Chances are

Chances are, you've heard this before,
from nameless faces, and faceless names
without really knowing yourself

Chances are, you're running away
to places you've been and never before
without a destination in mind

Chances are, you know better than me
what you'll take from this brief interlude

But chances are also that you haven't a clue
as to what the whole story's about.

Obligingly, I would drown.

I could drown in here you know
on this too-bright sunshiny day
and the turtle,
swimming lazily by
would look at me,
a mild curiosity
and then impatiently ask me to get on with it
because the black ink trickling from my eyes
is quite improper
on such a lovely day

Obligingly,
I would drown
allowing the cool, briny water
to fill me up,
and push you out
leaving no trace.

I despise my own weakness
that you could kill me so easily

Keystone

We all know the tale of the poor, unfortunate kitchen girl who was so kind and so pure of heart that, with a little help, she transcended her humble origins and lived, as they say, happily ever after. It is my belief that every child springs forth from the womb with the foreknowledge of this story running through their veins, so ingrained is it in our collective psyche. Cinderella. Can you recall a time when you did not know that name? Such a delightful, whimsical tale of the triumph of goodness, and fluffy bunnies, and...daffodils. Charming.  I've never liked daffodils.

What if it were true?

Oh I don't mean the cloying sweetness of it, that truly belongs to the realm of fairy-tale. But what about the bones of the tale itself? I invite you to suspend your disbelief for a moment while I present to you some facts I know to be true.

1.) That magic does in fact exist.
 2.) That there once was a girl, who by means of magical assistance changed her fate and married a prince.
3.) That this was one of the most disastrous occurrences our world has ever known.

You don't believe me do you? I never expected you to. But which of these are you actually having the most trouble accepting? It can't be the first, not with everything that's been going on recently. You'd have to be dead not to notice, and even then I'd be surprised. The second one isn't all that hard to believe either, most fairy-tales or folktales have some basis in fact if you go back far enough. So that leaves the third. And that would be the tricky one. It is the ultimate story of injustice falling before the greatness of a good heart. How can we live without that myth? What could possibly be bad about it?
Perhaps I should tell you. After all, her story is critical to understanding mine.

Intent

Lily stepped lightly from her apartment, traveling in time to the perhaps slightly too loud music emanating from her headphones. It was a pleasant day, for winter, yesterday's icy chill turning almost balmy overnight; typical of the city's meteorological habits. She had no doubts that tomorrow would be as frigid as the day before, but for now it was what qualified in her books as a Nice Day. The grey sky overhead still pressed down despite the relative warmth, till the only thing that separated it from the equally grey road she traveled were the slate colored buildings breaking up the horizon. Lily knew for a fact that they were red-brick buildings but to her, everything on a winter's day is grey. You could have a circus parade right down the street and all the colour would leech away till nothing remained but shades of grey.

Lily amused herself with this thought as she crossed the street and trotted down the stairs to where the train would stop. There was one other person waiting, a middle aged man bundled up in a dark coat. As she reached the bottom of the stairs he turned towards her, his mouth moving. Pushing back her appropriately grey hood and her headphones along with it, Lily's rhythmic world was replaced by one of chaotic sounds; cars honking, people shouting, and buses rattling overhead, momentarily disorienting her.  "Beg pardon?" she asked, turning her attention to the shabby man.
"I said, what time does the train come? D'you know?" he gestured to his wrist, in the universal gesture used by all when discussing time, regardless of whether or not they wear a watch.
"Oh, two I think. I think..." She reiterated, her own certainty shaken by his questions. "I'm pretty sure" She glanced at her own wrist and regarded the silver timepiece strapped to it. Five minutes and they'd know if she was right.

She had only just raised her headphones once more when movement at the edge of her vision caused her to turn. It was the drab man again, this time employing the universal gesture used by all to say "you've got a little something on your face."  Lily rubbed at her top lip, that being the area indicated and glanced back at the man for reassurance that she had removed the offending smudge. She hadn't. She rubbed again as the man approached her. He licked his thumb and raised it toward her face. Startled by this sudden incursion into her space Lily took half a step backward. A look of annoyance crossed the man's face as he continued to reach for hers. Backing away faster now, and tripping over her own feet in the process, she ran up the stairs and back down the slate grey road towards her apartment.
 
(Yes it's meant to do this, just go with it)

She had only just raised her headphones once more when movement at the edge of her vision caused her to turn. It was the drab man again, this time employing the universal gesture used by all to say "you've got a little something on your face."  Lily rubbed at her top lip, that being the area indicated and glanced back at the man for reassurance that she had removed the offending smudge. She hadn't. She rubbed again as the man approached her. He licked his thumb and raised it toward her face. Startled, and a little irritated by this sudden incursion into her space, she took a half step backwards "It's ok, I can get it myself" A look of annoyance crossed the man's face as he continued to reach for hers. It seemed to Lily that he was just a little too persistent for merely helpful and she slapped his hand away. A second later she was shocked to find that her hand had been seized. Outraged, she shoved as hard as she could against the man's bulk. The struggle was brief and at the end the sound of running footsteps was momentarily added to the chaotic noises of the world above. At the bottom of the concrete stairs, Lily's broken body lay, crimson in a sea of grey as the train rushed past.

She had only just raised her headphones once more when movement at the edge of her vision caused her to turn. It was the drab man again, this time employing the universal gesture used by all to say "you've got a little something on your face."  Lily rubbed at her top lip, that being the area indicated and glanced back at the man for reassurance that she had removed the offending smudge. She hadn't. She rubbed again as the man approached her. He licked his thumb and raised it toward her face. Startled by this sudden incursion int her space, and somewhat flustered, Lily stood still as she watched the moistened thumb traveling towards her lip. She could see it at the bottom of her vision, calloused and the thumbnail dirty, inexorably closing the distance. The man brushed at the top of her lip before Lily's nerve broke, and she moved her head back, licking her own thumb and using it to scrub where his had been. "Thanks" she muttered nervously as the brief contact was broken and they once again became two strangers. Part of her was repulsed that she had been so personally touched by him. Part of her wanted to run home and scrub at her lip where she still felt a tingling sensation. She imagined it came from the alien-ness of his touch, but a rational part of her proposed that it was simply due to her own vigorous scrubbing moments before. That rational part wondered at her own repulsion when the gesture had been kind in it's intentions.  Then the train pulled up, loud and intrusive and she raised her headphones once more and stepped back into the world where touch is a stranger, and contact unwelcome.

Mervin

Mervin Stilts was ninety-three years old when he died. His second wife, Melinda brought him a cup of tea as he sat at their small, round kitchen table, just the right size for two old people who did the crossword together each Sunday morning as the rising sun warmed and brightened the room.

As Mervin sat there, cradling the cup between his hands and feeling the heat from it seep into his arthritic knuckles and blue green veins, he looked across the table at his wife. His eyes traced every line and wrinkle in her face, and counted every joy or sorrow that was the cause. When he was done, satisfied that the lines caused by heartache were far outnumbered by their counterparts, he smiled, and placing trembling hands on her cheeks, Mervin planted whispery soft kisses on her forehead and lips. Patting her hand gently, looking into eyes as clear and blue as they day he first saw them and with a whispered "I love you" Mervin drank his tea down to the dregs, lay his head down on the table pillowed by his arms and died.

Mervin Stilts was ninety-three when he died, and twenty-seven when he next opened his eyes.