The air around me hummed with the caffeine-fueled energy of humans starting their daily routine. My nostrils were flooded with the scent of freshly ground coffee, pastries, bacon and. . . her. I opened my eyes just as she paused at my table. 

“Good morning, Cedric! What are we drawing today?” she questioned. Her face was flushed with the pinkness of exertion. The cafe was very busy this morning. 

I glanced down at the blank page of my notebook and took in a deep breath, savoring her scent of lilies and coffee. “I’m thinking something to do with the rain,” I replied.

Irena smiled back at me and I basked in it. “I love the rain,” she said with a sigh. “Other people find it gloomy but I just find it . . . peaceful,” she almost whispered the last part.

My dark eyes met her blue for a second and then she said “so, the usual today?” I nodded the affirmative and off she went. I watched as she glided through the maze of tables, taking orders and spreading smiles as she went. I always loved to watch her move. I’ve never seen anything more graceful.

When I met Irena, she had been a dancer. I flipped through the pages of my sketchbook and stopped. There she was. The only thing missing from my drawing of the moment I first saw her was her graceful movement. Everything else I had spent over one hundred years perfecting. Her blonde hair wasn’t just blonde, it was a shade between the rays of sunlight shining through the clouds and the golden sweetness of honey. Her lips were ideally shaped to fit mine and their softness whisked my roughness away. I can still remember how red they turn from our playful kisses when she’d tease me to bite her. I’d only nip her lip and the blood would fill the thin skin there, making a cherry look pale. Her skin is milky white and just as smooth. Oh and her eyes. Any man could get lost in their oceanic depth. The shade of blue changes with her mood. Bright blue for happiness, light-almost-white blue for anger, and a deep dark blue for sadness. And those are just her colors. I could talk about the shape of her for hours. Hell, I think about it all day long. 

My sketchbook is filled with drawings of only her. Luckily, she doesn’t think I’m a creep because I’m careful to disguise them so she only sees what I want her to see on each page. A little magic can do that for you. 

Irena returned with my coffee, apologizing that she was too busy to talk much right now and hurried onto her other tables. She knew I’d be here awhile and I knew she’d talk to me when she had time. I sipped the mud brown liquid in my mug and felt my soul do a little dance as the first drops warmed my body. The feeling of it brought me back to the memories of Irena’s skin warming mine. It was always on the days where the sun was hidden behind clouds and the rain dripped from the sky. I would impatiently wait for the rainy days I could spend with her but I couldn’t walk in the sun until a hundred years ago, with the help of a witch. If I couldn’t spend the day with her, we’d spend the night together. However, the days were more fun. I fingered the feather I wore on a chain, preserved by it’s magical quality. The memories flowed through me as I finally put my pencil to the page. 

The last day we spent together it rained steadily all day. Irena persistently attempted to splash me by jumping in the puddles as we held hands. She giggled after each effort. She’d jump and I’d keep her from coming down again by holding her in the air. Then the routine would repeat itself. She’d try to distract me by pointing out something in our environment but I’m not a fan of getting wet so I was much too attentive to the moment her feet left the ground. Who am I kidding? There was never a time I wasn’t paying some attention to her. 

We were walking the streets of Seattle, Washington on that rainy day on May 7, 1918. A lot of people were out and about in spite of the rain due to the warm air. A band was performing under the awning of the local bakery. Irena could never resist the urge to dance. She grasped my hand tighter and pulled herself into me. In one hand we held our umbrellas, in the other we held each other. We gracefully moved together to the music. A crowd gathered to watch us but it was clear the spotlight was on Irena. Her liveliness and childishness always attracted people to her. When the song concluded, we embraced for a kiss. When the kiss started to heat up, we broke apart and headed for home. At home, we savored each other’s touch and kissed with a passion that developed into a different kind of dance. 

Later that night, while I was painting a portrait of her, she said to me “Cedric, I want to share my life with you.”

I flinched slightly at her words. Irena and I had discussed the traditions of my kind in regards to mating and marriage weeks ago. I am not ordinary. She knew this from the beginning because she is not so ordinary herself. I am a vampire. She is an angel. I looked up from my painting to get the exact feathery detail of her wings. I preferred to paint her as she was, not who she pretended to be in front of humans. Her white wings filled the room and shimmered in the dim light. I could tell she was feeling nervous from my silence when she started absently stroking her wing. 

“Darling, I don’t know what will happen if we do the blood ceremony,” I finally replied. I was pleading with my eyes for her to drop it but she was too fiery for that.

“I don’t care what anybody else thinks. I don’t care that we’ve been shunned by our kind because of our love. I just want you,” she stated defiantly. Her eyes became such a light blue they were almost white as she dared me to deny her. 

I sighed. I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument. It’s not like I didn’t want the same thing she did. I was just afraid as to what was going to happen. The blood ceremony was a unique kind of magic. It was something usually completed between two vampires or from vampire to human, not vampire to angel. The exchange of blood forms a bond so that one can call the other and hear the other’s thoughts and feelings. 

In the end, I decided to do it. We joined in the flesh and I fed from her right above her heart. She cut me above mine and drank from the blood that flowed there. After she fed from me, I smeared my blood on her heart and she smeared hers on mine. Then we put our hands to each other’s hearts and there she was in my mind. I could feel her sureness in her love for me. I felt her warmth and happiness surround my soul and caress it. We were one. Irena and I drifted to sleep after that.

Cedric! I heard Irena scream my name and woke with a jolt. The bed was cold and empty next to me. I could feel where she was though, through our blood connection. I threw on pants and ran out the door. I was sprinting as fast as I could at 3 am, the witching hour. I didn’t care that I was getting soaked from the continued rainfall. All I cared about was the fear I felt streaming from her. I finally found her alone in a field. She was suspended in the air with her wings spread out. I watched in horror as lightning struck her and she was gone. Her wings drifted to the ground and turned to ash. I ran to the remains of her wings and collected one lone white feather. All other trace of her was gone. 

It took me years to find a witch knowledgeable enough to explain to me what happened. Apparently our connection had angered God and he chose to punish Irena by making her a fallen angel. The witch explained to me that fallen angels are mostly still angels but without wings and without their memories. She told me that her soul would inhabit a body until death and then she’d be reborn again. Also, I could still feel her connection and use it to find her in each body she inhabited. That’s how I found her again. I haven’t let her leave me for long since. Each new life, she has no memory of me. I keep my distance for fear that something worse will happen to her if I get too close again. The only thing the witch didn’t know was if Irena could ever get her wings or memories back. 

Today marks exactly one hundred years since she fell from grace. Over the years, I’ve slowly lost hope that we’ll ever be together like before. The feather I wear on a necklace is the one I pulled from her ashes all those years ago. The witch said it might be a sign of hope. That’s the only thing that’s kept me trying. I started going to church. I can’t actually enter a church but I watch mass online. I also began volunteering my time to help the sick and needy. I’ve read the bible countless times. I don’t know what else to do. The only thing that has kept me sane is art. However, all I can draw is her. I’ve had multiple exhibits, all under different names to hide my identity and they’ve made me quite a bit of money. I didn’t do it for myself, I did it for her. She urged me over and over to introduce my art to the world. I finally did but it was too late. 

“More coffee, Cedric?” Irena’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. 

“Yes, thanks,” I smiled at her and realized she must’ve been by multiple times to refill my cup already and I hadn’t noticed. 

“You seem out of it today. Are you still going to be joining us for yoga?”

Her sister, Winnie, and her own the coffee shop together. They didn’t want it to be the same old boring coffeeshop that is on every street in Seattle, so they added yoga to the mix. Every day there’s at least one yoga session run by the two of them while one of their employees serves the coffee. I participate every time because it’s the only time I find peace anymore. 

I nodded.

“Great!” She said as she peered at my artwork of the day. “Your artwork never ceases to amaze me.” She reached out and traced the lines with her hand. On the paper was her, suspended in the air with a lightning bolt through her body. All she saw were birds. 

“I’m no Picasso but I try,” I humbly replied. 

The yoga session began in late afternoon. We went into sun salutations and progressively altered ourselves into more difficult positions. Even during the yoga sessions, I was keeping tabs on Irena. My eyes were closed so I relied on my hearing to find her breathing among the rest. I let my mind empty as we entered tree pose. I startled when I felt Irena’s hands on me. She was making slight adjustments to my posture. Her hand accidentally grazed my feather necklace as she pulled away. It was then I felt something change. The air became charged with electricity. Lightning connected her hand to that feather which immediately turned black and Irena shied away from me. I forced myself to look at her although I was terrified of what I’d see. She was standing there, her wings stretched out in their full glory with only a few changes: her wings were as black as night, her eyes were a piercing red instead of blue, and her hair was white. In those piercing red eyes I saw recognition. 

I held my breath and realized the scene around us hadn’t changed. None of the humans had realized what had happened. She went over to Winnie and whispered something in her ear. Winnie nodded and assumed leading role of the session. 

I got up off the floor and followed her out of the coffeeshop. We turned to face each other.

“I remember it all. You were always there,” Irena smiled and took my hand. Before I knew it, her feet left the ground and I was splashed with the water from the nearest puddle.

The post Zen and the Art of Waitressing first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

I traced my name across the spine of the book, “SHATTER ME by Haisley Adams.” Careful not to pick it up, lest someone sees a floating novel. I still couldn’t believe it: my book was being sold at little corner booths like this all over the world. The fog was so thick today you could cut it with a knife. So I was able to grace the streets of Seattle undetected. It’s the main reason why I chose to settle here. It’s almost as if the sun shies away from the place.

 Long ago, my mom traded the soul of her first born daughter to a demon for someone to love her. After I was born she realized the mistake she made. She used her magic to make me invisible. But instead of my physical properties being akin to smoke, they are akin to glass. Kind of sounds like a cosmic joke, huh? The thing you so badly want to protect becomes made of glass?

Anyway, it’s been centuries since then. My mother is long gone. One of the side effects to my mother’s tamperings with my body was giving me eternal life. Which is how I find myself still alive at the ripe age of 222. I don’t know if I’ve aged well since I haven’t ever seen myself. 

You would think that it would be easy to hide if you were invisible. But you can still be touched, still be heard, and still leave a mark. My mother would be disappointed to know that being invisible wasn’t enough. Eric, the demon she dealt with, found me. It only took him 222 years but still. 

I’ve grown tired of trying to exist without existing. I’ve made repeated attempts to fit in. A few times people thought I was a ghost and tried to exorcise me. That was fun. You know, maybe in another life I would’ve kept going down that path. I probably would have a few horror movies made after me by now! I watch people communicate and long to gaze into someone’s eyes and see mine reflected back. There is no life to live when you’re made of glass. 

I turned the corner onto an old residential street. When I reached my home, I made my way up the worn stone steps and let myself in. Sitting at a table doing a puzzle, was John. His glasses were slightly askew and his cigarette was ashing on the floor. He was too focused to notice. Somehow his arthritic fingers couldn’t keep him from picking up his puzzle pieces.I sat down in the chair across from him with a creak and picked up a piece to join him. 

“Good afternoon Ellie, dear,” his voice came out raspy from the smoke. In response, I patted his hand. 

Bless the old man’s heart he thought I was the ghost of his late wife. He must’ve really loved her since he lets her “ghost” reside here. It’s like winning the lottery for me. I’ve had a stable home in Seattle for a few years now. Ellie was a writer so John thinks nothing of it when I use the computer to write. It has allowed me to finally communicate with the world. Unfortunately, it also gave Eric a huge beacon to use to find me. But I knew it was going to do that.

A week after my book hit the shelves, Eric found me in the park. Of course I knew he would show up soon. I could smell his scent of woodsmoke before he announced his presence. He couldn’t tell, but he had approached me from the front, mistaking it for my back. I had a good clear view of the soft brown hair brushing his eyelashes and below that, his chestnut eyes. For once, I didn’t shy away in the other direction. I stood there in the sun and let it reflect off of me, smiling when it blinded him.

“I haven’t come here to bring you to death’s door,” he began. “In 222 years I’ve found many other souls to do my bidding. Plus, you interest me.”

“I don’t want to be invisible anymore,” my voice caught in my throat from disuse. 

Eric propped himself up against a tree and said “Haisley, I’m not the one meant to break your glass.”

“Then who is?” I countered. He only shrugged and was gone. The bastard was as mysterious as the Cheshire Cat. He even had that blasted knowing grin down pat.

I sat on the park bench and pondered our conversation for a while. It was then I decided I was going to try to break my glass. Of course, I had tried before but fear of Eric had held me back from really putting my mind to it.

I tried hitting myself with everything I could think of. Let me tell you, it’s incredibly hard to smash glass by hitting yourself when your flesh still feels every strike. After healing from those wounds, I hiked into the mountains and tried shrieking. I shrieked until my throat was raw and I was coughing up blood. 

At this point, I’m feeling pretty damn angry.

After working on the puzzle with John, I decided to walk back out into downtown. The city was aglow with streetlights and the distant rays of the setting sun. I paused at a pastry cart getting ready to shut down for the day and nicked myself a raspberry danish, leaving cash in its empty space. My mouth flooded with the sweetness of it as I shoved the soft dough past my lips before someone saw a floating bakery item. A breeze blew through the street, in it, the charged energy of a coming storm brought goosebumps. I tried to relish in the fact that I was alive and no longer had Eric to fear. Even if I still couldn’t be seen. In the middle of my musings, I noticed a man carrying an armful of books and as he passed a trash can, he dumped one in it. In its fall I glimpsed the cover. My cover. 

“What are you doing?!” I demanded, no longer concerned about what others might think. The man looked around in confusion as the other pedestrians walked on, ignoring him. 

“That is not trash! That is my book! I’m Haisley Adams!”

The sound of glass shattering assaulted my ears like the crack of a gunshot.

The post Shatter Me first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

It had been three weeks and five days since Darya came to shore and there’d been no sign of Marlowe. It’s been ten years since she saw his figure fade in the distance, waving from the sandy beaches of Florida. Darya wiggled her freshly manicured pink toes in the sand, enjoying the feel of the fine grains creating friction against her skin. The sun from the past three weeks had tanned her skin to a golden brown. The joy she should be feeling from being on shore was being eaten up by her longing to see Marlowe. They always met on this beach and enjoyed the short time they had to spend together. The conch shell around her neck was already ringing with the sound of the ocean, calling her back to sea. Marlowe called it her “shell phone.” She wasn’t ready to answer it. She wasn’t ready to trade her legs in for fins. Her mood soiled despite the beautiful day, she got up and gracefully walked towards the bar. Heads turned, male and female, but she took no notice. She’d always been beautiful, always would be. When she ordered a margarita on the rocks her voice was an enchanting melody, floating into nearby ears. It was then she saw him. Marlowe. He was leaning against one of the columns holding up the roof to the outdoor bar. She made to rush towards him but something in his posture made her pause. She could see he was on the phone, his face was lit up and out of his mouth came words like “baby” and “sweetheart.” The conversation ended with an “I love you too.” That was the final piece that crushed her heart. He looked up from his phone and their eyes met. Marlowe stood there in shock. He shook his head, mouthed “I’m sorry” and hurried to the parking lot. Darya knew it was bound to happen. She knew he was bound to move on someday but never let herself dwell on the topic. There’d been a long string of men she’d visit every ten years and then they’d find someone else. Start a family. Forget about her. She viewed it as a curse, the curse of being of and belonging to the sea. 

After another drink, a man sat down next to her. He was handsome, blonde hair, tanned, and tall. He ran his hands through his hair and she felt sprinkles of sand land on her shoulder amongst droplets of saltwater. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he inquired.

Darya nodded her head and pieced together a smile for him.

“I noticed you and that guy earlier, on the phone. You’re better off without him.”

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Darya asked.

“Dylan.” he replied. “Yours?”

“Darya.” 

“Literally means sea. Looks like the name fits you,” he winked. 

“You have no idea.”

“Anyway, you’re better off without that guy. He’s up here with a different girl every week,” Dylan gossipped.

Darya’s heart broke a little further. “Thanks. I guess you’re right.”

“Don’t look so sad! Like I said, you’re better off without him.”

Darya shrugged. She never liked the part of the relationship where it ends. The salty taste of a love gone bad never washed away easily. The string of men she’d had in her life had left her feeling empty and alone. Most things about being a mermaid were beneficial but long life and the inability to remain human made matters of the heart difficult. Her mother always told her that “the one” would show up someday but Darya had her doubts. She has waited one hundred years and still no such man has appeared. Becoming human for a month every ten years has come to be something she dreads instead of longs for. It’s hard to spend that much time away from a man pondering about what he is doing without her. Dylan touched her hand, bringing her back to the bar.

“I’m flying to New Orleans tomorrow. I have an extra ticket. You want to go?” Dylan asked.

Shocked, Darya’s instinct was to decline. How could she get on a plane with a stranger? 

“I don’t know. Isn’t there someone else you’d like to take?” she asked politely.

“It was for my wife and I but she divorced me a few months ago. I’d already bought the tickets and they were nonrefundable.”

This time Darya touched his hand, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s ok. At the rate we were going it was bound to happen eventually. We are just too different.”

Darya understood. She gave him her hotel’s address and he said he’d pick her up at six in the morning. Darya finished her drink and went to her room to pack.

The next morning Dylan picked her up precisely at six. They boarded their plane without mishap and off they headed to New Orleans. Darya had never ridden in a plane before and held Dylan’s hand to dispel some of her fear. It’s one thing to swim and a whole other thing to fly. In the few moments where she could set her fear aside, she stared out the window with her mouth hanging open in awe. The world below her no longer looked like Earth. It looked like a toy set that toddlers usually play with. The mat has roads amongst landscapes printed across it. The toddler guides the cars through its journey on roads and terrain. Except in her view there weren’t any giant grubby toddler hands making the cars move.

When they left the airport the sun lit up the historic buildings and bustling people preparing to party. It was after all, Mardi Gras. And what better place to celebrate than New Orleans? A beautiful city with lots of history, variety, and enthusiasm. The streets were blocked with people parading in blurs of pink, yellow, orange, and other bright colors. Dylan and Darya joined the fun. They walked bar to bar. They danced and met new people. They explored the world. 

The next morning, Darya’s shell phone was roaring in her ears. It was time to go home. She left a note for Dylan, thanking him for his kindness and wonderful time. It was with much regret that she was leaving this beautiful place. She had never enjoyed her time on land as much as the past two days. She didn’t care anymore about having a man at her side. She only cared about trying new things and going new places. Darya wanted to learn everything there was to know about humans and their way of life. She had fallen in love with the human existence. Brooding over this, she walked in the early pre-dawn light. The waves’ call getting louder as she approached. Finally at the water’s edge, she glanced back at the sleepy city and whispered, “I love you.” Her first steps into the warm ocean no longer felt like coming home. She waded into the salty sea but it kept pushing her back. Her shell phone no longer called with the ocean but with the calls of land. It was emanating the sounds of hooves click-clacking on pavement and voices of people, amongst other sounds she hadn’t heard yet. She pushed harder and harder against the waves but they kept pushing her to shore with the morning tide. Eventually she was back to digging her toes into the sand, finally understanding she found her true love. 

The post The Phone Call first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

Dolly sat at the old worn bench and traced the initials “D + B” carefully carved in the wood. She was waiting for her lover. Everyday they sit here and talk about their children and grandchildren. It’s like a game to them, trying to see who knows the latest news from their children’s busy lives. Penny, their 16 year-old granddaughter had recently acquired a boyfriend and Dolly chuckled to herself recalling the teasing she did yesterday. She couldn’t wait to giggle over it with her best friend and husband, Bert. 

Dolly impatiently tapped her watch and noting the time, uttered under her breath “that’s strange.” Bert was five minutes late. That man has never been late a day in his life. She settled a little deeper into the seat and took in her surroundings. A warm breeze blew across the park and ruffled the feathers of a duck and her ducklings making their way towards the pond. She smiled as she saw a young couple approach the park’s gazebo to take their vows of marriage. At a bench further down, a woman dressed in scrubs sat with her legs crossed. Dolly pretended Bert was there, guessing what the woman’s occupation was and what crisis she was going through. In their old age, and even before I suppose, Dolly and Bert enjoyed sitting at this bench and watching the world go by. Their lives were always so busy with balancing their love of one another and caring for their four children. This bench was their meeting place to just breathe and be next to one another without distraction. In the family this bench was known as “the love bench” because it was where Dolly and Bert met, kissed after their first date, got engaged, and where they conceived their son, Charles. But that last part is a secret. They even got married in that gazebo across the way. Just like that young couple. The bride’s red hair reminded Dolly of her own, long since gone white and light like the downy fluff on the ducklings. 

“Excuse me mam, can I sit with you?” the bride asked. 

“Sure! A bride should have anything and everything on her wedding day,” Dolly replied as she scooted over a little more to accommodate for the bride’s gown. “Do you need a breather?” Dolly said knowingly.

The bride gave a half smile and sat down next to the old woman with a sigh. “Yeah. This whole wedding thing is exhausting.” 

“Well, you have quite a handsome man over there,” Dolly said with a wink and a nudge. The girl giggled and thanked her.

“I’m not going to ask you if you’re happy. Everyone asks that. But does he make you laugh?” Dolly inquired. 

“Always,” the bride answered with an ear-to-ear grin.

“Oh! How wonderful! You’ll never have a dull moment then. I know from experience. Sometimes I wonder if my husband has a serious bone in his body!” she said animatedly. The two of them had a good laugh. 

“But seriously dear, you’ll look back on this day and remember it as the beautiful day it is, despite any issues that crop up.”

The bride’s eyes watered and her voice came out a little choked when she said “You’re right. Thank you, this was just what I needed.”

Then the bride took her leave and Dolly found herself once again waiting for Bert to join her. 

The next day, Dolly finally got to sit at the love bench with Bert. He took her wrinkled hand and brought it to his lips. 

“Wow, I’m sitting next to you, beautiful? I should go buy into the lottery with my luck today,” Bert said playfully. Oh, she never got tired of his silly pick up lines. 

Dolly laughed and reached for his hand. Once their knobby knuckles were entwined, she rested her head on his shoulder. 

She looked up at him with blue eyes twinkling and said, “What trouble did you get into today?” 

She knew full well what Bert did but she wanted to feel his chest vibrate with the sound of his deep voice. She wasn’t disappointed.

“I went and visited Julie and Penny.”

“And how is our darling daughter and granddaughter?”

“Great! Penny was telling me all about her trip to the zoo for her first grade field trip. Did you know they have baby snow leopards up there right now? I helped Penny pick out name suggestions to submit.” Bert said as he ran his hand through his receding chocolate-brown hair. The specks of gray in it were few and far between.

“Oh yeah? What are the names you two came up with?” Dolly inquired.

“Well, she picked “Barbie,” of course. Would you expect her to come up with anything else?” he chuckled. “I asked her why. Her answer was “Because she’s beautiful.” So I told her the name I was picking for the other one was “Dolly.” She asked me why and my answer was “Because she’s beautiful.” Penny agreed.”

“Aww that’s cute. Are you trying to soften me up?” Dolly said, sitting up to give him the squinty eyes. 

In mock horror, Bert said “Goodness no! That would be so rude.” After a pause, he began again “You know, I got a whiff of some delicious chicken pot pie on the way here. Do you think you could make that for dinner?”

“Ah, there it is,” Dolly laughed. “Yes, I’ll make that tonight.”

“Sounds good to me!” Bert stood and offered Dolly his hand. “Let’s go home.”

 The lady in the scrubs that always sat a few benches down was a nurse from River Oaks Nursing Home. The nurse approached Dolly to take her back to the nursing home for her cooking class and was deeply saddened by the loss of a beautiful soul. However, she was grateful that Dolly had a good day yesterday considering the stage of her Alzheimer’s. The death of a patient sometimes sits a little easier on the heart when it happens like that. At the funeral Penny clung to a picture of her in her wedding dress sitting next to her grandma, Dolly, on the love bench. 

The post The Love Bench first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.