FOR FOREVER by Connor Sassmannshausen

She was everything to him,

and him to her.

But they could not be...

He’d loved her since the beginning, love at first sight you could call it. From the primary glances, she was dark in every way. With one look, she stole his heart. With a smile that seemed to light the sky, she could rival the sun. The sparkle of joy and sorrow in her eyes put the stars to shame.

When she saw him for the first time, she noticed the way his laugh lit up his face. The energy he exuded in everything he did held her attention, even if it was the most menial of tasks.

Everything about him was bright, seeming to hold everything in his thrall.

She was everything to him, and him to her. She was his match. He wanted her more than anything in the world, just as she yearned for him. He would give anything to her, for her.

But they could not be.

It started with flowers, every kind he could think of, every species she could imagine. And she held them dear, smiling with each gift. Then, he turned to all manner of trees and plants, and she kept them all. And she loved him all the more. So many, he sent, that she created a vast garden, where she would walk, alone, and think of him.

Because they could not be.

But still he loved her, and she him.

Then he began to send her creatures, from the smallest field mouse to the massive whale. And she found a place for everything he sent. She made space for an ocean for the fish, for the whales, for the seals, and all that swam. She created plains of various grasses, for the buffalo and the mustangs, and for the elephants and lions. She took trees from her garden and planted her own jungle for the creatures that dwelt there. Until she had a boundless menagerie.

And she loved him.

But they could not be.

As time spun on, he saw that she was alone, that he could not rid her of that. So, he began to send her companions, hoping they may take away some of her pain. He sent her both men and women, trying to find her a match that would take his place as her equal. He sent the wise and the wealthy. He sent her kings and scholars. He sent her farmers and shepherds, ranch hands and business owners. He sent doctors, lawyers. He sent dreamers, writers, creators, artists. He even resorted to liars and thieves, murderers and traitors. Hoping she would find someone to keep her company in her quiet, lonely days.

But none she found to compare to him. None could understand her. None could comprehend what she thought and said. But she kept them, housed them, fed them, cared for them, because he had sent them to her.

And as the days passed, she would remain by the door, waiting for whatever gift he sent.

Sometimes, another flower to add to her garden, or a creature for her zoo, sometimes another friend to try to break away some of her loneliness.

So many days and weeks and months had passed, she began to believe they would never meet again, like in the beginning. The stars in her eyes began to dim, and sun in her smile began to fade.

Then, one day, the gifts didn’t come. She had become so accustomed to them, she didn’t know what to do. She waited by the door for another messenger, with even the smallest blade of grass, but none came.

She felt her heart break, the stars in her eyes went out, and the brightness of her smile shattered as she let out a cry of anguish. She fell to her knees before the door, sobs wracking her body.

Then the door opened, and in he stepped. With only a glimpse of her distraught form, he knelt beside her, lifting her face. He wiped the tears from her cheeks. His smile gave her the light of the sun, and his eyes gave her the stars.

He helped her stand, never taking his gaze from her face. She lifted her hand, offering it to him.

He took it, lacing their fingers together. With a glance out the door, he pushed it closed, turning the lock. This was the end.

And Death led Life into her home.

Connor Sassmannshausen is an Australian based American author who also enjoys the art of filmmaking and cross-stitching. If it were possible she would have a pet dragon. She spends her time writing, watching movies, and reading.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/csassmannshausen/

Twitter: @Sass_Connor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sass.connor/  

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff

THE SILVER THREADS OF THE SPIDER: A Folktale from Paraguay by Nohan Meza

I will marry the one

who brings me a true gift,

one that is different from all others...

It is unclear whether Samimbí ever loved either of them, or any of the other suitors for that matter, but knowing the way of things, she gave instructions of how one of the two brave warriors was to win her favor. Of course, she admired both of them for their respective qualities: Ñanduguasu, Brave-Ostrich, was a swift and fearless warrior known for his speed, which is why he had been given that name by their shaman. And Jasyñemoñare, Son-of-Moon, was known as one of the most handsome men in the village; it is said he was blessed by the gods. Both courted her with poetry, songs, and dance in an attempt to win her hand, for she was the chieftain’s daughter, and so beautiful and kind that light itself, whether by day or night, always shone upon her face. Still, these were not the things that mattered to Samimbí. She longed for something different, something that would be unique among her people.

One day, she spoke to her two suitors and said, “I will marry the one who brings me a true gift, one that is different to all others, and as such cannot be replaced. By bringing me the most beautiful gift in the forest you shall prove your love.”

Within days, her home had mountains of the most alluring offerings from all neighboring villages: necklaces made with feathers from birds of paradise, bracelets encrusted with precious stones the size of eyes, and crowns of flowers that bloom once every four years. The gifts came from all suitors who had heard the word. None of these were what Samimbí was looking for.

One night, Jasyñemoñare was wandering through the woods, looking for the perfect gift. Son-of-Moon looked up to the stars, called upon the gods to help him. His wish granted, he caught sight of something between the two highest branches of the highest tree in the forest, glinting under the moonlight. It looked like threads of silver, thin as hair, composed into the most beautiful and complex arrangement he had ever seen. Knowing he had found the true gift, Son-of-Moon began to climb.

So fate would have it that Ñanduguasu happened to be walking through the forest at that time and had spied upon Jasyñemoñare. Driven by the jealousy found within his heart’s desires, he swiftly took out his bow, pulled the bowstring taut, and loosed an arrow that pierced through Jasyñemoñare’s chest, dropping him dead.

Brave-Ostrich climbed the tree with much more facility than his fallen rival, and soon he stood on a thick branch, beholding what would win him his beloved. Under the light of the moon, he reached for the silver threads. However, upon touching them, the shapes dissolved like shadows, leaving his hands empty. He reached time and again between the branches, his eyes wide with terror, yet he grasped nothing but the cool air of night.

He returned home and for three days and three nights he did not speak, did not eat, and did not sleep. He merely wandered the fields aimlessly with a vacant gaze. Ñanduguasu’s mother, worried for her son, questioned him throughout his mourning. Only upon the fourth morning was she able to extract what had happened. Her son had killed a man out of passion. And yet, the love she had for her child would not falter. She could see his regret and his broken heart, so she asked her son where he had seen the beautiful threads.

Shortly after, Ñanduguasu’s mother set out and found the tallest tree in the forest. There, she found the half-putrefied corpse of Son-of-Moon, just like her son said she would. Holding back tears, for the child must have had a mother too, she began her slow ascent up the branches. She did not have her son’s skill, and her life had been long in years, yet she knew her son would die of misery if she failed to make amends for his mistake. With the last few rays of sunlight as witness, she finally arrived at the top and carefully approached the two branches where the gift had been. A small creature ran back and forth between them, weaving. After watching its movements for a few minutes, she took out her wooden needles and with her own aged, silver hair as thread, she began to copy the symmetrical movements under the moonlight. With every single hair on her scalp she weaved the most regal dress the gods had ever seen. Once she was done, she thanked the creature we call spider and gave it the name it was known by thereafter, Ñandu, in honor of her son, for upon Ñandu’s beautiful tapestry always lie the snares of death.

It was not until the rosy braids of dawn appeared on the horizon that she returned to her village. Weak and bald and, knowing the way of things, she spoke to him and said, “Go now, my child, take this gift I have made from my own body, just as I once made you, and claim your heart’s desire.” Ñanduguasu was overjoyed, though his happiness was bittersweet, for the act had weakened his mother, who was not long for this world anymore.

He hugged and kissed his mother a hundred times, then laid her to rest and ran to Samimbí’s home with the gift, giving honor to his namesake. Seeing the beauty and complexity of the arrangement, Samimbí knew this to be the most beautiful thing in the forest, and agreed to marry him. The whole village marveled at such godly cloth, the likes of which they had never seen before. Unable to deny her village such beauty, Samimbí allowed the women to copy the technique of Ñanduguasu’s mother—who never told what she had learned of Jasyñemoñare’s fate—so she would live on in their collective memory. The method of weaving they called Ñandutí, hair-of-spider, and made it the crowning achievement of their people. Then all sang under the sun, and later danced under the moonlight, too.

Nohan Meza is a writer from Paraguay, South America, currently living in New York. He began writing stories when he was seven, stapling printing paper into little booklets and promoting them in the streets for a dollar each. Previously published in Disturbed Digest and Fever Dreams Magazine, Nohan is always on the lookout for that next story. You can find him on Twitter: @dietweetybird

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff

LOVE IN THE HOOD by Deb Whittam

So, I’m walking through the forest,

sticking to the path when I hear a voice...

From her position at the kitchen table, Anya watched her great grandmother flit across the room, her sly expression concealed beneath the hood of her frayed and faded red cape as Anya pleaded, “Grannie will you tell me how you met Grandpa again?”

"Anya, aren't you tired of that tale by now? It’s ancient history.”

“Anya, I told you not to nag your great grandmother.”

Annoyed, Anya glanced at her Mother who sat darning a red cape, her brow furrowed before shooting a hopeful glance towards Grannie, pleased to see the other smiling broadly.

"I don’t know Grannie; she always wants to hear that tale even though I keep reminding her that everyone needs to be here for it to be told right."

The exasperation in her Mother’s voice made Anya frown, but unwilling to concede defeat she retorted, “We’re all here now."

"Your father and grandpa aren't here," Red pointed out

Aware that her request was perilously close to be being denied, Anya shot an appealing glance towards her great grandmother as she added in a wheedling voice, "But they'll be back soon.

The two women exchange a look, and then Grannie pulled out a chair, “Well, why not?

Anya squealed in delight and then aware of her Mother’s scowl, she sat down as the other commenced.

“It was one of those warm spring days, and I was bored, so my mother decided to send me here, to my grandmother’s house with a basket of cakes and a bottle of wine. Your great grandmother was feeling poorly.”

The note of sarcasm in her mother’s voice bypassed Anya, but her great grandmother took exception protesting, “You make it sound like I was an invalid Red, the truth was I had dyed my hair bright orange, and your grandmother was so embarrassed that she forbade me from venturing into town until it had dulled down a little. Didn’t you wonder why I was wearing a night cap in the middle of the day Red?”

“Of course I did, but I was more interested in trekking through the forest and escaping chores,” Red said with a laugh, “Will you stop interrupting already, you’ll get your turn in a minute.”

Grannie sighed, but refrained from commenting as Red continued.  

“So I’m walking through the forest, sticking to the path as directed, when I hear a voice call out, where are you going little red riding hood.”  As her mother mimicked the voice Anya pulled up her hood and Grannie chuckled softly, “And of course I paused.”

“Of course,” Her great grandmother's dry tone made Anya giggle even as her Mother reached out to push her hood down, before tousling her hair.

“Alright, I was young, but you have to admit there was something enticing about his voice. It was like molten chocolate.”  For a moment Red stared into space and then she shook her head, “So I turned around and there he was, the big bad wolf leaning against a tree with a quizzing expression.”

“Where are you going little red riding hood?  He asked, and though I recalled my mother’s warning, his brooding dark looks and his debonair smile sent my pulse racing, and bemused, I blurted out the truth, I’m off to see my sick Grannie.”

“That’s enough of this sick grandmother nonsense.”

Her mother smirked. “Why don’t you take her some flowers. She’ll be sure to love them.  Now, I glanced around and sure enough, there were stacks of flowers, so I thought why not and began to collect them.”

At these words, Anya swung round towards her great grandmother, anticipation etched into her features as the other smiled broadly in response.

“I was at home alright. I was getting ready for my morning run,” At this, her great grandmother winked and Anya giggled. “You can imagine my surprise when there was a knock at the door, but that only lasted a second when I laid my eyes on the huge, strong, muscular creature that filled the doorway.”

“Mesmerized, I watched as he leant closer whispering, time’s up, Grannie.  I swear I almost swooned at his words and then as he leant forward to take a bite, I took my chance.  I puckered up and our lips met, and I swear it was thunderbolts and lightening. He staggered back, and I gaped. I’d just kissed a wolf and mortified, I ran past him intent only on escape.”

“And there I was heading to Grandma’s house completely unaware…”

“That the wolf lay in wait.” Anya finished with a squeal of excitement.

“Exactly, even as I fled something was plaguing me, and eventually I came to a halt,” Grannie continued, “Perplexed I wondered why a dark and handsome wolf had appeared on my doorstep, a dark and dangerous wolf who kissed like heaven on a stick.  There was only one reason, and it made me turn quick smart, but I suspected I would be too late.”

“For I had already knocked on the door, only to hear a voice call out, I’m too sick to get out of bed granddaughter, please come inside.” Red continued with a smile as she mimicked the wolf's husky drawl, and Anya grinned as her mother continued, “There was something funny about the voice. It was a rolling smooth sound which was so unlike Grannie’s that I was already suspicious even before I walked inside to see an unfamiliar figure lying in the bed.”

As Anya leant forward, Red grimaced with a rueful shake of her head advised, “I knew this wasn’t Grannie but the figure in the bed was watching me so intently I said, oh grandmother, what big ears you have! To which the figure replied with a decided lack of enthusiasm, all the better to hear you with.  I frowned, but continued on with, but grandmother, what big eyes you have, and at this the wolf sighed languidly before declaring, all the better to see you with. I must admit, I was getting nervous by now and edged closer to the door as I uttered, but grandmother, what a big mouth you have.”

“And that’s when I stepped through the doorway,” Grannie stated with a wide smile, “and said real loud, which is so damn good at kissing, I want to do it again.”

“To which I replied,” A voice said from the doorway of Grannie’s cottage, “And so do I, come her Grannie, you’re mine.”

At the wolf's words, Anya started, and then with a wide grin, she threw herself at the huge muscular figure which towered above her, “Grandpa you’re back.”

“Hey sweetie, I couldn’t leave your great grandma alone now, could I?  She might run off with any old wolf that came along.”

“Idiot,” Grannie stated affectionately, reaching over to kiss her husband on the cheek, “You know there is no one else for me.”

“And Grannie kisses Grandpa, and he turns into a handsome prince.” Anya stated cheekily as her mother, Red rolled her eyes.

“Perhaps not a handsome Prince, in this case,” Red noted dryly as her husband walked through the door.

“And they lived happily ever after.”  Anya continued, determined not to be thwarted.

“That’s only in fairy tales sweetie,” Red muttered absently as she eyed her husband, who was determinedly avoiding her eyes and keeping his hands behind his back, “What have you gone and traded the cow for this time Jack?  Beans, you traded the cow for beans? Here give them to me.”

Deb Whittam is a graduated from Macquarie University Bachelor of Arts, recently she has had the honor her work being published in The Crux Anthology and The Rabbit Hole Anthology.  She has also published a number of titles online which available through Smashwords, which includes the Daddy’s Angels series.

Social Media Accounts

Twitter: @ DebbieWhittam

Blog: http://debbiewhittam. wordpress.com   

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff

THE SHRIFT by Chelsea Ellingson

My gift is a part of you,

the purest part of you...

Tessa was suddenly aware that she wasn’t in bed anymore.

In fact she wasn’t even in her house. She had her green, fur-lined coat on, which was good because it was cold outside. She was sitting on the short foot-bridge that bent over the creek in the park near her apartment with her legs dangling through the rungs.

She was on the verge of questioning whether she was awake or dreaming when a woman appeared on the path approaching the bridge at a walking pace.

Ama, she thought, although she wasn’t positive where the name came from, only that she knew that was her name.  

“Have you been waiting long?” Ama asked after she reached Tessa and sat down next to her.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“This isn’t where we met last time,” Ama mused. She started dangling her legs through the rungs as well.

“We’ve met before?”

“Yes. The first time was in the spring, near a bridge not unlike this one, but it crossed the creek by the high school. You were young then, sitting on the rocks near the—“

“The willow tree. Yes. I remember now, that was my favorite tree all growing up,” Tessa said, smiling. But then a shadow crossed her face. “That was the summer I met…the summer I was with…” Tessa trailed off, and a sliver of anguish began to pull at the corner of her mouth.

“That was when you met Andrew,” Ama finished.

“Yeah.” Tessa sighed heavily, surprised at the rush of emotion that had taken her over. This was all very strange, yet somehow familiar.  

“We’re not here to talk about Andrew this morning. You have someone else you want to tell me about.”

“I do. Yes, I do.” Tessa’s expression gave way to a faint smile, then she turned to look at Ama. Ama smiled back at her, or at least Tessa thought she did. It was difficult to pinpoint her expressions, her face was very hard to read.

“Tell me his name,” Ama said gently.

“Will,” Tessa replied, the eagerness catching in her throat.

“Are you ready to go through this again? Are you ready for my gift?”

“Your gift? Wait…I remember this. You gave me something…something really special last time…”

“I did.”

“I can’t remember everything, but it was beautiful and…it had something to do with Andrew. I don’t think I want it, if it had to do with Andrew.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I think I broke it last time…or it stopped working.”

“No, you did not break it.”

“It’s just that…I tried to keep it and protect it, but he—Andrew—he didn’t want it. I actually think he hated it, and I tried so hard to show him how much it meant to me. But he broke it.”

“Yes, he did. But did that make it any less beautiful?”

“No, but it was so painful.”

“My gift is a part of you, the purest part of you. It is a crime to treat it lightly, as Andrew did. I have not yet met with Andrew, and although I hope someday that I will, I am not optimistic it will happen.”

“It feels different this time, though. Will is different.”

“Yes, he is, I know that.”

“What do I have to do? I’ve forgotten.”

“You need to give me something.”

“What do I need to give?”

“A shrift.”

“A what?”

“A confession, a shrift. Tell me what it is that you want. Tell me what it is that you feel. I can give you my gift again, if you give me the right words first.”

Tessa’s face brightened as she thought for a moment. “I’m not sure what to say…”

“Why don’t you tell me your story so far. Be brief, we don’t have much time, but don’t leave out the important parts.”

“Well, we met at work. I was interning at the office he works in at first, but then I got hired on after I graduated and we had cubicles near each other. Nick, our boss, thought we would work well together on a vlog assignment to document twenty-something singles cooking. We worked hard on the assignment, but at the time I didn’t really think of him as anything more than a coworker.”

“What changed?” Ama asked.

“There was one night when we had to stay late at work to meet a deadline and we ordered a pizza. Before we knew it, we were the only ones left in the office and we just got to talking about our lives. I think there are some people, in life, that this just happens easier with than others. Will was so easy to talk to.”

At this point Ama pulled something out of her pocket and placed it between her hands. It was small, about the size of a large marble, and bronze. It had gears and knobs and strange symbols laced over its entire surface. Ama began rolling it slowly between her palms back and forth, then started some intricate finger movements. The moves were calculated, like a dance, and well-practiced. She moved from position to position swiftly and a light started to emerge ever so slightly around the metal sphere. The gears shifted into different positions, like it was being unlocked. Ama was focused on her hands, but she spoke toward Tessa. “What did he say that changed you?”

“He didn’t really say anything specific, but it was different after that night. I noticed him in another way. What are you doing?”

“I’m getting the gift ready. Keep talking. What happened next?”

“Why can’t I see your face clearly?” Tessa interrupted.

“You are wired, physically, to forget me. The effect works stronger on some more than others, you just happen to be forgetting me even as we are talking together.” Her hands continued to move back and forth, fingers arching delicately in intricate positions before moving onto the next. She paused for a moment when a small hole opened at the top where a faint light was beaming through. She held it out to Tessa to show her. Tessa’s eyes sparkled in the light.

“Have I done this before?” Tessa asked.

“Yes and no. It is never the same each time, if it happens at all.” She pulled it back and resumed her work. Ama was aware of a soft ticking noise coming from it.

“Continue,” Ama directed.

“Well, the next day I got a text from him asking if I’d like to go to dinner with him sometime. I said yes. I was grateful to have a friend either way, but I also knew I liked him, and that was frightening to me as well. But we had a great time, and my fears seemed to disappear on their own. At the end of the night we went for a walk in the park. To this bridge, actually. He stopped, just here, and then told me without hesitation that he liked me and was interested in dating me. He wanted to know if I was okay with that. I must have looked relieved or excited because he didn’t even wait until I responded before he leaned in to kiss me, and I kissed back.”

“Would you repeat that last part for me again?” Ama interrupted, freezing her hand motions and holding out the orb again, this time with a slightly bigger opening.

“That he kissed me? Is that required for this process?”

Ama immediately resumed her work as the light around the sphere grew to a glowing orb and the ticking sound grew stronger and a little deeper. “It helps,” she replied. “The sun is almost up and we are a little short on time. Could we skip to what made you invite me here this morning?”

Tessa was about to point out that she didn’t remember inviting her, but stopped when she noticed that the orb was now almost completely open at the top. The light radiating out of it was enough to light up Tessa’s face. She stared at it in a daze. The ticking sound was more of a drumming now, pulsing out of the top and making the light flicker with each beat. “Are you now ready to tell me?”

“Yes,” Tessa said confidently, the spell broken. “Yes, I remember what this is now.”

“Then go ahead, dear. First, tell me why.”

“Because he is kind. Because he laughs at my stupid jokes. Because he texts me in the morning to ask me how I slept. Because he brought me a bag of Swedish fish the day Nick yelled at me for that typo I missed. I didn’t even know he knew I liked them. Because he makes me a better person.”

The light was flickering madly with the drumming beat.

“And what do you want for him?”

“I want him to be happy. I want him to know how much he means to me. I want to heal for him what he’s healed in me. I’m not sure he wants that, but it’s what I want for him.”

“Right now, to receive this, it doesn’t matter what he wants, only what you do. Speak the words now, my dear.”

“I love him. I love Will.”

The metal gears surrounding the orb clicked and shifted away entirely, disappearing and leaving the drumming, intensely bright orb to float on its own in Ama’s palm. Tessa suddenly realized it was drumming in rhythm with her own heartbeat.

“Your shrift was accepted. Good work, Tessa.” Ama smiled at her brightly, even though Tessa couldn’t see it entirely. Ama’s face looked like a blur to her. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of an eye or the corner of a smile, but it shifted and moved and she couldn’t pin it down concretely. “We need to put this somewhere safe.”

Now Tessa remembered what to do. She shifted her shoulders toward Ama and lifted her chin slightly while facing her.  Ama guided the light toward Tessa, pushing it through her coat and into her body. The light had illuminated their spot at the bridge sharply for a moment, then faded dark after it entered her chest. Their eyes took a moment to readjust. The sound of her pounding heartbeat seemed to pulse expectantly until it regained a regular rhythm and then it, too, faded into the morning dusk.

“I can tell you this now, though you won’t remember when you return to your apartment and wake. Will already gave me his shrift for you. It was a strong one, you knocked him off his track entirely.”

“He did? When?”

“It was probably the second or third day after you started working as an intern. He has a very giving heart, and all it took was a few smiles after you two started working together. I don’t meet hearts like his very often, but it’s always a pleasure. You hold onto him, he’ll treat you well.”

Tessa suddenly realized she was wiping away a few stray tears now as she listened to Ama talk, then nodded and got to her feet. “I think you’re right,” she said.

“You’ll forget about this, but don’t wait too long to tell him. It won’t be easy, love never is, but I can see you have happy days ahead. I would say, ‘’til next time’, but I sincerely hope that’s not the case.” Ama got to her feet, then turned around and walked straight down the bridge and into the trees, disappearing into the fog.

* * *

I love Will.

The thought woke her from her sleep. February morning light poured into her room. She yawned deeply and rubbed her eyes, reveling in whatever good dream she had been having, already forgotten. She repeated the thought to herself. She wasn’t sure about it yesterday, but it was true today, like a light turned on. Like a gift.

Chelsea Ellingson is a writer, photographer, and music teacher living Northern Colorado. She writes from home among the company of her husband, four children, and Boston Terrier.

Website links:

http://www.chelseaellingson.com

https://twitter.com/Chellingson

https://www.instagram.com/cellingpics/  

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff