DRAGON’S QUEEN BRAID

“Do you know how to make a Dragon’s Queen braid?” he asks. 

“No, not really, I’ve never braided before,” she replies, wiping her wet cheeks. 

“It’s a good way to create something beautiful out of nothing. Common, I'll show you how. Take the three strands between your fingers: regret, anger and worry. Put regret over anger and cover it with worry. Now add some hope into your braid and incorporate confidence, as you move along, continue adding strands of joy and self-esteem. Add some thick chunks of excitement and passion and intertwine it with freedom and honesty.”

He brushes his fingertips over the relief of the dragon’s ridge. 

“And now to the most important part. Wrap this tail around and pin it with love.

“But what if the pin falls out and the Dragon’s Queen braid untwists?” 

“Then you will start over, now you know how.”

Her

She got inside my brain and stole my words, so shameless that she didn’t even hide it. She was so fake and everything she did, was simply to attract attention.

I felt like in a dream, like in a nightmare.

And then it dragged me down. 

Something powerful and disgusting robbed me of my high spirit. It penetrated inside and dissolved who I was, watering me down, taking the best out of me. Leaving a black hole that doesn’t deserve to be spoken about. Sucking my freedom. Taking control, manipulating.

And then she disappeared.

Her gentle monster left me,

the black hole got healed,

and I returned to being no one.

The old town

She stepped through massive Green Gates into a completely different world of beauty that she didn’t expect. The old town hit her with the details of the multicoloured brick buildings, yellow, red, pink. It became hard to breathe among those ancient intimidating structures, she could almost feel the weight of their beauty on her shoulders, almost feeling the need to apologise for her shaggy shorts and stretched t-shirt.

Quiet...

The prompt was: I’m learning so many different ways to be quiet...

...I’m sick of people always telling me to shut up; telling me that humans have two ears and only one mouth, not without a reason. But what can I do? I always have things to say or moan about.  I used to talk to my dog, to my neighbour across the garden, I talked to the TV sportscaster, I talked to myself, I talked in my sleep. But I wasn’t always like this.

It creeps into your life when people you know disappear. First, your parents, then your friends, your husband, until you look around to realise that there is no one left who knows you, who cares. The nurses and staff do care of course, as long as I keep it quiet. 

A joke

In the Creative writing class, we learned the structure of jokes. That was mine:

The knife in his hand set loose. He has never threatened a woman before. He could end up in jail for that.

“DO IT, MARK, DO IT,” Luke dared him.

“Okay”, Mark yelled, squeezing the knife tighter and lifting his chin up. “I will.”

Every step to that dark alleyway felt like his last one. He felt like he was going to his own execution. His boots became heavy, they didn’t want to leave the pavement. His steps shortened until he completely stopped, hiding behind the skip.

He didn't need to wait for long. A young pretty woman, in a shiny cocktail dress, knocked her heels past the skip.

Mark stepped in front of her, the sharp steel looked like an extension of his hand. “Strip down real quick,” he said, raising the knife.

She didn't say a word and lowered her tights.

"And the rest," Mark said, unbuttoning his shirt, then his pants.

As soon as her sparkly dress touched the concrete, Marked grabbed it. Quickly he pulled it on and ran away screaming, “Luke, we're good! I've got the dress!”

Eternity Retreat

This week 10-minute free writing prompt was: By the time he was admitted, his rapid heart had stopped and he was feeling better...

I continued with:

...Most of them felt better right after being admitted. The light was pure and the smell was fresh. At the end of their misery, they become forever residents of a luxury retreat. That's what they think first anyway.  

The residents anticipate the light to be dimed and night to fall but the only indication of the time flow is the sound. It is when the walls of the retreat become alive; when they talk. Sometimes their voices are screaming at the confused residents in the middle of the white night. Those voices always sound like people who they loved once, or who loved them. But with time, the residents become used to the voices, they learn to handle them. It's not the voices that made eternity impossible. It's the never-ending light.

If only they could have those quiet pitch-black nights of the mortal humans when they could look up and pretend to be one of the stars, pretend that they could shine as bright and be important. If only they could have enjoyed them more.

Tick - tock

 

At the Creative Writing class, we start with 10-minute of free writing. This time the prompt was:

The smart people at the dinner table...

I continued with:

...murmured about the delicious wine and the mouthwatering food, some silly small talk that I’ve never been able to handle. I sat just across, alone, nails knocking on the glass. I didn’t care about the food or the vine. I just wanted this evening to end. I just wanted to skip this part, fast forward it like a videotape.

His profile didn't have a photo, but he said he will be wearing silk, blue shirt.

knock - knock, tick - tock

At the age of 37 I was still alone - not my fault obviously, but I made my peace with it. There was only one thing that I desperately wanted. It made my chest tight. Just one microscopic thing that I needed from him, one cell, one set of chromosomes.

Katia and the Wolf

When I started my creative writing class in 2021, my classmate and I developed a little story about a Russian spy named Katia and her partner by nickname Wolf. We didn't finish it, but here are the bits of the story that came out from under my fingers. [The inspiration for this bit I drew from the scene of the movie "Needle" starring Victor Tsoi.]

“I thought you wanna play,” he spat the words into her ear, clenching her body with his steel hands like a skidder. “You moved your Queen too far this time.” He released the grip, taking one stone-cold step back, letting her land on her knees. A lazy, thick stream made its way through the leather and between her fingers, coating the polished cobblestones.  She looked up at him but her words drowned in blood.  

“Isn’t it funny how humans' brain work?” The metallic click of his lighter brought her elusive attention back.  “You know that the end is coming, but deep down you still hope you’ll live forever." He dragged the smoke. "Do you? Still?" He stretched his hand to her face. "One last puff?”  

The capsule, she thought. Her tongue moved to what looked and felt like the upper right wisdom tooth. But before she could squeeze the deadly liquid into her mouth, her body collapsed into the sticky puddle.

***

For some time her brain was still processing; firing memories into her dreams. She saw the Wolf, sitting by her side, their shoulders, almost touching. He offered her a pack of Gauloise and a bronze lighter. She dragged on, watching the almost magical, orange ring moving closer to her lips. The shadow of a Baltic gull crossed her childish face. She had just turned 18. Her sister was still alive and her father continued killing his pancreas with barrels of Zubrowka. Wolf was her only family, the only sober, grown-up man in her life.

“Why me?” she asked, lowering her back on the cold sand.

“Because you’re good!” Wolf laid down beside her. “I know it feels wrong, but think about the money. Imagine what we would be able to afford in 20 years.” 

 

Now, after 20 years, she could afford everything but trust. 

***

Since Wolf retired from the ‘business’ and from their relationships, Katia got addicted to the engrossing feeling of having total control. She reveled in her power over men, consuming one assignment after another; each time looking down, almost smiling at their misery under her heels. 

And now, being forced to inhale the smell of incandescent metal and disinfectors, she didn’t even have a say in how she goes. Nausea spilled out of her chest into her throat. But it didn’t stop there. The muscles between her upper ribs were contracting, pulsating, choking her in bubbling anger.  

As she tried to sit up, she recorded an unfamiliar feeling of the air movement on her scalp. Instinctively, she reached out to touch her hair, but the straps jerked her wrists, tightening, ingrowing into her bones; cannulas tore her veins.

            “Mother fucking fucking fuckers. ARGH.” Her husky voice bounced off the walls right back into her ears.

 She scanned the heavy darkness. A square pack in glossy foil lured her from the bedside table; possibly within her reach. She stretched her hand— 

“It won't numb your pain,”  a weak, high-pitched voice said. Although Katyusha’s heart jumped, making her involuntarily swallow, her hand remained stable. No, the pack was too far. She peered into the corner. Hidden behind the blue lights, she noticed a small person. A child? A boy? His glossy, grey face, and motionless lips staggered her at first. Then she realised it was a mask. 

“Why are you here?” her voice softened, switching on forgotten maternity instincts. 

“The right question would be: Why are you here.” The boy came closer, limping like an old man, shuffling over the empty bags on the floor. He put his small hands on the sheet, right by her bandaged side and said, “We have an assignment for you, Katia.” 

Clenching her teeth, she asked, separating each word with a pause, “What is it?”

The mask slid down the boy’s face; but before the sound of terror left Katia’s lungs, the boy said, “Me.”

***

Concrete-grey crescents of nails contaminate the polished floor under Wolf’s desk. Floral, pointed shoes are on the table, one hand is rocking ice cubes in copper liquid, another hand is on the keyboard, both eyes are on the screen. His lollipop fingertip slides over the touchpad, clicking the world combination to access the CrypX wallet. His body loosened up with relief, seeing the long tail of digits.

The White Alliance paid 20 bitcoins for eliminating Katia, which at today’s exchange rate equals just over a million USD. They were just a sequence of ones and naughts in the untrackable blockchain; but for Wolf, they were the best metrics of his importance. He is back in the game, expecting the new assignment from the White Alliance to arrive any minute. 

Just before he locks the screen, he notices a change in digits. He shouldn’t worry. The exchange rate normally goes up and down throughout the day – bitcoin is still a highly volatile currency. But wait a minute! What the fuck? He got robbed of two bitcoins. The pointed shoes are moving over the pile of nail cuts, the glass is drained into his stomach, the ice cubes are crushed between his teeth. He presses the refresh button in the wallet interface: refresh...refresh…refresh – 18 bitcoins.  

He had three most expensive anti-malware software on his laptop, his office was protected by cold-rolled steel plates, his door was armed with nine digital locks and the cityscape view got sacrificed not without a reason. No one could have accessed his wallet. Except…

A message pops up on the screen.

The White Monarch is requesting an urgent connection. 

Accept. 

He puts the VRS on. The White Monarch was an elf-like avatar that the White Alliance developed for communications.  The meetings were usually held at an elevation, either in the rocky mountains or at the top of a cliff. The height was always at the extreme of realistic but still daunting; they position you right at the edge and freeze you.   

‘The wolves are losing our trust.’ The White Monarch’s voice was always monotonous like he was signing a prayer. His silver hair flapped in tune like a surrender flag on his tall, slender body, which was wrapped in a light blue robe. “The wolves fucked up.”  The avatar made several steps towards Wolf. “They have 10 days to fix their shit. Every day the wolves will lose two bitcoins, on the 10th day the wolves will lose their heads.” The end of communication was always the same: The White Monarch puts his hands on your shoulder, “The White Alliance count on your loyalty.” And then he pushes you right into the abyss and watches your frozen body descent at a supersonic speed. But it’s not until he salutes, your body defrosts and you can take the VCR off. Wolf has always wondered what would happen if his back touched the rocks, but he never had the guts to find out. 

***

"You look like shit, babe," a cloud-like shadow appeared in Katia’s blurred vision. The last spark of femininity faded when she touched the silky skin on her bare scalp. 

"Stating the obvious," Katia’s dry lips whispered. 

The fat fingers softly released Katia’s hand. 

"Look at the bright side, babe – you are off the hook and we’ve got everything to liquidate the White Alliance." Katia’s eyes narrowed and she chuckled: you’ve got nothing, you fucking shits, precisely nothing.