She saw death scurrying towards her on eight legs and she did not struggle, but only wept. The spider stopped and said, “You are crying, but you are not struggling. Why is this? I have never seen such behavior in a meal before.”

The butterfly told her, “I used to be a caterpillar. I had to crawl around everywhere eating leaves, when all I wanted to do was fly. I covered myself in a cocoon and waited for a very long time for my wings to grow. I finally came out of my cocoon not minutes ago and now I am to die. I wanted to see more of the world before I died.”

The spider was moved by the butterfly’s longing and told her, “I will let you go, but you must bring me another to eat in your place. I need to lay my eggs soon, before I die myself, and I won’t have the energy for it without food.”

The butterfly was overjoyed and promised to find another bug for the spider’s meal. So the spider cut the threads of her web holding the butterfly and set about repairing the hole left behind. The butterfly continued her flight down around the tree. She saw some beautiful flowers growing beneath the tree and she flew towards them so she could drink their nectar. She landed on one flower and began to drink its nectar. As she was drinking, a bee landed on the flower as well. The bee saw her and apologized for disturbing her and flew off to another flower. Having drunk her fill and remembering her promise to the spider, the butterfly flew after the bee. She saw the bee in another flower, taking pollen from the flower and rubbing it on her back legs. This seemed an odd way to eat, so the butterfly asked the bee what she was doing. The bee told her, “I am storing the pollen here on my legs so I can take it back to my hive. There we will make it into food for my whole hive, including my queen, who will lays eggs to continue the hive’s survival. I will also spread some of the pollen between different flowers, so they will make new flowers for us to collect food from.”

It seemed to the butterfly that too many other bees depended on the bee for her to meet her end in the spider’s belly, even if she would help nourish the spider’s babies. So the butterfly flew on looking for other bugs to fulfill her promise. She was soon struck by a most curious sight. A grasshopper, completely stiff and lying on its back as though dead, was moving along the ground. The butterfly landed on the ground and peeked under it only to see a small ant carrying it along on her back. The butterfly thought that if she could get both of these bugs to the spider that surely would nourish her plenty enough to lay her eggs. But she was curious, so she asked, “Where are you going with this dead grasshopper?”

The ant kept moving foward and t he butterfly was forced to follow, fluttering close to the ground, to hear her reply, “I’m taking it back to the colony.”

The butterfly asked, “But isn’t it heavy for you to carry by yourself? Couldn’t you get some others from the colony to help?”

The ant replied, “Sure, it’s heavy, but I can carry it alone. All the other ants in the colony are doing their job, just as I am doing. Some are getting food for the colony like me, some are building or repairing tunnels, some are taking care of the queen’s eggs. This is the food I have found, so I will bring it back and it will feed many other ants.”

This, too, seemed vastly more important than one meal for the spider, and as they neared the ant hill, the butterfly saw many other ants working for each other’s well being. She flew on to look for another bug to fulfill her promise. As she was flying, she looked down and saw the most beautiful she’d ever seen. She flew down to get a closer look and she realized that it was her own reflection in a puddle. She hovered there and studied a while. She was blue and green, with spots of red and yellow, and she knew that she was beautiful, but she had seen and heard many things today, and she was perplexed. Maybe the spider would be able to help her once more. So she flew back to the spider’s web, high in the tree branches. She landed on one of the branches the spider’s web was connected to, and not seeing the spider, she called out, “Spider! It’s me, the butterfly! I’m back!”

The spider was then suddenly dangling from a strand of web right next to the butterfly and she said, “Butterfly, you are alone. Did you forget your promise? I am growing very weak.”

The butterfly replied, “Oh no, I did not forget. I have been trying to fulfill my promise, but I have a few questions I was hoping you could answer.”

The spider nodded and the butterfly continued, “I went to the beautiful flowers to drink nectar and there I saw a bee and she was collecting food for her hive. She was too important to them to bring to you. And I saw an ant and then many ants and they were bringing food to their colony or otherwise working to keep each other alive so I could not bring them to you either. Then I saw my reflection and it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but tell me spider, what is my purpose?”

The spider laughed as well as a spider can laugh and said, “My dear butterfly, you’ve already seen your purpose reflected up at you from the water. Your purpose is to be beautiful!”

The butterfly thought for a moment and then said, “The flowers are beautiful, but they also provide food for others like me and the bees. Do I have any other purpose?”

The spider shook her head.

The butterfly paused in thought again and said with certainty, “Then I will give myself a purpose because living for beauty alone seems selfish and empty. I will nourish you so you can have your babies.”

With that, the butterfly fluttered her wings for the last time, flew up, and gently landed in the spider’s web. She spread her wings out and died.

The spider looked up at the butterfly lying peacefully in her web and thought she was absolutely the most beautiful creature in the whole world.

Ivar stepped over the shards of wood into the hall and felt something wet between his toes. He looked down and saw that he’d crushed a small child making his entrance. What a shame. He mourned the loss of blood. A woman crawled towards him, wailing. He grabbed her by the hair and brought her neck to his lips. She was screaming now, but still reaching towards the tiny corpse. He clamped his jaws down on her throat and bit down, silencing her. He jerked his head to the side and spit out the chunk of flesh in his mouth. He quickly put his lips back to the ragged wound he’d created and let the blood flow down his throat until he felt the last beat of her heart. Then he threw her body to the ground and used his hammer to crush her skull. Too bad about the child. He was still hungry.

Though it seemed rather backwards, it was fortunate that this clan outnumbered them. Ivar glanced around to make sure that no one was being careless and then joined his hobblers in the center of the hall. There were 3 of them, brothers, whom he designated hobblers because they seemed to keep their wits about them best. Many of his clan succumbed to a sort of bestial frenzy once they smelled blood, though not many of that sort still lived.  The 3 though, their job was to break the legs of anyone whom was not snatched up by another member of the clan when the raid began. Then the whole clan could feed at their leisure without dinner running away. Ivar was pleased with their success, as usual, and gave them the go ahead to feed. Billingr & Bleikr each grabbed a screaming cripple and began to feast. Bergr, the oldest, waited until they were done before starting his own meal. Bleikr grabbed seconds, while his twin Billingr waited. Then Bleikr waited while his 2 brothers ate. If only the others were as competent as these, Ivar mused.

Bleikr gestured at Ivar, pointing down. A small boy was trying to crawl away from the slaughter, right by Ivar’s feet. Good, he’d had a craving for young blood since that bit of misfortune with the wall and his hammer earlier. He picked the boy up by his broken legs, eliciting a squeal of pain. And he was trying to be so quiet too. Ivar chomped down on the boy’s throat. He didn’t even bother ripping a chunk of flesh out this time, just chewed while we savored the almost sweet blood. He dropped the lifeless vessel once the heart stopped and sighed in contentment. There was a smash by his feet and Ivar opened his eyes to see Styggr had crushed the skull of the boy for him. He nodded his thanks. Styggr smiled very toothily and shook his head at Ivar.

“Don’t forget what you’ve taught us now Uncle! Ha ha ha!”

Then he was off to smash another skull and admonish another clanmate. Ivar had been right to give Styggr the job of checking that everyone they had drank from was terminated. As one of the few who hadn’t chewed off his own tongue during the transformation, Styggr was able to chastise his clanmates when they forgot this most important task, and as a bonus, he had a sense of humor. Now, Tithkumi, the only other who could still speak made his voice heard.

“Has everyone had his fill? It is time to be going if we are to be home by daybreak! Be sure your victims are dead, grab a fresh one to bring home and let’s go!”

Ivar and the brothers hobbler handed anyone who was still breathing to their clanmates, before exiting the hall themselves. Ivar nodded at Styggr, who was carrying a goat, and picked up a goat himself. Styggr relayed the message to the rest.

“No one goes home empty handed! If you’ve not got a man in your hand, come grab a goat!”

There was some grumbling, but they’d be glad of it in a few days. Ivar hoped the scouts that had foregone this raid for exploration in other directions would return with good news. They would not be able to travel much further than this hall had been & still be able to make it back to the home mounds in time. They would have to move.

When she broke the surface for a breath, she heard music on the air. It was like nothing she’d ever heard before: flutes & whistles, bittersweet, almost sadly upbeat. She looked around & around, but saw no one. Now she found herself spinning in the water, around & around. She stopped looking for the music’s source & just closed her eyes & twirled, enjoying its strange beauty.

Suddenly it stopped & so did she, just as suddenly. She opened her eyes & supresssed a scream as she saw the thick black liquid in place of the clear blue water she’d been enjoying. Her movement had ceased because she was barely able to move in the muck. She made her way to the edge of the cesspool, slowly, though she went as fast as she could. She ignored the slurping, sucking, protest of the viscuous black mire as she pulled herself up out of the pool & onto the ground, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

The air, too, seemed to have soured; it tasted foul, sickly sweet. She desperately inhaled more deeply, but this resulted in a mouth full of ash. She gagged & sat upright, spitting out whatever she could. Where was the lush grass that surrounded the palace? She frantically dug through the grey ash that coated the ground, searching. It wasn’t covering the ground, it was the ground, she realized.

Nausea rose up in her chest & overtook her. She heaved a myriad of colour onto the ground: reds, yellows, & greens, defying the drab greyness surrounding her. She reached up to wipe her mouth before she realized that the black muck still clung to her. As she tried to figure out how to get it off her body when she was covered in it, she noticed a flicker of motion. She looked down. Her pile of vomit was writhing, its erratic movements a further affrontry to the dull landscape. Peering closer, she saw hundreds of tiny green & yellow eel-like fish wriggling in a sea of blood. She felt another wave of nausea, but afraid of what else might issue from her own body, she choked it down. For the moment, she tried to ignore the disgusting scene in front of her & concentrated on sloughing off the goo that covered her body.

She was interrupted when something cold touched the back of her neck. Startled, she reached to brush it off & her fingers came back wet with the black stuff again. Looking up, she saw now that the sky was also grey & millions of tiny black specks were falling from it like tainted snow. Quickly rising to her feet, she meant to run back inside, but in the palace’s place was a wreckage of metal thrown together in a mockery of the peach marble structure she loved. The scream started in the pit of her nauseated stomach, rose in her throat, and erupted from her mouth.

She bolted upright in her bed, amidst the silks & luxury she was used to. A plump older woman with a very concerned look on her face sitting on a chair beside the bed addressed her.

“I meant no disrespect by my intrusion, dear lady, but you’ve slept through near the whole morning. You wouldn’t wake for nothing and I was fair worried.”

Instead of replying, she rose from the bed and strode directly to the window. The afternoon sun cast an orange glow on the green grass & blue water. All as it should be. She let out a relieved sigh, dropped her arms to her sides & let her body untense a little. A wrinkled hand reached over & gently squeezed the girl’s as the kindly old woman whispered to her.

“Was it another bad dream, young miss?”

The younger nodded, her gaze drifting again to the window.

These are the things she remembers.

His coloured contacts made him look more like himself.

His hands were always freezing cold, but warm was his embrace.

Her hands tingled in his, and not from the cold.

That awkward first consummation, which preceded their first kiss, when she knew what she wanted, but didn’t know it was love.

The sad beauty of their tears mingling as they kissed, the salty taste left behind.

A million idiosyncrasies…forgotten until their reappearance in another.

Her attraction to him was pure, fresh. Every one to follow seemed tainted by the echoes of the past; attraction not to a person, but to some small aspect reminiscent of that first love. And each relationship a disappointment, unable to measure up to that impossible standard. Once she realized it, she dwelled on the past, pondering what she could’ve done differently. Once satisfied that she knew what she’d done wrong and that she could do it right given another chance, she tried to find him, failed.

She was unable to regain what she’d lost and there would be no new memories. This was seven years later. Seven years…It sounds so familiar. Hadn’t he said something about seven years?

They were sitting in the park, on boulders next to the stream. He had one of her hands enclosed in both of his. His hands were freezing cold and damp from wiping her tears and his own, and her hand felt tingly, but not from the cold, remember? He spoke of vengeance on him, sacrifices he’d make for her, and a curse someone placed on him that would last seven years. He said he’d take all her pain away, take it unto himself, but she’d hate him for it. She said that was nonsense and didn’t he ever get tired of spouting all this cryptic bullshit? She said she loved him and always would. He just smiled sadly and shook his head softly, the corners of his eyes becoming wet again.

Maybe there was something to his words after all.

She wonders if he’s happy. She wants that for him. He deserves it. He held her up when she felt so low and she kept looking down instead of looking at him. Their love was this bauble, something taken for granted. While he tried his damnedest to keep it sparkling, she let it rust, until it was too tarnished to gleam anymore. If she could just see a glimmer of it yet…maybe things would be different.

All she has now is words. Words on the back of a photograph. Words remembered. Words scrawled in a yearbook. Her own futile words, trying to capture the depth of emotion that died with their relationship. And she loves him still, though it matters not.

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Lips bruised purple, like the stain of wine, from the violent culmination of so many nights of unwrought ardor. All that was hidden brought to bare by the frenzied stripping away of layers…emotion…obligations…clothing…Daylight breaks and leaves her kisses on the world, now shining and bright, and all is still well. The panic was not to come, paranoias laid to rest. That word hangs in the air, unsaid, and it just drifts, never being permitted to land on lips that would complicate the prevalent joy. Its dismissal not without consequence, as without it, the realities surface…

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Encased in a shell, dead on the inside, continuing to rot, nothing to revive the spark of passion and life that once was. Just waiting to be smashed open to let the reek of putrid stagnancy seep out into the world, leaving behind just an empty shell.

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Each yawn draws me further into the fog of drowsiness as I cruise down the road. The wipers fight a similar battle with the oncoming snowflakes, which are blindingly white in the darkness. I chase sleep in their shadows. I shake my head and open my eyes again. Gotta keep goin. I focus on the two points of glorious, road-revealing light ahead of me. The mind-numbingly irritating sound of the rumble strips wakes me up again. Just in time. Keep it together idiot. You can’t stop now. I open the window, inviting the cold in. I open my coat and let it nibble on my bare neck with its icy teeth. I reach out the window and grab a handful of snow from the edge of the windshield. I mash it onto my eyes, first the left, then the right. I close the window and turn the heat off. Why is it so important that I get there tonight?

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It isn’t until daylight starts to creep in around the blinds that I clamber into bed. So deep is her reverie, that she remains still, despite my intrusion. For a moment I gaze upon the perfection of her unintentional beauty; her bangs plastered to the side of her forehead with the night’s sweat, one arm extended above her head ending in a loose fist clutching only air, her lips slightly parted. Surely, I think to myself, the Sandman has visited her and stolen kisses in exchange for sweet dreams. Then I lay my head upon that which she has promised to me. Suddenly I am lost at sea. The swell of her breast and the ebb of her breath lull me to a calm this night has been loathe to let me reach. I drape an arm over her to rest on the obscenely flawless curve of her hip, my anchor on this tempestuous body. But as I listen to her lifeblood pump through her body, my serene pelagic thoughts are disturbed by less organic wonderings. The mechanical nature of this beating heart, all valves and pressure, the bellows that draw her breath. A machine needs to be taken care of. A machine can break down, can be broken. It is a miracle she’s lasted this long under the weight of my embrace. My mind races and I envision her perfection as fragile as clockwork. If a single tiny cog or wheel were to…She stretches. Did I wake her with my frantic thoughts? No, she’s only a tenth awake; just awake enough to run her fingers through my hair. And I’m lost at sea again. This time I let the waves rock me to sleep.