and yet the sound continues, morphing into something not entirely human.
Soon, at the moment where my mind begins to darken with the promise of unconsciousness, the swell of pain blessedly begins to subside. The stretching deep in my belly spreads to my limbs, but it is not at all unpleasant. In fact, it feels good. Natural. Like it’s supposed to be this way and the way I’d been living for the past fifteen years was wrong, cramped, and stifled.
I shudder, shedding the last of my mortal skin. My long limbs, now longer from the Wind’s stretching, unfurl.
Wait. Unfurl? What?
Open your eyes.
I do as I’m told, afraid to disobey. I’m equally afraid of what I might see—pieces of me spread across the paddies, strings of red muscle and chunks of jagged white bone nestled in the rice and dipped in the water.
That is not the vision that awaits me.
The paddies sit far below, but they are not marbled with bits of Jung. No, they’re intact, glowing blue-green in the subtle moonlight, proud as ever of their terraced home high above the village.
And I am floating well above them. Me, I’ve reached higher than the mountains. I’m hovering in the sky.
Floating. Fluttering. Flying!
I laugh, but the sound that builds in my throat is not the sound of laughter. Instead, it’s more of a dry wheeze, a guttural moaning, bestial. Yet it is me.
Mouth agape, I scan my body, but it is not human. My sharp gaze trails over the endless rows of thick, armored scales covering my serpentine torso, shimmering with swirls of purples, greens, blues, bronzes, and golds, illuminated by the full moon’s silvery light.
Distracted by their beauty, I dip lower. The ground enlarges as I plummet toward it. I throw my arms and hands—no, claws—out before me.
“Help!” I cry.
Flap your wings, Wind commands.
Flap my…oh, my wings!
I glance over my shoulder and there they are. Monstrous things collapsed against my sides, folded onto themselves.
I set my will on them, ordering them to open. Air rushes around me as I free fall.
Time is short, little dragon, Wind warns. You must learn to fly and learn quickly.
“I know!” I growl. Smoke plumes from my nostrils as my frustration grows. Smoke! Smoke. I am a dragon. A fire-breathing dragon.
; Who doesn’t know how to fly.
“Come on,” I command myself. Focusing on my stubborn wings, I flex different muscles along my spine until I feel the tingle of success. My right wing twitches, then my left. In a rush, they balloon out, spreading to their full span, wider than a full terrace, the leathery skin thicker than three dozen goat’s hides.
I lift them high, then swing them down.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, they beat, using generous Wind to slow my descent.
I tell myself again: I am a dragon. I can fly.
I’m no longer grounded.
No longer must I suffer in a cursed, mortal body. No longer must I feel the guilt of bringing shame to my family. No longer must Na keep a protective eye on me.
I spread my toes, tipped in ebony, razor-like talons like my fingers, and alight on the uppermost terrace.
“That was amazing! How is this so, Wind?” I ask. “I thought I was cursed.”
Wind chuckles. As do all who are different, unique, and set apart from the rest. What others call your curse is, in reality, your gift. Yet it comes with a price.
My reptilian heart cringes. “Price? What is the cost? I’ve already borne rude stares, the spiteful fear of the other villagers, and the cold distance of my family members for years, and quite unfairly I might add.”
Now that you’ve awakened the beast inside and shed your mortal flesh, the cost to you is immortality.
I grin, lips curling back from my deadly sharp teeth.
“Immortality isn’t so bad, so long as I no longer have to harvest rice paddies,” I joke.
Such mortal toil is no longer yours to bear; however the yoke of solitude will become your shroud.
“What do you mean?”
You must leave your family behind. They must not know of your existence.
“Why?”
Before tonight, did you believe in dragons?
I shake my large head, the ribbons of my beard draped on either side of my snout swishing left and right. Of all the things I imagined and dreamed, dragons were not part of it. I dip my head in shame, embarrassed that I didn’t believe in the creature I’ve become. “No.”
Wind sighs, rustling the paddies, as if sensing my disappointment.
Do you regret your decision, to call on us?
I tuck my clawed limbs under me, thinking about the question. I was unhappy with my human life, though appreciative of my sister’s devotion. Until she confessed her fear that I was the obvious expression of the family’s curse. She saw me as a burden, something to manage, a troublesome thing needing constant supervision lest I brought about disaster.
“No, I do not regret it.”
Then let us teach you how to be what you were born to be.
With a roar both full of power and raw from newness, I uncurl my tail, spread my great wings, and leap into the night.
Unburdened.
Alone.
Free.
—ABOUT THE AUTHOR—
Laura Diamond is a board certified psychiatrist currently specializing in emergency psychiatry. She is also an author of all things young adult—both contemporary and paranormal. An avid fan of sci-fi, fantasy, and anything magical, she thrives on quirk, her lucid dreams, and coffee. When she’s not working or writing, she can be found sniffing books and drinking a latte at the bookstore or at home pondering renovations on her 225 year old fixer upper, all while obeying her feline overlords, of course.
If you’re interested in reading more about Laura, or interacting with her on the web! www.lbdiamond.wordpress.com
UNDERBELLY CIRCUS
Hilary Thompson
Carlyle stood motionless in the shade of a maple tree, scanning the festival crowd as it surged into activity. The scent of fried foods and spun sugar floated thickly in the mid-summer air, and she paused to enjoy its innocence, basking in the illusion of her freedom. Before the night was over, the smells would turn to sweat and desperation, and she would be sleeping off a powerful depression.
But it was her job. All she’d ever known, really. After the people had broken everything good about their festival night, they would find Lady Magda, and she would find Carlyle, who would patch up their brokenness. It was a cycle of Magda’s greed and human nature and Carlyle having nowhere better to go.
A pack of teenaged boys bounced past her tree, and Carlyle shrunk further into the shadows. Only one glanced her way, fixing grass-green eyes directly on her for a beat too long. She almost slid behind the trunk, but the boys passed quickly enough, their bravado and excitement stinking up the air with the musk of fresh blood.
A younger one broke from the group, flipping a rude gesture at the others. He stalked her way without even looking, aggravation pulling his brows together. None of his friends followed. Perfection, Carlyle thought. She left the shelter of the tree and fell in step just behind him. Reaching the railing overlooking the river, he smacked his hand on the metal. Carlyle smiled, sniffing the red-wine swirls of anger and frustration. She leaned on the railing too, careful to keep several feet away. Slipping off her ball cap, she shook her head, her white-blond hair tumbling free around her shoulders.
She glanced at the boy. He wasn’t as young as she’d thought, but he would still do.
“Hey,” she said, using the soft, flirty voice that always seemed to work on the angry ones.
He blinked at her twice, then his anger receded as his eyes focused on her, and he grew into the cockiness they all got after a little attention. “Hey.”
“Nice day for a festival,” she said, turning her gaze back at the river, which was swollen with spring rain.
“Do you live around here?” he asked, leaning closer. “Never seen you before.”
“Nope.” She grinned at his small-town logic, keeping her eyes on the water. He’d never see her again after this weekend either. “Just in for the festival.”
She pulled a stack of card-sized fliers from her jeans pocket and flapped them at the boy.
“Are you selling something?” he asked, reaching for a paper. She slid one to him, careful not to touch her bare fingers with his.
“Aren’t we all?” she replied.
He smiled a little at that, like most of them did. As he read the paper, his smile grew. He flicked his eyes back to hers, and she noticed they were the same blue-brown mix as the muddied-sky river below. “You’re a hypnotist?” he asked, the laughter already creeping into his voice.
Carlyle focused on the spun sugar smell instead of the sour apple of his disdain. “I work for one. But she doesn’t make you do stupid tricks. Lady Magda uses hypnosis to release your hidden emotions. And then she tells them to go the hell away so you can enjoy life again.”
The boy gave a surprised sort of laugh as he tried to hand the paper back to her.
She shook her head. “Keep it. I have hundreds more to pass out today.”
“So you just do the advertising?” he asked, clicking together what he thought were the answers. Good boy, following the breadcrumbs she’d dropped.
“Something like that. Usually I can find someone to split the job with. Makes it go faster.”
“You paying?” he asked. She grinned. He’d followed the trail to its perfect end. Then again, it was her job to make sure they always did. And she was good at her job.
“Fifty bucks.”
“Fifty? To hand out a bunch of paper?” He sounded doubtful. Small-town logic again.
She only nodded, shoving the papers into her pocket again. “We make enough,” she said, nailing him in her gaze and advancing one tiny step. “We’re the best.”
To his credit, he didn’t back down from her. Carlyle was barely five feet, but she could intimidate when she wanted to, and she was testing him. “So you want in?” she asked after a few seconds of staring. The air had turned into a tornado of smells that Carlyle chose not to name.
He looked at her a beat longer, then shrugged. “Sure.”
“We start now,” she added, and he nodded. She pulled the pap
ers out again and began firing instructions at him. “I’ll pay you when we’re done. You hand these out. I’ll follow. Don’t make eye contact with me – they don’t need to know we’re a team. Go slow so I can keep up. Only one per couple or group. No little kids. And watch especially for the ones having too much fun, or not enough.”
“Too much fun?” he asked, shuffling the papers into a neater stack.
“Leads to desperation,” she said, glancing back at the river. “Same here as everywhere else.” She began walking back toward the crowd.
“What do I say to them? To get them to go see you?” he called, hurrying to catch up.
She smiled. “It doesn’t matter. That’s my job.”
To his credit, he followed her instructions to the letter. Carlyle slunk behind him, keeping her distance to watch how people reacted when they received the advertisement. Certain people always stood out, and that’s where she began.
Some of them she jostled and cursed at fluently when they jostled her back. Anger. Some she looked up and down appreciatively, fluffing her long blonde curls and watching them with sly glances over her shoulder as she sauntered away. Desire. Some she brushed with her whisper-soft fingers, siphoning away the joy the festival was bringing to their tedious lives, leaving only the sense that this day really was just like all the others. Desperation.
And a select few she pickpocketed, building the meager savings she kept hidden from Magda. Those were the ones who would never come to their tent anyway. By the time the boy had doubled back to the river, he was empty-handed and she had more than enough cash to pay him.
“Thanks for your help,” she said, sliding him some of the stolen money. He grinned and leaned a little closer. “But I need to be checking in with my boss now. Come by the tent later if you want,” she added as she turned away, slipping him one last flirty grin. His disappointment was evident in the earthy scent of rot, but she had left him with enough hope that he didn’t follow her into the crowds.
She breathed in deeply, noticing that much of the air’s sweetness had been replaced by grilled meat and onions, overtaxed bathrooms, and plastic cups of warm beer. It was late afternoon, and she needed to revive her energy before night swept through the crowd and the real work began.
That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction Page 62