TATE POV
"Beau, don't go there. You'll just-" Boxes of toys toppled over one another. "Nevermind." I threw the ball again and caught it when it bounced back. Throw. Bounce. Catch. Throw. Bounce. Catch. So monotonous. Like our lives here in the murder house. But I can't shake off this feeling of dread. Things started to change once Rebecca made herself known. I thought the only way to bring people here is to have them die on this lot. At least that's what he told me.
"Tate." I turned around quickly, partly in shock, mostly in anger at the intruder, who is apparently Rebecca. Her hair was dishevelled and her outdated clothes were dusty and torn. I went back to my business, purposely ignoring her and hoping she would just go away. After she brought Emma here, she had ruined every chance I have of being forgiven by Violet. At first I thought she was here to help me, especially with that day in the basement, but I was wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong. It may seem petulant of me to ignore her when she clearly went through trouble to see me, but given the things I am capable of, and the things I have done, I consider this a godly consideration.
"Tate. You have got to listen to me." I heard the door closing behind me and a few seconds later, a small hand rested on top of my shoulder. I still didn't look back. Throw. Bounce. Catch. "Violet, is in trouble. Promise me you won't let her out of your sight." Throw. Bounce.
"Go away." I told her without hesitation. Whatever Rebecca is concocting, I want none of it.
"No! It's him Tate! It's him! Sa-" Her sentence remained unfinished but I had no doubt that I know what she was about to say. Sam. A thrill shot down my spine, at the same time, anxiety blooms in my chest. What does he want with Violet?
VIOLET POV
I opened the door to my parent's bedroom but when I entered, I found myself in Sam's. I staggered back, disoriented at the sudden change of surroundings. But I told myself this was a good thing. I wanted to talk to him. This is a good thing, I tried to convince myself.
I was startled when Sam hugged me from the back, but despite vicious protests from my mind, I found myself leaning back into his warm body. I closed my eyes and sighed at the wonderful and peaceful feeling I found in his embrace. However, I was plucked out from my daydream as something soft grazed my arms. I reluctantly opened my eyes to see the arms that embraced me and the black feathered- wings that enveloped me. Somehow I wasn't surprised to see them and some part of me felt happy that Sam got himself wings.
"Well, this is new."
"No. This was the way it was before. This is the way it should have been." I cautiously reached out to stroke his feathers and it was soft, a kind of soft that makes it seem like it's barely there. "It's not a hundred percent yet, but it's almost like it was before." He said sheepishly.
Sam. Sheepish. Wow.
Somehow, this thought made me chuckle. And I did. And he did. And it was weird yet wonderful.
Sam kissed the side of my head. It shook me and brought me to another time, another life, and another feeling. Where this was light, the other was dark. Where this was for chuckles, the other was for tears. I shuddered.
"Close your eyes."
"Why?" I did not expect this feeling of anxiety at his words. I was afraid. Afraid that when I do close my eyes everything will disappear.
"Let me tell you a story." He whispered. "Of the times when angels fell to their knees.. and the women rose above them."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I just want to share something and here it is :
The old kitten is replaced by a new baby kitten
the old dog by a new pup
like a dead Monday by Tuesday.
They stroke the new kitten in their laps
so that their excess affection won't go sour,
so that it will love them in return, like the old one did.
But for me they aren't replaceable,
not the kitten, not the Monday, not anything else;
for me they never die.
They only distance themselves, or dwell in me
disappearing into the distance: they dwell in my heart and ears,
like the Moonlight Sonata dwells in a piano.
Gone? No new rain rinses the shower-scent
of an old Monday from me,
no matter how hard it pours, hisses, streams.
Ridiculous, maybe, but it feels good to me,
like an old stone in the cemetery,
on which a bird might drop its feather.
Out there in the City Park and everywhere,
where forgetting fattens fresh ice,
how many, attentively oblivious, are skating!
I understand them, that on slippery ground
they alone possess life while living,
as long as is possible, and as best as is possible.
But for me easy grief's loathsome,
and the easy solace of what's easily replaced;
if I'm no more, they'll replace me soon.
I know, if I'm no more, they'll have someone else,
who'll lie in their beds for me,
pant, talk, suffer, love.
But why shouldn't it be this way? It might
need to be this way— why expect the unexpectable,
the too hard, the too much?... I understand.
And yet, for me, it's irreplaceable
and what used to be dear doesn't stop being dear.
And it is still too early to love the new kitten.
I don't put it in my lap, because the old one's
absence still burns there. I know
if I'm no more, there'll be someone else.
- Péter Kántor, Moonlight Monologue for the New Kitten