About the Last Syllable

Dear Readers,

So…the trilogy is finally complete. Someone told me that there is really no clear closure after LaLauren Mansion, and since I value heavily that certain someone’s opinions, I just wrote this new extension of the story to try to wrap up the loose ends…and it seemed that I only created more loose ends with four chapters (all named after some reference from Shakespeare’s Macbeth) or 2,381 words.

No matter, I am simply glad that I can say goodbye (partially) to this large project, and pretend that I’ve done an incredible thing.

No worries, I’ve planned a new story already, so I will be working very hard to redeem myself as soon as I am done with college applications/essays.

As always, thank you for checking out this site,

Love,

Meiko

Box

“What is that?”

“Your birthday gift, dummy.”

“No, I meant, what is in it?”

“Just open it.”

“Just tell me…”

“Open it.”

“…Fine…What the…why did you get me a..dog…How old do you think I am that I need a puppy for my birthday?”

“You are welcome.”

“It’s going to make a mess in the apartment, and–”

“–It’s a great way for you to learn moderation and not so much of…whatever this inhuman spotlessness this is.”

“Yeah, no, just take the stupid dog back.”

“The stupid dog’s got a name: I named her after you!”

“That’s even worse: return it.”

“Hey, don’t objectify dogs. You can’t just randomly return a dog like you return any old shirt since you found a miniscule hole or something.”

“Then give it to someone else…wait, where the hell are you going?”

“Don’t worry, I will be back before you know it.”

“At least take this stupid dog with you!”

The door shut without meanness, only to entrap a fur ball (but really just a potential disaster) happily panting with a frustrated mind completely puzzled and clueless of what to do with that cardboard box on the table.

IV. Brief Candle

They were close. Soulran would have never imagine the clash of hooves against stone could be so maddeningly deafening. Neither of them dared to look back at their pursuers, though it was clear that they only drew closer.

All was going too well, he suppose. He had escorted the young baron and his mother to safety while Eleanor detained her husband upon a walk to view Mount Goltha. But, who would’ve expected the Duke to have foreseen their schemes and stationed such close watch, that Soulran had to rely upon his ability to thwart the legion hindering the Crisiotas’ escape? He hastily rode to find Eleanor afterwards, fearing that she had perished under her husband’s paranoia. To his luck, she was mostly unscathed from against the Council’s pawns. He repelled them with another enchantment, pulled her out of the mess, and made for flight.

Their pursuers pulled closer with each mortal gallop despite Soulran’s tricks: panic soured Soulran’s throat at every excruciating swallow. The woods about them began to fall sparser, and if one strained to hear one could find the murmurs of a river, replenished by recent rain, over their desperate chase.

They mounted the narrow, wooden arch across the river, reins cut harsh to elicit whinnies: with horrified dread, they beheld the small regiment of bayonets revealed from the shadows on the opposite shore. He turned the huffing beast, unsurprised that their steps were already took over by their original nemesis.

“Enough of this childish rebellion, Eleanor,” The Duke vocalized the plea for her surrender was shouted across settling dust. “You are acting very foolishly, but if you repent, I may still pardon–”

–Soulran was thoroughly startled when a thunderous bang answered patronizing arrogance. The Duke crumbled from his horse, features crinkled to scream his pain, his shoulder gored; Eleanor held the guilty pistol, eyes cold to observe her handiwork, her smile scorned.

Her hostile declaration was returned in earnest, and Soulran was only able to deflect some pieces of melting lead in the split seconds of their enemy’s chaos with their felled leader. With a horrible screech their steed reported injury, faithfully rearing wildly until both of its riders were thrown from the saddle and plunged into the depth of running water below.

The icy wall of water he crashed into rendered him breathless, immersed, then forgetful of his limbs’ existence before he struggled to resurface against the invisible, invincible grasp of the current carrying him onward down the stream. When he finally got a gasp of air, the bridge was belittled by distance and his beloved nowhere in sight.

“Eleanor!” He yelled through haggard breath, heart racing to find her with every fruitless second that elapsed.

He thought to get on land first just to have a vantage point, but before he did he heard the ghost of an answer over the roaring river and his pounding heart, nearly drowned but existent. He repeated her name again and again while kicking against the forces dragging him away and downward.

Then he saw her, a broken buoy bobbing in the rushing waters, drifting and drowning one mouthful at a time. He didn’t know what propelled him through the tides, or what naive hope kept him afloat, but he made his way to her and took hold of her.

“…Soul…?”

“I got you,hold on…”

He attributed her breathlessness and groans to her fear of waters, but as he dragged the two of them into the overgrowth of the riverbank he saw the fatal roses of deep scarlet budding and blooming upon her side and chest: deceptive tides had brushed off blood and neglected injury, and now that he saw it was all too late.

She was gasping, grasping to his arms and dear life while he failed one healing spell after another.

“Eleanor…” Overcame by the inevitable, he exhausted his powers and cursed himself to infinity; her brows were deeply knitted in pain and anguish.

She was so precious, so fragile in her struggle to keep her eyes open with her lips trembling to give a soothing speech, “I…”

Soulran could only squeeze her icy hand in his, muted in unheeded worship nourished by silent tears.

She heeded his devotion: in a whisper she gave in, her eyes found God in a distance and chose Him.

“Elea…nor…?” She had already bestowed her last syllable, to send him away.

So silently he wept until the roosters tolled and the bell crowed, then propelled by the obligation to be rid of useless interjections he tore himself away, no longer loved but living.

The Lord’s Name

The focus is not finding your enemy and proclaiming your love for them. But the point is to love everyone, since you love the worse people in your life anyway.

To the Evangelists that likes to put our God to shame with your divisive rhetoric: two quick things.

  1. If you are true to God, remember that God is more important than the Constitution, and thus your devotion to God’s most important commandments should come before your claims for religious freedom. Did Paul, the author of the majority of books in the New Testament, not achieve his greatest heights as a disciple of Christ under oppression? Did Paul ever raised a hand against anyone under his suffering? Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind AND thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
  2. If you are true to the Constitution, remember the very reason why the most famous group of American immigrants came here on the Mayflower: they were trying to practice their own religion. That is why the Constitution upholds the separation of religions, so to prevent oppressive majority or dictatorship that enforces a certain religion the same way the Pilgrims struggled with in England.

Stop being contradictory. If you want to be illogical, please do not use the Lord’s name in vain.

III. So Foul and Fair a Day

He hated the rain. The icy weather only worsened the throbbing ache in his left hand. He found solace plucking the violin, empty sounds reminding him of the years passed unable to even press against the fingerboard. Of course, this rainy day was only worth noting because something beyond unpleasant memories and agony happened.

He was drawn from his peace when an unrelenting knocking threatened to break down his door, chronic pains trying his patience. When the door swung opened, annoyance gave way for shock.

“Eleanor?”

She invited herself in as though her random ultimatum last year did not even conspire, took a moment to appreciate the mostly unchanged arrangements, and turned to face him. How a person can change in only a year! The perpetual smile took an opposite direction, her eyes only glimmered from tears, and her words…he waited to see if the last item was demolished by time, too.

“Soulran…”

He dreamt of this moment, dreaded that his bitter gall towards her abrupt leave would ruin his chance of reconciliation. Yet this moment had no room for a thread of ill will: as she took a few steps towards him and choked out his name again, he could only take her into his arms.

“I-I…am sorry…I’ve wr-wronged you…deeply…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine now,” That was a partial truth, with enough genuity to assure her and enough unspoken sorrows to tranquillize the shock of her presence here.

After she settled began to explain the reason for her intrusion, “The past year had been…saturated with deception and foolishness…” A suitor winning her mother’s approval revealed his allegations with the Council when she refused his hand, forcing her to take his hand in marriage lest she wants the death of her family. “Who would have thought that the Duke of Edun would be a master at death threats?” She had no choice but to follow suit…she glared at the offensive ring fixed upon her finger before continuing. A month before their wedding, she regretted her decision and sent a servant carrying letters to Soulran for help. Of course, the letters were intercepted.

“The Duke threw the bundle of letters upon my dressing table one day, forcing me to put an end to my affairs with you at the same consequence of his previous threat. And I…If I’ve told you the truth, you would’ve try to help and I…” would rather let you hate me than die for me…The sentiment was communicated through a look, and Soulran tightened his clasp upon her hand.

“And I thought that was enough…my mother realized thorough her own means that man’s true nature…she began to oppose our match…” There was a long pause before she went on to tell of how the man drugged and abducted her to give the impression that she eloped with him, “My mother was heartbroken…I could’ve had more courage to tell her…” The Crisiotas were by no means capable of sustaining such a scandal, so her mother could only urge for the two’s wedding with counterfeit blessings.

“But I’m afraid that I cannot live under such tyranny…not anymore…”, She drew her attention from her narrative briefly to him, taking his pained hand into hers as she sought out the complaining joints and pressed against them; her mind drifted, but her tongue continued her tale. “The Duke almost killed Sirius once…it’s all too much…” She only had the chance to escape today because he was careless after a year of absolute obedience from her and left for a longer business dealing. “I need your help, Soulran.”

He realized that he was wrong about how the light in her eyes were gone; for once the glittering tears were dried, a deep flame of vengeance and hatred he knew not she was capable of harboring bore into him, even though he knew it was not even directed at him, “What is it?”

She shared with him the times and places: for she was to pay the Crisiotas’ a visit with her husband by the end of the week, and she planned to thwart him where she was most familiar. They conspired until it was time for her to leave, when she went to the door and could not help herself from pulling him into another tight embrace.

“Soulran…can you forgive me?” He knew that she wasn’t referring to her unannounced visit.

“…There’s nothing left for me to forgive now that you are here, Eleanor,” Her shoulders dropped, and she forced herself to let go.

“…Thank you…”

The handle turned, the door whined, and she was gone.

Soulran went to his window and picked out her frame disappearing into the hazy rain, a new ache beyond the reach of any aiding hand erupted over the persisting pains for ill premonitions.

II. Beguile the Time

The sea breeze was gentle, but her words harsh. How could she lean so lovingly against his shoulder and whisper those things in such an affectionate tone? It started with a harmless musing.

“Why do you think ‘love’ and ‘live’ differs by only one letter?” She said in a dreaminess as she tugged at blades of grass.

He did not want to point out that there are many words that also fit the description of being different by a single letter, so prompted her on instead, “Why?”

“You take out the ‘o,’ the literary interjection out from ‘love’, and substitute it with ‘i’ to get ‘live’.”

“Do you mean love is foolish and the desire to live is selfish?”

“No…I don’t know…”

Silence veering on the edge of discomfort settled between them, and she broke it with a subtle reach for his hand in what he thought was to sought affection, but realized otherwise when a cold, hard surface of a small metallic…no, stone…was pressed into his palm.

“I can’t keep this any longer, Soulran,” Her dreaminess took up a nightmarish quality as she continued, her hand still lightly laid over his. “I…am to be engaged.” She got up, leaving him grounded by the weight of her revelation. “I’m sorry, but I hope that you would understand.”

He won’t: as she started her abrupt leave he sprung upon his feet and grabbed her hand, “What on earth? What of your feelings?”…and mine?

Did he truly amount to nothing even though she meant everything to him? Impossible. The glimmer in her eyes, her smiles that won’t fade, and the words poured from her heart cannot all be a part of a cruel trick. Yet within him, a voice reminded him with the wisdom of a spectator that this should have been expected: he has nothing of this world compared to the poorest of her suitors. Even though she was never one to judge on such materialistic basis, she was a sensible being in possession of a family to care for, a name to uphold; what can a nameless man like him do other than undermining her roles in life? What business had he to even behold her noble visage?

He realized that he still held her cold, delicate hand, and that she did not deign to answer his inquiries, so he convinced himself to let go.

She went forward a few steps, stopped, persuaded herself to not look back and said flatly, “Goodbye,” before disappearing out of his sight. He was stupefied by unnamed turmoil, staring without comprehension why the ring, his mother’s keepsake, looked so alien in his hand. He pretended the slight warmth of the ring was hers, and that he could preserve it simply by holding onto it forever.

This Election and that Dress

There is a few things this 2016 election has in common with a certain dress.

  1. They are both white and gold (or at least, it seems so to some people)…if you sit Clinton, Kaine, Trump and Pence in a row in that order and focus only on their hair.
  2. They are both controversial
  3. They both got a lot more attention than it truly deserved
  4. And…by the end of the controversies (if there is an end), we’ve all beaten each up until we are all blue and black.

*Hopefully you are not traumatized by my comic…if you are…sorry, I couldn’t resist.*