I Used To Sew When I Was Upset But Several Needle-Related Accidents Led Me To Consider Other Calming Pursuits.

I Usually Call My Daughter When Something Has Fouled My Mood. Perhaps It Was Just Because I Was So Far From Home But A Simple Conversation Was Almost Always Enough To Lift My Spirits. At Home Settling Into The Sofa With A Glass Of Wine And Recorded Episodes Of Soap Operas Also Helps. If My Mind Is Particularly Clouded I Drive To The Beach And Go For A Run. Nothing Eases My Tension Like Fresh Air Sand And Sunshine.

January 22nd, 2012
4:09 AM

Among jade bloods, being called to a “shift” of tending to the Mother Grub is referred to as a “tour of duty.” For the past sweep and a half, the Dolorosa had been on such a tour. It was the highest of honors to be in her service, and had felt very fulfilling. Still, as she stepped off the plane, it felt good to be home.

Los Angeles in the winter was cooler than the desert. She almost wished she had worn a sweater, but of course she hadn’t brought one. Life in the dormitories was austere; she couldn’t exactly bring her entire wardrobe. All she had with her was one suitcase, which contained four outfits, one pair of shoes, deodorant, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a brush, an assortment of books, and a photograph of her daughter. The Dolorosa was many things, but she would never call herself ascetic. As potentially shallow as it sounded, she looked forward to having a full, walk-in closet again. She could never truly retire from the obligations of her blood, and she took them very seriously, but a life in ancient and sacred duty was not what she truly lived for.

It was the middle of the night, and the terminal was eerily quiet. The dull sound of her rolling suitcase filled her ears, and she was suddenly very tired. Must the flight have landed at four in the morning? She wouldn’t have minded waiting a few more hours. But she ought to stop complaining. She was a free woman, after all. The nightlife beckoned, even if not for this particular night.

Not that she was young enough to be out this late anymore. It was almost quarter to four. She hadn’t brought a watch, but a bright clock on the wall read 04:12:22. She stared at it as she continued walking, her head filled with what almost sounded like static at this point. The seconds ticked up. She found herself taking a footstep each second, losing herself to the clock, too tired to think about anything else but the numbers in her vision. She tried to think of Kanaya, of calling her in the morning and catching up. She had missed her daughter terribly. But it was almost like the red LCD numerals had a vice grip on her mind. There was a feeling of… inevitability consuming her. That clock had something to show her… or somewhere to lead her to.

The clock hit 4:13, and a gust of wind hit the Dolorosa’s face. Or… no, it hadn’t, it was just… she didn’t have a word for it. She was suddenly in a desert, standing on a rocky cliff. It was twilight, and she could see sand and rocks to the horizon. Her mind felt disconnected from everything, as if she was viewing her own memory from afar. But she had never been to this place. She had never seen anything like it before, and somehow… it felt familiar. Almost like home.

And then it was gone. She was on the ground; fallen onto her bottom. Her face was wet and she raised a hand to it. Tears? Whether she was crying from pain, confusion, or longing, she could not tell, nor did she want to. The woman stood and smoothed her skirt to prevent creasing. A human male had rushed to her, but she dismissed him with a hand. “Thank you,” she said curtly as an afterthought. He grabbed her suitcase for her and she made herself smile. “I appreciate it,” she said, nodding. Rudeness was crass. She continued on her walk, fear gripping at the corners of her mind. They would remain there until her head hit the pillow sometime later, and her dreams could cast them away. She would awaken, hours later, and hardly remember getting off the plane at all.