Marks
Marks
"Tell me what this is?" They were wrapped in each other's arms enjoying the wonderfully uncomfortable silence that only passion brings. She was looking at his stomach and tapping an elaborate tattoo.
He chuckled and closed his eyes a bit. "What do I tell you every time you ask?"
She flicked the skin. "Every mark has a story and is the manifestation of the whole and you are spooky and mysterious and that's what initially landed me in your bed but five years later the shine has worn off on that little quip."
Laughter from him, echoed by her.
Once the room was quite again, she continued to trace the tattoo with her finger. "But I have you this time. I didn't ask what it meant, I asked what it was."
"Touché." He smiled and gently pulled her chin up so he could see her eyes. "A very deft way of approaching it from a different angle. Again you remind me why I love you." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.
"Flattering. Good attempt to avoid the question." She pushed his head back into the pillow. "Now answer."
He sighed and smiled. "It's called a Blood Mark."
"AH HA!" In a blur of movement she was sitting up and poking the mark on his stomach. "I knew it couldn't just be a tattoo to you. There just had to be some explanation that made it more than any mere ink on skin." Her grin matched the tone.
"You're mocking me." He grinned.
"Lovingly so, but yes." She settled back down and rested her head on his chest. "Now tell me the story. It has to be more than a tattoo and you always tell the best stories."
"It is like a tattoo in the way it is pressed into the skin with a needle but do you see how the color has a bit of a hue to it?" He touched the edges where the blue grew darker. "Blood Marks are created using blood as a base."
Silence for a moment. He could feel her bring to smile.
"That is fucked up. And incredible. So who's blood did you use?" She was fascinated now, constantly running her finger over the mark. "What does it mean?"
Though she could not see, his eyes softened to match his voice. "It is the symbol for Wisdom."
"What language?"
"A very old one."
"So you used blood to create a symbol of a dead language. It's very poetic my love." She stopped touching the mark and wrapped the arm around her chest, giving him a soft squeeze.
"I never said it was dead, just old." He smiled.
"Oh? Then how is it pronounced?"
"It isn't."
She pinched his side and made him jump a bit. "You're teasing me."
"No no, really. It isn't a spoken language. The symbol has a meaning until itself and doesn't need vocalization. It just... is."
A deep, overdrawn sigh. "I was right about the poetic part then. So what is the story behind it?"
"A monk gave me his blood. He was a Bodhisattva without a home who wandered the world. When I met him, he told me that he would follow the echoes of the earth. Many villagers thought he was a ghost. He could provide insight into any issue no matter how grand or trivial but would accept no acolytes or disciples. Many temples spoke of how they pleaded with him to stay and teach but he would not. Anyone who tried to follow him would always lose track at nightfall. I was lucky enough to spend a week with him and listen to his thoughts."
"It sounds like a fable."
"And many would consider it just that if he hadn't been responsible for stopping at least three wars."
He could feel her look of disbelief. "You're kidding..."
"Nothing on the scale of what you consider a typical war but thousands of lives were saved because of his intervention."
"That... and now you have a part of him in you as an example of wisdom." Slowly she eased forward and kissed the mark of Wisdom. "For the ghost."
A brief silence.
"I expected a great story about these but never could have imagined this." She touched the mark on his right arm without looking. "And this one?"
"Willpower. The blood came from Simo Häyhä, a Finnish sniper in the early days of WWII. When the Russian armies attempted their invasion of Finland, Simo was a sniper in one of their infantry divisions. Alone in the freezing cold, he killed hundreds of enemy soldiers. The Russians dedicated an entire part of their army to killing him. While it can't be said he held off the invasion himself, his actions along with countless others held off the entire Russian juggernaut. Even when he was found and shot in the face, he survived."
Her hand touched the mark over his right shoulder. He could feel it shake slightly. "And this one?"
"Strength. The blood of a female soldier who wanted only to fight when women were deemed too delicate for the rigors of warfare. She fought through bigotry just for the right to stand in the way of an onslaught. It was through her valor that the battle was not lost. While her male compatriots began to break and run, she charged."
A long silence.
After several moment, she sat up and pressed her hand over the mark over his heart. There were tears forming at the edge of her eyes. "Tell me about this one."
He could meet her gaze for only a moment before closing his eyes. "It is a symbol whose meaning has changed. Originally it meant Opposite."
"And now?"
His eyes opened and showed a reluctance even though his voice remained soft and his words never hesitated. "Now it means Demon."
The tears that were ready to fall seemed to freeze in place, mirroring the confusion on her face. "Who's blood was used in that one?"
"...mine."
Outside the window, the world moved on as it deemed best. Cars passed by the building casting light shadows across the room where time stood still. She looking at him as if trying to make sure of what just happened. Another time, another moment, and she might laugh seeing it for the joke he so expertly set. But this wasn't a joke. Something at the core of her being knew that.
"I don't understand. What does that mean? What is it about your blood? Make me understand this." Her mind tried to rationalize but her voice betrayed the confusion she felt.
"What does the word Demon make you think of."
"I... I dunno... Hell. Corrupter. Evil..." Her face contorted as she realized she didn't know how to vocalize her thoughts. Eventually she settled on using her two index fingers to mimic horns.
He laughed. Not in a mocking way. It was soft and quick. "My love... do you see any horns on my head?"
The words hung in the air and finally the tears fell as she laughed realizing how silly that made her look. He wiped the tears away and pulled her close so she sat next to him. He said nothing but held her close until she relaxed.
"Sorry it's just... okay, I read into that way too much." A few more chuckles and a deep breath. "Alright, so the marks symbolize the story of the blood used in them. That one means Demon but what's the story behind that?"
His answer was immediate. "It means I am one of those who will fight at your side when a bitter primordial force seeks to destroy all but the devout."
Part of her had been convinced his answer would make perfect sense. That was all torn asunder by his actual answer and the tone of his voice. Her mind raced with everything she knew of a demon and the stories he told of the marks. Blood taken and used...
"Why did they give you their blood?" Her voice didn't tremble and was absent of all emotion. It was the voice of someone facing a reality they knew but didn't want.
His hand squeezed her shoulder and his voice grew even softer. Though a whisper, she heard it clear. "Each needed my help. But there are rules... I cannot give without taking something in return."
Her body reacted. She twisted from his embrace and pushed herself backward to the far edge of the bed. The horror of her realization was clear in his eyes and in her voice. "You took their souls!"
It was not a question.
"I did no such thing."
"Yes, you did. You just said there were rules. Something in return for a 'gift' you provided!"
"Yes, and their gift was a small portion of their blood. It is not the pound of flesh or the soul to be collected at a later time like the stories would want you to believe."
A retort of fact died on her lips when she looked at him and her heart could be heard over the chaos in her mind. He saw it and continued to speak.
"In their blood I was given a gift in return. A part of their essence so that I too may have a piece of their strength. A gift for a gift." He shifted and sat in a perfect lotus posture. "I found the Ghost sitting atop a great stone weeping uncontrollably. He was young then, little more than a student who knew there was an understanding to be had. That understanding would give him the ability to help others see past the haze of the world but he himself could not break free. As he wept, he told me all of this and pointed to the village at the base of the hillside where families warred with each other and children screamed. All he wanted was the way to stop such horror."
"My gift to him was a single truth. I told him one absolute and watched as it awakened his mind to many more. The scared monk closed his eyes and the Bodhisattva opened them. Without hesitation he strode down the hill and within an hour the fighting stopped."
His posture changed again. No longer was he the epitome of resolve and calm but curled in upon himself, shivering at an unseen cold. "Sitting in a birch tree, a farm boy named Simo is praying that the Russian patrol coming up the road doesn't notice him. There are nine of them. He's counted them again and again. Just a mile down the road, a village is trying to evacuate. He has family there.. an aunt, uncle, and four cousins. His unit is trying to get them out but the cold froze their trucks."
"He doesn't want them to die but knows he cannot stop them all. Simo believes he will die in vain. So I show him the faces of everyone who lives if he fights. Every man, woman, and child is there filling the forest in every direction. Though he does not ask for their names, he sees each one. I do not tell him that he will live to see the end of the war and I do not give him the willpower that will see him surpass his humanity to become a terror to the Russian war machine."
"Simo records nine kills and cuts his hand on a broken branch to give his blood."
She leans forward with every word, getting closer.
He is now kneeling. "She kneels and screams to the skies above. Rage fills her but does not give her what she wants most. Every day she hears the clang of steel and the smell of the rotting bodies drifts from the valleys. As the armies retreat she can see their dead hearts. All at once she knows she may be the only one who believes they can win. Pleading to the magistrates was met with mocking and laughter. Humbled beyond all pride, she begs on her knees."
"I meet her with steel in hand in that dark hovel with barely a light. She is scared at first, afraid I have heard her laments and will shun her into darkness for daring to defy. I drop to my knees and lay out the armor. In it, gender is lost. There is no doubt in my mind as I watch her strap on the armor as if she had done so every morning of her life. Finally looking like the warrior she has always been in her heart, I present her blade. She christens it with her blood and places the drops in a vial before striding into the light. Her true name lost to the ages but her actions a legend to this day."
She is at his knees now. Looking up into eyes that now show the age of lifetimes. "Why?" It is one of only two questions she has. "Who are you?" is the other.
His eyes return to the moment and he smiles. "The man who loves you. As for why..."
"This..." he touches the mark over his heart, "meant Opposite once. During each dawn of time... call them forces of nature, the things that make up the foundation of reality. They struggle, as is there way, to create. This world, the people on it, is a result of that struggle."
"During the rise of the human, the Truths of reality were clear but the mind wasn't developed. They reacted as best they could understand and began to worship one primordial force that was most evident to them. Whether by design or by dint of their belief, the primordial force changed. It differentiated and favored. That was the schism."
"I am an Opposite, one directly opposed to that entity. Over time, the symbol was changed through force to a connotation that meant evil... something to fight against."
He could see the struggle on her face. "There is a force of nature that changed through belief. It was an addiction. Once it understood, it wanted more. It wanted sole dominance and the power it granted. I am one of the opposing forces and it wants all like me wiped from existence."
"So what have you done?"
"Given humanity a chance. I, and the others like me, have been working to break humanity from a force that wants blind servitude. We are there to help the people that would take you one step closer to control over your own lives. But there has to be balance... a gift given by us must be returned by the received."
Slowly he touches each of the six marks on his body. "And in return we are made stronger by their essence so that when the war comes, we have a chance to win." He looks at her. "We give you the chance and your strength empowers us for that coming day."
He could see it. She almost understands.
"We have been lifting you up for centuries."
The white of her eyes...
"I want humanity to survive the wrath of a spiteful god."
As it came to pass six times before, he sees another understand. She falls into his arms holds him tight.
"Was this your gift for me? Understanding the truth?"
"No," he whispers. His voice loses the strength of ages and is once more than of the man. He pulls back from her embrace ever so slightly so she can see his hand as it drifts down her body and hovers inches below her navel.
Her hands clasp over his and hold it firm.
She pulls away and takes a needle from the table. Her eyes never leave his as she presses it into her finger and squeezes. He catches each drop in a glass from the nightstand.
"What mark will you make with it?"
"Hope."
(Writer's Note: I haven't posted any writings in a while. That's not to say I haven't been writing, but what I have worked on is not for other eyes. Not for a while anyway. What you have just read is, like so many of my short stories, something I came upon in my head today at a random moment that instantly flourished into what is printed here.
It is always a joy when the biggest challenge is making sure I get it all out of my head.)
"Tell me what this is?" They were wrapped in each other's arms enjoying the wonderfully uncomfortable silence that only passion brings. She was looking at his stomach and tapping an elaborate tattoo.
He chuckled and closed his eyes a bit. "What do I tell you every time you ask?"
She flicked the skin. "Every mark has a story and is the manifestation of the whole and you are spooky and mysterious and that's what initially landed me in your bed but five years later the shine has worn off on that little quip."
Laughter from him, echoed by her.
Once the room was quite again, she continued to trace the tattoo with her finger. "But I have you this time. I didn't ask what it meant, I asked what it was."
"Touché." He smiled and gently pulled her chin up so he could see her eyes. "A very deft way of approaching it from a different angle. Again you remind me why I love you." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.
"Flattering. Good attempt to avoid the question." She pushed his head back into the pillow. "Now answer."
He sighed and smiled. "It's called a Blood Mark."
"AH HA!" In a blur of movement she was sitting up and poking the mark on his stomach. "I knew it couldn't just be a tattoo to you. There just had to be some explanation that made it more than any mere ink on skin." Her grin matched the tone.
"You're mocking me." He grinned.
"Lovingly so, but yes." She settled back down and rested her head on his chest. "Now tell me the story. It has to be more than a tattoo and you always tell the best stories."
"It is like a tattoo in the way it is pressed into the skin with a needle but do you see how the color has a bit of a hue to it?" He touched the edges where the blue grew darker. "Blood Marks are created using blood as a base."
Silence for a moment. He could feel her bring to smile.
"That is fucked up. And incredible. So who's blood did you use?" She was fascinated now, constantly running her finger over the mark. "What does it mean?"
Though she could not see, his eyes softened to match his voice. "It is the symbol for Wisdom."
"What language?"
"A very old one."
"So you used blood to create a symbol of a dead language. It's very poetic my love." She stopped touching the mark and wrapped the arm around her chest, giving him a soft squeeze.
"I never said it was dead, just old." He smiled.
"Oh? Then how is it pronounced?"
"It isn't."
She pinched his side and made him jump a bit. "You're teasing me."
"No no, really. It isn't a spoken language. The symbol has a meaning until itself and doesn't need vocalization. It just... is."
A deep, overdrawn sigh. "I was right about the poetic part then. So what is the story behind it?"
"A monk gave me his blood. He was a Bodhisattva without a home who wandered the world. When I met him, he told me that he would follow the echoes of the earth. Many villagers thought he was a ghost. He could provide insight into any issue no matter how grand or trivial but would accept no acolytes or disciples. Many temples spoke of how they pleaded with him to stay and teach but he would not. Anyone who tried to follow him would always lose track at nightfall. I was lucky enough to spend a week with him and listen to his thoughts."
"It sounds like a fable."
"And many would consider it just that if he hadn't been responsible for stopping at least three wars."
He could feel her look of disbelief. "You're kidding..."
"Nothing on the scale of what you consider a typical war but thousands of lives were saved because of his intervention."
"That... and now you have a part of him in you as an example of wisdom." Slowly she eased forward and kissed the mark of Wisdom. "For the ghost."
A brief silence.
"I expected a great story about these but never could have imagined this." She touched the mark on his right arm without looking. "And this one?"
"Willpower. The blood came from Simo Häyhä, a Finnish sniper in the early days of WWII. When the Russian armies attempted their invasion of Finland, Simo was a sniper in one of their infantry divisions. Alone in the freezing cold, he killed hundreds of enemy soldiers. The Russians dedicated an entire part of their army to killing him. While it can't be said he held off the invasion himself, his actions along with countless others held off the entire Russian juggernaut. Even when he was found and shot in the face, he survived."
Her hand touched the mark over his right shoulder. He could feel it shake slightly. "And this one?"
"Strength. The blood of a female soldier who wanted only to fight when women were deemed too delicate for the rigors of warfare. She fought through bigotry just for the right to stand in the way of an onslaught. It was through her valor that the battle was not lost. While her male compatriots began to break and run, she charged."
A long silence.
After several moment, she sat up and pressed her hand over the mark over his heart. There were tears forming at the edge of her eyes. "Tell me about this one."
He could meet her gaze for only a moment before closing his eyes. "It is a symbol whose meaning has changed. Originally it meant Opposite."
"And now?"
His eyes opened and showed a reluctance even though his voice remained soft and his words never hesitated. "Now it means Demon."
The tears that were ready to fall seemed to freeze in place, mirroring the confusion on her face. "Who's blood was used in that one?"
"...mine."
Outside the window, the world moved on as it deemed best. Cars passed by the building casting light shadows across the room where time stood still. She looking at him as if trying to make sure of what just happened. Another time, another moment, and she might laugh seeing it for the joke he so expertly set. But this wasn't a joke. Something at the core of her being knew that.
"I don't understand. What does that mean? What is it about your blood? Make me understand this." Her mind tried to rationalize but her voice betrayed the confusion she felt.
"What does the word Demon make you think of."
"I... I dunno... Hell. Corrupter. Evil..." Her face contorted as she realized she didn't know how to vocalize her thoughts. Eventually she settled on using her two index fingers to mimic horns.
He laughed. Not in a mocking way. It was soft and quick. "My love... do you see any horns on my head?"
The words hung in the air and finally the tears fell as she laughed realizing how silly that made her look. He wiped the tears away and pulled her close so she sat next to him. He said nothing but held her close until she relaxed.
"Sorry it's just... okay, I read into that way too much." A few more chuckles and a deep breath. "Alright, so the marks symbolize the story of the blood used in them. That one means Demon but what's the story behind that?"
His answer was immediate. "It means I am one of those who will fight at your side when a bitter primordial force seeks to destroy all but the devout."
Part of her had been convinced his answer would make perfect sense. That was all torn asunder by his actual answer and the tone of his voice. Her mind raced with everything she knew of a demon and the stories he told of the marks. Blood taken and used...
"Why did they give you their blood?" Her voice didn't tremble and was absent of all emotion. It was the voice of someone facing a reality they knew but didn't want.
His hand squeezed her shoulder and his voice grew even softer. Though a whisper, she heard it clear. "Each needed my help. But there are rules... I cannot give without taking something in return."
Her body reacted. She twisted from his embrace and pushed herself backward to the far edge of the bed. The horror of her realization was clear in his eyes and in her voice. "You took their souls!"
It was not a question.
"I did no such thing."
"Yes, you did. You just said there were rules. Something in return for a 'gift' you provided!"
"Yes, and their gift was a small portion of their blood. It is not the pound of flesh or the soul to be collected at a later time like the stories would want you to believe."
A retort of fact died on her lips when she looked at him and her heart could be heard over the chaos in her mind. He saw it and continued to speak.
"In their blood I was given a gift in return. A part of their essence so that I too may have a piece of their strength. A gift for a gift." He shifted and sat in a perfect lotus posture. "I found the Ghost sitting atop a great stone weeping uncontrollably. He was young then, little more than a student who knew there was an understanding to be had. That understanding would give him the ability to help others see past the haze of the world but he himself could not break free. As he wept, he told me all of this and pointed to the village at the base of the hillside where families warred with each other and children screamed. All he wanted was the way to stop such horror."
"My gift to him was a single truth. I told him one absolute and watched as it awakened his mind to many more. The scared monk closed his eyes and the Bodhisattva opened them. Without hesitation he strode down the hill and within an hour the fighting stopped."
His posture changed again. No longer was he the epitome of resolve and calm but curled in upon himself, shivering at an unseen cold. "Sitting in a birch tree, a farm boy named Simo is praying that the Russian patrol coming up the road doesn't notice him. There are nine of them. He's counted them again and again. Just a mile down the road, a village is trying to evacuate. He has family there.. an aunt, uncle, and four cousins. His unit is trying to get them out but the cold froze their trucks."
"He doesn't want them to die but knows he cannot stop them all. Simo believes he will die in vain. So I show him the faces of everyone who lives if he fights. Every man, woman, and child is there filling the forest in every direction. Though he does not ask for their names, he sees each one. I do not tell him that he will live to see the end of the war and I do not give him the willpower that will see him surpass his humanity to become a terror to the Russian war machine."
"Simo records nine kills and cuts his hand on a broken branch to give his blood."
She leans forward with every word, getting closer.
He is now kneeling. "She kneels and screams to the skies above. Rage fills her but does not give her what she wants most. Every day she hears the clang of steel and the smell of the rotting bodies drifts from the valleys. As the armies retreat she can see their dead hearts. All at once she knows she may be the only one who believes they can win. Pleading to the magistrates was met with mocking and laughter. Humbled beyond all pride, she begs on her knees."
"I meet her with steel in hand in that dark hovel with barely a light. She is scared at first, afraid I have heard her laments and will shun her into darkness for daring to defy. I drop to my knees and lay out the armor. In it, gender is lost. There is no doubt in my mind as I watch her strap on the armor as if she had done so every morning of her life. Finally looking like the warrior she has always been in her heart, I present her blade. She christens it with her blood and places the drops in a vial before striding into the light. Her true name lost to the ages but her actions a legend to this day."
She is at his knees now. Looking up into eyes that now show the age of lifetimes. "Why?" It is one of only two questions she has. "Who are you?" is the other.
His eyes return to the moment and he smiles. "The man who loves you. As for why..."
"This..." he touches the mark over his heart, "meant Opposite once. During each dawn of time... call them forces of nature, the things that make up the foundation of reality. They struggle, as is there way, to create. This world, the people on it, is a result of that struggle."
"During the rise of the human, the Truths of reality were clear but the mind wasn't developed. They reacted as best they could understand and began to worship one primordial force that was most evident to them. Whether by design or by dint of their belief, the primordial force changed. It differentiated and favored. That was the schism."
"I am an Opposite, one directly opposed to that entity. Over time, the symbol was changed through force to a connotation that meant evil... something to fight against."
He could see the struggle on her face. "There is a force of nature that changed through belief. It was an addiction. Once it understood, it wanted more. It wanted sole dominance and the power it granted. I am one of the opposing forces and it wants all like me wiped from existence."
"So what have you done?"
"Given humanity a chance. I, and the others like me, have been working to break humanity from a force that wants blind servitude. We are there to help the people that would take you one step closer to control over your own lives. But there has to be balance... a gift given by us must be returned by the received."
Slowly he touches each of the six marks on his body. "And in return we are made stronger by their essence so that when the war comes, we have a chance to win." He looks at her. "We give you the chance and your strength empowers us for that coming day."
He could see it. She almost understands.
"We have been lifting you up for centuries."
The white of her eyes...
"I want humanity to survive the wrath of a spiteful god."
As it came to pass six times before, he sees another understand. She falls into his arms holds him tight.
"Was this your gift for me? Understanding the truth?"
"No," he whispers. His voice loses the strength of ages and is once more than of the man. He pulls back from her embrace ever so slightly so she can see his hand as it drifts down her body and hovers inches below her navel.
Her hands clasp over his and hold it firm.
She pulls away and takes a needle from the table. Her eyes never leave his as she presses it into her finger and squeezes. He catches each drop in a glass from the nightstand.
"What mark will you make with it?"
"Hope."
(Writer's Note: I haven't posted any writings in a while. That's not to say I haven't been writing, but what I have worked on is not for other eyes. Not for a while anyway. What you have just read is, like so many of my short stories, something I came upon in my head today at a random moment that instantly flourished into what is printed here.
It is always a joy when the biggest challenge is making sure I get it all out of my head.)