They sat on the beach near Sen’jin, arms wrapped around each other, and watched their daughter splashing in the breakers. He turned to her and grinned. “Hard t’ believe she’s growin’ up so fas’, ain’t et?” Wordlessly, she smiled back and rested her head lightly on his shoulder.
He looked back at the child. She was beautiful, exhibiting only the best features of her parents. She had his sturdy build, her mother’s perfect posture. His tusk and fangs, her bright eyes. The girl’s skin was a striking celadon green, a happy medium between theirs.
He had faint memories of the apprehension surrounding her birth. The naysayers had tried to fill his mind with worries and doubts about the difficulties and dangers that would come. They’d said she wouldn’t survive, that the birth would put both the mother’s and daughter’s lives in danger. They’d been wrong, of course. She’d come into the world strong and healthy. She’d never had even the tiniest sniffle or cough since.
A few clouds began to form above them, and the winds from the ocean promised that a storm was brewing. He called to the girl and beckoned her to shore with his left hand, his right arm still wrapped tightly around her mother’s tiny waist. The girl acknowledged the gesture with a sparkling laugh and a quick shake of her head, and then she dived back into the surf.
He chuckled. She’d also inherited the stubbornness of both of her parents.
Shaking his head in amusement, he began to hoist himself to his feet, but the woman beside him shook her head and slowly pulled him back down. An impish grin flashed across her face, and her hand slid off of his shoulder, carefully traced its way down his chest, and, finally, came to rest in his lap.
His face flushed slightly, though he could feel his pulse quickening. “Not dat Ah don’ like et, hon… Bu’ we should be getting’ back inside. Dis can wait ‘til th’ girl ain’t around, anyhow.”
The woman shook her head again. Her free hand pointed toward the water, the other busying itself with his zipper.
Instinctively, he obeyed her gesture and looked back toward the water, just in time to see the girl resurface. She seemed to shimmer behind the faint spray of water droplets. Some trick of the light made the rays of the slowly-setting sun seem to shine directly through her. The girl seemed to be losing focus, her form diffusing and fading away at the edges. He frowned and squinted his eyes as he sought to find an explanation for what he was seeing. Even as he watched, she disappeared entirely, becoming just so much more sea foam and
mist.
He struggled to pull himself to his feet, to run down to the ocean, to find his daughter. His palms slipped, finding no purchase in the sand. The woman’s hand was in his pants now, squeezing, her grip an icy claw.
The woman flopped around toward him, moving mechanically, as if she were nothing but a puppet on a string. The familiar voice, harsh and grating, sprang from her now long-dead lips: “Ya should’a known bettah, Oskah Stormborn. Ya elfie should’a known bettah. But now, she dead, mon. Elfy’s dead. Babeh’s dead. An’ who knows, mon? Mebbe joo be dead soon, too.”
Oskor’s face was a mask of rage. He tried to whirl around to confront the speaker, to grab its throat in both hands and just choke away all of its life, but a sudden sharp pain shot through him.
The creature who had once been his wife was twisting its hand, clawing and tearing at him. “Ah took joo wife, Oskah Stormborn.” The hand squeezed maliciously. “Ah took joo babeh.” Another wrench, and the grip was tightening and pulling away from his body. “An’ now, Ah take joo future.”
Flesh ripped. Blood gushed and spurted.
The pain was unbearable. A guttural howl, somewhere between a scream and a curse, forced itself through Oskor’s gritting teeth.
He slumped and fell forward into the familiar welcoming darkness.
He looked back at the child. She was beautiful, exhibiting only the best features of her parents. She had his sturdy build, her mother’s perfect posture. His tusk and fangs, her bright eyes. The girl’s skin was a striking celadon green, a happy medium between theirs.
He had faint memories of the apprehension surrounding her birth. The naysayers had tried to fill his mind with worries and doubts about the difficulties and dangers that would come. They’d said she wouldn’t survive, that the birth would put both the mother’s and daughter’s lives in danger. They’d been wrong, of course. She’d come into the world strong and healthy. She’d never had even the tiniest sniffle or cough since.
A few clouds began to form above them, and the winds from the ocean promised that a storm was brewing. He called to the girl and beckoned her to shore with his left hand, his right arm still wrapped tightly around her mother’s tiny waist. The girl acknowledged the gesture with a sparkling laugh and a quick shake of her head, and then she dived back into the surf.
He chuckled. She’d also inherited the stubbornness of both of her parents.
Shaking his head in amusement, he began to hoist himself to his feet, but the woman beside him shook her head and slowly pulled him back down. An impish grin flashed across her face, and her hand slid off of his shoulder, carefully traced its way down his chest, and, finally, came to rest in his lap.
His face flushed slightly, though he could feel his pulse quickening. “Not dat Ah don’ like et, hon… Bu’ we should be getting’ back inside. Dis can wait ‘til th’ girl ain’t around, anyhow.”
The woman shook her head again. Her free hand pointed toward the water, the other busying itself with his zipper.
Instinctively, he obeyed her gesture and looked back toward the water, just in time to see the girl resurface. She seemed to shimmer behind the faint spray of water droplets. Some trick of the light made the rays of the slowly-setting sun seem to shine directly through her. The girl seemed to be losing focus, her form diffusing and fading away at the edges. He frowned and squinted his eyes as he sought to find an explanation for what he was seeing. Even as he watched, she disappeared entirely, becoming just so much more sea foam and
mist.
He struggled to pull himself to his feet, to run down to the ocean, to find his daughter. His palms slipped, finding no purchase in the sand. The woman’s hand was in his pants now, squeezing, her grip an icy claw.
The woman flopped around toward him, moving mechanically, as if she were nothing but a puppet on a string. The familiar voice, harsh and grating, sprang from her now long-dead lips: “Ya should’a known bettah, Oskah Stormborn. Ya elfie should’a known bettah. But now, she dead, mon. Elfy’s dead. Babeh’s dead. An’ who knows, mon? Mebbe joo be dead soon, too.”
Oskor’s face was a mask of rage. He tried to whirl around to confront the speaker, to grab its throat in both hands and just choke away all of its life, but a sudden sharp pain shot through him.
The creature who had once been his wife was twisting its hand, clawing and tearing at him. “Ah took joo wife, Oskah Stormborn.” The hand squeezed maliciously. “Ah took joo babeh.” Another wrench, and the grip was tightening and pulling away from his body. “An’ now, Ah take joo future.”
Flesh ripped. Blood gushed and spurted.
The pain was unbearable. A guttural howl, somewhere between a scream and a curse, forced itself through Oskor’s gritting teeth.
He slumped and fell forward into the familiar welcoming darkness.
Edited by Oskor on 3/12/2011 1:25 PM PST
