Weekly Expression 3.5 [] Joe "The Pied Piper Review"

"The Pied Piper Review"

by Joseph Risitano

    Krysar or The Pied Piper (1986), is an adult, stop-motion animation horror/fantasy take on Robert Browning’s folklore, “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”. In this version - similar to that of animators such as Robert Morgan, or a Jan Svankmajer - Jiri Barta uses organic materials such as fur, hair, fabric, both solids and liquids, to create a disorienting look to this world. Gothic, almost German-expressionist buildings tower over the inhabitants, as human-size rats infest the streets. 

In here, we see the traditional setting of a city ravaged by rats, the wealthy only budging once this problem affects them, and The Pied Piper steps in to explain how his magical flute skills; skills, which in turn, can dissuade the rat hoard into no longer existing. The townsfolk seeing his skills are, in fact, useful, they promise The Piper a reward. In that instant, our protagonist plays a darkly whimsical tune, calling out all the creatures to himself, bringing them to their death as they one-by-one topple off the city’s edge.

With all this at play, one might assume the story takes direct inspiration from the original tale, but this is where the film offers a unique twist. Coming back for his promised reward, The Piper returns to the wealthy, only to find them going back on their word, laughing in his face. Furious of this betrayal, contrary to the source material, the mythical flutist plays a song that turns everyone in the town into rats, themselves, pulling them to the edge of their city; pulling them into their final, watery grave. 

The Pied Piper (Krysar), though perhaps only fifty-three minutes in length, is a stark reminder of morals like keeping one’s word to another and understanding that your deeds will find you out. For the casual watch, I am sure it would not serve the purpose of being a palatable offering. But for the vetted film buff, it keeps the viewer entranced by its startling visuals, masterful storytelling that has no dialogue (except for onomatopoeia, a word used to describe phonetic sounding babble), and effortlessly whisks you away into the clutches of its world. 5/5 Stars.

Weekly Expression 3.5 - BK

A game, A mystery, Somewhere underground

Hildan dropped the pebble into the black crevice and the three Fenntash children held their breaths as they listened as the rock bounced down along the cavern’s wall. It seemed to fall forever until it either reached the bottom or it had fallen so far it could not be heard by their little ears. 

Hildan was the eldest, with a full ten years of life, and already acted like he was the Chief of the village. But he would not claim that title until his father who was their Chief died. Falla thought these things to herself as she watched Kandin hand his older brother another pebble and they repeated their little game all over again. Kandin was only five and Falla fell at eight between the two. They weren’t her brothers but her father and their father always spoke that one day she would be their family although she wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. 

“What do you think is down there?” Kandin asked as he shooed away a bug that was harassing his eyes. There were many bugs around them here in this dense jungle. 

“Probably an enemy,” Hildan stated, his eyes narrowing as his knuckles whitened, his grip tightening on his dagger’s hilt. 

“I think beautiful flowers.” Falla was the dreamer of the three, she knew this about herself. Her father said her head was in the clouds too much. Kandin was still a baby so they didn’t know who he was yet. He just followed them around all day. Hildan was the natural leader. 

Falla looked over at Hildan, his eyes gleaming with an idea. “Wait here.” He took off running back towards the village. 

Kandin continued dropping rocks as Falla sat and took in the woods around them. Their land was thick with trees, a dark green canopy hovered high above them, keeping them in moderate light. It was rich with all kinds of edible plants and interesting creatures, some for food and some for play. She had never ventured anywhere other than their jungle. She had never heard of anything other than it. 

She studied Kandin’s markings, signifying that he belonged to the Chief’s lineage. There were bands of spheres and thick lines around his forearms. Falla had the same markings. This set them apart as Fenntash, though she had never seen another group of people other than her village. It was the markings on his forehead and on Haldin’s that set them apart from the rest of the village. Three diamond-shaped black marks (the large one in the middle and two smaller ones on either side) were centered on their foreheads which mimicked the three stars hovering in the night sky above the jungle. But they were only visible at night and only if you climbed to the tops of the trees, something that the village did once a year when they celebrated the three stars for giving them their line of Chiefs. 

Falla looked back over at the little boy. He was pulling a much larger rock to the opening. “Kandin, no! You’ll anger the beats within!”

“There aren’t beasts down there. You said there were flowers.” He pushed the rock inside, amused with the louder banging it caused.

“Well, then you’ll squish them.” Falla crossed her arms. She did not like how eager he was to peer in. If she were honest, the hole scared her more than she would ever admit to the boys.

Haldin finally returned carrying a long rope. She didn’t feel good about this. He immediately wrapped the rope around his little brother’s waist. Fear began to choke Falla as she watched Kandin’s eyes light up like the stars his forehead markings mimicked. He was all too eager to please Haldin. He was probably more excited to please his older brother than he was to venture into the darkness. 

“Haldin, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Falla finally objected verbally but Haldin waved her off. 

“I tied the rope tight. He’ll be fine. I won’t let go, I promise. Don’t you want to go inside, Kandin?” 

“Yeah!” Kandin nearly ran to the opening as he climbed inside.

“If you want to know what’s down there so badly then why don’t you go yourself?” Falla asked, completely unsupportive of sending the baby down the hole. 

“You know I’d never fit.”

Minutes passed as the rope got shorter and shorter. Kandin had gone far for the rope had been one of the longest Falla had ever seen, yet the end was almost to the mouth of the crevice. “Anything yet?” Haldin called down to his brother.

“Are you okay?” Falla jumped up, yelling into the crevice. She didn’t care if he found anything. How could he if he couldn’t see? She was more worried about his safety. Her heart was pounding terribly hard in her chest.

“Yes!” Kandin’s little voice sounded so far away.

“Yes you see something or yes you are okay?” Haldin asked, his brow furrowing into a question. They held their breath as they listened.

“I see something!’ Kandin called back up.

“How can he see anything? It’s pitch black?” Falla asked but her heart was screaming inside of her to pull the baby up.

Haldin’s eyes were widening in wonder. “What do you see?”

“A light! It’s…”

That was the last they heard before they heard the sound that Falla swore was a roar. The rope tugged violently against Haldin’s hands. He yelped in pain as the rope burned his palms but he did not let go as he braced himself against the ground and held tightly. Falla jumped in and grabbed the rope, the two pulling as hard as they could. 

Haldin was yelling and Falla screamed as the rope went deeper. Falla lost her grip and tumbled backward. Haldin remained strong but fell forward, his head and shoulders went inside the crevice. Falla screamed as she grabbed his waist and held on as tight as she could. Suddenly large arms reached around her and began pulling them back, Haldin’s head reemerged from the hole. 

And then they were all falling backward, no longer anything pulling them in. Haldin scrambled and began pulling frantically at the rope. He whimpered as the frayed end of the rope came bouncing out of the cavern. It looked as if it had been cut with a jagged edge. 

Haldin ran to the opening and screamed into it. “Kandin!”

But no little voice called back.

The figure that had saved them brushed past Falla who gasped when she recognized the Chief. He pulled Haldin away, his hands on his son’s shoulders. “What have you done?”  His voice was strict and loud but Falla could hear the fear lacing his every word. He pulled Haldin away, his grip tight on Haldin’s wrist. Haldin’s eyes were filled with tears as his father pulled him away. The Chief stopped and took Falla’s wrist. It was tight but she could tell it was gentler than his grip on Haldin. 

She looked back, hoping to see Kandin’s little round face appear from the opening but she never saw him again. 

Authors Note: If you'ld like more, let me know. I have more of this story written. Find out what happens next!!!

Weekly Expression 3.4 BK

She settled the wriggling infant on her knees as she bounced him up and down. She placed her hand in front of him and immediately he stared at her fingers with the innocent fascination that only a child can have as they focus on the most plain of objects. She held her son close as he awkwardly grabbed at her fingers, stopping only as he was lost in the dazzling sparkles of her engagement and wedding band set. He was soon back to his flailing and repeated the cycle. Both were content to stay in this idyllic moment, the innocence of youth and the warm safe embrace of a mother. 

She closed her eyes as she rested her head against his, inhaling the pure baby smell he gave. 

She let her mind wander to the future...to his future. What ideas would he give birth to? She hoped he had the curiosity of his mother and the courage of his father as he grew. For ideas were the foundations of life and movement as one followed their destiny. Ideas created movement and flow and helped a child learn and grow. Ideas in adults, once rooted were hard to shake free from. If you didn’t pursue it, the dying idea would haunt you as it’s light faded in your soul, your own inner child mourning the dying light. 

As she nuzzled close to him she wished her soul would speak to his, somehow instilling in him the desire to always pursue his dreams, to never give up and always push forward. 

Weekly Expression 3.4: The Brightest Light in Squalor Square

Trigger Warning: sexual/physical abuse, discrimination of disabilities, and rape

She was born a child of brilliance, and no one suspected it.

Cloaked in darkness, in a house of ill repute, she was lower than the whores that worked there. No one remembered who her mother was, as many were born into the house that season, after a spoiled batch of silphion was discovered too late. Eleven squealing infants came into the house within a month of each other, and all were simply handed off to the cripple, as she no longer serviced the patrons. She earned her keep as nursemaid, the cripple did.  Unfortunately, an already broken soul, further shattered by physical maiming, makes for a poor maternal figure.

So, this dark haired child, in a bastard born brood, wasn’t marked for survival, let alone success. The other children accepted this, succumbing to the lifestyle after so many beatings at the cripple’s mangled hands proved no other option lay in wait. They learned to take on menial tasks without complaint. And younger than most children in Squalor Square, the bastards chose to flee the house as soon as opportunity provided. For even the gutter brats had an easier time than the bastard brood of Pleasure Palace. Only a few girls remained, moving into a chamber to help bring in money for their anonymous mothers.

She was not one of either group. She saw the pain inflicted on both parties, and chose a different path. Remaining at the mercy of the cripple, she stayed to help with the few other children born in the years after the brood’s arrival. Her small figure was too plain to gain attention from the madam—who was always ready to unleash patrons with specific appetites upon child-virgins. It must be admitted that the cripple tolerated her existence, if only because she was quiet, and an extra set of hands.

Perhaps because no one paid her any attention, she was able to manifest her mind. Unable to read or write, she watched the others in the house. It wasn’t the education one would hope for a child, but she learned regardless. And her intelligent self brought light to the darkness.

This is not a fairytale, mind. For when it was clear that the young girl was keen with sums, and had somehow managed to pick up every language spoken by the hundreds of patrons that came from all over the world, no prince came to carry her away. No long lost relative rescued her, and no patron thought to set her up in the schools they ran or knew of. It was the madam that pried her away from the cripple for a higher use.

She set books down in front of the child, and walked away to deal with disgruntled customers. It was her hope the girl would be of use in the business, but it was not a realistic goal, the madam determined. She was more than a little surprised when the girl was reading full sentences by the end of the week.

The madam kept the shock to herself, of course. Someone of this girl’s brilliance was a rare find, even she could not deny. She couldn’t afford to lose her. The outside world had it easy enough—the queen of the whores needed the child more.

The madam didn’t oversee the child’s education. She continued to learn as she always had, on her own. It didn’t so much as ruffle her to know it was now encouraged she learn. Nothing in the calm manner changed.... Only the whores suddenly realized how special she was, and that the girl seemed to shuck off the darkness of the palace with her internal light.

Soon, they were all claiming they were her mother. Couldn’t the others see how much she looked like Rosemary, with the raven hair? Or how she had Gwen’s mouth? She was surely Vixen’s offspring, for Vixen was the smartest. Yes, even the whores who hadn’t born a child the season of the bastard brood tried to claim her.

She merely stared at them all, with wide, uncompromising eyes. That shut them up soon enough, for no one liked being caught in that knowing look, so like the looking glass on the great room’s ceiling. It saw all. And without flinching, without any sort of emotion, they reflected all the ugliness they beheld.

 

 Before the child was twelve, she was in charge of the books, and the madame happily got out from behind her desk to oversee the girls and patrons as she had before the backlog of paperwork. And when problems arose in regard to fees or scruples occurred in different tongues, the girl was sought out to solve the issue. The patrons could never argue with the Light of Pleasure Palace, sensing as the residents did, the brilliance in those reflective eyes.

The girl, grew up to be a fair creature, though never as pretty as some of the women that brought in the greatest income. And though her body was never sold, her mind was sometimes loaned out to other businesses in the square. When she was eighteen, scholars began to notice her, and challenged her in matches of wit, the reward being she could come to their halls, learn in their libraries, or research alongside them. She always won.

Her thirst for learning grew as the brilliance was given the chance to dip into new areas. But, to the madam’s surprise, she always returned to the square, and her old lumpy bed in the palace, every night.

Even the city steward came to learn of the Light. Perhaps because he favored Rosemary’s company, frequenting the palace to join her and their mutual friend Thetis. Either way, he brought word to the king of the girl with brilliance, outsmarting the city’s greatest minds with her logic and understanding.

Doubting a whore’s bastard could be so brilliant, the king summoned the girl to the real palace, some weeks journey. The summons brought an excited emotion to the calm gaze of the girl that others had not seen before. And she left soon. No promises were made of her return, but all knew she’d be back. She always was.

She met with the king in a flourish. Scholars she had met greeted her, flocking to her, no longer intimidated by that gaze. The queen’s ladies watched, and though they yearned to spit on this daughter of sin, that light she had followed her to the capital. And while darkness didn’t cloak her there, she still shone. It left the forked tongues of courtiers still.

The king, young and handsome, and new to his reign, was charmed by her instantly. Long after politeness permitted, he kept her company. He dismissed the courtiers. And he dismissed the queen, insisting it was time for her to see to their mewling son. For many hours he spoke of the girl working with his council, with his personal scholars. It would be her chance to grow, the rescue that should have been hers many years ago, before a madam took her for her wretched business.

The girl declined.

Unused to refusal, the king spent the rest of the evening trying to convince her to stay, offering riches, husbands, titles. All held no sway over the girl. For this Light of Squalor Square new filth when she saw it. And here it was, the dirtiest she’d ever seen, reflecting in her gaze.

Angered, the king lashed out. Her mind, her fairness, her refusal... it all made him wanting. And so he took. He left her bleeding, disgusted with her, blaming her for his actions. He demanded the guards remove her from the capital, return her to the palace she belonged in.

When the girl returned, her light was gone. And the name that once rose amongst the city around Squalor Square with reverence was forgotten.

Seeing her broken, the madam tried to rally her, to understand what had happened. It didn’t become apparent why the girl had darkened for a few months. And once it was, it was also suddenly clear that nothing could be done. For who would take her word, against the king’s?

A boy with raven hair was born. It was the last babe the cripple would care for. And it was the only one she was ever gentle with. The madam at last wrote the king, no longer fearing his wrath. For the girl, the Light of Squalor Square, had died in childbirth.

The bastard son of the king was not a light like his mother. Calm, with eyes that reflected horrors like the Light, he didn’t appear to ever be able to meet her brilliance. But the cripple, the madam, and the whores... they whispered stories to him of who he came from.

 When the king’s only legitimate heir died of a fever, he sent for the boy. When he beheld the child, a sort of fear welled up in his twisted soul. This boy, no matter what the others saw, was destined for greatness that would surpass his mother.

And when the raven haired lad of eight met his father, beheld the real palace for the first time, that was when his own light at last turned on. Not because he had been gifted a crown, a chance to escape Squalor Square. It was because his long dormant brilliance had awoken with the soft purr of vengeance.

It is a shame the king hadn’t come for the boy sooner, hadn’t tried to raise him as his own away from the remnants of where his mother had shown brightest. For his seed was also his doom. And no one suspected the truth, the day the kingdom crowned a ten year old bastard king.

The Light of Squalor Square, they had called her.

The King of Light, they called her son.

Weekly Expression 3.3: The Language of Sound

  

   Matthew did not know that the little black blobs and lines before him belonged to the language of sound. He sat on the leather bench of what he did not realize was a piano, for it had been locked up for years. Only moments before, an owl had swooped through the window, landing on top of the imprisoned piano. It hooted at him, staring deeply into his eyes. Matthew watched the creature as it moved and its talons clicked across the wooden surface. 

    Suddenly, the owl ruffled its feathers, causing some pieces of paper to fall out of its wings. Matthew’s eyes widened. He reached for the papers. 

    “What is this?!” he said to the empty room around him. Matthew studied the pages, covered in symbols he had never seen before. Lines, dots, and dots with lines ran across the paper. Matthew raised an eyebrow. 

    “What does this mean, owl? I don’t know what these markings are. What are you trying to tell me, huh?” 

    The owl tilted its head to one side, almost as if he was listening or somehow concerned about Matthew. Then, in a great flurry of feathers, the owl flew across the room. 

    “Whoah!” Matthew said, covering his head with his hands. 

    Circling back, the owl landed on the bench right next to Matthew. Matthew dared not move. He tried to quiet his breathing, so the owl wouldn’t be cued into his fear. But the owl stared up at Matthew, unmoving. 

    “Uhh...hi, owl.” He slowly lifted his hand into the air, keeping his eyes on the owl the entire time. Since the owl continued to sit motionless beside him, Matthew lowered his hand to pet the owl. To his relief, it did not try to bite him. As he ran his fingers through the owl’s feathers, little sounds emerged from it, almost as if he were purring. Matthew smiled. Then, the owl turned around to face two large, shiny devices hanging off of the piano: locks. The owl fluttered over to one of them, placing his talons in between the chain links. Then, he hooked his beak around  one of the chain links, tighter and tighter, until suddenly, the whole chain snapped and the lock clattered to the floor. The owl flew over to the other lock and soon, it too, fell. 

    “How did you do that?!” Matthew said, staring at the owl. The owl tilted its head to one side. Matthew studied the piano. 

    “What is this thing?” Matthew said, running his fingers across the curved, smooth surface of the keylid. He moved his hands to the bottom of it and lifted, revealing the ivory keys of a grand piano. 

    “Wow…” He said, as he gazed at the device before him. He reached out his hand and soon, a sound he had never heard before filled the room: middle C. He opened his mouth wide and stared at the owl, who had flown over to the living room table, watching Matthew discover something that had not been heard for years. He played an E, then an A. 

    Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps descended the staircase. 

    “Matthew Perry Montgomery!! What on earth is going on down there?!” 

    Matthew’s eyes widened. He slammed the keylid shut and ran to the kitchen. 

    “Matthew Montgomery, just WHAT do you think you are doing?” Ava Marie, his mother, said. 

    “What do you mean, Mom? I was just down here, getting a snack,” Matthew said. 

    His mother pushed past him, into the living room. Her eyes moved to the piano, where the broken locks sat silently on the floor. 

    “MATTHEW PERRY MONTGOMERY, YOU ARE GROUNDED! Do you have ANY IDEA about the kind of trouble you could get us in?!” 

    “But Mom, what do you mean?! It isn’t my fault! This owl flew in and--” 

    “Matthew, WHAT are you talking about?! We are the only ones here. Now, go to your room. Just wait until your father comes home. We’ll be lucky if the police don’t get involved!”

    “Police?! But Mom…” 

    “No buts, just go to your room,” Ava Montgomery said. 

    Before he could say anything else, his mother escorted Matthew to his room and closed the door behind him. Inside, perched on his bedpost, was the owl. Matthew sunk into his bed. 

    “Look at the mess you got me into,” Matthew said to the owl. The owl hooted, then ruffled his feathers, causing the papers from before to fall out once again. He picked them off of his comforter and studied them. 

    “What do these markings mean?” he said. As he held the papers in his hands and turned them over, he noticed that one of the papers had a note on the back. 

    These are the last remaining pieces of sheet music in the country. 

    Please guard them with your life. If anyone finds you with these or hears you

playing an instrument, they will throw you in jail or execute you on the spot. 

    You must learn to decipher these pages -- they are the keys 

    To understanding the language of sound. If you get stuck, 

    Ask the owl. He will help you. 

    Be safe and remember: don’t tell anyone about this!

    -The Last Musician 

Matthew’s brows knitted in confusion. Music. An owl. Illegal. How could any of this be? Suddenly, through his bedroom window, the sound of sirens reached Matthew’s ears and he caught the reflection of red and blue lights outside. 

    “Oh no,” Matthew said. “We gotta go. Come on, owl!” But when Matthew looked for the owl, he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Ugh! Owl, where are you?!” he said, searching the room, ducking his head to look under furniture. And then, under the back corner of his bed, the glowing eyes of the owl appeared in the darkness. 

“Owl, this is no time to hide! We need to go!!” But as Matthew was about to turn away and try to escape out his window, he heard the creaking sound of a hinge turning. The owl had opened a trap door underneath his bed! 

“Get in,” the owl said. Matthew, mouth gaping from hearing an owl speak for the first time, could not move. The sound of the policemen and their radios grew louder, but still Matthew was frozen in place. 

The owl sighed. “Fine,” he said, flying out from under the bed, he caught his talons on Matthew’s shirt, and dragged him toward the trap door. Matthew screamed. Still, the owl pulled Matthew into the trapdoor, grabbed the metal clasp, and shut them in, just as the sound of policemen entering the house resounded behind them. 

Weekly Expression 3.3 By JRK - "Fool's Curse"

 

The wine bottle slipped from Laurent’s hand as he stumbled down the hallway. The blunder drew giggles from the equally intoxicated female companions at his side. Another night of drinking and partying...Maureen shook her head. Her grandson was more reckless and more incompetant than his father had been. At least his father had his wits about him enough to get married and find work to keep himself partially busy. Though that hadn’t lasted long at all. 

            Maureen stepped out of the shadows, tired of

watching her grandson waste every ounce of his life. Enough was enough and she

was prepared to make up for her lack of involvement in what ended up being the

demise of her own son. She would not watch her grandson make the same mistakes,

even if it cost her everything.

            Laurent stopped in his tracks, his two friends

gasped as Maureen stood in the hallway, blocking their path to the bedroom. 

            “Grandmother…” Laurent stood a little straighter

as he tried to compose himself. “I didn’t know...we were just…”

            “Enough!” Her voice was firm and to the point. “I

have sat by all these years waiting and hoping for you to turn things around.

Now I see that at the ripe age of 27 you still will not change.”

            “Grandmother…” He was trying to reason with her

but she would not hear of it. She held up her hand to silence him.

            “Wisdom is what you lack, a spell is needed to get

you on track!” She pulled out her wand...that faithful wand that had seen

better years. It still had a prick of magic left in it...flowing from her own

lifeforce. She stepped towards him, his two lady friends stepped away in fear.

Laurent didn’t have enough wits about him to run too. Maureen bopped him on the

forehead as mist encircled the hallway…“Awake you will, but not the same. Free

from the curse you’ll be when wisdom is your aim.” 

~

 

            Laurent sat up in a frenzy...another night plagued

by the nightmare of that last moment. It replayed in his mind over and over

again each and every night. For ten years he was imprisoned. Ten long,

agonizing years. He pulled himself up and onto the desk to look at himself in

the mirror…

            An owl looked back at him. A white and grey owl.

            He sighed knowing that nothing would change his

life. He’d forever be trapped in this creature's form, never to live a normal

life. All for what? Because his grandmother disapproved? He flew to the piano,

it’s notes played abruptly as he landed. The noise made his feathers stand on

edge. 

            The bell chimed indicating Aveline’s return to

their humble home. She came in, carrying her many loads. Laurent only looked

over his shoulder not even budging from his perch on the piano. He couldn’t

feathers as she passed him. “Brooding again today, are we Lou?”

help her even if he wanted to... She set her parcels down and ruffled his

            She kept going and picked up a couple parcels and

headed to the kitchen. He sat still at the piano, occasionally hitting the key

and listening to it’s tone. He once could light up a room with the beautiful

Such a waste.

melodies from a piano so fine as this...He’d never even seen Aveline play it.

            She was causing quite a ruckus in the kitchen

before she returned to him with a little tray. She set it beside him and

immediately he could smell the aroma of the fresh meat. And this was why he

stuck around! He gulped down the three little pieces of meat and turned his

attention towards her. She took such good care of him, of that he would admit. 

            “Are we friends again?” She asked with a slight

giggle. He wished he could tell her they never weren’t friends. She’d saved his

life that one winter night. He’d been flying blind for three days with no food,

distorted body. He’d crashed into the snow and was waiting for himself to

no warmth, lost in the chaos and confusion of his own mind trapped in this new succumb and end this nightmare he had found himself in. Until he woke up and

never stopped caring for him as they now had spent ten years together. He’d

found himself in a warm little bed, a fire roaring in the distance, and the sweet angel face of Aveline. She cared for him until he was well. And really watched her grow from the little girl that saved him to a working woman. She

twenties. 

was independent and lived alone other than his brooding company. But she seemed

happy and content to live that way. He wasn’t sure how old she was, perhaps mid

            She pulled a blanket around her and buried herself

into the couch. Laurent flew to her and perched on the couch’s arm. 

            “Did you know that the devil, Mr. Henderson dared

ask me on a proper date? Of course I refused. I would never be seen traipsing

around town with the likes of him. I will not be made a housewife to cook and

sat quietly as he listened. That’s all he ever got to do was listen. He became

clean all the day while my husband gets to see people and live his life.” He quite good at it...one had to when you had no other option to communicate. It

was his curse of being an animal. 

            “But, I picked up an extra shift which will be

perfect because then we can finally save up enough money to get out of this

town and start traveling. Oh, Lou! We are so close I can feel it!” 

            A cold breeze wafted in, sending a shiver through

Laurent. He nestled underneath the blanket that was wrapped around her. “Sorry,

Lou. No fire tonight. We need to save our money!” 

The girl was unbelievable

sometimes. He watched her as she fell asleep, occasionally shivering from the

dropping temperature of the room. She never fancied herself the way he thought

all young women did. She didn’t spend her money on frivolous things but only

looked at her and saw the opposite of himself. But she was kind and gentle. She

the absolute necessities. She wore simple gowns and never wore makeup. He

life. It always made Laurent wonder what his dreams were? Ten years had caused

cared for others and for him. And she had dreams of what she wanted out of her

aspirations for what to make of himself...and wasn’t that how he got into this

him to lose so much hope. He couldn’t even imagine what a life as a man would be again? What would he do? Who would he be? Even as a young man he had no

predicament? 

            His grandmother's words replayed in his mind. “Free from the curse you’ll be when wisdom is your

aim.” 

            He sighed as he tried to rest in Aveline's lap.

Wasn’t ten years long enough? Hadn’t he learned anything by now? And if this

long had passed with no change, what made him think anything ever would?

 

            ~

 

            Laurent stared out the heavily frosted window in

their little home. The weeks had been dragging on as winter settled onto the

land. Aveline had been gone all day and he expected her to arrive any moment

rest of the day. She had been working hard...he thought too hard. And as she

only long enough to feed him and leave for another shift that would last the

clothing and he could see the sickness and exhaustion deep in her eyes. Her face

finally returned, his fears were confirmed. She removed only one layer of her

didn’t even acknowledge them. He watched as she carefully sat down on the couch

was pale, dark circles clung to her eyes. She coughed non stop as she made her way around the little apartment and brought him his slivers of meat. But he

and laid her head back. He flew and perched beside her.

            “Oh Lou…” Another fit of coughing overtook her.

“It’s this dreadful winter but I can’t stop now, not when we are so close.” She

sat up and sighed as she put on her outer layer and headed toward the door.

“I’ll be home in a few hours.”

            Before he knew it, she was gone again. Laurent

sighed as he flew back to the window and stared out. He wished he could go with

her, watch over her as she had watched over him all these years. But the last

be a wild owl but he could defend himself against another predator if he needed

time he had left the safety of their home, he was nearly killed. He might not

he would rather not ever repeat. 

to. But men with muskets? That was an altogether entirely different story..one

            He perked up and realized that he had dozed off.

He could barely make out that the sun was setting for a severe snowstorm had

settled over the land. He took flight to join Aveline wherever she was hiding

in the apartment but after a quick sweep through he found himself to be alone.

He perched on the piano as he mulled over what it could mean. Perhaps she was

just working longer? 

            The wind blew and sent an eerie noise through the

boards of the walls. The storm was worsening, he couldn’t imagine that her employer

would keep her in such harsh conditions...especially with as ill as she had

become. 

            He waddled back and forth at the top of the piano

as he frantically waited for her to arrive. But as the minutes passed, his

sickening feeling got worse. He didn’t think she was coming back. 

            He returned to the window, unable to see out of it

anymore. What could he do? What could he possibly do as a tiny little owl in

such a terrible blizzard? And what would he do if he found her? He felt angry

almost, how could she do this to him? To herself? Didn’t she see she was

didn’t kill her tonight, her developing illness just might. Together, with a

overworking to the point of putting herself into an early grave? If the snow

warn her. Perhaps it wasn’t too late? Maybe she could still turn things around! 

setting sun spelled disaster. Oh how he wished he could run and find her and

            And yet, wasn’t that what his grandmother had been

trying to do all his life? She had waited and waited for him to change until

she knew he wouldn’t change on his own. Perhaps that was what Aveline needed

would die. And all of her dreaming, all of her hard work would be for nothing.

now? He wasn’t sure what he could do but he knew that if he did nothing, she

What good are dreams if you kill yourself trying to accomplish them? 

            What a pair they made, he thought to himself as he

began flying around the apartment, looking for any way out. One thing was

certain, he had to find her. 

            He felt a draft and followed it to the ceiling

above the rafters where he found a loose board. With a little finagling he was

able to squeeze out of it. He nearly fell to the ground before he realized he

was free and flew through the air. 

            It was difficult, but not impossible for him to

see where he was heading. He remembered the way to town from the one and only

time he had left the house so he headed that way in hopes of finding her. 

            He nearly flew into a branch that came out of

nowhere through the storm. He landed on it to catch his breath as he looked

through the park. He knew she traveled through this park for she talked about

it all the time. 

            Frantically he searched for any sign of her but

all he saw was the white blizzard covering everything.

            “Grandmother, please, if you are listening. I must

find her! I’ll stay an owl forever but don’t make me do it without Aveline!

Please…” 

            He was about to give up hope when he saw it...a

faint dash of purple in the onslaught of white. He took to the air and dove for

the color. He landed not so gently in the snow beside her. Aveline had fallen

face and then her heart to find any sign of life but with the snow pummeling

and was nearly completely covered by the heavy snow. He nestled closer to her

against her cheek hoping to wake her but nothing happened. He flew to the sky

them both, it was hard to tell if it was too late. “No, no, please!” He rubbed

again and looked around for any sign of help. But they were alone in this park. 

            Hope was gone. There was nothing more he could do

other than nestle in close so she didn’t die alone. He began to descend when a

cramp in his wings caused him to fall. He hit the snow hard and hs body ached

as blackness engulfed him 

            He wasn’t sure how long he had been out but a good

layer of snow had settled over him. He pushed himself up and looked down at his

hands in the snow.

            His hands! He sat up straight as surprise overtook

him. Was this a dream? He looked down at his hands and wrists and arms. He

patted his stomach and recognized the tunic he had been wearing when his world

had changed. He ran his hands through his snow wet hair. Laughter bubbled up in

him but it was short lived. He saw Aveline's form under the snow and dove after

her, clearing the snow off of her and pulling her up into his arms. 

            It took him longer than he would have liked to make

his way back to their home. He laid her on the couch and removed the soaking

wet outer layers. He could just barely make out a pulse as he covered her with

several blankets before leaving and starting a fire. He returned to her quickly

and joined her under the blankets and pulled her in close. Her body was as cold

would be enough to warm her back to life. 

as ice and he prayed as he waited that the warmth of the fire and of his body

            The night passed slowly as he held her in his

arms. He dared not sleep lest he awake to find her gone from him. He ran his

hand through her hair and caressed her cheek. Color was returning to her face

and her body didn’t feel cold anymore. He gently left her side to add a few

more logs to the dying fire. 

            He heard her cough, which was the first sound he

heard from her all night. He turned and saw her stirring, taking in her

surroundings. “Lou?” She asked as she looked around. Suddenly he realized how

confusing it would be to find him standing in her home. He was crouched low by

the fire so she hadn't seen him yet. 

            “Don’t freak out.” He said as he stood slowly. 

            Aveline jumped and started at him. “Who are you?”

            “My name is Laurent. I found you in the park and

brought you home.”

            “How did you know where I live? I don’t know you.”

            “Actually you do, just not by my real name or

face. I’m Lou.” He said it more like a question, for saying it out loud felt so

strange. 

            She looked at him at first like he was crazy but

then something in her face changed. A softness settled over her, one that took

him by surprise. She looked around as if to confirm that Lou was not there.

            “That sounds a little crazy.”

            “It is. But it’s true. I’ll tell you all about it.”