A Leaping Ladybug. Full

 I hope you enjoy my first story. Its my attempt at writing a fable. 

A Leaping Ladybug

A dreamer's vineyard, and a God in the mud. In a land that has long since died, there are still those who hold onto the belief that one act, no matter how simple, can bring either enlightenment, or total domination. This is the story of their leaping ladybug, and how even the tiniest of creatures has the power to change everything about a world they once believed in.

I

"When they had me in the cells—”

“And thank The Gods you are home John. Isn't that enough?”

Silence. Then, he brushed back his hair with two filthy hands and sighed, “Not for me it isn't.”

She knew him well. Rebecca realized that it never was. 

Where John, always the preacher, had had ideas in the past of how the world was, now, after a vision, he truly understood it. And John believed he could make his love see what he had seen.

“In the cells, I had a dream where I was once again close to somebody I love. You."

Rebecca, despite herself, despite what he asked of her, smiled.

"And so intensely do I love you, that it was as if we had transcended to another level of existence. And in fact, we had. We were there, in that new world, when a man came into this very room. He told us that he had something he wanted to show you, my songbird. But that most of all, it was me, as a guide, who ought to pay very close attention. Because this is not just for me. It is for us.”

She stared down at her dusty feet. Her heart sang, but still, Rebecca knew that she was right. She would have to convince John that to cross The Safety Line was foolishness. It was dangerous. It was to risk everything they had secured. Though of course her answer would have to be firm in the end, she allowed her words at the moment to hold very little conviction. Because she wanted to believe him. Her wish was his wish. To be free to explore. If only for a day. "John.” A pause. “We can't.” Her words were no more than a breath.

His head hung low as he placed a palm against her knee, and gazed at her from beneath his brow. He knew her well. John could predict that this tactic, a gentle touch, would help her hear him. Manipulating her, yes, though with good intention. He could be the one to lead her towards fulfillment. “My songbird, may I finish?"

Her lover's touch, the essence of all that he was, never failed to convince her. So she placed her rough fingers across the top of his hand, and lovingly let them slide from knuckle to knuckle. Soothing. Supporting. And finally, nodding in agreement, she opened her ears to him.

Painting for the mind's eye is never easy, but John was never an easy man. So he laid the canvas of his dream out before her, and continued. "Well, this man, he then led us to a vineyard. One like those I have heard The Elders speak of, back when our land was still Sonoma. Back before any of this had ever come about. A land where we could eat grapes freely and forget that we are where we are. And as for myself? It was a place where I could forget that I am me for a little while."

John looked away from her, and Rebecca, knowing why he avoided her, and loving him as she did, let the tears in her own eyes begin to stake a claim as well.

"It was how I imagine a home would feel. A true home Rebecca.” He rose to his feet, heavy boots barely making a sound, as each tender step brought him drearily to the window before him. Rebecca followed his lead, and together they peeked beyond their tattered curtain to watch as the day began. Seeing only that greyness was all they had ever known.

“A true home,” John repeated, “Nothing like this. It was like the world before. Like the stories they speak of at the community fires.”

“But they are only stories John.”

“What if they are more than just stories? In the dream, the man spoke of how he used to like sitting out in that vineyard. The fresh heat, a taste of clean air, the sweet hum of a bug's song. These things brought to him a great comfort. But his greatest comfort of all came from the times he got to watch a ladybug crawl up his arm. He said that he'd allow them to tickle him. All the way up to the tip of his finger. And from there, he’d watch them leap. The comfort, he explained, came from the feeling of liberation he’d experience every time he saw them fly.”

He turned towards the woman he so cherished. His songbird. Hoping only that he could reach her. Somehow showing her a better way at life. “Seeing their release brought the man so much closer to his own. My love, don't you understand?"

"Of course I understand.” And she did. For she also yearned to reach another land. A land that had once been real, that is, according to The Elders. But Rebecca was scared. She could not remember a time before The Safety Line. In this world, her world, vineyards had never existed. They were only legend. However, she herself had an imagination, and she wondered now. What would these grapes taste like? What would it be like to pull one from its vine? Tension, and then, a release as she made the fruit her own. How would it feel? She believed that to hold a grape, so delicate and sweet, must be quite the experience. “I understand you John."

"My songbird, this could not have been a mere dream.” A smile broke from his lips. A finger twitched. A gleam, as bright as a star, began to shine in his eyes. “It must have been a message. Maybe even from The Gods themselves. You see-”

“Oh John.” Her cheek rested on his shoulder. “You dear soul.” She wanted to comfort the man she loved, but she feared that to do so may hurt him. The Elders had warned them. “It is just a dream.”

“No Rebecca. No. The man told me that back then, he had had the time to imagine things. Just little fantasies, like his fingers being blades of grass; his body the root that connected him to all of the Earth. He said it was 'organic'. Then he laughed Rebecca! You remember real laughter don't you? True, uncontrollable laughter? It makes you hurt. But in a good way.”

Her lip trembled and she pinched her skirt as she sat back onto their mat. Rebecca could no longer bear to see the outside. So, she studied their shack, only to see the same greyness here too. There was no denying their hopelessness. Laughter, she thought, true laughter? Has it really been so long since they had laughed? It must be true, because the memory was a ghost. But it was there. And she remembered it now as music.

John sat down beside her, lost in his own thoughts as well. Please, whatever God is listening to this prayer, please let her hear my call. “Don't you remember?”

She finally looked back at him. “Yes. I remember.”

“Well thank The Gods for that, because I actually heard it. And Rebecca, when I saw him smile? I realized then that he was beautiful. This man, he was an angel. That is the truth, for he was radiant. He was raw authenticity. And he showed me what honesty expressed from one man to another could be without fear of rejection. Then he told us, you and I, that in that vineyard he had almost felt real!”

Those words drifted through the air for a time, as if searching for the realness and truth themselves. But they found nothing. So John carried on.

“Then I watched his smile wilt along with the dying vineyard that surrounded us. He said things changed. He had grown old. And when he did, the man noticed he had traded in his dreams for a sense of assurance, and a chance at stability. But he learned that the only assurance life grants a man, to any of us, is that nothing is ever truly assured. Stability only lasts a moment in the winds of time."

Sure, perhaps John was right. Maybe their safety would only last a moment. Her hands clenched as if grasping the moment for as long as she possibly could. Then came a tightness in her small frame that was unmistakable, and John wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Rebecca, we have survived for so long. But I fear we don't truly live."

She bounced up suddenly. Her skirt and golden hair twirled as she spun towards him, and the blood boiled as it rose to her neck. Rebecca grabbed her lover's collar, and John worried that she would tear his only shirt. "I 'live' when I have you! You John.” The windows to her soul burned with intensity. The intensity faltered. Then slipped. “Though you can be such an impulsive fool.”

In response, he playfully shook his head in defiance, and flashed her the best “disarming" smile that he could. "My songbird.” He raised a finger and let it wag. “Do not mistake my faith for impulsiveness. I have faith in us. And isn't faith so important to exercise? You always say so yourself. We can do this Rebecca.”

A thought. A beat of her heart. A smile back. But no response.

John kindly guided her fingers away from his collar and finished his vision. "This man said that then, as he was aging, he saw more and more with each passing day that the trade was never worth it. He didn't want stability afterall. What he wanted was another chance to dream again. He often wondered, 'What if? What if I had been brave?' Though to this he’d never have an answer, and it was a regret that weighed heavy on his soul. He told us that he had never again been happy in such a way as he was on those sunny days when he had felt real. Those days long since passed, when his dreams were more than mere fantasy. But ambition. And he was as free as a leaping ladybug.” Silence. Then, “We can do this.”

Her eyes glanced up. Her head was still. She bit her finger tip, and a grin appeared while she considered the thought. To explore? To play with her friend and the love of her life somewhere new? Rebecca was beautiful. Then she looked down at John and asked, “But what of the dangers in The Outer Realm?”

John's chest swelled like that of a frog protecting his territory, “I'd be there to protect you.”

“Why thank you sir.” She curtsied then patted his head. “But John, we don't know what's out there.”

“Oh, there's nothing out there. The Elders have never crossed The Safety Line either. No one in East Point has! Everybody here is like the old man in the vision. They're trading in their dreams for security. But think about it my love. Would a flimsy string stop dangers from coming in here and getting us? I don't think so. I think The Elders are scared, but I am not. I am a man now and can defend myself. Besides, I'm tired of working for silver scraps and bread with nothing else to do.”

“Yes. I am too.” Rebecca's eyes widened as she soaked all of this in. Sitting down again to catch a breath, she slowly turned her head. Eyes continuing to bulge. Face stretching so far that it threatened to snap off. 

John was shocked. “Stop that Rebecca. You're scaring me.”

Staring. Staring. Staring!

“I - I'm sorry John. It's just - that you may be right. How could a string border keep out dangers? And it's true that The Elders fear The Outer Realms more than any of us. And they've never even been out there! Do you truly believe the world of our legends could be so close? Just beyond The Safety Line?”

“Yep, I do. And grapes too. Our bellies would burst, our pockets would overflow with surplus. Not to mention, I am personally willing to hand feed them to you myself. Tonight. Right here on this mat.” The time to decide was now, and John believed that he had her hooked right where he wanted her. He took her by the hands and they stood, “I don't want to grow old and grey, only to regret the life that I have lived. Will you come with me, my love?”

Silence. Never more so than in this moment had John realized just how loud the wind through the walls of their shack really was.

He spoke softly, “I need you Rebecca”. And he did. He loved her. “Please?”

Never more so than in this moment, as she only stared, had John ever experienced time stop. And then… she smiled mischievously as her eyes lit up. She squeezed his hands, floated to the tips of her toes, and kissed his nose.

"Only if you keep that big mouth of yours at an indoor voice. And I mean it John. The entire time.”

He offered his right hand to The Gods and swore it to her as Rebecca kissed him again. The softness of her lips assured him of all that he wanted. To see the hills. And all that he needed. For her to see them too. Together they would witness, but just a glimpse, of what it feels like to truly live.

II

When The Tyrant at last became aware of his own terrible injustices, it was far too late. A massive grave that lay before his polished boots was already being filled. And it had only just begun. The land would despise him for his latest act. And rightfully so. For this land—his land—would know that it was an act that could never be undone. And for once, he agreed with his flock. There was no new grand commandment that could be spoken, and the ink of his pen would never fix this like it could for, say, the hunger that ravaged his people. So his pen would thirst.

When the first shots had blasted, the smoke from the barrels danced with the gusts of air without beauty. This was not how he had imagined it. As the sounds of what were once carriers of souls, now reduced to meat, thumped and squished into the cold, muddied shallows of their grave. He saw it. He saw what the peasants themselves had perhaps once seen. And much like a thick clump of earth from a gravediggers' shovel strikes a body. So too was his ego struck.

In this moment, he didn’t stand as erect as he always had in the past. In this moment, he found his lowest point as a God. He heard what the dead had heard. Tyranny. And thought that maybe he wasn't amongst The Gods afterall. What a realization! To be only a man? Yes, as much a man as any of those who had just moments before, drawn their last breath. All of this? Only to protect a self-granted title. A title he now could see meant as much to him as it did to the "yes men" who were all around. The shake of their blood-crusted hands, their empty salutes, and their indifferent smiles meant absolutely nothing. “Yes men” would cut his throat. If given the chance.

“Congratulations Sir!” Captain William Tick pushed through the other officers so that he may be granted the honor of shaking The Tyrant's perfectly manicured hand in front of his men. Captain Tick eagerly offered up his filthy paw. “A job well done sir. Very well indeed, if I may say so myself sir.”

A stench dripped from the officer. And it explained the blood shot eyes which were sunk deep within his emaciated skull.

“You may not.” The Tyrant waved him away without so much as a glance.

Yes, it was far too late to go back. And what would he do anyhow? Retire? Surrender? No... he could never surrender. The dogs would sniff out any weakness within him. Though The Tyrant was becoming afraid to live as a monster—which, of course, a monster he was—more so was he afraid to face a just consequence for his actions. A flash in his mind. A parade through the streets. The Tyrant would be whipped and gashed while naked and afraid, only to find that the people had proudly displayed the scalps of his wife and children in The Grand Capital. Thunderous cheers for his death would consume him. But only if he failed. Much easier and safer to justify the things he was doing.

Captain Tick suddenly snarled behind him as more and more shots rang through the wilderness. “There one goes boys!”

The Tyrant turned and observed as one of the sheep who had broken free was ripped apart by the rifles. Her frantic dash for safety subdued forever. Captain Tick smiled at the young woman's failure for freedom. Yes, it was wiser to justify. Not just the things that were taking place today. A sickening display of spinelessness and insecurity, only disguised as strength. But every day that he had lived since as long as he could remember.

The woman's captors dragged her through the mud as they presented Captain Tick with the young sheep, her golden hair now stained with a mixture of mud and gore. “Her lungs still hold air, Captain.” A soldier licked his lip. “Can we keep this one for ourselves?”

While the young woman gasped, sobbed, and bled, Captain Tick raised an inquisitive eye to his God.

The Tyrant raised his chin in response, and looked down upon them all. Lesser lifeforms are to avert their gaze before being addressed by a God. Better to let the soldiers soak in his glory first, and only then, when they all nervously looked at the girl, his prop, did he reply. "Yes Captain, they may do with her as they wish.” He then clicked his boots violently, demanding respect from his warriors, “But be quick about it!”

The troops whooped in delight as their eyes explored the moaning woman up and down in vicious hunger. Alone in her plight, she was now just a prize for mad men. They began to drag her to a misty tree line away from the graves. Another thought then occurred to The Tyrant. “And search her for silver when you're done with her.” His eyes, a vibrant green, bore down on his most eager officer, “You may go along too if you'd like Captain.”

Captain Tick's eyes plummeted to his muddy, shuffling boots, “Uhm, well sir, I believe I'd rather not.” Captain Tick appeared to shrink in size, and he began to unscrew his flask once again.

“Very well then.”

The Tyrant was a man lost. Lost to himself, to his delusions of grandeur, and to all he had once held dear—as dear as a man such as himself could feel, that is. Abyss would be the best way to describe in him the place, where in most other men, a soul resides. Though still, he liked to believe himself as one of The Gods. Even if he shivered in the cold air as again, and again, and yet still further, the rifle's music skipped across the hills until they slammed into the same nothingness that became of their victims.

The Tyrant, beast that he was, even while his doubts pleaded for him to end this, watched as friends amongst the peasants clutched for one another when the soldiers ripped them apart. So cowardly was he, that he thought only of himself as families were split the moment they were forced off of the cattle trucks. Madness was erupting throughout the valley. And the madness belonged to him.

A mother's screech split the winds in two as she kicked, and scratched, with everything within her to escape the grip of one soldier who held her. However, she was no match. Only able to watch as another soldier took her son. Her little man around the house was grabbed by his little ankles, then slammed against a tree until his sweet brains, which once loved playing with ducks, and his dear mama, were splattered against the bark.

Total destruction had been achieved, and the mother collapsed. The soldiers spit on her before searching for another child to slay. In shock and unable to move, this dear mother was then trampled by the mass of peasants being herded towards The Tyrants pits. She gulped, and sucked for air, her natural instinct, but could only slurp down mud water as her body was crushed by the feet of those next to die. She would drown in the mud, with nothing else left in this world to fight for.

Happening a mere 20 feet away to his left, The Tyrant never even noticed the mother or her son. Too trapped within his own mind to even consider the loss of a tiny family. Other soldiers were there as well. Those who were granted an hours lunch period, exhausted from their mornings work, relaxed on crates of booze and bullets while souvenirs were boasted, and jokes were passed.

They sang songs. Some sang due to a genuine love for the day. Some sang to belong to a tribe. While others sang only to forget. There were those too who seemed as though they were only capable of staring. Perhaps staring into the nothingness that they must have known they were now a part of.

Wondering if anybody thought about him during all of this, The Tyrant felt isolated from everybody. Captain Tick was his only companion in the midst of all that he had created, and the man was a worm.

In the distance, through the smoke of gunpowder and campfires, it could be seen that more women and children, and even a few men who had been plucked from the masses, were being ripped, forced, or dragged deeper into the woods. Towards the same misty tree line where Captain Tick's patrol had taken the young woman with the filth stained golden hair. Worst of all possible fates.

Still more blasts echoed. Signifying more souls lost. Still The Tyrant's mind struggled. Struggled to consider all of who he was as a man. Through the wreckage of his orders, even at a time such as this, where he truly believed himself guilty, a trace of remorse so close to the surface, his self awareness indicated only one thing. That he was a man incapable of considering any single person other than himself.

That is until his gaze was snatched by a single red spot of blood amongst the waves that splashed elsewhere. It lay plastered on the cold October ground. And for a moment, his self pity became silenced. Then, as he watched, the blood leaped into the air and took flight.

For it was a ladybug.

A survivor of this tragedy. And here, in this place, it floated away from The Tyrant's devilish games.

“Captain Tick, come.”

Loyal, to a point, the dog was immediately at heel, “Here Sir.”

“How strong that little bug must be,” he limply reached an unblemished finger without aim, “to survive all of this.”

With a slight twitch of his brow, Tick rubbed the back of his neck as he drunkenly wondered which peasant The Tyrant was speaking of. An impossible task to pinpoint one sheep among so many destined for slaughter. “Oh no sir. None of them will survive,” he explained, “We have it under control sir. You must be very proud.”

Saying nothing more, The Tyrant once again waved this fool out of his presence. Captain Tick may be too blind for details, but The Tyrant himself was far more brilliant. He admired the ferocity of the ladybug as it rose. For the little beast was a follower to no one. Much unlike Tick. She held no doubts and possessed only an instinct to achieve something greater than all of this decay. A leader. A visionary. It showed him all of which he needed to become—no—what he already was.

Strong.

So tiny, yet so large. It was a ladybug that helped The Tyrant descend once again into total darkness. A chance to become a man had vanished as he watched the lady soar to the heavens above. The mirror of truth that he was so close to examining shattered, and at once, he doubled down. He would justify this day. Naturally, as tyrants do. And his moment of self-reflection was gone. It was far too late to change. Too late for honesty. And too late for The Tyrant.

So, he would survive as he always had and fight for his divine right to be a God. Deciding right then, with that small act, The Tyrant strolled into motion to join the merriment of the festivities he had arranged.

III

Though under the same sky, out here, things seemed different. John and Rebecca were floating as high as the clouds above them. The scents were fresh. The sights were new. And the things that they discovered had brought them closer and closer to an emotion, no, a revelation of what living could be. Life was so huge. Like the sky. And dreams beyond The Safety Line manifested true authenticity within them. As the lovers pretended they saw faces in the drifting white puffs above, they let the earth hug their backs. The embrace was brilliant. Earth, though solid with a rock here or there, was much better than an old mat. It was organic. It was real. 

Eternity stretched out before him invitingly, and John, following the old man's lead, reached up his arms and imagined his fingers were blades of grass. The clean air kissed each one with individual care, creating in John a connection with the soil beneath him. Finally, John was a root. Nature bowed to these two best friends and welcomed them home warmly with the sweet hum of a bugs song. A true home. Then John inhaled the color of life, and as he exhaled, the greyness was gone.

Rebecca turned towards him, taking in his serenity. And John returned her contemplation. They both understood. This was the first time they had ever truly seen one another. A rich brown plunged into a deep blue as souls offered to each other all that they had. Out here, beyond The Safety Line, depression was vanquished. Love had exploded in a triumphant show of victory.

Rebecca rose to her feet and flirtatiously pulled on her protector and hero's arm. “Come John. Let's rest later. I want to go play!”

An understandable desire for a woman as young as she who, unexpectedly, was now swimming in the newness of a fresh start. “Let's explore!” And then, “Will you guide me?”

There was much to behold, so John obliged. The guide, in full control, slowly got to his feet. But then… he leaped! He rushed after Rebecca, and her blissful screams as she turned to flee filled the land with harmony. And finally, The Songbird sang. At the sound of her elation, it became as though John had stepped in tar.

“Rebecca!” he shouted.

Startled, she ceased to scamper. “Y-yes my love? What is it?”

Never more so than in this moment had she ever witnessed such contentment in a man. John was radiant.

“You laughed!”

“I guess I did!” Rebecca, knowing now how it was to be free, began spinning like the ballerinas of The Old World. Her golden hair shattering the sunlight as she danced.

Rebecca was beautiful. And when John caught her, their transcension to a new level of existence was complete. Hand in hand, they skipped through the wilderness and screamed true unconstrained laughter until their bellies hurt. But in a good way.

●●●●

A young man, only seventeen, had become incapable of so much as a flinch while the rifles sang their songs of death. A statue, he now was made of stone. What lay behind him was no longer a valley, but misery incarnated. And the boy had played his part in igniting the inferno. While The Underworld gnawed on the flesh of those who had been forced to her dinner table, the young soldier could only stare into nothingness. The same nothingness he knew he was now a part of.

The songs of his comrades by his side failed to remedy the boy's mind of his only thought. A loving sister. If she could see him now, would she recognize him? The soldier doubted it. And if his sister were here, right now in this moment, how long would she last before being dragged towards the misty tree line? One minute? Two? And if such horrors became of her, would he stop it? No. He would only stare in shocked acceptance as she became a toy for his friends. He killed a man today. Then two. Then a woman. Then a child. And the atrocities continued until his lunch hour. 

The soldier was a boy lost. Lost to himself. Lost to a delusion of duty. And lost to all that he had once held so dear. Abyss would be the best way to describe what his soul was becoming. But still, he wanted to believe himself as Tyler. The boy who for hours would float across the river on his back. Laughing with his sister. Her teaching him to read. Him fixing her bicycle chain. Just Tyler, the boy who would help her sort through buttons so she could mend the coats of their village free of charge. Now, with every death that he witnessed, he saw a button removed from her jar. And with every one, a piece of all that he was as a man would slide closer to the abyss.

Duty. Oh how he had loved that word before this day. Though now he'd never know its meaning. Tyler was a boy lost the minute he signed the papers declaring him a Grand Capital Guardsman. An honor had turned to deep shame.

But then… a ladybug. It landed on the barrel of his rifle and fluttered its wings as if to say, “Hello Tyler.” How was it that something would ever again stand the sight of a boy such as himself?

Simple. The ladybug was pure and innocent. Unlike the boy, it had taken no part in the destruction of man. It was a noble creature. Steadfast and true. And Tyler was sure that if he could speak its language, it would tell him of redemption, true duty, and of sacrifice for the greater good.

“Ready!” The soldier twisted his famished physique and saw The General raise his sword. Captain Tick directed Tyler's comrades into position.

“Aim!” He closed his eyes to avoid the sight.

The General's sword fell. “Fire!” Tyler's eyes blasted open as what The General called sheep, though the boy knew them as people, dropped to the mud.

Captain Tick sucked from his flask. Bodies were pushed into the grave. And The General patted Tick hard on the back, making the Captain spit up his beloved poison. This made The General, no, Tyrant, roar with laughter. The Captain looked down mournfully over the lost booze. Expressing more sadness over the spilt liquor than any drop of spilt blood. Tyler was surrounded by savages.

Bodies. How many bodies had it been? Three? Four hundred? While one is too many for most men, The Tyrant and Tick were perfectly content. Tyler was not. He hated them both almost as much as he hated himself. A fat, pig faced bastard, and his gap-toothed dog. And it was they who held all the power.

Then red flashed from his rifle and the ladybug leaped. Tyler watched as it said farewell, and with that, he was no longer submerged in nothingness. The ladybug had reminded Tyler of who he was. 

Soldiers surrounded the boy. All were drunk. Most were foolish. None seemed focused on much of anything other than chaos. Either that, or forgetting the chaos was real. As Tyler stood, his attention was called to the focus of a young man hidden amongst the trees. A peasant. Also, the presence of another, a young woman who crouched beside the man. At the recognition between the three young souls, they all stopped abruptly. Like a deer spooked by a snapping twig, there was no effort made to move.  

Military training can make one act without thought. Tyler's training told him to sound the alarm. But as the two young peasants sat there frozen, he simply walked the other way without a word.

●●●●

Crying filled the valley. Desperate. Mournful. And in search of a hope that would never arrive. Pleading poured from the lips of all those to become future statistics. But woes had no effect on The Tyrant. He was wolf-like with ruthless intent. For him, watching a man die was like lighting his pipe. He did it simply because he wanted to. So the dogs lined up another flock of sheep while the begging continued. The grave, hungry and slick with the crimson of life's fuel, waited to consume all those who came to her. 

“Ready!” His power was all encompassing.

“Aim!” This day belonged to him. 

The sun exploded off the ceremonial sword as its final order cut down the hopes of so many.

“Fire!”

The rifles raged. Their echoes began to hunt the hills. As if searching for further gifts to place before The Tyrant's feet.

●●●●

The Elders would certainly believe that the two of them had lost their minds when they returned to East Point. What had gotten into these two they'd ask. But they would never know, for she would never let them in on the secret. Rebecca couldn't help but giggle when she pictured it. The old bores scratching their heads. The women gossiping around the fires. And all because of her. A quiet girl who found her voice. It was a marvelous thought! John tearing through the village, as she, the princess, rode on his back chirping with happiness. The two would be the envy of the entire village. Rebecca figured that that would be an honor. This had been her first piggyback ride, and she found the name perfectly fitting due to her squeals of delight. She had flown today. Meaning more of these would be a requirement in the future. She had already asked John to promise.

​As Rebecca's fantasies spoke to her of all the wonderful things to come, an echo suddenly overcame her senses. Serpent-like in essence, and hunting, the echoes hissed while slithering around her. And though Rebecca and her love had spent the day galloping under the cover of oak trees free from worry, the shade here was beginning to represent wickedness where it had once offered refuge. Now it was easy to imagine herself as prey. Unlike anything she had ever heard in her life behind The Line, these sounds were alien. And they caused her ears to perk up in an effort to weed out the ghouls. The princess, on guard and wanting to reclaim her feet, leaped from John's back. And when she did, the ground greeted her with a hard thump. She realized then like never before, that the earth was frigid and unkind. Rebecca began searching John's face for how she should feel, and hoped that he could understand how badly she longed for home. However, she trusted her guide's intuition. And believed that he would hold any answers that she may desire. After all, it was he who turned the key to a heart she could not remember locking. 

​John stood tall. If he had any fear, it was not shown. “I believe I know what those sounds are,” he declared. Rubbing his chin, her love watched the sky and listened bravely. He was a knight. 

​Though as for Rebecca, her skin prickled with chills. Her vulnerabilities were at a peak, and she never felt so in the nude. The revelations would come. And she feared what they may be. Something horrid? Frightening? Or perhaps they would be beautiful. It was impossible to say as this land was not her land. So the girl dared not make assumptions. Watching John consider the possibilities was enough for her, and she had faith that his guidance would lead them to peace. If patient, wherever it was that destiny meant for them to be, perhaps there would be yet another piggyback ride on the way. 

​“Fireworks.”

Though it would not bloom, a memory came close to the surface of her mind. “Fireworks?” 

​“Yes Rebecca. Why, of course. Just like the stories!” John's body shook as adrenaline raced to fuel the fire that now blazed within his heart. “Oh thank The Gods for bringing us here! You see Rebecca? This is what the old man in the vineyard spoke of when he said he had felt real! Isn't it wonderful?”

​Oh how she wished that she could see through his eyes. Then maybe Rebecca would feel wonderful too. But her lip trembled. And her long fingers began pinching her skirt. What would her knight think of a princess who lived in doubt? Maybe the legends were true. But Rebecca was hesitant to step into the unknown. “I'm not sure, John. These sounds don't feel happy.”

​John quickly snapped. “Why must you always be so pessimistic?” His head fell back and sighed with such power that Rebecca was certain he could force the shade to be blown away. “Have you so quickly forgotten the day I have provided for you? I was right about it all wasn't I?”

Rebecca hadn't forgotten. Never to forget this day, she reminded herself that John held her key. Now and forever. But still, his words cut her deeply. Just moments ago she was his princess, and now he resented her. Could he so easily choose a vineyard over his songbird? All that she wanted was safety and love. Not just for herself. But for John too.

“Well?” His glare sliced through her.

“Yes. You were right.” ​She had to admit that it had been a perfect day. Thanks to John, today she learned what it was like to fly. And everything he had predicted did come true. But then a thought snuck into Rebecca's mind. Well, almost everything came true. Everything except the grapes. “But… what about the—”

​“Listen Rebecca.” Her knight ignored her without a clue. “They are cheering and singing songs! It's a party! The Old World lives! I told you that The Elders were fools! Oh I just knew it! There's a celebration going on! Just like the stories!”

​“John.” She was ashamed, though she knew it was important to confess. “I am afraid. Can't we talk a little longer? Perhaps we should really—”

​”Oh pish posh.” He dismissed her concerns with ease. “Just trust me.” John shot up the hill towards the festivities of The Old World. And he never looked back at her as he went. He chased after the vineyard whooping with excitement. “Don't be a chicken and hurry up Rebecca! Let us go and see the wonders of legend!”

Her hesitation continued. And a heavy frown stole her status as a princess. Rebecca didn't think she was a chicken for simply wanting to talk. But he was already leaving. Her head started bouncing frantically. First one way, towards her little shack and The Safety Line. Then another, watching as John, the love of her life, drifted off to something bigger than they were. And so easily without her. She had doubts about these fireworks. But would she miss out on something special if she went home? And would John ever be able to forgive her if she did? Remembering then how John had seen her for the first time that day, Rebecca decided she wouldn't risk losing the only person that had ever really known her. And only to prove she was not too afraid to be brave, Rebecca promised herself that she would make him proud, not be a chicken, and pray to The Gods the entire time. 

​“John, wait for me! Please!” Desperately chasing after him up the hill, her first prayer was that he wouldn't forget her so quickly. “I'm coming with you!”

IV

Her lungs hurt. And not in a good way. John. Screaming, her legs threatened to quit. She was so close too… him. Feet pounding. Heart pumping. Sweat stung her eyes. My protector. She was so close to the top, where John and the vineyard waited for her. But Rebecca's stomach protested. Please don't forget me so quickly. And her pace slowed as everything told her to quit. You saw me today. But the end was near, and Rebecca was never a quitter, so she pushed on. John. Then, as she crested the hill, her body, and thoughts, were forgotten. Rebecca's love was lying at her feet. She gasped. “John?”

John was shivering violently behind an old dilapidated oak tree. Her guide to the vineyard was as flat on his face as the tree from which he cowered behind had been for years. Rebecca scanned the valley below. And just like her hero had fallen, so too did her jaw fall. Crumbling before Rebecca was the world as it truly was. Death. Sorrow. Fear. She guessed that she had already known, but now there was no denying that The Elders had always been right. However, John's promise had still come true. He did guide her to a place where she could see life as it really was. But it was a life unlike any she had ever imagined. And no fantasy could protect her from the ripping claws of reality. Out here, beyond The Safety Line, chaos was the victor. And cruelty suffocated love with awesome strength. Now, as she witnessed these unspeakable acts, Rebecca stood there alone. She watched as strange men with spears, and sticks that burst with flame, tore down terrified villagers. And at her feet, the visionary was a shell. A knight caked in mud, and the chicken standing tall. Real life is as mysterious as the origin of dreams. But as John lay there, knees tucked, barely able to peek through his shaking fingers at the devastation below. Rebecca loved him still. She was his friend. Needing to comfort him, she kneeled beside this sweet man and brushed his hair behind an ear. “John, it'll be ok my love. I am here. I am with you. Those men do not see us so we should just-”

Pulled down with no warning, Rebecca was ignored. “Stay down. They'll see you.”

A false smile appeared on her face. It was all she could think to do in an attempt to calm him. “Not if we keep our voices at an indoor level. Remember? Let's go home John. We can do it. We just have to go back down-”

He tried to silence the songbird. “Hush Rebecca. They'll hear you.” 

John's tear stained eyes felt as though they would never close again as he stared at the world in all its glory. Through his trembling fingers he saw the way it truly was beyond The Safety Line. Always of such importance to John, he had been right. The Old World did exist. His face had become a grotesque mask of horrors. All the happenings before him threatened to force out a cry. But his fears of being noticed mandated his silence. He was now contorted. John was unrecognizable as a man.

“Oh John.” Rebecca understood. But despite herself, despite this crazy feeding frenzy of murder, she just wanted her guide back. “It'll be ok. Trust me my love. You'll be ok my darling.” 

Corpses littered the landscape. More bodies fed the graves than were in all of East Point. The sticks of fire disintegrated the heads of some from a distance. Others were disemboweled by the glistening spears that blossomed from the flaming branches. Groups of villagers were lifted from their throats by flimsy cuts of string. And John watched as a child's heart was pierced by a dagger. He remembered young Philip back home. And John thought of how he would tell the boy what his dreams had meant. Would those men down there do to Philip what they did to the other boy? Men, women, and children were having their lives plucked out of them by a machine that neither John or Rebecca would ever understand. But John, as the fireworks destroyed everything they touched, saw his mirror of dreams, one that he had dedicated his entire life to believing in, smashed. He now realized The Elder's words rang true. And that if they were true here, then they were true back home. John's life was a lie. And now the dream lay eviscerated right before his eyes.

“John please. Come back. We can get away from here. Let me take you home” Though Rebecca spoke, John would not hear her. She was but a candle in a deep cave. Her flame could not reach his walls.

John, always a preacher, had had ideas in the past of how the world was, but now, after seeing the lives of so many souls snuffed out, he truly understood it. And Rebecca, though the winds were strong, would not let her flame be extinguished.

“John. John, don't you hear me?” Something snapped an invisible whip near Rebecca. The tree jerked, and wood was magically ripped from its body. Rebecca knew that death was calling her name. But she had never been a quitter, so she stayed strong. She would not leave him. “My sweet sweet man. Please believe me. You're going to be alright”. Rebecca looked down into the valley and saw that they were still unnoticed. “Come on John. There's still time. I can take you home. Let me be your guide.”

The fresh heat here. Were fires. And John was suffocating in the smoke from flashing fire sticks, and flesh melting off bone.

Rebecca tugged his arm. “Let's be sneaky John.” Silence.

John saw now what Rebecca had seen. Danger. Risks. Reality. Hindsight may be perfect. However, it is meaningless. And seeing now meant nothing. For now it was far too late. His clean air was filled with the stench of burnt hair, human feces, and blood.

John was a liar. If anything he had said this morning had come to be true. It was a song. But the songs of The Outer Realms were songs of death and hatred. And they were sung by killers.

There was no great comfort. Freedom now, was only a memory from back when he was able to hold Rebecca this morning and fill her head with his dream. Organic matter here wasn't a dying vineyard providing compost. The organic matter was dying men providing heartache.

Rebecca was now shoving John over, and over, and yet still further. “John. Answer me. Please. Come back to me my love. You're still my knight.”

Rebecca had pushed and shoved. She had pleaded and begged. She had tried to reason with him. Safety was right there waiting for them. But with nothing else left to try, her mind captured one last thought. A kiss. Like the fairytales she had heard of Sleeping Beauty. Rebecca cranked his head as another crack slammed into their fallen tree. Deep blue poured into a rich brown, but the connection was gone.

In the valley of death, there was a kiss. It was to save a good man who was flawed. And in that moment, fairytales died. The softness of her lips assured John of nothing. To see the hills was to die. 

Rebecca threw herself over his limp body and began to sob as she repeated his name again and again.

No messenger of The Gods ever spoke to John. It was The Lord of The Underworld, or worse yet, nothing. It was only himself, in a desperate search for something more, John had guided himself here. And it was only himself that had brought Rebecca to this death. Faith in an illusion should have always been faith in Rebecca. She was always the anchor that protected them in the past.

His dream was a nightmare, and oh how he'd give anything right now to just go back home. Safe with Rebecca. Whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears and giggling contentedly. Not the songbird, just sweet Rebecca. A beautiful woman. A real human being who truly did not deserve to be tricked by a man as foolish as John. A man whose ego may actually get them killed at any moment.

Hot sweat drenched his brow. Bile threatened to spew out from behind his trembling lips. He longed for his home where he, and the love of his life, had been safe and secure. “I ‘live’ when I have you John! You! You impulsive fool!” Life now was no longer about eating and playing with ladybugs. It was just about life. Whatever life was didn't matter. It was whoever. Whoever you had by your side. 

At last he saw her and whispered. Whether he was speaking more to himself, or more to Rebecca, he did not know, "It was only a dream."

Hands squished his cheeks together. “I thought I had lost you, my love”. Continuous sounds still came pouring out of the valley. Screams, jeers, blasts, and cracks which punched the tree that shielded them.

Again he spoke, and this time he was sure it was to himself, “It was only a dream”.

Then, her palms still glued to his face, she replied, "Please John. I do not understand. But we have to leave."

"Rebecca," he was so utterly ashamed, "It was just a silly dream I had.” He choked back a sob, too afraid to make a sound.

Where once John and Rebecca had smiled and fantasized about a world where true laughter would not only exist, but explode from their hearts, he knew now that out here, the only real laughter came from monsters who quenched their blood lust off the lives of children. For himself he couldn't even express silent feelings of remorse and terror.

John slowly reached his lips towards her ear, “It was no message from The Gods. Just a dream I had. I am so sorry for how I have misled you.”

“It doesn't matter now John. We have to get out of here before someone sees us.”

“Rebecca, the raw authenticity I desired, it was always with me. It is-”

“John!” She screamed at him. “John hush, and listen to me right now! We have to sneak away, or we will end up like those poor people out there. We can discuss this back behind The Safety Line.”

A shining beacon of evil caught John's eye when she spoke. From down in the valley, A man stood erect and proud in the middle of the frenzy. He was unfazed by the tornado of violence that swirled him. He was the color in this grey world. A sword was lighted by sun rays when he held it high. And when it fell? So too did those before him fall. Swallowed by the earth. 

This man was Death. And John was certain he was looking right at Rebecca. John had to save her and he had to do it now.

A glitch in the mind. And iron gripped lunge. And a frantic attempt at action. A high pitched screech escaped from John's lips as he screamed “Rebecca let's get out of here!” 

Soldiers from below, hearing John, noticed the two young lovers as John pulled himself and his love to their feet.

“Oh John! Oh no! They heard you.”

“I will save you Rebecca! We will run like the winds!” 

John dragged Rebecca behind him as he imagined himself flying home. The hero, however, was not aware of his surroundings, and in his panic he tripped down the hill that Rebecca chased him up. John and Rebecca went tumbling down the hill. In his attempt to catch himself, John smashed his knees into the Earth. He felt something break under his body, but he felt no pain. And a deep crack could be heard. It resembled a large branch snapping. Then silence. John and Rebecca had reached the bottom. 

“Have faith Rebecca. Trust me, my love. Remember. We can do this.”

But Rebecca would never do anything again. Her neck, in a moment of panicked clumsiness, had been snapped under the knee of a dreamer's ego. 

●●●●

“Rebecca, let's get out of here!” The piercing scream was loud enough to stop The Tyrant and Captain Tick in their tracks. Tick's eagle eyes scanned the valley and then he spotted him. A small boy jumped up from behind a fallen oak tree. Ticks men watched the boy and the girl he dragged. “Well.” Captain Tick was amused by the hidden boy who squeaked like a little woman, “go on and put those two down.”

The soldiers rolled their eyes and with irritated groans, lazily went after the bellowing sheep and his girl. 

“Wait!” The Tyrant threw up a hand to stop them. “Let them go.”

“Sir?”

The Tyrant sneered. “Yes. Let them go and tell the world what is coming.”

●●●●

John was now a man lost. Lost to himself. Lost to his delusions of destiny. And lost to everything he had ever held dear. Abyss would be the best way to describe the place where his soul had gone. And in a cruel twist of fate, as he stared down at his songbird, now lifeless and crushed, John had gotten his wish. He had forgotten that he was himself. He was Lost.

●●●●

The Tyrant never again considered the two sheep he had watched flee. He simply returned to the task at hand. He was finally secure in who he was as a man and found joy in his abilities as a God. He raised his sword to deliver yet another onslaught, a voice came from behind him. "I beg your pardon sir, but this requires your immediate attention"

The Tyrant's turned and his face grew hot at the insubordination of such a young, low ranking recruit, who dared to approach a God such as himself.

He placed his pretty hands on his hips and waited. He waited longer. He became livid. "Well, speak boy. What is-"

The Tyrant was flat on his back before even realizing he had been shot in the chest.

Tyler, already knowing he would certainly be killed, and never once caring, was shot in return and died a hero.

As The Tyrant faded out of this world, a ladybug landed on his hand. And in that moment he realized he had been conquered. He was a victim of his own oppression. And as he was buying his ticket to The Underworld, he became consumed in regret.

Captain William Tick, always an eager officer, and having watched The Tyrant breathe his last breath, immediately seized the ceremonial sword from the body of a beast. It was always coveted by him. And now it was his. Captain Tick smiled. 

V

Jeremiah and Ella ventured through the hills in silence. Both were exploring their own thoughts. They were together. And due to the mercy of a young soldier, who had had the courage to walk away, they now had a chance to learn how to live again. Despite the fires they had been through, they were blessed. They enjoyed the fresh heat of the hills and breathed the clean air. Ella's hand squeezed Jeremiah's. He returned her affection. And as they listened to the sweet hum of a bug's song, a ladybug landed on Ella's arm. Ella allowed the ladybug to tickle her all the way up to the tip of her finger. And from there, the two lovers watched it leap. 

"You know Jeremiah, I'm going to take that as a good sign."

"Yes. A good sign.”

It was a ladybug who broke the silence of two souls who survived The Underworld. And the sign was good. Jeremiah and Ella walked into a new life, and as they did, they were now as free as a leaping ladybug. 

End