Gifts

                I looked in the box, and there sitting in wrapped perfection was a tiny parcel, right on schedule. I had no idea where it had come from because much like its predecessors it had no return address, but I knew with certainty that it would be something wonderful, and intriguing. I carried the tiny box, no more than ten centimeters cubed, up to my room. Since I had started school I had received three packages, all of which came from my parents. That is until my nineteenth birthday upon which I withdrew from my postal box in the lobby a package containing the first of many oddities I was to receive. The packages had come at a rate of one a month always on the anniversary of my birthday for a semester and a half. My collection of strange things had escalated at an alarming rate.

 Now I sat on my bed with the tiny box nestled carefully in my hands. What wonders would this little package hold? Surely it was nothing as strange as the jar with the preserved salamander. I looked over at the bazaar gift where it sat on the desk. Though the sad little creature disturbed me, I hadn’t the heart to discard it. Nor could I have thrown out any of the other novelties that I had received. I balanced the small parcel before me between the tips of my fingers. It was a rather weighty little box for its size, and though I was wary of its contents curiosity won out over caution in the end and I tore into it quite heartily.

There settled on a soft bed of cotton was a perfect glass orb. I carefully raised the precious sphere from its nest, and held it fast between my fingers. It was of amazing quality. I looked through it and was unhindered in the morphed view of the other side. It was as though the form had been cut and shaped rather than poured. I held the glass up to my eye and surveyed the room. The surroundings looked minuscule through the looking glass.

 I let the glass sit upon my fingers as though they were a pedestal and I gazed into the depths of the glass. That was when the light began to shift. It startled me at first, but than once more the curiosity grew, and I looked yet deeper into the mysterious glass. What at first was a shimmer of color quickly became a moving figure and I feared that I might come all the way through the glass and out the other side in some strange new place. I could hear noises so loud that I thought I might go deaf, and I saw colors so bright that I was sure I would go blind. I wasn’t in my room, I was rather uncertain of whether I was even in Kansas anymore. The raging motion and shift and noise were enough to scare the little glass out of my hand. As the sphere tumble out of my grasp so too did I tumbled out of the nightmare of oppressive sensation. I panicked that the glass might shatter, but as I came to my senses I found the orb sitting innocently upon the bed spread completely unharmed.

I could do little but stare at the incredible object for a long time. What had just happened? What had I seen? Would it happen again if I took hold of the sphere once more? Did I really want to know? I settled on the fact that I didn’t for the time being and so covered the glass with a towel. I carefully lifted the weighty object to my desk and placed it into the first drawer. I decided I had to tell someone, lest the happening be lost to the doubts of imagination. So calmly I walked across the hall and knocked on my neighbor’s door. Sluggishly the door opened a crack. A series of grunts told a tale of woe about having to get out of bed at the ungodly hour of four thirty in the afternoon. 

Bad, and Worse

             

             There are, of course a lot of things wrong with being hung upside down by your ankles. Not the least of which is the reason you are hanging by your ankles. I could tell a story about how I’m innocent and being punished unjustly, but that is an even more egregious lie than that which got me in this situation. Really I can’t complain about my terrible circumstance, but I will anyway. I should start from the start though so that you can fully understand my position, that being of course no position at all.

                There was really nothing big about my life on the road to ankle hanging torture. I was born in an unimpressive manor to wonderfully loving parents. They made a modest living which became even more modest after having a child. They raised me the best they could, they provided a most adequate education, and all the love and caring that any child deserves. I was taught to read and write only as well as my parents could manage, and I learned all the feminine arts, as well as many of the manly manors that my father was more than willing to impart. My father had wanted a son, but had instead been blessed with me, his one and only daughter. But I readily learned even the simplest skills that my parents wished to pass to me. Quickly I surpassed them in every field including their own. My father commented that whoever took me for a wife would be leaving them in quite a lurch. Luckily for them that never really became a problem. I went to market with my father when he sold his crop, but none of the men ever approached me. It became clear that no one wished to take so harsh a creature as I for a bride. I did not fret, though, because my father merely took it as a sign that none were good enough for me. He was kind that way.

                Though my parents loved and cherished me, their precious daughter, they could not fight the tradition of marriage. So when my prospects in my little village wore too thin for comfort my father arranged for me to travel to the city, where my chances would be far better. Seeing as I was quick enough with a knife to be dangerous, he sent me alone to make my way in the world.

                The day I set off on the road to the city was the last day I saw my parents. They sent me with what would be my dowry should I find a husband so there was no reason I should return. I walked on the busy route watching carts roar past without pause. It was only the kindness of a near sited farmer taking his wagon of goods to market that got me there in any time at all. After helping the man unload his cart I started on my exploration of the city. I had heard a great many stories about these streets, but I had never considered that one day I would be walking on them. I took alley after alley, and explored market after market until nightfall. Not wanting to waste any of my dowry on lodgings and the night being rather fair, I found a nice stoop and promptly fell asleep. 

Balancing Act

                They looked down at the pool. It seemed serene like calm water, but they all knew better. There was a thin wire that spanned the distance to the amulet. It was too low to hang beneath without breaching the surface of the pool, but it was also too thin to walk across. Liza looked down at the wire. She could see she own shadowy figure reflected on the surface of the still water. A chill ran down her spine as she realized she couldn't see her face in the reflection.

                “Well… now what?”

                Everyone stood looking to the other side longingly. Liza ran her thumb over where her fourth finger used to reside. She had times when she could still feel it there, aching. She had once been a rather impressive trapeze artist, though that seemed like a whole other life.

                “I can make it,” she said, her voice cutting through the collective silence.

                Matthew took hold of her arms and turned her to face him. He looked deep into her eyes and asked, “Are you sure?”

                He was expecting her to back down, but she knew she could do this. She had spanned lengths twice as long in her high wire days. She grabbed hold of the staff in his other hand and walked to the start of the wire. Everyone seemed to rebel at once. They all took a step forward in an attempt to halt her, but it was too late as her foot pressed against the wire. She took one tentative step off the solid ground and stood with nothing between her and a horrifyingly uncertain fate except a thin line. She held the staff vertically before her as she took several deep breaths. It was just like riding a bike. She took several more steps quickly and began to wavier. She could hear the collective gasp as she swing dangerously to one side. The carefully positioned the staff to the other side to balance herself. Quickly her swerving ceased as she took the last few steps to the adjacent ground.

                She turned back to see the anxious faces of her companions on the far side and she waved back at them.

Dangerous Waters

Pirates. She had the most terrible luck with pirates. One might think that she would simply stop going to sea, but there always seemed a necessity to cross the great water. And that’s where they lay in wait out there in the ebbing tundra. Hundreds of ships could cross the Atlantic everyday without incident and it would always be her ship that incurred the wrath of the pirate horde. She cursed her poor fortunes under her breath as a cutlass was flourished at her face. Her hands moved so fast that even she had trouble seeing their path. She ended up with cutlass and buckaneer in hand. With unmatched speed and dexterity she marched her captive about the deck as a living shield cutting a path through the scallywags as she went. It wasn't long before the fighting seemed to swarm around her and she realized she was the only crew member from her vessel still standing. What was the point of setting sail with a fortified ship if it fell so easily?

For the moment she had given up her hostage in favor of more maneuverability. Somewhere in her battle she had managed to pick up a second blade and had gained the higher ground at the bow. She was readying herself to try and force back the pirate crew when a call rang out that ceased all combat.

“Enough!” said a man in bright red coat with gold togs, “Who be you, woman?”

She stood with blades poised ready against further assault as she replied, “My name is Wilhelmina Chase, of Philadelphia.”

“You’re a ways from home, lass. What brings you to the Caribbean?”

“I was here on business.”

“What manner of business?”

“Personal.”

The man strode right up to her, showing little care for her blades or ability to use them. He stroked his chin thoughtfully as he regarded her. She knew that she must have cut a strange figure of femininity as she took a mental tally of those she had crossed blades within so short a time. As he continued his querying she eased slightly at the shift in mood.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Let us just say you aren't the first pirate I've met.”