A Bull For Strength

(This is the fifth installment of the My Alternate series. If you haven't already, read the first here.)

Shark dropped the streamers and cursed. He climbed down the step stool and picked them up, returning to aggressively tape them on the doorknob with a triumphant grin.

When he got back down, Linnea appeared around the corner, her arms full of grey, black, and white balloons.

“You think this is enough?” She asked.

“Absolutely not.” Shark said, at the same time Winsley called from the other side of the room, “It’s never enough!”

Streamers, balloons, and birthday signs covered the entire apartment floor to ceiling. They’d spent all morning preparing for Whisper’s birthday. Shark wanted everything to be perfect. Out of all the alternate identities in their head, Whisper came out the least, beat only by Sahar. Shark had cared for her since they were small, protected her and mentored her. She trusted him completely and he watched out for her. When she’d chosen this day to be her birthday three years ago, he had done everything in his power to make sure that day, and all the birthdays to come, would be the one day where she could be happy, where she could feel like a kid again.

Shark, Winsley, and Linnea finished hanging up all the decorations they had on hand and the three of them stood back to admire their work.

“She’ll love it.” Shark nodded in approval. “It’s perfect.”

Linnea smiled and her eyes flit to Shark’s.

“Is it time?” She asked.

He met her gaze. “It’s time.”

Shark sat down on the floor, crossing his legs underneath him. He shut his eyes and went into their innerworld, an imaginary forest inside their head where they’d constructed a half-hazard treehouse with a room for everyone. They even had a little library and a kitchen. Down on the ground were little logs surrounding an ever-burning campfire that served as their meeting area. Whisper sat on one of those logs, her little legs swaying underneath her, her black hair tied up in pigtails with little black bows, wearing a dark grey dress and black leggings.

Shark knelt before Whisper with gentle eyes. “You ready, sweetheart?”

She nodded avidly, and Shark held out his hand. She placed her small fingers in his and he walked her to a little patch of forest that was darker than the rest that represented the body and who controlled it.

Whisper stepped forward into the darkness and Shark stepped back.

The transition felt as though a different lens were coming over their eyes. Shark’s perspective slid away, along with the strength he carried and his protective instincts, replaced by Whisper’s gentle disposition, her quiet mind, and the soft way she held her limbs.

Whisper opened her eyes and found Winsley and Linnea sitting across from her.

“Hi.” She murmured.

Winsley smiled. “Hi, sweetie. Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday, Whisper.” Linnea said.

Whisper’s eyes slid past them to the rainbow streamers, happy birthday signs, and balloons cluttering their apartment. Her lips turned up into a little smile.

Whisper never aged, stuck at seven, but she always loved celebrating her birthday. She’d chosen it three years ago after they’d moved in with Winsley. She’d picked through the calendar until she found a month and a day that felt right.

April 11th, she’d chosen. It felt special, and it belonged solely to her.

“Cover your eyes, Whisper.” Winsley grinned as she got to her feet. “Don’t want to spoil the surprise!”

Whisper placed her hands over her eyes. Her body felt too big for her, her limbs clunky and disproportionate to what she associated with. She’d gotten used to it over the years, but it never felt quite right, after all, their body was 22 and she was 7.

Winsley returned and set something on the floor before her. Whisper heard the click of a lighter and her face lit up. She spread her fingers and peeked through them, and Linnea cried out in protest. Winsley just laughed.

Whisper dropped her hands and a brilliant grin lit up her face at the sight of the beautiful chocolate ice cream cake laid out before her with seven black candles in a circle on the top.

Whisper leaned forward and scooped a piece of icing off the top and stuck it in her mouth.

“Hey!” Winsley cried out as Linnea laughed.

Whisper giggled and looked up at them with mischievous eyes.

Linnea fetched a knife and they cut out three pieces and ate them on the floor. Once they’d all finished, Winsley and Linnea left to put up the dishes and get the presents, and Whisper sat alone in the middle of the apartment, quiet, but with a loud mind.

Longing pinched at her chest and she lowered her head, fighting off the sudden burn of tears. As wonderful as this day was, as lovely as it was to be cared for by someone, it wasn’t enough. Whisper wanted their body to be young again. She wanted to have a party full to bursting with kids her own age. She wanted to fit in and feel like a real kid again.

But that was impossible.

And it hurt.

She would never get to be a normal kid. She was the opposite one, trapped in a body too big for her, having endured something no kid should ever have to endure. It had made her into who she was. It had created her.

A part of her wished it hadn’t.

Her existence was mostly pain. It was her job, her duty to hold the pain, to hold the suffering and the horror. She knew it well, and it had become her home, her safe place. But every once in a while, every blue moon, she wanted something more.

Winsley and Linnea returned with her presents and she pasted on a smile as she opened them, and the more she opened, the deeper into her mind her wishes sank, and the more real her smile became. She unwrapped some of her favorite toys and games and played with Winsley and Linnea until day turned to night.

Winsley started on the dishes and Linnea picked up the floor. Whisper settled down on their old, worn-out couch and wrapped herself into a blanket. Exhaustion crept through her limbs and she shut her eyes, listening to her quiet breathing. She slipped away into the deep recesses of their mind and Season, who had been tossing herbs into the fire in their mind and watching it change colors, stepped forward into the body.

Season shrugged the blanket off as she sat up. She brushed a hand through their curly orange hair and looked down in disgust at their soft black shorts and grey t-shirt. Season had a more extravagant style: gowns and shawls and the occasional cloak and hood. She liked to feel elegant and powerful. After all, on the inside of their head, she was a witch. She could manipulate the reality in their innerworld, make potions with her garden of potent herbs, and even soothe or heighten the emotions of the others by casting spells over them. And, as her namesake suggested, she controlled the seasons in the forest. She dictated when the leaves turned red and brown, when they fell, when the flowers bloomed, and the rains came. She kept the forest, and their emotions, balanced.

On the outside, however, her powers were far less visible. She still believed in magic. It was a part of who she was, but out here, it took a different form.

Season rose to her feet and Linnea glanced up, arms full of wrapping paper. Season cast her a sly smile and Linnea’s eyes lit up.

“Season?”

The witch nodded and approached her girlfriend. She lifted the wrapping paper from Linnea’s arms and tossed it on the table behind them. Then she slid her fingers over Linnea’s waist and tugged her close.

“I’ve missed you.” She breathed.

Linnea smiled and she wrapped her arms around Season’s neck.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” She murmured. “After all, it’s been, what, three weeks?”

Season leaned down and touched her lips to Linnea’s. Linnea’s eyes fluttered closed, and she kissed back gently.

“Ahhem.”

Linnea pulled back and Season scowled.

Winsley stood a foot away with her arms crossed. She arched a brow.

“What?” Season complained. “I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

Winsley rolled her eyes.

Season slipped her hand into Linnea’s and pulled her towards the bedroom.

“Want to do my makeup, love?” She crooned.

Winsley muttered something under her breath, and they all laughed.

Season rooted through the closet for the only two pieces of clothing that belonged to her, a black cloak and a lovely pink gown that matched the shade of her hair in the innerworld, or at least the shade she wore most often. She had a penchant for pastels and changed her hair color every few days.

Linnea piled Season’s makeup on the floor and Winsley watched and commented as she decorated her girlfriend’s face. Season changed into her gown and cloak as Winsley brought out a bottle of champagne. The girls finished the day’s celebration with laugher and cheers, movies and decadent chocolate-covered almonds.

It was past 1 am when they saw Linnea out the door, and immediately afterward Winsley headed to bed. Season stood in the middle of the living room with nothing to distract her from the turmoil inside of her head.

Phoebe sat in front of the fire, a deep grief in her heart. Shards lay on her bed, tucked away in the far corners of the forest, a dark anger spinning inside of her. Thea huddled in the dredges of the library, devouring books that were her only comfort. And Dalia huddled on her bedroom floor, crying broken, self-loathing tears.

All of them were filled to the brim with negativity. Ever since their uncle had died, since Dalia had killed him to protect them, nothing had been the same. Four years of blissful freedom, of hard work and independence had been torn away in an instance. Season wanted her family back.

She gathered up an armful of candles and laid them out in a circle on the floor. Then she retrieved a small box from underneath their bed and set it before her, shutting off the last of the lights and lighting all but one of the nine candles. She slid a key into the box’s lock and clicked it open.

One by one, she took out the items within and laid them in a circle within the candles.

One of their mother’s gold earrings for Phoebe. A blossom for Thea. A piece of hay for Theo. A shard of glass for Shards. A shark figurine for Shark. A small, cracked pottery chalice for Dalia. A feather for Whisper. A whisk for Luciana. And finally, a vile of ash for Dare. Sahar had asked not to be included in Season’s spell.

She closed her eyes and drew from the passionate energy of the candle flame, envisioning them stretching up into the palms of her hands. She brought the last item out of the box, a plastic bull figurine, and placed it in the middle of the circle. She could feel the bull’s courage, its determination, its strength and perseverance, and she pushed the energy into it. She took the qualities of the bull and stretched them out in tendrils, connecting them one by one to each of the representations of her little family.

She pushed the last of the bull’s energy into the items and withdrew her connection. She blew out the candles one by one and returned the items to the box. She picked up the bull with cautious fingers and placed it gently atop the mantle.

She would give them the strength and determination they would need to get through this, to pick themselves back up and piece themselves together again.

Her eyes flit to the little plastic bull. It was just a trinket, but she knew her belief would give it its power.