by Etzoli
I couldn’t keep going on like this. Please, Sara. Don’t abandon me now.
I was praying furiously in my head, to all the stars closest to my soul, that she’d accept what I’d become. If you can still hear me on this planet, send some of that wisdom into Sara. Let her know what to do, because I’m clearly not in the running anymore.
“Look,” she started again. My eyes found hers, desperately hoping, but I forced my face back into a passive expression. I couldn’t let her see my emotions right now. “I can’t possibly understand what you went through—but I can try to listen. As much as you need me to. Anything you need to say, any time. Okay?”
Oh, Sara. How can you possibly exist. How are you so perfect and what benevolent twist of fate delivered you to me? I felt like crying, laughing smiling. I wanted to dance, I wanted to sing, I wanted to hug her, I wanted to curl up in the corner of her room and bawl my eyes out while she hugged me . I wanted to pour my soul out for her, confess every foul deed I’d ever committed, the men and women I’d killed, the friends I’d failed, the laws I’d broken and people I’d loved and lost, and the entirety of my forlorn existence I’d come to accept. I wanted her to see me and tell me I was okay.
I said none of those things. I did none of those things.
I just waited, staring at Sara, with the guarded, lonely eyes that were permanently affixed to my face forever more.
“Thank you,” I said, and I smiled. She smiled back—but she too carried a sadness, something I’d never seen in her expression. Or… had it always been there, and I’d never understood it? Never recognized it for what it was?
I didn’t know, but I could tell in that moment. I wasn’t the only one in the room harboring a secret.
***
Sara’s mother called us to dinner. We’d been talking again, and thankfully we’d gone back to happier, easier topics. I tried to answer truthfully and thoroughly. Sara loved fantasy books, but even so, I still underestimated just how much she’d want to hear about all my adventures.
It was really fun, actually, telling her everything else. She was just so fascinated. I could have talked about the weather and she’d probably still eat it up. She wanted every little detail, and I was happy to share them. Mostly stories of the Sylves and how they’d adopted me, but also tales of the world at large, of the different people and their cultures (as much as I knew, anyway—Sylves didn’t really get out much), and of course, of etola and Etoline.
Despite the names, they aren’t really all that connected. I mean, speaking a phrase related to whatever sort of etola you’re trying to cast might help you focus, but at true levels of mastery, saying it aloud is considered amateur. So long as you know exactly what you’re about to do, in every sense of the world, you don’t need to say anything.
Hand gestures, though, are pretty much required. As Sara had noticed, I’d been acting like a very confused mime over the last couple days, either from my midday ritual or the meal ritual. While some etolev don’t require handwork, most do, especially anything external. I couldn’t say if it was just another thing to help focus the mind or not, but I’d never gotten anything good to happen without a gesture or motion to direct the etola. Trying pretty much just ended up in disaster.
My fingers were singed many, many times before I figured out how to move flames around in tiny, precise movements.
I’m sorry, I’m getting distracted again. There’s a more important story to tell here, and it’s not me fooling around with fire.
Sara and I were headed downstairs, laughing and chatting like normal. Her mother was setting out the plates for dinner. I smelled pizza, and I was excited. I hadn’t had pizza in—well, you get the idea by now. But seriously. Pizza. Is there something more real world than pizza or what?
“ Shasii, selaval, ” Sara called out casually as we walked into the kitchen. I giggled and elbowed her.
“What was that?” asked her mother, glancing up from the oven.
“Oh, nothing,” she said very seriously, stifling a laugh along with me.
“ Doues danadelasec dena masateva atev Carl, ” I whispered in her ear. Not exactly true, she and Carl were both pretty bad. But I’d just taught her the line; she managed to still get it wrong just a minute later.
“Huh?” she asked aloud, but I only smiled innocently in reply. “Oh, two can play at that game. Vous êtes une pomme de terre avec le visage d’un cochon d’inde. ”
“Play nice, Sara,” her mother chimed in absently as she pulled out the pizza. It was home made and looked absolutely perfect. Not that I had much to compare it to lately, but seriously, I was frothing at the mouth for this pizza.
Her mother started slicing it up while we took our usual spots at the table. Just as she brought over a piece to each of us, I heard the garage door begin to slide open.
Now, this was unusual, but not exactly unheard of. Her father wasn’t normally home from work by the time we ate. He tended to work late more often than not. When he was there, the conversation died down a bit, but he was always polite, asked after my family, how I was doing. He seemed like a nice guy. Yeah, he was kind of cold sometimes, but he was also super exhausted and stressed from work. I couldn’t blame him not wanting to put up with two high schoolers right when he got home, and even so, he never failed to act like a proper host.
This time, something was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Some detail had changed. Except… I’d been here last Thursday, and on Monday too for Sara’s mom’s birthday. It was just three days ago, and something felt very different. Besides me, obviously.
I looked around the room. Sara was still talking about something that happened at school today. Her mom was nodding along, continuing the conversation like nothing had happened… but I could see it. The way she started moving ever so carefully. She was measuring every single step she took, choreographing every movement, deliberate and cautious.
Sara, too, seemed suddenly guarded. She was staring very intently at her plate—her empty plate, I should point out. Her hand fiddled with her fork. As my eyes swept across though, I could see how tight she held it. It was subtle, and it came and went, but the intent was clear.
It hit me like an arrow to the gut. I was an idiot. How had I missed this?
They hadn’t changed at all. I was just finally able to recognize what was going on.
They were afraid.
As the door to the garage door opened, it became even more clear.
“Welcome home, hon,” Sara’s mom called out. Perfectly normal.
Her father looked down the hallway, and saw me at the table. He smiled and waved, putting away his coat. “Evening. It smells delicious, dear.”
“How was work?”
“Exhausting. I’m glad to be home.”
“Want anything to drink?” asked Sara, still staring at the plate. Her voice was as casual as could be.
“Thank you, Sara, but I can get it. Do you want anything?”
“Coke sounds good. Jen?”
Stars, were they all acting ? The whole damn time? I spluttered back to life as I realized both Sara and her dad were looking at me expectantly. I gulped, trying to clear my throat.
“Uhh, root beer for me?” I asked awkwardly. Was I supposed to play along with the script? I was a terrible actress. I can hide things if I need to, but I’m bad at faking being normal . I barely even know what normal is anymore.
“Oh, is it Jen now?” asked her mother, sliding a slice of pizza onto my plate. Her hand still clutched the pizza roller, the sharp silver edge sparkling as it caught the sunlight streaming through the window.
“Yeah. Just time for a change.” Sara nudged me under the table, trying to get me to focus, but I was still fixed on her own hand clutching the fork like a dagger. “No more Jenny.”
“That’s too bad. I liked the name Jenny.”
“Now, dear, it’s her name. She can do what she likes with it,” said her father. He threw me a wink. “No more Jenny from the block.”
> “God, Dad.” Sara rolled her eyes. “Please don’t try to reference pop culture. Ever again.”
I felt so horribly confused by what was going on. I couldn’t process the absurd contradiction of the conversation going on, and the physical reactions of everybody in the room. The instant her father had spoken up, Sara clutched the fork again. As he looked toward her mother, she seemed to recoil ever so slightly—but when he looked back toward me, her knuckles turned white as she gripped the pizza roller.
If I hadn’t had this exact dinner a hundred times in their kitchen, in almost the exact same circumstances, I’d think we were about to throw down.
Except this was the suburbs in Oregon, not some back alley tavern or decrepit dungeon. A fight here was as likely as a portal opening up and dumping us all into an alternate universe.
Sorry, bad joke.
It kept going through the entirety of dinner. Like they were putting on a show, just for me. The normal, happy family. They’d tease each other about old habits, argue politics, discuss movies and TV shows. It was so perfectly, totally ordinary that I found myself reaching for my knife, still tucked under the hem of my shirt at my back, the one thing I hadn’t told Sara.
When was the curtain coming down?
***
It never did. After dinner ended, as Sara’s mother cleaned up, I headed straight out the back door into the yard to get some air. Sara followed a moment later, after her place was clear. Only once the door was closed, and we were around the corner and out of the light, did I turn to confront her.
“ Dov nara vack was that?” I asked, halfway between confused and angry.
Sara looked genuinely confused herself. “Huh?”
“ That. The whole dinner. All of you.” I was on edge. Very on edge. Sara was lucky I couldn’t conjure up some fire right now, or the neighbors might’ve called the firefighters.
“What are you talking about?”
She was determined to keep the play going, I guess. I wasn’t sure how to react, what to do, how to respond. I wanted to be angry at her for hiding this from me, but how could I? After what I’d been hiding from her for the past couple of days, wouldn’t that make me a massive hypocrite?
This is different , I convinced myself. This was control and fear. This was actively happening, and clearly had been for some time.
Without warning, I grabbed the hem of Sara’s shirt and lifted it up. No, I’m not thinking about anything like that. Get your mind out of the gutter. I was looking for bruises. Marks of any kind. Evidence.
“Uhh…” Sara glanced around, making sure no one could see us. “Well, this is weird.”
Mentally, I agreed. There wasn’t a sign of abuse anywhere on her. Was I just imagining everything? Had that actually been perfectly normal dinner?
Was I going completely insane?
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I let go and backed up into the wall of the house.
“No worries. Just… warn me next time?” Sara looked weirdly comfortable with the whole situation.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, turning to leave.
Before I could go, Sara reached out and grabbed my hand. “Hey, it’s okay,” she said quietly.
I felt my eyes begin to well up again. I couldn’t even spend a single night with my best friend’s family, without my past springing up to haunt me. My instincts had almost lead me to attack Sara’s father, in his own home and in front of his family.
Could I really live here again, the way I used to?
For the second time that night, I cried, but there wasn’t any joy in it anymore. Joy was reserved for people not actively losing their minds.
Chapter 10 — Carl
Chapter 10 — Carl
“Portman, I got someone. A friend he plays basketball with, Matthew Westin. Family owns a beat-up white pickup.”
“Did you get an address?”
“Mom didn’t know it. Maybe the school?”
“They wouldn’t just give out that information. Did you check the vehicle database?”
“System’s down.”
“Of course it is… All right. I’ll get it from the school. I have a friend in the administration.”
“What if the Stokelson kid comes home?”
“I can’t be everywhere. You’ll have to come cover it.”
“Damnit, I hate stakeouts.”
“Just don’t be obvious.”
Site: Realms of the Dragons - Fantasy Discussion
Board: Off-Topic Chat
Subject: Fantasy in Real Life
Post #27742: fantasyanon9 (Newbie) [09/12/04]
Friends, I come to you a changed man. I have been to the other side, I have seen the world we all long for. It’s real. Elves and wizards, dragons and castles. I stumbled upon a well, high in the mountains, and upon lowering myself into its depths I discovered a world adjacent to ours, full of wonder and mystery. Come, sit by the fire and ask me anything of this strange new world. I have only just returned, and am eager to converse with my fellow compatriots of the Internet.
Subject: Re: Fantasy in Real Life
Post #27746: Eldrazor (Loremaster of the Heavens) [09/12/04]
@ fantasyanon9 : Hi, welcome to the board. So, you’re saying you actually went to a fantasy world? Prove it ;P
Subject: Fantasy in Real Life
Post #27747: fantasyanon9 (Newbie) [09/12/04]
You dare mock my perelous quest to bring you these tales of adventure?
Subject: Re: Fantasy in Real Life
Post #27749: Eldrazor (Loremaster of the Heavens) [09/12/04]
@ fantasyanon9 : What can I say, I’m a skeptic
Subject: Re: Fantasy in Real Life
Post #27751: cantstopdabeat (Member) [09/12/04]
@ Eldrazor dont feed the troll
Subject: Re: Fantasy in Real Life
Post #27850: Eldrazor (Loremaster of the Heavens) [09/15/04]
Guess I scared him away.
Subject: Re: Fantasy in Real Life
Post #125614: Reynir_Cellman (Newbie) [10/02/10]
@ fantasyanon9 : I believe you. PM me.
I went back to the house.
I didn’t think of it as my home anymore. Of course I didn’t. It was a place to sleep and keep my things, but it couldn’t be my home. That was a trap. Nothing in this world could ever be home for me.
I’d walked away from Jen. I couldn’t bear to consider her new mental image of me. I’d been party, albeit reluctantly, to the torture and execution of an elf. A friend of hers, too, judging by her terrifying reaction. Jen would never see me in the same way again, and that crushed me more deeply than any nuisance this world had to offer. I loved her, and she couldn’t bear the sight of me in that instant. She was too good, too noble.
Not like me. I was the Traitor. I was worthless. When the time came, and Reynir begged me for aid, I’d marched my men out of the city. We didn’t fight. We didn’t do anything. We just walked away, and let Reynir face the wrath of a revolutionary crusade.
The two people I’d have considered my closest friends, and I felt like I’d betrayed them both. First Reynir, and now Blake. I wanted to do something, anything to avenge him. I couldn’t. There was nothing to be done.
Nothing, nothing at all. I was a man adrift in time, lost in space. I didn’t belong in this world.
I walked inside. No one seemed to be home. Good, that was good. I couldn’t deal with my parents right now. If they saw me, they’d pierce through the shell I’d built. I was vulnerable. I was empty inside. A gust of wind could have scattered me to the corners of the Earth.
I was so… cold.
Site: gg-no-rm
Board: Off-topic
Subject: Seeking writers to help develop idea
CyclicalDestruction [09/02/08]
I had an idea for a fantasy story. Alternate world style, with normal high-school kids getting pulled into a fantasy world and having to figure out where to go and what to do. I don’t want to play up the fish-out-of-water
comedy too much though. This is going to be legit stuff.
Rough ideas: The kids go off into a forest one night, end up getting sucked into a new world. Kids get split up immediately . No supporting each other. They’re going to have to end up fighting each other down the line, due to the warring factions and all that. Two of them are even related and still end up on the opposite sides of the war. It’s gonna get dramatic.
Yeah, no, it’s not well-developed yet, but I’m working on it. I just want someone to bounce ideas off. Anyone interested?
Private Message
Subject: Fantasy world you posted about
From: Cyraveil
To: CyclicalDestruction
If you don’t mind my asking (I know you abandoned it a long time ago), where did you get the ideas for that story?
Private Message
Subject: Re: Fantasy world you posted about
From: CyclicalDestruction
To: Cyraveil
Holy shit, blast from the past. Haven’t thought about that piece in forever. I dunno, I just came up with it one day. Why do you ask?
Private Message
Subject: Re: Fantasy world you posted about
From: Cyraveil
To: CyclicalDestruction
Really? All your imagination?
Private Message
Subject: Re: Fantasy world you posted about
From: CyclicalDestruction
To: Cyraveil
Uhh, yes?
I felt adrift. Even my anchor, the mighty web of the internet and its endless capacity to enthrall and entertain, just frustrated me more. No one could answer me. The few people I found claiming some experience similar to mine had either vanished long ago into the archives of the bulletin boards, or just admitted straight up they were lying.
It was all lies. All but mine.