Original Short Story: Between the Fountain and the Gate.
Written for a prompt given at merry_fates, in which I'm supposed to use a painting. La Belle Dame Sans Merci, by Frank Cadogan Cowper, as an inspiration - I hope it fits, guys!
~~~Between the Fountain and the Gate~~~
The first time I saw the boy, he was playing a one sided game of hide and seek with his mother in Clery's department store on O'Connell Street. He was crouched down beneath a railing of women's skirts, and I nearly didn't see him, but then I heard his rubber soles slide along the fake marbled flooring and, without even thinking, I knew.
I bent down and caught my first glimpse of him. A dark mop of hair, flushed cheeks, and a growing excitement in his eyes. I waggled my fingers at him. "Hello," I mouthed.
"Hi," he whispered back, and then he smiled at me. He seemed to shine, as if all his secrets were waiting to spill out of him.
I was certain he was the one.
~~~*~~*~*~~*~~~
Excitement filled my chest as I fled from the shop, and I ran, full tilt, along the pavement and over the river. The promise my mother had made to me when I was young would still be kept.
I felt hope leap inside me as I thought of leaving my already decaying body behind me and joining my Immortal father in the sweet groves and the moments between moments. I would make the sacrifice and give him the heart that could break mine. I would become Fae, with nothing but the hawthorne and the oak to stop my step...
My heart thumped painfully in my chest, but I ignored it. The deal needed to be sealed, and the gates of St Stephen's park were flung open as I ran through them.
He was barefoot, dressed in a navy shirt and blue jeans, and waiting in the park fountain. I watched him leap from one water slicked stepping stone to the next as I closed in on him. Sprays of water seemed to just miss him every time he crossed their path, leaving just a few glistening drops on the cotton of his shirt and in the short spikes of his hair. He wore an ipod and was oblivious to the curious stares he was getting from the childminders pushing their prams, and the toddlers dawdling behind. Occasionally, an elderly person also passed him by, but they studiously ignored him, as if they instinctively knew who he was.
All in all, it seemed a strange thing for Death to be doing on a mild Autumn morning, but what would I know? I was supposed to be without mercy, after all.
I slid off my sandals and joined him in the fountain, but I didn't use the stepping stones. It didn't seem polite. Instead, I paddled in the water beside him. The water streams hitting me unerringly, as if mocking my hope.
"I've found him," I said, my teeth chattering as the icy trails of water flowed down my back, and soaked my top and jeans.
Death looked at me, from the corner of his eye, and then pulled out his earplugs. "You mean, he will be perfect," he corrected me softly. "Are you pleased with him?"
"I am." I said, as I thought of the boy's wide and trusting eyes. "He's the one."
Death sighed. "Very well, he shall be yours in a score years."
"But he should be callow," I protested. "That's what my mother said. He has to have innocence."
"Only the newborn is truly innocent." Death looked at me but I didn't back down. I suspect he didn't expect me to. "Very well, I shall make it a dozen years. Is that callow enough for you?"
I nodded. "Thank you, my Lord."
"Don't call me that," he said automatically. "You realise this means war?"
I tilted my head, and tried to read his expressionless, too young face. "Surely that would please you?"
"I am Death," he said quietly. "But that does not mean I seek pleasure from it, any more than you seek mercy."
I hesitated. "And what does please you, my Lord?"
He pursed his lips. "The rain," he said. "Yes, I think I quite like the rain."
I did not know what to say to that, so I bowed and left, and carried my sandals in my hands until I greeted the boundaries of the park.
~~~*~~*~*~~*~~~
I grew older.
White hairs faded the chestnut of my hair and crow's feet feathered the corners of my eyes. But that was alright; war had came to Europe, and I would have my knight.
The battle had raged through the streets of Dublin for over a week, inch by bloody inch. Most of the civilians had fled to the mountains, and all I could hear was the distant rat-tat-tat- of automatic fire, and the low, heavy thrum of tank engines through the soles of my feet. The bodies were strewn haphazardly along Grafton Street. Nobody had dug the graves yet.
I reached the top of the street, and smiled as I shook my head. The great iron gates were twisted and broken, and the lawns beyond were unkempt. It was still the Green, though. Death did not lack a sense of humour, it seemed. I pushed myself through the gap in the gates and walked unerringly to the place I knew where the boy would be.
And there he was, in the fountain. He was squatting on a stepping stone, his arms reaching down to fill his hands with water.
I stood over him, and he gazed up as I blocked his sun.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello?" he repeated, and then, "Do I know you?"
I shook my head, only half a lie. "Do you mind if I wait with you?" I asked.
"Wait for what?"
I nod at the jagged gash in his leg, tied off with a shirt. "You've torn an artery," I tell him.
"I think I've stopped the bleeding before it was too late," he said.
I smiled, leaned over, and ripped the shirt free. His eyes widened as his life blood poured out of him, and I jumped back as he reached out for the shirt. Desperate, he looked down at himself and then pulled at his belt; but he had already grown too weak. His footing faltered, and he half slid into the water, staining it with his blood. "Why? I don't-" He shuddered, and lost consciousness as he bled out into the water.
This was the moment, this is what I had waited for. I came close, pulled the damp hair away from his forehead, and kissed it gently as my mortality bled out with his life.
He dies, and I feel nothing, I merely gaze at my reflection in the water. I am forever young.
~~~*~~*~*~~*~~~
Death was waiting for me at the park gates.
"You're running late," I told him.
"I've had a busy day," he said. "Is it all that you hoped for?"
I tilted my head at him; my beautiful, graceful head, and eyed him thoughtfully. "What is hope?"
"Ah," he said, "Foolish of me to ask, I think. We shall not meet again."
"Because I am immortal and free."
He blinked at me. "I think that may be a matter of opinion," he said gently, and then he was gone.
And I smiled.
But it did not fit well on my face.
~~~FINIS~~~
And for those not familiar with the painting:
~~~Between the Fountain and the Gate~~~
The first time I saw the boy, he was playing a one sided game of hide and seek with his mother in Clery's department store on O'Connell Street. He was crouched down beneath a railing of women's skirts, and I nearly didn't see him, but then I heard his rubber soles slide along the fake marbled flooring and, without even thinking, I knew.
I bent down and caught my first glimpse of him. A dark mop of hair, flushed cheeks, and a growing excitement in his eyes. I waggled my fingers at him. "Hello," I mouthed.
"Hi," he whispered back, and then he smiled at me. He seemed to shine, as if all his secrets were waiting to spill out of him.
I was certain he was the one.
~~~*~~*~*~~*~~~
Excitement filled my chest as I fled from the shop, and I ran, full tilt, along the pavement and over the river. The promise my mother had made to me when I was young would still be kept.
I felt hope leap inside me as I thought of leaving my already decaying body behind me and joining my Immortal father in the sweet groves and the moments between moments. I would make the sacrifice and give him the heart that could break mine. I would become Fae, with nothing but the hawthorne and the oak to stop my step...
My heart thumped painfully in my chest, but I ignored it. The deal needed to be sealed, and the gates of St Stephen's park were flung open as I ran through them.
He was barefoot, dressed in a navy shirt and blue jeans, and waiting in the park fountain. I watched him leap from one water slicked stepping stone to the next as I closed in on him. Sprays of water seemed to just miss him every time he crossed their path, leaving just a few glistening drops on the cotton of his shirt and in the short spikes of his hair. He wore an ipod and was oblivious to the curious stares he was getting from the childminders pushing their prams, and the toddlers dawdling behind. Occasionally, an elderly person also passed him by, but they studiously ignored him, as if they instinctively knew who he was.
All in all, it seemed a strange thing for Death to be doing on a mild Autumn morning, but what would I know? I was supposed to be without mercy, after all.
I slid off my sandals and joined him in the fountain, but I didn't use the stepping stones. It didn't seem polite. Instead, I paddled in the water beside him. The water streams hitting me unerringly, as if mocking my hope.
"I've found him," I said, my teeth chattering as the icy trails of water flowed down my back, and soaked my top and jeans.
Death looked at me, from the corner of his eye, and then pulled out his earplugs. "You mean, he will be perfect," he corrected me softly. "Are you pleased with him?"
"I am." I said, as I thought of the boy's wide and trusting eyes. "He's the one."
Death sighed. "Very well, he shall be yours in a score years."
"But he should be callow," I protested. "That's what my mother said. He has to have innocence."
"Only the newborn is truly innocent." Death looked at me but I didn't back down. I suspect he didn't expect me to. "Very well, I shall make it a dozen years. Is that callow enough for you?"
I nodded. "Thank you, my Lord."
"Don't call me that," he said automatically. "You realise this means war?"
I tilted my head, and tried to read his expressionless, too young face. "Surely that would please you?"
"I am Death," he said quietly. "But that does not mean I seek pleasure from it, any more than you seek mercy."
I hesitated. "And what does please you, my Lord?"
He pursed his lips. "The rain," he said. "Yes, I think I quite like the rain."
I did not know what to say to that, so I bowed and left, and carried my sandals in my hands until I greeted the boundaries of the park.
~~~*~~*~*~~*~~~
I grew older.
White hairs faded the chestnut of my hair and crow's feet feathered the corners of my eyes. But that was alright; war had came to Europe, and I would have my knight.
The battle had raged through the streets of Dublin for over a week, inch by bloody inch. Most of the civilians had fled to the mountains, and all I could hear was the distant rat-tat-tat- of automatic fire, and the low, heavy thrum of tank engines through the soles of my feet. The bodies were strewn haphazardly along Grafton Street. Nobody had dug the graves yet.
I reached the top of the street, and smiled as I shook my head. The great iron gates were twisted and broken, and the lawns beyond were unkempt. It was still the Green, though. Death did not lack a sense of humour, it seemed. I pushed myself through the gap in the gates and walked unerringly to the place I knew where the boy would be.
And there he was, in the fountain. He was squatting on a stepping stone, his arms reaching down to fill his hands with water.
I stood over him, and he gazed up as I blocked his sun.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello?" he repeated, and then, "Do I know you?"
I shook my head, only half a lie. "Do you mind if I wait with you?" I asked.
"Wait for what?"
I nod at the jagged gash in his leg, tied off with a shirt. "You've torn an artery," I tell him.
"I think I've stopped the bleeding before it was too late," he said.
I smiled, leaned over, and ripped the shirt free. His eyes widened as his life blood poured out of him, and I jumped back as he reached out for the shirt. Desperate, he looked down at himself and then pulled at his belt; but he had already grown too weak. His footing faltered, and he half slid into the water, staining it with his blood. "Why? I don't-" He shuddered, and lost consciousness as he bled out into the water.
This was the moment, this is what I had waited for. I came close, pulled the damp hair away from his forehead, and kissed it gently as my mortality bled out with his life.
He dies, and I feel nothing, I merely gaze at my reflection in the water. I am forever young.
~~~*~~*~*~~*~~~
Death was waiting for me at the park gates.
"You're running late," I told him.
"I've had a busy day," he said. "Is it all that you hoped for?"
I tilted my head at him; my beautiful, graceful head, and eyed him thoughtfully. "What is hope?"
"Ah," he said, "Foolish of me to ask, I think. We shall not meet again."
"Because I am immortal and free."
He blinked at me. "I think that may be a matter of opinion," he said gently, and then he was gone.
And I smiled.
But it did not fit well on my face.
~~~FINIS~~~
And for those not familiar with the painting: