By Isaac Summers

Just as suddenly as she had begun to speak, young little Mrs. Avangine was back on the cotton
seat in the corner of a couch. The smell of cooking meat wafted to her sensitive nose, and it was
not a pleasure. It gave her migraines, and the fan up above circling only made the cacophony of
it all even worse. She could hear the voices elsewhere in the place over the mighty din from the
small television on the dilapidated table. The notes were all devils to her personal stability. The
accents placed on the syllables told her that this time things were worse than normal. Papa
waddled in, his face lowered, trying to hold back something that could make him capsize. The
screen door closed behind him as he left. The chilly wind had swept in as a figure who was
comfortable with its surroundings. It padded its way to her and nuzzled her leg with its head.
This used to help her, for she knew there was something there to comfort and to bond with. Now
the touch's cold was felt more than it had before. It felt distant and unfeeling. The empty
cushions did not disguise any absences. They were vacant, and nobody was really there. The
wind was an echo of something that could never be attained. She was limited to her own little
section of the world, where none would come over and sit down beside. The cushions gathered
dust, and the fan only moved them, making room for someone never to come to sit, gradually
letting all the little particles settle without finding any warm contact. The fan allotted those that
already had trouble staying warm more opportunity to remain stagnant. The wind was not there.
She looked down at its eyes that showed signs of love and trustful, devoted bondage. Those eyes
glistened with feeling as it tried to understand her own, but whenever she stared deeper into it
she would only see the glasses on the bench. This thing tried to connect with those it met who
were less fortunate and to issue a reminder, though possibly without intention, to others that
change is constant. This existence of hers likewise was constant, open to unknown
interpretation. The wind's promises were to be taken into account and revered, though they all
turned stale before they reached their desired destination. It was a curious thing that such an
inferior being as the cloud that howled would have such an infinity for the inferiority of the
downed fowl. Yes, she knew what she was supposed to benefit from it for, but it did not make
easily calculable sense that she could love what was unfeeling and unkempt and that such a thing
would also without question endow itself with such a respectable responsibility to/for her
keeping as well. No. She couldn't think that way. The wind was her companion, and she
shouldn't think such negative thoughts. It had always been there for her, and it would be most
unjust of her to treat it like anything else but a benefactor that she could rely on and try to give
gifts back to. The thing nodded its head. It could hear what she was thinking. It motioned with
its head for her to follow it where it was going. She got off her seat and drifted after, the little
wolf of curled air padding out the door. She followed it onto the neglected, but not overly
distraught, deck and down the wooden stairs to the grass below. It took a left and made its way
into the backyard with recently mowed strings of green strewn throughout. The tiny swing set,
rarely used, was in the back to the far left of the tool shed. She then felt sorry. She had wanted
to enjoy the equipment and the slide that lay beside, but the thrill never fully developed when she
attempted to mount them, and her knees always were pushed up by either the ground or the
plastic slope to fit. She drifted away from where her companion was heading, guessing without
careful thought that it wanted her to play. Then she felt a prick on her neck and a knife in her
back. She turned around, but only saw the wolf a short ways away, sitting on its haunches,
staring at her with its eyes narrowed. She had disobeyed it again. She always had trouble
paying attention. The eyes grew kinder. It lowered its head. It understood. It motioned with the
head for her to follow again. It walked off again, she now trying to follow close behind so that it
was always in her sight and so that she wouldn't get distracted by anything else of minute
importance. The tell-tale canine stopped in front of the shed, its head entirely focused on the
aging low-cut doors. “What is it?” she asked. The wolf didn't answer. It continued to stare with
intensity at the thing before it. She crept forward and tried to see its line of focused sight. There
was a tiny hole inbetween the doors, near the center. A peephole for something to look out
from...The wind suddenly barked and slammed its mighty head where the gap lay dormant. A
large crack appeared down the length of one of the fronts. The bundle of air pawed at this crack
and swiped down piece after tiny piece of planking. After several seconds the doors were down,
their scraps scattered throughout the yard. The wolf walked forward and vanished into the
darkness undomesticated, but not entirely untamed, by light. Evangelical wondered if she was
meant to follow. To be obedient she wished to move to search for it, but...her legs wouldn't obey.
She was rooted to the spot, desperately trying to see in. There was a power beginning to seep
out, a feeling of remorse and dread. She looked into the eye of defeat, a tender loin wishing to
captivate and claim. It called her nickname out to her, crooning for her affection.
“Evvvaaaaaaaaaaa...Evvvvvaaaaaaaaaaaa.” She then knew this thing hated her, for the name
brought back images of a lowered body stooped over a toilet, a rod slapped on the back and a
kick in the trunk. The tone changed with her misgivings. The black before her started to gasp
and cough, invisible pathogens drifting out of the depths to slowly pass by her form. “Ev-a.
Eeeeee-va.” A click of the tongue. “Did you forget about me in the attic, Ev-a? Did you mean
to leave me rot with the discarded crayons that you broke without care or thought?” A shiver
ran along her body, and a trickling run dribbled from her nose. The crayons. Where were they?
Where had she put them? The rasping continued. “Eva. Ava Eva Ava Eva Ev-aaaaaaa. Why
have you let yourself grow sad?” She found herself unconsciously mouthing along to the words
arriving at her ears, as if following the lyrics of an often-heard song. The song. Oh, the song
had long been lost from her mind. She again heard the boxes being lifted and moved around in
the closet back at the old house. “Evvvvvvvv-a.” She couldn't concentrate on what was being
said. The words of the song were entering her head, spelling out a memory that if she could only
just reach (out) and possibly touch...

“The jolly heap ran ragged

To the department store.
The icing on the cake was
Better than from the moor.

“The dry embers of the traces

Of all that were thought lost
Were nothing but the shadows
Of all that were drained oft.

“The arrows were all lined up

Despite their casual rungs
For far fewer than the daggers
Were the Ancients tried for naught.

“The lemons stunk in autumn

Without a docile thought.
I never saw a leper
Who dared to ring them up.

“The children all were playing

Without their silly bibs.
The gracious Lord then spoke to me
Why should we let them sin?”

“Evvvvvv-a.” This time she heard the voice. It was closer to the gaping doorway than before. A
red dot briefly flickered in the lair. “Why do you never listen to your elders, Eva?” A scrape
was made on the floor. “Why must I remain so polite?” A brick was thrown out and hit her in
the head. She couldn't feel it. It was already gone. “The music will always haunt you, Eva. The
man with the stick will be broken before you're done.” The quaking continued. She could almost
sense a head turning onto its shoulder in the dark. “What's the matter, honey? Did you want me
to finish the song for you?” She tried to shake her head but couldn't do it. “Okay, then I will
then.

“'The daughter wasn't feeling

Too good to search for hope.
She was locked inside her cabinet
Until the dry oaks pulped.

“'The children were all laughing

To behold her mangled back.
They all did notice the shadow
But thought it was what they did lack.

“'I notice from the balcony

The tears that I shall sack
The autumn moving closer now
Until I get my snack.

“'The trenches were all soaked within

For not until dawn would they unite
The snapping jaws, the flaming threads
Of the gestapo's candlelight.

“'The arrows were all lined up

Despite their casual rungs
For far fewer than the daggers
Were the Ancients tried for naught.

“'I married a fine owl

Though its neck I once did snap
The gilded claws, the melodies
Of our sanctioned travel nap.

“'The road goes ever yonder

Despite the honest claim.
I rubbed the children wrong, I did
When I showed them I could maim.'”

A pause for little Avangine to recollect her thoughts. Her hair was molting gray.

“'Their eyes are now so vacant

From all the good I've done.
I feel them all now shivering
Before their hearts are onnnnnnnnnnnnne.
Mine...
Donnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne.'”

Silence. DRip. DRip. DRip went the nose. Her eyes sank lower. They were exposed. Her
stature waning despite the climb, the mime shadowed indignity to time the rhyme. The darkness
before her focused and then temporarily napped. A balding man was standing in the shed with a
broken back, the head tilted up. His eyes were so silent, a red napkin tied around his forehead.
The clothes were all black rags, the ties from sediment and the clasps to chemical agents. The
arms were curled back to his chest, the pale complexion one with the cold. Every breath made
was pronounced, discernible, audible. The eyes briefly dilated with a shaky intake of air.
“Myyyyyy, look how big you've grown, my little Eva. The little rocking horse will not be able to
hold you any longer, now, will it?” Phlaw. Phlaw. Phlaaaaaack! The coughs had ended with
an intake lacking oxygen, dry flem flaring up. “My years feel longer now, my dear. Why don't
you hug me to endear the weak?” The curled hands flipped up, the arms rolled forward, and
then pushed off of each other from the front, spread out and stretched at the sides, bones
creaking and cracking from previous ill use, the hunched back refusing to completely give in.
“Come, my little Eva. Let me soak up the tears again.” The most she could manage was a quick
shaking of her head furiously back and forth, her body knowing that “no” could be the only
answer. The eyes lowered on the still raised head, the fingers now curling toward her, though
still on the hands attached to the spread-eagled arms. The breaths went from high pitched rasps
to deep, gurgling dollops. “My Eva, the wind is merely a magic trick. It can't help you when you
are yelled at. That would be MY job, my little princess.” A hand moved down and back into the
darkness behind and tugged the wolf forward, now flesh and bone, but silent and lifeless. The
eyes were empty like they had always been, the fur still cold and unfeeling. “You see, Eva, my
dear, even if you try to make your dreams a reality, they will remain empty. Empty empty empty.
I have come back, my dear, because you needed me. I burn with an eternal fire, my ligaments
saucers for liquid flame, the flesh only a cold casket keeping the tongues of amber glowing and
feeding, feeling and breathing. Why, now you're shivering. Are my words so cold that you would
quake before your mansion, my fortune?” He let the dead wolf drop to the ground, the newly
freed arm moving forward, the palm facing her. “Eva, my darling, I welcome you back to me.
You need only KISS my hand, and the uglies and the screaming will fade away as ashes before
my judgment. I endear you, I have wallowed, I am charged with directing your affections. Why
won't you HEAL me?” A big, rasping breath. “Why won't you heal ME, my little Eva? Why
can't you help ME, you worthless wrench? Can't you see that I NEED you to fill ME?!” The
eyes were beating red like the napkin plastered to the bald one's forehead. The weak but
authoritative voice now grew stronger, building in immensity. “I TRUSTED you with all I was,
Eva! And you left me to die! I never should have let you love me! I cried, I cried, and what did
it get me? You lied, you lied, you told others that I didn't exist, that I was just a FIB! I loved
you, I loved you, and you left me broken in the attic with all those you tossed away! I LOVED
you, I LOVED you, and you HATED me! You HATED ME!” A shrill shriek emanated from his
throat. “AAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The birds in the trees nearby took off into the air, dashing away
from the drill that dug ever deeper. The man lowered his raised arm, the one with the palm now
pushed forward. He started to slowly walk forward, his head lowered, his eyes focused on the
little girl. Every word was now a growl, the jaw clenched, forcing the words out in a gale. “I
TRRRRRRRRUSTED you, Eva. You LEFFFFFFFFFFT me, you little fuck.” The eyes were now
stretched beyond what was normal. “I cared for you, I took you in and I never, ever, SPAT on
you like you had so often deserved. Your poppa already did it for me, and there was no reason
for me to yank that tiny head of yours off of where it was planted and plant it on the ground that I
feebly stood on. I am WATCHING you, you little cunt. I realize now that I should have sliced
you open before you were even born. I should have took your traits into my face and PULLED
and TEARED you every way until your genetic materials DISSOLVED into the recesses of my
decaying mouth.” He was nearly out from the cover of the shed now. “I NEED to relish your
flesh, the flesh that never deserved to be formed. Don't you turn away from me! I WAS the father
you should have loved, but YOU could ONLY love another. The one who MADE you, the one
who turned AWAY when you needed him, only ever paying attention to remind you of what you
were. You are a DEFORMITY, a BLOTCH on the moth-eaten canvas of humanity, JUST like
ME! I reminded you that your lies would not end well. You told them you weren't special, that
everything could be okay. I am a fib. And fibs can't do any harm, can they? A fib is okay.
Except not to whom with to play. Well EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY. YOU WERE NEVER
MEANT TO SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY! YOU WERE MEANT ONLY for ME! ME! I LOVED
YOU! I ALONE! I NEEDED YOU! And you left ME? No, you left
MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The deformed man dashed out from the cover of the shed,
exploding into hundreds of wasps and hornets as his body entered into the sunlight. They
charged forth toward the little girl standing there, unable to move. They soared at her face,
wings extended, jowls snapping, pincers flexing, everlasting and never fasting. They reached for
her eyes, larger than life, and the claws sank forward, grabbing, grasping, grating their needles
forward toward her fragile pupils. They charged, they rained sideways as splashing puddles,
nearing, leering, ever cheering. There they were, theretheyweretheretheywere there they...

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