Ted was as happy as a boy. When he'd heard the news that Genessia had inadvertently created its own kiddy pool, he dashed to be the first one there, as usual. It might've been better if he was. He jumped in the shallow waters, marveling at how it mirrored the night sky. He cautiously peered into the well in the middle, marveling at how it seemed to go down forever. He noticed, queerly, how the bright lights seemed shy of him. He delicately put his hand in the water, and watched them retreat like nervous goldfish. Rascals! He'd get one.
Or spend a long time trying to, anyway. They were too quick for him. He got an idea. He reached into his bag, and pulled out a bowl, a rod, and some duct tape. A few minutes work produced a solid net, from which he hoped to surprise the nervous fireflies. To his delight, they didn't seem to mind nonliving material, which provided the necessary reach. That or he just got lucky. Either way, he looked on, satisfied, at his catch. He reached in, and gasped when the lights swarmed on his hand, swarmed his vision, swarmed his consciousness...
***
"...if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell." ~Matthew 5:29, KJV
His vision cleared, and he looked with a start to find that he was on hands and knees, on a kitchen floor. And much shorter than he remembered. And with another eye? Did the starlight transform him into something else?
Amidst his panic, he began to piece together that he was...Koishi? That bubbly fairy he'd met at the party? The green hair hanging from his cheek made it likely. Then he noticed that he couldn't move; nay, that he was numb. He could not feel the cold tile beneath her, and could not control her. He was a helpless passenger. His eyes were working fine, at any rate, though what they saw was a dream-like haze. But of all his senses, the one that had not been dulled a wit was his heart; her passions laid naked to him, even eclipsing his own, so that his terror at being transported into a nightmare was gradually replaced, by what he could only guess to be her panic.
Physically, nothing seemed to be happening to her. He was looking out from the vantage point of her face, and so could not read what emotions were on display. But he could guess. Something seemed to be troubling her immensely. Fear, weariness, and desperation waxed and waned in her heart, each driving the other to a pitch. He saw sickness expelled, and guessed that she was in the throes of some violent illness.
And then, amplified by intensity, his heart came round to something that was too familiar. A fear that made fear; a pain that squeezed you to a bottleneck, compelling you to do violence to yourself to escape a steadily worse fate. He wondered if giving birth were like that, telling a mother to push even in the midst of suffering Eve's curse.
But it was more morbid than that. His (her) hands held an eye, that monstrous appendage. The way his heart stirred, the mixture of familiarity, regret, and frenzy, suggested that this, somehow, was the cause of the trouble. His mind raced: this must be what she meant, around Christmas. The third eye that tormented her so. Hesitation revealed itself, before being thrust aside by savage necessity. The blade came down.
And then, fear became wilder. The first was not enough. The courage worked up to do the deed can be summoned easily enough, if it has to do but one visceral act. But in its haste it fell short of the mark, and it now had to be summoned again, to attempt the work a second time. Despair roiled in him; how many more? Could it not be over and done with, like a shot, or the squeeze of trigger?
No. Another attempt must be made, however brutal. But she was arrested; a party had caught her too late, and he felt too mad to care for their identity. The job must be done, however well-meaning the interloper! He felt animal passion: struggle, violence. He saw her hand go up to the place of her pain, and wrench. He felt the panic climax, and then subside.
Liquid violence pooled around him, and the fear was replaced with a weary clarity. Refuge was finally, finally granted. Even her assailant seemed to ease up, forced into a respect to the quiet that contrasted from the awful fear moments before.
***
Ted's eyes snapped open, breathing heavily. That was hell. Deep breaths; ten of them, at least. He tried to right himself, then stumbled, going into the water. That brought him back to speed. He spluttered, then looked to see that the star was gone.
No, not gone. It was the nearest one to him, judging by the length of its siblings and the distance from his hand. Mind reeling, he gathered what sense he could, and struggled out of his fatigue to capture it again. Again, he succeeded.
He breathed again, looking at the mote of light with fear, awe, and loathing. How had it done this? Why?
His questions soared, and perplexity was eventually repelled by its enemy, purpose. He knew that Koishi must know what had happened. Or did she already? What mystical effect did this mystery have on her, if anything?
It's no use. Duty first. The questions, if they survived, must come later.
no subject
Or spend a long time trying to, anyway. They were too quick for him. He got an idea. He reached into his bag, and pulled out a bowl, a rod, and some duct tape. A few minutes work produced a solid net, from which he hoped to surprise the nervous fireflies. To his delight, they didn't seem to mind nonliving material, which provided the necessary reach. That or he just got lucky. Either way, he looked on, satisfied, at his catch. He reached in, and gasped when the lights swarmed on his hand, swarmed his vision, swarmed his consciousness...
***
"...if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell."
~Matthew 5:29, KJV
His vision cleared, and he looked with a start to find that he was on hands and knees, on a kitchen floor. And much shorter than he remembered. And with another eye? Did the starlight transform him into something else?
Amidst his panic, he began to piece together that he was...Koishi? That bubbly fairy he'd met at the party? The green hair hanging from his cheek made it likely. Then he noticed that he couldn't move; nay, that he was numb. He could not feel the cold tile beneath her, and could not control her. He was a helpless passenger. His eyes were working fine, at any rate, though what they saw was a dream-like haze. But of all his senses, the one that had not been dulled a wit was his heart; her passions laid naked to him, even eclipsing his own, so that his terror at being transported into a nightmare was gradually replaced, by what he could only guess to be her panic.
Physically, nothing seemed to be happening to her. He was looking out from the vantage point of her face, and so could not read what emotions were on display. But he could guess. Something seemed to be troubling her immensely. Fear, weariness, and desperation waxed and waned in her heart, each driving the other to a pitch. He saw sickness expelled, and guessed that she was in the throes of some violent illness.
And then, amplified by intensity, his heart came round to something that was too familiar. A fear that made fear; a pain that squeezed you to a bottleneck, compelling you to do violence to yourself to escape a steadily worse fate. He wondered if giving birth were like that, telling a mother to push even in the midst of suffering Eve's curse.
But it was more morbid than that. His (her) hands held an eye, that monstrous appendage. The way his heart stirred, the mixture of familiarity, regret, and frenzy, suggested that this, somehow, was the cause of the trouble. His mind raced: this must be what she meant, around Christmas. The third eye that tormented her so. Hesitation revealed itself, before being thrust aside by savage necessity. The blade came down.
And then, fear became wilder. The first was not enough. The courage worked up to do the deed can be summoned easily enough, if it has to do but one visceral act. But in its haste it fell short of the mark, and it now had to be summoned again, to attempt the work a second time. Despair roiled in him; how many more? Could it not be over and done with, like a shot, or the squeeze of trigger?
No. Another attempt must be made, however brutal. But she was arrested; a party had caught her too late, and he felt too mad to care for their identity. The job must be done, however well-meaning the interloper! He felt animal passion: struggle, violence. He saw her hand go up to the place of her pain, and wrench. He felt the panic climax, and then subside.
Liquid violence pooled around him, and the fear was replaced with a weary clarity. Refuge was finally, finally granted. Even her assailant seemed to ease up, forced into a respect to the quiet that contrasted from the awful fear moments before.
***
Ted's eyes snapped open, breathing heavily. That was hell. Deep breaths; ten of them, at least. He tried to right himself, then stumbled, going into the water. That brought him back to speed. He spluttered, then looked to see that the star was gone.
No, not gone. It was the nearest one to him, judging by the length of its siblings and the distance from his hand. Mind reeling, he gathered what sense he could, and struggled out of his fatigue to capture it again. Again, he succeeded.
He breathed again, looking at the mote of light with fear, awe, and loathing. How had it done this? Why?
His questions soared, and perplexity was eventually repelled by its enemy, purpose. He knew that Koishi must know what had happened. Or did she already? What mystical effect did this mystery have on her, if anything?
It's no use. Duty first. The questions, if they survived, must come later.