Embedded Files
Their Colors
Sitting at the old cracked dock, the old man could almost remember the life that once filled the small lake. Them. A creature filled with life so fully it was hard to imagine them in anything but their brilliant pastel pinks and greens. Clever smile across smooth shelled plating. The lake is now withering with their absence. The saturated viridian forest now is nothing but cold dried gray trees.
He looks into the lifeless blue waters, seeing the bottom of the lake was once a treasure. When his hair was filled with color, and was raised above his shoulders. When his clothes fit compatible around himself, instead of hanging off of his silhouette.
Their colors filled their home with life, as if their living blood powers the forest and lake. He thinks he is right, everything is dead without them. As cold and gray as their body when he saw cracked plating and vermilion blood scattered across the obsidian rocks.
Anniversary.
Mornings are rough- they’re achy and draining, but anniversaries make them endurable. Getting up is the main challenge. Smooth, cool milky satin sheets rub up against warm silky obsidian fur. She shifts in her bed, reaching her clawed digits over the edge of the analog alarm clock; she’s already hit snooze twice. The worn matte black clock barely resists the gentle press, and soon shuts down its blinking red light. 6:32 am.
The woman arises from her bed and wanders her way into her bathroom, preparing the important day. Her body subconsciously ducks under the doorway, allowing her massive walnut horns to not make sound while passing. Fifty-six years of practice really does do wonders. Settling into starting out brushing her teeth, her sizable frame hovering over the polished white sink. Allowing her to effectively brush her large tusked teeth. Plucking up the tiny toothbrush simply titled “Miss”. Miss brings up the mental ingredient list needed for the day. The freshly plucked cherries that had been recently grown on their small tree, still a bit on the tart side. Just how she liked it. Miss hovering near the edge of the bathroom, checking on the human form in the large shared bed. Delicate sunset-sand skin still cozied in thick gray wool blankets. The soft breathing alerts that the woman was still deep in slumber. Good. The pie dough waiting in the fridge, things just need to be put together.
She spits out the remainder of toothpaste, making sure no burning mint is dripping down her short exposed bone snout. It is quite a feat to not make a mess with what little facial muscle was left. Quickly cleaning up the counter- rushing brushing of her dark long fur- and applying the horn wax to where her eyes should be, but instead the base of her horns lay. Cleaned bone face left little for argument. Grabbing a pair of clean clothes off of the counter top and pulling them over herself. Well-fitting cream button up shirt and dark gray trousers. Finally, washing her hands thoroughly.
Smooth cool tile flooring shifting under large clawed toes. Turning into soft wooden planks as she quickly tip-toes down the long set of stairs. Making sure to skip the second to last step. It’s gotten squeaky with age. Making it to the bottom of stairs ducking from the wall-mounted crossbows. All of them too worn for actual use anymore. Having been more or less left to be peculiar decorations on peach walls, including her old favorite. Having it sadly join the rest after the bow mechanism snapped, one metal arm broke clean down the center.
Miss turns directly into the softly lit kitchen, just a crack of flickering sunlight from the small window above the center room sink. Soft teal tile walls pass as she makes her way to the steel fridge, opening it to grab the dough and a small heart bowl. Setting the dough aside for later. She carries the delicate bowl over the main counter space and sets it on the salt-and-pepper glossy counter finish. Carefully opening the drawers just under the counter and reaching for a small cutting board and equally tiny knife. From the heart bowl she pulls each individual cherry and begins to slowly split them in half and remove the stem base and pit. She does this repeatedly and spends time to make sure each one is gutted properly. Remembering when she had rushed this process and a surprise cherry stem was settled deep in her pie slice. She was very suspicious of that pie from that point forward.
After pitting, she starts incorporating a small mixture of sugar and starch into the cherries. Gently mixes until no white powder is seen, but preserves the fruits’ shape.. Reaching to the overhead white pantries, she pulls a pale pink ceramic pie tray. Settling it next to the mixture.
She unwraps the dough and begins to halve it. She tentatively flattens each piece, and rolls one up with the rolling pin. Delicately unrolling it into the pie tray, centering the base of the crust and pouring the cherry filling into the tray. Coming back to the second rolled piece, she carefully cuts it into strands. She begins to weave the strands on top of the tray into an over-under pattern, and tucks them into the edges. All of this process is pretty easy, having done it to the point of memorization. Small braille cookbook set aside in the corner. For now.
With sharp claws, she carefully folds and crimps the pie’s edges. Mixing a small amount of egg and milk, she delicately brushes it on, and conscientiously sprinkles just a smidge of sugar over the top. Then gently pushes the tray into the awaiting oven.
A small creek emanates from the stair behind Miss, and subtle shifts of soft skin on hardwood flooring. Sparrow. Turning she sees the other woman in her long pearl nightgown. Dark coffee pixie-cut hair still tousled from sleep.
Staring at the mess of a counter. Miss signs,”I’ll clean it up.”
Sparrow lets out an amused sigh, pressing up to the doorway, “I know you will.” Sparrow looks over to the small paper calendar on the wall, careful brushing the day’s date. Paying extra attention to smudged blue ink on the pale yellow background. Anniversary, eleven years. Small golden band clinking against the covered wall. Her hand returns to the large wrapped box in her arms. She moves the box to the main dining table in the center of the kitchen, pushing the crinkling parcel over to the other.
Miss gently unwraps the package of its cinnamon stained paper, and lifts the large flat lid. She presses a furred hand in the box, pressing long clawed fingers against long strips of bitter metal. Picking the parts out of the container, feeling the distinct halves of a large bow limb. She immediately sets it down and rushes the other woman with a crushing hug. Sweeping her up in sizable arms and squeezing, effectively burying her. Sparrow lets out a surprised laugh and brushes Miss skull face. After a moment and letting go, the larger woman profusely starts signing “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
“Not a problem at all, and please go test it out, just not near the windows.” looking over at the golden oven light, still smiling, “And I’ll watch the pie.”
Turning to see Miss already starting to repair her beloved crossbow.
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