life

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Angel In The Snow

Angel In The Snow
by Miles H. Rost

The Witch of Winter. Snow fairy. The Winter Wife. Yuki-Onna.

She was called many different names from the time of her youth, referred to in legends. She was one of many, but not as many as others. She wasn’t a monster,though, like what many people thought.

Her skin was a beautiful alabaster, her hair nearly crystalline in appearance. Out of the sun, it looked a beautiful strawberry blonde color. She was dressed in a shorter yukata that came down to the knees, colored white, with broad and wide sleeves, along with a salmon-colored sash across her waist. To the uninitiated eye, she would have been described as a young, teenaged beauty.

However, to quote Bob Dylan, “The times they are a-changin’.” With the internet, more people found out and knew about the legend of the Yuki-Onna. As a result, more people were scared, or were fascinated but didn’t do anything about it as human instinct is to avoid things that mean death.

She remembered hearing about the stories from her mother. While there were many who took to the traditional way of freezing their mates to death, and joining them in whatever afterlife there was, she wasn’t one who would do that. She was different, and to her kind, an outcast. She wanted what the humans had.

She sat on a cliff, overlooking a lake that was thawing. She sighed as she kept thinking about her love, whoever he was. She looked at the melting snow,  a sign of the springtime that was to come and the summer that would be tough. She thought about leaving her native land, going to a new land where she may be more accepted. She heard about the Australian snow fairies, who make their homes in the highlands of the east coast; and even the Rocky Mountain Yuki-Onna, the rare and yet most striking of the snow fairies in the mountains of America and Canada.

She didn’t have the income to move, however. Because of this realization, she slid further into her reflections. She sighed as a slight chilly air flowed from her mouth into the air.

She heard a slight crunching behind her, and she immediately shifted around to see who was coming. She waited, patiently, hearing the slow movement of rock and the groaning of someone who sounded quite masculine. Waiting patiently, she sat placidly as the form of the newcomer came into view.

The man was brown-haired, young, and a slight bit overweight. He didn’t look unhealthy, but he could easily shed a few pounds if he so chose. He reached the overlook where she was and sat down.

“Hello there, love. Looks like…WHOA-!”

He looked over the lake, the beauty of it all flowing into his eyes and piercing his brain. The deep blue of the lake, contrasted with the grayish white of the melting sheets of ice, and the deep, dark green evergreen trees that blanketed the landscape. The sun shone in rays and peaks from around the needles of the trees, creating a near-kaleidoscope effect to a person’s eye.

In the young man’s eyes, this was intense beauty. He smiled broadly, as he pulled out his expensive camera and started taking shots. The young beauty sitting close to his feet was in awe at how engrossed he was in the scenery, many thoughts and questions running through her mind.

“You…like nature?” she asked him.

He looked down and grinned.

“Absolutely! I have never seen or experienced such beauty since I look out from Cape Blanco in Oregon, in the USA. This is the essence of Japan, and I now have a piece of it for my memories. Now, since I’m done gushing over nature’s beauty, how about you?”

She looked down, demurely, trying to hide the embarrassment of having this foreigner’s attention on her.

“The name’s Tom. Tom Bishop. Cairns, Australia.”

Her eyes lit up and she smiled, broadly.

“Australia?! Is Cairns anywhere close to snow?”

Tom looked at the young lady and smiled.

“Nah. Snow is farther south. Down in the hills around by Melbourne and Canberra. Cairns is tropical. Which is okay, because I don’t really like tropical places. What’s your name?”

The young yuki-onna bit her lip as she looked at him.

“My name would translate to Yukiri in this language. It’s hard to pronounce my actual name in your language.”

“Well, Yukiri, I am very glad to meet you. It’s not everyday you see someone who is beautiful surrounded by beautiful nature.”

She sighed, and a wan smile towards the compliment.

“If you know more about me, you may not think I’m so beautiful. Many times, people even think I’m a real monster.”

Tom looked at her, squinted for a few seconds, and gave a little chuckle.

“Everyone has a little bit of monster inside. The most pious of people have that, or there wouldn’t be something called “the human condition”,” he said, while looking out at the placid lake, “There are men and women out there who appear to be normal, but who are murderers and thieves deep down. They show kindness to the world and hatred reigns in their hearts. If you think you are a monster, then obviously you haven’t seen how some humans can be.”

Yukiri looked at him with wide eyes, not realizing that for even a moment that someone would state that some humans are worse than her. She quietly looked out at the lake, serenity perceived, and a tear started to fall down her face.

“Tom, what if someone told you that they were a real monster. Like a monster from legend, or someone who was unbelievably different that it would make you question everything you know?”

Tom looked down at her, and gave her a sideways smile. He crouched down and his smile broadened.

“Everyday, I question what I know. It’s not because I think God’s wrong, or that I’m wrong, but it helps me to realize that there are things I can’t explain out there. If you told me you were a real legendary monster, it’s likely I wouldn’t believe it. But, after a while, when I think about it and pray over the idea, I might change my mind.”

He sat down, dangling his legs over the edge of the cliff, and he reached over to touch her shoulder. Yukiri started to pull away, but then relaxed as the warm hand lightly gripped her shoulder.

“God has shown me many things in my life. He’s shown me the greatest highs and the greatest lows. He has shown me beauty unimaginable in nature, and he has shown me true ugliness. If you’re asking me whether real life monsters exist, then I could say yes. But again, the question we should be asking is, ‘What is the true definition of a monster?'”

Yukiri eyes started to tear up heavily as Tom continued to speak to her.

“Yukiri, beauty and monstrosity are in the eye of the beholder. I know of women back in Oz that are beautiful as can be in their looks, but their personality is absolutely horrific to the point of revolting. I also know of women who are not 10s in their looks, but have some of the warmest and most beautiful hearts imaginable. When you find a balance, that’s where perfection comes in.”

She launched herself at Tom and buried her head in his shoulder, cold tears soaking into the microfiber jacket that he wore. He looked down at her, and he didn’t know what to do.

Do I hug her? Do I ask her what’s wrong? What’s…does she really think she’s a monster?

After a minute of sobbing, the icy tears soaking through Tom’s jacket, she pulled away slowly and sniffled.

“You made me feel…like a human, Tom.”

Tom put up his hands and laughed nervously.

“Hey hey…I’m no saint here. I’m guilty of being a monster myself at times.”

Yukiri smiled at him as he attempted to deflect the compliment with self-deprecation. She put a finger on his lips and smiled.

“What I mean is this, that your words make me think that there is hope for someone like me.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked him in the eye, and took a deep breath.

“Well, what I’m going to say may be hard to believe. You’re talking to a real live legendary monster.”

Tom cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrows, as if he was saying, “Go on…”

She stood and revealed her true face, which was a little bit wider, with what looked to be sharp saw-like teeth. She raised her hands, which were now a deep ice blue, the fingers looking like sharp, razor claws.

“My family are snow fairies. We are Yuki-Onna. In legend, we are accused of leading men to their death.”

Tom’s eyes widened, but as Yukiri looked into his eyes, she didn’t see fear. She saw what she only could describe as amazement.

“You….aren’t scared?”

Tom blinked, and reached for her icy claws. She started to recoil from the touch, as if to cry out “Don’t touch me!”, but he was quick enough to put his hand into her claw.

“Your hands are ice cold. It’s like dipping my hand in a blast freezer. But…I can still feel a bit of your skin. It’s like grooved ice.”

Yukiri smiled, showing the razor teeth in her mouth. She wasn’t showing malice at all, and she felt like Tom was receiving that message in his mind.

“Yukiri, I want to know more. You’re a new being that I never knew existed, but a testament to the greatness of the God I serve.”

She morphed back to her human form and smiled, knowing that this was something she hoped for.

“I’d like to know more about you, Tom. And the God you talk so highly about…”

 

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Friday Fictioneers – Flesh and Blood

Welcome to this week’s fictioneers. While you’re here, take a read over my last big story, “Solitary Man“. I will be trying to do much more regularly updates soon, but work is raking me over the coals. Stay tuned.

Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

Flesh and Blood
by Miles Rost


I was sitting at the bar that last night. I look on it now, and I know I should never have gone. But I was so mad about work, I needed to go somewhere.

This short brunette sidled up to me while I was deep into my second Guinness.

“Hey, stranger. Why are you here?”

“Bad day at work. I’d like to be alone.”

She was empathic. She even bought me another Guinness.

That was all it took to take me home. What was supposed to be a night of passion, turned into my death.

My flesh and blood gone, stripped by a spider with sweet smelling hair.

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Prayer

by Miles Rost

A position of submission. A position of subjugation.

Kneeling for prayer did not come easy for Brighton Avanzari. A former subject of a middle eastern king, he grew up despising kneeling. If he didn’t kneel he was flogged. That’s how it was, especially with a maniacal king.

When he was able to leave and to go to another country to study, he grasped the opportunity with his life. He knew that studying in a foreign country would give him the opportunity to shake off the chains of his country’s monarchist obsession.

What he experienced in his studies broke him.

Brighton was treated like a pawn by members of the university student union, the administration, and others. He quit studying with a four credit course to go before getting his bachelor’s in literature. He was tired, and he didn’t like what he was doing. He didn’t have much to go on as a foreigner in the country, and he was pressured to be a part of so much that he finally rejected everyone and started studies of his own.

He would work during the day, repairing vehicles at a garage in Sacramento. He would travel home to a small apartment in a nearby town, riding his bike. He sat in his apartment and read all of the major works of literature, sometimes spending hours upon end pouring over the details and inhaling it’s scent.

One day, just for fun, he picked up a Bible that was given to him. He started reading in the New Testament, and looked. He read about prayer, about being on your knees. At this he got mad and threw it at the wall. For a few minutes, Brighton went berserk. He sat down after his “hulkout” and started to breathe. He analyzed what happened and thought about it.

He realized that the only way to deal with his anger was to actually do what he despised.

He took the first step, and he put one knee down. It took all the strength that he had not to recoil and remove. Now, the tough part came. He started to put his other knee down.

Prayer can happen anywhere…

He felt this thought go through his head, and stopped for a moment.

Don’t fear. Your previous king was a tyrant. This king, the King of Kings, is not.

Brighton’s heart started to soften ever so slightly, as he continued to put his knee down. When it touched the floor, he bowed his head.

You kneel not in subjugation, but in honor. Pray, and know that you will be heard.

For the first time since he left the kingdom, he was able to kneel and pray. And for the first time since he was a child, he knew what it felt to truly pray to his Lord.

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Healing Waters

by Miles Rost

Steven Latrell was an ordinary man. One of the most unassuming people you could have ever met. Middle aged, salt-and-pepper hair, had a couple of grown kids who loved him and a wife that cared deeply for him. He wasn’t much of a man of faith, but he called himself a believer.

His life changed with one voicemail left on his cell phone.

“Steve, this is Dr. Langston at Memorial Hospital. You need to come back to the hospital as soon as you can.”

Within a few days, Steve received the news that every man in the world dreads to hear.

“You have prostate cancer. Stage 4. The most we can say is that you should get your affairs in order and be ready for things.”

Steve didn’t know what he could do. He felt shock, especially since his father’s side of the family never had the occurrences of cancer. Most of them died of old age in the fields of North Dakota. He felt anger, that all the work he put into having a life and a great family was now about to be gone from his sight.

“Honey, I am going to take a walk. I will be back in a little while,” he called in, calmly. His wife gave a shoutback of acknowledgement, and he went off walking.

He walked  down his street until he couldn’t go straight anymore. He looked to the left and saw nothing but fields and fences. To his right, he saw trees and grasses. Following his heart, he went right and followed the road through the trees. He walked for a good while, getting lost in the news and thoughts that he was focused on.

After a while, he saw a path that looked like it was barely taken. He looked in his heart, and realizing that there really wasn’t anything to lose, he decided to take it. He walked down the path and through a thick grove of trees and thicket. After walking for a good while, he came upon a stump of a grand old tree. He was about to walk past it, when he noticed words carved into the top.

Where do we go when the world forsakes us, where the healing waters flow

Curious, he thought to himself, as he then started to walk again. He walked for a shorter distance, and came upon a beautiful river and a wider lake-like area. He smiled at seeing this beautiful, nearly untouched piece of paradise.

“Come out to find answers, have ya?”

Steve turned and looked in the direction of the words that came past his ears. He saw an older man sitting on a stump, looking into the water. He looked like he had been in that swamp his whole life, but yet had a calm about him that said, “Listen.”

Steve looked back at him and gave him a wry smile.

“When you find out that you just received your ticket off of Earth, it makes you want to go somewhere and think,” he said.

The old man looked at him, and shifted himself. His overalls shifted along with, showing a bit of the boniness of his upper body.

“What you got?”

“Stage 4 prostate cancer. They think I’ll survive 8 weeks at most.”

“How are you with God?”

Steve sighed at the question, one he was asked many times.

“Honestly, not good. I have never really been a churchgoer, and I believe that Christ saved me, but I also don’t feel like I want to go.”

“What is church to you?”

Steve sat and thought for a few moments.

“It’s a place to go and meet with other people. It’s a set location somewhere.”

The old man leaned forward and gave him an impish smile.

“Would you believe you’re in church now?”

Steve was taken aback by this. It didn’t make sense to him.

“What…do you mean?”

“Well, Christ said that when two or three are gathered together in worship of Him, he’d be there. Church can describe a building, or more importantly, it can describe the body of believers in Christ. There is a difference between a church building and The Church.”

Steve thought about that for a moment, processing it in his mind.

“I never really thought of it that way.”

“You believe Christ saved you, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You should have nothing to worry about, then. Talk to our Father about the things that you’ve done, square them away, and you’re ready for action.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“When you’re facing a doctor imposed deadline of 8 weeks, it can be.”

Steve sat down, his back leaning against a tree, the damp soil soaking into his khakis. The old man looked back at him and slowly stood up. He walked over to the water, and smiled.

“You have a choice, young man. You can take the time you have left to do great things for God’s service, or you can waste them. Someone asked me once “Where do we go when all our time’s been wasted?” I answered him by saying we go where God wants us to.”

Steve looked at him and started to listen a little bit more.

“Have you ever been baptized, young man?”

Steve blinked, and though for a few seconds.

“I don’t think I have. Never had a reason to do it.”

“Don’t you think you have a reason now?”

“But, aren’t ministers supposed to do that?”

“Sonny, In God’s kingdom and at some point, we’re all ministers.”

Steve nodded.

“Think you’re ready to give the rest of your time here on Earth to finishing your business with family and making a mark for God on the world?”

Steve thought about it, and smiled. He was ready. He waded into the water, where the old man was waiting. With a quick prayer, and a blessing that seemed to be divinely inspired, Steve Latrell was baptized.

They walked out of the semi-cool river, and Steve dried off as much as he could with a seemingly new towel the old man gave him. Steve looked at him, and smiled.

“Have you been waiting down here for me?”

“Nah. I’ve been down here for nearly 50 years. This is a place where people go to either face their mortality, get right with God, or take their own life. I’m here, simply, as a minister who helps people with their choices.”

Steve nodded.

“I guess it’s time to go back, and put everything in order.”

“Just remember something, young man: Let go, Let God, and do good. That’s your job, besides making disciples of the nations.”

Steve looked back, nodded, and proceeded to leave the beautiful lake area.

In the short time he had left, he spent enough time with his wife and kids to help them with their impending loss. And in the 6 weeks since that day, he spent almost the rest of his time volunteering with the local church’s youth groups.

He got ready for bed on week 7, and looked at his wife.

“There is a river running deep into my soul. Rushing like a vision over me, it flows…”

His wife looked at him, and blinked.

“I’m actually at peace. Christ’s been working in my life. I think I understand now.”

“Understand what?”

“Where do we go when the world forsakes us?  Where do we go when we’re getting to the very end of things? We go where the healing waters flow.”

She looked at him funny, and gave her husband a kiss.

“I love you, honey. And even if you are gone tomorrow, I know that we’ll see each other again. Maybe even where those healing waters are.”

Steve got into bed and turned off the light, and held his wife tight through the night.

That was the last thing that Steve Latrell, a lay minister of God, did in his time on Earth. At 5:45AM, he left the Earth and went to where the healing waters flow.

The old man that sat by the river looked up at the sky at that precise moment.

“Lord, you have another of your men now,” he said, calmly, “Thank you for bringing him back to you in such a quick way.”

by

I Still Believe

by Miles Rost

The hut in the middle of the flat expanse of “wilderness” was a tough place for a missionary to live. For Rene, however, it was the place that he called home. It was the place where he was able to meditate and to craft his work for sale. It was the place where he could study, and when he wasn’t working, he could leave and go teach the Word among those who were lost.

It was a hard road for him. Originally from France, he grew up in the tough lands of Algeria and in the palatial estates of Nice. Sand in his skin, and grit in his mind, it took the saving grace of Christ and a couple of good friends to get him where he was able to be of some good. And his place as a missionary took him to the lands of Patagonia. He lived in his hut for many years, and did his work as a maker of threads and cloth. If one asked him how many people he saved, he would say “I have saved none, and gave the Word to everyone I met in Patagonia. That’s all.”

However, it was time to go back to his old home. He had to go back to Algeria, then to France. He had to bury his parents, who had passed on one after each other. With no other siblings, he was the last of his family’s line. And at age 35, if he was going to continue with the family line, he would need to get married.

He landed in Paris, and took a train from Paris to Nice, where his parents lived. Many of the people in the neighborhood where his parents lived, they remembered young Rene. A spitfire of a boy, they would call him. Today, they looked at him as a stranger, and upon recognizing him, he would be looked on with a slight bit of disgust at what he had done in the many years away from there. He did not mesh well there, and people would keep asking him why he was there.

After a few days of getting re-acclaimated, the time came to bury his mom and dad. Everyone in the church, staid and stoic people who weren’t necessarily believers, but were there out of respect, waited for Rene to give the eulogy. And as he stood and walked up to the pulpit, he seemed tired. He unrolled his paper, and cleared his throat to speak.

“As most of you probably know, I’ve been living in a hut for many years. I have lived among the people of Patagonia, away from my mother and my father. I had a spark of life to light my way, put there by both of my parents, of whose light has gone from this Earth. They raised me to be a loving son, and while some here may not think so much because of what has happened in the last few years, I can state that my parents did not leave this Earth regretting what their son has done.”

He took in a breath, and proceeded to let the hounds loose.

“I still believe. I still believe! Through this pain, and through these tears! Through the lies I hear around here, and through the storms that the people in this town create. Through the cries and the words of war, no matter what the people here say, I still believe!”

He wipe a tear from his face, and continued to speak.

“My mother and father, they cared for The Lord. They didn’t say much, but their lives said everything! Their faith was evidenced in how they took care of their friends, and how the people of Nice paid them back with scorn! While I was away, my mother and father did what the Lord would want them to do, and in the days I have been here, I have seen with how much regard they have been given by everyone. There has been very little!”

He wound himself up in his mind, and let go with passion and fervor.

“You white-washed walls! You claim to be here to honor my parents’ memory, and yet you spit on their contribution to a better land. You mock how they raised their son, and the Lord that they worship! For people like us, and in places like this, we need all the hope that we can get! I can see why this town, this country, are doing very poorly in faith! There is no hope among you!”

He took in a breath, and made his final statement.

“My parents will be laid to rest on the hills outside of this city. Their bodies will decay and rot, and will feed the earth once more. Their souls, their true being, are with Christ my Lord right now. If any of you were actually touched by my parents and what they had done in Christ’s name, you will do as they did: Believe in the Lord with their heart, minister to those who need it, and for all that is holy and righteous, shut your mouth and stop being a bunch of gossiping busybodies! That is all.”

He took his paper, walked down the aisle, and sat back in the pew. For a good long while he sat, and waited. He waited for them to come at him screaming about being insulted.

All he received from them was indifference, which reminded him of the last thing he saw as he boarded the plane at Charles de Gaulle, bound for Buenos Aires, then to Asuncion.

He saw an old man turn his back from his son, who was crying as he was carried aboard another plane at a neighboring gate.