Team Crab

Again and Again and Again

The duke’s winter gala glittered around her— electric chandeliers, a cigarette smoke coming from dark places, dashing officers in uniform, women wrapped in silk and pearls. Anja, Countess of Bergman would’ve loved such a night, if only she wasn’t about to faint. The orchestra pounded out music that split her skull.

Her maid was right. She should’ve excused herself. The fever had worsened all evening. Every bright light blurred at the edges. Every voice sounded odd and muffled.

Unfortunately, Ulrich chose that moment to lose patience and corner her beside the champagne table.

“You truly are relentless,” he said.

Some nearby nobles fell quiet.

Anja smiled, having been trained to smile through anything.

“Dear Ulrich, whatever have I done now?”

Ulrich adjusted his cuff links. “You pursue me with all the subtlety of artillery fire.”

A few ladies laughed behind feathered fans.

Since childhood, everyone she knew had given her the same instructions: marry well. It was only natural. Her parents were dead. Her estate was in a precarious state. Her title alone could not protect her forever. So she had spent years pursuing her godfather’s sons—the heir to one of the most powerful ducal houses in the kingdom… and one acknowledged bastard.

With her godfather’s blessing.

If only his heir wasn’t so insufferable.

“You make me seem so desperate,” she said wearily.

He scoffed. “Aren’t you?”

She snapped her fan shut.

Before she could answer, another voice interrupts.

“Ulrich.”

Elof, dressed in uniform, stepped between them with the cold, tired expression of obviously wanting to be anywhere else but here.

Ulrich looked even more annoyed. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“She’s sick,” Elof argues calmly. “And father is watching.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Anja fussed.

Elof ignored her protests. “You can barely stand.”

She could hear people whispering.

Poor Countess Lockhart.

Always making a scene.

“Always so polite to her,” Ulrich mocked. “How typical of you.”

“She only asked you for a dance earlier,” Elof replied. “And from from Father’s perspective, you are the one causing a scene.”

There was something strange about this fever, making her temper flare. Something cracked open inside her.

“Honestly?” she retorted. “If my choices were better, I’d rather not marry you at all.”

Silence fell again.

Ulrich blinked.

“Become the next duchess? ” she continued. “How exhausting! Endless ceremonies, endless obligations, endless politics.” Her vision swam, but she looked directly at him. “And frankly, you aren’t worth the effort.”

“What?” Shock flickered across his face.

Elof looked alarmed. “Anja, please stop talking.”

“Why?” she asked. “It’s true. Honestly, I’d rather marry you.”

Silence.

Abject silence.

Elof turned bright red.

Ulrich was speechless for the first time in his life.

How refreshing.

The room lurched violently. The ballroom tilted sideways. Elof caught her before she fell. For an instant, she smelled damp earth instead of cigarette smoke. Pine trees instead of perfume.

An image flashed before her eyes—

A dark cellar.

Blood on stone.

A pistol recoiling in her grip—

“You’re burning up.” Elof snapped at the gathering crowd. “Move!”

More whispers followed them as he rushed her out of the ballroom.

The hallway was unnaturally long. Lamps glowed through the haze of her clouding vision.

“You’re delirious,” Elof said quietly. “You should’ve rested.”

“...Yes.”

For half a second, Elof’s face morphed into someone else—a laughing traveler trudging up a mountain path.

“I think,” she whispered, “something’s wrong with me.”

Darkness swallowed her.

---

Clean mountain air filled her lungs.

Sarah stood on a dirt road surrounded by pine and lush green. A battered truck rattled by while a herd of cows chewed lazily at the grass.

“Sarah!” a man called.

Her father waved from inside a ranch fence.

Yes, Father.

And yet, not Father.

Memories unfolded with ease. The knowledge arrived swiftly.

The ranch fence needed repairs soon. Tourists were arriving tomorrow for a climbing trip, and she had to be ready.

She guided travelers through mountain passes.

Drank bitter coffee in roadside diners.

Returned home exhausted, sweaty, and content.

She had a boyfriend too, a cute blond who adored her.

It was a small, peaceful life.

---

“Her fever… why… hasn’t broken.”

“Should we… go… what...?”

“...dreaming…?”

A cool cloth pressed against her forehead.

Anja opened her bleary eyes and saw a hovering silhouette.

“My lady?”

Anja tried to answer.

Instead she murmured, “Can’t go… that way. Trail’s unstable… past the ridge…”

Darkness dragged her back under.

---

Blood dried on her gloves. There was a cellar with stone floors and a single light bulb in the ceiling.

A man knelt before her with bound wrists.

“Y-you promised,” he whispered.

Clementina flicked ash off a cigarette. “So did you.”

The man blubbered pathetically.

And she felt nothing.

He was once an asset. His betrayal made him a threat.

Simple as that.

A shame. She kind of liked him.

She drew a pistol and shot him through the head.

---

Anja gasped, thrashing violently in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets.

“No, it wasn’t me!” she choked out.

A pair of hands restrained her.

“My lady—my lady, please,” a maid whispered. “It’s only a dream. You’re safe.”

There was a bustling speakeasy with blaring jazz.

Spies traded secrets over whiskey.

Blackmail. Smuggling. Assassinations.

It was a world that made horrible, twisted sense—

---

Anja woke to rain tapping against the windows.

Not dark enough to be night.

Her maid burst into tears. “My lady…”

Anja stared upward.

Three souls shuffled inside her head.

The shallow, sharp-tonged countess.

The simple mountain guide.

The cold-hearted spymaster.

None of them fit together.

“How long has it been?” she croaked.

“Four days.”

Four days ago. And she’d only cared about getting a husband.

How meaningless.

But the alternatives wouldn’t work.

She could never abandon everything for solitude in the mountains.

She would never become that woman in the cellar.

The maid hesitated. “Are you alright?”

Anja looked toward the rain-streaked windows. “Who am I supposed to be now?”

There wasn’t a single answer in her worried maid’s face.

In case it's not clear, this story explores the unraveling of a sense of self, when someone can no longer be the person they were before.

(Not me saving the worst for last, but I TECHNICALLY DID IT! Challenge Complete!)

The Squire's Farewell - Jess R. Plowman
Team Crab, 987 words

I was a maid of eleven when the Danes ransacked the seaside villages of our realm and advanced almost to the keep. Sir Halric led a courageous charge that drove the enemy back into the sea and from then, I could think of nothing but swordplay and sacrifice. I dreamed of helping our noblest knight to preserve and defend our kingdom. 

Around this age, my domestic responsibilities were increasing, and I felt the pangs of dissatisfaction that come of growing into an adult. I believed adventure would assuage them; girl though I was, I began to imagine I would serve as Halric’s squire - if only I were dedicated enough.

In the spring, my mother sent me to forage for nettles, and finding more than enough within a short time, I began to play. Play - though at the time I called it “training.” I found a long straight stick and began running through the exercises I had seen the guards rehearsing.

After perhaps an hour, on one turn to advance in the opposite direction, I noticed in the bushes a boy I didn’t recognize. He was blonde and scrawny and clearly watching me.

Embarrassed for being watched, angry for not noticing sooner, and drawing on the bravado I had so long been rehearsing, I raised my stick to point at him.

“Who goes there!”

He didn’t come forward, but nervously picked at some of the leaves in the bush next to him. He was smaller than me, perhaps a year younger.

“Are you Madred?” he asked.

“How do you know my name?”

“Sir Halric sent me to find you. Your mother is looking for you.”

I flushed. As far as I knew, it was the first time Sir Halric would have heard of me, and it would be as a scared child because my mother thought I was missing. I couldn’t conceal my temper.

“How do I know you came from Halric? I’ve never seen you before!”

“My name is Colm. I’ve just come this week from Lafley Abbey. I’m training as Halric’s squire.”

My stomach dropped. I raised my stick to en garde. “I don’t believe you!” 

The boy stepped backwards - how horrible! Halric had a coward for a squire! I kept advancing and he matched me walking backwards as he spoke.

“I’m just supposed to tell you you’re wanted at home. If you’re lost, I can escort-”

I threw my stick at him and he ducked.

“I can find my own way home. Goodbye!” I picked up the basket of nettles and raced across the field. At home I told my mother I merely lost track of the time, and never mentioned the new squire coming to find me. I didn’t want to give him any credit.

In the coming weeks, I would see Colm wherever Halric went. It felt devastating; I had hoped he was just a stranger and a liar. 

It wasn’t just that my own foolish hopes were suddenly dashed - I was mortified for my hero to have such an untrustworthy aide. Colm was hardworking and obedient, but he had no valiance. In drills he was not the strongest. On horseback he was not the fastest. In shooting he was not the sharpest. What would become of Halric in battle if he trusted this boy and found he was only good for shining armor? How I feared for him if another fierce battle came to our land!

And surely, it did - not from the Norse this time, but from another earl. The neighboring Lord lost his son to a mysterious illness and became convinced that the death was poison. He cast blame on us and vowed to take revenge. Halric had a fortnight to draw up battle plans again. My family and the others surrounding the castle were gathered into the keep for shelter. I watched from up close as the smithies mended old armor and sharpened the best swords. Colm was given one, and a set of mail and leather armor and a small helmet. With his face made anonymous, he looked even smaller and weaker next to the adult knights drawing up. How I feared for Halric! How defenseless it seemed to have such a small boy for your armorbearer!

An abbot blessed the army and they rode out in a phalanx to meet the incoming attackers.

My little brother and I found a gap in the wall which faced the direction of battle and took turns watching for the knights’ return. He was on the lookout when the first came over the hill and called to me to see. 

It was Halric. No other riders were beside him. A small figure was slung over his shoulder. We heard the call to open the gates and rushed to watch him ride in.

He dismounted with the boy before the horse had stopped and laid him on a stretcher. There was an arrow in his chest.

“He shielded me himself,” Halric said. “Bring the physician.”

In the chaos, I slipped to Colm’s side and took his helmet off. His breath was shallow and there was blood at the corner of his lips. Tears stung my eyes.

“I was so cruel to you. I’m so sorry!”

His gaze came back into focus from somewhere faraway and met my eyes. I said again, “You were braver than I. I’m sorry.”

A trace of a smile crossed his lips. “I see the angels.” And he never spoke again.

With his passing, I saw the unraveling of a future I never allowed in my young and selfish life - one where we could have been friends. One where I could have helped Halric by helping his squire, rather than hindering him out of jealousy. The good I might have done my hero had been minimized by my own selfishness. I picked up Colm’s hand and cried into it until Halric carried me, inconsolable, back to my mother.

Unraveling

By Melissa Judith Avila 

My story is a story of unraveling, 

Like an unraveling of tangled threads 

That loop and knot and fold into each other.

I am intertwined

Weaving across mountains peaks and hill valleys 

Never really staying, never really leaving

Or have I been wandering? 

How long have I been wandering? 

Have I always been wandering?

For so long I have been wandering

Singing a song across many lands 

In hopes that it reaches good ears

The song is a simple thread

 One story

One message

One end.

I am a simple thread.

But the song is complex

It is knotted

Convoluted

A thing of many twists and turns 

With no clear end and no clear start

I am a complex thread

But I should be simple

…

The threads are not always knotted the same way

Sometimes they are braided

Sometimes they are knitted

Sometimes they get tossed around

Either way, the perfect start of their being is undone

And redone

And redone

Until it is a new thing

And the new thing can be beautiful

A friendship bracelet

A warm blanket

A napkin on the kitchen counter

But sometimes it is ugly

A pigeon’s nest

A twisted ball of yarn,

A doll that didn’t quite look right

And my life is the same

The song of my wandering

It can also be beautiful

A sonata of romance

An epic of hope

A ballad of finding

But it can also be ugly

A tragedy of loss

A lamentation of heartbreak

A tale of estrangement

And I wander 

And I wander 

And the pieces of my perfect start 

Start falling apart 

And I am undone 

And I am braided

And I am knitted

And I am then tossed around

…

I am tossed across seas

I am tossed across wars

I am tossed across stories 

And many magic realms

And each of these places

Holds a piece of the thread

And they undo knots

Or tear me apart 

But either way I unravel 

And each piece of thread

Continues the song 

And either way I unravel 

I do not know where I started

And I do not know where it ends

But I know a piece remain in here

Before I’m brought between the lines again

…

The song is sung 

Both night and day

And the song is unraveled to the winds

And when Aurora calms the flame

It is carried away

And the winds with the song become distant 

And for years I have sung the song

Being brought back and forth 

And by sun’s glare

And moon’s light

Am I brought back between the islands 

Between the islands 

Sun weaves the thread

And leaves the rest all knotted

Moon undos

And makes it smooth 

And rolls back her work for the night

Yet I sleep not

Both here and there 

Caught between the islands 

For I am pushed and pulled

And pulled and pushed

Then caught between the islands

…

Do you understand what I am saying?

Does this story have a point?

In between clearer days

And obscurer nights 

Does the message still resound?

I still wander 

And wander 

And wander

And every land I go to 

Takes a piece of me 

Rips a piece of me

Releases a piece of me

Will I settle one day?

Will I keep moving?

I have been wandering and nothing is new

I have kept wandering 

I still have no clue

…

The song has no start

But I know

It has an end

But the end is not yet 

So I keep wandering 

And wandering 

Going back 

Going forth

Starting again

Again 

And I unravel

The story

Until the thread

The song

Has an end

It must have an end.

As the Story Goes

“Have a seat,” Maggie nodded to the chair across from her. The wood paneled conference room was cool, but the warmth of the late afternoon sun could be felt through the windows.

“Where’s Mrs. Garrett?” Alexa’s tone was defiant.

“She had another meeting.”

“My lucky day, I get the rookie,” her eyes sparkled to match her smirk.

Maggie Straus had been a guidance counselor at the Harper Reform School for Girls for just two weeks. She was already very familiar with Alexa’s file.

“We’ve already spoken with Felicity. Now it’s your turn.”

“She stole my necklace. Can I go now?”

“I need details.”

Alexa crossed her arms, but seemed relaxed, extremely comfortable in the hot seat. Maggie saw so much of herself in this girl. She also grew up with a chip on her shoulder, always a step away from a fight. At least until someone cared enough to show her the truth, how to deal with her wounds and get a path to a real future.

“What did the new girl say?” Alexa sat forward, pointing to the laptop.

“Your story first,” Maggie tapped the conference table where just two days before their team discussed Alex’s future at the school; the same day Felicity moved in.

“She was in my room.”

Maggie typed as Alex spoke. Interesting, Felicity claimed she found Alexa in her room when she went to get her notebook after lunch.

 “What was she doing there?”

“She said she was lost.” Alexa’s tilted her head, “Then the next thing I know, I see her wearing my necklace in the hallway.”

Maggie didn’t know Felicity yet, but Alexa was known to be a bully. These girls were street smart. Stealing from someone during your first week was risky.

“Is that how the fight started?”

“What was I supposed to do, let her get away with it?”

“Who threw the first punch?”

“She did.”

“That’s not what Mr. Baker said,” Maggie knew getting a straight story would be a challenge. “Start from the beginning.”

Alexa looked around the room intently, staring at the whiteboard and then out the window. It was a classic stall technique, then she tried changing the subject, “Might rain today.”

Maggie was not impressed. “Why did you go back to your room instead of class?”

“I forgot something.”

“Something?”

 “My sweater.”

“She was there. When you got to your room?”

“Yep, looking in my drawer. She said something about being lost and ran.”

“Did you see the necklace?”

“Not until I saw her wearing it in the hall.”

“That’s when you confronted her?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get the necklace?”

Alexa squinted, as she paused to think. “My sister gave it to me for my birthday. Are we done here yet?”

“Not yet,” Maggie said. “Felicity says the necklace is hers.”

“She’s lying,” Alexa was incredulous.

“I still have a few questions.”

“Of course you do.”

“You went to get your sweater, right?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You found Felicity in your room, looking in your drawer.” Maggie paused before continuing, “Why didn’t you punch her then?”

“What?” the question caught Alexa off guard.

“Well, you didn’t hesitate to hit her when you saw her wearing the necklace. Sounds like you let her off easy for snooping around your room.”

Alexa thought before responding. “I guess I wanted to give the new girl a break.”

“I see.” Maggie typed some more. Then asked, “Where’s your sweater now?”

“My what?”

“Didn’t you get your sweater?”

Alexa looked around like the sweater would magically appear. “I must have forgot it after finding that thief my room. Maybe she took that too?”

“Hmmm…” Maggie looked over her notes. “Did your sister visit for your birthday, or did she mail the necklace?”

“What does that matter?”

“It doesn’t really,” Maggie smiled. “I was just curious. Such a nice gift.”

“Now are we done?” Alexa looked toward the door.

“Almost. I need to explain all this to Mrs. Garrett,” Maggie turned her eyes back to the screen. “You saw Felicity wearing your necklace in the hall, confronted her, and then she punched you?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Really, such a heated moment and you don’t remember anything?”

“I called her a thief and told her to give it back.”

Maggie could sense Alexa’s story was unraveling. “Wait, tell me again, did you punch her first?”

“Of course,” Alexa snapped, “I mean she did.”

“I see.”

“One more thing, can you describe the necklace?”

“It’s a silver locket, heart shaped.”

“And the pictures inside?”

“Easy, a little girl and an old lady.”

“Family members?” Maggie followed.

“I don’t know. My sister didn’t say where she got it.”

“What about the initials on the back?”

“Initials? Umm, umm,” Alexa didn’t know how to respond. To heck with it, confidence is key. “A.R.”

“There are no initials on the necklace.” Maggie said matter-of-factly.

Alexa was silent for brief moment, before smiling, “You got me, rookie.”

“It’s Miss Straus.” Maggie corrected.

“Am I getting kicked out?”

“It’s not my decision to make. I’ll be discussing our conversation with Mrs. Garrett.”

“Would I go to juvey?”

“Most likely. Does that bother you?”

“It was bound to happen anyway,” Alexa slumped in her chair, defeated; for the first time looking vulnerable.

“Nothing’s decided. Why were you snooping in her room?”

“Just checking out her stuff. I was looking at the locket when she caught me.”

“So why start the fight?”

“Because it’s who I am.”

“No, darling, it’s not,” Maggie sighed. These girls all needed some hope.

Later, as Maggie typed her final report for Mrs. Garrett, she knew she was already attached to this girl. She recommended that Alexa stay at Harper School so she could try to reach her, to break through the tough exterior. She wanted to unravel the web of lies and help Alexa find healing and a path to a brighter future.