2467 words (9 minute read)

Dreams in the Distance

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived The Lovers. Theirs was a love that many only dream of obtaining; intense and pure. A love that knew no boundaries, a love that persisted despite the misgivings of many. For this love was between the rulers of two kingdoms; The Kingdom of Day ruled by The King of Passion and The Kingdom of Night ruled by the Queen of Desires.

For many years, the two lands were at odds with one another. King fought against Queen, Dark against the Light. It was a feud that had persisted throughout time, and a feud that would continue on as long as day turned into night.

One day, there came a creature that threatened both of their lands. The Everlasting Dark washed over the Kingdoms of Day and Night. Although some of the Courtiers of Desire were pleased by this change, the Queen knew that it could not persist. For although she longed to rule without concern for Day, she knew that the unnaturalness of The Everlasting Dark would eventually poison her own people. Thus, she came to terms with the King of Passion.

For the first time in recorded history, Night and Day worked side by side to rid their collective lands of the darkness. Their king and queen rode into battle with them, he a golden god glistening on a stark white courser and she a dark nightmare atop a writhing creature crafted from the shadows themselves.

When the darkness was vanished, Passion and Desire saw one another in a new light. They had discovered a newfound respect for one another, and from that respect another emotion took root: love.

Their love carried unintended consequences. Night and Day began to mingle as the borders of the two kingdoms were thrown open. Some reveled in the new found freedom, but others bemoaned the loss of tradition.

But all things fade in time, even love, and this was no exception. Where once had been found nothing but bliss and joy in the embrace of one another, The Lovers in time found their affection waning. The pressure of their people and the demands of their kingdom contributed to the downfall of the love of their rulers. In time, all that was left of their love was the gifts they had bestowed upon one another. To him, a crown crafted from the finest Fire Roses that grew at the top of Mount Anshou. To her, a bracelet made of the first full moonbeams to dust the winter snow.

So it came to pass that The Lovers were separated, retreating to their respective castles. The borders were closed once again and the denizens of Day and Night were forced back into their proper places. Though they were never to meet again, The King of Passions and the Queen of Desires often thought of one another as they gazed across their shared valley.

***

I don’t know why the story came to mind. The timing was completely inappropriate. There I was at my mother’s funeral, and all I could think about was the fairytale she used to tell me when I was a little girl. I guess it served as a good tool for tuning out the Hire-a-Reverend as he solemnly intoned those sacred words over the plain casket. It was better than a cardboard box, but not by much. One of those cheap plywood caskets, painted with a pretty cherry stain. The local church group had donated it to us when they found out. We couldn’t afford much more than that, even if I wanted to.

The Reverend gave me one final glance, and the casket began to lower. I could hear the tears of some of the people around me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. I couldn’t bring myself to cry in front of them. Numbness was easier. Less than a dozen people had come to the funeral. A few of her co-workers that she’d never really known and hadn’t particularly cared for. But none of them really knew her, except for me and Mr. Clarke.

I guess now that he’s going to be my legal Guardian, I should start calling him something a little less formal. Jack? Uncle Jack? I’ll ask him at some point, I suppose.

I know I’ll cry later. I’ve been crying for the last week. Every time I think maybe I have a handle on what happened, I’m hit by the enormity of it all and I start bawling all over again. All I want is for life to go back to normal, but I know that normal is word no longer in my vocabulary. At least, that’s what one of the bullshit websites on grief that the Counselor sent me to told me.

“C’mon, Miah. Let’s head home.” The gruff voice of Mr. Clarke...Jack...Uncle Jack pulled my mind out of the past. He patted my shoulder lightly and gave me a watery smile. He had spent much of the past week crying and upset, too.

When my mother and I moved to Aurora twelve years ago, when I was only four, Mr. Clarke was the first person to welcome us to the neighborhood. The only person, really. It was a rundown little neighborhood with a lot of rundown little houses. He quickly became my surrogate grandfather, the only family outside of my mother that I’d ever had. Even though we’ve always been close, I’ve always called him Mr. Clarke. That’s how he was introduced to me, and I guess it just stuck.

He had his own family, once upon a time. A wife named Marge, three daughters and a son who died when he was eight. But his daughters never call or visit, and his wife left him a few years after his son died. He was a detective, and he always told my mother, “You make sure you make time for Miah. Don’t make my mistake, Karen. Your daughter is the most important thing in the world.” Even though she was always working two jobs to make ends meet, she took his advice to heart.

“Sprite? Let’s go and grab a burger and shakes at Moe’s.” His childhood nickname for me was just another indication of how shaken he was over it.

I gave him a smile and a nod, “Yeah. Um. Food would be good.” I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. I was pretty the grease bomb they call burgers at Moe’s wasn’t going to go over very well, but at least the milkshake would make me feel better.


“You really don’t have to stay here tonight. Ill be ok.” I was trying, desperately, to convince Mr. Clarke that I could stay the night in my own house by myself. I know he was just being worried about me, and taking his duties as Guardian seriously, but I needed some space. I needed time to be alone. I needed to adjust to the reality of my new life.

“Miah, I can’t just leave you alone…”

“You’re two doors down if anything happens. I’m 16, I’ll be ok. I just...need some space.”

I knew he didn’t want to do it. That protective instinct that had probably led him to my family in the first place was struggling with his limited understanding of teenage girls and what is required to keep us happy, healthy, and sane. He finally sighed with all the irritableness of a grandfather already at his wits end, “Fine. Fine. But I’m going to check on you through the night. And keep your phone near you. And call me any time if you need me. Deal?”

I gave him a smile and felt my stomach ease slightly. It would be the first time I’d been alone in my house since I got the news. It was time to face my demons. “Deal. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t forget we’ve got an appointment with Jane tomorrow.”

I made a face at him. Jane was the Child Protective Services agent assigned to my case. She was friendly enough, but there was this hard shell around her. I understood that it was her defense against what she had to do in her job, but it didn’t really make her any more approachable. Even though Mr. Clarke had been named as my Guardian in all of my mother’s paperwork, Jane was still on the case. She’d already told us that she had doubts that a 65 year old man could handle the needs of a 16 year old girl, but I think that’s because she has no idea who she’s dealing with.

She was there when I got the news. At 4 in the morning, someone knocking on your front door generally means indicates that something awful has happened. Jane was there, looking calm and collected like she wasn’t telling a 16 year old that her mother had been brutally murdered in an alleyway, along with two officers who looked slightly more disturbed. They were the ones that found her. They didn’t let me see her until the Undertaker had worked his magic, but I had read the initial reports - without telling Mr. Clarke that I’d snuck them out of his bag, of course - and I knew that it wasn’t pleasant.

I nodded to Mr. Clarke again and gave him a bit of a smile. He knew how I felt about Jane, and I knew he shared my sentiment. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there with bells and whistles on.”

He chuckled faintly, “Have a good night, Sprite. Call me if you need anything.”

I nodded again and turned back to my home. The place where I had spent the bulk of my life. All of my memories were tied up in this house, in my mother, in the only family I knew. I knew it was likely that I’d lose the house, but that was a problem for another day.


I couldn’t sleep. Not entirely unsurprising, but still frustrating. The fridge was full of casseroles and random hot dishes that the local church had donated. We had never even attended, but their support still poured in. Some people really are just good. I warmed up a bowl of lasagna, wandering up to my mother’s bedroom.

The door was still closed. I don’t know who closed it. When I left with Jane and the officers the night that I got the news, it was open. When I came back with Mr. Clarke the next day, someone had closed it. I assume they did it out of respect for me, but it had been driving me crazy for almost a week. I wanted to throw the door open, just to see if she was curled up in her massive king-sized four-poster bed, reading a trashy novel with a bag of Cheetos hidden under the cover.

I took a breath, pushing the door open slowly. I knew she wasn’t there. I’m a rational human being, usually. But it didn’t stop me from hoping for a moment.

It was exactly the way she left it. Bed neatly made, a stark contrast to the haphazard pile of clothing at the foot of the bed. She always told me that you had to sleep in a freshly made bed, to make sure that your dreams would be new. There were plenty of household tasks that my mother failed at - don’t even look at the layer of dust on the picture frames in the living room - but that was one she was adamant about. “Fresh bed, fresh dreams. Don’t forget that, Miah.”

On the floor by the door, something glistened from the light of the hallway. I stooped and scooped it into my hand, my heart clenching. The locket was identical to the one I wore. Matching gifts she had given us the day we moved into our new house.

“Don’t leave home without it, Miah. When you wear this, you will always be safe. And I will always be with you.” Her words echoed in my mind. Her carefulness with the necklaces, with the little treasures that she had given us.


I don’t know how long I stood there, her locket dangling between my fingertips. But it was long enough for the reheated pasta to get cold and rubbery. In the distance, I heard something. A crashing in the kitchen. It sounded like the time a racoon chewed its way into the garage and attacked all of our Christmas decorations. My mother cried for a week over the broken baby ornaments before pulling out the glue gun and performing surgery.

I set down the cold bowl, slipping my mother’s necklace over my head. If they were supposed to protect us, doubling up didn’t hurt anyone. The sound came again, and I felt a cold shiver run up my spine.

I was completely alone in this house. And the only person who cared about me was two houses away. And it was 4 o’clock in the morning, and the only time someone knocks on your door at that time of night is if something is very wrong. Or someone is dead. I wasn’t going to wake him up if it was nothing important.

I crept silently down the stairs, resisting the urge to turn on the lights. Many years of living in this house had taught me where all of the creaks and groans lived. Half way down, I started to realize the error of my plan. If there was someone there, I was completely unprepared. I didn’t even have my phone to make an emergency call. Or a baseball bat to fend of unwelcome advances. The options were clear - continue on my course, or run back upstairs and hope I could make the call before whatever - or whoever - was in my house caught me.

They say discretion is the better part of valor. I was turning to flee back up the stairs when I saw the shadow. It crept silently, a man silhouetted against the street light.

There was someone in my house.

There was a man in my house. A tall man, with broad shoulders.

I started to creep back upstairs and the man came into view. His head swiveled towards me, slate-gray eyes glinting as he looked at me. It took me a moment to notice the sword raised in his arms, and I let out a scream.