H'Turt

[Note for clarity, since this is taken mid-chapter: "She" discovers the corpse buried below a thick covering of leaves, thus accounting for the green staining of the bones. Also, the tree canopy is almost suffocatingly dense overhead trapping in the heavy air and limiting access to sunlight]

She stared for a long time at the face of the ragged skeleton in the dim light of the forest. At last she glanced down at the hands clasped over the chest. Through the pale green fingers, she saw a glint of something gold. It appeared to be an amulet of sorts, made of interlaced gold surrounding a dim jewel. She gently lifted the wrist bone of the hand, and the amulet slid from the silent fingers into her own hand.

Time and age made it difficult to tell just what it was, but the small jewel that was clasped in the hand of the figure seemed strangely familiar. She had seen it before. She studied it, and turned it in her hand.

On the back was an inscription she could not quite make out. She brushed at the stone to read the strange letters. The thick canopy of trees overhead creaked loudly, as if they were doors that had not been opened for many years. She looked upward to see what was causing the noise. Suddenly, with a loud groan the trees moved aside, and a flood of sunlight poured into the dim forest with such force that she thought she heard the trees gasp, as if they were taking their first breath after many, many years.

In the beam of light she heard a voice, so peaceful, so soft. It was a woman’s voice, and although she did not recognize the language, in her mind she understood. She looked at the amulet again. She’d never seen the letters before, but she heard the words in her head and spoke them aloud.

The Gem in the center of the amulet glowed a brilliant amber, and then came alive with fire, burning from the inside and growing so bright that she could no longer look at it. Startled, she stood and dropped it. She was not sure what happened next. Whether the Jewel dropped on or near the body lying on the ground, she could not tell, it glowed so brightly.

She reached down to take it up again, shielding her eyes from the bright light. Her hand brushed up against the body, and in astonishment she cried out and jumped back. She had not brushed against the cool bones of a skeleton, but rather against a warm body. In the light of the amulet, she could see skin starting to grow on the skeleton. Dark hair covered the head. The shreds of cloth re-wove itself around the frame. The face took shape and the empty holes grew into a nose, eyes, and lips. The arms grew full with muscle under the skin, and the ribs were no longer visible...
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Action Gram

There are moments in life that seem too rare to be true, like walking through the woods with cottonwood dancing through the sky like tiny fairies, or when the temperature is just right and snowflakes really do look like the paper ones you cut out in school.  There are moments when something almost magical happens and you wonder if your eyes really saw what they did.  It was like that one evening when I was leaving the police station after waiting all day for some headline news to come in for tomorrow’s newscast.  Maxwell Wright had covered the headline stories for the past two weeks and I was determined to find some morsel of news that would break his reign as “King of the Hill” at the news station. 

I brought my laptop with me to work on a backup story while I kept my ears peeled for something spectacular.  At 1:00 am I was still without that spectacular something, and mournfully left the station with only my backup story.  I walked down the stairs onto the sidewalk and was about to cross the street to my car when I was swept off of my feet and my laptop flew into the air.  It wasn’t there long because the culprit of my fall swept it under his arm and flew down the street.  I had scarcely started to cry for help when what appeared to be an elderly lady swung her cane at the man’s head so fast that it swept him off of his feet and knocked him out cold.  She caught the laptop and gently laid it down.  I jumped up and glanced around to see if anyone had seen what I did, and when I looked back the woman was gone.  As I walked toward the man laying on the sidewalk, Officer Fredericks opened the door to the police station. 

“Did you see that?”  I asked like an awe-struck child.

“I heard some racket out here.”  He followed my glance to the laptop thief.  “Did you do this, Maggie?”  I walked over and picked up my laptop bag, then looked down the street.  “Maggie?”

“Did you see . . .”  I hesitated, “an old lady?”  

Officer Fredericks walked over to the man lying on the ground.  “Maggie, this is no old lady.  This is Justice, pickpocket extraordinaire.”  Just then Justice groaned and placed one hand on his swollen red forehead. 

“This man tried to swipe my laptop, but this old woman . . .”  Fredericks slapped handcuffs on the exposed wrist, rolled Justice over and cuffed his other wrist.  Officer Martinez appeared at the door.

“Well Fredericks, what do you have there?  Why if it isn’t Justice?  How nice of you to visit!”  Officer Martinez walked over and helped Justice to his feet and together they walked back into the station.  “Maybe this will count for the news you’ve been waiting for all day, Maggie!”  Martinez called out over his shoulder.

I stood there, looking bewildered down the dark street as if I would see some old woman appear in a Ninja outfit.  A moment later, Fredericks poked his head out the police station door.  “We need you to answer a few questions before you go, Mags.”  I slowly turned and walked back inside, still dazed.  Officer Fredericks was sifting through the first aid kit for an icepack while Justice sat in a chair, dramatically groaning because of rather sizable goose egg on his head. 

I sat down and wrote down a brief description of what happened just moments before.  Chief O’Neal sat at the desk across from me and leaned back.  “You okay, Maggie?”  He asked with sincere concern.  

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Lexanter and Melan

[Piraxella is a name I made up. I borrowed from the Spanish "ch" pronunciation of the letter 'X' while also creating a name that sounded Italian. I have not yet settled on the spelling - Pyraxella, Pirexella, Pyrachella, and a few additional variations are some possibilities. I did search online for possible matches of this newly created name to ensure its origination and found none, as a signature of my original work. Any use of this name from this point forward may be traced back to this first instance of its posting online. I checked again just prior to posting this entry and no occurrence of this name appears online prior to this entry - June 25, 2010]


Her earrings appeared to be made of silver, but they glistened with an unusual radiance in the sun. Some women wore a variety of different baubles on their lobes, but she only ever wore the same silver keys. It was as if they were as permanent as the hair on her head, and so often were they attached to her ears, that one began to think nothing of them, as if they were a permanent fixture. She seemed to always smile, but not a friendly or a cheerful smile. Rather it was a knowing smile, as if a secret were about to escape those ruby lips. She kept them slightly parted when she smiled so that her teeth peeked out like partially hidden pearls behind red curtains. That secret could have slipped away at any moment, but somehow it had come to love her, and so it willingly remained captive behind an open prison door...

...So it was that when the chest was finally found, that nobody could open it. Every attempt to open the chest failed, and while the immense pile of keys in which it was hidden seemed somehow attached to gaining entry to its contents, no keyhole could be found anywhere upon its six surfaces. Each corner was covered with  an impenetrable three petaled plate of steel, and each surface was carefully plated with decorative metal, neither brittle, nor flexible to the visible eye. The contents were thought to be so valuable that no one dared force the chest open, lest some harm should come to the entrails of this impervious and enigmatic portmanteau.

At last it was determined that the case would be placed on display, if for no other reason than to invite the attention of the scientific world to determine an entry point. Beside the box was displayed a portion of the keys that were its companions for many a decade. The security surrounding the case was impeccable,  and nobody expected or could have possibly imagined what would happen next. There in the viewing room stood a large crowd of science students, so taken with the keys that the group surrounded the case to block from the view of the camera a straight shot of the chest, and when they left a security guard noted on the screen a strange protrusion coming from the right side of the chest. Upon closer inspection it was discovered that the protrusion was a door left slightly ajar on the side of the chest, and the contents of the chest were missing.

It was as if the thief who managed to open the chest wanted to make sure that there was no question about how clever he or she was, and without doubt, this was the message inaudibly delivered to the security team, who seemed hypnotized by sheer astonishment. Each and every student was carefully inspected to determine which of them could have been the culprit, but only one clue remained at he scene: a tiny key-shaped earring, still inserted into the imperceptibly small keyhole at the joint of the triple-petaled metal plate on the corner of the chest.

Lexanter stood staring at the tiny key for some time before Melan asked if he would like to have it examined for a partial print along with the chest. Lexanter laughed so subtly that it was barely imperceptible to a bystander, rather it came out as a quick burst of air from his chest. "Hardly so. That would just be a waste of time. This is not a clue, my friend. This is a signature; the signature of an artist."

Melan looked perplexed, but stood staring at the tiny key for a moment. "Well then, shall I make an appointment with the artist?" he asked.

"Indeed you shall," Lexanter said softly without moving a muscle, "Indeed you shall." And without another word, Melan and Lexanter turned and strode silently out of the hall.

Early the next morning Melan and Lexanter stood in the brisk morning air on the stone landing facing an elegant hickory door. The handle was so simply elaborate that at a glance one nearly forgot that it was a bronze sculpture in the shape of a tree branch. Lexanter lifted his eyes to the globe camera, carefully hidden behind a strip of stained glass above the door. Melan followed his eyes, and neither lifted an arm to announce their greeting. Within moments the door swept open in the most dramatic fashion and the brisk morning air was suddenly infiltrated with a warm wave, lightly tipped in rose water. Piraxella stood in the doorway as a most gracious hostess  in an evening gown of trembling grey sueded silk. Her walnut locks fell in long ringlets down the sides of her face, intentionally shielding her ears.

"You are most appropriately garmented for the early hours of the morning, Pirexella. One might think you've been expecting us." Melan wittily wafted.

"Do come in, gentlemen. Breakfast is waiting!" She said with her knowing smile. Lexanter and Melan exchanged glances and obediently followed Piraxella into a bright sun room filled with so many botanicals that it felt more like a jungle than a home.

The table was laid with delicate fruit tarts and a basketof unfamiliar fruits. An egg cup stood valiantly beside each place setting, emitting a soft yarn of steam.  "I do struggle so with the most challenging decisions," she flippantly declared.

Lexanter played along as he pulled her chair out for her, "And what decisions might those be."

"Well yolks, of course! Poached seems so brutal, somehow, as if dissecting and then destroying. Boiling seems so much kinder, because you leave the armor right where it should be until the dirty deed is done. But I do love a baked egg. It reminds me of bathing in the sun until my skin is warm and buttery golden."

"Ah, YOKES. Have yokes been on your mind of late?" Melan questioned, fiddling with a pair of handcuffs at his side.

Piraxella seemed indignant at his comment for a brief moment, and immediately shifted back into her hostess role. "Lychees! I picked them up overseas." She said, gesturing toward the basket of oddly shaped fruit. "And I do hope you enjoy the tarts. I spent so much time on the custard."

"Really, Piraxella, you do live an extraordinary life," Lexander mused. "Such privilege and yet such drive to do it all! When will you ever entertain the idea of hiring a cook or housekeeper?"

"The human spirit is much too free to waste on serving the base needs of another human.  I despise servitude, even if it is masked as employment," Piraxella countered. "There are so many things we are capable of doing ourselves, and yet we use wealth or privilege to excuse ourselves from the normal functions of life, as if our wealth or position has put us above our personal responsibilities. Of course this does not in any way degrade the virtue of true service, when offered with a willing heart."

"Bravo! I applaud your insatiable pursuit of human justice. And where does such an honorable virtue fit among the crowd of less than virtuous…" Melan started to draw the irony of her obvious lack of certain virtues, but was quickly interrupted by Lexanter.

"What Melan means, my dear Piraxella, is that we are simply ASTOUNDED by your diverse treasure trove of skills and attributes,  how is it that you manage to remain so wildly independent whilst conquering the world?"

"We are all a shard of greatness in our own right. It is only fair to make one's abilities stretch as far as one may. And yet here we are, with these yolks growing cold. With that she held gently stabilized the egg between her thumb and finger, and with one swipe of her knife, capped the top of the egg. "Cheers!" she said as she elegantly dipped into her egg with a tiny silver spoon.

Lexanter followed suit, and Melan, unaccustomed to this culinary delicacy, sent a splatter of yellow yolk against the basket of lychees. In an attempt to chase the scattered yolk down with a linen towel, Melan tipped the salt cellar, sending a shower of white flakes to the floor. Piraxella tossed her head back in laughter as Melan blushed with embarrassment, but Lexanter scarcely noticed. His eye was fixed upon the briefly unveiled earlobe of his criminal specimen, and for the first time in fifteen years, he noticed a single lobe with no earring, but more than that, a lobe with a brutal tear through the bottom of the lobe.

"I must tell you, Piraxella," Lexanter said without missing a beat, "I have had fruit tarts the world over, but never have they contained a custard that could truly do justice to the race of tarts." Lexanter said with a grin, for the first time noticing the well hidden pain behind those fox-like eyes. Piraxella opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing cam out; then her lips relaxed into a genuine smile.

An hour later Lexanter and Melan crossed her threshold and stepped back into the street.

"Excellent distraction, Melan," Lexanter murmured quietly as they strode off together.

"The question is, did you see what you needed to see?" Melan asked eagerly.

"Most efficient efforts come away with rewards, and this excellent performance certainly did likewise. The key was apparently removed by force."

"Hmmm. Should that be considered façade or fact?" Melan questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"That, my friend, should merely be considered Piraxella." Then Lexanter and Melan shared a knowing laugh. 

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