(Small Fry Chapter 4)
I watched his departure and felt guilty that after 273
years of marriage, the pregnancy made him question whether or not, I still
loved him.
We seemed to be at an impasse... Declan wanted things
to remain the same whereas I welcomed the changes.
I believed him when he spoke of his bloodlust-fuelled
jealousy at the baby encroaching on what he saw as ‘his territory’.
For over two centuries, my body, heart and mind had
been his and nothing but his. Whenever
he felt this was drifting, he would act like the anchor to pull me back in, by
yelling or acting out for more attention.
If something else threatened our marriage, like the attacks by European
Vampires, Voodoo Witch Doctors, or even other European Werewolves, trying to
take what was his? He would indulge his
bloodlust, by removing the threat in a bloody rampage.
However, with this baby issue, I sensed his bloodlust
wanted to attack the threat to his territory, but he couldn’t because it would
injure me. Then with his role of Second,
he was caught in the middle of my family.
He was honour-bound to follow our First, which forced him to obey not
only the pack, but also the tribe.
Disheartened, I left the cold air outside for the
warmer atmosphere of inside.
In the fire place, the last couple of logs were slowly
burning away with the tiny flames licking at the charred wood.
Wearily, I sat against the metal safety gauze which
felt nice and warm. My mate always kept
a fire going in winter even if we had central heating. He knew I liked to sit close to it, if I
wasn’t sitting close to him instead.
I’m 297 years old and right now, I truly felt my
age. Less than two months ago I nearly
lost my husband to old age. Now he
claims pregnancy instead of death, is tearing us apart. As a Lokoti Werewolf, my biological bond to
my European Werewolf mate, wanted to let out a mournful howl at the distance
growing between us.
Oh Mum, oh Dad, oh Gran and oh Grandfather… how I miss
you all. I could really use your words
of wisdom, right now. If it wasn’t for
this pregnancy, we could be with you, inside the space time continuum. Instead, I sat alone in my quiet house, as I
glanced around the living room, with its bits and pieces of family
memorabilia.
Next, my eyes wandered over to my small wooden
staircase. Those stairs led to the upper
part of the house. In the upstairs
hallway, is the attic hatch. In the
attic, sat boxes and the trunk full of family history, including the diaries.
Hmm… I may not have my mother or grandmother here, but
I had the words of my great, great grandmother.
I stood up and left the warm spot by the fireplace and
headed upstairs. In the small hallway, I
pulled the chord to open the attic hatch, with the ladder unfolding before
me. I climbed up into the cold, dusty,
small space and pulled the other chord, for the attic light.
Then I headed over to the red trunk, opened it, pulled
out one of the diaries and sat back down, on top.
To encourage the central heating to follow me up, I
left the hatch open. But it was so cold
up here, I had to pull the sleeves of my jumper down over my hands to keep
warm. Then like a native of Alaska
Like this, I opened the diary and looked upon the
pages which had turned yellow with time.
The handwriting which was written in blue biro now looked a little
green. There were spots of mould on the
edges, as well as one or two water marks, but it was still readable.
The first thing I saw, was the name at the beginning
of the diary; Jessica Tandy. She had
been the mate of Flint Riverclaw, the Lokoti Werewolf in the family where my
glowing turquoise eyes came from. They
were the couple in that framed photo I saw.
When I turned to the next page, I saw an old and faded
photo was stuck down with sticky tape.
It was a picture of a slim, blonde woman, posing next to an overweight
one with short, dark hair. They looked
like they were standing in a city somewhere, which could have been Seattle
I noticed by flicking through the pages, there were
several more photos throughout the book.
The last photo on the last page had the friends posing
with a ten year old boy, standing between them.
The three were standing on a large, wooden veranda outside of a familiar
looking, log cabin. Then I realized why
it rang a bell, it was my grandparents old house! It looked so different, being one story
instead of two. Now, it was the house
that the widowed Forrest and Caesar Riverclaw, lived in.
Upon closer inspection, the ten year old boy in the
photo looked half Lokoti by his long, straight, black hair, but he had his
mother’s blue eyes. I read the scribble
at the bottom of this picture; CHRIS, JESS & DAVID, 2010. It would have been Flint Riverclaw who took
this photo of his son, wife and her friend.
I went back to the beginning of the diary, to read the
first entry which was dated the year 1999... the end of the 20th
Century. But looking at their fashion,
it wasn’t really that different to the 24th Century. Many Lokoti including my mate and I, still
liked to wear flannel, denim or suede, because they were hardy and warm. I had to smile to myself at how the Lokoti
lived, like we existed in our own little world, whilst following the old ways.
I gave a quick stretch, before snuggling deeper into
my white, woollen jumper and then I began to read…
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