Akting Out

“Milady, milady, oomph…”
Alyssa half-stumbled, half-barreled through the regal wooden doors of Lady Leeia’s private chambers. Anyone else may have caught the business end of the throwing dagger Lady Leeia kept under her pillow, but the longtime Valkryie Commander had grown accustomed to Alyssa’s haphazard entrances. As such, she merely rolled over and groaned, reluctantly shaking off the last of a deep sleep.
“…Alyssa. Good morning…ooph.” Whatever remained of a pleasant night was ripped away by the young girl’s pouncing on the pristine silk sheets, burying her knees in Lady Leeia’s stomach. Even as Lady Leeia fought to keep her wind, resisting the urge to throttle the child, little Alyssa was carelessly, enthusiastically tearing the covers away. “Milady, you need to see this! C’mon!”
“Okay, okay, Alyssa…may I breathe?” Lady Leeia swung her legs over off the side of the bed and reached up to the wall at her right. She first took down her customized right arm, the one she could turn into anything she wanted, although retirement provided little opportunity to use it beyond anything mundane. After fastening her arm to her shoulder, she quickly donned her jet-black armor. “Now.” Lady Leeia began, “what is the emergency?”
Alyssa, all of five years old, bound over the bed to stand beside Lady Leeia and without hesitation, clasped her artificial, metallic right hand. “Could you please take us to the third wing observatory, please?”
“Okay.” Lady Leeia nodded, “But we’re going to walk.”
Alyssa blanched. “Um, milady? Your way is so much quicker.”
“I know.” Lady Leeia smiled knowingly and held eye contact with Alyssa, “But it looks like such a beautiful morning. I’d rather walk.”
Alyssa lowered her head, nervously biting the nail on her index finger, and nodded. “…k.”
As they exited her private chambers, Lady Leeia was pleasantly surprised to find that things weren’t as bad as they used to be. Unfortunately, Alyssa had learned to run before she could walk, and had never really mastered either. Other Valkryies had been woken by Alyssa’s tear through the barracks and were once again cleaning up behind her, picking up falling busts and replacing the decorative carpets the child had accidentally taken down. The child moved like a tornado but was twice as destructive. The Valkryies threw polite nods at their leader and quick glares to the child.
When they reached the Third Wing Observatory two flights up, Lady Leeia considered letting the Valkryies have the girl. “Alyssa…how many times have I told you not to bother me with one of your moving pictures?!”
“I know, milady, I know. But just watch, please…?”
It was either that or hurling the child through the open window at the left. Lady Leeia chose the former. She didn’t have much taste for the fictional moving images the people of Earth put together, especially the phony-looking battle sequences of their more popular films.
Ten seconds into the film, she noticed this was indeed different. The only shirtless man in the scene engaged another, shorter man with a wooden bear-claw right hand. The lithe, shirtless man attacked with such ferocity and such flawlessness in his technique that Lady Leeia wondered if this might be the real thing. His scream, high-pitched and feral, shook her to the core.
Alyssa smiled at seeing Lady Leeia’s captivation. “You see? You see?”
Alyssa held out her hands and motioned as if pulling something apart. The images split in two, following her hand. This same man was now fully dressed, calmly walking with another, older man in yellow. They were discussing the philosophies of the martial arts…philosophies Lady Leeia hadn’t heard the likes of which since Michael St. Ambrose had come into his own.
There was definitely something different about this man. “Who is this?”
“He was born Lee Jun Fan,” Alyssa replied quickly, eager to please, “But they call him ‘Bruce Lee’ in Amer..Amery…”
“America.” Lady Leeia finished.
“Yes!” Alyssa exclaimed. “America. Milady, I think we should recruit him.”
“For what?! No man can become a Valkryie!”
“No, but a man can train the Valkryies, milady. Uriel St. Morias did, according the libraries.”
“You must not have read to the end of that chronicle and seen how that turned out.” Lady Leeia mused. “I was there. It’s a bad idea. Besides, the Valkryies don’t need training…”
Alyssa grew somber. This next part would be tricky. “Milady…mom.”
Lady Leeia looked down to Alyssa in shock. She hadn’t referred to her like that for a couple of years now. “The Olymparus Patrol has been missing for months. We haven’t talked to the people who live there in almost a year…”
Lady Leeia exhaled. Alyssa spoke the truth. Although centuries had passed since any overt conflict, things had been tense lately near the border. Seven Valkryies missing was a bad omen. “Mom, I know you don’t like to think about it, but what if Yin is back?”
Lady Leeia said nothing, becoming transfixed on the moving picture.
“… If she has, we’ll have to fight…” Alyssa persisted, pointing back at the moving images. “…and if we have to fight, we’ll need people like him to show us how. Please, mom.”
For a moment, Lady Leeia watched the film. Closing her eyes, she nodded. “I need to see more.” She conceded. “If he’s as good as you say, the world will mourn him.”
“The world’ll recover. We’re doing this for them, right?”
“Okay, Alyssa. Return to your studies. I’ll pick up where you left off and let you know of my decision later.”
This story is dedicated to the enduring memory of Bruce Lee.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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For a moment, they leaned, in the majestic cylinder atrium. It was dark, pleasantly lit by the millions of stars that dotted the sky far overhead. The brighter stars shimmered above them as if trying to illuminate the mood of the three young angels within the atrium. Michael, the youngest, turned away from the group and braced his head against his forearm, looking out of the open window into infinite space. A comet passed by, whistling as it descended towards a planet they hadn’t named yet. It was as though the universe was in mourning; as it should be.
“So what do we do now?” Gabriel finally asked. He was usually the first to speak his mind, today was no exception. “We never planned for this.”
“We leave his body in repose, and no one ever steps foot in that room again.” Lucifer, the most headstrong spoke up, the wisest of them, “And we begin to cull the herds.”
“What do you mean, ‘cull the herds’?” Michael replied, frowning and turning to him. Lucifer looked at him as though the answer was obvious. “It’s very simple.” His tone was condescending, “We’re the only ones left to watch over this experiment. We make our presence known to the, um, little darlings, and those that don’t fall into line are expunged.”
Gabriel was already shaking his head. “No, no, Lucifer, that’s not what he wanted. We’re not even supposed to know about the experiment, remember?”
“Doesn’t matter. We do. And we’re the only ones left to run it.”
Michael came off the wall and walked towards Lucifer, in the center of the atrium. “No, Lucifer. We’re not going to run the experiment. We wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“I would. I understand how he thought.”
Michael chuckled. “Oh, do you? So he saw fit to bring you in on his plans? Allow you to assist with the world creation?”
Lucifer scowled. “He’s dead now. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does matter,” Gabriel interjected, stepping up to Michael and Lucifer, “just because he’s gone doesn’t mean we can start running things however we like.”
Lucifer turned coldly to Gabriel and stared down at the young angel. “Why not, Gabriel?”
“Because I said so, that’s why.” Michael shot back. He tried to mask the fear in his voice, but as always, Lucifer saw through him.
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, is that right, Michael? Aren’t I the oldest?”
“Yes.” Michael conceded, “But I was never punished for trying to interfere with the experiment. So I say what’s what. Also…I’m stronger than you.”
Lucifer stepped forward confrontationally. “Oh, is that what you think?”
Gabriel stepped between them, his eyes pleading with them not to fight. Now wasn’t the time. “Guys…”
“We will leave his body in repose.” Michael announced finally, holding Lucifer’s glare, “But we’re leaving the experiment alone.”
Gabriel smiled; Lucifer shook his head. “Who are you to presume to know what he wanted?”
“No different than you.” Michael replied, “But we’re not forcing our will on the experiment; that defeats the purpose.”
Michael looked at Gabriel. “We’ll let them go and see what happens.”
Gabriel smiled his appreciation. Lucifer pointed towards the open window. “If you leave them to their fate, they will wipe each other out, do you understand me?”
Michael was surprised; this was as humble as Lucifer ever was. “We’ll make them aware of our existence, when it’s time.” Michael conceded, “We’ll even guide them along the way, when they ask for it. But what we will not do is force ourselves on them. Their free will is the very purpose of this experiment. We will not interfere with that.”
Lucifer’s shoulders sagged. It was as close to a concession as Michael would get. Lucifer had always been the arrogant one.
“All the energy it must’ve taken,” Gabriel mused, “It was just too much for him.”
Michael placed a reassuring hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and massaged gently. “It’ll all work out. The experiment we’ll go forward. We’ll set up a governing body from here, judge only when they’ve completed their time in the other world.”
“Yeah.” Lucifer growled, “We’ll have to chronicle this too, you know.”
Michael nodded as though he had been expecting that. “I know. “ He extended his hand to Gabriel, who reached inside of his robe and produced a leather-bound book. Most of the pages were empty, save for the first six. They detailed intimately how their father had labored for six days creating the experiment; a magnificent universe teeming with millions upon millions of life. The goal was to see how life evolved on its own.
The entry for the seventh day, the final day, was blank. “What do we put?” Gabriel asked, reading over Michael’s shoulder.
Michael glanced at Lucifer, who turned away. “On the seventh day,” Michael finally said, “He rested.”
Michael closed the book and handed it back to Gabriel. “We’ll make it available to the experiment when they’re ready for it. For now, we have work to do.”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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We drive in silence. We were speeding moments ago, not that anyone but the tumbleweeds would notice. Still, pushing a buck ten on a dirt road in a fifteen year old truck may not be the best way to ensure a safe arrival.

He doesn’t say anything to me. He never does, when things like this happen. I always want to ask why he stuck by me for so long. But I never do. If I did, he might leave.

The horizon is reddening as the sun says its farewell for the day, and we’re heading towards it. Fitting, all things considered. I don’t know where we’re going to go. We have gas to get there, though, and that’s all that matters.

My ribs hurt and are soft to the touch. I can’t see well out of my left eye; tends to shut when someone puts their fist into it repeatedly. I guess that’s something I need to work on. It always hurts to breathe for a little while after the work is finished. It’s almost become routine. Make sure you get the winnings. No, I don’t want to go to the hospital. They ask too many questions.

I cough once into my hand. No blood. He keeps driving, not asking questions. I don’t think he’s even blinking this time. I don’t blame him. Things got back this last time around. I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find him gone. It’s okay. I’ll leave a little money on his clothes just in case.

We’ve worked together maybe twenty times, and there were loads of times I knew we pushed our luck just a little too far, but this last time was it. Someone got our plate—we saw them writing as we hauled ass out of there, that same someone has probably already called the cops. We needed to hurry up and get away from there. But it’s been almost an hour and no black-and-whites have pulled in behind us.

It was supposed to be simple. Just another fight, right? Just me and the other guy. He was the area’s best street fighter, and I can tell you that it was a title well-earned, after spending fifteen minutes getting to know him. Problem was, he was the area’s best fighter, and I was known across three different states. I can brag; I earned the right.

Nando—my silent, soon-to-be- former gopher and driver—had arranged the match because of the huge payday. We met in this little hole-in-the-wall bar in this little hole-in-the-wall town where the population didn’t exceed five hundred, and everyone was counting on their favorite son to make good.

He had a lot of pride, I’ll give him that.
Sometimes, when people watch you work, the cheering stops and the mood grows eerily somber. The only sounds echoing throughout the room are the ones from one man beating the life out of another. It’s ceased to become a spectacle; they are now watching someone die.

I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about it, but it doesn’t work. All I see is him and red. God, I pray quietly, I didn’t want to do that do him. Why didn’t he just stay down!?

Why is winning so important to you? The answer, as always, is almost immediate and comes from nowhere. I open my eyes. Connection broken.
It’s not my fault, I try to tell myself, he knew the rules. He would not stay down. He kept coming. I did what I had to do, that’s all.
That’s all.
I can’t stop the new memories. First, the fists to his kidneys, hoping the loss of bladder control would convince him to stop. Then, the round kicks to the ribs, over and over, hoping the inability to breathe would convince him to let it go. And finally, the uppercut to the Adam’s apple, the one that had stopped him cold, caused his mouth to explode with blood before he collapsed to the floor and stayed there.

Then, fighting against a town of angry civilians who had just watched their hero destroyed. The frozen look of horror on Nando’s face as he looked up at me as though I was the devil himself.
He’ll recover, I keep telling myself, hoping to believe it. He’s strong. He will.

He wasn’t moving. The nowhere voice again, carrying ultimate authority, reminding me that this, too, I will have to answer for one day.
The sky is red, the sun now a massive third of a circle as it continues to dip below the horizon, sending golden streaks through a sky of scattered clouds.
We may be safe in a larger city tonight, but tomorrow, we will have to leave the state. I tell myself, adding one more place I cannot return to a growing list in my mind.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise, I will recover, alone or otherwise. More work will be lined up. More than money will be gambled with. I’ve never tried to understand why I chose this life, or if it chose me, but it is the one I must live, for now.

And so, we continue driving into the sunset.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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The sky was turning dark, and it was getting hard to see. The sun was gone, and I could see tiny white lights in the sky begin to appear. I didn’t want to see them; we were still a long way from home, and now we would need to hurry.

I was scared, really scared, but I couldn’t let her know that. I held her hand really tight and kept walking. We were alone out there—everyone else, and there weren’t a lot—had gone inside and sealed up their homes. They were smart.

“Scott… slow down,” she pleaded.

I knew I was walking too fast for her little six year old legs, but I didn’t have a choice. If we weren’t indoors soon, then the Howlers would get us, and I wasn’t gonna let that happen, no matter what. So I kept walking and I tried to keep my voice gentle, just like mom did when she talked to us. “We have to keep going, Maggie,” I urged her along, walking even faster. Then I lied. I know I shouldn’t have, but she needed to hear it. “We’re almost there.”

I looked up at the sky, which was getting blacker by the second. We’re not gonna make it.

No! Had to think positive, like Dad taught us, I remembered. He taught me how to shoot, although I wasn’t very good at it. Still, I kept my other hand on the gun dad had given me, before he went out with the other hunters and never come back. The gun was big and really powerful (I think Dad called it a magnet or magnum or something like that), and it fired these huge bullets. They’d stop a Howler cold, until another one came around and woke it up.

There were no buildings left, although I used to listen when Dad and other grown-ups would talk about the old days, when buildings were so big and tall that they reached all the way into the sky. The Howlers changed all of that; they could rip anything apart with those huge hands of theirs. They never died, either. That’s why there weren’t a lot of humans left…

Maggie tripped over a rock and fell to the ground, and she nearly took me with her. I turned back and spoke to her in a whisper: “Maggie, come on. We’re almost there. We have to hurry. We gotta go!” Howlers could hear everything for miles, and with the night being so close, they’d be out soon. I heard a coyote scream in the distance and I grabbed the gun Dad gave me, but I kept it in my pocket.

“Scott, I can’t, I’m so tired!” Maggie pleaded. “Please can we rest for a minute?”

The coyote screamed again, but I was used to it, so I wasn’t scared. Maggie had never been healthy, and it was dangerous to go all the way to see aunt Deara, but she was the only one who could make her medication anymore. Without it, Maggie couldn’t walk very far without getting tired, and her breathing got all weird.

I got her medication quickly from the pouch at my waist and almost jammed it into Maggie’s mouth. I pushed the plunger, and Maggie started breathing normally again.

The coyote screamed again. It sounded like it was getting closer, and I hoped I was right and it was just a coyote. It sounded like it was coming from just up the block, but it was too dark for me to see.

I pulled her to her feet. We still had a few miles to go—

Another shriek, and this one wasn’t a coyote. The noise was long and gargly, and it came from behind us.

“Maggie!” I whispered urgently, trying not to show my fear. “We gotta go now.”

I could see in her big brown eyes that she knew I was serious. She got up quickly and didn’t complain when I jerked her forward. I pulled the big gun out of my pocket and used my thumb to pull back the lever that meant I could pull the trigger. Any Howler that wanted my sister would have to kill me first.

The Howler screamed again; it was gaining on us. It was only about twenty feet away, but when I turned around, I couldn’t see anything. They could make themselves disappear and look like whatever they were close to. You didn’t see one until it was too late…

I held my sister’s hand and we began to run. We only had a few miles to go, and even as that thing began to scream and I heard the scraping of claws on the ground pursuing us, I had to believe we would be okay. We would be okay.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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With the rage and force of a meteor, she plummeted through the black vacuum of space. Darkness gave way to reddened skies as she struck the ground, hitting with enough force to rouse all of Heaven.

She looked around. Mist rose from the ground.

The screams, the horrible, agonizing screams of those hurt or dying, rose through the ground, piercing her ears again. She clutched her hands to her ears and fell to her knees, desperate to drown them out, if only for a moment. They had grown in number and intensity over the past hour. They could not drown out her own conscience, the eternal voice in her head telling her that she had failed, that they were all dead because of her. The mechanical sirens echoing from down below, a universe over, only indicated to her that many more would be judged that day. Those that were already screaming took the sirens as a sign that help was on the way.

There would be no hope for them. Not today.

She couldn’t bear it anymore. Her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest, and her teeth were clenched so tightly that it hurt.

“GOD!” she shrieked. She knew this wasn’t the way to reach Him; through anger and despair. At the moment, she didn’t care. “ANSWER ME!”

“Ariel,” the gentle, masculine voice was omnipresent, everywhere and nowhere. It would’ve been calming if she hadn’t been so angry. Instead, she stood, fists clenched, shaking, and she looked around. “What troubles you, my daughter?”

“What troubles me?” she echoed, her voice shaking. “Do you not hear them, my Lord?” For the first time, the screams existed outside of her head, flooding Heaven. There wasn’t an Angel—or demon—that was unable to hear it.

There was a thunderous explosion that emanated from the ground, and the screams doubled. Ariel could see in her mind’s eye what had just occurred; hundreds more had just died on Earth. Another plane had crashed into the second structure. Fires not even hell could produce billowed up from the gaping hole in the once-mighty structure. She fought back tears.

“How…” her voice was quaking. Tears flew from her eyes as she turned her head to the sky. “HOW could you let this happen?”

No answer.

“No matter their sins, they did not deserve this,” she continued, trying to raise her voice above the screams and sirens. Her knees gave out, she fell to the ground. “They did not deserve this…”

Her mind was flooded with images of what was surely to come: an endless string of funerals, memorials, grievances, wounds that no counseling would ever be able to heal. “Is it any wonder they turn away from You?” she whispered, knowing the consequences such a question could bring, and no longer caring. “You say You love them, yet You do nothing in their hour of need.”

“My child…” God’s voice finally returned. “It was no mistake that I appointed you Guardian of Earth. You feel their pain as they do; you seek Me even when they will not.”

“Then why?” Ariel managed, her voice cracking. “Why did you not warn me? I could have stopped this.”

“Observe,” God replied.

To Ariel’s left, the fog dissipated. The reflective onyx opened to reveal clear glass; the screams and madness had ceased. She braced herself on her hands, leaning over to see. A gaping crater, four miles wide and twice as deep, now stood where the towers had been. It was no longer blocked off. People walked around it freely, some stopping to observe solemnly before going on their way.

In another part of the world, a teacher educated her class. Pointing to a child’s design on the chalkboard, she said something Ariel couldn’t hear, and the children laughed. The teacher laughed with them.

A man returned home from work that night. His two children ran up to him, embracing him tightly around his knees and nearly knocking him off balance. His young wife chuckled as she watched, gingerly wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck and kissing his cheek.

The world’s law enforcement somberly geared up, securing bulletproof vests around their torsos and buttoning their dark uniforms. They joked with each other. Outside of the building, the flags of their countries blew proudly.

Ariel shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“They will move on, my daughter,” God replied easily. “They are a resilient people. They will recover from this, and they will go forward.”

Ariel still wasn’t sure she understood. God’s explanation brought no satisfaction. “But what of today, Father?”

“Today they must suffer.”

The onyx closed and the fog reappeared. The heavy weight returned to Ariel’s stomach as the screams began anew. “They will never find their way back, will they?”

“They will when they are ready. They are strong, Ariel. They will get through this. But we will never intervene directly; doing so robs them of their free will. And we have no right to do that.”

Ariel lowered her head; as always, no immediate resolution or closure, just a promise that everything would be alright.

“I have shown you what is to come,” God’s voice was more authoritative this time. Now, we have work to do.”

Ariel nodded. “Yes, Father.”

With that, she rocketed into the sky, bound invisibly for New York and the chaos that had been unexpectedly unleashed.

But she had seen.

They would move on.

And in that knowledge, she smiled. It would all work out in the end.

This story is dedicated to the memory of everyone who perished on September 11, 2001. This story is also dedicated to those who continue to survive.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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