Category: Fiction

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Mother of Crow – 01 – Just another day for Owl who certainly deserves a break (Revised)

Reading Time: 3 minutes


Mother of Crow


By Jenny K. Brennan

Chapter 1 – Just another day for Owl who certainly deserves a break

Last updated: January 18, 2019 at 15:15 pm

A scout flittered down in front of Owl and tweeted brokenly through a scrap of paper. It spat out the paper and flittered off. It rose to the dark cave ceiling and vanished through a narrow crack in the dark stone. The opening to the coastal plane above allowed the remodelled finch through, but only barely. Owl watched the messenger until it was gone before he cocked his head and glanced suspiciously at the note. Paper? Paper was an unusual commodity among the guardians. There was only one machine capable of producing paper in the nest capital. And the transcription of that information had proven to be increasingly unreliable. But if Butterfly had talked to its counterpart, or parts, or fractions of self scattered throughout the lands, this could not be ignored.

But it could wait for a little while longer. Owl’s awareness of the worlds constantly shifting states of being didn’t quite prepare him for the idea of manifested thought being able to be everywhere and every time at the same time. Owl was too solipsistic to appreciate an existence that wasn’t focused in one body working within one set of instructions for a set number of tasks organized by priority. Butterfly was a concept. And how could concepts without blood or bones or duty be real.
The communications between butterfly and the rest of Butterfly unnerved Owl. But they were real. There was no denying the value of ever present and all encompassing knowledge. When it worked. Unfortunately most of what Butterfly knew was illogical and inaccurate at best. Deceptively logical and misleading at worst. But still, this butterfly could not be disregarded and until it could be replaced with a fresh specimen it would have to do. Owl had no interest in the dying butterfly and its faulty prophecies. But if the new formula worked as the monks had assured him that it would, the next generation communicators would be useful indeed. They would not guess at the state of the world. They would know. And they would obey. And it would mean obedience without all the softhearted diplomacy Owl dispised. They would have power. Real power. Owl liked power. Power to take knowledge and shape it, not just observe and report.
Owls bloodstaine feathers bristled softly with a delighted shiver. He checked himself and managed to contain his excitement. He needed to be calm. It would be soon enough. There was work to do, never hurry, all in good time. The big white owls scattered thoughts found their proper positions and his eyes twitched to his still grimy coat and snatched up the scrap of paper. He tucked it into a slot in his chest. He gave the human a nod to proceed. Not even thoughts of Butterfly or the sure to be disgustingly diplomatic visit with a hive of humans could keep him from enjoying his cleaning and polish.

The old woman trembled when folding her cloth and continued her work; slowly and meticulously rubbing each of Owl’s metal parts to a mirror like shine. This part was easy. It was the feather cleaning that gave her the nightmares. Blood, most of the time still fresh and sticky tended to creep into every crevice and every intricately carved copper plate and grafted blade base. That was nothing compared to the blood-soaked and now drying coat. This Owl in particular did none of the cleaning himself. It encouraged extra care and unbreakable loyalty, he told his entourage of tinkerers and communicators and yes, the cleaners, at every opportunity.

And so it was. The woman never failed in her duties. Until the day of her death she would never fail, never falter, and never submit. She was too old to fight but never too frail to hate. Unbreakable loyalty, timeless grief, bottomless hatred. Those were the things she knew and nothing else. And the cleaner who was still human who had never forgotten that she had a name once, polished another convoluted silver talon engraving.

Author note:

This chapter used to be a prologue. But it didn’t make sense to me so it has switched place with what used to be chapter 1 – Build me pretty, break me prettier. (It takes place in the past so seems odd that I didn’t clue in on that earlier. But oh well.)
I know there will be a certain amount of rearranging chapters so that the timeline makes sense. So don’t worry if it suddenly gets confusing. No, you didn’t remember wrong, I changed it on you. 😀
It will all fall into place at some point.
Jenny

About the author


Jenny K. Brennan is a Swedish/Canadian vocalist, songwriter, and writer living in Ontario, Canada since 2002 with one husband, one dog, and unfinished projects in the thousands. Find her on
The House of Imp,
kompoz.com,
Icarus Machine official,
JennyK Productions Youtube,
and other places. She is the lyricist and vocalist in the melodic metal band Icarus Machine since 2015. She studies braille at The Hadley Institute for the Blind and Visually impaired. On her free time, she learns Wordpress by trial and error, audio production using Apple Logic Pro, and carpentry by association.

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Mother of Crow – Interlude 1 – Build me pretty. Indeed. Oh thank you, My Lord, is there anything else you can do to me? (

Reading Time: 16 minutes


Mother of Crow


By Jenny K. Brennan

Prologue – Build me pretty. Indeed. Oh thank you, My Lord, anything else you can do to me?

Last updated: November 12, 2019 at 18:43 pm

“Isn’t she a beauty? Such a marvel. Just see those lines and how it all fits together.” He interrupted himself “jenks?” Lord Lee Reginald Maddow, outfitted in his finest, already well on his way to flat out drunk, looked around the crowd in search for the man in question. He frowned and waved his brandy glass in irritation at no one in particular, splashing licker on his white starched sleeve “Oh there you are.” Maddow’s face split into a grin as his chief surgeon, or scientist, or body magician, or whatever the hell they called themselves these days, hurried through the crowd toward him , mumbling apologies to whoever would listen. Lord Maddow slapped him on the back. “Jenner! So pleased. so, so , pleased. Good man, now show our dear friends this miracle. go on now.” he said pointing his glass at the unmoving woman at the front of the room.

Peter Jennings, thirty going on seventy, not so much a scientist or doctor as a hack with a knack for understanding the human construction and how to modify it, stared blankly at maddow. he straightened his newly acquired ill fitting waistcoat and offered the man a clumsy bow. “It’s Jennings, Sir.”

Maddow sputtered. “Jenkings, right. didn’t I say that?”

Jennings sighed inwardly, conjuring a smile of sorts. He glanced at the gathered nobility while still speaking to maddow. “Yes, of course, Sir. Jenkings it is.” Jennings groped in a pocket for his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. The damn thing wasn’t there. In his other coat, of course. He had forgotten it In his hurry to make himself presentable to the Lords and ladies. Well, damn it to hell. And they were all staring, waiting for something. He drew his sleeve across his face in a moment of defiance. The glory faded quickly when he caught a disapproving glance from Lord Maddow. never too drunk to have a stick up his ass, that one. But regardless of his dislike for the man, or maybe thanks to it, Jennings was firmly placed back on uncertain ground where the thoughts refused to come. He was there to do something. But what was it? What the hell was he supposed to do? . . Someone coughed wetly and fancy dresses rustled beneath all those decorated faces. Ladies. Women. What were they doing here? Looking at him. What did they want?

“Jenks!” His employer hissed.

Jennings jumped at the sound and instantly the thoughts were back. Ah, right. Money. Those hags had husbands with money. And they needed that money to wake the dead. Thus this ridiculous spectacle. Waking the dead. That’s what it was. Not that she was really dead. Not quite dead.
Just… Just not quite alive.
not yet. He swallowed and managed a nod and another awkward bow that no one noticed.”yes, Sir.” He croaked. “Certainly, Sir.” ” He coughed and turned to the item he had been working on for weeks now. Or was it months?

Maddow waved him to continue. “Kennings here will show us something…”

Jennings tuned out the voice and thought about the work left to do. Making the sell. and once Jennings focused on his latest creation he found his confidence. Even having to deal with Sir Maddow and his ludicrous ambitions, this was his doing. The clueless lord couldn’t fit two pieces of clothing together to make them fit, and Jennings had built a brand new creature from bones and trash and metal. His Mother would have whipped the pride right out of him. But that bitch was long gone from the influenza and she couldn’t poke and prod at his inner thoughts anymore. This was his, and only his. he finally moved, stepping up to start the prepared presentation, and took up his place next to the silent subject. Did she even breathe? Jennings knew she did but for someone other than him, she would appear long gone. A beautiful corpse, but a gunner nonetheless. Despite himself, the unmoving form unnerved Jennings. He wouldn’t have chosen to keep her in stasis for so long. There was no telling what went on in the mind of a body kept somewhere between life and death for a prolonged period of time. but again, maddow wanted a show. and if the mighty Lord Maddog’s new pet monster woke up a drooling idiot, it was apparently worth the gamble.

Maddow spread his arms wide and his customary self-satisfied smile dazzled the audience. “Ladies, and gentlemen. Let me present to you the future. ” he paused to allow Jennings to prepare the subject for the awakening.

As carefully instructed by Maddow ahead of time, Jennings made a show of drawing the phantomgenic liquid into a syringe, displaying it to the crowd before tapping it several times. As planned, the fluid caught the light perfectly. The resulting sprinkling of coloured light drew a gasp from the crowd. People leaned forward to see better. Hushed mumbling, excited tittering. He had their full attention. It had to be perfect. A perfect show. That was all it was. The tip of the sparkling glass syringe with its too long needle barely touched the smooth pale skin at the base of her throat, Between her collarbones. The syringe hovered above the silk gown, made just for this occasion. it draped her naked skin but revealed beautifully the parts that were no longer her, while hiding the raw ragged edges between flesh and metal. No surgeon, however skilled, could make the transition smooth and pretty. Jennings had thought the outfit unnecessary and had privately thought it too expensive and extravagant for a simple whore. it was a body, not a lady. but Maddow had insisted.

The presentation droned on. Lee Maddow told the story of the poor damaged young lady who had come to him after such a horrific accident. Practiced sympathy, executed with perfection. “ Her name is Mary. And she had tears in her eyes when I refused to assist her. I refused this beautiful young woman. Yes, I am shamed to tell you, ladies and gentlemen. I refused to mend her injuries with steel and clumsy machinery. I refused to Marr her beauty such. Can you indeed find fault in my reasoning? ”

From sympathy to regret to pleading. . He lowered his head and folded his hands in front of him momentarily silent. He waited for the gathered to take a good long look. “This unfortunate girl… Such sweet perfection, ruined.” He let the words fade and allowed the silent young girl on display speak silently for him.

and indeed, she was astonishingly beautiful. There was no denying the perfection. Smooth clear skin, a face to take your breath away, Long silky blond hair had been washed and trimmed and combed so it fell in smooth silvery cascades over her shoulders and down her back. A perfectly shaped, manicured hand showed beneath the single long sleeve of her gown. And showing beneath the hem of a long specially tailored dress they could all see an equally perfect naked foot. the parts of her still exposed by the awkwardly shaped dress shone and sparkled in the sunlight streaming through newly cleaned windows. .
“Until!”
Maddow raised a hand and smiled. He turned toward Jennings who stood ready. at a small table next to the carefully propped up woman. On the table, a polished wooden box sprouted cables. No attempts had been made to hide the wiring. They were all part of the show. They connected to the woman with clamps that gripped selected parts of her body. One metal wrist, her one metal ankle, and to a small copper knob protruding where a navel had once been.

That was the one procedure Jennings had nearly refused to perform. When the woman had survived the severing of limbs and the massive blood loss, he had thought that had been it. It had after all been his biggest achievement yet. but Maddow hadn’t been satisfied. Lee Maddow was never satisfied. When Mary had been brought to him, her navel, stomach, and all internal organs had been undamaged. Her flat soft belly had been perfect. It had been so perfect, so beautiful. so…. But who was he to say? Jennings banished the thought. He was ready. The button at the top of the box was ready.

In front of filthy riches and their fleeting attention, Maddow became the salesman, the snake oil pusher, and he continued. “Until today! What I will show you today is simple. It’s a miracle. But a miracle of medicine, not of our great Mother of creation. “Mother of Crow, bless us.” He mumbled quickly. . A few in the audience lowered their heads and mumbled their own quick reverie of the Mother.. some of them even repeated the gesture of infinite sky. Not bad, not bad at all. Less than half were believers. and chances were that more than half of those did it only for show. good. Good.
“this is a miracle of reason and modern science. Because, This woman needs no engine.” He paused for the meaning to sink in. It was unheard of. She was obviously re made. with metals. “That’s right. No motors, no hot steam. As you can see. No permanent wiring. or leaky valves. None of that, my friends. And best of all: There is no need for fuel. No dirty, foul smelling coal or wood or even oil. None of that!” Maddow reached the height of his spiel. he pulled in a deep breath and held it, letting it out slowly. Every eye was on him. and he knew he had them. Simply mentioning the possibility of savings had done it. Fuel , which was a sore point for any machine owner and Every master of metal fused servants, was pricy. And that’s where he got them. Presenting the potential of considerable savings to those cheap bastards would give him all the funds he would ever need. From this point, it was all gravy. The crowd exploded in a cascade of questions and objections. but they were easily answered with non-statements and promises of explanations to come. “This is the future. We no longer need those clumsy contraptions. With this brand new system.” He pointed at the syringe in Jennings’ hand and then at the contraption standing at the ready.

Jennings nodded and tried to smile. he was ready. If only the pompous drunkard could get on with it. If it weren’t for the allure of fine compensation, and funds to continue his experimenting, this charade wouldn’t be needed at all. But he would play along. As always. But the beauty of this meeting was that he only needed to pull this crap off this one time. Hook them, and they were home free. once the machinery had started, the humming and electrical sparkling was only for show. The phantomgenic substance was all that was needed. and in fact, the whole thing with the syringe was redundant too. The spirit capturing substance could be ingested, or rubbed directly on the skin. It would work either way.

Maddow continued. “Phantomgenics. Remember you heard it here first. This miraculous mixture Professor Jenkers invented will make fuel simply obsolete. old news. a thing of the past. Ladies and gentlemen. With just a single administration of the phantomgenics, and then” there was a slight pause, maddow realized that his glass was empty so he glared at it. He found his smile and waited for the spectators to quiet down. “And then… an electrogenic pulse will do what steam and oil has done for centuries. This machine,” he swept his arm over the metal grid that hung suspended over Mary’s head, And all the unneeded wiring. “is the future. And this is the moment we have all been waiting for. Dr. Kemper, if you please, do proceed.”

All eyes turned to Jennings. He suppressed a grimace at his new name but turned toward the woman.

“Lord Maddow? If I may?” A thin voice from the back of the room piped up.

Jennings froze. Maddow gritted his teeth and waited for the voice to either go away or continue. it would not go away. The nobility quieted and turned to the speaker. who blinked in surprise at the sudden attention. But he quickly gathered his thoughts and continued. “Apologies dear friends. I would like to ask a question.” He cleared his throat and wiped his brow before blinking nearsightedly at Maddow. “Before you proceed with your excellent and certainly very…”
Blink.
“informative demonstration. But I seem to be missing something.”
Blink.
“I would like to be clear on what exactly it is that I…”

Maddow nodded before the man could finish the sentence. “Certainly,” he said, “I’ll be happy to clarify. Please go on.” Okay, Maddow thought, let’s get it over with. His smile never faded. If it stiffened for just a second, few would notice.

“Phantom… genics you say.” The thin man spoke and then moved his lips silently as if searching for his question. “If I’m not misremembering, and I do sincerely apologize if I am incorrect in my assumption here. But Is phantomgenics not simply another name for, how can I say this without causing …. well, I do think that we can all agree that the very name of this process implies a strong association , if not direct relation, to spirit gathering?” his thin eyebrows rose along with his voice. All attention shifted from their host to the little man. A few glances drifted uncertainly to the inert woman, some returned to Maddow, but most remained watching the young Lord Ralph, who they all knew to be something of a trouble maker. Ralph continued. “Of course, this may not at all be what is happening here.”

Maddow struggled for a moment with his face but managed to keep the smile, barely. He cleared his throat, calling for attention. The mystified audience turned to him as one, expecting an explanation. In some cases the aged expression was unfamiliar In some cases they actually wanted to know. The group was divided. In his favour he was sure. Maddow waved his hand and topped up his smile, he nodded as if actually thinking about it. “Certainly, the confusion is understandable. Lord Ralph does have a point. It is reasonable to compare the two and to make that very simple mistake. Especially for someone not inclined toward serious academic studies.”

The thin little man actually seemed to bristle and started to reply but Maddow cut him off with an assuring smile. He nodded. He directed one index finger toward the ceiling, waited. He had hoped to avoid this, but now that it had been brought up, he couldn’t be seen to try to avoid it. “As I’m sure you are all aware of, in this enlightened society, the science of energy and life homo-teneki-thesis, is the basics of the newly developed motor as well as biblioneuric formulaic thinking and it is as you all understand quite basic and perfectly technological in nature.” And since everyone thought that everyone else understood and they all agreed. A few nodded enthusiastically. Maddow continued, “Yes, it certainly is such basic science. Practically more common sense than anything.” He smiled. “But the details, now that is nothing to be concerned over. My trusted colleagues take care of everything just so you won’t need to be bothered with such time-consuming matters. It is all in hand.”
Relieved, the audience resumed their observation of the remade woman and her attending scientist. A sparkling needle in his hand drew their attention to the woman that looked very much dead. But if Maddow said otherwise. Who were they to say? Lord Ralph stood helplessly at the fringe of the excitement. He glanced around, but no one paid him any mind. He sighed, blinked, and resigned himself to watch. But his intoxicated host wasn’t done. Maddow set the final nail in the coffin of Lord Ralph’s reputation. With a tight smile, he finished his impromptu presentation. Never mind that the only one listening, barely, was a minor nobility, who didn’t know his place. “I can assure you that it is not the case. This process is completely different from spirit gathering. “What you, my good man, is referring to is an old theory about the collection and imprisonment of spiritual knowledge. Naturally, that barbaric practice was condemned by the church and banned. Phantomgenics cannot be mistaken for such outdated satanic beliefs. I assure you. What we create here has nothing to do with ghosts and,” he paused to chuckle at the entertaining thought and shook his head. “spiritual adventuring. Such a ludicrous notion. One might wonder where such a distinguished gentlemen could have even heard of such nonsense. Superstition. Surely not, My good Sir.” He raised an eyebrow and waited. Ralph said nothing. With a final cold stare at Lord Ralph, Maddow scanned the room for further questions, knowing there would be none. he turned and waved at Jennings. “If you would, kennings? is she ready? ”

Jennings quickly raised the syringe into position and at a final nod from Lord Maddow he slowly pressed the needle into pale skin, broke it, and slid it into her body. He proceeded to employ the drug, depressing the plunger slowly. At the same moment, he pressed the button on the box on the table. Gasps arose from the audience. The thin metal rods crisscrossing each other over their heads hummed and flashes of bright light swam around the metal, illuminating the woman, bathing the polished metal and shiny silk, creating a better spectacle than Maddow could have ever imagined. A hush fell over the people. A low crackle from the metal grid was the only sound heard for several seconds. the people with the funds to sponsor a bright new future, seemed pale and lifeless in front of the glowing apparition. “Silence please, dear friends,” Maddow said needlessly. All eyes were on the remade woman. No one seemed to breathe as Jennings removed the empty syringe and stepped out of the way. This would be it. A completely new way of fusing man and machine had been born. There was a limitless supply of energy in the emptiness around them all and they had found a way to tap it. Not only to fuel the new types of humans sure to fill the market, but to drive those machines that now demanded fossil fuels and endless maintenance. “Behold, Ladies and gentlemen. See again. There is no engine and no heavy machinery to drag around. Mary?” Maddow stepped forward,. “Mary, my dear, it is time to come back to us now. he raised a hand and placed to fingers under her chin. He turned her face up slightly and leaned closer. As breathless as the watching crowd, he talked to her. “Be alive.”

And in an instant she was.
Jennings’ heart shot up into his throat and started galloping. Mary’s face twitched. Then her mouth tightened in sudden awareness. No matter how confident he had been, Jennings hadn’t been sure. he still wasn’t sure she would be fine. Mary’s remade right arm jerked to life and rose with a few uncertain jerks and twitches. But it steadied quickly and she held it in front of her. Not until then did she open her eyes. Her expression was unreadable when she folded one finger and then another. Her body shuddered and she blinked The shudder subsided as the electrogenic sparkling faded and finally stopped completely.

The audience surged forward for a closer look and excited conversations broke out all around Maddow and he grinned in satisfaction. Mary turned to them, suddenly aware of the presence of people. But But they weren’t important. She turned her head slowly to the tastelessly dressed man who stood annoyingly close. He wasn’t important either. She ignored him. Instead, she returned to look at the thing in front of her. , waved it and the polished metal threw cold light at her face, intensifying the pale features. Maddow stood in front of her now, preparing to deal with any problems that may arise from an involuntary body modification. But it would be easy enough. The doctor, or whatever he was, had things at hand to ease the poor girls difficulties to adapt. He smiled and gently took her biological hand in his, squeezing it. Mary didn’t see the man standing in front of her. Not at first as her blurred vision cleared and the thing, that finely crafted abomination that was and was not a part of her transfixed her. What she saw was a hand, perfect in every detailed mechanism, polished and glimmering in the light from the window. A masterpiece of body-modification. A hand that obeyed her with perfect accuracy. It was hers but it was other. she felt the smooth movements when she curled it into a fist. She felt the pressure. she even felt the warmth of the sunlight on the glimmering surface. She saw the thing and she hated it. She knew what had happened. She knew what it was. Mary’s face twisted, turned ugly. The initial moments of horror showed for only that; a rare few short moments where Mary allowed her feelings to show. The pit of grief and disgust, bottomless as it was, flashed in a second of weakness before she clamped down on it. Mary hardened back to her previous self, hard as the steel that now made up a large portion of her body. Cold as the anticipating gleam in her makers eyes. Mary calmed her breathing and returned Maddow assessing stare with one of her own. The man who had promised her that this very thing would never happen. The man that had held her as she lay between the rails. Where greedy gravel drank her blood and vision finally began to fade. It hadn’t gone as easy as she would have wanted, but there was no doubt that injuries would kill her quickly. A little bit of planning would have been better perhaps. Placing her neck directly on the rail instead of impulsively walking in front of the oncoming shrieking train would have done the job quicker. But that didn’t matter now. The man who had peered beneath the train, held her one remaining hand in his, and told her that everything would be alright, had betrayed her. Instead of transportation for remaking in one of the prison surgeries, she had taken her destiny into her own hands. But rather than letting her escape, this man had remade her according to his own agenda. She didn’t know how she knew this. she had never met the man before trying to kill herself. but she knew what had been done with her, and why. She looked into his eyes and the Mary that had survived the streets since offering herself for the first time to a man not unlike the man before her, had finally failed. She had failed to die. This man had taken even that away from her. Mary smiled. But it was a smile that Count Maddow had never seen. A smile devoid of life, lacking any emotion other than pure hatred. Mary didn’t dwell on troubles. she dealt with things and never gave in to regret. She had long since lost the ability to love. But the seething hatred for the man who had thwarted her plan to rid herself of people just like him, finally made Maddow look away. His self-satisfied smile faltered and finally died. But before he turned his back to her, he exchanged a quick glance with Jennings who nodded. The meaning was all too clear. “Take good care of our young lady now. We will chat more later. There is much to speak of, you and I. When you have settled in, of course. ” Maddow mumbled, looking at her but directing his words to Jennings. “My Lady. ” He nodded to Mary and kept her gaze longer than was comfortable for any of them. But in the end he yielded, and looked away. His confidence rushed back with another radiant smile and he turned back to his noble guests. Mary stirred uncomfortably in her restraints. But nothing could be done now. She relaxed and it took less than a minute to survey what had been done to her. It was bad. But it could have been worse. she let go of all thoughts of what had perhaps once been. It was easy to let it fade into the nothing that was before. Finally looking away from the lord she turned her thoughts to the now. She had been given a new lease on existence, no matter that it had been against her will, she had gotten another chance. and with that, she had found a brand new purpose. But she would have to bide her time. She would wait and see. and learn. The man who had awakened her with his invention stood watching her, unsure of where to look, really. She was his masterpiece. she was the thing that shouldn’t be. And he had made her. Remade her. A dead whore that he had made into something new. She was his by right. But never had he felt so taken. The breath caught and he quickly pulled a second syringe out of a pocket. The power over her continued existence was no comfort. It was a meaningless power and he knew it. this woman was never his. He may have moved every part of her body, touched every inch of skin, violated her form to the core of her. But she would never be owned by anyone. Not even Maddow. Mary’s cold smile lingered as she looked Jennings over. pointedly ignoring the second needle. Just a man. Men, she could deal with. Jennings stepped closer but she shook her head and spoke softly, so quietly that the excited spectators wouldn’t hear her. “Jennings. I am correct? ” rough from disuse, her voice scraped uncomfortably. Jennings hesitated but nodded. He stepped nervously from foot to foot and couldn’t quite meet her unblinking eyes. Mary sighed, suddenly tired. Her face softened. The icy smile turned warm and almost genuine for the briefest of moments as she focused on the sweating scientists. “I will cause no trouble, Jennings. That concoction of yours will not be needed. ” She glanced at the syringe in his hand. A sedative? A poison? It didn’t matter. and closed her eyes. So tired. so very tired. Her defences fell away and it was suddenly so hard to remain standing. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at Jennings beneath charcoaled lashes and innocence. “Jennings. ” She mumbled, tasting the name, finding it appealing. “You saved me. ” She quickly looked down, shuddering in her bonds. Blinked away a sudden tear. She closed her eyes with a deep sigh. She turned her face away from the man and left it at that. It would be a start. A second later any thought of Jennings, The Saviour, left her mind to make room for more immediate matters. She needed to rest and learn about her new body. If her life had been hard and unforgiving before, it was nothing compared to what would come. Rest, bide her time, and then.

About the author


Jenny K. Brennan is a Swedish/Canadian vocalist, songwriter, and writer living in Ontario, Canada since 2002 with one husband, one dog, and unfinished projects in the thousands. Find her on
The House of Imp,
kompoz.com,
Icarus Machine official,
JennyK Productions Youtube,
and other places. She is the lyricist and vocalist in the melodic metal band Icarus Machine since 2015. She studies braille at The Hadley Institute for the Blind and Visually impaired. On her free time, she learns Wordpress by trial and error, audio production using Apple Logic Pro, and carpentry by association.

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This Sundered World – The Novel. And the album. Why mix fiction with music? A writer and band member perspective.

`This Sundered World - A Mother's Heart - Book cover
Reading Time: 2 minutes

This Sundered World – Get the whole story.

Icarus Machine – the band
This Sundered World – The Album – iTunes
Update: The novel This Sundered World – A Mother’s Heart is no longer available. It has been withdrawn and is going through a considerable re-write.
The Icarus Machine vision is based on the interaction between fiction and music. And as a lyricist and author as well as vocalist, this is such a fascinating concept for me. This album was written alongside the story that is now the companion novel with the same name. Each song on the album has its origin in some part of the story of Gabriel and his companions making their way through “The Sundered World”. The story is available at Amazon. This doesn’t mean that the album can’t be enjoyed without knowing what is inside the head of Bird (As the crow flies), who the fat lady really is (Indestructible), or who the spirit is that haunts Gabriel (Salt From Tears). And it doesn’t mean that the story can’t be enjoyed without the hard driving guitars in Clockwork Guardians, or the crazy bass and angst of Majesty of Waste, or the amazing drum work in Failing Son.
Update: The novel This Sundered World – A Mother’s Heart is no longer available. It has been withdrawn and is going through a considerable re-write.
friend and support Icarus Machine while you’re at it.
As Lady Morette once said:

“”I’ll expect a gentleman such as your good self dear Gabriel, could deal with the matter as soon as may be appropriate?” She raised her one eyebrow and waited for Gabriel to nod his agreement.

“Ah. Um. Certainly my Lady.” He said without having a single idea regarding how he would accommodate the lady’s wishes anymore than he knew how to bring a dismembered rock-spindel to life.

“Oh, don’t be daft Boy. I’m no Lady. Mistress Morette will do.” She waved a hand and stepped past Gabriel and Jesse. Without looking back she crossed the little rail with its resilient little automaton guardian and reached the road before Gabriel had even collected his thoughts. Jesse grinned at him and followed the lady who stopped at the side of the road, looking both directions before, without hesitation, turning left and south. Jesse whistled as she passed the drones and Bird came from nowhere and walked beside her as they followed the lady south. Gabriel had sighed and scratched his head. Muttering. “Bath? Okay. Certainly there will be a bath around here somewhere.”

Jenny K Brennan

Icarus Machine – Sundered Records 2016

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A Mother’s heart – This Sundered World – The first chapter.

A Mother's heart - Steam punk Momma
Reading Time: 7 minutes

Excerpt from A Mothers Heart, This Sundered World – Book 1

Note: For updated info, read Icarus Machine is now life- Album and Novel released

By Jenny K. Brennan 2016.

Chapter 1 – A mother’s heart

“Don’t forget, don’t forget! The heart, the heart. Ticking clicking whirring. Oh poor me, have to see. See this. Don’t forget, don’t forget.”

Bird

“Oh no you don’t. I can’t. Shit, spit god fuck. Shit you don’t do this to me. Oh no, not to Gabriel. Not fucking fair… not fair. Not fair.” The rant exhausted itself in a moan and a sudden hiccup. The outburst of frustration and fear morphed into wordless mumbling. The sounds didn’t even seem his own anymore. Gabriel kept making sounds to stop thoughts about what he was doing from crushing him. Because Gabriel had no fucking clue. He didn’t know. He had never known. So he kept sputtering garbage because it might, on some level, help. Gabriel’s fingers worked quickly but clearly at random where they had never been meant to be working. They prodded and poked at the intricate machinery. Turning one small knob, flipping one switch, prodding desperately at the bundles of wires and pipes grafted into flesh.
He stared intently into the clockwork and willed it to keep going. Each desperate searching touch seared his fingertips as the overheating little engine spewed intermittent bursts of steam. Each leak decreased the pressure in the tiny engine he was trying to get going again. He had to get it right and do it before it failed. It had to be repaired while still running as it would never be restarted. That was the only thought in Gabriel’s head as he scanned the incomprehensible clockwork that was his mothers failing heart.

A ragged cough stilled his fingers and he looked up at his mothers face. Her pale lips were turning a shade of blue that Gabriel had never seen before. He stared at his mothers trembling mouth while avoiding her eyes. A dry tongue prodded outwards from between perfectly manufactured teeth fronting the darkness of her mouth. It waggled weakly in a futile attempt to moisten dry and cracked lips. He stared as another cough racked all of her and a dribble of dark blood joined the already gore spattered chin and neck. Too much pressure will do that to a person, he thought numbly. Failing fucking machines will do that.

The woman on the table drew in breath and smiled weakly. “Mind your words, Son.” Her voice was barely loud enough to make out over the hissing steam and gurgling from her chest. It was no more than whispers of leaves, crackling and buzzing of insects dying. Not the intense fight for survival but the feeble twitching lingering remnant of the same. Accompanied by irregular clicks and incorrectly modulated functions, her words rested in the air between them for a moment before they registered as actual words. The meaning became clear several long moments after that. She slowly shook her head and laughed a rasping huff, wobbled a frail shuddering chuckle, “Gabriel, you idiot. Get your hands off my tits.”

Gabriel blinked in confusion at the unfamiliar words but did look at his hands. And true enough, one of his hands had slid out of the cavity in his mother’s chest and rested on one of her withered sagging breasts. A desperate sound emerged from his chest. It might have been a laugh. It might have been a cry. It was both. How could he feel embarrassed in a time like this? Mother was dying and Gabriel was trying to mend her breaking heart. However, long habit told him he should be feeling shame and so he did. Something that had built up inside him ever since he had found his mother in the state she was in now, wanted to burst out in the open. It felt hot and acidic in his chest, but moved about frail and thin in his mind. He closed his eyes and willed it to stop; that thing that he didn’t want to feel.

He mumbled, “Sorry Mother.” and pulled his hand away from the unseemly touch.
Mother raised her hand and placed it on top of his where it trembled against the blood spattered crumpled fabric that had been her dress. A splayed open corset and neatly unbuttoned shift completed her outfit. She breathed. For the time being she breathed. But he knew it would soon stop. She strained to speak but speak she did. “Don’t worry, silly one. I didn’t expect you to fix me. But you just ruined your vest. You can’t go out like that.” A disapproving wrinkle appeared and disappeared. “Your gloves. Did you lose your gloves again Gabriel?”

Gabriel jerked his head and stared into her eyes. Her hand was cool and sticky on top of his. It was so still. Calm where his trembled. He wanted to say something. That he didn’t understand. That of course he would. That of course he hadn’t lost his… what the hell? What did his gloves have to do with anything? He would mend her up just right. He could fix things. His face burned from the obvious lie even though it hadn’t actually been spoken.

“It can’t be fixed.” she appeared to regain a sliver of energy and she kept talking as her failing clockwork heart kept loosing power, “One too many bad parts got put in to that heart of mine.” She rested for a moment and in the silence her body produced one labored breath, and one heavy unsettling clunk from her chest. Just another part grinding to a halt. She ignored it and breathed again. “I taught you what you need to know. You idiot son of a true bastard. Dead River is not for you.”

Gabriel looked away uneasily at the face that came foggily to his mind. His father had been recycled for so long that the memory barely stirred anything in him anymore. The remade cripple had been Gabriel’s first, and last, lesson in Body work. He hadn’t known what that meant then and he didn’t know now. A machine like any others he had thought. Machines made things happen. Machines wheezed, sputtered, mumbled, transported heavy things from one place to another, worn down, ticked, gurgled, and broke. But what that machine had done with his father after Gabriel hoisted the limp stiff body into the hopper had been something Gabriel hadn’t known machines could do. The machine broke people. Broke them into parts. Some bits to reuse, other bits to process into fertilizer, and some bits to place in glass bowls to look at. He had never figured that one out.

Mother noticed the familiar bemusement and sighed. As much as her ruined apparatus could express exasperation, it did. Two surprisingly powerful fingers pinched Gabriel’s hand and he immediately jumped to attention. Mother was talking. “I wonder…. I wonder if I taught you the wrong thing. You know, stupid child that you are.” She paused as she contemplated words that she should have used a long time ago. She wondered if there was any meaning to telling this boy. This creature … This child. “Listen, you idiot. I know you can’t do shit. You are no repairman.” She drew shallow breaths and seemed to want to say more. So much more. But after some moments, she slowly shook her head and closed her eyes. Gabriel’s own natural heart skipped a beat but his mother was still breathing, just gathering strength.

Finally she said, “I have been remade, repaired adjusted, prodded on for the last time. You hear me? There is nothing you can do Son. Even if you had the…” She coughed up another glob of bits of her mixed with gelatinous slime and blood, grimacing at the taste of her own fluids. “Go.” She said, shaking her head as if that could banish the things she would have said if there was time. She turned her head away and the world seemed to fall in on itself as Gabriel realized he could no longer hear the hiss of breathing. There was a whistle of steam escaping but no human apparatus ever made that sound. Cooling pipes ticked. Cogs slowed, blood no longer had power to move. With just a whiff of air that barely moved vocal chords, Mother spoke so softly that Gabriel had to put his ear next to her mouth to make out what she said. In the stillness he heard it though.

“Go. Away from Dead River. Get out of Crawdin Lands. There is more out there. Outside. More…” Her body shuddered before she told him what she had kept from him for so long, “more people. Find them. I was afraid to see. I was… was wrong.”

The hand that rested on Gabriel’s twitched violently, turned into a grasping claw for a long second, and then grew still along with the rest of her body. Gabriel stared at the failed machinery, the failed body. He was hoping for just one more sound from her. Just a few more words to explain what he had just heard her say. But he was not that dim. He knew she was dead. She should go in the hopper. That’s what he should be doing; recycle her body and all the extra parts that were her. But if… The thought came slowly through resistant patterns of being. Patterns shattered by his mother’s last words. “More people.”

More people. Gabriel spoke the words out loud. Tentatively at first and then louder, “More people?” The air fell quiet and somehow suffocating around him. He felt suddenly calm. He was cold and calm, and to his own surprise not just a little bit angry even if he couldn’t quite point that anger at anything in particular. There was too much to rage at. But there was also so much to revel at. “Outside. More people. Find them.” He used the words as anchors to hold his inner world in check and away from grief.

Clarity came to the young man. It stepped in and stomped all over Gabriel’s mind with brutal knowledge that he couldn’t take in and understand in a hundred years and a million lessons from mother. There was too much. From the overwhelming influx of never thought before ideas and revelations, Gabriel distilled two distinct facts.

One: His mother had lied to him.
And two: His mother had lied to him. Those were two distinct facts. He knew they were. He refined it further:
Firstly: his mother had lied to him and that meant that she was not who he always had thought she was. Now that was bad enough but not that surprising as far as Gabriel’s view of the world went.

Secondly, mother had lied to him. Meaning that they had not at all been alone as she had said. There were others. What others? Had she known them? Who? Where? Why?

Gabriel pulled his hand away from Mothers body and turned from it. He stood motionless and simply listened without hearing what he should have heard from the start. But what he didn’t hear didn’t matter at that moment; instead he was absorbed by another feeling that was so odd he had to grab hold of the edge of the steel table for stability. He felt the world speed up and expand away from him. He sensed his own place within it change. Gabriel shifted from the centre to the insignificant edge. From just the one part to one part of many. Then the world around him rushed back to settle in its new unknown configuration. Gabriel stared at some spot of nothing some place just ahead of him and finally shook his head and blinked furiously. After a moment of that, he started scraping gore and drying blood off his fingers, grimaced, and pulled his newly realized self back to the centre of the universe. He grew taller and the rest of the world came closer. All he had to do was to go get it. Go. Mother had said “Go.”

Go where?

Authors note

“This Sundered world has no release date. It is being written along side the prog metal album with the same name.

Please add your thoughts.
🙂

JennyK

The words telling the events in this wholly fictional story were conjured and transmitted via fingertips, through computer keyboard, and subsequently into digital storage by Jenny K Brennan. All rights reserved.

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Sky – A shortstory

Sky full of clouds
Reading Time: 6 minutes

Sky

A fantasy short story.

By Jenny K Brennan

Sky

“Hey cutie, you’ve been sniffing that beer for almost an hour now. What’s crawled up your ass?“ Without waiting for an answer, the woman put her frosty drink on the table and sat down on the seat opposite to the sad puppy. She used both hands to pull her hair out of her eyes and let the swell of platinum blond fall down her naked back. She loved that feeling. The soft touch that made her skin tingle and start a shiver down her back.
The puppy-eyed guy across the table was something new. Nice looking was an understatement, but she suspected that the perfect polish and high-class intended casual could get tiresome. Snob. A ‘my shit don’t stink’ guy.

But then again, maybe not. The sad eyes and faraway gaze was nothing if not intriguing. He seemed tired and just a bit wary of her. His eyes were some shade of green, reflecting the light in the bar in a way that made them shimmer with silver, in the next moment streaked in sunset cobalt clouds, wind-torn and fleeting, beautiful and knowing.

The young woman shivered and realized she had lost her smile, actually lost any sensations of the world around her wile losing herself in him. His shredded mysterious eyes, and whatever misery he was just barely hiding. Curious puppy watched her right back.

He frowned suddenly and started spinning the glass, around and around. He didn’t like beer. Why had he ordered a beer? To seem like everyone else. But if he didn’t drink and didn’t make noise, he would never blend in anyways. He let his eyes drop to the luke-warm brew and smiled. He knew it wasn’t much of one. Crooked, halfhearted, pained.

He looked up as if he had just thought of something and pushed the glass to the side. “Buy me something I can actually drink and I’m yours for the night.” He said and meant it. The more he watched this stranger the more his first impression faded. That hair was natural. That was something of a novelty. Interesting. A bright-eyed curiosity that was open and direct in the way she focused on him instead of her appearance. No fiddling with locks of hair or out of place garments. Not that she was wearing much.

She didn’t answer him and the blue eyes darkened slightly as she frowned. Clouds sweeping across the evening heaven, he thought and suddenly he knew. Recognition struck hard and fast but acceptance came just as quick. That was how it had always been for his kind.
And hers. He straightened up and cocked his head raising his eyebrows just a fraction. Her frown deepened just as the curiosity. Flared up into something he would have taken for frustration. And it was too. He let out a short laugh and shook his head slowly, wondering when she would know. The moment stretched as the air around them stilled.

“Sky, snap out of it.”

The blue eyes widened in shock and her mouth opened as if to speak but her remembrance and acceptance came just as quickly as his had. Sky’s world whirled, scattered, and rearranged around her in a flash. Once it settled in the way it had always been and should always be; she barely remembered who she had been for a brief time in human disguise. She shook her head no, but not in denial so much as protest. The hand holding the fizzy drink cramped and shattered the glass in the half second of dislocation of thoughts, memories, and realization.
“I am.” She whispered to the sparkling remains of the glass that lay in front of her in a puddle of drink. She ignored the little rivers probing their way across the Formica for an edge, a crevice, a lower level to settle in. She tore her eyes away from the mess and looked up. Reproachful or relieved to be so abruptly woken from a thousand year dream, she didn’t quite know. A thousand years? It hadn’t been that long surely? She looked at her former, future, forever, lover looking for answers.

He looked back at her. He smiled. And straightened up. His eyes didn’t just look streaked in kobold cloud, they were shredded led, streaked with silver and deep green. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. He looked at the mess of broken glass and alcohol slushy on the table and pointed at it, put a finger on a piece of glass and made it tip and Klink against another. He pulled his hand back and leaned forward and finally said. “You can put that to right, can’t you?” He let his gaze and finger indicate chards and liquid, making a sweeping, collecting motion with both hands as if putting everything in a pile. “I know you can.” he paused and grinned as everything came back to him too. He had been sure, just not certain. Certainty was not how it was in his existence. Certainty was what had led them to this point. Too much certainty, too many assumptions, not enough humility and old fashioned observation and responsibility. But that wasn’t important now. What mattered was that he had found her.
“I know you can, because I showed you how.”

#
They had been on top of the world once. Masters and mistresses of heaven and earth. Dictators of all elements. Sky, Steel, Wave, and Flame. They held the balance of all things and let things become what they would, by pondering possibilities. Then they played with the creations their curiosity made possible; much good came out of fortunate chance, evolution, as well as the natural selection and survival of the fittest made some things better, and some things inevitably inferior. Quality control was never on the agenda.
There was nothing inherently bad about their play with life. All things made could be unmade, they said to each other when abominations surfaced. But nothing was ever made undone, as the process held too much of interest to the four. In the end, one can argue that a harder line would have been more appropriate, but once over a billion of the most flawed creatures chance had ever created lived and breathed, it was too late to rethink their slipshod attitudes. They grew tired of the play, bored by creations that started to grow stale and close-minded; they started creating tales of their own, and all of a sudden the charm of thinking civilizations faded and was replaced with despair over the growing aggression, the frequent territorial disputes, the stubbornness to se beyond self fulfilling prophesies written by mad men.

The four broke apart and scattered across the earth, to ponder, to analyze, to hide from the monster that had evolved from their innocent games and wishes. With time, they all forgot to ponder as the shame grew powerful, and despair did not suit the four. They saw the simplicity of ignorance and wanted the bliss it could give.

So they forgot.

#

Sky looked into Steel’s eyes. She remembered, as if she had never forgotten. Her voice never touched her vocal cords when she spoke to him. “I could. Why should I?” She made a sweep with her hand over the glass and one brow rose. “Why don’t you? I am not as good with stone as you. Why don’t you do it? If you think I should.”

Steel sat back, watching her, still smiling but there was a shadow of apprehension behind his eyes. He put one hand on the table without moving his body any closer, and touched a chard with the tip of a finger. He stared at it, tensed into perfect stillness as his eyes shifted and clouded over in steel gray, copper, deep fertile brown… then he relaxed and pulled back, dropped a trembling hand in his lap. His eyes turned to dull amber and he shrugged and sighed. “You are right. We cannot mend this world, why mend a piece of imperfect glass.”

Sky fixed Steel with a chilling penetrating stare for a moment, mirroring his posture with both hands in her lap. Then the sculptured features softened and she smiled. The ice between them melted and gave life to soil long thought barren. Seeds dried and forgotten started to stir in hidden depths. It wouldn’t take long for them to sprout, to rush into eager growth, bloom, and fruit.

Sky thought, with a moist glint in her clear blue eyes, why not? She caught Steel’s eyes and she saw the same thought, heard the same words echo from within him. Why not?

“We are still young.” She whispered.

“We can try again. Steel replied, holding a hand for her to take.

“Wave and flame will want what we want. They are on their way already. Sky looked up in the heaven she couldn’t see but sense through the corrupted metal and wood, through pollution and the interfering signals crowding the air. “Yes, they are coming.” She squeezed his hand and let out a long pent up breath of frustration and disappointment.

Steel looked into Sky’s hopes and wishes taking form. For one moment that would become forever if they wanted it, he saw a world made again, creatures living with one another, working in harmony, not in constant pursuit of territory. A world swept clean of toxins and second rate sentience. Steel smiled, leaned over the table and kissed the mistress of the sky, sat back to wait for their brother and sister. He took a long lingering look at the shabby bar, its imperfect glass, its sample of flawed humanity. And he knew. Nobody would miss Earth. They could make up a new name, something with a nice ring to it. Undo. Reset. Start over.

Steel smiled and he let the excitement sparkle through his words. “We can do better.”

Thanks for reading. Now, don’t miss other works on Studio Chaotic.

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Bitchfight Part 3 of 3

Reading Time: 12 minutes

Bitchfight

By Jenny K Brennan
Part 3 of 3
Part 2.

Includes violence and a shitload of bad words. Be warned.

Part 3

The ring was thick, hard, and would not open. It pulled at the skin around the scarred knot and tore through flesh and Kris howled , by instinct pulling away and off Denny, and that’s when the ring opened and ripped free in a gush of fresh blood. Forgetting the weapon, Kris rushed to her feet, turned and kicked. Denny rolled away but Kris followed, kicking without aim, at her back, head, anywhere. She had one hand clutched at her bleeding stomach and was unable to aim so she turned and staggered a few steps, stopped several meters from Denny, ragged stuttering breathing slowed, turned shallow and regular, almost inaudible, as she took back a bit of control over muscles and purpose.

She turned, raised the trembling gun and pulled the trigger.

Denny rolled away from the viscious but ineffectual kicks and the ground fell away from beneath her . She scrambled and twisted, stopped falling. Hainging over the edge of the platform with both legs and the lower diagonal of her ass, she stayed for only a second. Glaring adverts looked down at her sprawling agony with bright smiles and suggestive promises. “promotional text for life insurance here.”
. body burned. She couldn’t move. The agony was exquisite, so sharp her stomach turned. Even her shallow breathing spiked the pain for each inhale. She forced herself to lie still, but she knew she had to move. Sounds of steps moved away from her, but not far. They stopped. Other steps moved in another direction, hurried, shuffling. She looked towards the sound. She caught a blurry glimpse of a cowering shape as it moved out of sight up the stairs. The old drunk had made his escape in the momentary stillness. She closed her eyes. Thanks for the fucking help asshole. The thought was bitter, the light too sharp to be stopped by her eyelids, the tile cold and hard, slick with patches of blood. She squeezed her eyes hard but opened them wide as the danger hit her. Where was she?
She fought against a new assault of pain from her back. A wave of nausea burned its way through her body and she broke out in cold sweat.

She had to move. But everything was quiet, or drowned out by hissing air, her own pounding heart. She couldn’t hear her. Where the hell was she? The pain was fading though. Just a bit. She lay on her side and she could see the floor stretching out before her until it ended abruptly. The tracks. Where was the other track? She heard a sound, a step? A breath? A laugh? Denny didn’t think, she rolled away from the kick she knew with absolute certainty would come. It didn’t. The ground fell away from under her. She had rolled onto the very edge of the station platform and one leg was now hanging in mid air, pulling at the rest of her, twisting her back. The pain exploded anew as her spine turned and stretched. She scrambled and clawed at the floor in panic. She turned her upper body to get back on the platform, on the safe surface. It all happened in an instant and the surge of adrenalin and pure panic made her move. She got her leg away from the edge and rolled panting and groaning onto her stomach. Just as the momentum caused her head to drop down on the cold tile, something whistled in her ear and a sharp crack echoed in the large space. She felt a fresh stream of blood run down her face and she raised a hand to the wet warmth as she stared at the shattered tile just centimeters from her face. Her heart pounded as she pulled out a ceramic splinter from the soft flesh just below the right eye. She couldn’t move. Paralyzed, chocked. Not understanding.

“Get the fuck up bitch!”
Kris watched the pathetic creature, the stuck up bitch, pull something out of her face. The forehead had swollen up and most of the face was already smeared in blood. Now there was fresh red stuff oozing out of a brand new hole in that pretty cock-sucking face.
“Not so pretty anymore are you?” Kris spoke with a calm that was long practiced but as false as water. The gun was steady in her hand. It had a perfect grip, it was made for her. Anyone who refused to listen would listen when this baby spoke. Matt black polymer grip. The weight of the gun was perfect for her small hand. She moved the barrel sideways, slowly, along the entire length of Denny. Blue eyes followed the movement, back and forth. Staring silently. She didn’t move.
“That’s right Bitch. You didn’t know I had one did you?” Kris laughed.

She knew that gun. Through her own shallow breathing she could hear a keening sound, a hoarse whine. Someone shouted. Someone else spoke rapidly from some distance away. The voices mattered not. Not through the pitchy sound that seemed to flow out of the darkness of a barrel of a gun. The endless void that stared at her. Kris screamed and the blackness trembled somewhat before it steadied itself into its cold stare. It glared at her. A small black circle in the control of a…. a what? Kris sidestepped, waved the gun, and stepped back into position. The entire front of her shirt was drenched in blood. The baseball cap had fallen off at some point and was not in sight. Kris’s hair was cut short in the neck and sides, left unruly and messy on top and dyed deep purple and black. She was fit. One could see that now. Perhaps she wouldn’t have picked a fight if she had known this woman for what she had become. A fighter. A hateful pit-bull, with a gun. One smiled inwardly at her own stupidity.

Then she was still. Calm and cold. Nothing but a dog, a bitch. Someone who should be put down for her own good and everyone else’s safety.
She knew that gun. She remembered. The other woman wanted her to get up. She would get up. She spread her palms on the cold tile and pushed up. The dislocated disc in her lower back set every nerve on fire, broke every barrier of pain but she ignored it.
She struggled to her feet. Slowly, she got up on her knees, watching the maniacs one-eyed murderer that stared at her, held her in check. Her hand slipped in a puddle of fresh blood and she screamed from the pain. She realized then, that she had been screaming all along. That keening had been her. She bit off the scream and made it up on her feet, forced into a hunching posture as her back didn’t work. She took a steadying breath and stood up as straight as she could and moved her eyes from the gun to a set of blue eyes so like hers, so different from hers. So full of rage. So full of fear. Why was she afraid? She was the one with the gun after all. Denny felt something rise in her. As it rose, something else fell away. Decision. The end result. It was coming. She was coming. Finally. At long last, she found her voice. Calm although ragged.
“Kel-tek p36.” She kept her eyes on the face watching her, noticed the eyes widen in surprise. It showed only for a moment, but it was there, the fear. She knew that what she had never admitted would finally be told.
“Don’t you remember?” Suddenly she smiled. It was a grim sight where only few patches of pale skin remained visible in a mask of glistening and drying blood. Kris took an involuntary step back. . Denny stepped away from the edge— one step, another —towards the weapon and its mistress. The gun trembled again, the barrel lost its perfect aim but it was still point blank deadly.
“You showed it to me that night. Don’t you remember?” Another step, another retreat.

Kris didn’t realize she was backing up to start with. She was too numb. She heard the words. That bitch was talking about that night. That night. Which night? Daddy. She shook her head. No, it was all a lie. The cunt came closer. Too close. She jerked her arm forward and pulled the trigger. But she was shaking. That night. Daddy didn’t mean it. Fresh blood exploded out of a small hole in Ones left shoulder and she reeled back but didn’t stop. The bullet had only penetrated the soft flesh on the outer edge of the shoulder and had done little damage. One gasped and looked down at the ragged hole in her fancy sweater. But she didn’t fucking stop. Shouts were nearer now. Panicked, calming, desperate cursing.
“Call the fucking cops you asshole!” Shrill shouts, frightened whispers.
“There’s no fucking signal in here. Someone has to get someone. Don’t they have security here? Why isn’t anyone coming?”
“I’m not going past those fucking maniacs. Are you stupid? That’s a real fucking gun!” The voices faded in and out. Faded totally.

Denny took another step while tearing her eyes from her ruined sweater. She didn’t look at the gun now. She stared into Kris’s face and a look of mocking disbelief came over her. Her eyes widened and she raised one hand to point at her arm.
“You ruined my favorite sweater you bitch.” She pulled her upper lip back and showed her teeth.
“Now, why would you do that?” She tore her eyes from the other woman for a split second and closed her eyes. Just a blink. Just a moment when all became clear. And it was all so perfectly clear now. It had all been heading this way, moving relentlessly to this moment. Was always the way it would end and nothing could stop this. Not now.
She listened. Heard something. Everything was pain. But physical pain. Physical pain didn’t matter. The body didn’t matter. Perfection and appeal didn’t matter anymore. Perhaps it had never mattered, had only been a mask. She listened again. Yes, it was coming. She listened to Kris’s breathing. It was shallow, had an undertone of a moan, a whining, deep in her throat. The gun trembled.
“You said you would use that gun on your Daddy Kristina, don’t you remember? You would take it and use it for what he did to you.” Denny faltered for a second as Kris gasped and took yet another step back. One staggered, and it brought her closer. Closer to the gun that shook, steadied, exploded in a ringing echo among the screams of people watching in shock. Kris keening increased, louder, a pitiless whine totally out of her control, beyond stopping. A sound from deep within her chest, her body, her mind.

She didn’t stop. The cock-sucking liar kept coming.
“No!” She had missed again. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with her arm? She couldn’t keep it still. She uttered a groan of pain, of frustration, of memories biting its way out of cage after cage of suppressed shame and fear and unconditional love. Unstoppable realization. Forgetfulness shattered. Unaware of her own keening. Not realizing that she could have pulled the trigger many times over by now. But she couldn’t. Something was wrong with her hand.

Denny listened, stepped forward, calculated.
“But you never did anything to your daddy did you? You just let him fuck you didn’t you? And then you let him fuck me you fucking cunt. I thought you were a friend. You let your daddy do….” She had no more voice. She couldn’t talk as something broke inside. She choked off the last words. She closed her eyes for a moment as she calmed her breathing. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to do. She was lost. They were lost. The rumbling of the coming train increased, grew louder. She listened, waited. She had nothing more to say.

Kris’s keening stopped was replaced with a deafening silence. Even the kids were quiet. One watched the eyes change. She knew what it meant. Cold control had taken charge once more. Back to denial, back to forgetting what couldn’t be forgotten. Yes. She was taking control again. There was not much time. She was getting ready. She had had enough. One kept her eyes on the eyes that narrowed, the mouth that suddenly grinned. She looked at her friend. The edge of the platform, the tracks. The gun stared at her, steady, moving upwards until it once more had a perfect aim. But the gun was pointing at her chest, not her head. One more step and she would have been able to reach out to touch the cold metal. But she didn’t take another step. She wouldn’t have to. She was close enough. Kris tightened her grip, tensed the finger, squeezed. Kel-tec, no double action trigger, there was no more time.

Denny threw herself at her former friend, her former alter ego, her childhood confidant, the betrayer. The traitor. The hate, the resentments stored for all this time. As she threw her body, the trigger made its initial catch, the click that meant imminent firing. Kris took another step back and squeezed, pulled, point blank. The momentum was too strong and although the bullet entered Denny’s chest, it passed through just below the collar bone and only managed to turn the approaching body sideways somewhat.

Then she was over her, arms wrapping themselves around her neck. Held her, pushed her backwards. She pulled the trigger. Denny’s stomach acted as sound suppressant and muffled the fatal shot. But they were already falling. The gun exploded again, killing what was already dead, but the momentum had already taken them both over the edge of the platform. They were falling. The gun fired one last time into Denny’s soft ruined flesh, dying flesh.

Denny’s dying gasps, the shots, Kris’s anguished scream of shocked realization, was all drowned out by the approaching train. In that endless second as they fell towards the tracks, everything was bottomless black grief. The final grief. Kris’s grief. The final moment. She hit the electrified track and her heart burned its last beat as she fried on the rails. The train bore down on them, Kris friends embracing one another for the last time. As the warning whistle roared and tons of steel bore down on them, they could no longer hear it.

Something new stood at the very edge of the platform, looking down on the sad remains on the tracks below, partly concealed by the silent train. Emergency medics, station staff and police officers surged around her, passed her, passed through her. They paid no attention to her. She was not really there. She was only the essence of the Kris recently dead below. Not quite there, not quite gone, but getting stronger. Her hands were loosely clasped in front of her. Shoulder length hair billowed slightly in a wind that was not there. She tilted her head to one side and smiled gently, dreamily shutting her eyes and sighed. It was a sigh as from a million ghosts. Ghosts of fluttering silken wings of memory where the edges had burned away. Dreams, wishes and released resentments. A collected gasp of absolute freedom sounded in the almost there. The place that was void but close, near but unreachable.

An ambulance driver, fed up with waiting in the vehicle and now standing at the bottom of the stairs smoking a cigarette, paused as he moved his nicotine stained fingers to his lips. He shuddered and looked around. He was searching for something he didn’t know existed, feeling it.

A medical doctor, kneeling next to the blackened torso and head of Kristina Andersson, felt his grip on the useless stethoscope weaken and it dropped back on his white clad chest. His breath caught for a moment and he looked around, searching for something that must have disturbed him.

Tad Peters, The teenager that was the only one in the group with a cell phone, a useless cell phone, jerked his head towards something, he didn’t know what. Something had caught his attention. There was something there. At the very edge of the platform. But there was nothing there. He had watched them fall. He had taken a step, a useless step and then he had turned around. He had held his phone, staring blankly at the signal indicator that suddenly went from no bars to Kris, then three. In a moment, the signal had reached full power.

. Something flowed through everyone present, although no one would know what had made their heart skip a beat, or what had caused the shiver, the sudden hesitation, a shudder through bones and earth. Then stillness.

For a few moments, as time held still in reverence, the essence of Denny and Kris came together in a blast of universal energy, fused, melded, and grew into something vaster than the individual parts had ever been.

Time started, remembered its duty. The she who simply was, now took a name; she would be name, so much more than her fragmented selves could have ever imagined, turned and started walking away, moved slowly over the tiled floor and started up the stairs. For each step she became more real. Each second she collected more flesh and blood. For each step she materialized, came together, atom by atom, cell by cell, she became clearer, more solid. At the bottom of the stairs she was only a strange refraction of the light for those who would have seen her. Half way up the stairs, a soft whisper of steps could have been detected if it had been quiet, and she would have been seen by keen eyes if they knew where to look. At the top of the stairs, she reached out to touch the railing and she felt the cold metal against her skin.

Someone did see her then. An old man, worn by a life of addiction, saw a ghostly shape solidifying, each moment becoming clearer. Faded watery eyes watched her colors sharpen for each breath and He raised a bottle to his mouth and drank greedily, getting some but far from all of the clear liquid down his throat. He blamed a life of alcohol for imagining flowing hair suddenly settle around the shoulders, taking on a shine and luster he suddenly and violently wished he could touch. He blamed the poison that was his life for imagining a ghost becoming real before him, skin losing translucency, clothing achieving texture, Shoes friction against floor suddenly creating real sound.

The woman turned her head as she passed him. She stopped and regarded him for a moment, meeting his eyes with hers. The serene look on her face made him stop breathing for a moment, overwhelmed by all that was lost, all that was broken, all that could still be fixed. Hope surged through him when she smiled and put her palm against the side of his face. A warm, living hand. A soft vibrant touch. She looked at him for a long moment, just keeping her hand motionless against his sagging skin, herself not moving, not hearing, or not caring, about the noises around the Kris. People hurried about, some descending the stairs to the place of recent death, some standing in shocked silence or murmured conversation.
She spoke then. Her voice was real, no ghost, no apparition. It was not much more than a whisper but he heard it clearly and he would never forget.

“It is never too late.”

Thank you for reading.

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