She spins the scarlet umbrella, so fast he almost can’t see the motion of her hands. In the dying sunlight it reflects and spreads the light above her head, so she stands in a spotlight against the darkening sky. She is backlit, her expression hidden.
The only sound is the lapping waves and the whistle of the umbrella as it spins. He imagines he can hear his destiny in that sound; spinning out of his control, spinning away from him. Every choice in someone else’s hands.
He wants to pray, but there is no one left to pray to. He has watched all his gods die.
The umbrella comes to a sudden stop. In the silence the ocean becomes loud. He watches her perch on the rocks and marvels at how steady it is. He wonders if these creatures ever falter, or if doubt is a uniquely human emotion. Imagine what it must be like, to know yourself completely. To understand, before you begin, whether you will succeed or fail.
“My yes is conditional,” she says, and he feels something fragile in him breaking in relief; that iron core he has forced into his spine, needing it to stay standing, loosens. He almost falls, but there is nowhere to catch himself and so he balances for a second on his own thigh before swooning upright. “Conditional,” she snaps, annoyed by his relief.
“Yes.”
“You might still say no.”
He knows that he feels there are no conditions so bad he won’t agree to them; knows too how untrue that is. He has learned the sharp edges of hidden bargains, has learned how easily a person can cease to be meaningful. “Tell me,” he says.
“You will tell us everything of your old masters,” she says.
“Done.”
“Your contract will be for one year and one day.”
“As time passes in the human world, in human experience,” he says, and perhaps he imagines the respect in her pause, but she nods.
“Of course.”
“And third?”
“All things-” she says.
“-come in threes,” he interrupts. “This isn’t my first time on the rocks.”
She watches him, and he wonders if he has gone too far. It was his sharp tongue that got him into this mess in the first place – that and the hollow in his breast that he imagined they could fill. He had learned the hard way that beauty did not make a thing into a person; and that power was not always worthy of worship.
He holds his breath, and waits on her. He wonders how long it will be before his life in his own hands again; if he will die still feeling the tug of thorns in his heart.
He can feel the moment when she chooses not to be offended; can see the sharp angry line of her shoulders soften. “Poor heart,” she whispers, and he wonders how many of his thoughts she can read in the twilight. “Do the rocks cut your feet?”
They do, but he isn’t sure if she means what the words mean to him. They can be so hard to parse.
“My feet are soft,” he says, “it isn’t the rocks’ fault.”
He cannot see her face but knows that pleases her. “The third thing, then,” she says, and he shivers in relief. If he could cut out his sharp tongue… he suddenly hopes that isn’t the third thing. “You must teach me Monopoly.”
He blinks.
“Sorry – Monopoly? The board game?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to teach you.. how to play.”
“Yes.”
“And even if you don’t understand it, by the end of the year and a day, I go free?”
“Yes.”
“And in exchange – you’ll protect me. You’ll keep me safe.”
“Yes. None of your actions will follow you with me. No one will know where you are. We will erase you from the world, and put you back into it fresh and protected. And I get to be the hat.”
He nods, and the umbrella spins.
“Say it,” she says.
“I agree,” he says. “I take the deal.”
Image courtesy of Hayley Mechelle Bouchard. Her work can be found at Little Cat Photography, with more information about Hayley on Our Contributors page.