"Michael!" The young black woman stood on her back porch, calling.
"Michael Lee Stone, you come here right now!"
A child of about five years old popped up behind her. "Boo!" he shouted gleefully.
Sara Stone laughed and scooped him up in her arms. "You silly boy," she said. "You did all that just to scare your momma?"
"I did!" Michael giggled.
Sara kissed his plump cheek. "You're a bad boy, Michael."
"Why is he a bad boy?" a voice asked.
"Daddy!" Michael squealed.
Marcus took his son. "What have you been doing to your momma?" he asked, playfully deepening his voice.
"Nothin'," Michael said, in all innocence. Sara laughed and hugged both of her men at once.
*****
"What is wrong with Mama?" Starfire asked.
"She's got a chazzan inside of her," Blackfire said, bending down until she was nose to nose with her younger sister. "It's gonna eat her away until there's nothing left." Starfire burst into tears.
Whitefire hit Blackfire. "That's not nice!" she told her twin. Whitefire held out her arms to the redheaded child. "Mama just doesn't feel very good."
"If I sang, would she feel better?" Starfire hiccupped.
"I'm sure she would," Whitefire smiled.
*****
"He's precious," Loran cooed, holding the newborn in her arms. "What's his name?"
"He doesn't have a name yet," James Barfield said to his daughter- well, she wasn't really his daughter. "You can name him."
Loran rested her elbow on the armrest of her wheelchair, easing some of the baby's weight. "Logan," she said. "Logan Barfield."
"Logan and Loran," James smiled.
"Is his immune system as weak as mine?" Loran asked, stroking Logan's dark hair.
James shook his head. "No. I was able to fix the flaw in his DNA strands. But you both have the same abilities. You are, in every way, brother and sister."
Loran kissed Logan's tiny fingers. "My baby brother," she whispered.
*****
"What have you done with the princess?" Twilight hissed.
Indigo grinned and turned around, showing his sister the baby sack on his back and the little lavender head poking out. "She's fine," he reassured her. "She just fell asleep."
Twilight lifted Raven, still sound asleep, out of the baby sack and held her in her arms. "Poor little thing," she fussed. "You wore her completely out."
"She wore herself out," Indigo objected. "She was begging me to play with her." His grin faded. "She needs someone to play with her, after all she has to endure with her father."
Twilight stroked the child's hair. "Do you know if he.hurts her like he did the other one?" she asked quietly.
"What other one?" Raven murmured drowsily. She blinked.
"So you are awake," Twilight said, changing the subject.
Raven wriggled in her arms. "I want down," she insisted. "I want to get down and play thome more."
"When are you going to break her of that lisp, Indigo?" Twilight demanded. "She's three. It's time she stopped."
"She's a baby," Indigo shrugged, glad to have turned to a lighter problem.
"Ith it bad that I lithp?" Raven asked, her small mouth curving into a panicked little O.
"Not at all, sweetheart," Indigo said. "You're perfect the way you are."
*****
Robert poked his head into the room. "Lark?" he whispered.
His little blonde wife smiled and beckoned to him. "He's sleeping," she whispered back, rocking their dark haired child in her arms. Robert bent and kissed Lark's lips. He'd married her straight out of high school and now, at just nineteen, she'd given birth to their first child. She was still nothing more than a child herself, and though she was nearly ten years younger than he, they loved each other.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Lark sighed. "A little angel." She laughed softly as she smoothed the baby's hair. "But his name is too big for him."
Robert sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around Lark. "Robert Edward Slainey is a good name," he objected.
"But too long for him," Lark pointed out. She kissed the baby's tiny hand. "I'm going to call him Robin."
"You just want to give him a bird name like yours," Robert said.
"True," Lark giggled. She pressed her lips against her baby son's cheek. "Robin Slainey is a very nice name."
*****
Michael sighed in boredom as the airplane rumbled beneath him. "Aren't we there yet, Mom?" he complained.
His mother reached over and patted his knee. "Not for a couple of hours, honey," she said. "Be patient."
Michael sighed again and replaced his headphones over his ears. At thirteen, he was already a foot taller than his mother and eye level with his father. He was strong and muscular, catching the eye of several of the high school football coaches. Even though he was one of the youngest players at Cross Creek Middle School, he was the starting quarterback for the team. He was an invincible tower of strength. Or at least he thought he was. All boys think they are.
*****
Starfire tucked a strand of her short red hair behind ear. "Blackfire!" she hollered. "You hid the bucket from me again!"
No answer. Starfire sighed and went searching for the well bucket. Her sister was always playing pranks on her, and Whitefire was always rescuing her from the pranks. After their mother's death when Starfire was eight, Whitefire had become a mother to them. Their father, Cometfire, worked in the mines, barely scraping up enough money to keep his family alive. At ten years old, Starfire's hands were as calloused as a seasoned miner's. But she preferred working at home to her other option- slavery.
"Blackfire!" Starfire called again. "Where are you?"
"Star?" The voice was Whitefire's. "Come here, Starfire." Her oldest sister was sitting by the hearth, her long golden hair hanging down her back and her tan face pale. She held out her arms to her young sister. "Star," Whitefire whispered. "Starry, our father's dead."
*****
"Loran, dear," James called. "I need your help."
Loran wheeled herself in the direction of her creator's voice. "What is it?" she asked.
"It's Logan," James sighed. In his hands he held a little green fox pup. "He morphed again and now he can't remember how to get back."
Loran shook her head and changed into a vixen. Gently nuzzling the baby fox, she led her younger brother back into human form. "Silly child," she said affectionately, settling back in her wheelchair with Logan on her lap. "When will you learn?"
Logan swung his short legs. "Never," he answered cheerily. He kissed his sister on the cheek with a big smack.
"Logan," James warned. "Remember what I told you about Sister being sick."
Loran hugged her brother. "I would rather get sick than not be able to hold him," she insisted vehemently.
James sighed and touched his daughter's long green hair. "As you wish," he said. But his eyes were worried as he eyed Loran's thin body and bony face.
*****
"Indigo," Raven whispered. "Indigo!" She began to cry, her energy flow rattling through her little room like a tsunami.
One of the maids opened the door. "Zinthos above, what is wrong with you?" she asked, rubbing her eyes blearily. Raven only cried harder. "What happened?"
"I had a bad dream," Raven wailed. "It was my mother! She was calling for me, calling and calling, and I couldn't come!"
"It was just a dream," the maid said. "Your mother's been dead since you were born."
"Dead?" Raven whispered.
The maid didn't hear the fear in the child's voice. "A teenager that His Majesty took a fancy to. Killed herself as soon as you popped out. Died in a garbage heap." The maid yawned. "So stop worrying yourself sick over silly dreams."
"My mother's dead?"
"Dead and gone these nine years past," the maid reaffirmed.
Raven screamed. The child sat straight up in bed, screaming and screaming until her face turned blue. The entire palace trembled under the force of her cries, but nothing broke except the girl's heart.
A guard burst into the room. "Get her up!" he ordered the maid. "The king is furious. He wants to see her."
*****
Robert checked his watch. Only one more hour until he could go home to Lark and Robin. His job at the hospital meant many hours away from them, but he got good pay. He had been made the head of the cybernetic prosthetics unit, a prestigious position. But he kept wishing he could be home. Lark would be fixing dinner by now, a kerchief over her hair and an apron swallowing up her tiny body. And Robin would be sleeping in his playpen, waiting for his father to come home.
"Slainey!" One of the interns ran in, his face deathly white. "Dr. Slainey, your house is on the news. It's burning!"
Robert didn't wait another minute. He bolted out of his office.
*****
Michael frowned. "Mom? Is the plane supposed to shake like that?" he asked.
Sara Stone was pale. "I don't know, honey," she said. "Where's your father?"
"I think he's in the back," Michael said. "Is the plane gonna go down?"
"No, honey," his mother tried to smile. "I'll just go look for your father." She kissed the top of her son's head. "I'll be back in just a second."
Michael turned up his music. But the plane continued to shake beneath him. A voice came over the intercom, garbled under the loud, frenetic beats of his rap CD. He could see fear spread over the faces of the other passengers. There was no time for him to think. His stomach lurched the way it did at the peak of a roller coaster, but this coaster had no tracks. His ears popped madly as the plane sped down, the green ground coming closer and closer. The last thing he remembered was a sharp whoosh and heat on the back of his neck.
When he awoke, the first thing he felt was pain. There was pain everywhere. His arms, his legs, his chest, his head. He couldn't remember anything. His mind scrambled for something familiar, but all he could come up with was a jumble of numbers he faintly remembered to be his zip code. As he passed into unconsciousness again he heard voices.
"A survivor! We found the first survivor!
*****
Starfire bit her lip hard. Her hands were cracked and bleeding from scrubbing the mosiac floors for so long. Her left ankle was sore and swollen. A manacle was locked around it, keeping her grounded. It was impervious to her starbolts; the metal showed wear from her attempts. "Don't think sad thoughts," she whispered to herself. Instead, she turned her thoughts to the escape plan Blackfire had created. She would escape tonight. Together, they would run away from the palace and hide on some remote planet. Maybe someday she would be able to return home. Someday, when she didn't need to scrub floors.
*****
Loran's scrawny shoulders trembled as she coughed. Small spots of blood stained the cloth she held to her mouth.
"Loran?" Logan whispered. She smiled wanly and held out her arms to him. Logan tumbled into her embrace, shaking.
They could hear the rioters outside the laboratory, rattling the gates and shaking the walls. "Why are they so angry?" Logan whispered.
"They think Father was wrong to create us," Loran whispered back. "They think we aren't real people." Her cough started up again. Logan hid his face in her shoulder.
James stumbled into the room. "They've broken through the first barrier," he said, his face white. "Loran, Logan. Get out of here, while you still can."
Loran shook her head, her long dark hair swishing against Logan's face. "I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "You know very well I'm dying, Father. I'll stay with you."
"So will I," Logan said.
"No," Loran said, tilting his face so she could look him in the eyes. "Baby, you have to go. I want you to live."
"No!" Logan shouted. "I'm not gonna go! I'm not gonna leave you, Loran!"
"You have to," she sighed. "Please, don't make this harder, baby." She kissed his face. "I love you, Logan."
Logan hugged his sister tightly. "I love you too," he said.
Loran kissed Logan on the mouth, pouring her life-spirit into him with one last, desperate breath. "Go!" she whispered hoarsely.
A sheet of drywall and stone collapsed with Loran's lifeless body. Logan changed into a dragonfly and flew through the cracks in the walls.
When the burning laboratory was only a speck of light behind him, Logan fell to the earth in human form and curled up in the snow, sobbing.
*****
Raven's whole body trembled. Dressed in only her nightclothes, her long lavender hair curling to her waist, tear stains on her face, she was a pathetic sight.
Trigon was on his throne, crouching like a gigantic bird of prey. "Dark-bird," he growled. "You were crying again, little Dark-bird."
"Is my mother dead?" Raven whispered.
Suddenly Trigon was no longer on his black glass throne but in front of her, his hooked red nose inches from her face, fire looming over him. "Dead," he repeated. "Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead."
Raven fell to her knees, sobbing. A huge clawed hand grasped her upper arm and lifted her off of the ground. Trigon held his daughter by the arm five feet above the obsidian floor. Her tears were flowing but no sound came as her eyes widened in shock and fear.
"Crying," he rumbled. "Crying, little Dark-bird, is forbidden." His hand tightened around Raven's arm. "If you loved me, Dark-bird, you wouldn't cry."
Still the tears flowed.
Trigon's hand tightened and his claws ripped into the soft skin of the child's arm. "Don't you love me, Dark-bird?" he roared. "Your mother didn't love me, and do you know what happened to her? She is dead dead dead!"
Raven screamed. Trigon grabbed her and pushed her to the floor. His hands were everywhere, hurting her. Blood soaked through her clothes and on to his claws.
The heavy doors burst open. "Raven!" Indigo shouted. "King Trigon, you can't! Not like the other-"
A heavy psychic bolt whipped from Trigon's hand and pinned Indigo against the wall. "The other, the other!" the demon king shouted. "Yes, yes, the other, the other!" His four yellow eyes, leering and dull, stared at Raven. "The other child didn't love me either. He didn't love me, and he is dead, dead, dead."
Indigo choked as the black wind hand closed around his neck. Frantically he scrabbled for a grip, but there was nothing to hold on to. There was a final snap, and then the body was still.
Raven's cries became the mourning wail of a banshee, as her childhood faded away in her terror and grief.
*****
Robert's tires squealed as he came to a stop in front of his house. Smoke and flames poured out of the windows. He pushed his way past the gawkers and grabbed the arm of the nearest firefighter. "Where is my wife?" he bellowed.
The man pointed with a trembling hand to the house. "She-she ran back inside, sir," he said. "The little blonde woman. She ran back."
Robert shoved the man aside and sprinted to the door. Two of the firemen grabbed him and yanked him back. "You can't!" the first one shouted. "No, you don't understand, they've got her, she's coming out!"
The front door crumbled away, and through the flames and ashes stepped a firefighter holding a limp figure in his arms. A second one followed, holding a much smaller bundle.
"Lark," Robert whispered faintly. "Robin."
The second firefighter pulled off his mask and handed him the child. "Sir?" he said. "The boy's going to be all right. He has some burns on his face, but they don't seem too serious."
Robert didn't take the baby. "And my wife?"
"I'm so sorry. We lost her."
For the next few days, Robert didn't know what he did, and he didn't care. The days were a bleary haze of insurance claims and funeral preparations.
Through it all was the high, thin cries of the child.
Yes, the child.
That was why Lark ran inside.
Lark ran in to get Robin.
Robin lived.
Lark died.
Robin.
Robin killed her.
Robin killed her.
Robin killed her.
The thought burned in his brain by day and filled his nightmares at night. Every glance at the child's face was a reminder. Three marks crisscrossed over Robin's face, around his eyes. His long dark eyelashes had been singed off, and his eyesight had been badly damaged. But yet he lived.
Run away? Too conspicuous.
Murder? Too risky.
Negligence? Too dangerous.
An idea formed in Robert's mind.
It was raining that night, a calm and steady downpour. Robin was tucked in the crook of his arm. To any other rider on the subway, he appeared to be a conscientious father taking his sleeping child home after a long day.
He'd drugged Robin, just the slightest bit, to keep him from waking and crying. He wasn't sure if he would be able to keep the child quiet.
The rain had quickened as Robert stepped out of the subway station. The city orphanage was just a block away. He laid the child down on the front step. Robin was wrapped in a yellow blanket, the one Lark had knitted with her own tiny hands when she was expecting him. A wave of memories washed over him as he remembered the fragile mother-to-be curled up on the bed they shared, yellow yarn heaped about her. But he closed his heart and pinned the note to the blanket.
This is Robin. He is almost a year old. His mother loved him very much.
The man disappeared on the subway, and was not seen in that city again.
Ooh, this story has angst up street and down alley!!! I've never written anything this depressing before.tell me if it's any good. And don't worry, it's not over yet!
A child of about five years old popped up behind her. "Boo!" he shouted gleefully.
Sara Stone laughed and scooped him up in her arms. "You silly boy," she said. "You did all that just to scare your momma?"
"I did!" Michael giggled.
Sara kissed his plump cheek. "You're a bad boy, Michael."
"Why is he a bad boy?" a voice asked.
"Daddy!" Michael squealed.
Marcus took his son. "What have you been doing to your momma?" he asked, playfully deepening his voice.
"Nothin'," Michael said, in all innocence. Sara laughed and hugged both of her men at once.
*****
"What is wrong with Mama?" Starfire asked.
"She's got a chazzan inside of her," Blackfire said, bending down until she was nose to nose with her younger sister. "It's gonna eat her away until there's nothing left." Starfire burst into tears.
Whitefire hit Blackfire. "That's not nice!" she told her twin. Whitefire held out her arms to the redheaded child. "Mama just doesn't feel very good."
"If I sang, would she feel better?" Starfire hiccupped.
"I'm sure she would," Whitefire smiled.
*****
"He's precious," Loran cooed, holding the newborn in her arms. "What's his name?"
"He doesn't have a name yet," James Barfield said to his daughter- well, she wasn't really his daughter. "You can name him."
Loran rested her elbow on the armrest of her wheelchair, easing some of the baby's weight. "Logan," she said. "Logan Barfield."
"Logan and Loran," James smiled.
"Is his immune system as weak as mine?" Loran asked, stroking Logan's dark hair.
James shook his head. "No. I was able to fix the flaw in his DNA strands. But you both have the same abilities. You are, in every way, brother and sister."
Loran kissed Logan's tiny fingers. "My baby brother," she whispered.
*****
"What have you done with the princess?" Twilight hissed.
Indigo grinned and turned around, showing his sister the baby sack on his back and the little lavender head poking out. "She's fine," he reassured her. "She just fell asleep."
Twilight lifted Raven, still sound asleep, out of the baby sack and held her in her arms. "Poor little thing," she fussed. "You wore her completely out."
"She wore herself out," Indigo objected. "She was begging me to play with her." His grin faded. "She needs someone to play with her, after all she has to endure with her father."
Twilight stroked the child's hair. "Do you know if he.hurts her like he did the other one?" she asked quietly.
"What other one?" Raven murmured drowsily. She blinked.
"So you are awake," Twilight said, changing the subject.
Raven wriggled in her arms. "I want down," she insisted. "I want to get down and play thome more."
"When are you going to break her of that lisp, Indigo?" Twilight demanded. "She's three. It's time she stopped."
"She's a baby," Indigo shrugged, glad to have turned to a lighter problem.
"Ith it bad that I lithp?" Raven asked, her small mouth curving into a panicked little O.
"Not at all, sweetheart," Indigo said. "You're perfect the way you are."
*****
Robert poked his head into the room. "Lark?" he whispered.
His little blonde wife smiled and beckoned to him. "He's sleeping," she whispered back, rocking their dark haired child in her arms. Robert bent and kissed Lark's lips. He'd married her straight out of high school and now, at just nineteen, she'd given birth to their first child. She was still nothing more than a child herself, and though she was nearly ten years younger than he, they loved each other.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Lark sighed. "A little angel." She laughed softly as she smoothed the baby's hair. "But his name is too big for him."
Robert sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around Lark. "Robert Edward Slainey is a good name," he objected.
"But too long for him," Lark pointed out. She kissed the baby's tiny hand. "I'm going to call him Robin."
"You just want to give him a bird name like yours," Robert said.
"True," Lark giggled. She pressed her lips against her baby son's cheek. "Robin Slainey is a very nice name."
*****
Michael sighed in boredom as the airplane rumbled beneath him. "Aren't we there yet, Mom?" he complained.
His mother reached over and patted his knee. "Not for a couple of hours, honey," she said. "Be patient."
Michael sighed again and replaced his headphones over his ears. At thirteen, he was already a foot taller than his mother and eye level with his father. He was strong and muscular, catching the eye of several of the high school football coaches. Even though he was one of the youngest players at Cross Creek Middle School, he was the starting quarterback for the team. He was an invincible tower of strength. Or at least he thought he was. All boys think they are.
*****
Starfire tucked a strand of her short red hair behind ear. "Blackfire!" she hollered. "You hid the bucket from me again!"
No answer. Starfire sighed and went searching for the well bucket. Her sister was always playing pranks on her, and Whitefire was always rescuing her from the pranks. After their mother's death when Starfire was eight, Whitefire had become a mother to them. Their father, Cometfire, worked in the mines, barely scraping up enough money to keep his family alive. At ten years old, Starfire's hands were as calloused as a seasoned miner's. But she preferred working at home to her other option- slavery.
"Blackfire!" Starfire called again. "Where are you?"
"Star?" The voice was Whitefire's. "Come here, Starfire." Her oldest sister was sitting by the hearth, her long golden hair hanging down her back and her tan face pale. She held out her arms to her young sister. "Star," Whitefire whispered. "Starry, our father's dead."
*****
"Loran, dear," James called. "I need your help."
Loran wheeled herself in the direction of her creator's voice. "What is it?" she asked.
"It's Logan," James sighed. In his hands he held a little green fox pup. "He morphed again and now he can't remember how to get back."
Loran shook her head and changed into a vixen. Gently nuzzling the baby fox, she led her younger brother back into human form. "Silly child," she said affectionately, settling back in her wheelchair with Logan on her lap. "When will you learn?"
Logan swung his short legs. "Never," he answered cheerily. He kissed his sister on the cheek with a big smack.
"Logan," James warned. "Remember what I told you about Sister being sick."
Loran hugged her brother. "I would rather get sick than not be able to hold him," she insisted vehemently.
James sighed and touched his daughter's long green hair. "As you wish," he said. But his eyes were worried as he eyed Loran's thin body and bony face.
*****
"Indigo," Raven whispered. "Indigo!" She began to cry, her energy flow rattling through her little room like a tsunami.
One of the maids opened the door. "Zinthos above, what is wrong with you?" she asked, rubbing her eyes blearily. Raven only cried harder. "What happened?"
"I had a bad dream," Raven wailed. "It was my mother! She was calling for me, calling and calling, and I couldn't come!"
"It was just a dream," the maid said. "Your mother's been dead since you were born."
"Dead?" Raven whispered.
The maid didn't hear the fear in the child's voice. "A teenager that His Majesty took a fancy to. Killed herself as soon as you popped out. Died in a garbage heap." The maid yawned. "So stop worrying yourself sick over silly dreams."
"My mother's dead?"
"Dead and gone these nine years past," the maid reaffirmed.
Raven screamed. The child sat straight up in bed, screaming and screaming until her face turned blue. The entire palace trembled under the force of her cries, but nothing broke except the girl's heart.
A guard burst into the room. "Get her up!" he ordered the maid. "The king is furious. He wants to see her."
*****
Robert checked his watch. Only one more hour until he could go home to Lark and Robin. His job at the hospital meant many hours away from them, but he got good pay. He had been made the head of the cybernetic prosthetics unit, a prestigious position. But he kept wishing he could be home. Lark would be fixing dinner by now, a kerchief over her hair and an apron swallowing up her tiny body. And Robin would be sleeping in his playpen, waiting for his father to come home.
"Slainey!" One of the interns ran in, his face deathly white. "Dr. Slainey, your house is on the news. It's burning!"
Robert didn't wait another minute. He bolted out of his office.
*****
Michael frowned. "Mom? Is the plane supposed to shake like that?" he asked.
Sara Stone was pale. "I don't know, honey," she said. "Where's your father?"
"I think he's in the back," Michael said. "Is the plane gonna go down?"
"No, honey," his mother tried to smile. "I'll just go look for your father." She kissed the top of her son's head. "I'll be back in just a second."
Michael turned up his music. But the plane continued to shake beneath him. A voice came over the intercom, garbled under the loud, frenetic beats of his rap CD. He could see fear spread over the faces of the other passengers. There was no time for him to think. His stomach lurched the way it did at the peak of a roller coaster, but this coaster had no tracks. His ears popped madly as the plane sped down, the green ground coming closer and closer. The last thing he remembered was a sharp whoosh and heat on the back of his neck.
When he awoke, the first thing he felt was pain. There was pain everywhere. His arms, his legs, his chest, his head. He couldn't remember anything. His mind scrambled for something familiar, but all he could come up with was a jumble of numbers he faintly remembered to be his zip code. As he passed into unconsciousness again he heard voices.
"A survivor! We found the first survivor!
*****
Starfire bit her lip hard. Her hands were cracked and bleeding from scrubbing the mosiac floors for so long. Her left ankle was sore and swollen. A manacle was locked around it, keeping her grounded. It was impervious to her starbolts; the metal showed wear from her attempts. "Don't think sad thoughts," she whispered to herself. Instead, she turned her thoughts to the escape plan Blackfire had created. She would escape tonight. Together, they would run away from the palace and hide on some remote planet. Maybe someday she would be able to return home. Someday, when she didn't need to scrub floors.
*****
Loran's scrawny shoulders trembled as she coughed. Small spots of blood stained the cloth she held to her mouth.
"Loran?" Logan whispered. She smiled wanly and held out her arms to him. Logan tumbled into her embrace, shaking.
They could hear the rioters outside the laboratory, rattling the gates and shaking the walls. "Why are they so angry?" Logan whispered.
"They think Father was wrong to create us," Loran whispered back. "They think we aren't real people." Her cough started up again. Logan hid his face in her shoulder.
James stumbled into the room. "They've broken through the first barrier," he said, his face white. "Loran, Logan. Get out of here, while you still can."
Loran shook her head, her long dark hair swishing against Logan's face. "I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "You know very well I'm dying, Father. I'll stay with you."
"So will I," Logan said.
"No," Loran said, tilting his face so she could look him in the eyes. "Baby, you have to go. I want you to live."
"No!" Logan shouted. "I'm not gonna go! I'm not gonna leave you, Loran!"
"You have to," she sighed. "Please, don't make this harder, baby." She kissed his face. "I love you, Logan."
Logan hugged his sister tightly. "I love you too," he said.
Loran kissed Logan on the mouth, pouring her life-spirit into him with one last, desperate breath. "Go!" she whispered hoarsely.
A sheet of drywall and stone collapsed with Loran's lifeless body. Logan changed into a dragonfly and flew through the cracks in the walls.
When the burning laboratory was only a speck of light behind him, Logan fell to the earth in human form and curled up in the snow, sobbing.
*****
Raven's whole body trembled. Dressed in only her nightclothes, her long lavender hair curling to her waist, tear stains on her face, she was a pathetic sight.
Trigon was on his throne, crouching like a gigantic bird of prey. "Dark-bird," he growled. "You were crying again, little Dark-bird."
"Is my mother dead?" Raven whispered.
Suddenly Trigon was no longer on his black glass throne but in front of her, his hooked red nose inches from her face, fire looming over him. "Dead," he repeated. "Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead."
Raven fell to her knees, sobbing. A huge clawed hand grasped her upper arm and lifted her off of the ground. Trigon held his daughter by the arm five feet above the obsidian floor. Her tears were flowing but no sound came as her eyes widened in shock and fear.
"Crying," he rumbled. "Crying, little Dark-bird, is forbidden." His hand tightened around Raven's arm. "If you loved me, Dark-bird, you wouldn't cry."
Still the tears flowed.
Trigon's hand tightened and his claws ripped into the soft skin of the child's arm. "Don't you love me, Dark-bird?" he roared. "Your mother didn't love me, and do you know what happened to her? She is dead dead dead!"
Raven screamed. Trigon grabbed her and pushed her to the floor. His hands were everywhere, hurting her. Blood soaked through her clothes and on to his claws.
The heavy doors burst open. "Raven!" Indigo shouted. "King Trigon, you can't! Not like the other-"
A heavy psychic bolt whipped from Trigon's hand and pinned Indigo against the wall. "The other, the other!" the demon king shouted. "Yes, yes, the other, the other!" His four yellow eyes, leering and dull, stared at Raven. "The other child didn't love me either. He didn't love me, and he is dead, dead, dead."
Indigo choked as the black wind hand closed around his neck. Frantically he scrabbled for a grip, but there was nothing to hold on to. There was a final snap, and then the body was still.
Raven's cries became the mourning wail of a banshee, as her childhood faded away in her terror and grief.
*****
Robert's tires squealed as he came to a stop in front of his house. Smoke and flames poured out of the windows. He pushed his way past the gawkers and grabbed the arm of the nearest firefighter. "Where is my wife?" he bellowed.
The man pointed with a trembling hand to the house. "She-she ran back inside, sir," he said. "The little blonde woman. She ran back."
Robert shoved the man aside and sprinted to the door. Two of the firemen grabbed him and yanked him back. "You can't!" the first one shouted. "No, you don't understand, they've got her, she's coming out!"
The front door crumbled away, and through the flames and ashes stepped a firefighter holding a limp figure in his arms. A second one followed, holding a much smaller bundle.
"Lark," Robert whispered faintly. "Robin."
The second firefighter pulled off his mask and handed him the child. "Sir?" he said. "The boy's going to be all right. He has some burns on his face, but they don't seem too serious."
Robert didn't take the baby. "And my wife?"
"I'm so sorry. We lost her."
For the next few days, Robert didn't know what he did, and he didn't care. The days were a bleary haze of insurance claims and funeral preparations.
Through it all was the high, thin cries of the child.
Yes, the child.
That was why Lark ran inside.
Lark ran in to get Robin.
Robin lived.
Lark died.
Robin.
Robin killed her.
Robin killed her.
Robin killed her.
The thought burned in his brain by day and filled his nightmares at night. Every glance at the child's face was a reminder. Three marks crisscrossed over Robin's face, around his eyes. His long dark eyelashes had been singed off, and his eyesight had been badly damaged. But yet he lived.
Run away? Too conspicuous.
Murder? Too risky.
Negligence? Too dangerous.
An idea formed in Robert's mind.
It was raining that night, a calm and steady downpour. Robin was tucked in the crook of his arm. To any other rider on the subway, he appeared to be a conscientious father taking his sleeping child home after a long day.
He'd drugged Robin, just the slightest bit, to keep him from waking and crying. He wasn't sure if he would be able to keep the child quiet.
The rain had quickened as Robert stepped out of the subway station. The city orphanage was just a block away. He laid the child down on the front step. Robin was wrapped in a yellow blanket, the one Lark had knitted with her own tiny hands when she was expecting him. A wave of memories washed over him as he remembered the fragile mother-to-be curled up on the bed they shared, yellow yarn heaped about her. But he closed his heart and pinned the note to the blanket.
This is Robin. He is almost a year old. His mother loved him very much.
The man disappeared on the subway, and was not seen in that city again.
Ooh, this story has angst up street and down alley!!! I've never written anything this depressing before.tell me if it's any good. And don't worry, it's not over yet!