• There is no ground. Particles beneath me stretch to an infinite mass, a mass that desires to envelop me. The sand caressing my soles is soft, gentle, soothing, but not firm, not safe, not sane. My soles blindly sink deeper and deeper as the sand lunges for them. An inch of me vanishes and soon another. The wind forces the blank, thoughtless sand onto my ankles. The sand follows through obediently as a flock of gray birds fly across the dismal sky. These gray birds seem to have divided a lighter gray sky into two fragments. One encompassing white clouds and the rising sun while the other possesses a mystique nothingness. Where am I? I am right on the line the birds have created. Taking a hasty turn, the birds fly over these ancient cliffs, cliffs that are eminent in size and undeniably wise for their age. Watching the birds intently, I notice other colorless flocks heading toward the same cabal of the beach. By it stands a lonely, uninhabited seaside shack far off in the distance. Its wood is rotting; mossy green material lacerates through the driftwood shack. I feel it looking at me, appraising my presence. This pleased me. Swiftly lowering my gaze, the wind starts to brush my long, knotted plain-colored hair in a hard, sadistic manner. Out of my control, it surrounds my neck in a feeble choke-hold. Sand blows into my mouth and I start to cough vehemently. The cold night air sends itself toward my eyes, piercing my eyelids slightly. I start to cower, to try to shield myself from the beach’s rage. The shack, however, remains unaffected. Still, it observes me. Still, this pleases me. I felt wanted. The night begins to wane, begins to end. The vociferous winds of the night reside into the warm breezy air of day. Then I am alone. The shack has stopped watching me; it has stopped wanting me because…it had become bored of me. Both forgotten and both abandoned, we have a connection, yet, it chooses to disregard me! The wretched thing manipulates me, makes me feel significant. I dart toward anything large enough to cover me, anything discreet enough to hide me. Finally, a long, jagged piece of rock stands between it and me. Soon, though, there will be only one. With great precision, the rock chips away from its base and into my calloused hands. My merciless obsession proves the source of my virulence. Every piece of wood digs into my flesh only makes me stronger. Finally, I am safe from everyone. Every stroke between us changes the other. Lastly, I stand. I…I have prevailed. Wet lines of a hero carve my pallid hands and arms. The profound, crimson clearly shows my triumph. Wearing a diabolical, breathless face, I step back with my hands on my hips.
    She’s gone. She’s finally gone. I glare down upon the mangled form of my mother, watching her limp body trying to escape…from me. Seeing her, I know she’s alive but only in the technical sense. But her chi? That’s dead. It escaped amidst my vehemence. I know this because her chi, her heart’s fluid has escaped her only to strengthen me. More importantly, I know that her haunting me will stop. My mother has finally dealt with me. Ultimately, I am now of more importance to her than anything before.
    Everything became still. I see my mother halt in her struggle. My mother’s seemingly retreating figure sends the birds away. Even in death, she chooses to associate with me last. Thousands of colorless winged entities are ending their brief excursion, and beginning to soar over the ocean and over my frame. Through the multitudes, I notice each bird. They glance at me with curiosity, disgust, and awe. I am sure that they could never have witnessed the likes of me. Noting the increasing distance between the body of the birds and myself, I feel respected. The birds fear me.
    Their piercing glances give me a sobering moment of clarity. I have just permanently abandoned the shack of my mother. Our mother-daughter connection has dissipated. I can finally live without her irritability. Neither anyone nor anything ever deters her presence or mind. Nevertheless, I remained steadfast. At one point, I think I even cherished her. I saw her stand up to my dad. I hid in the dank closet, knowing that I would be free soon enough. I saw him strike her, I saw him turn pink and then scarlet red. I saw him leave. She alone removed our affliction, my father, her life-partner. I thought she was strong. She doesn’t deserve me!
    Then he came back. No matter what, he is always remembered, and I forgotten. Did it particularly matter that they are “life-partners.” In my honest opinion, I dare to think so. For this reason and multiple others, I have permanently freed them from each other. I now know that only I alone, can right all, including myself.
    My dad will come for me as well. He will attempt to deride me. But that won’t happen. I won’t let it.
    As I walk scheming, a sordid plan, the crusty, dried blood starts to peel off with every movement of my arm. Slowly, I unravel them from me. One, two, three…there are sixteen of them. Sixteen lines of a hero break and curl off my flawless arm. There are no other markings on my arms, nothing to indicate my maturity or understanding of what is to come. My image is stoic… I appear perfectly innocent.
    As the sun settles the wind, the sand around me solidifies in place. The sheer silence renders me vigilant. Someone’s approaching.
    “Amaranth, halt! Why are you residing here, in this god-forsaken venue and not in your chamber room? You can’t be here. Must I always have to chide you? Obviously, my trust in you is needless. You can’t handle it. And where is that mother of yours? She didn’t serve me my black coffee. All I found on the counter were stale croissants. Did you hear me? Stale croissants. That vain, cretin woman thinks she can do no wrong! Time after time, she’s proved herself contemptible. Anyhow, Amaranth, I gave you life! But you can’t even support your own father! I work relentlessly and tirelessly. I provide you and your mother of everything you could possibly desire! Here you are, ignorant, and not even remotely ready to serve me! Your mother is a disgrace and ostensibly, you are too. After all, you are her daughter.” How dare he speak to me in his vainglorious tenor. Is it even conceivable for him not to scrutinize me in his facetious manner?
    “I am your daughter too. Father,” I seethed.
    “You are not in any way my daughter. But I am your father! And what is that I hear? Are you actually using that tone of voice with me? As your father, you have to respect me and you have to worship me!” he rambled on. Is he really denying our—hideously so—flesh and blood relation? Is he an arbitrary fool that almost certainly does not necessitate my attention?
    My wrath is thriving. He just won’t stop. As his voice pounds into my temple, I see a wraith appear before me. Mindlessly, I know the name of this wraith is Shadow. I know this wraith can displace my real shadow as well…because Shadow is—was—my mother. And my mother, a spirit I saved, has returned and is endeavoring to save her husband.
    “…I don’t even see why I’m still involved with this god-forsaken family! It is evident uselessness found in all of you—” his blather begins to impede. He finally notices my being affronted of his talk and of him.
    “Silent. You and your idyllic world will be ensnared into a moribund state.” With this ensconced, I empty my right pocket of a chipped, blood encrusted rock, formerly used to free my overdue mother—only for her to reappear. For him.
    In a swift maneuver, I aim the rock toward his chest. Surely, if he is not fatally injured, infection will cure him. However, in a same, swift maneuver, my father seizes the rock. Instinctively, I knew to run.
    The air strikes my face incessantly because of my fast pace. I could be faster but the added weight of Shadow is causing me to be slothful. I feel her desiring him. I feel her efforts in compelling her husband to requite her “love.”
    My name means never-fading flower. Always heedful, always potent…there is a raison d'être, an underlying principal why I can never be able to fade. People reminiscent of “mother…father” keep me pulsating. As my father once stated, he did, “give me life.” In return, however, I will bestow him death.
    I hear voices. Audible of these sibilant noises, and in range of my predator, it is compulsory for me to outpace and disadvantage him. Seeing the tall trees rush in front of me, I know that I and I alone will be the beneficiary of the narrowly penetrable thicket of forest. Gliding through the undergrowth, the incomprehensible words did not clarify nor secede in sound. However, this voice sounds that of a female voice, a female voice belonging to my mother. Now, my mother and her voice is Shadow. Profanity intended for me escaped her lips. Moreover, escaped my lips as well. We were sharing control…over me. Panicked, I internally clash with her avarice, regaining the control of my facial functions. Although I won our current mêlée, our varying crusades were not resolved. Failing to disengage our connection, I glance around me. Different shades of verdant, lush foliage surrounds my frame. There, in the corner of the wetlands, I could sit and observe while appearing to be engulfed by the vegetation. Tucking myself into it, I wait for him. Irritated by my lack of magnanimity over my body, she expresses an interest to reside by the black rose bush. When the light strikes it in a certain manner, the roses gleam purple, simultaneously beckoning us to it. Why would we reveal ourselves? I have been earth-bound far longer than she has. I knew that if anything were to disintegrate my rigid guard, both of us would vanish.
    “We are more like than you may accept…,” a hiss went through our shared mind.
    “Silent. The impetus in me cannot and will not tolerate you. He is approaching,” I informed. Brusquely, she tries to render me in incapacitation. It’s as if I bring evil toward her. His gruff silhouette appears a mere distance away.
    “Where is she?” Where is she?” He knows I’m here. How should I toy with him?
    “I urged her to leave. She will never come back, not in the way you desire her to, not in the way you want her to serve.” I enunciated each word menacingly and with concision. There is no mistaking my meaning.
    He lunges for me, apparently distinguishing where she and I hid. His face is a vivid red, both of our favorite colors. I’m sure my surge through the forest has tinted my face as well.
    “What did you do to my daughter?” he shrieked. Losing my hard exterior, I fell limp. His ravaging acrimony toward me left me in a state of anguish. Because in the end, she is always remembered and I am forgotten.
    “You don’t need your daughter anymore. You have me, your life partner, and your wife!” I wailed.
    “No, I don’t need you. I need her! Amaranth does not deserve this. She does not know about our past, anything, and yet, you caused your own daughter to be a victim. You must be punished.”
    He didn’t want me. If he didn’t want me, no one can have her. As tears stream along my face, I dash toward the river with him following in my wake.
    The base of my feet feels liquid-like. Glancing down, puddles of red sprinkle across the crushed foliage, leaving a trail. A trail that a predator will undeniably follow.
    Swaying to the roaring sound of the river, I slowly listen to what my daughter is shrieking. After all, mothering instincts never truly dispel.
    “Why? Why am I still second? I did nothing wrong. I freed you! You deserved to be free yet you still stayed for him. Why won’t you speak to me? Why?” Amaranth shrieked.
    “Silent. What is the foolishness you are muttering? Your father and I must always be together. It is in our vows. This is not about you, you insolent girl. You are much too immature to grasp anything. Amaranth…be gone.” I chanted. What Amaranth knows is that I can replace her shadow—and I did. She did not expect, however, my taking of her body—but I did.
    As Amaranth had shrieked, I do deserve to be free. Now I am. Free of my motherly duties.
    Walking toward the rapids, I feel a surge of adrenaline rush through me. How lively one can feel in a teenager’s body. Sitting on the edge, I dipped my feet into the bluish water. Pain and then numbness went through my lower body. Strangely I shivered, not because of the river, but because someone is watching me. I feel intruded.
    “Drake,” I summoned. Drake came out of where he was, dazed and unarmed. Laughing, I knew I had that “effect” on people.
    “Drake. You will watch your daughter diminish. Her body will petrify and you will push her into the river. You will then submit your body to me and you, your soul, will live as my Shadow.” I ensconced. After all, this is what he deserves. Always placing her before me.
    The sticky red trapped to the base of my feet began to dissolve as the rapids cleaned them. The red swam away. Entranced, I did not take notice of Drake seizing his knife to which the sharp, cold edge bending into my neck, and then slicing it. Startled, and psychologically paralyzed, I feel the liquid travel downward, some toward my back, and others toward my chest. The liquid stained my clothes, permanently imprinting myself into her. The open wound served as an aperture for me to leak out of her corpse. Because without me, she is lifeless.
    Without a body, I am an observer. A powerless observer. Intense clarity defines Drake. His face, filled with exasperation, crumples into a sobbing face. However, tears did not stream out. Losing his daughter and then his life-partner must have taken a toll on his sanity. With almost a terse carefulness, Drake takes up her body into his arms, strikes her head into a permanent unconsciousness and casts her into the rapids. Life-partners, they’re all alike. They do not last forever and always seem to turn away. But not me. I can never fade…