Joy and Tragedy

How does one feel such opposite extremes of emotion without shattering into a million pieces? How does one put those emotions and the events that caused them into words? How does one go on living? I do not know the answers to these questions, and yet here I am, attempting to do all three.

Was it my own arrogance, my own hubris, my own overconfidence that caused this? But no, I cannot blame myself, for if I look beyond my guilt, I know that the outcome would have been the same no matter who was there at that moment. Others may blame me still, even as they pretend sympathy, and I will accept that. They would have made a different choice, but my instincts led me to this decision, and again I say, the outcome would not have been different. The pain I see in my beloved's eyes, and in my own when I gaze in the mirror are enough. I do not need the condemnation of others.

Tell the story then, you say, these vague words are not enough. Very well. You may judge for yourself, but do not judge too harshly.

My life these last months has been blessed. I have known such love and joy as I have never known in all my years. Why could it not last? Ah, you say, it never does. We mortals must be brought back to earth once in a while, that kind of happiness is only for stories, not for real people. Nevertheless, my joy was complete. I found the man of my dreams, my love, my star, Thorren. Our friendship bloomed into a love unparalleled, we dreamed of our future together. We were married, and soon after found out that I was carrying our child. As the months passed, and my belly swelled, I began to suspect that I was carrying not one child, but twins. I was trained as a midwife by my mother, you see. I know the mysteries of a woman's body as she grows a new life within, I know the signs, and as it turns out, I was correct, but I will get to that.

My pregnancy progressed with relative ease, despite how large I grew. I continued my activities as before, hampered only by the size of my belly. I trusted in my own knowledge, and in my body. I do not give my trust easily to others, I do not often ask for help, I am a very private person. You need to understand these things about me to understand why I made the decision that I did. I have said that my mother trained me as a midwife, and though she lived her whole life in a tiny isolated island village, she was the finest healer I have ever known. The only other person that I would have wanted with Thorren and I as I birthed my babes would have been her, but she passed into the void many years ago. And so, we chose to bring our children into the world with no assistance from outsiders. Thorren and I wished to share this most intimate of moments with no one but ourselves, in the peace and silence of our home, surrounded by our love.

Was it only three days ago? The time seems to pass so slowly, as if in a dream. I was harvesting foodstuffs for my friend, Heryn, when my contractions started. I tried to ignore them at first, and did not tell Thorren, so as not to alarm him. Finally I told him that I wanted to go home, and so we returned to our house. I felt so secure in our bedroom, safe with my love and so excited to finally meet our babies that we had waited so long for. I leaned on his strong shoulders as my contractions grew stronger, and told him that the time had come. Very soon, I found myself pushing, and I exulted in the strength of my body as it did its work. Such power, such perfection is a woman's body as she births! I felt the strength of generations of women before me present in the room, women who had done the exact same thing, I felt a connection with these spirits and at that moment, I felt complete.

At the next moment, as my son emerged from my body, and I saw his tiny, blue, lifeless face, my grief matched my joy of only seconds before. I tried, I did. The cord was wrapped so tightly around his neck, there was nothing that I could have done, not as a midwife, not as a healer, not as a mother. I am a druid, not a necromancer. I could not bring our tiny perfect son back from the dead when he had not taken even his first breath. Even as I held him, sobbing, feeling the heat of my own body escape from his soft skin, my body continued its unfinished work. Our daughter's first cries joined with our own, and it seemed that she also mourned the brother that had shared the womb with her.

I lay here now, nursing my daughter, as I write this. She is a solemn, quiet baby, she seems to know too much already of the pain of the world. It is as if she understands that there is one missing, of course she does... She knew him far better than I did, sharing the space and warmth of my body for nine months. The strength of her suckling shocks me back to reality, I would willingly sink into the blackness and despair that calls to me if not for her. Three days and still she is unnamed. My son though... My son has a name. Thorren chose it, and when he told me, with tears in his eyes, I could only nod.

This is a birth announcement of sorts, I suppose, but not how anyone would have expected or hoped. With open arms and broken hearts, we held our son, Odun Hawke Steelwind. My life now is lived only for his sister, our daughter, the little red-haired princess in my arms. A name is needed, I suppose, and while I have been writing one has occurred to me. I will have to ask Thorren, but I think he will approve...

I cannot write more, my heart is heavy and I am so weary. Judge me if you choose, now that you have heard the story, but know my pain.

Sunday Afternoon

Click-flash, and the whole scene was bathed in stark white light, making it all the more gruesome. Skeletons, sitting lined up on a park bench, their sightless eyes staring up at the sky.
Arthur stood up, wound the film to the next slot, and got to one knee again. He lined up the shot through the viewfinder, thought better of it, and lay prone to maximize the effect. Yes, this shot was better. This shot told a story.
Park bench up close, looming in the foreground of the image, massive. Four skeletons, still dressed in their now-tattered Sunday clothes, their heads turned to the sky, their jaws agape in what could have just been the slackening of the jaw in death, could have been traces of the wonder they felt at their last sight. Perhaps, since it was Sunday, they had believed that it was God they were seeing, some sort of awful rapture that the Bible couldn’t have predicted.
In a sense, they would have been right.
Arthur took a few more shots, then moved on.
A few moments later, maybe ten or more steps, he found another photo waiting to happen. This was a small child’s skeleton, eternally perched at the top of a playground slide. The slide itself was a warped tangle of melted metal, but the ladder, the handrails, and the child were all still miraculously intact.
The child was looking off towards the horizon, his fingertips barely touching the handrails, as though he’d wanted to make sure that he didn’t lose his hard-fought position at the top of the slide to the other children waiting below while he looked over at this new distraction. Arthur could see other children at the bottom of the slide, maybe only two or three, possibly as many as ten. It would be hard to give an exact number without picking through the tangle of bones at the bottom of the ladder.
Arthur dropped to one knee, his eye automatically framing the shot for maximum impact.
After he was done, he moved on.
He stopped at the top of a hill, taking a panoramic shot of a snarl of traffic, their owners slumped over the steering wheels of their vehicles. Some of the skeletons inside still had their hands forever locked in the ten-and-two position, others had one arm slung around skeletons in the passenger seats, others had one bony arm resting on open windows.
Click-flash, and none of the subjects had to be persuaded to smile for the camera.
Arthur walked on, stopping to snap the Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada sign, now blackened around the edges. One of the support struts had snapped, and it now leaned like a drunk who just dropped his keys. Beyond, the glut of casinos, fast food joints, and glittering neon signs all lay in ruins.
He walked on, going into one of the casinos on a whim. This one was still relatively intact, and he could see row after row of skeletons sitting in front of card tables, roulette wheels and slot machines. Most of the slot machines were still in working order, clanging and banging, some still shouting their attract messages over and over into the gloom. Some of the skeletons were still clutching what had been plastic cups full of nickels and quarters. Now, the cups had melted into the skeleton's hands like unattended candles, and the change had spilled onto the floor, where they had melted and reformed in the intense heat into countless glittering constellations on the carpeted floor. Click-flash, and Arthur moved on.
He moved deeper into the casino, towards the entertainment and feeding areas. Even though the casinos advertised them as buffets, Arthur couldn’t help but see them now as troughs, with pigs lined up for their meals. The air was ripe with the conflicting smells of rotting, overcooked food still sitting in the stainless steel tubs. The sneeze-guards had exploded in the intense heat of the blast, and lay in glittering shards of dull safety glass on the ground. Most of the tables had at least one skeleton sitting at them, some with plates full of meals that would never be finished.
Click-flash.
Arthur left the casino. As he walked out, one of the machines went crazy, lighting up and whooping, the word “JACKPOT” flashing over and over. The machine began spitting out dozens of coins, then hundreds of them. Arthur didn’t bother to pick them up.
He walked through the ruins of the strip, not sure what he was looking for. He didn’t find it, at least not on the strip. On a whim, he turned into one of the pawn shops that dotted the surrounding areas.
Inside, there were more skeletons, thrown around the store. Two of them were still standing by the register, still in the act of haggling over something, or perhaps purchasing an item. Arthur got a little closer, and as he did so, he could see what was laying on the counter between them.
A pistol. A pistol and a box of ammo.
Click-flash, and Arthur left the pawnshop. But not before scooping up the items on the counter.
Arthur turned back towards the strip. He walked into the nicest standing hotel he could find. He stopped by the registration desk, no one challenging him as he stepped behind it and selected a key.
He walked further into the hotel, dismissing the glowing banks of elevators, apparently still working amidst all of the carnage. He took the stairs instead. Just to be safe.
The stairwell was refreshingly cool, and almost startlingly quiet after the idiot clamor of the slot machines in the room behind him. He began to mount the stairs slowly.
He looked at the key on each landing, and nodding to himself, continued upwards until he reached the top floor.
The hallway was mostly empty. There were two skeletons up here, one still in the act of unlocking his door. The other was sprawled near a service cart, loaded down with trays. Arthur figured this skeleton had been the bellboy. Click-flash.
He walked up and down the hallway, checking the room numbers until he found the one that corresponded with the key he had filched from the registration desk. He slipped it into the lock and twisted. It turned smoothly.
The room was empty, thank God. Arthur walked into the room, taking in the view from the expansive window that took up nearly the entire west wall. He stood where he was for a moment, watching the sun sink below the horizon. After it had disappeared, Arthur walked into the room and sat down on the bed. He stared off blankly towards the horizon for what seemed like hours, random thoughts flitting back and forth across his mind.
After a while, he stood up and walked over to the minibar, emptied it, and set to work emptying the miniature bottles as well.
He sat for a moment after he had emptied the last bottle, a single thought going through his head. These photos are the best thing I’ve ever done, he thought. I bet I could win the Pulitzer with these.
He took the gun out of his jacket pocket, and loaded it with a single shell. Let the fates decide, he thought incoherently, and spun the chambers, finding the soft zzzzz! sound strangely soothing. When they stopped, he stuck the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Click-flash.

Celluloid

What is it about a face that is is the most beautiful when lit only by the reflection of a xenon bulb shining through celluloid at 24 frames per second, the shutter moving so fast that it lets the light shine through each individual frame twice as it passes? There must be some kind of formula with those numbers that equals the perfect lighting for a face. The magnificent melodic clicking of the projector behind the wall above you. There's nothing in the world better than looking at the one beside you and seeing their perfectly lit face, their eyes focused on the screen, totally immersed in the film. It can be difficult to suppress the urge to reach over and grab them and kiss them. How can you look at someone so beautiful sitting next to you, who came with you, their face lit by film, and not want to kiss them, or hug them, or hold them tight forever? It is my favorite place in the world, a dark room, surround sound speakers, a giant screen, a good film, and a beautiful person at my side.