Posted: December 14, 2012 by Arushi in Original Fiction
Tags: , , , , ,

I return again to Micara. Giving another snippet of her life. I have a story in mind for her and these small posts together will tell that story. It’ll probably just take a while. She’s too intriguing, too insistent, for me to give up on her. The last post about her was ChoicesSword


I cannot write. I can barely speak. The words skitter away from me, like black insects on white parchment. Spiky, chitinous, wretched.  

Micara sat quietly in one corner of the kitchen, cleaning and sharpening her blades. This was her ritual, her meditation.

I grasp at the memories like a blind man at sight. For they are my sight. They are my sanity. No one knows who I truly am anymore, not even I, yet there in those memories, I catch glimpses of who I was. Of who I could have been. 

Dena sat at her feet, cleaning one of the three knives that Micara had given her. Talbot gave them both a look.

“We would look a sight worse in the common room of your inn old man!” Dena snarked, but Micara did not even glance up. There was a look on her face that said that the first person to get a rise out of her would be answered in blood.

Whispered words flit across my mind. Said by a single voice. His voice is the one, the only one, that stood out all my life. He is the only one who stood out all my life. Until he did not. I would not let him. 

“Where were you all day?” Talbot asked, hoping to find the cause of the black rage he could see hovering just behind Micara’s calm facade.

“We practiced knives,” Dena said proudly “then we went to see the fireworks and then we came home.”

They blossomed across the sky like flowers. Like blood. I remember a time when for days I could think of nothing but the flares of light I would see shoot across the sky and how that light would play upon a certain face as it was turned towards the sky.  

“So you had fun?” Talbot asked confused. His daughter was in high spirits, yet the cause of them could barely stop herself from going into a killing rage. Her brooding was like a cloud permeating the room.

Dena nodded enthusiastically and then gave a huge smile to Darlene when she entered the kitchen. Darlene did not even glance her way.

“They’re here again father. What do I do?” Darlene asked. She did not raise her voice, wring her hands or show any signs of distress whatsoever, but there was a mad panic clogging her throat that she could not hide.

Micara finally looked up and smiled, “Give me your dress. Don’t expect it back.”

As Micara and Darlene exchanged clothes, Dena sheathed her knives and stood up, poised on her toes. Raring to go.

“No.” That one word came not from Talbot who looked like he was going to have an aneurysm, but from Micara who was lacing her bodice.

“But…” Dena sputtered.

Micara never fully turned, only glanced at her, but Dena subsided immediately and sat back in her previous position, pulling out her knives again.

“Micara!” Talbot finally said and she turned that smile on him. His eyes widened and his protest died on his lips.

She went into the common room of the inn without another word. Her face now wearing a smile of another sort, her hips swaying as if to the tune of a song.

The common room started to empty after she entered. Not many knew her, but that she was trouble could be seen a mile away. Only the ones who should have left immediately, stayed. Micara served them with a saucy smile, deftly avoiding gropes and grabs.

When time came to pay up and leave, one of them grabbed her arm. She could have avoided it. She chose not to. She looked up at the big man, large, with wide set yet small eyes. Cruel eyes.

She felt it bubbling out of her and before she knew it, she was laughing like there was no tomorrow. And there would be none. Not for any of these men.

“I know a place.” She told them. The first words she had said to them all night.

She swayed out the front door. He threw down money on the table without even looking and left, his gaze riveted on her. The others laughed, cat called, teased, but they came. Every single of them.

It was the pale light of dawn that saw her return to the inn. She dripped with muck from the river, her dress looking worse than a sewer rag.

She stripped in the kitchen and stepped into the hot bath that had been waiting for her. As she washed, Talbot burned her clothes. The wet muck caused great coughs of smoke but he was persistent and soon nothing remained of Darlene’s dress.

When she was clean, Micara dressed in her own clothes, picked up her weapons and trudged upstairs to her room.

It was bright by the time she was done cleaning all her blades. The last thing she cleaned was a small pistol. They were terribly rare, as the art of creating them had been lost, yet hers was in pristine condition.

There was a time when the smell of gunpowder made me smile, made me think of beauty in the sky, of joyous moments stolen together. Now it meant death, a swift death, or a long suffering one, depending upon skill and intent, but death nonetheless. Usually at my hands. 

She put away the cleaned pistol and lay back on the bed. The early sunlight had colored everything blood red, just like the fireworks she had so loved, once upon a time.

She closed her eyes and she finally allowed herself to remember the reason of her black rage. She had loved fireworks but would never ask, would never run headlong upon a hill or a turret to watch, but she would do it for him, with him. And so he too had claimed to be fascinated by the fire that bloomed across the sky and they had seen it together. Until they stopped.

It was not that gunpowder meant death now. It was simply that the woman who meant life was no longer here. I still made sure that fireworks blazed across the sky, as often as possible, for I hoped that somewhere she could see them and she longed as desperately as me.

  1. Sarah says:

    I love Micara, she’s a cool character! I also enjoyed the style you used for that chapter! 🙂

  2. […] Fireworks December 14, 2012 […]

  3. Lannister says:

    Somewhat late to the party, but … I loved this! I loved the part where the guy grabbed her and she laughed. It was slightly chilling and slightly psycho, but I found myself smiling and thinking “You go, girl!” 😀

    Agree with Sarah too. I like the writing style you used. It hints at so much more beneath the surface and I want to keep reading!

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