Reflections: Vincent’s Descent

Vincent’s Descent is a 26 part story (16,022 words total) that began on April 1st, 2023. If you are interested in reading it, after slogging through the below reflection, I suggest you start HERE. Comments are always read and welcome.

Vincent’s Descent began as a writing prompt.

It was generated during A Prompting of Writers, a group I created and moderate that meets on Saturday mornings (10 am EST/EDT: contact me if you are interested). The prompt I gave the writers was to use any creative figure that they truly loved and knew. Flash Fiction, just under an hour of writing, and then we share with some feedback. The idea stemmed from The Pale Blue Eye show on Netflix (Edgar Allan Poe as the MC) and a few other uses of literary figures as characters.

Vincent Van Gogh was my choice for the piece. I enjoyed what I wrote, and when I decided (extremely last minute) to join this year’s AtoZ, that story was what I used as my jumping-off point.

Van Gogh remained the base foundation for Vincent’s Descent: his color palette, how he applied his paints, the swirls, the golden fields, the starry nights, and his madness. It all influenced many aspects of what I wrote over this challenge.

Almost every title of my AtoZ was based on Art terminology, primarily fine arts but also architecture. I plumbed the online FreeArtDictionary for title ideas when nothing immediately came to mind. Some of the posts (Yosti in particular, but others as well) gave me the clues I needed to complete that day’s posting.

The whole thing with the birds came about with the letter B, and The Beatles song Blackbird got stuck in my head. “Take these broken wings and learn to fly” led me to Vincent breaking one of his attackers wings. With his teeth? Well, horror/brutal, y’know.

Also, I’m not a huge fan of birds.

People have asked me about how I name my characters/places. Usually the name must have a meaning that fits the story. Vincent seems obvious, but beyond that it means “Prevailing.” Humi, Vincent’s late addition father, means “Twilight.” “Oralee,” Vincent’s mom, means “My Light.” I chose Maria as that was the name of the daughter of Sien Hoornik, the only woman Vincent is known to have lived with. As to Ms. Faye Smythe (the only character with a surname): Faye was a play on the Fae (elves) and Smythe came about from looking at my bookshelf, seeing my copy of Lore Olympus by Rachel Smythe, and boom! Faye Smythe.

As to anything disjointed or lost over the month, my apologies. If you’ve followed my writing at any time, you know I am a Pantser. I write daily (well, um, yeah, a few days I couldn’t write; I don’t pre-write, seeing that takes the challenge out of this being a challenge.) without an organized schematic, no notes, no plans. The characters/story take me on a daily journey, and then by the end of the month I’m trying to pull it all together and plug up all the holes, big and small. Sometimes it works out.

I’ve mentioned this here and there: I look at the AtoZ as my First Draft Plus. Previous years have had wider followings, and I’ve been asked to take the work, add to it to novelize it. The Abysmal Dollhouse series is one I continue to work on. It keeps alluding me.

I want to thank everyone who did follow along and left commentary and likes. This was my least visited year with AtoZ, but the point is that I so truly appreciate those of you who did follow along. The comments were extremely helpful. Some made me laugh, others had me twiddling my fingers and doing my best villains laugh. Chilling.

Taa Daa! We can now tie a bow around the 2023 AtoZ Blog Challenge.

What did you think about Vincent’s Descent? This Reflection? Tacos?

Weaver Facing: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 22: Weaver Facing

            Overlay.

            Vincent’s golden world dissembled. Blues were the first to bleed through the multitude of shades of yellows. All at once, oranges burst, dribbling into pinks-crimson-magentas, adding the plushness of greens, from royals to pastels to foams, mixing and cleansing and blending on an ever-changing palette of Vincent’s world. It was all beyond Maria as she fixated on Vincent.

            Vincent stood golden and black, sparkling, staring after Her Lavender Grace. His body was a mixture of feathers and human flesh.

            Maria walked up to him, reached out her hand but stopped herself, a feather’s breath, from touching him. Stopping, her hand slowly dropped, landing at her side. She took in the changes around him. The landscape around them was still gently morphing. She did not know what a touch would do.

            “Vincent?”

            He turned, and Maria exhaled a held breath. His face, Vincent’s face. But his eyes were The Grackle Lord’s penetrating blackness. She held steady, fighting an instinct to take steps back as his arm/wing drew her close.

            His head burrowed into her hair, the crook of her neck. Tearing up, Maria wove her arms around Vincent’s back. His skin texture changed under her hands and arms, the feathers soft and exuding a warmth she accepted. As they retracted, the coolness on the smooth surface was comforting. While they held onto each other, Maria did not feel any change occur on Vincent’s face.

            “Thank you,” he said softly, so close to her ear.

            Overlay.

            Her Lavender Grace had taken wing, bloodied and partially satisfied. She flew to her stronghold, passing through Vincent’s golden world and into the jet black of her domain.

            She had coaxed her Condor’s jealousy, urging its lust for power and her. It had taken too long for her liking for the pup to Become. Like so many of hers, the Condor was fodder for her needs. As, now, The Grackle Lord had become.

            The murder followed her as always, forming a protective wall as she nested. Behind them came the loyal who had scattered during the storms. Talons and beaks encrusted with dried ichor, having chased down many of those who stood beside The Grackle Lord. This pleased Her Grace: nothing less for those guilty of such a treasonous act.

            Her Lavender Grace roared:

            “Quis Mecum Stat?”

            The answering cacophony of whistles, croaks, shrieks, trills, squawks, and caws satisfied her. She waited for the exulted assembly to quiet, then called out again:

            “Quis Mecum Stat?”

            The tumult was thrilling. She basked in the adulation.

            Her Lavender Grace unfurled her wings to their fullest, stifling all utterings instantly. She held them open wide, raised her head, and screeched:

            “Qui Me Vindices?”

            A rustling of feathers. A series of squabbles, wails, more than one keening.

            Uneasy heads turned around Her Lavender Grace. She drew in her wings and waited, but not for long.

            A large, shadowed shape flew slowly into view. It circled above three times before it spiraled down to land before Her Grace.  

            The Black Vulture craned its long neck, genuflection to Her Lavender Grace, then raised itself, waiting.

            Her Lavender Grace nodded and laid out vengeance.

            Overlay.

            Vincent’s father barely registered the slamming of his office door as Ms. Smythe took leave of his presence and her job. He rose from his desk, walked over to his wet bar, opened the wall-inserted refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of Spirtus vodka. He poured three fingers into his favorite tumbler.

            Sipping, he turned, leaning back against the carved wood bar top. Glass in his left hand, he ran his right hand along the deep-cut grooves. From top to bottom, right to left, ritualized to the point that he was unfocussed in the gestures.

            A shimmer caught his eyes, emanating from the snow globe shelving. Vincent’s mother’s idea. The only thing she truly defied him on besides how to bring up Vincent. The globes, he came to admit, were far from frivolous. Vincent’s attachment to them, to his dearly departed mama, made it easy to keep track of him.

And so, a light green rose from the farthest globe. The dormant artificial snowflakes rose and twirled, going from dying grass to Viridian. As it settled, the next took on multi-layers of Blues. Then came the Reds. There was a jump, for there was the missing globe, that damned dust swirls, with the next one in line Purples, then Browns, then Pinks, then then then then….

            the last one went black.

            “Fuck,” he said into his Glass as he took another sip, smiling.

            “About fucking time.”

Overlay.

            Ms. Faye Smythe.

            “Vincent.”

            Overlay.

            Maria.

            “Vincent.”

            Overlay.

            Vincent’s father.

            “Vincent.”

            Overlay.

            The Black Vulture.

            “Grackle Lord.”

            Overlay.

            Vincent.

            “I wish.”

Triturate: Vincent’s Descent -atoz blog challenge

**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 20: Triturate

Her Lavender Grace breathed in deeply, her expansive chest filling with the deathly air. The taste of blood carried on the winds, and they began to whip around with the fall of the rain. She exhaled with a squawk, a call that further stirred the murder lust around her. She reeked of power and death. The washing rain did not rinse her of cravings.

And the rain began to fall in sheets, shimmering from her wings, running down her dense hide. Pools formed around and under Her Lavender Grace. Her flocks sputtered in the growing density. The rain was brutal, beating down with a rat-tat-tat beat that only gained in speed and force. Her Lavender Grace reveled in the stinging pain that came to her from members of her horde.

Still, her gaze locked on the deadly struggle between her Condor and her Grackle Lord. She lost all interest in Maria.  

The brackish water surrounding Maria got in her eyes and mouth. Maria spit out one mouthful only to have a deluge wash over her from above. She slipped, her hands going deep into the mud. Her struggling to escape the monster’s claws took on a higher energy. The immense shape above her was ever so slowly sinking.

I wished, the thought his Maria, and she wished again. A lightning storm tore the sky open with a force that stopped all action, turning attention away from her. Maria frantically dug into the mud, the pools of water enveloping her in sloshing waves. Forcing her head above the water, Maria took deep breaths. Then down, down, and forward.

Down and forward as the skies broke in streaks of deadly white. The rainstorm blew over the light-rooted birds, trees, and bushes. It softened the land, and Maria took full advantage of this.

Vincent-Inside, momentarily startled by the fierceness of the gale, went full Birdserkr.  

The Condor had let its guard down.

The Grackle Lord’s maw clamped down onto the Condor’s left wing. It snapped it in half, dark-drenched feathers slamming the mob below. Before it could react, Vincent-Inside fed off of all the abuse he carried. Digging his nails into the midsection of the Condor, The Grackle Lord ripped it open. With a whip-shot, Vincent-Inside sent his bloodied beak through the Condor’s neck, the tip breaking through and through.

The Condor choked on its blood.

The Grackle Lord pulled away, claws still inserted in the Condor’s abdomen. Their eyes met. Vincent-Inside held on as he watched the Condor’s black eyes lose their color, their power, grinding to a dusty death pallor.

There was no shudder, no rasp. The Condor had been alive. Now, not.

The Grackle Lord retracted his talons. The Condor fell.

Turning, Vincent-Inside faced Her Lavender Grace. His jet-black eyes went to the claw where Maria had been, but there was only muddy water.

The Grackle Lord, in full fury, scattered the multitudes of lesser birds. Its feathers slicked back, wings tossed wide and beating the air, The Grackle Lord challenged.

Her Lavender Grace faced it, eyes narrowing, wings akimbo. Neck lengthening, beak glistering from the rain, she waited for the attack.

Maria had crawled out of the soupy earth inches from the prison of bone and flesh. Unnoticed, she crawled along the muddy ground, finding a semblance of shelter among the upturned roots of a giant denuded tree.

Along the way, some blackbirds saw her. Grabbing rocks, she smashed a few skulls that got too close to her. The last one that came at her avoided the rocks, scoring a bite through her sodden pants leg. Dropping the rocks in pain, Maria caught its wings and slammed the bird against the tree trunk she was leaning against. And again, until it was a stain on the bark.

Dropping the dead thing, she watched the battle. It was brutal, and her stomach churned, but she knew. And it was done.

Then Vincent turned to face Her Lavender Grace, and Maria inwardly cried, noooooo

And then said: “I wish….”

And the rain began to turn to snow.

Scratches: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 19: Scratches

The Grackle Lord went for the Condor’s eyes. It cawed, flying backward and up, looping over its young attacker.

“I taught you that, idiot child.” It spat venom toward its foe.

Vincent-Inside banked to the left. The spittle landed on the flanks of the three ravens behind him. Each of them sizzled as they fell to the ground. Twelve others swooped in to attack from the rear, three more to each side.

The Condor dove, batting them all out of the sky, all hollow bones pulverized by the brutality of the strike.

“He. Is. Mine!”

Those in the air dove to the ground, the trees, and the jutting rocky landscape. They watched, trembling. The dead around them went uneaten.

“Where?”

The Grackle Lord took this distraction and pounced from above.

They raked each other’s flesh with claws and beaks.

Her Lavender Grace had been waiting for the attack, surprised that it had taken The Grackle Lord so long. She had plucked the sore by his side to prod him. Looking down, she noticed it was still squirming under between her talons. Good. She needed it alive.

Turning back to the dueling pair, Her Grace focused on the rendering, lapping the droplets of sprayed blood that fell her way. She licked her beak with a long pink tongue. Errant members of the frenzied flew too close. Her Grace snatched them indiscriminately out of the air, crunching them into pieces and swallowing them as the opportunity arose.

Maria continued to struggle while blood and offal fell on and around her. She had seen the Condor turn on its own, noticed Vincent soar up, and then when the screeching began, she averted her eyes. Maria contorted, trying to squirm through Her Lavender Grace’s grasp. It was too tight. The pressure on her chest grew.

Fuck

            Looking up through the gap, she saw the massive eyes glance at her. Maria went still but did not avert her eyes. Taking a deep breath in, Maria held it, counting to calm herself. When she quietly exhaled, she relaxed. The pressure decreased. A chuckle-like sound sent her shivering once again. Her Lavender Grace turned away from her captive and back to the battle overhead.

            Maria looked at it as well. Tears welled up and began to fall.

            “Oh, Vincent,” she murmured, wanting to scream.

            The Condor cackled as The Grackle Lord screeched. The Condor had its claws sunk into its opponent’s legs while a beak surrounded its neck. Both sets of wings closed in on the other, and they began to drop from the sky, falling in a barrel roll.

            They crashed, crushing a multitude of birds that were not fast enough. Those that took flight circled over the pair as they continued their assault on the other.

            The Grackle Lord butted its head under the Condor’s beak, sending the larger bird back.

            Too late Vincent-Inside saw his error. The Condor leaped, beak first, and punctured the flesh under The Grackle Lord’s right eye.

It screamed.

The Condor laughed.

The Lavender Grace stood stone still.

Maria felt herself shuting down. She couldn’t think. There was nothing she could do.

“I wish,” she said.

And it began to rain.

Refractions: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge.

**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 18: Refractions

            Vincent stared at the Condor, his lips pulled back, baring teeth.

            “I killed you.”

            The Condor’s head tilted back, a barked laugh escaping. Its neck leveled out, staring down at Vincent.

            “You killed ‘Cat-grandpa’ in your world. A vessel. Nothing more.”

            Its head tilted toward Maria.

            “You brought a snack.”

            A large crow shot out from under the Condor’s spread wings, aiming at Maria. Vincent reached out, grabbing it midflight. With one hand, he broke its neck and tossed it into the legion of blackbirds.

            They screeched and fed.

Maria stood up straighter. She realized she had had her hand wrapped around Vincent’s arm. She dropped it, staring back at the Condor.

“Fuck you.” Maria bent over, picking up a fallen branch. The first was unwieldy, the second perfectly balanced for her.

“Fuck you,” she sneered.

Again, it cackled. Paused, then hissed.

A black-winged phalanx rained down toward Maria. She swung back and forth, shattering a skull, breaking two wings. From above and the sides, they dove at her, some getting within her arc, tearing clothing, skin, pulling at her hair.

Vincent needed only his hands and teeth. He ripped bodies apart, separating wings from bodies, catching them with hands as claws. A few came close to his face. Their mistake, was as Vincent bit into their necks, spitting the heads away. Gore ran out of his mouth, along his arms. He moved around Maria as a whirlwind, deflecting the murder that Maria did not swat down.

A caw, and the attack formation flew back. The ground around Maria and Vincent was littered with the dead. Vincent kicked a one-winged assailant into the crowd. It was gone in the rending of bird flesh. Maria was panting, scratched, and dripping blood. Carrion birds lifted into the air.

“Vincent,” Maria stood by his side, nodding to the approaching figure in the sky. “Is that….?”

Flocks hopped or flew apart, creating a clearing. The Condor flapped three times, hovering over the multitude, filling the sky with wings spread.

“Regina nostra, Gratia nostra!” It bellowed.

            As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

            As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

            As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

Her Lavender Grace descended. Her size dwarfed the Condor. Talons extended, she lit on the land without a sound. Her wings were multi-layered feathers, plush, spreading along the rest of her humongous frame. Sharp eyes, sharper beak, her Grace fixated on Vincent.

Before he could react, Her Lavender Grace grabbed Maria in one of her claws. Maria’s scream cut off as it started, the pressure from the nails too great. Her Grace continued to stare at Vincent.

Vincent began to run to Maria. The Condor flexed a wing, hitting Vincent, sending him sprawling. The assemblage in front hooted and cawed. His concentration broke. Feathers began to emerge.

All eyes were on Vincent.

All eyes were on The Grackle Lord as he manifested. It raised itself, staring at Her Lavender Grace. Maria struggled in its grasp.

The Condor beat his wings three times. It flew directly in front of its once charge.

“Gratia Nostra!”

 “Gratia Nostra,” The Grackle Lord croaked out, bowing its head to Her Lavender Grace.

And then Vincent-Inside lunged at the Condor.

Oneiric Truth: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 15: Oneiric Truth (then and now)

            “Cat-gran…” the Grackle Prince began before a heavy wing beat his beak shut.

            The giant blackbird squatted closer, placing a talon over Once-Vincent’s chest, pinning him to the ground.  

            “Do not ever call me by that insipid title again. Do you understand? Well?”

            The princeling stared, nodding slightly.

            “Your fucking waste of a mother. Thought it was necessary to differentiate me from the other one.” The Condor shook itself, feathers bristling as it righted itself. “I am Condor. I am Elite.” It bent its head to look down upon the prince. “Do you understand?”

            “Yes,” he croaked, taken aback that the word had formed.

            “About time. Now,” the Elite removed its claw, stepping back. The crowded rows of blackbirds all hopped back to open the space. “Now, get up.”

            Nothing in his body moved the way he was used to. Struggling, the Grackle Prince fell over, rolled, winding up with his beak against the loam. The color had settled for the preferred Vincent golden-yellow. A sign? He was not sure, but it was enough of a temporal foundation.

            “Get. Up.”

            A kick sent the prince rolling, his back thrust against a wall of blackbirds. They gawked at him in silence.

            There was a light pressure against his back wing, folded tight against his side. It pulsed two times, rocking Once-Vincent. Then another, stronger, and again, until he again was prone but along the stomach.

            His wings, freed, spread wide. The legion in front flapped its wings, and those behind followed suit. The generated airflow fed the Grackle Prince. Without thought, he lifted off the earth, hovered, twitched, then began to beat, and Once-Vincent was airborne.

            Group after another took off to follow. None were considered prey during this journey. Never a hive mind, they yet shared the joy of the day. They flew without question, trading leads, gliding on drafts crafted by their own and those near. As long as the Grackle Prince would fly, so would they.

            All flew after except for the Condor Elite. He watched the sky grow clear of black as the miles swallowed one after one. He squealed, turned in the other direction, and went to give the news to his Lavender Grace.

Now

            Dr. Maria went still.

            “Vincent, no. You don’t have to…I don’t think that you ‘have’ to die.”

            He shrugged. His face was ragged, drained of color. She could see the struggle he was placing on himself. Vincent noticed that and turned his head away from her pleading eyes.

            “Please, Vincent. I’m here.”

            Pause times infinity, but Maria was patient. He finally nodded.

            “Good. There has to be something….”

            A knocking cut her off, and then the door opened.

            “Dr. Maria,” Ms. Faye Smythe entered the room. Shutting the door, she stood by it.

            “Vincent.”

            He closed his eyes.

            “I know you’re awake. That was feeble.” She took a few steps closer into the room, setting her briefcase on the rolling meal table pushed off to the side. Faye clicked it open, removed a folder, and shut the case.

            She turned and stared at Vincent.

            “You’re in a shit load of trouble. First, your family members, and now the guard.”

“I did not kill my mother,” Vincent muttered. “I did not kill the guard.”

“Oh? Really. What about the man you called your ‘Cat-grandpa….”

            Dr. Maria saw Vincent’s body tense at that.

            Silence from Vincent.

            Ms. Smythe walked around the infirmary bed, staying out of reach.

            “I said…”

            “Yes, Faye. Yes. I killed it.”

            She shook her head.

            “It?”

            Vincent pushed his head deeper into the bed pillow.

            “It. You were there with me, Faye.”

Notan (then): Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 14: Notan (then)

            The first sharp pointed tip of an ebon feather burst through Vincent’s right forearm during that sleep. Vincent screamed himself awake, sweat-drenched, prone on his back, and surrounded by a host of black shapes. Head shifting, his eyes went to the pain.

Vincent gagged at the sight. His soft white skin, ripped open, weeping red-black. His focus shifted beyond the emerging quill, taking in the army of blackbirds. He froze. Their beady eyes were on his arm, beaks slightly ajar. A fluid dribble left a giant bird’s beak inside his peripheral eyesight. He heard a sizzle as it hit the ground near the bird’s talons.

Trembling, Vincent attempted to rise, but the pain sent him sprawling back down. He was gasping for breath when again he screamed, his neck arching back, his body seizing.

The assemblage hooted their approval. The multi-level noise thwacked his eardrums.

            Vincent’s eyelids shot open, his eyes bulging as he ground his teeth together. His lips pulled back, a grimace stretched. With watering eyes, Vincent took in flashes of distorted chromatics. The black of the birds, the reds of their tongues were offset by the white of his skin, the blood pouring out, the emergence of more black-blue pinions. His world was in a color schematic wobble, the skyscape palette constantly swishing.

            Pain erupted now from his left arm, then his legs. Vincent’s clothing faded to nothing as the ever-materializing feathers replaced them. He felt his body shrink into itself, bones rearranging. He cried out with each shift, each noise sounding less like Vincent and more birdlike.

            Stomach churning, Vincent turned his head, vomiting what little remained in his system of PB&J. His throat was on fire as his inner organs revolted around the change he was undergoing. He felt his legs crack and bend, his arms extend, his chest cavity grow round.

            Then his head. His head, as his face, was the last to go through metamorphosis. It narrowed and grew outwards. The feathers burst through what skin was left, the meat falling and lost. A grand beak formed from Vincent’s Romanesque nose and tight-lipped mouth. The slight distance in the bridge between Vincent’s eyes grew less as the eyes went round and full black.

            An “I’m tired” scream started in English and ended in Caw.

            A shadow passed overhead, momentarily blocking magenta sun rays. Once-Vincent’s head followed the massive form. An exceptionally long wingspan jutted from the bulky form. With its next passings, the landscape went orange, then blue, finally settling on golden again as the bird touched the ground next to Once-Vincent.

            It looked down at him, a bare black-red hue to its head, its long primary feathers appearing as sharp, fingered look. Grey-white feathers mixed in with the deepest blacks, all shining with the changing luster from the overhead suns.

            Suns, Once-Vincent noticed, and felt his chest tighten.

            “Finally.”

            Once-Vincent’s attention focused on the danger looming over him.

            “Tandem Advenit!” It screeched, raising its caruncle-laden beak high.

            “Gratis Princeps,” the multitude sang out.

            The condor lowered its head to speak to Once-Vincent. The voice was now familiar.

            “Welcome, Grackle Prince.

            Once-Vincent, the now Grackle Lord, felt his breath catch.

“It took you fucking long enough.”

Monochrome Variations: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 13: Monochrome Variations

 then

            Vincent found his way as he strode through colors.

            First beats, the tap tap tapping that Cat-grandpa drilled into him. Yet, unsatisfactory, for that was how Cat-grandpa broke through, shifting from one pathway to another. Vincent found this a narrow trench, but it morphed too quickly. Concentrate as he could; the tapping led to a different beat, a song he had just heard, fallen into, and the journey would unravel.

            Each time Vincent was backhanded, each one harsher. The last time, the sharp, sharp nails scored Vincent’s cheek and chin. Bloody tendrils ran down his face, mixing with his tears. The tears drew another blow. Vincent picked up the chair he had sat on, tossed it through the living room window, and rushed outside.

            Vincent ran over the waist-high green grass that dotted Cat-grandpa’s yard. The rusted gate was hanging open. Another infraction: keeping it locked, a duty Vincent often “forgot.” Screeching came from behind him as he leaped over the large rocks that obscured Cat-grandpa’s shack. He continued upwards, cresting the hill, and was out of sight.

            Stumbling, Vincent tripped over the upraised roots of the largest of the Cyprus trees. Before he tumbled down the slight decline, the colors assaulted him.

            Cat-grandpa was yowling for him.

            Greens. Violets. Browns. Blues, reds, golds, yellows, whites. They mixed, muddying the purity of each.

            When Vincent stopped rolling, his chest heaved, catching her breath, and he raised his arms to the Goldenrods in front of him. He went.

            Silence, ‘cept for the breeze that swayed the fronds.

            Vincent raised himself, seeing all things in a golden hue. The flowers, yes, but the sky, the clouds as well. His arms were still raised. His hands glowed gold, and pushing up his sleeves, he saw the color also permeating his forearms. Vincent smiled, imagining that his lips were gold, his teeth as well, and the tears he shed now were gold.

            He walked on and thought of all the colors passing him when he fell down the hill.

            Green, and all was green, and Vincent ran with the widest of smiles.

            He revisited each color, living in those moments, absorbing the varieties they offered. The golds and yellows were his favorite, and he stayed there the longest, but the blues found their way in. Vincent initially pushed them away, but the more the shades crept in, the more he grew to love them.

            All the colors pulsated, and Vincent felt at peace for the first time.

            Time had no meaning. Vincent traveled, meeting no one, happy that up to this point in his life, there had been no one he wanted to be with. Not his mother, nor his absent father, and not Cat-grandpa.

            Vincent sat when he grew tired and slept when needed.

            He found “I wish” by accident. He grew hungry, finding only berries and fruit along the way. Golden strawberries, white cherries, purple apples. Yet, he wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

            “I wished I had…” and he had a blue PB&J sandwich in his lap.

            Vincent was in his golden world when the black found him.

He was asleep at the time.

Lavender Grace: Vincent’s Descent – atoz blog challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 12: Lavender Grace

before

            Pure black against waves of lavender. Heads and beaks, eyes and feathers. And talons, claws, ripping sharp, tilling soil underneath. Silence from a noisome horde, attentive. The hunters arrived first, securing the landings. Heads cocked, they wait. Latecomers

 pecked, subdued. They will not do that again if they survive this meeting.

            Lavender Grace arrives after dark.

            She lands on a gathering of her raven elite, each bearing an equal portion of her hollow bones and belly weight. Her Grace has fed heartily, digging into the entrails delivered to her. Her journey was extended to the gathering. All black eyes are on her.

            Diving down from the black clouds, her Condor arrives.

            “Clamma pro-Regina!” It bellows.

            Pandæmonium. Every voice cries out for their Grace. Wings snap open, knocking over the weaker, set upon, for feasting happens. Blooded beaks and wild eyes return to the Condor, hovering to the side of their liege.

            The Condor barks and voices still. Her Grace waits.

            “Regina nostra, Gratia nostra!”

               As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

            As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

            As one: “Gratia Nostra!”

            Her Grace unfurled, puffing out her chest, her black feathers bristling with hints of jade and purples, of deep-hued blues, and blackest of blacks. One eye went to her Condor; the other scanned the sky—the barest of nods, one to the other.

            Her full attention went to the mob.

            “Grackle Prince! ” she thundered. “Find. No rest until you find, then destroy what surrounds him. Bring the Grackle Prince. To me. No rest. None. Find. Go!”

            With that, she jetted out of sight in less than a breath. Her Condor still hovered, glaring.

            The murders, the parliaments, the outrages, the flock dispersed.

            Only the feasted’s feathers remained where the conclave trampled the lavender fields.

after

            “I didn’t kill the guard.”

            “I know.”

            “You have to convince them. I’m tired, Maria. I am…”

            Pause.

            “Losing. They find me; they keep finding me; they keep coming through me.”

            “Vincent, I…I don’t know how to help you.”

            Vincent bit the inside of his cheeks. Saliva formed slowly, but his throat felt as if he had been the thousands screaming.

            “I may need to die, Maria.”

condor

               “Where are you, my portal, my conduit?”

               Cat-grandpa’s sharp nails tapped down into the wooden arms of the porch chair. He searched the skies.

Kaleidoscope-Around: Vincent’s Descent – AtoZ Blog Challenge

Vincent’s Descent

Chapter 11: Kaleidoscope-Around

Faye

            They had been running under a yellow sun, blue clouds, white sky, all agitated spirals. The air was brisk; it was hot, it howled, it caressed. She had touched his hand. No, he had touched hers. No. She. No.

            Vincent led the way, a zig ziggurat pathway that made no sense. A laugh lurched out of her, not caring. They were nude. Then she was sheathed in linen, and a wide-brimmed hat coalesced around her auburn hair, which had trailed after her, patterns weaving that fell apart with each step.

            Past the flowers, the trees, the greens, the golds, and diving into the clear water of a lake that appeared before them. Nude again, and the cool water licked her breasts. No. Vincent. She touched his back, smooth, and her hands ran up the nape of his head, kissing him, then pushing him under, the two of them, and she a bubble laughed at them as it broke the surface.

            Vincent was gentle, gentle rough, exploring hands under a sky that went dark with bright pinpricks of light that caused the lake water to crest and twirl. He was translucent, and she saw his eyes go from blue to green to black.

            She guided him inside, willing, hungry. His crooked smile. She bit his lip. It bled, and she kissed it clean, but it continued to bleed as they continued to explore, and his hips were a piston, and she took each thrust and gave in return, and they cried out at the same time.

            Mistake, for that brought the flock, and they disapproved. One at first sat on a stalk of golden flowers and cawed raw, drawing two others. Three, who squealed, putting their heads together so three razor beaks looked like one.

            Faye screamed as they came at her. Vincent blocked the first strike, missed on the second, took the hit on the third. He grabbed one, gripping its wings to its body, squeezing with clenched hands, white knuckles, and Faye screamed again as the bird imploded in blood and feathers.

            “run,” Vincent cried, flinging the carcass over his shoulder, reaching out for another of the blackbirds. Faye froze as Vincent tore a wing off of their attacker.

            “run,” he struggled to get out as the first of the birds went for his eyes; the membrane reflected the sun’s reflected light on the moon. Faye stood naked under the onslaught of feathers and light, lovemaking gone gone gone.

            And she heard Vincent say, “I wish.”

            And she was gone. And she was afraid. 

            The dreamscape repeated itself, reforming, taking different paths, the color palette constantly changing. But the birds remained the same, and their sex was still vivid, the lust ripe, and Faye woke up once to pour another glass of whisky only to fade back into the world she rejected when awake.

The shape in the bed

            “I’m tired.”

Dr. Maria

            Maria heard. She stood, going to his side, touching only the bed railing.

            “Vincent?”

            “I’m tired, Maria.”

            “I know.” She bent close over to whisper. “You’re back.”

            “I didn’t kill the guard,” he whispered back.

            Pause.

            “I know.”