HEART OF MY HEART
He had long, shoulder length brown hair. Even though his eyes were closed, she remembered that they were green; not dark, not light, not pale---just green. His nose seemed to large for his face, but kept him instead from being to handsome. Tall; she remembered he was tall, only a few inches higher than her 5'9", but bigger than she. Watching him sleep, she had to resist brushing his hair off of his cheek. He didn't look relaxed, but the small sigh that escaped spoke volumes of contentment.
He turned over onto his side and slipped his hands under the pillow. She smiled. Pianists' hands, a runners' body.
I am the instrument, she thought, turning off the light. She lay down, curling her body against his.
**
"Are you awake?" No reply. Good. He loved it when he woke before her. He looked over her slim, almost to thin body, and smiled slightly. Black hair, thick and so dark as to be blue, spilled around her head --- the disarray quite charming.
She stirred and opened her eyes. Two amethyst gems surveyed his face and the room, for the moment; unfocused --- then her small reddish lips slid up into a sleepy smile.
"Hi."
He leaned over and kissed her. She sighed.
"Good morning." He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. "Hungry?"
"Yes, please. I don't want to get up."
He hrumped and began looking for his robe. "Alright." He found it and slid it over his shoulders. "What do you want?"
She stretched and sighed. "Hmm. You."
"Oh, no! Food is the only thing on offer this morrow, dear wife."
"Oh, bugger. Eggs then."
He nodded and headed for the door. "Then I shall fix the lady one of every kind and let her have her pick."
She laughed and pulled the blanket over her head. "You're silly."
"I love you." The purple eyes appeared over the sheet.
"Really?"
"Would I lie to you?" He asked, returning to the bed.
"Have you ever done anything else?" Her tone was teasing, but he frowned.
"Don't say that?"
She was confused for a moment, then remembered. A small red spot appeared on her forehead. He pulled the sheet down to her neck. She was blushing to her collarbone.
"I'm sorry; I forgot."
"Don't look at me like that. I know this will take some getting used to."
She nodded, raising her hand and tracing a spot on the inside of his wrist. "Yes . . .time."
He pulled his arm away and took a step back. "I'll be right back." He went and she turned over, closing her eyes.
**
When she opened her eyes later, he wasn't in the room. She got up, put on her robe and began searching the small house. It didn't take long; he was working out in the backyard. She glanced out the window, spotted him, sighed. She opened the door to watch him.
He was naked to the waist, black loose linen pants clinging to his sweaty body, revealing the hard muscles underneath. She glanced left and right, spying the wives from the housed on either side. She smiled slightly.
She turned back to him. He had changed his stance, remaining immobile for minutes on end, muscles quivering with the effort to maintain the seemingly impossible position. Just as she was ready to move away, thinking him finished, --- he exploded into an intricate whirling motion, the blade flickering around him. The complex pattern ended in another stance, held unmoving for long moments.
Despite the entranced audience, the only sounds were the soft shuffle of his feet, the quiet grunt of exertion. Sweat dripped from his chin, his long hair plastered into damp curls around his head. A drop of the salty liquid slid down his forehead, pausing on his lashes. He never blinked, concentration absolute.
The heavy sword seemed weightless in his hands as it flashed through a new pattern at a speed that looked dangerous to even attempt to control. His body contorting, his face a mask of strain as he fused with the sword; the blade leaping from hand to hand as if of it's own volition. In spite of precision born of long practice, the slightest misstep would have cut him.
The hissing of the sword suddenly ceased, the silence deafening as he froze, weapon held unwavering in the same position and stance he started from. He took one slow inhalation, exhaled, lowered the blade. Sweat ran streaming down his skin. He bowed to his invisible opponent, breathing only slightly accelerated. She had come out onto the porch, unaware that she had moved. Now, hands clasped beneath her breasts she whispered:
"You . . . are . . . beautiful."
He smiled, reached for a towel. "So are you, but if you don't learn to watch and breathe
simultaneously --- well, I won't be able to let you watch me workout any more."
She giggled. "You got up early; come back to bed." There was a slight rustle on either side of the fence as the rest of his audience moved away. He shook his head ahs sheathed the sword.
"I shower first, then, I'm all yours."
She met him halfway, and trailed her hands across his damp chest.
"I don't mind." Purple eyes turned blue with desire. His body responded, even as logic dictated otherwise.
He kissed her; a mistake--- he almost didn't pull away. "Give me two minutes."
Rosy, kiss swollen lips slid out, pouting prettily. "Oh-kay."
"Okay." He followed her inside, glancing at the houses around them. "Don't they have anything better to do than watch me?"
She laughed. "Until this morning, probably yes."
He rolled his eyes and shut the door, plunging the room into gray dimness. "Oh, brother."
"You should be flattered; you're their new sex symbol."
"Oh, the joy." She laughed harder and went to the room.
"Two minutes!"
"Two minutes." The bathroom door shut.
She stripped the bed, tucking in the last corner of the new sheet as he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
"Can we play now?" she asked, voice pouty, childish. He crossed the room in three strides, tossing aside the towel used to dry his hair.
"Oh, yes." Her gown and robe disappeared in a whisper of silk. "But I move first."
She put her arms around his neck, one hand sliding into his still damp hair. She pushed her body against his and the towel around his waist slid to the floor.
"You move first, but the last move . . . we share." He smiled at her as she raised her head for a kiss.
"You've got a deal."
**
Heart of my heart,
Blood of my blood.
She had my heart in her,
As I have hers in me.
She is my only care,
The very breath I take,
The sweetest air.
I cannot live without my heart,
Nor my heart without me.
She had my heart in her,
And I have hers in me.
--- Anon.
**
They were together for years, melding into one cohesive unit, one always aware of the other, no matter where they were. He was afraid of being that close to anyone; it had never happened before. But he loved her and she loved him. He was afraid of the day she would be used against him, and despite his best efforts; The Enemy still came.
He knew it the second he opened the door. The warmth of her presence was gone, leaving a vacuum. The living room confirmed it. A table on its side, a lamp in three pieces. Broken glass on the sofa, a chair upset. He waited for a moment, but all senses confirmed he was alone. What was that sound? In the kitchen, a window open, a note hastily taped to the refrigerator.
COME AND GET HER. THE PLAZA.
He ripped the small paper off the door, an oath on his lips. Was she safe?
**
The Plaza was a two acre courtyard done in tiny, ceramic squares. The design was supposed to be Greek or Roman, but fell pitifully short of it'd goal. It had nothing in common with the office high rises around it, other than its mockery of reality. They had often come here to people watch, benches were generously placed for the public.
Now he sat, alone in an echoy canyon, listening for the slightest sound. The wind teased the hem of his black trench coat, but all else was motionless, silent. Hours passed, minutes? before they appeared. The Enemy had her in his arms, her body seemed limp.
The denial so strong he feared it to have been uttered. No triumphant smile lit the Enemy's face; it had stayed in. He rose to hi feet as she was placed before him with all the loving tenderness of a new mother. He looked down at her; a tear was trapped in her lashes. He bent, captured the drop.
"Does she live?"
"Forever in our hearts." The taunting words sliced through him. He touched her cheek, ran his thumb over her cooling lips.
---She has my heart in her,
. . . I cannot live without my heart . . .
He stood. "We are the last. This was not necessary."
"Oh, but it was." The Enemy's eyes flashed with barely suppressed glee. "You're at your best when you hate, when you're angry. I need the challenge."
"So this is your ultimate revenge?"
The Enemy nodded, sword raised. "Even if I lose."
He unsheathed his blade. "There can be only one."
The Enemy smiled. "Me."
He smirked and refused to be goaded into a precipitous move. He circled the Enemy, calculating. He made the first move bringing the sword down and across the left side. Contact; broken ribs. The Enemy laughed and flicked his wrist, he felt a sting, blood appeared on his cheek. He touched it, frowned.
"Cute."
"I can do cuter."
He dropped his dagger in place with a subtle shift of his shoulders. "I'm sure." He ducked under a badly dealt swing, coming up behind the Enemy. Thrust, parry, block.
He pulled out the dagger and dropped to one knee as the Enemy raced toward him. He swung the sword upward and yanked back, severing the spine. Blood shot out of the body as it crashed to the ground. He stood up, taking his dagger and impaling the Enemy to the ground. He raised his sword for the final blow.
"I win."
Light, sound, and blinding pain was a typical Quickening. Now the sounds had meaning; words, thoughts, feelings --- none his own. Every voice, every emotion, every everything on the planet was invading his body. Screaming only made it worse; the pain went on and on.
Silence. Deafening, loud in it's lack. His ears ached, searching for some sound, no matter how small. He fell to his knees, sobbing. Sorrow. Rage. Heartbreaking loneliness. Despair?
Finally in control of himself, he went back to her.
. . . She is my only care,
. . . I cannot live---
I will never feel this way again. I am alone . . . I am the one . . .
A voice from long ago in his past, discounted at the time, long forgotten:
"You shall be the end of the world, yet survive to see its end . . ."
The prophesy of his Naming come to pass . . .
I am alone.
He lifted her into his arms, her slight body weightless.
She has my heart in her,
And I have hers in me . . .
**
April 26, 2002
Cristina Sorrells
(CMS2002
He had long, shoulder length brown hair. Even though his eyes were closed, she remembered that they were green; not dark, not light, not pale---just green. His nose seemed to large for his face, but kept him instead from being to handsome. Tall; she remembered he was tall, only a few inches higher than her 5'9", but bigger than she. Watching him sleep, she had to resist brushing his hair off of his cheek. He didn't look relaxed, but the small sigh that escaped spoke volumes of contentment.
He turned over onto his side and slipped his hands under the pillow. She smiled. Pianists' hands, a runners' body.
I am the instrument, she thought, turning off the light. She lay down, curling her body against his.
**
"Are you awake?" No reply. Good. He loved it when he woke before her. He looked over her slim, almost to thin body, and smiled slightly. Black hair, thick and so dark as to be blue, spilled around her head --- the disarray quite charming.
She stirred and opened her eyes. Two amethyst gems surveyed his face and the room, for the moment; unfocused --- then her small reddish lips slid up into a sleepy smile.
"Hi."
He leaned over and kissed her. She sighed.
"Good morning." He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. "Hungry?"
"Yes, please. I don't want to get up."
He hrumped and began looking for his robe. "Alright." He found it and slid it over his shoulders. "What do you want?"
She stretched and sighed. "Hmm. You."
"Oh, no! Food is the only thing on offer this morrow, dear wife."
"Oh, bugger. Eggs then."
He nodded and headed for the door. "Then I shall fix the lady one of every kind and let her have her pick."
She laughed and pulled the blanket over her head. "You're silly."
"I love you." The purple eyes appeared over the sheet.
"Really?"
"Would I lie to you?" He asked, returning to the bed.
"Have you ever done anything else?" Her tone was teasing, but he frowned.
"Don't say that?"
She was confused for a moment, then remembered. A small red spot appeared on her forehead. He pulled the sheet down to her neck. She was blushing to her collarbone.
"I'm sorry; I forgot."
"Don't look at me like that. I know this will take some getting used to."
She nodded, raising her hand and tracing a spot on the inside of his wrist. "Yes . . .time."
He pulled his arm away and took a step back. "I'll be right back." He went and she turned over, closing her eyes.
**
When she opened her eyes later, he wasn't in the room. She got up, put on her robe and began searching the small house. It didn't take long; he was working out in the backyard. She glanced out the window, spotted him, sighed. She opened the door to watch him.
He was naked to the waist, black loose linen pants clinging to his sweaty body, revealing the hard muscles underneath. She glanced left and right, spying the wives from the housed on either side. She smiled slightly.
She turned back to him. He had changed his stance, remaining immobile for minutes on end, muscles quivering with the effort to maintain the seemingly impossible position. Just as she was ready to move away, thinking him finished, --- he exploded into an intricate whirling motion, the blade flickering around him. The complex pattern ended in another stance, held unmoving for long moments.
Despite the entranced audience, the only sounds were the soft shuffle of his feet, the quiet grunt of exertion. Sweat dripped from his chin, his long hair plastered into damp curls around his head. A drop of the salty liquid slid down his forehead, pausing on his lashes. He never blinked, concentration absolute.
The heavy sword seemed weightless in his hands as it flashed through a new pattern at a speed that looked dangerous to even attempt to control. His body contorting, his face a mask of strain as he fused with the sword; the blade leaping from hand to hand as if of it's own volition. In spite of precision born of long practice, the slightest misstep would have cut him.
The hissing of the sword suddenly ceased, the silence deafening as he froze, weapon held unwavering in the same position and stance he started from. He took one slow inhalation, exhaled, lowered the blade. Sweat ran streaming down his skin. He bowed to his invisible opponent, breathing only slightly accelerated. She had come out onto the porch, unaware that she had moved. Now, hands clasped beneath her breasts she whispered:
"You . . . are . . . beautiful."
He smiled, reached for a towel. "So are you, but if you don't learn to watch and breathe
simultaneously --- well, I won't be able to let you watch me workout any more."
She giggled. "You got up early; come back to bed." There was a slight rustle on either side of the fence as the rest of his audience moved away. He shook his head ahs sheathed the sword.
"I shower first, then, I'm all yours."
She met him halfway, and trailed her hands across his damp chest.
"I don't mind." Purple eyes turned blue with desire. His body responded, even as logic dictated otherwise.
He kissed her; a mistake--- he almost didn't pull away. "Give me two minutes."
Rosy, kiss swollen lips slid out, pouting prettily. "Oh-kay."
"Okay." He followed her inside, glancing at the houses around them. "Don't they have anything better to do than watch me?"
She laughed. "Until this morning, probably yes."
He rolled his eyes and shut the door, plunging the room into gray dimness. "Oh, brother."
"You should be flattered; you're their new sex symbol."
"Oh, the joy." She laughed harder and went to the room.
"Two minutes!"
"Two minutes." The bathroom door shut.
She stripped the bed, tucking in the last corner of the new sheet as he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
"Can we play now?" she asked, voice pouty, childish. He crossed the room in three strides, tossing aside the towel used to dry his hair.
"Oh, yes." Her gown and robe disappeared in a whisper of silk. "But I move first."
She put her arms around his neck, one hand sliding into his still damp hair. She pushed her body against his and the towel around his waist slid to the floor.
"You move first, but the last move . . . we share." He smiled at her as she raised her head for a kiss.
"You've got a deal."
**
Heart of my heart,
Blood of my blood.
She had my heart in her,
As I have hers in me.
She is my only care,
The very breath I take,
The sweetest air.
I cannot live without my heart,
Nor my heart without me.
She had my heart in her,
And I have hers in me.
--- Anon.
**
They were together for years, melding into one cohesive unit, one always aware of the other, no matter where they were. He was afraid of being that close to anyone; it had never happened before. But he loved her and she loved him. He was afraid of the day she would be used against him, and despite his best efforts; The Enemy still came.
He knew it the second he opened the door. The warmth of her presence was gone, leaving a vacuum. The living room confirmed it. A table on its side, a lamp in three pieces. Broken glass on the sofa, a chair upset. He waited for a moment, but all senses confirmed he was alone. What was that sound? In the kitchen, a window open, a note hastily taped to the refrigerator.
COME AND GET HER. THE PLAZA.
He ripped the small paper off the door, an oath on his lips. Was she safe?
**
The Plaza was a two acre courtyard done in tiny, ceramic squares. The design was supposed to be Greek or Roman, but fell pitifully short of it'd goal. It had nothing in common with the office high rises around it, other than its mockery of reality. They had often come here to people watch, benches were generously placed for the public.
Now he sat, alone in an echoy canyon, listening for the slightest sound. The wind teased the hem of his black trench coat, but all else was motionless, silent. Hours passed, minutes? before they appeared. The Enemy had her in his arms, her body seemed limp.
The denial so strong he feared it to have been uttered. No triumphant smile lit the Enemy's face; it had stayed in. He rose to hi feet as she was placed before him with all the loving tenderness of a new mother. He looked down at her; a tear was trapped in her lashes. He bent, captured the drop.
"Does she live?"
"Forever in our hearts." The taunting words sliced through him. He touched her cheek, ran his thumb over her cooling lips.
---She has my heart in her,
. . . I cannot live without my heart . . .
He stood. "We are the last. This was not necessary."
"Oh, but it was." The Enemy's eyes flashed with barely suppressed glee. "You're at your best when you hate, when you're angry. I need the challenge."
"So this is your ultimate revenge?"
The Enemy nodded, sword raised. "Even if I lose."
He unsheathed his blade. "There can be only one."
The Enemy smiled. "Me."
He smirked and refused to be goaded into a precipitous move. He circled the Enemy, calculating. He made the first move bringing the sword down and across the left side. Contact; broken ribs. The Enemy laughed and flicked his wrist, he felt a sting, blood appeared on his cheek. He touched it, frowned.
"Cute."
"I can do cuter."
He dropped his dagger in place with a subtle shift of his shoulders. "I'm sure." He ducked under a badly dealt swing, coming up behind the Enemy. Thrust, parry, block.
He pulled out the dagger and dropped to one knee as the Enemy raced toward him. He swung the sword upward and yanked back, severing the spine. Blood shot out of the body as it crashed to the ground. He stood up, taking his dagger and impaling the Enemy to the ground. He raised his sword for the final blow.
"I win."
Light, sound, and blinding pain was a typical Quickening. Now the sounds had meaning; words, thoughts, feelings --- none his own. Every voice, every emotion, every everything on the planet was invading his body. Screaming only made it worse; the pain went on and on.
Silence. Deafening, loud in it's lack. His ears ached, searching for some sound, no matter how small. He fell to his knees, sobbing. Sorrow. Rage. Heartbreaking loneliness. Despair?
Finally in control of himself, he went back to her.
. . . She is my only care,
. . . I cannot live---
I will never feel this way again. I am alone . . . I am the one . . .
A voice from long ago in his past, discounted at the time, long forgotten:
"You shall be the end of the world, yet survive to see its end . . ."
The prophesy of his Naming come to pass . . .
I am alone.
He lifted her into his arms, her slight body weightless.
She has my heart in her,
And I have hers in me . . .
**
April 26, 2002
Cristina Sorrells
(CMS2002