Post by The Anarchist on Dec 12, 2018 22:36:56 GMT -5
December 9
Tonight wasn't a complete bust after all.
That's what I kept telling myself as I waited for takeoff from GSP (Greenville-Spartanburg International). I was made aware of the latest deed from Rick Majors well after it happened. He WILL answer for it at some point in time. The record book may say one thing, but it should come with an asterisk, as the truth is on tape.
Casting that aside, the absolute satisfaction of what I did to Grimm was as joyous as those who are eagerly waiting to celebrate Christmas. I can already hear everyone wanting to ask me why. I'll have them hanging on with anticipation, making them process in their heads what my official reason will be, shuffling them like a deck of fresh cards waiting to be cut.
Only I won't be saying anything about it until next year. Let them wonder. Let GRIMM wonder as he plots getting his hands on me. I hope the sounds of a steel chair beating the remaining life out of his body keeps him warm in Hangtown for the holidays. Let the horror cradle him in recovery as he sharpens his signature shovel with false hope of hitting me with it. I'll be waiting to throw the dirt over him with the very weapon he's put so many down with.
The plane is finally in the air as I begin a new thought. A terrifying thought, really. I knew that once I got back to California, I was going to need a damn good answer to give Destiny about my actions. Somehow telling her how much I love her wasn't going to work. She's eleven weeks pregnant now and the potential for mood swings would be in the forecast. She could read me like a book, so my answer was going to be the truth. It was either that or the firing squad.
We had come to a mutual decision about "The Anarchist" after I erroneously returned to it and the fear was things like fines and suspensions and how it could impact our finances in the future. With a new addition on the way in July, it wouldn't be wise to incur such hallmarks of my past. So it would have to wait for a better time.
I glanced out the window with my eyes ready to shut until our arrival at LAX. I felt myself drifting and with the seats next to me empty, I wouldn't be interrupted. Or so I thought.
"May if I sit here, Father?"
My head quickly turned. Standing before me was Miss Phoebe Turner, better known as Lylyth, which was the name I gave her in Salvation. Her freckles were still visible under her light foundation. Her lips partially turned as a show of friendliness. Hyacinth was perfumed around her moth eaten, pastel pink calico dress, which exposed minor views of her pale flesh. The white pinafore was dirty from being unearthed, giving it more of a light brown hue.
She still had her dark brown hair tied in double french braids and despite her disappearance, the celestial shine in those brown eyes remained. My brain was telling me to say yes, but the message wasn't being delivered to my vocals. I was trying to settle my nerves about seeing her, as I had thought Stormm had removed her presence like a pawn on a chess board.
"Father?"
This time I stammered out the three letter monosyllable. Her smile grew as she sat down. I swallowed the lump in my throat as my composure returned from its lunch break.
"What happened to you?"
"What do you mean, Father? Do I look unwell?"
"No, it's not that." I didn't get the chance to continue. "Oh" she sighed with content, "I'm glad, Father. I didn't want to disappoint you."
"Can I ask you something, um, Phoebe?"
A look of uncertainly chiseled her expression. I had to hit the rewind button in order to record over that scene. Lylyth?" The sunshine returned. "Yes, Father?"
"Why are you calling me that? Justin took you away. He ended Salvation. He won. They all did. Kyle, Justin, Rick...all of them"
"FATHER!" She practically hollered, garnering quick looks our way. Once she realised she spoke louder than intended, she dropped her octave to a near whisper, enabling her to lean closer. "Father, forgive me, that was a sin. I---"
"We all sin, Sis---Pheeb---Lylyth."
Her eyes looked up to mine like wide saucers. Her cold, right index finger pressed to my lips. "Not you, Father. You mustn't say such things." She leans back up. "I suppose that's why we were taken away..." Her words trailed with sadness.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wreck your mood. Besides, you didn't si---"
"Punish the red demon, Father! Continue to punish the wickedness out of his soul! Save us from---"
"What? Who?!"
Everything glitched in and out like a power outage in a bad storm until reality was victorious.
"I asked if you're ok, babe..."
There was no plane interior, no window seat and more importantly, no Zoe. There was just my wife holding me in her arms following a bad dream. I had been safely home for several hours. She placed a kiss on my head and like any other time, consoled until things passed.
"Another one?" she asked empathetically.
"...yeah. I'm sorry, hun. I don't know why it's happening. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Don't be. Everyone gets them. Just remember they aren't real and can't hurt you."
"The kids of Elm Street would beg to differ." I jokingly reply as her head lay on mine. "Lylyth asked me to save them. But from what? Or who?"
Tonight wasn't a complete bust after all.
That's what I kept telling myself as I waited for takeoff from GSP (Greenville-Spartanburg International). I was made aware of the latest deed from Rick Majors well after it happened. He WILL answer for it at some point in time. The record book may say one thing, but it should come with an asterisk, as the truth is on tape.
Casting that aside, the absolute satisfaction of what I did to Grimm was as joyous as those who are eagerly waiting to celebrate Christmas. I can already hear everyone wanting to ask me why. I'll have them hanging on with anticipation, making them process in their heads what my official reason will be, shuffling them like a deck of fresh cards waiting to be cut.
Only I won't be saying anything about it until next year. Let them wonder. Let GRIMM wonder as he plots getting his hands on me. I hope the sounds of a steel chair beating the remaining life out of his body keeps him warm in Hangtown for the holidays. Let the horror cradle him in recovery as he sharpens his signature shovel with false hope of hitting me with it. I'll be waiting to throw the dirt over him with the very weapon he's put so many down with.
The plane is finally in the air as I begin a new thought. A terrifying thought, really. I knew that once I got back to California, I was going to need a damn good answer to give Destiny about my actions. Somehow telling her how much I love her wasn't going to work. She's eleven weeks pregnant now and the potential for mood swings would be in the forecast. She could read me like a book, so my answer was going to be the truth. It was either that or the firing squad.
We had come to a mutual decision about "The Anarchist" after I erroneously returned to it and the fear was things like fines and suspensions and how it could impact our finances in the future. With a new addition on the way in July, it wouldn't be wise to incur such hallmarks of my past. So it would have to wait for a better time.
I glanced out the window with my eyes ready to shut until our arrival at LAX. I felt myself drifting and with the seats next to me empty, I wouldn't be interrupted. Or so I thought.
"May if I sit here, Father?"
My head quickly turned. Standing before me was Miss Phoebe Turner, better known as Lylyth, which was the name I gave her in Salvation. Her freckles were still visible under her light foundation. Her lips partially turned as a show of friendliness. Hyacinth was perfumed around her moth eaten, pastel pink calico dress, which exposed minor views of her pale flesh. The white pinafore was dirty from being unearthed, giving it more of a light brown hue.
She still had her dark brown hair tied in double french braids and despite her disappearance, the celestial shine in those brown eyes remained. My brain was telling me to say yes, but the message wasn't being delivered to my vocals. I was trying to settle my nerves about seeing her, as I had thought Stormm had removed her presence like a pawn on a chess board.
"Father?"
This time I stammered out the three letter monosyllable. Her smile grew as she sat down. I swallowed the lump in my throat as my composure returned from its lunch break.
"What happened to you?"
"What do you mean, Father? Do I look unwell?"
"No, it's not that." I didn't get the chance to continue. "Oh" she sighed with content, "I'm glad, Father. I didn't want to disappoint you."
"Can I ask you something, um, Phoebe?"
A look of uncertainly chiseled her expression. I had to hit the rewind button in order to record over that scene. Lylyth?" The sunshine returned. "Yes, Father?"
"Why are you calling me that? Justin took you away. He ended Salvation. He won. They all did. Kyle, Justin, Rick...all of them"
"FATHER!" She practically hollered, garnering quick looks our way. Once she realised she spoke louder than intended, she dropped her octave to a near whisper, enabling her to lean closer. "Father, forgive me, that was a sin. I---"
"We all sin, Sis---Pheeb---Lylyth."
Her eyes looked up to mine like wide saucers. Her cold, right index finger pressed to my lips. "Not you, Father. You mustn't say such things." She leans back up. "I suppose that's why we were taken away..." Her words trailed with sadness.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wreck your mood. Besides, you didn't si---"
"Punish the red demon, Father! Continue to punish the wickedness out of his soul! Save us from---"
"What? Who?!"
Everything glitched in and out like a power outage in a bad storm until reality was victorious.
"I asked if you're ok, babe..."
There was no plane interior, no window seat and more importantly, no Zoe. There was just my wife holding me in her arms following a bad dream. I had been safely home for several hours. She placed a kiss on my head and like any other time, consoled until things passed.
"Another one?" she asked empathetically.
"...yeah. I'm sorry, hun. I don't know why it's happening. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Don't be. Everyone gets them. Just remember they aren't real and can't hurt you."
"The kids of Elm Street would beg to differ." I jokingly reply as her head lay on mine. "Lylyth asked me to save them. But from what? Or who?"