Martyr

Martyr

Written By: Abdel-Hamid Musleh

The windswept desert kills everything. From the smallest scorpion to the camels that trek across the sand dunes of the Sahara. The only salvation from this harsh and bitter death is the existence of the wells. They are the lifeblood of the community, dug by shovel and sweat from generations past. Each of them giving the life sustaining water that the creatures of the earth need to flourish, they bring it to those who direly need it. They feed the irrigation ditches, which in turn grow the food that the people need to eat, who dig more of them and plow more fields to feed more people. Each link in this delicate chain keeps everything alive in this harsh place; digging of the new, the upkeep of the old, making sure none run out as the villages expand.

In a time past, a man’s life was sacrificed to protect a village’s cycle of life. It was on a day as no other day has been seen since. Hotter than the sands of the driest desert, with wind enough to sheer exposed skin off, a dust storm was raging its fury against the world. A man called his son in as it approached the village, howling, menacing, but the boy was securing the wooden covers on the wells to keep the sand out and our lifeblood protected.

“Aziz! Get inside! Now!” The man called from their home and you could hear a little girl crying as her mother comforted her with the words of soothing that calmed all children.

“But Baba, I have to cover the wells!” frantically he put the last cover on in front of their house the most important one as a matter of fact, it fed into the irrigation system so that the crops could grow and that the villagers could eat.

“You must remember, you will be the man of this house one day, with children of your own, the wells can be dredged up once more but we cannot make another Aziz. You must be careful son. “ He scolded him and rightfully so, he barely made it inside the door as the dust storm swept through the village, scouring the sides and roofs of homes and anything unfortunate enough to be left outside.

That same afternoon the father, Ali, did something his son had seen him do countless times before, he pulled a loose floorboard near the center of the room and pulled out two of his automatic rifles. Curiosity took the better of Aziz as he approached him.

“Baba what is it you are doing?” Ali turned to his son with a grave look on his face as Aziz continued to speak, “there are no poachers with this storm and the goats are locked in the barn.” Aziz shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head to the side as he said this.

“The holy warriors I told you about, the stories I said to you when you were but a boy and not the man you are today…they are true and those same people are here.”

The stories told were of the fanatic zealots, going to outlying villages, villages such as this one, taking them hostage, killing the men that refuse to fight for their cause and doing unspeakable things to the women and children. They weren’t righteous; they were murderers and monsters, the worse of humanity. These holy warriors were always defeated by one man in the stories, a man whom risked his life for his family and triumphed, a good and proper ending to awful monsters. Every child is told these stories to inspire them into becoming a true man, a brave, honest, hard working man. Aziz became that man, but in ways I wish had never happened. The fables and stories came true that day. The day Ali was taken and Aziz became the man of his household.

“Aziz, these men come, listen beyond the wind for the sound of the engine.” Aziz leaned his head against the window shutter and closed his eyes so that he could hear past the howling wind to the throaty grumbling of the diesel engine that ran inside the six wheeled cargo trucks typically driven by these types of men.

“What’s to happen to us.” Aziz said, voice filled with fear, Ali handed him the second rifle that was lying on the ground.

“Stay here with your mother and sister; protect them with your life son.” As he gave him the rifle that little Aziz had only held to shoot at Coyotes, the gravity of the situation sunk into his child-heart.

“Baba, I cannot do this, I cannot shoot a person. It’s Haraam.” He was a child of twelve, his heart twisted in agony at the thought, he could not take another man’s life.
“You must! You must to protect your mother and your sister! I need to get to the other houses to warn them before the storm settles! Protect them you are a man now.” and with that last reassurance Aziz never saw his father again. But I had heard what had happened that afternoon, and thus the tale continues.

The dust swirled around him, the storm raged against his heavy canvas poncho which protected his barrel-chest against the sand. His face was covered with a sand mask and respirator that chaffed his grizzly black beard. He moved under the shadow of the storm, going from house to house by memory, giving warning to the men of the village. As the dust storm began to settle, the fifteen men able to fight gathered on top of one of the stone-built market stores that overlooked the two trucks idling in the middle of the village. As the dust storm died out, the men on top of the roof took off their masks to better see the enemy. As their eyesight adjusted they saw the trucks were empty. And each well cover was open, with a stranger at each with a glass vial in their hands. A fear deeper than anything that delved into the heart of the earth settled into Ali’s stomach.

“Poison.”

As soon as he said this, the other men looked around bewildered. “But where are the others? There should have been at least fifteen of them.”

From all the homes in the village the wives, sons, and daughters were shuffled out with a man behind each group, pointing a rifle at them. As they were gathered near the trucks in the center of the village one of the men, the leader spoke with a voice filled with ill-intent.

“Come down brothers, we mean you no harm.” As the vile man said this one man in the execution line behind the villagers chuckled. The vile man looked at this man and his smile disappeared, replaced with fear.

“If you mean us no harm, then why do you threaten our wells with poison and our families with death?” Ali shouted to the man below with a thunderous voice.

“I am Abu Mustafa, come down and we can talk.” The villainy had a name and Ali wanted dearly for him to die. He gripped his gun tightly and his steely black eyes searched the crowd for Ali. The other men did the same, searching for their families eyes, angry that they were so callously threatened but fear for them in their hearts. This was not lost on Abu Mustafa as he said a foreign word that none of the men on the roof could understand. But the meaning behind the word was not lost on them. The men behind the villagers all brought their rifles to bear on the women and children. The women cried, the little girls screamed and the braver of the young boys shielded their families.

“Throw your weapons down, and come down. Now!” with these words, Abu Mustafa’s men pulled the bolts back on their rifles and prepared to fire. At the hearing of fifteen consecutive bullets being loaded into the chambers Ali and his men surrendered their arms and climbed down from the roof. Four of the men from the execution line broke off and rounded up the men of the village, placing them on their knees in a line.

“Whom amongst you is your leader?” Abu Mustafa walked in front of them with his hands behind his back, chest out, looking down on them. Ali kneeling at the end of the line of village-men spoke up with venom that betrayed his gentle looking nature.

“I am, take your men and leave here, we are farmers, we do not want to take part in your foolish war.”

Abu Mustafa walked towards Ali and sent a hard cuff across his mouth splitting his lip, sending him and a gush of blood towards the ground.

“OUR. War, is the war of every Arab and Muslim in the world. It is the Holy War that drives back the men who will lead us into heresy.” Abu Mustafa picked Ali up by the collar, a feat no other man his size could achieve for Ali was large and Mustafa slender. Ali’s lip was split and his beard matted with blood and sand.

“You will be a hero. Whether you want to or not. I will save you from your foolishness so your son can grow to be a true warrior of god. You will show him what it is to be an Arab man, a Holy man.” He righted Ali on his knees as he continued his lecture so all of the villagers could hear.

“Every man taken today will be a Martyr to our cause, he will be remembered by us and accepted into Heaven. His children will become the most faithful and loved servants of Allah for they have seen the bravery and sacrifices of their fathers.”

As he said this, the four men behind them began to pick them up and push them towards the lead truck, herding them into the back as if they were cattle. As the men were loaded in, the truck began to pull away as the villagers caught the last glimpses of their husbands and fathers.

Aziz heard the trucks moving away as he hid in the trap door under the house, his mother and sister both huddling near him in the cramped hole. As heard the first truck pull away tears filled his eyes. He had heard everything Abu Mustafa said and knew his father had been taken. But what scared him most was the fact that the other truck had not moved yet. A few heart wrenching minutes pass. He heard the staccato of automatic gunfire and the screams of the villagers. His little sister squealed as his mother covered her mouth, quite tears streaming down her face. Aziz gripped his father’s rifle tightly and closed his eyes, hoping the nightmare would end.

*

The dim light shined over the table in front of him leaving the rest of the room pitch black. The steel table was littered with blood soaked tools and tiny pieces of flesh. Aziz looked at his tools with familiarity and a sense of place. There were surgical knives, bone saws, pliers, wrenches, screwdrivers, wire cutters, long steel needles, a blowtorch, and a car battery with jumper cables. He ran his hand across them as he spoke to the bloodied man across the table.

“I am Aziz Marfouk and you are Abu Mustafa am I correct?” as he asked Abu Mustafa the question as he picked up a thick needle and jabbed it into his shoulder.

“A crochet needle, it creates beauty, such a simple thing, a sharp, pointed object. You can create much with such a thing.” He dug deeper into Abu Mustafa’s skin and let go of the needle, leaving it lodged inside his shoulder coming face to face with him.

“I will say this again. I am Aziz Marfouk and you are Abu Mustafa am I correct?”

“Yes. I am Abu Mustafa…” his voice was weak, and his flesh torn from previous tortures. Aziz cuffed him hard across the mouth, splitting his already split lips even further.

“And I am Aziz Marfouk! Say it pig.”

“I do not know you, I don’t know if you are him please ask me anything I will tell you.” Abu Mustafa’s face was cracked and bleeding, the crochet needle sticking out of his shoulder.

“I am Aziz, my father was Ali and you kidnapped him, razed my village, and forced him to bomb a checkpoint fifteen years ago. You have told us enough. I am here to make you die a death unworthy of the devil.” Aziz’s face was lit with fury, his anger seeping through to his hands as he ran them along the table, stopping at the blowtorch. Abu Mustafa’s eye focused on it with fear, his other eye a bloody mess from a previous session.

“I do not remember you, I’ve done much evil in my life, but what you say is not true. How could you know for sure and condemn me!” He tried to reason with his death but Aziz walked away from his table of instruments to the door a few feet away from the darkened room and opened it, letting bright sunlight spill in. A tall man walked in, slender, dark haired, dark eyed. It was the same man that chuckled when Abu Mustafa said he meant the village no harm, the same man that learned what happened from Ali when he spoke to him, the same man that betrayed Abu Mustafa to bring him to justice. The same man telling this story.

Elucidation

Elucidation

Written By: Abdel-Hamid Musleh

The nighttime sky was filled with a glow that can only be attained by thousands of street lights, homes and office buildings polluting the sky with their unseemly reflections. His notions of earth were skewed, he noted once in one of his paper tirades that the cancer of humanity destroyed the oceans, rivers, the land and the air. They even managed to change how the sky looks at night. That was all behind him, now he will forever wash his hands of humanity. He knew that the muggy air below was hot, humid and reeked of human garbage, but up where he was, the icy wind cut through him chilling him to the bone. It lashed against his face relentlessly exposing his cowardice. His trench coat, wrapped around his knees, threatened to trip him up and send him flying prematurely. He threw over his brown leather briefcase, spilling the contracts, legal papers, pens, affidavits and all other contents that marked him as a lawyer. As the briefcase tumbled like a ragdoll in the wind an obsidian rock slipped out of the pocket, freefalling with the rest of the bags contents. The shiny rock caught his eye as it fell and elicited memories of long hikes on a granite mountain, studying all the rock formations he could see. He shook out memories of his long loved hobby as the wind picked up.

The wind kept harrowing him, shouting obscenities about his soul, greed, hate, jealousy, anger, obsession, he hastily removed his companion-coat, a dirty brown thing that had seen more rough use in the past three days then it’d ever had to endure the whole ten years he had it, was chucked aside as if it had no meaning. He let fly what he thought was the last emotional connection to this world, into the wind, dingy and brown floating off to the false-earth below. He felt his pulse slow, his breathing became steady. It was slow and steady, through the nose, reminiscent to how a diver readies himself before he takes his plunge off the springboard into the lukewarm water. He spread his arms wide, revealing stains underneath his white long-sleeved shirt, his black suit pants were torn at the knees and his hair disheveled from the wind. The scene he had made when the hotel tried to throw him out shamed him. Just One More Drop in the God Damned Bucket.

His eyes closed tears in the corners, wind threatening to tear him asunder. He leaned forward, bent his knees and in one fluid motion sprung off the fifty story building. His heart went from a slow steady companion to a fanatical thing that didn’t want anything to do with what was occurring. The wind rushed past him as the pavement came towards him. Serene Peace came to his mind; he breathed deeply opening his eyes as the pavement came ever closer. He closed his eyes once more.

His ears registered a thunderous roar and his eyes snapped open to see a bright world beneath him. The jungle was lush with dark green tropical trees and a river teaming with life, meandering through it and beside his freefalling body a mountain plateau that ended in a majestic waterfall cutting the very earth it was born from. He stared at it in wonderment, the serenity of it all. He was in heaven, for this was Angel Falls. But Angel Falls is in Venezuela, I’ve never been there. The rocks the waterfall cut through were all shades of brown, red and black that he’d never seen before. The faults that covered the sheer cliff invigorated the geologist in him and his boyish heart fluttered. His pitiful life never allowed him to spend time living his dreams and desires. And as the waterfall passed him his cheeks became the rock face and his tears the water that flowed down them. He squeezed his eyes shut again. Hoping to shun the world. Hoping the minute it takes to fall from the top to the bottom had almost passed.

He opened his eyes again when he felt his body pass through what felt like a silt-filled lake, cold, dark, restricting, threatening to choke out the life inside of his body. As fear began to claw at him the sensory disorientation of the lake began to clear and he saw a golden light piercing the muddy water, he inched towards the light through the murk passing through it to find himself freefalling once again over the golden sands of Egypt ten thousand feet in the air, the roar of the wind deafening him as he fell deeper into the earth. He was looking down on the pyramids, the sphinx, and the ancient civilization that ruled the world for a defining epoch of humanity. He was seeing them during the apex of their time, not the ruin that lay there now, the ruins he was so dearly wanted to see. He saw the miles-long slave lines that built the tombs of the great pharaoh, dying for one man’s dream of a lavish afterlife. He knew pain in this life as he felt every lash against his body that the slaves below were enduring. Tears stung in his eyes as he was beaten to keep the slave masters time table in order. For five long minutes he endured their whiplashes and cudgels to his head until the timelessly eternal lake took him again. The stain of two hundred thousand dead slaves imprinted his soul and left him bare. The things in his life he took advantage of, the luxurious life he lived, the things he took for granted, the basic rights he was privileged too, the guilt of his life weighed like lead on his heart.

His eyes stayed opened one last time as he passed through the sand into the ethereal water and crossed over into a world that he thought he’d never see again. The Rhone Valley vineyard of his mother’s home in France, the sun was shining brightly on the grapevines and the backs of the workers moved diligently, picking the ripe fruits to make the cherished wine. He lifted his head from the ground beneath him and could pick out his mother’s house and the factory where they turned the grapes into wine. The howling wind that came with the experience ceased and he fell silently through the air, watching his childhood playground grow bigger and bigger until he fell between two of the grapevines into the silt-filled void once again. As he made the transition into the next world, longing filled his heart, longing for his home, his Paris.

Falling out into the Parisian skyline, his hearts dream was answered. It was night the shop lights lined the night and the Eiffel tower was afire in all its glory, filling the night landscape with its noble golden glow the white beacon light atop, twirling, dancing, lighting up the night sky with its white beams. He saw the small café shops lining the streets marketing the din of the night, the people walking along them, looking into the shops browsing the wares, enjoying all the night life Paris had to offer, he saw it all, and a heavy stone laid heavy on his heart. As he approached the cobblestone street he looked into a café catching a time-slowing glimpse at his mother with her white shoulder-length hair eating what looked liked her favorite soup sipping on her vintage wine, blissfully unaware of him, he allowed himself one last glimpse at her and the city that was his home and the life he should have lived. He tried to call out to her but his mouth filled with the mud, the silt of the lake spilled out, preventing him from telling her he loved her, that he was sorry. Mother. He clamped his eyes shut one last time, squeezing out the tears brimming in his eyes as he hit the ground with the force of a life five times lived and vaporized into the eternal timeless lake of lost souls.

Wishes

Wishes

By: Abdel-Hamid Musleh

Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to be special somehow. My parents always went on and on about how special I was and how proud of me they were. But every year since the first grade I brought back nothing but disappointment in the report cards. They used to say “well you’ll do better next year” and it turned out I didn’t. Every year after that was a repeat of the previous year, they were disappointed in me and I just wanted to try harder for them. They always wanted me to be better but never again said they loved me or how proud of me they were. Fast forward to Junior High and as a testament to my failure as a student I was sleeping in the back of pre-algebra with my book open and my face firmly planted in the middle of it, and as everything in my little nap was going so well, Mrs. McCullen, my pre-algebra teacher rudely awakened me with a slam of her freakishly large dictionary.

“MARCUS! NO SLEEPING IN CLASS!” As I jumped the first thing I saw was this large, portly, freckled woman staring at me with a huge book by her foot

How would she like it if I were interrupting her dreams of turkey and gravy? I immediately repented that thought and apologized to her, in my head, for my thoughtless accusation of her eating habits.

“I’m sorry Mrs. McCullen.”

“There’s no excuse for sleeping in class Marcus, no excuse and no apologies. Extra homework for you”

Unfair “But Mrs. McCullen, I was up all night studying!”

“MARCUS! I’ve had it with that mouth of yours, and those lies, there is no excuse for this type of behavior, you’re getting a referral to the principal’s office and I’m recommending detention.”

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF G...” I still felt the sting of the ruler on my hand, she was a large woman, but oddly quick. I didn’t mean to blaspheme but I was a bit miffed that she accused me of lying, how did she know I was lying. But then again I’m pretty sure she could tell because of the pop quiz I had failed that day. She graded it right after we took it. Looking back, I always wondered why she graded the pop quiz in class. The only thing I could be sure of is that I officially hated Catholic School. But that day is when I began my tale of adventure.

Detention for a week, you could call the detention they gave in that school ‘manual labor’, the kind they gave to prisoners. They had me clean up the fields and walk through the forests surrounding the campus picking up garbage. I hated the work, it was arduous, just a garbage bag and thick gloves. The only saving grace of that detention was that I enjoyed the wilderness. The outside world was the reason I most likely failed miserably in school, when I was supposed to be studying something at home I was climbing something tall and dangerous. It was that way since I was six, a born again monkey. So naturally I was able to lose the student teacher left in charge of me on multiple occasions. The woods were my domain and during those little expeditions I gained days onto my sentence but that meant more days outside, something my parents didn’t like since they had me in tutoring since I was seven. My parents always trying to make their little boy special and it turned out that I was. I was quite the talented garbage collector! I found that out during the detention. I went home, told them of class, class work, lectures, garbage collecting. It was a fantastic time for me, they couldn’t be any more crestfallen. I used to go to my room and try to regret getting detention because of the way it made my parents feel. But I could never feel guilty; the woods were just too much fun! I did want to please them, I did truly want to be special but I was twelve years old I just wanted to have fun.

As days past and I was put to work in the woods, I appreciated the beauty of it all. The underbrush of the forest was comprised of ferns, pine cones, pine needles, oak tree leaves, twigs and types of foliage too numerous to count. It was relatively easy to walk through and gave a nice satisfying crunch once in a while because of the pine cones. Even though it was autumn the different kinds of bushes were still green and would stay that way until winter, the ferns were starting to change and the pine trees were green but enough needles layered the ground to give a nice feeling underneath, like I was walking on thin carpet. The nearby oak trees in the forest littered the ground with brown leaves that reminded me it was autumn. The only bad memories I have of the forest are the briar patches, they were thorny bushes that were so thick that I could almost lay on top of them without falling in, or more realistically fall on top of one and hope you don’t go in. There were more than a few times I stumbled into briar patches that left me with more scraps and scratches than I care to remember, painful experience, I fall in with whole cloth’s, and come out with holes in my clothes. I earned my mother’s wrath more than a few times after falling into the briars. Aside from them though I felt at ease, I loved this forest, I was more attuned to my surroundings, I felt that nothing in the world mattered to me and I was part of world. That’s when I discovered something unique about me. One chilly autumn day with the wind blowing and my navy blue autumn jacket pulled close to me, a ferret no bigger than my forearm came prancing up to me.

“Hello, I’m Frank, happen to have a grub?”

There was a ferret talking to me. Besides the horrible feeling I had to run away screaming, curiosity nagged at me and I just had to reply to him.

“I..dont have any grubs.”

“Are you sure? I promise to make it worth your trouble. Find me a grub.”

“Okay..just wait here..” As I scrambled around the fallen logs around the oak trees looking for grubs for a talking ferret I realized that feeling of horror I had earlier was excitement. For the first time in my life I was actually special for once. Who else has met a talking ferret? I found him some grubs underneath a rotted out oak tree, after I fed them to him everything fell into place, me and Frank became friends. He told me of the place he came from, a place so filled with magic it was hard to believe. A place that was just around the corner, but I could never see it, he kept telling me only his kind could see it and allow others to see it. After a bit of coercion I got him to take me to it, but only for a little bit. The forest was majestic, filled with giant redwoods bushes covering the ground, ferns and moss covering the bottom of the trees. I saw a wild buck staring at me and Frank, I started walking towards it to pet it but Frank stopped me.

“What?” I asked him “What’s the matter?”

“That’s the protector of this Forest, he’s the champion of our kingdom, a very strong being. He’s not kind to outsiders, avoid him.”

Going through the forest was a marble white path that led to the mountain kingdom that Frank described to me in words I can’t remember. I was never able to see it but I felt the warmth radiating from the magic that extruded from the area. During those times I felt that I was the special boy my parents wanted me to be, that if I were to tell them this I would be loved. That’s why I got Frank to tell me more about his kingdom, so I could know enough so that my parents would believe me.

Near the end of my detention when winter was setting in and autumn was quickly becoming a memory I ran into Frank in the woods.

”Hello Frank!” I winked at him to let him know I had something special in my pockets for him. I rummaged through them so he could squirm a bit more.

“Hello Marcus.” He was twitching nervously that day staring at my pockets waiting for the morsels he so loved

“Ditch your trainer again?”

I did ditch the teaching assistant that was watching me that day, I hadn’t for those past few days but for some reason that specific day I felt I needed a little adventure.

“Why yes I did Frank.”

“HAH! Excellent, got any more of those juicy things I like”

As Frank eyed my pockets, I remember my hands went into my jacket pockets to feel out the grubs, they were small, fat, and utterly repulsive but Frank loved them.

“Yea I do Frank but you know the deal, you get grubs, I get information.” As I pulled out the fat grubs from my pocket Frank’s eyes lit up. And I knew I had him right there and then.

“Marcus, that’s unfair, you know I’d get in trouble if anyone found out what I was telling you.” He was whining nervously as I dangled the grubs over his little head.

“Come ooon Frank, you know you want this…” I was laughing a little as I was dangling the grubs over him. It was pretty amusing to watch him think of what to do.

“So what do you wanna know this time.”

“Well first of all I didn’t get what you meant by a kingdom underneath this world but at the same time living in it.”

“Well, it’s easy, we’re here with the rest of the world, some of us can interact with you, like me, but most of us can’t be seen by regular people, except you, I think you’re the first human in a few centuries to be able to see our people.” Frank chewed on his grub focused on devouring it completely.

“So I’m special?”I asked as hope and despair balanced on my heart at his next reply.

“Yes, I would say so.” I felt my heart flutter at his answer.

“A human being able to see us is quite a special thing indeed, I had someone explain to me once why Humans aren’t suppose to see us, but I forgot that a long time ago.” And as Frank was telling me this it seemed like he hesitated a little.

“Wait, you said a few centuries, how long is that and how old are you?” I had shot them off in rapid succession hoping to get more information from him but he was smarter than that.

“That’s two questions, two grubs please”

I yielded two more grubs to him, he was smart.

“We-ll” Between each bite he continued “See, you’re twelve, I’m twenty times twelve and still considered not quite an adult.” He was finished with the second grub that I laid out for him. There was only one more grub left and I had to get him to tell me more.

“Hrmm so you’re two hundred and fourty years old?” I had asked him that because I was never good at math and I thought it would keep him talking.

“Yep, and still got 400 years ahead of me, the thing is we live long but don’t have as many children as you folk, we’re lucky to have a birth once every hundred years or so.” After he told me this I noticed I was sitting in moss, my mother was going to be furious with me. But she would forgive me once she found out that I’m special. So I continued my interrogation of the little ferret.

“But you said there are other types of you guys, you’re not all just ferrets”

“Yep that’s right. There are other creatures that stand up on two long legs just like your folk. The only difference between them and you is the magic they wield and their eyes. Their eyes have rings of yellow around them at night, some think it’s because of the magic in the forest; others think it’s to help them see at night. Night in our forest is pitch black and becomes very dangerous. They’re the only ones that can see at night. Them and the protector of the forest, the buck with the antlers, you remember him?

“Yes.” I was in awe, Frank was spilling out all this information to me and I didn’t think I was going to get any of it. I was so excited.

“Other than that the same thing pertains to them as to me, they live long, have few children. And that’s why it’s important for us not to interact with your kind, if one of us died it’d be a big loss. Oh I think that’s why you aren’t suppose to see us…or was it something else.” Frank said while staring at me trying to remember what it was he was told.

“Oh…so you’re afraid of us?” I quickly tried to change the subject before he remembered that I owed him more grubs

“Well we’re not afraid since we’re not easily killed but we sure wouldn’t want to risk it. Plus there are our own dangers to worry about; choosing not to interact with your kind just removes one more risk.” He finished the last grub

“Well, three grubs, three questions even though I answered a bit more then I would’ve liked” stubbornly Frank tried to move away from me before he spoke more. I had a better plan then he did.

“Wait wait wait!!” as I tried to get him to stop I pulled out five more grubs

“Here, five more questions”

Frank eyed them and cleaned his face with his paws, but then grabbed one, sat on the moss across from me and started eating it.

“OK, so what other dangers do you guys have if you made it so humans can’t see you, theirs gotta be something out there that’s scary right?” I asked him with the bright eyes of naïve youth, I thought I could help out his kingdom if they could just help me get my parents to love me. But Frank stopped eating the grub and looked at me with very serious eyes.

“Marcus, you’re too young to worry about monsters in another world, especially these type of monsters” But I wasn’t too young, I could help him, if he would only give me a chance.

“But Frank! I can see you! Doesn’t that mean I can see them too?!” I flailed my arms about in frustration, I knew I could help him, I was awful at school but I just knew I could help him, I wasn’t useless.

But Frank warned me

“That’s true but if you see one you can’t do anything to let them know you see them, if you do they’ll come after you.” I didn’t know exactly what he meant but I just desperately wanted to know more.

“Ok Ok! I promise I promise!”

“Marcus I’m serious, this is dangerous, the only reason you can see them is because you’re connected with this world and your world.” Franks expression made me doubt that I wanted to know more, I never knew a ferret could look so angry.

“Well, first of all these things are hard to miss, they’re the size of oak trees but they only hang around buildings made of concrete and are impossible to kill. We call them the Titans.” Frank finished by eating the grubs and prepared to run off again into the wooded morass but I stopped him, I needed to know more

“Wait! Do you guys fight them or something?”

Frustrated at my attempts to keep him from escaping my questioning he turns back and growled a small ferret growl and scowled at me.

“Sometimes they get together and try to break into the kingdom, the kingdom, the Titans come from our mountain but were thrown out when they decided to try to overthrow the king and retake the mountain a millennia ago.” As he was telling me this, his scowl never left his face. I wondered if I should try my luck by asking him more, and I did.

“So why doesn’t the king, like, kill them or something” At the time I was scratching my head a bit confused, Frank told me the Mountain King was a powerful magician so what he told me a few moments before didn’t register.

“Because Marcus, I said it earlier don’t you listen? They’re impossible to kill, last time they attacked us we lost a lot of people but were able to bind them to YOUR kingdom”

“My kingdom? You mean the city?”

“Yes.”

“So maybe, since I live there, there’s some way I can help?”

“NO!, Absolutely not Marcus! These things can kill you in an instant, we’re able to do things you’re not, it’s a fluke that you’re even able to see us, if you see one, act like it’s not there and avoid getting near it in case it accidently crushes you. I’ll be back here tomorrow; I have to go talk to someone. Make sure to lose your trainer and come here tomorrow Marcus, I’ll have something to show you.” And with that Frank ran off into the wooded morass of the forest leaving me behind in a world of my own imagination.

Later that night I went home and told my parents of everything that had happened to me, I went into detail about the kingdom, the Titans, Frank and the meeting he had set for the following day. They’ll see that I’m special for sure. A whole new world would be opened to me, now they knew I was special, they would tell me how much they loved me and how proud of me they were again. I was ecstatic, I felt happy again, I felt loved again as they listened to me.

The next day my parents took me to a hospital waiting room.

“I have to go to detention to meet up with FRANK! I don’t feel sick why are we here?”

I didn’t understand what my parents were doing. I was upset and stomping around the waiting room with people staring at me. I felt ashamed that I was embarrassing my parents but Frank was expecting me to show up. The doctor called me my parents into his office and explained things to them that I didn’t understand. After a few weeks of no school, no detention, and getting poked and prodded by doctors they ended up putting me in the hospital. One of the doctors came up to me in his long white jacket and stethoscope around his neck and sat down next to my bed.

“Hello Marcus, I’m Dr. Francis but you can call me Jon”

“Why am I here Jon.”

“Well to be honest with you, I don’t know. You seem to be fine but, well you remember that big machine we put you in that popped and whizzed when you were inside it, the one weren’t allowed to move.”

I remembered that machine because of the sheer terror it brought me to be inside of it, it was dark and loud.

“Yes…I don’t have to go back in there do I?” I said to him visibly shaken up simply by the mention of the machine.

“No, no, no of course not, that machine was called an MRI and it takes pictures of your brain, and Marcus don’t be afraid but we found something that worried us, you have a unique case of a disease we barely know anything about. It’s rare enough that we’ve never seen it before in this hospital, we’re going to tell your parents to take you to California to see a special doctor who’ll help you get better.”

And that’s when I couldn’t take it anymore, my twelve year old mind and body just couldn’t stand being taken away from Frank for a few weeks now they want to send me halfway across the country to see some doctor, I started crying heavily as Doctor Francis tried to console me.

“There there, it’s okay, you’ll be fine”

“I want to see Frank again, I have to see him again. If I go to California I’ll NEVER see him again please don’t send me there. I’ll be good I promise I’ll be good.”

“Marcus, Frank was imaginary, he wasn’t real, you need help from a real doctor, you’re very sick. You have to go see him.” Doctor Francis ruffled the hair on my head and walked out into the hallway where I heard my parents concerned voices asking about me.

A few days later I was in the front seat of my father’s car while he was driving me to the airport pointing out to my mother the Titans to ask her if she sees them.

“MOM! Right THERE do you see it?!” Every time I showed her one, she started crying even more. My father eventually told me to be quiet, that I was upsetting my mother. I was upsetting them again, I was no longer loved.

“But dad, you wanted me to be special, I’m special now aren’t I.”

“No son, you aren’t, you’re sick and there’s nothing special about it, now please, just rest a little we’re almost at the airport.” During that car ride my mother kept crying and it was like my heart was twisting and being pulled out of my chest. I balled up my fists to stop myself from crying. When we got to the airport we boarded a plane to California, a non-stop flight to Los Angeles. After we landed my father drove us straight to the hospital. I was to be admitted to the children’s cancer ward at Cedar-Sinai. As they were filling out the paper work at the desk a Doctor with silver hair, in a white medical jacket walked up to us and asked

“Are you the family sent by Doctor Francis?” Before my father could answer him I went up to him and shot out

“Yes, Doctor Francis said you can make me better” As I said this my father patted me on the head

“Yes, you must be Doctor Steinbach, Doctor Francis told us you were the leading authority on brain cancer.”

“Well I’m one of the best, and I’ll try my hardest to take care of you folks.”

A year and a half later, I was lying down on a hospital bed in my own room at the hospital, the sound of an EKG machine beeping, constantly beeping it was my only longtime companion for those six months that I had my own room. My parents had come to visit me every so often but they had the law firm back home to take care of. I was completely bald from the intensive chemo therapy and skinnier then I’ve ever was in my entire life, I hadn’t seen the outside world in such a long time and I missed it so much, and I missed Frank even more. As I laid there looking out my window I heard something scrabbling at the base of my bed, I leaned over and saw him there

“Frank…” I barely was able to crackle his name out.

“Marcus! Nice to see you again, Got any grubs?” peevishly he asked me for his one weakness

“Sorry, not this time Frank, Frank they keep saying you’re not real, that I’m sick and that’s why I see you.” It exhausted me to say that to him, it was on my mind for so long.

“Marcus, that’s what I wanted to tell you that day, the reason you’re sick is because of the magic we put on your kind to prevent them from seeing us. But I talked to the Mountain King and they told me we can reverse it but you won’t be able to see us again.” As he told me this, all of the excitement I felt back then crept back into me, but then the words he told me sank in and crushed all my hope.

“But Frank, I’m going to Miss you…” I said to him, still the same twelve year old boy I was, even though my thirteenth birthday had passed in the hospital.

“Marcus, you did fine for so long without me, you’ll be fine, and I’ll still be around.” I picked him up and hugged him close to my face tears flowing onto his furry coat.

“I just wanted to be special Frank.”

“You are Marcus. Now go to sleep, I’ll fix you right up!” He gave me a wink and curled up on my chest with his red eyes looking at me I closed my eyes and heard people walk into the room as I was falling asleep. I heard someone close the curtains around me with Frank sleeping on top of my chest, his furry body moving up and down with the breathing of my chest. I thought I heard my parents in the room with me but soon there voices faded away.